Leaving Lancaster (8 page)

Now what would we two polar opposites talk about? I considered describing the Amish Shoppe and my mother's buggy, but Nathaniel would find it ludicrous. Then I wondered why I should care what he thought; I'd never see him again after this trip.

His fingers tightened around the reins and he gave me a challenging look. “You sure you don't want to mosey over to Samuel's parents' right now?”

“Why would you care?” I returned his gaze with defiance, a tug-of-war waging in my mind. “Although I admit I am curious to get a look at them, to see if my father favored either parent. This might be my only chance. No, I'd better not. I need to check with Mom first. She'd have a conniption. And my dad's parents might give me the cold shoulder.” Too disappointing.

“Perhaps another time, when your mother's with us.” He slapped the reins and Galahad headed home. Nathaniel directed him around the side of his house to the barnyard.

I hopped out—a long way for a shorty like me. Gathering my courage, I stroked the horse's rump, then moved to his neck to feel his smooth, moist hair, the warmth traveling up my arm.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Storing leftovers in the refrigerator, Esther listened to Greta coax her children up the stairs for naptime. Oh, how Esther adored the sound of their youthful voices. If only Holly got married and made her a grandmother. Grandchildren would finally bring Esther fulfillment, she was sure of it.

She removed unused flatware and cups from the table. She hoped to keep her hands and mind occupied while Holly dallied with Nathaniel. What was taking them so long? She shouldn't be aggravated, Esther told herself. But she was.

She noticed Mamm open the refrigerator door and rearrange the leftovers Esther had just put away. Apparently Esther still couldn't do anything right. Up to Mamm's high standards, that is. Although Esther saw no logic in Mamm's method of storing the vegetables next to the cottage cheese, nowhere close to the sour cream and yogurt. And her mother put cubes of butter in three locations.

“I'll scrape and wash the dishes,” Esther said. She flushed hot water into the sink, followed by a squirt of liquid soap.

“Nee, I always do the dishes,” Mamm said.

If she could see Esther's kitchen, its sink piled with soaking plates, she'd be shocked. Not to mention the empty soup and tuna cans. But no problem; Mamm would never visit Seattle.

“You didn't eat much,” Mamm said. She closed the refrigerator door, then slipped the dishes into the sink. “Don't ya like my cookin' anymore?”

“Yes, as I mentioned before, it's as tasty as ever.” Esther swiped the vinyl-covered table with a sponge. In truth, she felt like her taste buds had gone dormant. “Beth fed us breakfast this morning. And I've gained some unwelcome weight recently.” She attempted to lighten the mood by adding, “Either that or my skirt's waistband is shrinking.” Who needed a diet? With her jangled nerves, if she ate every meal in this kitchen, Esther would be down to a size eight lickety-split.

“Don't go blaming your measly appetite on Beth.”

Esther wished she hadn't brought up Beth's name and vowed not to repeat it. If all went well, their paths wouldn't cross again. Ever.

“
Now, what was I doin'?”
Leaving the dishes in the sink, Mamm set about transforming the kitchen back to its tidy self. Decades had evaporated, but her insistence on tidiness and order persevered. Esther wondered if her mother wanted a woman-to-woman talk now that they were alone. Did she expect Esther to do the listening, as if she were still an obedient child? For better or worse, Esther was a completely changed person and used to speaking her mind.

Over the years, Esther's letters had stated emphatically she had no intention of returning here. “If you want to see us, hop on the train to Seattle,” Esther had written, knowing the trip would never happen. Esther recalled she'd sent Mamm Holly's graduation picture and several others. Had Mamm tossed them in the fireplace? Well, Esther knew she'd plunked Mamm in the impossible position of disobeying the Ordnung, the rules passed down from generation to generation, by which Old Order Amish must live, especially with Isaac being a preacher.

And now here Esther was, in spite of all her refusals to return—because Mamm had tricked her, feigning to be on her deathbed.

Mamm minced around the room swabbing counters. She bent down to pick up an errant crumb, then straightened, her hand on the small of her back as if feeling a zap of discomfort. Was she putting on a show for Esther? Yes, Esther had been duped into coming to rescue her vigorously healthy mother.

“I'm glad to see you're doing so well,” Esther said.

“Today's a
wunderbaar
day—ain't?”

Anna Gingerich could be a Hollywood actress, Esther thought, watching Mamm rinse the sponge and set it at right angles to the drying board. Still no dishwasher, but even if the bishop allowed it, she doubted Mamm would accept one. Her mother had always taken pleasure in washing the glasses and dishes, then polishing them spotless. As a girl, Esther hated housework; she would have preferred to be in the barn helping the men. She'd felt excluded and uninformed when Dat, her brothers, and the hired men gathered for conferences.

Right now, she knew she should be asking about Mamm's life after Dat died, how she'd managed raising five sons without a husband or another woman in the house to help rear the boys. At age sixteen, Esther had refused to care for her brothers anymore, slaving all day and picking up after them. But now, Esther should demonstrate compassion. After all, she'd felt empathy for Holly and Dori many times, as she had for complete strangers on the street.

Please, Lord, forgive me and fill me with tenderness toward my mother, she prayed, but she felt disconnected from God. Instead of compassion, resentment coiled through her mind, spurring her tongue into action.

“Tell me about your health, Mamm.” Esther knew she was goading her mother, but felt she deserved straight answers.

“The excitement and joy of seeing you and Holly lifted my symptoms today. What a gut job you've done raising her.” Mamm's gaze probed Esther's eyes. “But you deprived her of her Amish heritage. Her People. If only you'd come home we could have helped ya.” Her lower lip tightened. “Or was there a man?”

“Are you asking if I remarried or found a boyfriend?” Esther retucked her blouse and smoothed her skirt. Glancing out the window above the sink she saw Isaac shouldering open a gate, then steering four draft horses into a field to bale hay. She bet her youngest brother wished Esther would vamoose. Since he had an insubordinate sister, she was surprised he was ever nominated to become a minister.

“There's never been another man.” Esther said. “Only Samuel.”

Mamm lined up the chairs, evening the spaces between them. “I see Samuel's parents every once in a while. Shall I invite them over for dinner?”

“No! They made it clear they despised me.”

“People change.” Mamm removed her spectacles and polished them with her apron. “I agree, his father was too hard on Samuel, but old Jeremiah has mellowed.”

“And his mother? She only saw me as a distraction to Samuel's dawn-to-dusk chores.” She couldn't help smiling when she recalled the Sunday evening Singings and later riding in Samuel's courting buggy, entwined in each other's arms.

Mamm set her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “His mother's still standoffish, I s'pose ya might call her.”

“Both Samuel's parents were too strict.” No use bringing up that Esther's own dat was easily provoked over minor misdemeanors like not stacking the wood neatly. Esther had avoided Dat's switch or belt by blending into the woodwork or hiding behind Mamm's skirt.

“People change.” Mamm clustered the sugar bowl with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “Fortunately, neither you nor Samuel were yet baptized.”

“His parents shunned me in their own way. Please don't force Holly and me into an awkward situation. They wouldn't like being reminded of their son's death, nor seeing us.”

“Not meet their granddaughter? They'd be delighted.”

“No, they'd say something cruel, I know it.” Esther wouldn't allow Samuel's parents anywhere near Holly.

Mamm finally tackled the dishes and handed Esther a dish towel. “Would ya mind?”

“The water must be lukewarm by now,” Esther said.

Mamm added more hot water. “
Simbel mir
—silly me—I get distracted.”

Esther got to work drying the plates, stacking them in the cupboard in the same configuration as when she was a girl. She was relieved to have her hands active again.

“Now that I think of it,” Mamm said, “comin' up is a nonpreaching Sunday, an afternoon to visit our neighbors. Maybe head over to Samuel's parents'.”

“Absolutely not, I refuse. I'd rather hide in my room all day.” She remembered the Fishers' words of chastisement, calling her demonic when she and Samuel announced they were taking a road trip, hitchhiking across the country to San Francisco. “We want to see the Pacific Ocean,” she'd told them, the words of a song popular at the time playing in her ears, encouraging her to wear flowers in her hair.

Samuel had never seen her long hair, always hidden under her prayer cap, until they left Lancaster. Esther had adored the idea of weaving daisies into her wavy tresses, a provocative frivolity forbidden by the Ordnung. Mamm nurtured colorful flowers in the yard, but not for picking. Wearing flowers was like wearing jewelry.
Verboten
.

Flower power! Esther had repeated in her mind.

“No wonder the Fishers detested me for luring their only child away,” Esther said. “Their only child, dead. Any parent would be devastated.”

Mamm drained the sink. “When Samuel passed away, what would you have done in their place? Eventually, you'd forgive, ain't so?”

“No. I'd hate me.” Esther polished a coffee cup so hard she worried about cracking off the handle. She stowed it in the cabinet and returned to the drying rack. “In fact, I still do, for luring him away. The journey was my idea, not his.”

“You didn't force him to go with you. He had a mind of his own.”

“I used every persuasion.” More than she'd admit.

“No use frettin' about the past. 'Tis
unsinnich
—senseless. If you see them, be polite and assume they'll return the courtesy.”

Esther envisioned Samuel's parents' outraged scowls of disdain. Her thoughts spinning like a windmill, her hands went limp. Mamm's favorite oval serving bowl slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor, smashing into shards.

Esther's jaw dropped open. “
Dabbish
fingers—I've never been so clumsy. I'll find a replacement. There's an online company that specializes in missing china.”

“Never mind, 'tis only a bowl,” Mamm said, a broom and dustpan soon in hand. “Lately I've been droppin' things too.”

As Mamm swept, using quick motions, Esther imagined coming face-to-face with Samuel's parents—a fiasco. “We may not even be here,” Esther said, feeling a wave of relief. “I'll check with Holly to see when we return. I didn't think to ask about our tickets.”

“This is your home. Don't ya go away so soon.” Her mother bent to use the dustpan. “Stay awhile.”

Esther felt her invisible horns locking with Mamm's, like when she was a teen. “Have you heard nothing of what I've told you? I have a business to run.”

“What sort? I still don't know what you do. Only that your friend is helpin'. Is this the same woman who carried you off to Seattle?”

“Dori didn't carry me anywhere. She's my best friend. When Samuel was drafted, she and her husband kindly took me in. I had no one else.”

“Are
ya
ab im Kopp?
—off in your head? You could have come home any time.”

“To live under your domineering thumbs?” Esther spurted out.

Mamm dumped the broken bowl in the trash can. “Let's not quarrel. Tell me about your business.”

Esther didn't dare admit she was making a living off the people she'd discarded. She couldn't bear an onslaught of her mother's criticism.

“It's a small retail store in my house. Holly and I live on the second floor. I order merchandise, price and display it, and help customers—it's what puts food in our mouths and pays the mortgage, especially now that Holly's lost her job.” Esther bit her lower lip. “I shouldn't have mentioned that. She'd have a fit if she knew I told you she'd been laid off.”

“I don't understand. What kind of job did she lose? Why should anything about the two of you be kept hush-hush?”

Esther reminded herself she was the woman bearing secrets. Or did Mamm also keep one tucked in her apron pocket? Staring into her mother's eyes, she felt like she was being sucked into a vacuum, transported to childhood, a little girl looking up at her parent who made all the decisions. Esther felt her strength weaken. She couldn't face seeing the rest of the community, especially Samuel's parents. She wouldn't! She'd rather face Napoleon's army.

“I should let Holly explain her career,” Esther said. “I don't really understand it myself. But I know she wants to go home and start job hunting right away.”

“Surely you'll stick around longer, won't ya?”

“No, I can't possibly stay when Holly leaves.”

“Since she's without a job, both of you should remain until we move to Montana, ain't so?”

“I'm too tired to debate the subject.” Esther faked a yawn. “I think jet lag's catching up with me.”

“Go, put your feet up. I might take a nap myself.”

Esther had never known her mother to snooze in the afternoon when there were chores to be done, but she reminded herself of Mamm's age. Esther followed her out of the kitchen to the bottom of the staircase.

Mamm rested her hand on the banister. “I put you and Holly in your old room. Did I tell ya there are two beds in there now? I'll be up in a minute.”

“Yes, okay.” Her mother was repeating herself, but Esther sometimes did the same thing.

She climbed the staircase she'd skipped up and down thousands of times in her youth. Why had Mamm added another bed to her room? Perhaps hoping for more children? No, not possible after Dat died. Maybe Greta and Isaac's children had been sleeping in it, making Esther wonder why Mamm hadn't moved into the Daadi Haus years ago.

Greta or Mamm had made up the twin beds, each covered with one of Mamm's colorful quilts—Esther recognized her mother's precise craftsmanship. She breathed in the aroma of the cedar floors and stepped across rugs she recalled from her childhood. The same pull-shades hung in the windows.

Figuring her mother was close behind, Esther ignored the clean, pressed prayer
cap
on her bureau next to her old hairbrush and comb. The night she'd run away, she'd thrown her
Kapp
out the window in a show of defiance.