Pennsylvania Patchwork (17 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After dodging Lizzie's snipes, Esther fled Nathaniel's place and hurried toward home. She never should have come here, let alone left Mamm in Jeremiah's care; he could have gone by now.

Esther saw Holly jogging along the side of the road toward her. Esther had never seen her daughter jog in this lopsided, disjointed stride, her arms and fists held to her chest, her mouth open, gasping for air.

Esther braced herself, the way she would if she saw a tree branch falling, but didn't have time to escape.

She reminded herself: Larry couldn't have called Holly, because Esther had the cell phone. But Nathaniel could have called the phone shanty and left a message. A ream of possibilities spun through her mind like a school of minnows, but Holly's demeanor grabbed hold of her attention, dismissing her thoughts about Nathaniel.

“What's wrong, daughter?” Esther said when Holly was within earshot.

Holly halted a couple yards away and bent at the waist, as if she had a stitch in her side. Then she straightened up and inhaled a lungful. “I was worried about you,” she said, panting. “Everything okay?”

“Yah, I'm fine. Let's get home.” Esther started them toward the house along the path at the side of the road. She heard a siren in the far-off distance and a dog yipping, but not Rascal's deep bark.

“Did Galahad and Rascal return?” Holly's face reminded Esther of a child on her first day of school—expectant, but insecure.

“Nee, neither of them. Lizzie's over at Nathaniel's. I should have known she'd be there and be grateful, but if I never see that young woman again I won't miss her.” Esther's hand covered her mouth, but too late to detour her mean-spirited words.

I'm sorry, dear God, Esther told the Lord in her mind. I'll try to love my neighbor—God's second greatest commandment, according to the book of Matthew. But could Esther love Lizzie as she loved herself, as the Bible instructed? If she wanted to embrace the Amish church, she must tackle her sins one by one.

“You got in an argument with Lizzie?” Holly asked.

“It was my own fault for going to Nathaniel's. I don't know what possessed me.”

“Unrequited love?”

Esther quickened her pace. She didn't want to talk about her and Nathaniel's ill-fated courtship. She faked a cough, then sputtered. “I was checking to see if Galahad returned. But it was rude of me to leave Jeremiah and Mamm sitting at the table.”

“I asked Zach to tell Mommy Anna and Jeremiah we'd be right back.” Holly slipped her arm in Esther's, an uncharacteristic move. Maybe Holly thought one of them would fall. Her daughter was sure-footed, but seemed ready to topple.

“Did something happen while I was gone?” Esther asked, and glanced into Holly's beet-red face.

“Zach and I quarreled after Armin showed up. Or was it the other way around? In any case, Zach and I—” Her upper lip trembled.

“I'm sorry you're hurting.” Esther's own tribulations would take second place to her cherished Holly. Esther deserved whatever hardship the Lord Almighty sent her way, but she couldn't imagine Holly had displeased God.

Esther tried to ignore the cars passing by, one slowing down then speeding up again, and a carriage teeming with children, driven by a young woman—their mother, Esther thought.

She heard multiple clopping sounds and saw Armin atop the black horse, headed toward her and Holly. Galahad trailed behind them, tied with a rope.

“Look, Armin found Galahad!” Holly's voice expanded to one of happiness. “Thank you, God.”

Galahad whinnied and pranced about, his head held high and his ears pointed toward Nathaniel's farm.

“Yah, that's good,” Esther said, holding her tongue. If Armin hadn't taken Nathaniel's prized gelding to begin with, none of this difficulty would be happening.

Armin was missing his hat and his hair was tousled. “I told you I'd find Galahad.” He stopped before them.

“You look like you're stepping out of another century,” Holly said to Armin, and his lips curved into a grin.

“You're the one livin' in the wrong era here on this road. You should join up with us.” A horse and buggy clip-clopped by, as if proving his point.

Holly seemed impressed with him. Esther supposed Armin was an imposing figure atop the black horse; he reminded her of Nathaniel. Ach, she wondered what he was doing this very minute in Ohio. Most likely still speaking to his cousin or possibly the deputy assigned to the case.

“Where was Galahad?” Holly asked.

“Having the time of his life in an Englischer's pasture not far away. I wouldn't be surprised if someone opened the gate and invited him in.”

Galahad pulled on the lead, tossed his head, and tried to get the bit between his teeth as a car motored by.

“You're lucky,” Esther said, noticing Armin's boots. “Nathaniel would have been mighty displeased if you lost Galahad. Or worse, if he'd been struck by an automobile.”

“But my brother's not here, and no harm done. Yah?” Armin propelled Jeremiah's horse and Galahad into Mamm's lane a few yards as a van whirred along the road.

Esther and Holly followed. “Where's Rascal?” Holly asked.

“You haven't seen him?”

“No, and Mom was just down at Nathaniel's house.” Holly wrapped her arms around herself. “Armin, I'm worried. When Zach called the authorities to ask them to keep an eye open for Galahad, he mentioned Rascal was running free.”

“That blabbermouth,” Armin said. “Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.”

“Zach was trying to help.” Holly's statement went up at the end, as if a question.

“Nathaniel wouldn't want the police called.” Armin patted the black horse's sweaty neck. “Am I right, Esther?”

“Yah, probably.” She hated being caught in the middle of their spat. Esther doubted it was a lovers' quarrel, but when speculating on her daughter's desires, too often Esther had been wrong.

“'Tis not our way to involve law-enforcement agencies.” Armin glanced back to Galahad, who seemed to be growing more impatient and was jerking on the lead. “Now I've got myself in a pickle,” he said. “Nathaniel's buggy is at Jeremiah's. Let's see, if I bring both these horses over to the Fishers' I can leave Midnight and have Galahad take the buggy home.”

“No, I won't hear of it,” Esther said. “I can see Galahad is exhausted. Jeremiah's horse needs a rest too. Take Nathaniel's other buggy horse with you later. Or in the morning.”

“I s'pose you're right. As it is, Lizzie will give Nathaniel an earful.”

“Lizzie's a regular chatterbox,” Holly said to Esther. “She'll fill Nathaniel in on every detail.”

“Yah, she's a storyteller—” Armin whistled under his breath.

Esther figured Lizzie would twist the plotline to suit her.

“Is Jeremiah still here?” he asked.

“I assume he is.” Holly glanced to the house. “I haven't seen his buggy leave.”

“Then I'd better come with you and ask his opinion.”

“Aren't you worried about Rascal?” Holly lifted her chin to speak to Armin.

“Nee, he'll show up when he's ready. God will protect him.”

Esther knew the rain fell upon the just and the unjust. “I hope you're right.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Before we go in, may I have my phone back?” I asked Mom as the two of us straggled into the barnyard following Armin, who led the horses into the barn.

“Could I keep it?” she said. “I'm hoping Larry will call with news of Nathaniel.”

“Me too.” I put out my hand palm up. “When he does, I'll let you know right away.”

Mom's bun sprawled down her back and looked like a robin's nest after a windstorm. “Never mind,” I told her, “you hang on to it. Your needs outweigh mine tenfold.”

“Actually, when you were talking to Zach and Armin, Larry did call,” Mom said. “That's what brought me outside. I was looking for you.”

My head jerked. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“I meant to,” she stammered, “and I should have informed Armin. He must be concerned about his brother—and his sister-in-law.” Mom looked bedraggled, one click from a meltdown. “I'm so
verhoodled
, and you three seemed deep in discussion.”

“What did Larry say?” I asked. “Are they in Ohio yet?”

“Yes, and Nathaniel had just gone into his cousin's home. Larry was about to join him, and said he'd call back. Nathaniel asked him not to use his phone in the house, so Larry may not call for a while.”

“Or they could all jump in the car and go looking for the woman. If Amish prefer not to involve the police, wouldn't they search for her themselves?” I felt like texting Larry, but wouldn't disrespect Nathaniel's cousin.

“You're right.” She slowed to a halt. “By the way, Zach reconfirmed he'll be by at nine thirty tomorrow morning to drive Mamm to her doctor's appointment. Will you be up to going with us?”

“I don't have much choice. We've got to get Mommy Anna to Dr. Brewster's, and I want to hear what the doctor says.”

“Gut. I appreciate Zach's willingness to drive, since you've had a dispute and all.”

“An impasse is more like it.” My voice came out a whimper. “Mom, is there something wrong with me? My dream of finding my grandma came true, but my love life is a mess, like Mommy Anna's cluttered kitchen drawers.”

“Daughter, there's nothing wrong with you. I hurt our whole family—stunted our relationships. Nothing good ever comes from deception.” Mom spread her arms around me like a mama bird. She stood several inches taller than I did, her shoulder a cushion for my head. “I'm so sorry, Holly, dearest girl. Maybe that's why God is punishing me now.”

I felt her trembling and leaning back. “Hey, Mom, doesn't it say in the Bible that if we come to God and confess our sins we'll be forgiven—washed from scarlet to white?”

She gave me a teensy smile, probably all she could muster. “Are you referring to Isaiah 1:18? ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.'”

“Yes. I'm going to write that verse down and memorize it.” It was pathetic how little scripture I knew by heart. “I might go to church with you and Mommy Anna next Sunday, if Mommy Anna's up to it.” I purposely didn't mention I wouldn't attend Zach's Mennonite church with him and his family again unless a miracle happened.

I started us walking toward the stoop. “If I go to the church service, how will I understand what the minister's saying?” I asked.

“Study up on your German?”

I placed my foot on the bottom step, then paused. “I wish I'd brought one of my old college textbooks here with me.”

“We can get you another. If you don't understand, we can come home and look up the scripture in an English Bible.”

“And Mom, don't worry, I won't wear an Amish dress and apron.”

The corners of her mouth curved up. “You looked pretty dressed that way.”

“Really? Thanks.” Her positive opinion of me mattered more than I'd expected. “I thought you found me ridiculous,” I said.

“I wonder if I saw you through my brother's critical eyes, but he's living in Montana now. And maybe I felt regret for losing all those years I could have been dressed plain myself, like I should be doing right now. In any case, I treated you unfairly.”

Her words were a balm to my ears, soothing my anguish about Zach. Were we still engaged? Neither of us had officially broken it off, but then he hadn't pursued setting a date either.

“I've got to tell ya, you'd be a great comfort Sunday if you went with me,” Mom said. “With my future so uncertain, I don't know how I'll make it if Nathaniel—” Her eyes turned glassy. “I've never been so fearful.” She blinked in rapid succession. “No, that isn't true. I'll never forget when your father was missing, or just last month, when you and I came here, and I saw Mamm, after decades.”

“You made it through those adversities, and no matter what happens, I'm here for you,” I said. “I'll go to church with you. I've wanted to, but felt too self-conscious. And I was so infatuated with Zach, and wished to be with him every minute.” Mom and I climbed the stairs.

At the top she took my hand, and I turned to face her. “Holly, do you love him?”

“I thought so, but maybe I wanted to be married so much I let myself believe I did. I'm beginning to think arranged marriages have their merits. Which man would you choose for me?”

“None of us is perfect. And I'm not the woman who would live with the consequences of the choice.”

“As it's turned out, Zach's too busy to spend time with me. And now, I find he's got a secret life of his own.”

“You don't know that for a fact.”

“You're sticking up for him?”

“I've had my reservations about you and Zach, for selfish reasons. But we shouldn't condemn a man before he's found to be guilty, yah?”

“I suppose you're right. How did you get to be so wise, Mom?” I guessed she always was.

“I'm not so smart,” she said. “
Es Sclimmscht
vun Narre
—the worst of fools is what I was.”

I scanned the barnyard, hoping to spot Rascal. I wondered if a domesticated dog was capable of taking care of itself in the wild. I silently prayed for his safety. If God saw every sparrow and every hair on my head, surely he'd watch out for Rascal as he had Galahad.

“Let's check on Mommy Anna.” My hand grasped the doorknob to the utility room.

“Yah, we don't want her cooking while we're out here.” We both chortled, distraught as we were—each in our own realm of uncertainties, but united in a new way. Mom and I were gradually moving closer, like the tide rising imperceptibly to meet the shore in a quiet cove.

As I turned the knob, an unsettling thought tunneled through my mind, reminding me of elementary school bullies shooting rubber bands at substitute teachers, when they weren't teasing me. “Mom, before we go in, is there anything else you want to tell me about Jeremiah's letters?”

She raised a hand, as if on the witness stand. “I never received any, if he really wrote them. I'm still not convinced he did. Ya know, he's an old man whose memory might be failing. Maybe he thought about writing to me, but never did.”

If I were prudent I should let it go, I told myself, but inconsistencies needled at me. “We have both Mamm and Jeremiah in the same room, without Beatrice to interrupt them. Should we ask for more details?”

“We could. But would knowing the answer help either of us? It seems like a dangling carrot—a temptation best left alone.”

“If Mommy Anna has the letters, we probably would have run across them when we moved her into the Daadi Haus last month.” Although I'd never noticed my mother's letters—not that I had reason to open her shoe boxes, stacked on the top shelf of her bedroom closet in Seattle.

“We have an attic …” Mom patted her hair, removed a few pins, and rolled her bun back into place. “But would looking through another's personal belongings without their permission not be wrong?”

“You're right,” I said. “Still, I do want to bring up the subject. If you don't mind.”

She refastened her bun with several hairpins. “If you mention it naturally.”

“Okay.” My stomach knotted as my mind replayed last month's scene with the bishop and my extended family on a nonpreaching Sunday in fast-forward. “I've acted abominably, but it won't happen again.”

Mom and I passed through the utility room. I heard Mommy Anna and Jeremiah chattering in Pennsylvania Dutch. I could make out a few words like Mommy Anna's saying, “
schrecklich”
—terrible—and Jeremiah replying, “
Des is en schlechdi Sach
!—this is a nasty matter!”

Mom and I entered the kitchen. My mouth gaped open when I saw the doll on the kitchen table.

The room fell silent, as if we were all figures in a wax museum—as inanimate as the doll.

“How did she get downstairs?” I asked, and glanced to Mom, standing next to me.

She shrugged. “I didn't bring it down.”

“I did.” Mommy Anna grinned. “Jeremiah wanted to see the doll for himself.” She and Jeremiah must have been talking about it and hypothesizing about the letter from Chap McLaughlin.

Mom moved to the table. “You could have fallen, Mamm,” she said. I figured my mother was uncomfortable having Jeremiah in the same room with the doll. I was thankful Mom had Chap's letter, unless Mommy Anna had dug it out of Mom's purse. Never mind; according to Mom, she'd already written to Chap McLaughlin.

I recalled my one photo of Dad, taken at age eighteen. Mom hadn't exactly given it to me, but she'd left the faded black-and-white photo on her bureau in Seattle instead of shredding it or stashing it in a file drawer. I couldn't resist taking it. Why shouldn't I own a photograph of my own father? I wondered if Jeremiah would want to see it, but dismissed the idea. My mother had told me portraits were against the Ordnung. But that didn't mean I couldn't display it at some time. Or I might keep it just to myself so Mom wouldn't be forced to see it.

“Good news, everyone,” Mom said, I assumed to draw attention away from the doll. “Armin found Galahad. He's feeding and watering the horses right now, then he'll come in to speak to you, Jeremiah, so you two can figure when's the best time to pick up Nathaniel's buggy.”

“The horses looked tired,” I said.

“But the men know a hundred times more than we women do.” Mom sent me a message with her eyes to keep quiet.

Jeremiah shook his head. “Armin always loved horses, but his own horse-sense, it wonders me. To think of all the time he wasted gadding about when he could have settled down here like his Bruder Nathaniel.”

The room filled with silence again; it seemed like the world had stopped revolving.

“Armin's a fine-gut man,” Mamm said, bringing the room back to life. “He should get baptized and married as soon as possible.”

“'Tis not too late.” Jeremiah gave the doll another looking over and squinted his hooded eyes. “I'm sorry you've been deceived, Esther. No way would our Samuel buy that doll.”

My mother winced, then seemed to marshal herself. “Jeremiah, may I get you more coffee and a slice of schnitz pie?”

“No pie, thanks, but I'd take Kaffi.”

“Holly has a question before you leave, if you're willing to speak of it.”

“What's on your mind, Holly?” he asked.

“It's about the letters you wrote to my mother.” I fetched the coffee and topped off their cups.

Jeremiah added sugar and a splash of milk. “Yah, I remember penning them.”

“And then?” I persisted.

“I gave them to my Beatrice to give to Anna.” He stirred his coffee, swallowed a mouthful.

“Nee, Beatrice never gave me letters,” Mommy Anna said. “Not that I recall, anyways.”

I set the urn on the counter and came back to the table. “I don't understand why you didn't ask Mommy Anna for my mom's address.”

“My Beatrice thought Esther wouldn't like it. She said Esther had been rude
to her, in the past.”

My mother's chin dipped, a tip-off that Beatrice might have told the truth. I reminded myself I'd often sassed Mom during my teenage years and well beyond. Who was I to condemn a single woman who had raised a self-willed daughter? I wished I could retract every smart-alecky statement.

“I finally gave up writing Esther when I received no replies.” Jeremiah yawned, revealing crooked teeth. “
Ich bin mied wie en Hund
—I'm as tired as a dog.” Using his hands, he pushed himself to a standing position, his spine curved like a barrel. He looked fatigued—in a benumbed state. “I best be on my way before Beatrice starts fretting.”

“Of course.” Mom lifted his hat from a peg. “Holly, why don't you accompany your grandpa outside and down the back steps? They're mighty steep. Make sure he holds the railing.” She gave Jeremiah his hat, then helped him with his jacket. “Thank you for bringing Holly home,” she said. “
Ich bedank mich
.”

“
Gem gschehne
.” He raised a hand as a farewell to my grandma. “Gut seeing ya, Anna.”

“You're welcome anytime,” Mommy Anna said.

I slipped my hand under Jeremiah's elbow. Mom was giving me an opportunity to be alone with him, but what should I say?