Pennsylvania Patchwork (5 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Carrying the parcel, Esther slunk past Mamm, who still reclined on the sitting room sofa.

“What ya got there, Essie?” Mamm raised herself on her elbows.

No more duplicity, Esther told herself as she prepared to answer her mother's question. Esther could think of no reason not to be honest with Mamm, yet she was riveted with fear, a prickly feeling reminding her of walking through nettles as a child.

Silently, she asked God for fortitude. After decades of secrecy, she wondered when her first reaction would be total honesty.

“Dori, my friend and partner, the woman who's running the Amish Shoppe, sent me this,” Esther said, and held it out.

Her mamm could always tell when Esther was fudging the truth, Esther recalled from her youth. “I thought they were the letters you sent me, but it turns out they aren't.”

“Ya saved my letters?”

“Yes, of course.”

Mamm's speckled hand moved to her breast. “I didn't know if you'd ripped them into shreds, or what. You answered so rarely.”

“I did answer them. Every one. But Mamm, I'm sorry. I have no excuse. It just seemed the deeper I wandered into the mud the more I got stuck in it. Like a hog sinking into the pigsty.”

“Satan got his grip on you, Esther. But you're forgiven. You heard the bishop. And I promise I've forgiven you.” She patted her chest. “An empty hole sat right in here for the longest time, but it's full again.”

“Thank you, Mamm. I don't deserve it.”

“None of us does, but you heard Bishop Troyer. God is all-merciful when we repent.” She scooted around to a sitting position. “Now, open the box. I'd like to look through those letters, like a history book, since my memory's fading.”

“I don't know what's inside, as it turns out. There's a container from a stranger I've never heard of. And it's from Florida, where I've never been, nor do I know anyone there.”

“We have relatives who retired to Florida.”

“But how would they know about my store? Unless you told them.”

Mamm's forehead creased. “I don't think so. And it's highly unlikely your brothers told anyone. They didn't know the store's name or address. Ach—you call it the Amish Shoppe?”

“Yah.” Esther was grateful Mamm didn't rant about the name; Mamm had every right to complain. Esther was pretty sure it went against the Ordnung to use the word
Amish
to prosper financially. She'd have to ask the bishop. Then what? Change the store's name or sell her share to Dori, making Dori the Amish Shoppe's sole proprietor?

Esther scanned the label. “The sender's last name is McLaughlin, which I assume is of Scottish origin.”

“That wonders me.” Mamm pressed her palms together. “Enough of this chitchat. Let's open it up and find out.”

“I was going to wait until Nathaniel was here.”

“You two aren't married yet. Don't you think he's busy enough? It might be a fine-gut surprise.”

“I'd rather we read my brother Isaac's most recent letter.”

“Never mind about your brother and my grandchildren. Open the package and take my mind off of them for a short while, won't ya? Unless there's somethin' you're keeping from me.”

“No, Mamm, I don't have a clue. Honest, I don't.”

The kitchen door swung open. “I'm home,” Holly said. Esther heard pounding—a hammer on nails—and figured Armin was working on the storage shed's roof.

As Holly entered the room, Mamm stood and snatched the carton from Esther.

“Give that back!” Esther grabbed the box. Mamm lost her footing and thudded down onto the couch.

“Ow, my sacroiliac.” Mamm's hand moved to the base of her spine.

“What's going on?” Holly galumphed into the room. “Can't I leave you two alone for a minute?”

“It's not what you think.” Esther hugged the carton to her breast.

“Yah, your mother and I are getting along like two peas in a pod.”

“Having a tug-of-war? Mommy Anna, you could get hurt.”

“We weren't arguing,” Mamm said, and nodded at Esther, who feigned a smile. “Not really.” Mamm checked her prayer cap. No doubt about it, she was going bald, in the front at least.

Esther recalled Mommy Anna's visit to Dr. Brewster's several weeks ago. The endocrinologist had asked about Mommy Anna's temperament: was she becoming crotchety? Esther had admitted she didn't know Mamm well enough to discern if her occasional cantankerous outbursts were a recent development.

“How was your time with Armin?” Mamm asked, as if the previous scene had never occurred.

“Fine, he's a likeable guy.” Holly's cheeks were glistening and her brown eyes alive. Esther wondered if Armin had snagged her attention. Then Holly's features turned serious. “I don't suppose Zach stopped by.”

“No sign of him,” Mamm said. “Didn't you say he was coming for the noon meal?”

“Yes, but he might have misunderstood and thought I meant tomorrow.”

“He may be at Beth's,” Esther said. “Like I told you, I saw his pickup in her driveway.”

“Are you trying to start trouble?” Holly's words lacked conviction. She didn't even peer out the window toward Beth's house.

“No, I'm being honest, like you asked.” Esther wished she could dispose of the carton unnoticed.

“Hey, what were you two arguing over?” Holly said.

“We weren't arguing.” Mamm smoothed her apron. “Just jabbering. Ya see, a package came for your mother and I admit I was being overly persistent trying to get her to open it.”

“The missing letters from my Grandpa Jeremiah?” Holly said, catching Esther off guard. “In which case, whatever's in that box also belongs to me.”

“Why would you suggest such an illogical thing?” Ach, Esther had hoped Holly had forgotten about Jeremiah's claim he'd sent letters.

“The carton's the size of a shoe box,” Holly said, “but I can't imagine you'd hide Mommy Anna's letters twice.”

Esther felt as if she were juggling hot coals. “It's addressed to me, Mrs. Samuel Fisher.” Her words burbled together.

“That makes sense if they're from Jeremiah,” Holly said. “How else would he and Grandma Beatrice reach me?” She marched over to Esther. “Have you hidden his letters for years and years?”

“No, I swear, I never saw them. And Dori forwarded this from Seattle.” Esther swung around to face her mother. “Mamm, do you have them?”

“What letters are you two talkin' about? Jeremiah never sent me letters.”

“He told me last month that he wrote us letters and asked my Grandma Beatrice to give them to you,” Holly said. “You were supposed to forward them to Mom and me.”

Mamm gnawed her lower lip. “I don't recall letters, but my brain's so addled these days I could have forgotten.”

“You haven't forgotten your sons and all their wives' names, have you?” Esther said. “Or that they live in Montana now.”

“No, I recall that just fine. But there are some things …”

“In any case, I want to see what's in the carton,” Holly said. “Please open it, Mom.”

Esther tried to stall. “They were sent by a gentleman in Florida—”

Holly's hand reached out and filched the box from Esther. “I'm sorry, Mom, but we might as well get this over with.” She removed the carton from the box and gave it a shake, much as Esther had done.

“Chap McLaughlin?” Holly lowered her eyebrows in Esther's direction. “Please, Mom, don't tell me you have a boyfriend lurking in your past.”

“Absolutely not.”

Holly coughed out a sputter of mock laughter. “Let's not get indignant, after all the baloney you've fed me over the years.”

“You're right, Holly. I've given you little reason to trust me in the past. But I affirm before God that your father is the only man I ever loved—until Nathaniel. And I'll bet even he still misses his first wife, like I miss your father.” That sad fact flooded Esther's chest with unforeseen grief. Did Nathaniel pine for his first wife?

Holly turned the carton over and ripped off the brown paper covering. She set the mailing label on the table. She opened the box and out fell an envelope, closed but not sealed. On the cover the words
To Mrs. Samuel Fisher
were printed in a strong masculine hand.

Esther reached out for it. “I know I've earned your distrust, but the letter's meant for me.”

With Holly still clasping the box, Esther opened the envelope and read:

“Dear Mrs. Fisher, if I've finally found Sam's wife, then I'm carrying out his final wish. At least, his request the last time I saw him during the evacuation. Maybe he made it back to the States and he's fine and dandy. I've been looking for you for ages. As you might have heard, much of the archives in Saint Louis burned, and searching the Internet got me nowhere. Through a fluke last week, I ran into an old war buddy who thought a Samuel Fisher's widow lived in Seattle and owned an Amish store. (I think Sam said he was Amish.) Is that you? I figure Sam never made it out alive. Or did he? Please get back to me and let me know. Tell Sam he owes Chap ten bucks.”

Holly, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye, held on to the carton like it was the only life jacket on the sinking
Titanic
.

Mamm said, “What's in the box? Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to find you, Essie. Aren't you curious?”

Holly gave the carton to Mamm, who removed the lid to expose crinkled tissue paper. Mamm flipped the box on its side without ceremony, like it was any old sack of cauliflower headed for a vat of soup.

Out slid an object a foot in length, wrapped with fuchsia silk cloth, like an Egyptian mummy. Mamm set the box aside and tugged at the end of the fabric, unrolling a doll—an exotic grown woman. It flopped onto her lap.

“An Englisch Barbie doll?” Mamm said with disdain, as if someone had offered to pour arsenic into her coffee.

Esther moved closer and scooped up the doll. The figurine was the opposite of soft, flexible Amish dolls—alien to anything Esther had ever seen. It was hard to the touch, with a ceramic face, its eyes rimmed with makeup and its mouth rhubarb-red. The doll wore a long and shiny tight yellow silk dress with a mandarin collar and turquoise-colored high heels. Her black hair, piled high on top of her head, was also fashioned into two long braids, affixed with bows that matched her shoes.

“That's no Barbie doll,” Holly said.

“My Samuel bought this?” The hairs stood up on the back of Esther's neck.

“It must have been a gift for you.” Mamm lowered her brows in Esther's direction.

“I never dressed this fancy,” Esther said.

“Maybe it was for me.” Holly took the doll and rocked it. “A gift from Vietnam for the little girl yet to be born. She's proof my father wanted a daughter.” Her voice rose an octave. “He prayed for me before I was born.”

“But how would he know Esther was carrying a girl?” Mamm said. “We didn't have those newfangled ultrasound machines back then.”

“If we did, I didn't use one,” Esther said. “I had no idea you were a girl until the moment you were born.”

Cradling the doll to her breast, Holly seemed deep in thought. “What shall I name you?” she asked it.

CHAPTER NINE

I was stunned, reeling in a fragile state of mystification and gratefulness. Was Dad trying to reach me from beyond the grave? I didn't believe in telepathic hocus-pocus—séances and psychics who claimed they could conjure up ghosts—but this doll was tangible evidence my father lived and was planning to come home to Mom and me.

I hoped.

“Could this be a prank?” I asked my mother and grandmother, the three of us in the sitting room.

“I can't imagine it's a joke. Who would do such a lousy thing?” Mom examined the fuchsia fabric—about three yards of the most exquisite silk I'd ever seen—its surface glinting from a ray of sunlight entering through the window, revealing metallic green threads. But Mom was going Amish; I couldn't imagine she'd be allowed to use it.

Mommy Anna polished her glasses on her apron, reset them on her nose, and peered at the fabric, then the doll. “They look new. Never used, anyway.”

I sniffed the doll's dress; a mustiness pervaded my nasal cavity, bringing on a sneeze. “It smells decades old.”

Mom stroked the silk, I assumed marveling at its weightless splendor. “A better question would be: Would a stranger hold on to a doll for all these years and never take it out for his own child?”

Mommy Anna harrumphed. “No God-fearing Amishman would give it to his
Kinner
, that's for sure. I won't have such rubbish in my house.”

“Maybe Chap doesn't have children.” My mind floundered for an explanation. “Or not a daughter, anyway.”

“The letter says he's been looking for me for ages,” Mom said. “Is that possible?”

“Anything's possible with the Internet,” I said. “How long did you search for Dad after he was declared missing in action, hoping he was in a hospital with amnesia?” Also my pitiful fantasy—that he'd miraculously appear. I felt the familiar aching in my chest. Maybe the void left by Dad's absence would never be filled. I thought Zach would take away the emptiness, but I'd been wrong.

“I wonder what I should do with the doll,” Mom said.

“Are you joking?” I hugged the doll, but she was unyielding and attached to a platform to keep her standing. “I want it. Not that a memento will bring my father back.”

“Samuel might have intended it as a gift for someone else.” Mommy Anna arched a brow. “I've heard men do strange and
greislich
—horrible—things during times of war.”

“Please, Mamm,” Mom said. “Don't make me feel worse than I already do.”

“How a young Amishman ended up in Vietnam in the first place is beyond me,” Mommy Anna said, as if trying to antagonize my mother. “Samuel's parents said the army would have released him as a nonresistant conscientious objector if he'd come home to work on an Amish farm.”

“Eve tempted him, just like in the Bible.” Mom gulped, then swallowed. “It was all my fault.”

“But Adam should have taken control, been the head of the household,” I said in Mom's defense. I'd never understand why Dad had acted so compliantly, just like Adam, now that I thought about it. “Adam should have tossed the apple out of the ballpark.”

“That's kind of you, Holly.” Mom draped the fabric over her arm. “Your father and I were so young and naive, and times were turbulent in San Francisco—frenzied. Radical protestors, marches, and mayhem everywhere. Your father got drafted, then falsely arrested during an antiwar rally, when he hadn't done a thing wrong. He landed in jail and was threatened with prison time. The prosecuting attorney and judge suggested plea bargaining: if your father enlisted, the court would drop all charges.”

“Why didn't you hire a lawyer? Doesn't the court appoint one for free?”

“It's not our way to use them.”

“But you were living like
Englischers
, as you call us.” Her convoluted story still didn't ring true.

Mom's fingertips caressed the fabric. “I should have written his father for help. He and Dat might have come to our aid.”

“It must have been God's will,” Mommy Anna said.

Her rationalization was of little comfort. A monstrous hand seemed to squash my heart, like I was made of putty. I thought of the book of Job, all that innocent man suffered. It wasn't the first time I'd pondered why God allowed bad things to happen to good people.

I held out the doll and studied her face—definitely Asian. Her features were meticulously hand painted. I had no idea if it was from Vietnam. China exported so much these days, practically everything. Later, I'd check for a Made in China stamped on her somewhere out of sight, but I couldn't locate one now. Carrying home the silk as a gift made sense; it was nonbreakable, light, and easy to pack—the opposite of an exotic doll.

“What kind of a first name is Chap?” I tried to imagine a man persistent enough to track down my father. Most likely the two men had been tossed together at random like driftwood washed ashore.

“Sounds like a nickname,” Mom said. “Short for something.”

“Maybe he got his war buddies mixed up. And holding on to the doll for decades doesn't seem normal.” I stood the doll on the mantel over the hearth. “I want to write this Chap McLaughlin guy.”

“After I do.” My mother held fast to the address label and letter.

“Yah, Holly, you let your mother handle this. I'm not convinced it isn't some mean-spirited hoax. Who ever saw a doll like that?”

“I want to run it past Nathaniel before I do anything,” my mother said.

I decided to keep the argument I'd overheard between Nathaniel and Lizzie to myself. Why bombard Mom with more uncertainties?

Armin poked his head into the sitting room. “
Es dutt mir leid
—I'm sorry,” he said. “I let myself in.” He'd removed his work boots and hat. In spite of his mussed hair, I couldn't help but notice he was striking enough to pose in an Eddie Bauer catalog.

“Ya don't need to knock.” Mommy Anna beckoned him to enter the sitting room. “You're always welcome, Armin. Are ya almost done out there?”

“Yes, but I ran out of nails and need to buy more.” Armin's voice turned smooth as he directed his words to me. “Holly, I could take your phone and get it charged, if you like. Or you could come with me. It isn't far, but you'll be riding in the open cart.” He really was a sweetheart.

“I figured that,” I said, “unless you have a motorcycle stashed somewhere.”

But if I left, I might miss Zach. “I'd better stick around here.” As I spoke an idea sprouted. “I could take Rascal for a stroll while you're gone. Get us both exercise and keep him out of mischief.”

“He'd sure love a walk,” Armin said. “When I leave him alone in the cart he barks and the horse doesn't like it.”

“Do you have him on a leash?” I asked.

He held out his arms to demonstrate. “A rope about six feet long. And he's got a collar.”

“That would work.”

He eyed the doll on the mantel, about his shoulder-height. “Whose figurine?”

“Remember the package delivered during the noon meal?” I relived the disappointment when I spotted the FedEx truck instead of Zach's pickup.

Armin drew closer. “A couple years back, I saw one almost identical to this in an antique shop in Philadelphia. The owner said it was from Southeast Asia.”

“What were you doing in an antique shop?” my mother asked him.

“A better question would be what was Armin doing in Philadelphia?” Mommy Anna waggled a finger at Armin.

“Buying a present for someone.”

“I hope you didn't purchase anything like this doll.” Mommy Anna's words sounded like a reprimand.

“Nee.” Armin skimmed his fingertips along his jawline. “As a matter of fact, I bought a teacup.”

I wondered if the cup was for Lynnea, but would wait and ask later.

“Where did this doll come from?” he asked.

“According to a letter that arrived with it, my dad gave it and some fabric to a war buddy during the evacuation of Saigon.” I pointed to the silk. “Apparently Dad asked the man to make sure Mom got these. The guy finally tracked her down. We think.”

“He could have located the wrong Samuel Fisher,” my mother said.

“Yah, there are many Samuel Fishers in this county alone,” Armin said.

My shoulders slumped.

“No matter, I don't want that fancy doll in the house,” Mommy Anna protested. “'Tis a bad influence on my grandchildren.”

“They live clear across the country.” Mom folded the fabric.

Mommy Anna pointed a gnarled finger. “That shiny material either, Esther.”

“Since these items were sent to me, I should determine their fate,” my mother said solemnly. It occurred to me she might be missing Dad as much as I did.

My mother picked up the letter with her free hand as Mommy Anna reached for it. “So, you're determined to write this fella,” my grandmother said.

“Yah, I must.” Mom's pale face appeared haggard. A nest of fine lines gathered at the outer corners of her eyes. “I can't ignore his gesture of kindness.”

“If that's what it is,” Mommy Anna said. “Don't it seem odd your Samuel would send you a doll wearing gaudy makeup and high heels?”

“Yah, that is a mystery,” Mom said.

Mommy Anna's voice grew harsh. “That material was meant for a woman of the streets, if you catch my gist. And, like Armin said, there are many Samuel Fishers in these parts.”

“But he sent the doll to Seattle, not here,” I said.

“Don't get your hopes up, darling girl,” Mommy Anna said to me.

I noticed Armin receding from the room. “Wait a second,” I said. “I'll come with you.” I funneled my words to my mother. “I want to look at the doll more closely when I get back.”

“Okay, I'll put it in my bedroom.”

“Thanks.” For the first time I was grateful my grandmother had difficulty climbing the stairs.

I trailed Armin into the kitchen, grabbed my jacket, and followed him through the utility room and out to the back stoop. Rascal was tied at the bottom to the post railing. He yawned loudly, then yapped.

The sky was as blue and wide as an ocean, but a current of cool air tickled my cheeks. I was glad I'd remembered a jacket. Yet Armin didn't seem to need one.

“Want to go for a walk with me?” I asked Rascal, and untied the rope.

“Where ya headed?” Armin asked.

“I haven't decided. I might go to my other grandparents' farm. The Fishers.”

“Jeremiah and Beatrice? Please don't take Rascal over there without me, what with their aggressive dog.”

“Oh, yeah, you're right. They don't call him Wolfie for nothing.” I recalled my encounter with their mongrel, one of the biggest, meanest looking canines I'd ever seen.

“And it's a long way on foot,” Armin said. “I'll take you over there another time.”

“In that case, we'll stick closer to home.”

Minutes later, I watched Armin depart in Nathaniel's cart. Rascal barked and tried to follow him, but I gripped the rope with both hands and held my ground. When Armin was out of sight, I told the dog, “You be a good boy,” then ushered him out of the barnyard and onto the side of the road. “We're going to have fun.”

I might just scope out whoever was driving that red car.