Seeing Your Face Again (42 page)

With a great sob, the pent-up emotions spilled out of Rosa. She
clung to Ida's arm and gasped for breath. Willard, standing in front of Rosa, stared straight ahead and ignored the commotion.

Ida moved forward, and a few steps later Melvin's bearded face lay before them. Ida's throat closed tight. She choked. When she could breathe again, she reached over five-year-old Amos to touch Willard on the shoulder. She had to reach Willard's heart so that his sorrow could be expressed. It wasn't
gut
that all this emotion was kept locked up inside him.

Willard didn't flinch at her touch, but he didn't do anything else either. His gaze over the coffin was glassy eyed.

Ida wanted to shake him, to break through his reserve, but this was not the place for a scene. She turned her thoughts to her own heart's sorrow. She looked long at Melvin's still face. She would never say wedding vows with this man she had grown to love. She would never touch his face again and feel the power of his strength, or the character of his life, or the depth of how much he loved her. Ida allowed her tears to flow freely.

Around her she heard the soft rustle of the congregation as they waited for her to finish. Debbie had stepped closer and now held her hand. The two of them leaned against each other. Ida stayed that way for several moments as time seemed to stand still. When she finally stirred, Willard was still staring sightlessly across the casket. It was time to move on. Ida nudged Amos, and he in turn nudged the others. As one group they moved back to their seats and sat down while gently sobbing.

When Ida looked up, the pallbearers had already closed the casket. She didn't avert her eyes as it was carried out and slid into the back of the open buggy. Minister Kanagy stood and led the way outside. Someone had Melvin's buggy ready; Red Rover in the harness. Their ride for the day. Sobs choked Ida's throat again as she helped the children climb in. She wished they'd used another horse for the trip to the cemetery, but that was not the way of the community. One faced the pain and so moved beyond it. She would have
to see Red Rover one way or the other. She might as well begin now. It would be a long time before she wouldn't think of Melvin at the sight of him.

“Ride with us,” Ida whispered to Debbie, who was still at her side.

“Is there room?” Debbie raised her eyebrows.

“For you,
yah
,” Ida replied.

Debbie seemed to understand. It would be best if they were crammed into the buggy than for Ida to ride without someone to comfort her. And it would also be better if Ida wasn't alone with the children for these last moments together.

“Shall I drive?” Debbie asked.

“
Nee
. Just be with me,” Ida said.

Debbie climbed in. Ida took the reins and pulled into place behind the open buggy with the casket hanging partway off the back. They didn't have to wait long before the driver, Virgil, Joe Weaver's younger brother, appeared. He climbed into the wagon and took the reins. Moments later Emery came out of the barn and joined him.
Daett
must have told Emery to help out where needed. It was
gut
to see her brother riding ahead of her. This prepared her for the moment when she would return to the life she'd known before Melvin was part of her future.

Ida guided Red Rover as they followed Virgil's wagon and pulled out of the driveway. At the first stop sign, the
Englisha
cars stopped and waited until the long line of buggies had passed through. Ida wept as she thought of this courtesy provided her from people she didn't even know. No one had been asked to wait, and the people no doubt had places to be on a Saturday afternoon. Yet they paused to show their respect for the sorrow and grief in front of them.

“I can't believe you're holding up so well,” Debbie said from the seat beside her. “And how you're ministering to others…” Debbie's glance took in the children.

Ida shook her head. Debbie was kind, but she was being too generous. She didn't have the strength to protest out loud. Nor did she
have the strength to ask Debbie about Alvin. Debbie gave her arm a quick squeeze.

They soon arrived at the cemetery and the buggies pulled off the road. Many of the drivers tied their horses along the fencerow. Before Ida climbed down, Emery came from the open buggy to secure Red Rover.

“Thanks,” Ida whispered as she helped the smaller children down. “It was
gut
to see you riding ahead of us.”

Emery gave her a warm smile. “Take courage, sister. We're all weeping for you today. Even when our eyes are dry.”

Ida gave Emery a grateful look. When he left, Ida led Lonnie and the others across the ditch line toward the gravesite. She was sure there had been tears in Emery's eyes, even with his protestations to the contrary.
Da Hah
had blessed her with a family who stood with her in this time of great sorrow. She couldn't imagine life after today, but at least her family would be there to help her.

A few people had arrived in the graveyard before Ida did, and they opened up to allow her and the children through. Ida walked up to the open grave. The sight was too painful for more than one quick glance into its depths. She wasn't supposed to draw back from the pain, but to bear up under it, Ida reminded herself. And yet she knew
Da Hah
would understand that there were limits to what she could endure.

Willard stared into the grave; his gaze no longer fixed but horror stricken. Ida stepped around Amos and Lonnie and wrapped her arms around the older boy's thin shoulders. For long moments she thought Willard would ignore her as he had done before. His gaze had returned to its fixed state, but as the prayers and Scriptures were read by Bishop Troyer, the flood gates of sorrow opened. Willard's young voice sobbed as he wept. At times it rose above that of the bishop's. Several people sent looks of sympathy their way. Others must also have noticed the young boy's lack of emotion before this and were thankful that Willard now mourned. By the time they
lowered the casket and began to throw dirt into the grave, Willard leaned limply against her. Ida steadied him, noting Willard's frail frame was trembling.

“Please dear
Hah
,” Ida prayed silently, “don't let this sorrow be too much for this young heart. Heal the images Willard has seen of his father mangled in death. Give him hope for the future. Let Willard know that You are still a gracious God even though You must deal with us in our sins and trespasses.”

When the grave was filled, Willard quieted down, his body no longer shaking. Ida waited until Bishop Troyer moved away from the gravesite before she followed with Melvin's children in tow. The rest of the family made way for her, as if they knew what her intentions were. At the edge of the graveyard Ida paused and went down on her knees in the soft grass. One by one, she hugged each of the children—even Willard, who still had tears in his eyes.

“I have to go now,” Ida whispered. “Your
daett'
s family will take care of you.”

“Won't we see you again?” Rosa's eyes shimmered.

“Surely you'll come around once in a while,” Willard said, his voice catching.

Ida pressed back the tears. “I'll see you in church sometimes, but I won't be coming around the house anymore. Your
daett
and I weren't married. I wasn't…” Ida stopped, unable to go on. The words would have sounded harsh and cruel, yet they were true. She wasn't their
mamm
. It was perhaps better if someone else explained further. Someone who could say things better than she could.

Willard nodded, but it didn't look like he comprehended fully what she meant. But then who could completely understand this tragedy? “You'll all be okay,” Ida told them. “It'll never be quite the same again for any of you—nor for me. But
Da Hah
will see that we're taken care of. His heart has a special place for…” Again Ida stopped. She just couldn't say the awful word “orphans.” These were precious children, and she didn't want their minds seared with
feelings that they were less than anyone else. Melvin's brothers and sisters would see to it that they were raised like they were their own.

Out of the corner of her eye Ida saw Minster Kanagy approach. She rose to her feet, and glanced at him.

His look asked, “Are you done? Are you ready?”

Ida nodded. “Thanks for giving me this time with them.”

Minster Kanagy's face softened. “You have given of your best, Ida. Even in this time of your own sorrow. I pray
Da Hah
will bless you with a full life. Now that He has taken,
Da Hah
will surely give again.”

“I will pray for Barbara and you,” Ida responded.

Gratefulness rushed across Minister Kanagy's face. “Thank you, Ida. Your kind heart is a credit to us all. We continue to hope for the best.”

Ida hung her head and moved back a step as Barbara and Minister Kanagy's eldest daughter, Wilma, approached for the children. Another of the Kanagy sisters came up, and Ida turned to go. When she glanced over her shoulder, the women had their arms securely around the little ones. She mustn't look back again, Ida told herself as she forced her feet onward. Debbie was waiting when she arrived at the buggy. Emery had Red Rover untied.

“I'll follow you back to Melvin's place and help unhitch,” Emery said as Ida and Debbie climbed into the buggy.

It felt good to be taken care of this way, Ida thought. It comforted her in a way, now that the load of the past few days was behind her. Loneliness rose inside of her, a dark, haunting force. She drew in a deep breath as the emotions flooded over her. This too must be faced. Ida took the reins in her hands. Emery slapped Red Rover's neck gently, and they were off. The horse's hooves beat on the pavement, but otherwise they rode along in a heavy silence. Even Debbie seemed lost in her thoughts.

Ida looked behind them and saw Emery following in his buggy.
She was thankful he stayed close behind for the whole ride. It was as if Emery wished to carry her along by the strength of his presence.

Ida pulled into the driveway at Melvin's place and stopped beside the barn. Emery let his horse stand as he came over to unhitch.

“Are we staying for the meal?” Emery asked.

“I need to go home,” Ida replied without hesitation. “But you and Debbie can stay.”

“I'll take you home then,” Emery said.

Debbie added her own decision. “And I'll go with you.”

Ida didn't protest, other than to say, “It's
gut
enough if I go with Debbie.” It would be right to have Debbie with her. Tomorrow she would be strong again, if
Da Hah
gave her grace. She had said her goodbyes to Melvin's children, and it was best if she didn't see them again today. Emery nodded and took Red Rover into the barn. He came out moments later with Buttercup. Ida held up the shafts and Debbie helped fasten the tugs on the side opposite Emery. They were on their way moments later, Debbie at the reins this time.

“Thanks for coming home with me.” Ida gave Debbie a weak smile.

“I'm making tea and chicken soup when we get to the house,” Debbie said. “You're in for the collapse of your life.”

Ida leaned back on the buggy seat. Her body and mind were numb. She allowed the tears to run down her cheeks. Sobs racked her chest. “I think it's already started.”

Forty-One

A
lvin drove his buggy into Melvin's lane after the burial service and caught a glimpse of Ida's buggy headed in the other direction. He sighed. Surely Ida would have Debbie with her. The two must have decided to leave at once rather than stay for the meal the community women had prepared. He could understand Ida's desire to leave. He'd seen her say her goodbyes to Melvin's children at the graveyard. The whispers around him had confirmed what he already suspected. The Kanagy family, not Ida, would take care of Melvin's orphans.

That he understood, although when Ida hugged each child in turn the scene had been a sad one. Several of the women who stood near him sniffled and wiped their eyes. Ida must have grown close to the children in the short time she'd dated Melvin. That was also something he could understand. Ida would have made a
gut mamm
. The whole situation was a tragedy beyond comprehension. But such were
Da Hah
's ways, and His people would not question them. He hadn't been out in the
Englisha
world long enough to have taken up doubts. At least, not yet.