The Forbidden (16 page)
“Oh?”
“I’ll take you to get one soon, if you like. First you’ll need to study for the written test. I can pick up a copy of the
Pennsylvania Driver’s Manual
the next time I’m in town.”
Though her mind was now reeling with the decision ahead and all she had to learn, Rhoda was determined to do whatever it took to get what she wanted.
To think of
being forever finished with horses and buggies!
More than an hour later, Rhoda bowed her head while Dat offered a tedious prayer, followed by an equally lengthy Scripture reading. Tonight the passage was from the first chapter of 1 Peter. Dat read a verse about souls being purified by obedience several times . . . and something about a pure heart, too. She didn’t feel he was singling anyone out in doing so, but he
was
clearly urging their attention on that particular verse.
He’d be furious if he knew where I went tonight.
She wanted to make sure her father—both of her parents, really—was unaware of her car purchase till it was too late for him to intervene. Not like some of her older brothers who actually sought out Dat’s advice beforehand. Nan had reported that their own brother James was interested in buying a car, too. She assumed it wouldn’t be long before the oldest boys—Thomas and Jeremiah—would also have one each. Or maybe they’d share one between them. They seemed to like to do that sort of thing, living as they did in a large farmhouse, split in half by a center hallway. One side for Thomas and his wife and children, the other side for Jeremiah and his.
After evening Bible reading and prayers were finished, Rhoda waited around, hoping to talk to Mamma. When the time came, she said, “I’d like to move into James’s old bedroom.”
Immediately it was apparent Mamma wasn’t keen on the idea, shaking her head right quick. “Nee.” She frowned. “There’s no need, Rhoda. You and Nan are just fine together in your present room.”
Well, that was that. No one in her right mind would think of arguing with Mamma. Rhoda knew she was stuck, exactly as she feared she might be if she didn’t hurry and set her plan in motion to purchase a car—and net a fine husband.
More than anything, Nellie longed to write a letter to Caleb, but that was out of the question. She sat on her bed, several pillows supporting her back, and tapped her pen on the stationery, frustrated that Caleb could send
her
a letter, but she could never reply. Their situation felt as lopsided as all get-out, and she pushed away her resentment toward David Yoder.
Puh, my future father-in-law!
Wondering if Caleb might also be thinking of her now, she leaned against the headboard, considering their love. Could it survive the expected separation?
The Lord willing,
Nellie surprisingly found herself thinking. Suzy had often written that in her diary, following her conversion.
Would it take God’s intervention for them to marry? She really didn’t want to think that way. Such thoughts of divine miracles and interventions were appealing, but they went against the teachings of the Old Ways she and Caleb believed.
Writing the date,
Monday, January 21,
Nellie sighed. If she couldn’t write her thoughts to Caleb, then what about a nice long letter to Cousin Treva? They’d become good pen pals over the past year, occasionally enjoying personal letters while still sending much of their news in circle letters. Tonight, though, Nellie sought a more personal way to express herself.
Dear Cousin Treva,
Hello from Honey Brook on a very chilly day. Is it
equally cold there, I wonder?
Well, my family traveled to your neck of the woods
yesterday afternoon and—can you believe it—I missed
the trip! I got to holding Ephram and Maryann’s pretty
new baby, Sadie, and it was like time just stopped.
Honestly, have you ever experienced such a thing? I
did not want to give that baby back, nohow.
I felt like such a silly, not getting home in time to
go with my family to Bird-in-Hand, especially when I
might’ve been able to visit you, as well as Dawdi and
Mammi Fisher. Such a Dummkopp I am!
I’m telling on myself, jah? Anyway, I’m hoping
you’ll come for a visit when things warm up a bit—
maybe the next Sister’s Day, if you’re able. If you want
to, you and one or more of your sisters could spend the
night in the spare bedroom next to mine. We have two
more guest bedrooms downstairs, off the front room . . .
and, of course, the Dawdi Haus. That remains empty,
even though I know Dat would like to persuade Dawdi
and Mammi Fisher to reconsider moving here.
Thinking of that, lots of changes have happened
in our district. Nearly half of the Old Order folk have
now gone to the New Order or the Beachys. How many
are still in the old church there? Do you see Dawdi and
Mammi Fisher at Preaching service?
Well, write when you can. I always enjoy hearing
from you.
Hope the new year is off to a good start.
Your cousin and friend,
Nellie Mae Fisher
Personal letter though it was, she didn’t think of writing even a hint about her brother James’s fascination with cars— no need to hand that off to the rumor mill. Such embarrassing news flew through the community mighty fast.
Much like the never-ending guessing about who’s pair
-ing up.
Despite couples’ attempts at secrecy, parents and grandparents whispered amongst themselves. It was a known fact that most mothers of the bride had more than an inkling about the groom’s identity prior to the couple’s intention to marry being announced at church each fall.
Folding the letter, Nellie thought again of Caleb, wondering how to get word to him from time to time. Maybe that was not what the Lord God intended for them. Maybe she was supposed to bide her time—
their
time, since Caleb, too, had his hands tied. Thing was, she had no idea what was going on between him and his father, no idea what good thing was being accomplished, if any, by their painful separation. She felt totally in the dark. Still, she clung to the hope that if she stayed true to the Old Order long enough—proving herself faithful—David Yoder would eventually change his mind about her and allow Caleb’s and her marriage.
I must trust that all will be well. . . .
When the house was still and everyone was deep in slumber, Rhoda found the flashlight she kept under her side of the bed for emergencies. She slipped out from under the quilts and into the cold hall, shining the light on the floor. Going to Nellie’s room, she tilted the light inside, reluctant to shine it on the bed lest she awaken her younger sister.
Once she’d determined that Nellie Mae was indeed asleep, she turned off the light and knelt on the floor, keeping her head low so as not to be seen if Nellie should awaken. Opening the drawer to the bedside table, she reached inside.
Empty.
She moved her hand all the way to the back of the drawer, wondering if it had slid over to the left side, perhaps. But still she found nothing, even though Rhoda had once seen Nellie stash the diary in there when Rhoda had walked in on her reading it.
Where’d she hide it?
Picking up the flashlight, she managed to crawl out of the room, not wanting to take unnecessary risks by searching further. It was mighty clear Nellie had moved the diary, suspecting Rhoda or someone else would try to snatch it away.
Must be some big secrets in there.
Heading back to bed, Rhoda felt rather defeated. First by Mamma’s resounding denial, and now by Nellie’s silent rebuff.
It was hard at times to remember just how close she had been to Suzy, although it had not even been a year since her sister’s death. Nellie’s dreams of her sister only added to the confusion as the dreams and the memories joined together like the pieces of a quilt. Except what remained was not something whole at all, but rather wispy fragments.
Snuggling now beneath several layers of Double Nine-Patch quilts, she wished she had the nerve to ask the Lord God to keep her from dreaming. She needed a reprieve. A good solid night of sleep would be much appreciated.
As she lay there, knowing it was nearly time to begin Tuesday’s baking, she wondered if she ought to let Nan in on her secret. She felt bad about shutting her out yesterday, when they’d shared such a sweet moment together alone in the bakery shop. And then if she hadn’t gone and spoiled things!
She must seek out Nan and open her heart to her, trusting that her sister would keep this confirmation of Caleb’s and her forbidden relationship in strict confidence.
Nellie pushed back the quilt and sat up, yawning and hoping she would be doing the right thing by her beau.
Today is the day!
Rhoda thought as she left the house that morning, bundled up with so many layers she could scarcely move, heading to work at the Kraybills’. If she and her father were on better footing, she might’ve asked to borrow the buggy, but that would have tied up his transportation all day long. Besides, she had no business asking—not considering what she looked forward to doing this very day.
Over the noon hour, Mrs. Kraybill planned to drive her to the nearby bank preferred by the Plain, where she’d fill out the necessary loan paperwork. The thought gave her the willies. If all went well, they would head back to the car lot and make her purchase. Rhoda could hardly wait.
She realized it was premature to purchase a car, but she wanted what she wanted and was tired of being denied. Now was the time to make the leap into the world. Then, once all this snow was gone from the ground, she’d have herself some driving lessons.
Meanwhile, Rhoda would hide her secret out behind the Kraybills’ house, where Dat could not be privy to her deed.
Betsy knew one thing for sure—January held the power to signal the first hints of springtime. Most people would look at her with surprise if she dared say it, but she knew it was true firsthand.
So busy was she in the bakery shop with Nellie Mae there was scarcely time to say three words to her daughter. But she was breathing silent prayers for her dear girl in response to Nellie’s request. Once things settled down a bit and there was even the slightest letup in the continuous stream of customers, she would tell her what she’d discovered in the cold cellar.
Meanwhile, she was taken aback by Nellie’s bold question to a customer, a middle-aged woman wearing a loud red woolen coat and white knit scarf and gloves to match.
“If you don’t mind . . . did ya happen to see a newspaper ad ’bout the bakery, ma’am?”
The woman smiled and shook her head. “No, I actually heard about this place from my neighbor here.” She turned to the younger brunette standing nearby. “But
she
saw the ad in yesterday’s paper.”
The ad’s still running? Who on earth would spend that
kind of money?
Betsy was quite surprised at the revelation but said nothing, simply glancing at her Nellie-girl. She knew better than to ask, “What on earth?” That never worked with this daughter. Come to think of it, it didn’t work with Rhoda, either. And that one, well, she was up to something for sure. Betsy had seen it in her steady, determined gaze that morning at breakfast.
Jah, Rhoda has her secrets, no doubt
about that.
Nan, bless her heart, had resumed the work of cleaning house and cooking nearly all the meals, now that Betsy was helping Nellie Mae in the bakery shop once again. Nan much preferred the quiet of the house, or so it seemed. Was it a way to mourn the loss of her beau?
Opening the display case and removing two pies, Betsy personally was glad to be working alongside Nellie Mae.
So
good of Reuben to allow it,
she thought, grateful he, too, was past the very worst grief. Sometimes Betsy awakened with tears on her face, not remembering ever weeping. Silent tears of loss and of deep joy, as well. Their youngest was with the Lord.
For that reason, September, the season of great salvation for this house, would always be for Betsy the most wonderful-good month of all.
To think it began with my dear Reuben.
Glancing out the window, she noted the low-lying clouds. Winter days were too short, and even this early in the day, sunshine fought to get through the gray haze.
Like the light
trying to shine forth in the heart of a rebellious soul.
She sensed such in Rhoda and could only pray, because confronting her had never worked in the past. Now she wished she had listened to Reuben from the outset; they’d made a serious error in allowing their eldest daughter to work away from home.
“Mamma . . . look, we’re runnin’ out of pies.” Nellie disrupted her reverie. “Yesterday it was cookies, today it’s pies.”
Betsy smiled, motioning for Nellie to come and sit with her, since it looked as though there might be time to catch their breath.
Nellie commented how thankful she was for her father’s contribution of these sturdy, even pretty, oak tables and chairs. Betsy, too, enjoyed having a place to sit and rest a bit, and they could easily see from this vantage point if customers were driving up the lane.
“I’ve been prayin’ for you.” She looked right at Nellie Mae, who inhaled slowly and nodded.
“I want to do the right thing, Mamma. Truly, I do.”
“And you will . . . the Lord will lead ya.” Betsy folded her hands.
Nellie was silent. Then she said, “I sometimes wonder what might’ve happened if Suzy’d lived a full life. Would she have stayed Amish, do ya think?”
“She may not have been as conservative as Dat and I are . . . but once Plain, always Plain.” Betsy smiled. Folks said it was ever so hard to get the Old Ways out of the soul if you were raised in them.
They sat quietly for a time. Then, eager to share what was mighty close to bursting forth, Betsy began. “Yesterday I happened to go to the cold cellar to fetch two jars of peach jam for supper. Guess what I found in the potato storage rack? Sprouting potatoes. Both the red and white potatoes are just a-springin’ to life already.”
