The Longing (12 page)
Chris didn’t dare glance back toward the shop as he approached his car.
Guy time straight ahead—afternoon milking.
He laughed at himself, thinking of all those Amishwomen in one place, gawking at him. “Man, do I need to get a grip.”
Nellie Mae hardly knew what to say, embarrassed as she felt. The bakery shop was much too quiet now that Chris Yoder was gone, even though Treva and Laura now sat at one of the round tables, flipping through Nellie’s recipe notebook and chattering a blue streak about the bakery business.
Mamma was looking out the window at Chris, who was putting the pies in his car on the passenger’s side before getting in on the other.
Ach, that was awkward,
thought Nellie Mae.
It crossed her mind that he might have come here hoping to talk with her again. But why would that be? He was clearly an outsider—and quite a befuddled one at that.
Uncomfortable with so many of us helping him, that’s for sure.
She smothered her urge to giggle and watched him back the car up slowly. He took the driveway at a snail’s pace, glancing over at the house a couple times.
What the world?
She felt a bit nervous as he slowed even more out front, where the long porch stretched across the house and met the sidewalk. Then Chris made his way to the road, finally turning east.
Betsy sighed and sat down to rest a bit. Nellie and Nan had gone to the house with Treva and Laura to help them prepare to leave for home, and here came Fannie—Jeremiah’s wife—with her youngest, Jeremiah Junior, looking to purchase a big batch of cookies for a sewing bee she was having tomorrow. “A whole group of us Beachy churchwomen are getting together,” she made it known to Betsy. “I heard Rosanna King had herself a doin’ over there last Saturday.”
Nodding, Betsy checked to see how many dozen cookies were left. “Jah, Nellie and Nan went with Treva and Laura.” Picking up a box, she asked, “Would ya like a mixed variety?”
“Whatever Nellie has left will be wonderful-gut,” Fannie replied, hoisting her son on her hip.
“How’ve you been, Fannie?” asked Betsy as she gathered up the many cookies, glad her daughter-in-law was cleaning them out so there’d be no day-olds to sell tomorrow.
“Just fine . . . and you?”
“Oh, as busy as ever.”
Fannie pulled out a wad of dollar bills from her pocket. “Here, take what you need.” She kissed the toddler’s head.
“It’s so gut to see you. And you, too,” Betsy playfully wrinkled her nose at her grandchild. Then she counted out only a few dollars and carried the cookies around to the front of the counter.
“Nice seein’ you, too, Mamm.” Fannie leaned up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Sure miss you and Reuben at church . . . since we pulled up stakes from Preacher Manny’s.”
“Come over anytime. Yous are always welcome.” She reached out a finger to tiny Jeremiah, who grasped it. “Here, let me walk you out.”
Fannie accepted. “How are you and Daed takin’ the news about the Yoders? I just feel so terrible ’bout what happened. Poor, poor Elizabeth. I know ya used to be fairly close.”
Betsy sighed. “ ’Tis a shame all around, that’s for sure.”
“I heard they’ve got themselves a new fellow workin’ with Caleb. And he sure ain’t Amish, neither.”
“Are you certain?”
“Well, Jeremiah was over there last week, offering help. Jonah turned him down flat—that one’s got a bit of his father’s edge to him. But when Jeremiah went out to the barn to talk to Caleb awhile, there was a blond-haired young man, dressed all fancy—well, not in fine getup, I don’t mean that—but he surely wasn’t Amish. Even so, he was washin’ down the herd for milking while Jeremiah was there, chewin’ the fat with Caleb.”
“Blond, you say?”
“Jah. Jeremiah said his name was Christian, and he could’ve passed for Caleb’s twin.”
Betsy pondered this as she set the cookies in the buggy. She took her grandson from Fannie, holding him while she got settled. “Ya know, this very fella might’ve dropped by here earlier. Just a few minutes ago, in fact.”
Fannie looked surprised. “Well, now, that’s mighty odd. Wonder what he wants, comin’ here.”
Who’s to know,
she thought. “I’ll ask Reuben and see what he thinks.”
An Englischer helpin’ the Yoders?
A more peculiar piece of news Betsy couldn’t imagine.
Since long before dawn, Reuben had been praying for unity among the brethren, whether Old Order, New Order, or Beachy.
His prayers had deepened for David Yoder, a mere shell of a man. It pained Reuben to recall David lying there so helplessly in the hospital, Elizabeth nearby. Wanting to trust the blessed Lord for all his concerns, he headed outside to sit with the Good Book in his makeshift office, a small area at one end of the barn.
After reading for a good half hour, he reviewed his notes on the particularly fine Morgan that he hoped to sell today.
That’s three now this spring,
he thought, mighty thankful.
When the sun slipped over the horizon, he went out and hitched up his best mare to the buggy. Then he went back upstairs to tell groggy Betsy that he planned to go and have breakfast with Ephram, wanting to keep in touch with him.
My only son still in the old church. . . .
Several magnolias were already thick with buds and loaded down with robins in Ephram and Maryann’s side yard as Reuben reined the horse into the lane. He was coming for breakfast unannounced, which he knew was fine with his son and daughter-in-law. The young ones, too, would make over him, and oh, how he enjoyed that. He planned to build some more martin birdhouses in a few weeks, inviting a different grandson to help with each one. But that could wait—he had other things on his mind this morning.
When Maryann glanced up from the stove and saw him, she smiled and came to open the door. “Ach, come in, Dat. Awful nice seein’ ya!”
Soon toddlers Katie and Becky were tugging and pawing at his pant leg. “Up, Dawdi . . . up!”
Ephram rose from the table. “
Guder Mariye,
Dat! You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“Smells wonderful-gut,” Reuben said, carrying little Katie to her place at the table. Becky ran over to Maryann, fussing till her mother reached down and kissed her curly head and set her in her high chair.
“
Kumm esse
,” Ephram said, waiting for Reuben to pull out a chair and sit at the opposite end.
Down here at the foot of the table, reserved for us old folk,
thought Reuben with a chuckle.
The silent prayer was short, and soon Maryann was passing a platter of scrambled eggs made with cheese, and then a plate of home-cured ham, some French toast, sticky buns, and blueberry jam. There was black coffee and cream right from the cow, as well as fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“Goodness, were you expectin’ company?” Reuben asked.
“Well, Dat, you’re hardly that!”
“Mamma cooks like this every mornin’,” said one of the school-aged boys.
“That’s right.” Ephram looked at Maryann.
Her pretty face turned several shades of red. “Awful good of you to come,” she said softly
.
The children ate without making a sound, except for smacking lips and an occasional burp. Maryann had trained them well—to be seen but not heard. He wondered how long before they might come to realize the differences that so painfully existed between the old church and the New Order.
When offered it, he took a second helping of Maryann’s cheesy eggs, ever so delicious, and another cup of coffee, this time with a dot of cream, which made the children snigger. Ephram did the same, clear up at the head of the table, as if imitating, although he was not one to go along with others for the sake of pleasing them. Reuben had been reminded of that stubborn trait during the contentious days of the church split, when Ephram had remained fixed in his resolve to stick with the old church.
I’ve got my work cut out for me in the coming years, getting him to see the light.
Still, Reuben believed in the power of prayer. The mightiest force of all.
After breakfast, they moseyed out to the woodshed, and Ephram mentioned being tired of the drab, brown colors that lingered on, reminders of the hard winter. He picked up an ax and handed one to Reuben. “I tilled the wife’s vegetable garden yesterday . . . she’s already got lettuce, peas, carrots, and her parsley planted.” Ephram made small talk as he set up a log. Then, bringing the ax down with a mighty blow, he split it in half.
“Soon we’ll be tilling the fields for potatoes and corn.” Reuben made quick work of his own log.
“Thomas and Jeremiah will be using their tractor, no doubt,” Ephram muttered. “So many new freedoms, anymore.” He paused for a moment. “And lots of folk have used them as license to branch out to other things.”
“When freedom comes, one must use good judgment,” Reuben said.
Ephram pushed his straw hat down hard and slammed his ax into the tree stump nearby. “That church split you and Preacher Manny got started, well, it’s opened up a whole bunch of doors that should’ve stayed shut, Dat.”
“Are ya sayin’ give them an inch and they’ll take a mile?” Reuben quit chopping, too, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. “Listen, son, I didn’t come here to squabble.” He picked up his ax again.
“Well, then, tell me: Where’s God’s will in all this disjointed mess?” Ephram asked. “If I can be so bold, I believe the Good Lord gave me a sensible head on my shoulders.”
“Won’t deny that.”
They locked eyes. “That’s why I’ve stayed put
in the church of my baptism.”
Reuben reached for another log. “I understand why you’d want to stay.”
“And why’s that, Dat?”
“For one thing, it’s all you know. It’s familiar.”
Clearly put out, Ephram quickly changed the subject. “Did ya hear David Yoder’s boy has himself some fancy help?”
Reuben shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like him a’tall.”
“I saw the young fella myself the other day, forkin’ out the muck with Gideon and Caleb.”
“Who is it?”
“No one said.” Ephram shrugged. “But he ain’t Amish, and that’s all
I
need to know.”
“Sure wish I could help David during this time.” He scratched his head. “He’s not keen on having New Order farmers over there, doing chores.”
“I guess if David doesn’t want your help, you’d best walk away.”
Reuben wondered if Ephram was suggesting the same was true for him. Things had gotten rather tense all of a sudden. He set his ax aside. “Well, I have horses to tend to, so I s’pose I should be sayin’ so long.”
“All right, then.” Ephram waved.
Reuben lifted off his hat for a moment to fan his head. He walked to his horse and buggy, mentally putting Ephram in God’s hands.
Best place for him, Lord . . . for all of us, really.
Rhoda helped Martha clear the breakfast dishes until she caught sight of little Matty’s messy face. “Oh, look at you, sweetie.” She got a clean, wet washcloth and wiped his cheeks and mouth as he grinned up at her. Then she set to work on the table, wiping it off and catching the crumbs in her hand. Tossing the crumbs into the dishwater, she leaned close to Martha. “Just wanted you to know, uh . . . I’ll be movin’ out real soon.”
Martha looked surprised. “So you’ve found a place?”
“Well, nothing’s for sure yet, but I have two possibilities.”
“And is one of them to return to your father’s house?” Martha’s eyes probed, piercing her.
I won’t go back,
Rhoda promised herself anew, glancing at Emma and Matty playing together, and suppressing her sadness.
“Makes good sense, doesn’t it?”
“Honestly, I just can’t.” Sighing, she wished things could have been different and that she’d been given the freedom she longed for while living there. But that was all water under the bridge, even though she missed Nan and Nellie Mae terribly. “S’pose I should get to work.”
“Have a gut day, Rhoda.”
She blew kisses to the children and thanked Martha for breakfast; then she hurried to get her coat. The phone rang and Martha answered.
“Rhoda, don’t leave quite yet. It’s for you.” Covering the receiver with her hand, Martha whispered, “It’s a man.”
Ken?
Oh, she hoped so, but she felt awkward accepting his call in front of her sister-in-law. Thankfully, the children were nicely occupied in the next room, and Martha was polite and excused herself after handing her the phone.
“Hullo?”
“How’s my girl this morning?”
My girl . . .
She peeked around the corner to see whether Martha was out of earshot. “Well, hi, Ken. You just caught me.”
“I wanted to talk to you before you left the house.”
Maybe he was calling to ask for another date. How she loved the convenience of the telephone and the feel of it in her hand! Not to mention having Ken’s voice so close to her ear.
“I was thinking about dinner tomorrow night. How about prime rib?” he asked.
She leaned against the wall, enjoying the sound of his voice as he talked about wine and all the delicious food they would enjoy. She herself had only had one small sip of a very sweet wine in her whole life, but if Ken felt it topped off a meal, she didn’t mind trying some.
“You know, Rhoda, you never said why you’re leaving your brother’s place,” he surprised her by saying.
“Oh, you know how older siblings can be.”
He chuckled. “Well, would it help if I got you in earlier at night?”
He’s a sharp one.
Secretly she’d hoped her leaving James and Martha’s might move things along more quickly toward her ultimate goal. So far, though, Ken had not even hinted at marriage—this in spite of Rhoda’s attempts to make herself into the sort of modern woman she assumed he’d want in a wife.
Really, she could scarcely believe how well she was pulling off the transformation. She’d steadily lost close to a pound every four days by eating only fruit and juice at breakfast, and a big salad at noon—thanks to the chef at the restaurant on the days she worked there, and Mrs. Kraybill and Martha. While she still craved lots of fattening foods, she was ecstatic about her evolving shape.
