The Longing (15 page)
“To rephrase it, they’re a pain in the proverbial neck,” he stated flatly, carrying the two dessert plates with a generous slice of pie on each. “Most kids are more bother than they’re worth.” He placed the cherry pie and single scoop of ice cream in front of her. Then, picking up his fork, he looked across the table without batting an eye.
She felt nearly ill. She thought of his own relatives’ children. They were entertaining and smart and responsible. In short, lots of fun. “Are you fond of your young Kraybill cousins?”
“What’s this? Twenty questions?” He stared at her across the candles.
Realizing she was on the verge of spoiling a perfectly good evening with a wonderful man who seemed to dote on her, even love her, maybe, Rhoda picked up her fork and made herself take a bite of Ken’s cherry pie. Even though she had absolutely no appetite now.
Dat says children are a blessing from God.
He rose to pour the dessert wine, and she nodded her thanks as he handed her a glass with a small amount. Holding her breath, she slowly sipped it, as she’d seen him do. She felt terribly tense, like she was falling with no way to stop herself.
Betsy felt chilly and wanted the afghan she sometimes draped over her lap while Reuben read the Bible to her. Quickly she made her way upstairs to the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Opening the lid, she stepped back, surprised at the sight of the small sachet pillow—the “headache pillow” Suzy had made for her—lying on the top of the quilts and crocheted afghans.
How’d this get here?
She recalled having gone to sleep with it one recent night, only for it to have fallen to the floor by morning. Of course, that’s where Reuben must have found it, and he’d slipped it back into the chest.
She stared at Suzy’s delicate handiwork. Did Reuben have special mementos or memories of their Suzy? He scarcely ever spoke of her. Was the pain of loss still too raw . . . too tender? Or had his grief found solace in the knowledge their youngest now resided at the feet of the dear Savior?
Finding Suzy’s favorite spring quilt several layers down, she tucked the sachet pillow into one of its folds and left it safely stowed in the blanket chest. Then, locating the small afghan, she closed the lid and headed downstairs, looking forward to the scripture reading . . . and time spent alone with Reuben later tonight.
The boys seemed exceptionally fidgety during Wednesday evening class, and following the Bible study—geared to junior boys—Chris asked only three questions to test their attention level. After more bantering, he asked for prayer for his father’s cousin, mentioning that a mule had kicked David Yoder in the head. In typical boyish fashion, several bucked their own heads.
To his surprise, Billy Zercher, usually the loner, hung around after the others left. “I’ve never heard of a mule kicking someone.” His eyes blinked rapidly. “How’d it happen?”
“He was fixing the chain on the plow.”
Billy was fiddling with his fingers. “Is he Amish?”
The kid was pretty perceptive. “Yeah. Why did you ask?”
“Well, they use mules out in the fields, don’t they?”
He smiled. “That’s right. Have you seen them?”
“Sometimes, from a distance.”
He watched Billy head for the door. The boy stood there, as if waiting for Chris to say more. That’s when an idea hit. “Say, Billy, how would you like to visit a working Amish dairy farm sometime?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “For real?”
“Ask your mom.”
“Oh, she’ll
let me go . . . if you’re taking me.” His eyes registered near-glee.
Chris was heartened.
Suddenly turning shy again, the boy waved and left.
Chris gathered up the Bibles and stacked them in the cupboard, hoping Caleb might agree. He’d been amazed by how much he looked forward to spending time with his cousin, and he hoped to make more connections with Caleb, to influence him toward the Lord. Befriending him was simply the beginning.
If only it were just as easy to get better acquainted with Nellie Mae. Maybe he’d actually get over his crush if he knew her better.
Only one way to find out.
Was it possible to win her confidence enough to ask her for ice cream sometime, or to go for a walk? How weird would it seem for her? For him?
Was it time to tell Zach what he was thinking? He was reluctant to do anything that might plunge his brother back into the pits of depression.
On the way toward the church lobby, he spotted Sheryl with a girl friend. Thinking it was time he became more friendly with his future date, he smiled, waiting until she finished her conversation. Sheryl’s eyes lit up as she made her way to him, and he struggled with guilt for having set things in motion.
“Hi, Sheryl.”
She smiled prettily, her eyebrows arched slightly with apparent delight. “How are you?” She spoke so softly he had to lean close to hear her.
“The school year’s winding down,” he said, even though small talk was the last thing he wanted.
She nodded. “Another month till the banquet.”
“Six weeks, yes.”
Smiling, she glanced at another friend who waved to her as they passed.
“What color dress are you planning to wear?”
“Pale blue,” she said.
He made a mental note. “All right . . . sounds nice.” He smiled, wondering how other guys did it, making conversation with a girl they knew but didn’t
really
know. For all the years they’d grown up together in this church, he’d never bothered to become better acquainted with Sheryl . . . till now. Why, Zach probably knew her better than he did. His younger brother had always been more outgoing, more comfortable with girls.
Maybe that’s why Zach and Suzy clicked.
Both were more extroverted than he, which wasn’t saying much.
Outgoing like Nellie Mae,
he mused with a genuine smile. Instantly Sheryl brightened, probably believing that his joyful expression was meant for her.
All during the drive home, Chris felt lousy. He could kick himself for putting Sheryl in such a pitiful spot. He sure had a lot to make up for.
Her corsage better be extra special,
he decided.
But wait—if he went all out on flowers, wouldn’t that send a too-encouraging message? He groaned aloud as he drove toward home.
Rosanna took her time laying out a half dozen large quilts at market day on Thursday. Thanks to Elias, she’d arrived early enough to claim the display table closest to the sweets, a popular stopping place for shoppers. This way she also wasn’t very far from several other women from Preacher Manny’s church who were selling pickled green tomatoes, beets, and peppers.
She spotted some women from the Beachy church already setting up, as well. “Hullo!” She waved quickly and smiled, thinking how thankful she was Elias had changed his mind about tractors and cars—and about joining the more liberal Beachy Amish. Such a push and pull that would have caused in their home, just as for any couple divided over beliefs. For now, she felt sure Elias was quite satisfied to attend the New Order church, where the ordination of a second preacher was to take place this Sunday, following the sermon and songs of worship.
She had been praying in earnest for God’s will in the selection of this preacher. As with the old church, the man chosen by drawing lots need not be a learned man, nor one trained in speaking. The greatest difference in the New Order church was that all candidates nominated by the membership had to be willing to study scripture and spend time preparing sermons. Memorizing God’s Word was also emphasized, which was encouraging to Rosanna, who felt like a thirsty sponge during Preacher Manny’s sermons.
She anchored the display table with the quilts’ color schemes, placing the bold-colored ones at each end—a red and royal blue Bars pattern and her Sunshine and Shadows quilt all done in plums, blues, and golds. The softer, more muted colors and designs were for the center of the table. She’d learned this from her aunt, an expert quilter and her mother’s oldest sister.
Usually Rosanna sold out of everything by around noon. She wished that might be the case again this week. Elias had an errand to run over near White Horse, and she was hoping the timing of his return might coincide with her being ready to head home.
Feeling sluggish again, Rosanna sat behind the table, satisfied the quilts were marked and situated nicely. In her frequent daydreams, she often thought of the many lovely baby things she could make, should the Lord allow her to birth a son or daughter. She would gladly use her quilt money for plenty of yarn and fabric.
Following yesterday’s visit to Bird-in-Hand, she found it nearly impossible to stop thinking about Emma Sue, Rosie, and Lena—such considerate women. But was she ready to take another woman’s child as her own?
A bright-eyed young lady stopped by the table, and Rosanna dismissed her earlier musings. She hoped the general weakness she felt now might dissipate so she would not have to reassure Elias again that she was going to be all right. Each morning lately, he lovingly inquired. Yet she wanted to protect him, so she still kept this pregnancy to herself.
“Oh, isn’t this a striking quilt,” the customer said. “Is it the Log Cabin pattern?”
“Jah, ’tis.” She pointed to the large square quilt.
“Is it definitely Amish-made?” the woman asked.
Rosanna nodded. “I laid it out myself.”
“Your work is exquisite.” The woman fingered the edge of the quilt. “Do you ever do custom work?”
“I’d be happy to make something for ya.” She reached for her tablet and a pen, accustomed to sewing quilts to suit a buyer’s fancy. She delighted in the process of choosing patterns and colors and laying out the unique designs, as well as the quilting itself. Every aspect was wonderful-good, including bringing the finished quilts to market. “Which pattern would you like?” she asked.
“Can you make an Album Patch for me?”
“What color scheme?”
The woman thought about it for a moment. “As long as there is some green in it—as a background, perhaps—and yellows and pinks, too, any mix would be fine.”
“Sounds perty,” Rosanna said, envisioning the many pieces within each of the twenty-five squares—as expensive to make as the lovely Dahlia pattern, with its individual gathered petals.
“I once saw one at an antique quilt sale and it went for nearly seven hundred dollars,” said the customer.
“Well, mine won’t cost you near that.” Rosanna explained that the fine wool batiste and wool cashmere of the old days were no longer available. “Now we use polyesters and scraps of old dress fabric, pieces from men’s for-good shirts, and other odds and ends. I even purchase quilt squares just for my work. Does that sound all right?”
The woman’s smile spread across her face. “Oh, this is so exciting.” She took out her wallet and made the down payment in cash, saying she’d pay the rest with a personal check.
Rosanna agreed to the method of payment. She had been told she was too trusting, but that’s how her mother was and her grandmothers, too. And they’d never run into a snag with Englischers, that she knew of. “I’ll give
you my address, and you can come pick it up either at my house or here—at market—three weeks from today. I’ll do a nice job for you.”
The woman wrote her own name, address, and phone number on another index card Rosanna handed to her. “Thank you so much. You just don’t know how you’ve made my day.”
Rosanna glanced at the card. “I hope you’ll be pleased, Dottie,” she said, a twinge of pain in her middle. She smiled through the impulse to flinch as she handed the woman her own address. “Have a nice day.”
After that customer, there were several more sales, including two sisters—Julie and Wendy—who wanted custom-made quilts, as well as crib quilts. Rosanna offered to make a baby quilt in the Ocean Wave pattern at no charge. The sisters were quite surprised at this, but Rosanna insisted and they told their friend Bonnie to purchase the most expensive quilt there, “to make up for it.”
By eleven o’clock, when Rosanna reached under the table for her lunch sack, she felt so hungry and dizzy, she was glad to be seated. She’d thought of going to see a doctor, but she knew such a visit would be sure to worry Elias.
As she slowly ate, she happened to notice her cousin Kate with her niece Lizzy, standing at the far end of the row. They were each holding one of the twins as they talked to the young Amishwoman best known for her jams and jellies, Rebecca from nearby Hickory Hollow.
Try as she might, she could not keep from staring at Kate and Lizzy . . . and the babies. Goodness, were they growing! She stopped to think how old they’d be now.
Born November seventh and today’s April tenth . . . so they’re already five months old, bless their dear hearts.
She began to cry, unable to stop the flow of tears.
“Ach, Rosanna—you all right?” the woman at the next table asked, coming to lean over her.
She could not speak, shaking her head and patting her chest, trying to compose herself.
Indicating the half-eaten sandwich in her hand, the woman asked if there was something spicy in it. “Do ya want a drink, maybe?”
Rosanna nodded, relieved when the woman marched off to get a cup and some water. By then, Kate and Lizzy had evidently moved around to the other side, because Rosanna could no longer see them.
Just as well.
She had to pull herself together, or she might begin to really sob.
And oh, would I ever, if I caught sight of the twins’ sweet faces.
Then she was getting up, compelled by an irresistible drawing.
I must see Eli and Rosie . . . must touch their little hands. Ach, I can’t help myself.
The woman carrying the water intercepted her journey, taking her arm and leading her back to her table and the single quilt remaining—the softly muted Nine Patch in the center. “There, now, this’ll make ya feel better.”
“Denki,” she eked out as she sat down, grateful to be off her feet once again.
“You look altogether peaked.” The woman eyed her. “You got someone comin’ for ya later?”
Quickly she nodded. “My husband will fetch me.” She was so thankful for the water as she took several small sips. Hoping to set her mind on other things, she considered the money she’d made this day and the delightful new customers—pretty Dottie and the two sisters, Julie and Wendy, and their friend Bonnie. She pondered each face, each comment . . . all this to keep her focus away from the fact that her darlings were here at market, in this very building.
