The Longing (17 page)
The worst thing about raising tobacco was all the labor. When Caleb’s older brothers were busy with harvests of their own, a whole group of farmers had to drop everything to help Daed cut the “leaf.” It was backbreaking labor to hand-cut the stalks one at a time, leaving the cut leaves on the ground for the sun to soften, before stabbing them onto the long laths and stacking them on the cart for hauling to the curing shed. It was a great deal of work for the return, he knew, having heard his father complain through the years.
Caleb yawned, staring up at the empty rafters. He did not miss hauling the forty-pound laths required to hang the tobacco leaves on the long rails here in the shed. Nor did he miss the insufferable temperatures beneath the tin roof. Late summer’s heat was a true test of a man’s endurance, he knew firsthand. He never had trouble falling asleep during that season.
But these days sleep was slow in coming, if it came at all. He’d struggled with maddening insomnia since his father’s return from the hospital. The minute Caleb closed his eyes, no matter how exhausted he was from the day’s work, his brain kicked into high gear. Even now his brain whirled with Chris’s kind offer to drive Daed to rehabilitation.
Sighing, Caleb forced air through pursed lips. He ought to be well rested before he approached his father on this. He wouldn’t speculate how that conversation might go.
Truth was, everything had changed since his father’s head got in the way of that ornery mule. There were days when Caleb felt he might suffocate. Had the Lord God reckoned to punish him?
Ironically, Caleb actually missed working alongside Daed— filling silo, helping birth calves. And soon there would be plowing and planting. His father would not be present in the fields all day, muttering his ongoing grievances and whatnot. But Abe would be. And Gideon and Jonah and some older cousins, each taking shifts. Everyone but Daed.
Probably not for the rest of his life.
Caleb whittled harder, taking out his frustrations on the piece of wood as twilight fell. He considered the hour difference between the People and the modern folk who moved their clocks up a full hour each April, lengthening the end of the day, instead of the beginning, when work was best accomplished. The fancy practice was called “fast time” amongst the Amish because it pushed everything forward.
“Not at all the way God intended,”
Daed had always said.
Fast time meant more daylight hours for not only work but for play and courting, too, even though most fellows waited till twilight to go out riding with their girls.
He wondered if Nellie Mae was looking ahead to the weekend and the Sunday Singing. No doubt she was pairing up with a new fellow by now. There were plenty of New Order boys to make for a nice choice of a mate, if a “saved” husband was what she was after.
His knife cut deep. Looking down at the misshapen wood, Caleb gave up trying to whittle it into a small horse. Flicking the strips of wood off his lap, he realized anew that he would never have the chance to talk with Nellie Mae again if she met up with one of those “redeemed” fellows. And come Sunday, the new church would have another minister and deacon, too. Apparently Preacher Manny’s group was thriving, not dissolving as he’d hoped.
He reached down to rub the mouse-catcher’s neck. “My girl’s gonna end up marryin’ some preacher-man . . . you just watch and see.” The cat leaned into his hand, purring hard. “Well, she
was
my girl. Now she’s free as a bird. . . .”
It still hurt, though he doubted a single soul knew just how badly.
A gentle rain fell as Nellie Mae sat with Rosanna at the kitchen table on this gloomy Friday afternoon. At Mamma’s urging, she’d left the bakery shop to visit her dearest friend, who still looked so pale, Nellie was sure she’d caught a springtime bug.
Nellie stirred the freshly made peppermint ice tea. “Sure is soggy out there,” she said.
“Elias said the fields were startin’ to dry out, so this shower’s nice.” Rosanna glanced out the window.
Nellie watched it rain, enjoying the peaceful sound. “It’s makin’ down pretty good.”
Getting up for a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies, Rosanna said, “Before I forget, I want to show you an old quilt pattern I found.” She set the cookies down and left the room. Soon she returned with a tattered magazine. “Lookee here.” Rosanna pointed to a picture of a turn-of-the-century cradle quilt. “Perty, ain’t so?”
“What’s the pattern?” Nellie had never seen this one,
but she wasn’t up on the older patterns. Mammi Hannah would know, though—she was a walking dictionary of quilt patterns—sometimes comically referring to herself as having “quilt pox,” she loved quilting so much.
“It’s called Grandmother’s Dream and was made from twill-weave wool.”
“And a Lancaster County pattern, yet.” Nellie looked at the picture more closely. “Will you try to copy it?”
“If all goes well, I’ll make three of them—as thank-yous.”
It dawned on her what her friend was up to. “Oh, that’s so thoughtful of you, Rosanna.”
“Well, I don’t know ’bout that . . . but I
do
want to make something nice for Emma Sue, Rosie, and Lena. They were so kind to me.”
Nellie Mae waited, hoping Rosanna might say which woman she was considering for her baby.
The steady patter of rain on the roof was the only sound as Rosanna reached for a cookie. She glanced at Nellie as if she had something on her mind but couldn’t quite say it.
At last, Rosanna sighed and moved the quilt picture to the side. She kept her hand on it, breathing slowly. “If I told you something, Nellie Mae, would ya promise to keep mum?”
Nodding, Nellie ran her pointer finger and thumb across her lips.
“This is ever so hard,” she whispered, locking eyes with Nellie.
“You can trust me with your decision,” Nellie said. “Honestly.”
“No, no . . . ain’t that.”
Nellie searched her friend’s eyes, seeing the pain there. “Are you all right, Rosanna?”
“I’m with child again.” Rosanna leaned into her hands, covering her face. “Not even Elias knows.”
Nellie’s heart broke for her.
“It’ll disappoint him so . . . when I lose this baby, too.” Rosanna wiped her eyes. “Best not to get his hopes up again, ya know?”
“Oh, Rosanna . . .”
“Pray that I’ll have the grace to bear this yet again.” She wept uncontrollably. “Or for healing, if it be God’s will.”
Nellie fought down the lump in her own throat. “I’ll pray . . . you can count on that.”
“I mean now. Would ya?” asked Rosanna. “The Lord healed the woman with the issue of blood . . . what sort of disease was that?”
Nellie had also read the New Testament story. “All I know is she believed that if she could touch the hem of the Lord’s robe, she’d be made well.”
“Oh, I wish He could walk among us today.”
“Well, He does,” Nellie Mae said.
Rosanna brushed away her tears. “You sense His presence?”
“These days, jah . . . since He lives in my heart.”
Rosanna nodded silently, unable to speak.
“We can show His love to each other—and to others—as we walk through the hardest valleys.”
Rosanna searched for a hankie in her dress sleeve.
“Like the one you’re walkin’ in now.” Nellie leaned closer. “Have you thought of askin’ the elders to lay hands on you, like the Scriptures say to us?”
“But we’re here now. And the Lord promises to be with us when we come in His name, jah?”
Nellie studied her. “You must believe that God will heal you if we pray together.”
“It’s mighty hard, I’ll admit that.” Taking a deep breath, Rosanna seemed to brighten a bit.
Nellie Mae didn’t feel skilled enough to offer a powerful prayer, like the ministerial brethren might. She merely took a breath and did her best. “O Lord, my friend Rosanna here wants a baby with all of her heart—just however you might see fit for that to happen. And she wants to be strong enough to carry her baby till it’s time for the birth.” Nellie paused, hoping she was choosing the right words.
Only the Lord knows my heart . . . and Rosanna’s.
Nellie continued, filled with a deep love for her friend. “But more than any of this, Rosanna longs for your will to be done. She wants it more than everything else. Amen.”
Betsy wished to be in a prayerful attitude all during this gray and rainy day of working in the shop. She had been mindful of communion for a full month now, Sunday being one of its twice-yearly celebrations, with the ordination service following. In preparation for taking communion with the membership, she had committed to memory a good portion of First Corinthians, the eleventh chapter. But it was the twenty-eighth verse that convicted her most.
But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.
She had no known sin in her heart, yet she wasn’t perfect. Only the Lord was that. And there was this awful rift between Rhoda and the family. How she longed to somehow heal the breach.
Ach, the folly of worldliness . . .
Rhoda’s selfish living still hurt terribly. Yet she chose to forgive her willful, wandering daughter.
Several times she had even made the trip to see Rhoda at James and Martha’s, only to find her already gone.
What can I possibly do to smooth things over?
Nan held the door for her as they entered the bakery shop with the still-warm pies and cookies. Quickly she and Nan arranged the fruit pies and two coconut cream pies in the display case. The cookies were set out on platters with plastic wrap over the top to keep them nice and moist.
“I do hope Rosanna’s all right,” Nan said softly.
Betsy counted out a baker’s dozen for each variety of cookie. “I ’spect Nellie Mae’s visit will do her some good.”
“Rosanna’s a strong believer. I daresay she’s been praying ’bout the women over yonder.”
“Nellie must’ve told you, then?”
Nan smiled. “Anymore there isn’t much Nellie doesn’t share with me.”
Both girls have lost close sisters . . . they’ve come to depend on each other.
“God’s so good to give me Nellie Mae,” Nan added.
Betsy couldn’t have agreed more, and she reached for Nan, wrapping her arms around her girl. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right, Nan. You know, I was awful worried after your beau broke things off.”
“Well, no need to, Mamma. I’m fine now.” Nan continued talking about the church and youth gatherings, how she couldn’t wait to read Scripture with Nellie at night. “We go upstairs after Dat reads to all of us and memorize verses.”
Oh, the joy!
“I daresay the younger you are when committing Scripture to memory, the better you’ll remember it . . . for a lifetime.”
“I can see that. Ev’ry poem I ever learned when I was a little girl, I can still recite.”
“Ach, see?”
“What poems do you remember from childhood, Mamma?”
Betsy raised her finger to her cheek. “Here’s a sobering one I was taught from the
McGuffey Reader
: ‘Tobacco is a filthy weed. It was the Devil sowed the seed. It leaves a stench wher’er it goes. It makes a chimney of the nose.’ ”
Nan was nodding her head. “Ain’t that the truth!”
“And it rhymes, too.”
They had a good laugh, and when she looked up, Betsy spied a tan car pulling
into the driveway. Lo and behold if the selfsame blond fellow who’d come Monday didn’t climb out, running through the rain, straight for the shop door.
Well, lookee here. . . .
Nellie wanted to stretch her legs, since Rosanna was resting. She pulled her raincoat up over her head and ran out to see Elias’s new baby goats. She found one of the mothers, a beautiful brown-and-white doe, nuzzling her little one playfully. Nellie was taken by the gentle way the nanny goat had with this baby, who soon began to nurse. The kid still had its horns, so it was less than ten days old, which was when Elias would dehorn it.
An earthy scent hung heavily in the air, and she thought of David Yoder’s herd of dairy cows, wondering how Caleb was managing since his father’s accident. She caught herself.
He’s at the edge of my every thought.
She heard the creak of a carriage and the sound of approaching horse hooves and saw Elias pulling up to the barn. He jumped out of the buggy and quickly unhitched the horse in the midst of the rain.
He’s lost some weight.
Rosanna had said he’d skipped meals recently for the purpose of fasting and prayer. Nellie had assured her that once
Gmee
—the big church gathering this Sunday—was over, he would eat again and gain the weight back. She’d seen Dat and her brothers do much the same when they went to their prayer closets, doubtless pleading in part for God to withhold the divine lot from them, so solemn a responsibility it brought. Yet praying for God’s will, too.
After a time, Nellie returned to the house. She was relieved to see Rosanna had awakened and her color was some better. When Elias came inside, he headed upstairs, saying he’d come down after supper.
“God’s called him to prayer for the future of our church,” Rosanna explained, tucking a loose hair under her Kapp.
Nellie Mae had never heard of the Lord calling someone to pray for something specific. Always before, the bishop had been the one to admonish the membership to do so.
“Honestly, Nellie, I’ve never seen Elias so bent on something. And he’s decided against seeding tobacco this year, too.”
“Seems Preacher Manny’s message is catchin’ on, then.”
“Jah, for sure, even though the crop’s always been a good mortgage lifter, as the tobacco farmers like to say.” Rosanna set a pot on the stove and then washed her hands.
“Some folk still cling to bringin’ in the ’baccy, you know.”
“Sure they do. It’ll take some time before things change much round here, no doubt.” She reached for her wooden cutting board and gathered up the vegetables intended for the evening meal. “All that talk aside, Elias and I’ve found a real home in the new church. We’ve had some good fellowship with two older couples who are like spiritual parents to us.”
Since Elias’s and Rosanna’s families had remained in the old church, their being looked after by older believers was a blessing.
