The Longing (18 page)

“Well, I can hardly wait for September,” Nellie said right out.

“To join church?”

Nellie smiled, ever so anxious for her baptism. Until that day, she was exempt from the ordination process, so she and Nan and other non-baptized youth would keep the young children occupied outdoors while their parents chose a worthy man to nominate. If a man received three or more votes, his name went into the lot. Of those men, one would eventually draw the old hymnbook containing the scripture signifying he was God’s man.
Just as in the old church on Gmee Sunday,
she thought, glad Uncle Bishop had decided to ordain a second preacher.

“Must be our church is growin’,” she said.

“Oh, is it ever.” Rosanna steadied the celery with her left hand, cutting firmly through the stalks with her right. “That’s why this ordination comes at such a good time. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“Mamma says there’s not to be any talk ’tween members ’bout who should be nominated,” Nellie said.

Rosanna nodded. “We’re to make it a matter of prayer.”

“Nonmembers can pray ’bout all this, too?”

“Whether you’re a member yet or not, you want God’s will.”

Nellie finished chopping carrots and reached for the onions. “How long before we’ll have our own bishop, do you think?” She’d wondered this for months, ever since Uncle Bishop Joseph had lifted the Bann from the People, temporarily allowing those who wanted to join the New Order to leave with mercy.

“Elias thinks it’ll take a few years to make us a bishop.”

“It must keep Uncle Bishop busy, overseein’ two church districts.”

Rosanna nodded. “I daresay the ministerial brethren carry a love-burden we can’t begin to understand.”

“Dat’s said much the same,” Nellie acknowledged.

“Your father’s a wise man—Elias often looks to him for counsel, as well as Preacher Manny. Manny’s concerned we not ‘go soft,’ taking anything for granted concerning our salvation . . . lest our deeds deceive us.” Rosanna stopped her chopping to look at Nellie. “I wasn’t sure I should say anything, but your Aendi Anna came to see how I was doin’ . . . you know, after Elias and I met with her bishop husband and John and Kate about . . . the babies. It was just so nice of her . . . considering everything.”

Nellie was glad to hear this. “My aunt always loved you, Rosanna.”

“She was so dear, comin’ to check up on me. If Anna were younger, she could be like a mother to me . . . ’cept for one thing.”

“Disagreeing that you can say you’re saved?” Nellie asked softly.

“No matter what anyone thinks, the split is still dividing the People,” Rosanna said.

For some it’s more heartbreaking than for others,
thought Nellie.

Together they dumped all the prepared vegetables into a big pot, and Rosanna added ample salt and pepper before setting on the lid and lighting the gas stove.

“You know, Anna did tell me, without a blink of an eye, that she and the bishop read the Bible out loud every day,” Rosanna said.

Nellie thrilled to hear this.

“Something they’ve been doin’ for a while . . . but she made a point of saying, mind you, that they wouldn’t think of studying or discussing the verses.” Rosanna wore a mischievous smile.

“Nor memorizing, either?” Nellie could hardly keep herself in check.

“I truly believe the Lord’s at work in their hearts,” Rosanna said softly.

Reassured that supper was well underway, Nellie gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good-bye—and take good care.” How she hoped and prayed Rosanna would not lose this baby. “I’ll look forward to seein’ your pretty Grandmother’s Dream quilts next time, Lord willing.”

“Be careful out on the wet roads,” her friend called. “And come again soon!”

With a wave, Nellie hurried across the soggy yard to retrieve her horse from the stable.

C
HAPTER 17

His mom’s eyebrows rose and remained aloft when Chris carried the boxed coconut cream pie into the kitchen and, with a flourish, set it on the counter.

“Are we celebrating something . . . again?” She smiled, opening the lid and breathing in the luscious aroma.

“Do we need a reason to eat a delicious pie?”

“Must be you’re sweet on a cook somewhere,” Zach teased, sauntering over to peer
at the treat. Then, his eyes darting comically, he sneaked a swipe at the creamy white peaks with his finger.

“Hey . . . watch it.” Chris swatted him away.

Zach was nosing around, eyeing the plain white box. “Where
are
you getting these? Three pies in one week?”

Chris simply smiled. “Just eat it already.”

Mom reached for the knife rack. “We’ll have our dessert before dinner,” she said with a smile.

Zach grinned and bent close to the pie.

“Oh, you . . . you’re goin’ to inhale it next.” Mom pushed him back playfully.

Chris loved having his mom around. She’d never considered any job but that of homemaker.
Like Nellie Mae Fisher surely will be.

Startled, he attempted to push away the thought while Mom cut thick wedges of Nellie Mae’s mouthwatering handiwork. He’d sure missed seeing her at the shop today.

After Chris enjoyed every morsel, Zach followed him to their shared room and plopped down on his bed with a demanding look on his face. Chris knew he’d better come clean with his brother. After all, he’d already told their parents about his visits to their Amish cousins.

“Listen, the pies came from a country bakery,” he said.

With an obnoxious smile, Zach raised his eyebrows. “And . . . ?”

“And . . . what?”

“You’re not so big on pies,” Zach shot back. “C’mon!”

Chris sighed. “There
is
someone. . . .”

Zach laughed. “I knew it!” Then he frowned. “Wait a minute. I thought you were flipped out over Sheryl Kreider. Weren’t you at her locker the other day?”

“Well, I
did
ask her to the banquet.”

“So, are you two-timing someone else?” Zach’s eyes twinkled.

Chris sprawled out on his bed, across from Zach’s. “Listen, man, can you be serious for once?”

“Oh, this is
good
.” Zach leaned up on his elbow. “So . . . who’s the other girl?”

Chris paused a moment. “Look, I don’t want to get something all stirred up again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Suzy Fisher.”

Zach shook his head, frowning. “Wh . . . I don’t get you.”

“The girl I like is Amish.”

“Translation, please?”

Chris decided to just say it. “The other girl is . . . Suzy Fisher’s sister.”

Zach tilted his head, looking baffled. “No way.”

“Nellie Mae. But I’m not sure what to do about her. I mean, you know how it is.” He looked at his brother, who was nodding thoughtfully, evidently still taking all this in.

“Yeah,” Zach said, “I know.”

Rhoda slipped out of bed, having already slept for several hours. She’d come in plenty early last night, thanks to Ken’s insistence. Now she crept to the kitchen for a glass of milk, careful not to awaken the children.

Sitting in the light of the moon, the sky having cleared since her date with Ken, she stared out the window. She felt awfully sad. Ken might think of it as having a pity party—she’d heard him say much the same regarding one of the real estate agents at his company, who complained when her sales fell short of making her Realtor of the Month.

But Rhoda’s malaise was about herself and Ken. How had she managed to miss his disinterest in having children?

He was, after all, father material. Wasn’t he? Perhaps he just didn’t see it in himself. Maybe if he spent more time around his cousins, it would help him to discover his paternal instincts.

Moonlight fell on soon-to-be-planted cornfields, and Rhoda stared out at its beauty. She felt sure she could move Ken to her point of view, at least in time. That’s when she decided maybe it
was
a good idea to rent the room from him.

James would want a decision soon—he wanted her things moved out by next Tuesday. There was no changing
his
mind on anything, unless . . . Maybe she could buy herself some time.

What if I went to church with them this Sunday?

Rosanna busied herself with the newly commissioned quilt projects acquired at market. But since tomorrow was communion and ordination Sunday, she was mindful to divide her time amongst cutting colorful squares for the quilt Dottie had ordered, reading the Good Book, and praying for guidance.

The nagging pain in her lower back had faded somewhat today. And her cheeks seemed a bit rosier when she’d looked in the mirror. Overall, she felt stronger than she had for some time.

The mail arrived and she hurried outside, though she was not yet expecting a circle letter back from either her aunts in Smoketown or her cousins down in Conestoga. When she spied a letter postmarked Bird-in-Hand, she was curious.

Eagerly she tore open the envelope, surprised to see it was from Lena Stoltzfus, the kindhearted New Order woman Treva had introduced to her. The expectant mother and quilting friend of Nellie’s grandmother had written it just yesterday.

She began to read.

Friday, April 11, 1967
Dear Rosanna,

Greetings in the name of our Lord!

I enjoyed meeting you so much, knowing we share a like faith. Oh, but I would’ve liked to sit down with you alone when you visited here—to share my peculiar story.

Not long ago, while I was praying, I felt strongly that I was to give my seventh baby to the Lord, like Samuel of old. Of course my husband and I have dedicated all of our children to God, but this baby—I truly believe it’s a boy—is meant to be raised in the house of the Lord.

At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but when it came to my ears that a young woman in Honey Brook had repeatedly miscarried, then lost her two adopted babies because of her newfound faith, I wondered if God meant for me to give him to you, Rosanna. To be raised in the fear and admonition of the Lord.

The more I prayed, mind you, the more I felt this child would be a great blessing to you and your husband. I believe that as strongly today as I did that day more than two months ago.

Bless you, dear Rosanna. I hope to hear from you soon, whatever you decide.

Your sister in Christ,
Lena Stoltzfus

P.S. The baby is due in mid-September.

Rosanna attempted to read the last couple of paragraphs again, but her eyes filled with tears.
More than two months ago
. So Lena had been in deep prayer around the time Eli and Rosie went back to Cousin Kate. . . .

She felt reassured that this woman had not acted impulsively. Because of that and this amazing letter, Rosanna knelt to pray for her, unsure how to respond to Lena’s generous offer. Her heart beat a little faster, thinking what it would be like to someday hold Lena’s son in her arms.
If it is your will, Lord.

Following his father’s afternoon nap, Caleb took extra care getting him settled in the kitchen, with assistance from Abe, who left quickly. His brother obviously struggled with Daed’s helpless state. They all did, but Abe seemed to show it more than Mamm or the girls. Caleb, however, always stayed by to do his father’s bidding, especially if Mamm was out running an errand or attending a quilting bee, as she was today.

Surprisingly, Daed’s only request was for a full glass of cold water within arm’s reach. He would sit while he waited for Mamm’s return. She had somewhat apologetically reminded
Daed before leaving early this morning that this was the big month for quiltings. Caleb had even wondered if Mamm was suffering from cabin fever, although she’d been outdoors plenty to plant many of the garden vegetables with his sisters. She’d announced just last night that the radishes were up already . . . some lettuce was peeking out of the soil, too—
“a bit early.”
Mamm’s eyes had shone at the telling.

She’s making her own happiness. . . .

“Abe and I are buildin’ a ramp for your wheelchair, Daed,” Caleb said.

“What’s that for?” Daed growled.

“You’ll need it to get to your rehab sessions.”

His father’s eyes brightened briefly, like a light flickering on, then off.

“Your English cousin’s son offered to drive you in a van, so you’ll get there right quick . . . more comfortably, too.” He held his breath, waiting as if for the next shoe to drop.

“Who do ya mean?”

“Christian Yoder.”

Daed smiled faintly. “My cousin John’s boy? Well, what do ya know.”

Before Daed could change his tune, Caleb mentioned that Chris had been coming several times a week to help with milking and other chores. “He’s workin’ mighty hard. And just so good round the herd, too.”

Daed nodded and closed his eyes in repose—either that or he was recalling former days.

Should he forge ahead and risk asking to have Chris’s young friend, Billy, come for a visit? Slowly he went to sit on the corner of the table bench, facing his father. “Chris would like to bring a grade-school youngster out to see the farm sometime, Daed. Just for a few hours. What do ya think?”

“This here Chris is a good boy, ain’t?”

Caleb was quick to nod. “A big help, jah.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m happy ’bout using outside help.” He drew a slow, deep breath, eyes cast downward. “I just don’t know. . . .”

Caleb’s heart sank. “Chris Yoder
is
blood kin,” he reminded him.

Another long groan. “That he is. I s’pose it’s all right on both counts. After all, John Yoder and I go back a long ways, though I haven’t seen him in years.”

Stunned by how well his father had responded, Caleb allowed himself to breathe more easily.

“When can I lay eyes on this long-lost cousin’s boy?”

“Chris’ll take you to rehab next Tuesday afternoon. Gideon will help Abe cover the milking so I can ride along.”

“Well, better hurry and get that ramp ready, then.”

With that, Caleb headed for the back door, relieved. On the way out to the barn for the saw, he thought of going back and asking if Rebekah might also be permitted to help out during daylight hours.