The Longing (5 page)
Children are such a worry.
She thought back to all the fretting she’d done over Suzy. One day she hoped to read her youngest daughter’s diary, though she’d not asked Nellie Mae about doing so—nor would she just yet. Nellie had enough on her mind now, without wondering why her mamma was still interested in reading Suzy’s private thoughts.
As she rode, Betsy settled back against the front seat, noticing the rise of trees on either side of the narrow road. She envisioned the fiery dahlias she and Nan would plant when the weather was warm and the grass green and soft beneath their bare feet. Such bold flowers looked especially pretty bordered by goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace.
Suzy had loved flowers, wild ones in particular. She remembered her often talking of “their woods,” chattering about the many varieties of flowers that bloomed there in all but the deepest parts. The chaos of the forest, the intertwined branches and underbrush that threatened to confuse the casual visitor—all of it delighted Suzy, most of all in early spring. There was something about today, with its fresh, raw smell, that kept Betsy’s mind on Suzy, who had once planted wild flowers in the forest with Nellie Mae.
Chuckling softly at the memory, she knew something had lifted in her in the past months. She was free of the heaviest grief. It wasn’t that she didn’t yearn for Suzy any longer. Oh, she certainly did. But she also envied her girl in a sense, too. Her youngest was sitting at Jesus’ feet, soaking up answers to her oodles of questions as readily as she’d spent hours reading Scripture after her conversion.
“What would it take for all of us to hunger for truth?” she whispered.
Closing her eyes, she prayed for a way to reach Elizabeth Yoder.
Let your loving grace shine on her, dear Lord.
Alone with Nan in the bakery shop while Mamma rode to the Yoders’, Nellie wondered how long before her sister might open up and share with her. She glanced up from her little recipe notebook, but Nan was concentrating on embroidering a new pillowcase. Nellie returned her attention to the cake recipe she was adding to her growing collection. She had started by writing down the recipes customers requested most often and already had filled up half a notebook.
The bell jingled on the door, jarring the quiet of the shop. She looked up from the counter as three customers stepped inside, obviously excited. “Hullo,” Nellie greeted them, recognizing Mrs. Kraybill and two of her neighbors, all nicely dressed.
“How’re you today, Nellie Mae?” asked Mrs. Kraybill, sporting a long turquoise coat.
“Just fine. A perty day, jah? How can I help you?”
Nan glanced at Mrs. Kraybill, smiling even though she must surely resent her for taking away Rhoda.
The women purchased one pie each, and Mrs. Kraybill lingered, asking for the recipe for gingersnaps. Opening her notebook, Nellie found the correct page and offered her an index card and pen to jot down the recipe for herself.
Meanwhile, the other ladies discussed the pleasant weather and the social occasions coming up. Some reference was made to the local high school’s events associated with May graduation, and Christian Yoder flickered across Nellie’s mind.
Not long after, Rosanna King dropped by, asking for five dozen cookies. “Three different kinds, if possible.”
Seeing her friend sitting alone in the carriage as it pulled up, and now in the bakery shop, made Nellie want to go and wrap her arms around her. She didn’t dare ask how Rosanna and Elias were doing without their twin babies, because that would only prompt the raw emotions to surface. Rosanna was obviously struggling to keep her tears in check.
“I’m having a big quiltin’ bee soon. Would you like to come?” Rosanna asked, a small smile appearing. “A Sister’s Day—a week from this Saturday.”
“Sounds like fun,” Nellie was quick to say, and Nan nodded her agreement. “Maybe Mamma would tend the store.”
Nellie thought of Rhoda, wondering how to persuade her to come, too.
Unless she has to work at the restaurant.
Rosanna brightened. “If you want, you could invite your cousin Treva from Bird-in-Hand and her sisters.”
Nellie liked the idea; she had been hoping Treva might come visit for some time now. “Jah, I’ll see if they can get away.”
Nan
spoke up. “They could spend the night, maybe.”
“A good idea.” Nellie smiled. “Maybe Rhoda would join us, too, if she knows about it.”
Rosanna agreed, as did Nan, though neither said more. It made Nellie wonder if they both assumed Rhoda was lost to the People. She hoped not. Surely Rhoda’s strange behavior would be short-lived.
Some time after Rosanna left with her dozens of cookies, Nellie noticed Nan staring down at the counter, leaning forward on her hands and brooding. “What’s wrong?” She went to her side.
Nan’s eyes glistened as she looked up. “Oh, I best be tellin’ ya, or I’ll burst.”
Nellie Mae held her breath.
“Rhoda’s decided to quit goin’ to the Beachy church,”
Nan said, her lower lip quivering. “She says it’s precious time she could be makin’ money to pay off her car . . . and other things she’s itchin’ to do on Sundays.”
“Workin’ on the Lord’s Day?”
“That’s what she wants to do.”
Nellie had no idea what to think. How could her sister even consider such a thing? She hated the thought of anyone putting money over the Lord God—and Rhoda in particular, anxious to hurry up and buy all the luxuries she appeared to be craving. If you were bent on doing things your way, there was only one cure, according to Mamma—to simply go and experience what you thought you were missing. That was precisely what Rhoda seemed intent on doing. Of course, still being in
Rumschpringe
, the running-around years before baptism, she could do pretty much what she wanted.
Hopefully, she’ll get all that out of her system soon.
“Rhoda’s movin’ further away from us all the time, seems like.” Nan wiped away her tears before continuing. “Ach, there’s more.”
Nellie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.
“She’s getting rid of her hair bun . . . wants a short hairdo. A shag, she calls it.”
Groaning, Nellie reached for Nan’s hand. “What can we do?”
“Believe me, I tried to change her mind. But she wants to go fancy. You know how Rhoda is when her mind’s made up.”
“Do ya suppose . . . did she mention a beau?” Nellie asked. “Maybe he’s muddled her thinking.”
“She did hint that Mrs. Kraybill’s nephew is sweet on her.”
“Ach, she’s not thinkin’ straight if she’s letting an Englischer court her.”
“Her heart’s deciding what her head oughta. And, just so you know, she didn’t say not to tell ya, so I’m not breakin’ a confidence.”
Nellie was actually glad Nan had shared this news, hard as it was. “We’ll keep prayin’.” She reached into the display case and began blindly rearranging the pies and cakes, distracted by the thought of Rhoda forever leaving the Plain life, seeking out the world.
“What if she dislikes her short bob?” Nan blurted. “What then?”
“Well, once her hair’s off, she won’t be able to paste it back, now, will she?”
Nan tried to hold in her snicker, and soon they were both laughing. Nan reached to hug her. “Maybe something will keep her from choppin’ off her pretty locks, jah?”
Nellie Mae couldn’t imagine what.
Betsy took care unloading the food hamper, gingerly carrying each item to the Yoders’ back stoop. When everything Nellie Mae had cooked and baked was set in place on the cold steps, she rapped on the back door.
Fourteen-year-old Emmie came to the storm door, a slight frown on her pretty face.
“I’m so sorry ’bout your father’s accident,” Betsy began, realizing from the girl’s slack jaw that she was either hesitant or worried.
“My parents ain’t here. . . . Mamm’s with Daed at the hospital.” Emmie’s voice faltered as she looked longingly at the row of hot dishes and pastries. “Ach, Betsy, it’s awful nice of you, but I ain’t allowed to . . .”
It was obvious the poor girl had been given strict orders not to accept benevolence from the hand of the New Order folk. “I’ll be goin’, then.” Betsy forced a smile, wanting to make things easy for Emmie, whose mouth was watering, no doubt.
“Here, let me help you.” Emmie opened the door and stepped out.
“No, no, that’s all right. Really.” She didn’t want to get Emmie in trouble.
But fair-haired Emmie, more like her mother than her father, offered her a hand with the food anyway, while Betsy silently beseeched the Lord to intervene on behalf of this hurting family. She prayed especially that they might come to an understanding of God’s abundant grace, perhaps through Rebekah.
She wasn’t so audacious as to dictate her wishes to the Almighty, but she had been kneeling and praying so frequently that Reuben said she’d be wearing out the tops of her shoes even before the soles.
May David and Elizabeth and their family—each one—find this great joy, too,
she prayed, lifting the reins as she directed the horse forward, back to the road.
Not wanting a soul to know what she was up to, Rhoda carefully placed three new magazine clippings about distant lands—Africa, India, and Brazil—in her newly purchased accordion file. She longed to travel someday, to fly far away in an airplane. She hadn’t told Ken or anyone else of this dream as of yet. For now, though, she would settle for faster land transportation. And if all went well, this coming Friday she’d have her driver’s license and go out for her first solo spin in her lovely car.
She slid the file beneath her bed, close to the wall—the same place where she kept her youngest sister’s eye-opening diary. The account of Suzy’s running-around time was ever so revealing. To think her life had taken a sharp turn not long before she drowned.
My life’s turning, too.
Quickly she brushed aside thoughts of Suzy’s “saving grace,” much preferring to think of Ken now. It was uncanny how Mrs. Kraybill seemed to have known that Rhoda and Ken would be so well suited as a couple.
Stepping back, she checked to see if either the file or Suzy’s journal was evident from where she stood near the door. The bed quilt wasn’t quite long enough on the side to camouflage her hiding place. She’d suspected one of Martha’s four children—possibly two-year-old Matty—of having scooted under her bed, since someone had bent the cover of the diary. Matty was certainly one to get into everything, unlike his sister, Emma, nearly six. But of all the children, Emma was the one to watch, since she seemed the most interested in
Aendi
Suzy—“gone to Jesus,” as she sometimes said.
Rhoda closed the door securely behind her as she left her room, wanting to talk with Martha. Surely James and Martha were instructing their little ones to respect other people’s property.
If only I had a closet with a high shelf. . . .
Rhoda made her way through the main-level sunroom and out to the kitchen. She found Martha setting down a plate of warm cookies in front of the children, already at the table. Matty wriggled in his wooden high chair.
She smiled at Jimmy and Emma, who looked up from the table, bright-eyed at the prospect of the treat. “Can I talk to you right quick, Martha?” she whispered. “I’d like to buy a doorknob . . . for my room.”
“Oh. Something wrong with the old one? James can repair it if—”
“No . . . it’s just fine.”
Martha looked confused. “I don’t understand.”
Rhoda stammered, “Well, I need one . . . with
a lock.”
“Whatever for?” Martha glanced at the children.
“I’d give you the spare key, of course.” How was she to explain her need for more privacy? She’d craved a place all her own even back when she lived at her father’s house, tired of sharing a room with Nan.
“Would ya mind?” she persisted.
“James never locks anything. No reason to.”
Sighing, Rhoda could see this approach wasn’t working.
“Seems to me we need to discuss some things. James, for one, is concerned about you playing hooky from church the past few weeks, not going to Preaching with the rest of the family. And you’ve been out awful late, too.” Martha’s eyes gave her away: Both James
and
Martha were peeved but good.
It wasn’t like Martha to speak up about such things, but she continued. “You’ve been spendin’ a lot of time with that English fellow.”
“He’s the sweetest fella, honest he is,” Rhoda defended.
Martha shook her head. “Best be takin’ it up with your brother.”
“All right, then. I’ll talk to James later on.” Rhoda turned to go, anxious to be done with this conversation. No matter what Martha thought she knew, her sister-in-law hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on in Rhoda’s personal life.
“When will ya be home tonight?”
“I’m scheduled to close up at the restaurant . . . so it’s hard to know.” She didn’t dare admit she was going out with Ken afterward and that she might not make it back till midnight or later. One of the best things about dating an Englischer was she could see Ken as often as she wished—no waiting for Singings and youth gatherings on the weekends. And since Rhoda didn’t have to be at the Kraybills’ for work till around noon tomorrow, she could sleep in.
“I hope you know what you’re doin’,” Martha said.
“Not to worry.” Rhoda went and kissed chubby Matty, squeezing his soft cheeks.
I can’t wait to have my own little boy.
She could just imagine how cute Ken’s and her children would be someday.
Pushing away any feelings of rejection, Betsy Fisher pressed on, not allowing the slightest bit of discouragement to rankle her. She stopped off at James and Martha’s, hoping to see Rhoda before she headed off to work at the restaurant.
Wiping Matty’s face, Martha told her that Rhoda had just left. She picked Matty up out of his high chair, the tray catching on his pant leg.
“Here, let me take him.” Betsy reached for her youngest grandson as he giggled, all smiles, while Martha continued to wash his face, cleaning cookie crumbs off his earlobes.
“Such a messy eater you are, jah?” Betsy kissed his cheek and set him down on the floor to toddle away.
“James isn’t too happy with Rhoda lately,” Martha said, keeping her voice low. “She’s out all hours . . . on weekdays, yet. And she’s quit goin’ to church, too.” She shook her head. “Not sure what’s come over her.”
