The Missing (21 page)

She walked farther than she had originally planned and was glad she’d taken time to dress, although her feet were bare. In the distance, she heard a horse
clip-clopp
ing up the road and the faint sound of laughter. It was a night for courting, after all.

There it was again. Goodness, if she wasn’t imagining things, it almost sounded like Becky’s laughter. But far as she knew, Becky was still sulking over Yonnie.
Or did Yonnie change his
mind about courting Becky, maybe?

But the farther Grace walked and the closer the horse and buggy came, the more she was convinced it was indeed Becky Riehl’s voice ringing out into the night. Thinking she ought not to be seen, lest Becky and her beau think she was as peculiar as Mamma, Grace darted behind a cluster of trees.

Heart pounding, she stood there, hidden, holding her breath so she could hear more clearly. She leaned her palms against the rough bark of the tree to support herself.

The young man’s voice was low at first, rising and then falling again ever so quietly. She strained to hear but was only able to make out a few phrases before his words ceased altogether. Then and there, it dawned on her that Becky was riding under the covering of night with none other than Henry Stahl.

She gasped and covered her mouth.
Well, I guess there’s no
grass growing under his feet! Or Becky’s, for that matter . . .

The relief Grace experienced then, as she realized it was Henry out with Becky—and not Yonnie, after all—surprised her more than she could begin to comprehend.

chapter
twenty

T
he Lord’s Day dawned with reassuring birdsong. Grace crept to Mandy’s room and opened the dark green shades to awaken her. Her sister stirred and yawned behind her, still drowsy.

Squinting into the beaming sun, she hoped to spot the various species of birds out at this hour, especially Mamma’s favorite mourning doves. She remembered a lovely thing Mamma had once said—
“Birds are like little stars in motion.”

Her mother might have gotten the line from one of the poems in her treasured books. Oh, but Grace hoped not. Any link to Mamma’s first beau, however slight, made her uneasy. She had mixed feelings about all of that, just as she did about the memory of last night’s strange revelation. Happiness for Becky and Henry . . . and a sense of relief, too. Maybe even freedom.

She turned from the window and leaned on the footboard, looking down at Mandy’s ample form beneath the quilt. At such times she wondered if this was how it felt to be a mother. She went to sit on the edge of the bed. “I see you’re awake.”

“I am
now
.” Mandy smiled sleepily and sat up, pulling the quilts up close. “I slept so
gut
after our prayer. Did you?”

“Enough, I guess.” Anymore a deep and restful sleep was rare and therefore a blessing.

Mandy peered out of the covers at her. “Ach, Gracie . . . you didn’t sleep well.”

She disregarded her sister’s comment. “We need to get breakfast on the table right quick. I’ll see you downstairs.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave while Mandy stretched and rubbed her eyes.

Even though she looked forward to gathering with the members on the Lord’s Day, in some ways she was secretly glad this was not a Preaching Sunday. She could go at a slightly slower pace—the whole family could. In her mind, she’d already planned the day, beginning with a visit to the horse stable to spend time with Willow. Bit by bit, Willow seemed to be improving. Dat and the boys had been so attentive and careful, following the vet’s and Yonnie’s solid advice.

Hurrying now to dress, Grace had a hankering for apple pancakes. They might please Dat, too, for he’d always enjoyed the way Mamma grated the apples into the batter for a nice texture. Those and a homemade syrup of sugar, molasses, and vanilla—Mamma preferred that to maple flavoring—sounded just right this morning.

But will apple pancakes sorely remind Dat of her?

Truly, everything reminded them of their missing mother.

Susan Kempf had a profoundly empathetic way with others. But it was her listening ear that compelled Lettie to want to open her heart this morning . . . to tell someone why she’d left her family.

They had been lingering at the breakfast table, sunshine streaming in pleasantly as they watched a rare blue-winged warbler perch on a branch near the window. “Time for nest building,” Lettie said, pointing at the petite yellow bird with blue-gray wings and a distinctive black eye line. Both she and Susan had taken only a second to spot the bright warbler after they’d heard its high-pitched chirp.

“I’m nothin’ like that little wood warbler.” Lettie sighed, testing the waters. “My nest is in shambles now.”

Susan looked at her with soft eyes. “You’ve run away, haven’t ya?”

Lettie bowed her head with regret, still aware of the bird’s vibrant call. Why was she sticking her neck out?
Goodness, I’ve
just met this woman.

“I sensed something amiss when I saw you alone at Miller’s.”

Lettie cringed. How very awkward and forlorn she’d felt there in the crowded restaurant. “It’s difficult traveling alone.”

“Well, you aren’t alone now, are you?” Susan smiled warmly and poured more tea into Lettie’s cup.

“And I’m grateful.” Her new friend spooned up two teaspoons of sugar and stirred it into Lettie’s cup, just as Susan must have observed her do earlier. “I don’t know when I’ve been so cared for.” She squeezed her lips to keep from tearing up.

“I believe you’d do the same for me, Lettie.”

Jah,
thought Lettie, remembering the Scripture:
“Inasmuch
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these . . . ye have done it
unto me.”
She was indeed touched by the woman’s sensitivity and generosity. As she sipped her sweet, hot tea, she contemplated this safe haven the Lord had led her to.

Judah must be praying for me . . . Gracie, too.

“Your family must surely miss you,” Susan said gently.

The words struck at Lettie’s heart. “Oh, and I miss them, too,” she said, beginning to feel comfortable enough to reveal more. “But I felt I had to do this . . . ya see, they aren’t my only family.” She told about her search for her child. “I was young . . . didn’t know my mind, nor my heart.” Between whispers and tears, she poured out her long-kept secret. “I had to find Minnie.”

Susan’s face reflected the anguish Lettie felt. “No wonder . . .”

Unable to speak, Lettie nodded her head slowly.

“Such a hard journey for one so wounded.” Susan’s lips curved downward.

“You led me to Minnie. For that, I’m ever so thankful,”

Lettie said, feeling suddenly spent.

“I pray you’ll discover only what is best, Lettie . . . that if it’s God’s will, you and your child will be reunited.”

“Do you mind if I lie down for a little while?”

“Not at all.” Susan rose to walk with Lettie into the spare bedroom past the sitting room. “Just rest for now.”

“Denki.” Smiling, Lettie sat on the edge of the bed. “May the Lord bless you.”

“Oh, He has, you can be sure.” Susan reached for the afghan and placed it at the bottom of the bed. “I’ll be in the kitchen . . . if you need anything at all.”

Again, Lettie thanked the woman who, when her lips spread into a smile, looked like she might be someone’s guardian angel. With a long sigh, Lettie lay down on the soft mattress and wondered if Baltic, Ohio, might just be a sampling of heaven.

Grace hurried along the road to the Riehls’, aware of the
caw
ing and
chit-chatter
of the crows high in the trees. Not far from the chicken house, a hen and several tiny chicks ran unsteadily across the lane.
The perfect day for a buggy ride,
she thought.

Before she could step foot in the house, Heather emerged from the back door and walked quickly to her car. “Hi, Grace! Nice to see you again.”

Grace waved and smiled. “How are you?”

Heather opened the car door. “Actually, this is the first I’ve been outside today.” She glanced at the sky. “It’s warm enough to sit under a tree with a good book.”

“I agree,” Grace replied, surprised Heather was getting into her vehicle.
Does she assume we’re driving it to Sally’s?
She hesitated, hanging back.

Heather poked her head out the window and looked at her curiously. “Okay with you if we take my car to Smuckers’?”

“Actually, we prefer not to ride in cars on the Lord’s Day ’cept for emergencies.”

“Oh, my mistake . . .”

“I should’ve been more clear.” Grace explained what she’d had in mind—that they might walk back to her house. “Then, we can take the horse and buggy. It’s a bit slower, but—”

“No, that’s fine,” Heather said, getting out of the car.

Grace sensed she was still somewhat taken aback. “Sure you don’t mind?”

Heather shook her head. “Not at all.”

“All right, then. Let’s head over to my place.”

While they walked, several families in buggies rode past them on the short stretch of road. A pony cart rumbled along, too, filled to the brim with young children, an older teenage boy at the reins.

“Is there a legal age for road driving?” Heather asked. “If so, do your people adhere to it?”

“No driver’s license is required, and there’s no buggy training manual, either. But boys are usually fifteen or sixteen before they drive for long stretches out on the two-lane highways.”

“Such a young kid handling a buggy on a busy road . . . it seems crazy.”

Grace didn’t know what to say. She’d taken their pony cart back and forth to Riehls’ when she was only eight. “I s’pose there’s plenty that seems peculiar ’bout us,” she ventured.

Heather fell silent, and Grace wondered if she’d upset her.

Once at her house, they found her father’s gray buggy already hitched to the horse, and headed out onto the road. Grace tried to enjoy the landscape, but she was aware of the tension in the front seat as Heather eyed the dashboard and folded her arms.
Stiff as a two-by-four.

Finally, though, Heather began to warm up. “What did you do this morning?” she asked.

Grace held the reins steadily as she mentioned making breakfast and reading seven chapters from Dat’s old German Bible. “Then I read the same amount from the King James,” she said. “What ’bout you? How’d you spend
your
morning?”

“I slept in, something I often do on Sundays. My family used to attend church once in a while . . . back before my mom died.”

“No longer?” Grace asked softly.

“We just got out of the routine,” Heather said. “I can’t say I miss it much.”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right church, then.”

Heather looked at her suddenly. “I guess I never thought of that.” She quickly changed the subject to the health-related chat room she was enjoying visiting. “I’ve even exchanged a few IMs with someone I met there—his screen name is Wannalive.”

“Screen name?”

Heather tried to explain instant messaging, but to Grace’s thinking it sounded like a secret code.
Why not just say who you
are?
“Wannalive’s an interesting choice of a name, ain’t so?” she remarked.

Heather laughed. “It caught
my
attention.”

“I daresay.” Grace urged the horse onward, glad Heather seemed more talkative now.

“But enough of that.” Heather pushed her hair back behind her shoulders. She let out an audible sigh. “I don’t know how to bring this up politely, but Becky’s little sister Sarah asked a rather startling question yesterday.”

“What about?”

Heather glanced at her. “I guess I should first ask if Lettie Byler is related to you in any way.”

Grace’s heart sank. “She’s my mother.”

A gasp escaped Heather’s lips. “Well, I certainly know how to put my foot in my mouth.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, Sarah asked if Lettie had passed away.”

“Ach . . . poor, dear girl.” Grace was hesitant to say more.

“She was upset. Marian took her and Rachel inside the house after that.”

Grace gripped the reins taut, her shoulders tense. “I s’pose lots of young children in the church are wonderin’ what’s happened to Mamma.”
Just as I do.
“It’s become all hush-hush amongst the People.”

Heather looked worried. “Is . . . your mother all right?”

Grace appreciated her concern. Everyone around Bird-inHand knew of Mamma’s disappearance, so why keep it quiet? As they rode toward Preacher Smucker’s farmhouse, she mulled over what she might say . . . and on the other hand, what might be better left unsaid.

Grace took a long breath. “To be honest with you, my mother left us . . . and I don’t know why. No one does.” She was quick to explain that such a thing was nearly unheard of amongst the People, “although it’s happened for any number of reasons.”
Ach, that was much more than I needed to say.

“Has anyone looked for her?” asked Heather, turning to face her now.

“Mamma wasn’t kidnapped, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

“That did cross my mind.”

Grace revealed how Mamma had hired a driver to take her to the train station. “She’s since made a phone call to that person’s home, just to let us know she’s all right.” She stopped talking to cough. “And last week, a letter came from her, postmarked Ohio.”

“Surely your father must know where she’s gone . . . and why.”

Suddenly, the conversation had become much too personal. “Puttin’ it respectfully, none of us knows. Not even Dat.”

Heather seemed to consider this. “I can think of reasons why a woman might leave her husband,” she offered. “But are you suggesting Amish wives and mothers don’t have the same struggles as other women outside your community?”

This conversation was extending far beyond what Grace had intended. She felt nearly disloyal. “Not knowing much about English women, I’d be hard-pressed to say.”

Heather looked flabbergasted. “If I may be so bold, I can’t imagine living so totally under a man’s control.” She seemed to scrutinize her. “You appear to be rather independent, Grace—working away from home at Eli’s like you do. Surely you have your own opinions and thoughts.” Heather was staring at her now. “Is it . . . well, hard for you to remain Amish?”