The Missing (25 page)

Pondering that, Grace said softly, “Well, you can only know what
you’ll
do. And what you purpose in your own heart to be to him . . . and for him.” She was suddenly distracted by Jessica’s bright toenails, which were the reddest red she’d ever seen. Not only that, but they had little white daisies painted on the big toes. Grace tried not to gawk as Jessica sat there in a ball of anguish, still sobbing as if she’d never stop.

Is anyone content anymore?
Grace wondered.

“You probably don’t realize it, but you’d make a great counselor,” Jessica said at last as she wiped her tearstained face.

“Oh, I don’t know . . . ”

“What you just told me makes me want to sit Quentin down and ask him some hard questions.”

Grace shifted in her chair. “Might be better now than later.”

“I only hope my parents can hold things together until after my wedding. It probably sounds selfish, but . . . I never saw this coming. Neither did Brittany.”

They talked awhile longer, Jessica herself changing the subject back to the lemon cookies Grace had baked. “You’re the nicest neighbor ever.” She got up to give her a quick hug. “I hope your mother comes home soon,” she whispered into Grace’s shoulder. “I really do.”

Grace struggled with the lump in her throat as they stepped apart. “I’ll be prayin’ for your parents . . . for peace to come.”

Jessica brushed away tears with both hands, gathering herself. “My mascara probably ran all over my face.”

Grace merely offered a sympathetic smile. Then, when Jessica tightened the belt of her bathrobe, she said, “Thanks again . . . for listening.”

’Tis becoming what I do best.

“That’s all right.” Grace headed down the front porch steps.

“Da Herr sei mit du,
” she said. Seeing two hummingbirds flutter near Carole Spangler’s glowing yellow forsythia bush, she whispered again, “God be with you and your family.”

Relieved that Dr. Marshall could squeeze in a consultation tomorrow morning, Heather called her dad to let him know where and when. “Or since I’m heading toward Route 340 anyway, I can pick you up at the inn,” she suggested.

“Great. I’ll ride with you.” But presently he seemed more interested in discussing the well Josiah planned to have dug. “Can you believe how fast everything’s coming together?”

“Well, if you think living like a pioneer is fun, I guess . . . um, sure, Dad.”

His laugh was hearty and she hoped he had forgotten the pending battle ahead. Did he really think he could persuade her that chemo was the way to go?

“Have any plans today?” he asked.

“Just a visit to Grace Byler’s herb garden later.”

“Herbs?” He chuckled. “Not
that
again.”

“Dad . . . you promised.”

He paused as if apologetic. “I was hoping you might have time to look at some catalogs and samples with me.”

“This house-building process isn’t too overwhelming, is it?”

“More fun than work,” he said.

“What is it today—tile choices and carpet colors?”

“Yes, and bathroom fixtures and wall paint.”

She couldn’t say no. “When do you want to go?”

He offered to pick her up shortly. “We can have lunch at another one of those Amish hangouts.”

“They’re
restaurants,
Dad.”

He laughed again, and Heather cherished the sound.

The goldenrod will soon be in bloom,
Lettie thought as she walked along Susan’s backyard. She took in the warmth of the sun, the calming breezes.
I’ll miss seeing it along the roadside back
home.
How easy it was to picture Beechdale Road in summer.

At moments like this, she wished Grace was here. Or her sister Naomi . . . if she were still alive. But not Mamm. No, it was distancing enough whenever she thought of her mother’s conspiratorial whispering to Minnie as the midwife had held Lettie’s newborn so close in her arms.
All those years ago . . .
What had her mother so urgently advised Minnie that fateful day?

I may never know.
Lettie headed for the back porch, drawn especially to the wicker chairs with plump blue-checkered pillows. There were yellow tulips in long, rectangular planters set around on the rustic wooden porch. She settled into the chair facing toward the little town of Baltic. Why was it so reminiscent of home? Was it Susan’s thoughtfulness—
so like Grace
?

Her eyes scanned the farmland before her as she relaxed. There were no sheep to be seen in any of the pastures nearby. Was lambing not a profitable business here? For a fleeting moment, she almost turned to ask Judah his opinion, startling herself.

Old habits . . .

She closed her eyes and soaked in the birdcalls surrounding her. She breathed in the sweetness . . . the calm. Was it a tranquil moment before the storm ahead? Or would a peaceful resolution eventually come by talking with Dr. Josh in Nappanee? She hoped her cousin Hallie might respond promptly
.

Gazing at May Jaberg’s house, watching her school-age girls trimming the hedges, she let herself fall into a daydream. After some time—she didn’t know how long—she heard Susan talking with someone in the house. Turning, Lettie glanced at the driveway and saw a horse and buggy parked there. Had she been so deep in thought, she’d missed hearing its arrival?

Just as the unfamiliar buggy began to pull away, Susan called to her. “Oh, Lettie, come quick!” Her voice was shrill, as if something dreadful had happened.

Lettie rose immediately and hurried into the house, where she found Susan in a heap on the wooden kitchen bench, rocking back and forth, her hands covering her face. “No . . . no . . . this just can’t be.”

Lettie rushed to her side, kneeling down. “Ach, Susan . . . what is it?”

“Edna, my younger sister . . . was out in the buggy with four of her little children and the new baby.” Her hands trembled and Susan’s face was ashen as tears slid down her cheeks. “The buggy was hit by rocks as she drove to market. Two-year-old Danny was hurt badly.”

Lettie, still kneeling, gripped her hand.
Oh, poor, dear
child . . .

“I must go and help Edna with the baby and the other children.” Susan returned the squeeze, then rose to head for the stairs.

“Of course.” Lettie would have offered to go, too, but she felt frozen with dread.
Help Susan’s poor sister, O Father . . . and
her injured little boy!
She was overcome with tears for Edna and her son.

When Susan returned from upstairs, the woman’s eyes were puffy and red. “Should you be drivin’ alone?” Lettie asked.

“The town’s a little less than forty minutes away by buggy . . . I’ll be fine.” Susan pulled her shawl off the peg. “Help yourself to whatever you find. There’s plenty of food in the pantry.”

“Denki.”

“I’ll be back before dark.”

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

Susan must’ve sensed what was churning in Lettie’s heart. “I travel this route several times a month.” She wiped her eyes and sighed loudly. “Such a hard time for my sister. The authorities are urging Edna to press charges against the boys who did this. She’ll have to go to court sometime soon.”

Susan didn’t mention the town where Edna and her family lived, which was just as well.
Sometimes ’tis best not to know,
Lettie thought.

“Take your time, won’t ya?” she urged.

“You wanted to cook in my kitchen, jah?” They shared a sad smile. “May Jaberg will be happy to drive you if need be. She also has a telephone . . . if necessary.” Susan’s face was tear-streaked as she kissed Lettie’s cheek. “Make yourself at home.”

Lettie followed Susan down the back steps to help hitch the horse to the carriage. In the field, just beyond the fence, several farm boys in overalls with fraying hems joked and called to one another, their glee carried back and forth on the wind.

Later, when Susan was safely on her way and the back of the buggy was a small black dot, Lettie turned and climbed the steps into the house again. The quiet was nearly more than she could bear as she stood at the kitchen window, peering out at the bright day. Sunlight played off the rickety tin roof of the neighbors’ woodshed, and birds of every species clambered to the sky.

She wouldn’t consider a visit to May today. She was too distraught . . . too emotional. She felt nearly raw at the thought of Edna’s suffering, yet Lettie knew the police would not convince Edna to file criminal charges. The Good Book instructed them to forgive “seventy times seven,” and Edna and her husband would do just that, in spite of their wee son’s injury. How many times had her own bishop instructed them to turn the other cheek?

Will Judah forgive me someday, too?
The uneasiness came from the depths of her heart. Lettie feared having to reveal her secret sin, protected in her consciousness for so long.
Will I have the
courage to tell my husband about Samuel’s and my baby . . . when the
time comes? And how will Judah react when he hears?

As if looking for answers, Lettie wandered to the room where she was staying. On the bureau she found her favorite poetry book and tenderly opened to “The Bridge” by Henry W. Longfellow. Silently, she read the entire poem, but her eyes lingered on two particular stanzas.

And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

“ ‘As long as life has woes,’ ” she murmured, weeping not only for little Danny, Susan’s wee nephew, but for herself, too.

A sudden and gripping terror besieged her, and she found herself worried . . . wondering if her first child was even alive. Lettie closed the poetry book, enfolding it in her arms like a baby.

What if my searching is all for naught?

chapter
twenty - four

H
eather dreaded tomorrow’s consultation with LaVyrle. She had no idea what her father might say.
Will he voice his opinions
too freely?

The pending visit kept her from fully enjoying her time with Dad even as he kept her occupied all morning and afternoon, making snap decisions about paint and bathroom tile, sink and commode styles, and every other little detail that went into building a house. It had taken the entire day, but she overlooked it—his company was even more precious now that she might lose it. And, true to his word, Dad never once brought up her illness.

Between catalogs and store samples, they talked fondly of Mom. So much that Heather wondered if he was still coming to grips with what had gone wrong with her treatment. If so, wouldn’t he consider doing things differently this time?
A second
chance of sorts?
Didn’t most people wish they could go back at some point and redo at least a part of their past?

On the return ride to the Riehls’ place, her dad pulled over and parked near the house site. He craned his neck forward, leaning on the steering wheel as he admired his property once again. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

She had to agree. “When will they start excavating?”

“Josiah says in a few days, once the building permit’s acquired. Meanwhile, I’d like to get our present house ready to put on the market, even though it’s an abysmal time to sell. Thankfully there’s plenty of equity in it.” He talked of having some loose ends to attend to at work, saying he hadn’t told his boss that he was thinking of taking early retirement. “But with the other house to sell, there’s no rush on that.”

She was intrigued by his fascination with building, something he and Mom had never endeavored. Times like this, seeing him so invigorated by the challenge ahead, she wanted to take a mental picture and file it somewhere safe.

“Don’t forget, we have a date tomorrow,” he said out of the blue.

She nodded, not looking forward to the discussion with him that was sure to follow the conference with LaVyrle.
Unless,
of course, things go well . . .
And while he rambled on about his need to secure an electrician—something Josiah wouldn’t be handling—she reconsidered the idea of touring Grace’s herb garden today.
It’s not as if it’s going anywhere.
And as understanding as Grace had been, surely she wouldn’t mind if Heather bailed.

Her mind wandered to Grace’s missing mother, and she felt sincerely sad. The loss of a parent—that, she could identify with.

She picked at her shirt as they pulled up to the familiar sight of Andy and Marian’s house. Their young daughters were watering the flower beds out front.

“Well, here you are . . . I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dad leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for hanging out with your old man.”

“Oh, Dad.”

“It was fun . . . at least for me.”

She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

Chipper’s good,
Heather thought, opening the door.
Tomorrow
will be a different story.

Grace kept so busy with the washing and folding, as well as working the afternoon shift at Eli’s, she forgot all about Heather’s interest in seeing the herb garden until twilight. Hurrying to the front door, she looked toward the Riehls’ house and saw Heather’s car parked in the driveway.
Maybe
she forgot, too.

Grace had felt sure she’d gone out of her way to make the English girl feel welcome. Goodness, the poor thing was terribly ill . . . she needed all the information about natural healing she could get. But surely the visit to Sally had been helpful, and she knew Heather would soon be returning to the naturopath.

Standing there with mending in her hand, Grace suddenly remembered Mammi Adah’s dress—all pressed and waiting to be worn. She made her way to the sewing room and left her mending in a neat pile on the table. “I ironed your dress,” she told her grandmother, who was fussing over square arrangements for a yellow-and-green baby quilt. “It’s all ready.”

Mammi looked up, smiling. “You did a nice job, Gracie . . . as always.”

“Let me know when you need another one sewn. I’m happy to help.” Grace noticed the baby quilt Mammi Adah was working on and felt she might burst. For days now, she’d wanted to ask the gnawing question. Gathering her wits, she said, “I didn’t tell you something, Mammi . . . after I called the Kidron Inn. I should’ve, I guess.”