The Missing (31 page)
Adah had seen Grace hurry to the barn with the lantern and wondered what she was up to. Surely there was something, for she’d noticed Grace glancing over at her father every few minutes all during supper. Living with folk in such close proximity, she had no trouble noticing this kind of hesitancy, if not apprehension, coming from her granddaughter.
What can it mean?
It had been some time since Adah had attended any work-related get-togethers. Most of the womenfolk were busy tending gardens and doing spring housecleaning. Some of the younger wives were helping their husbands rake hay, too. Anyway, she hadn’t heard much of the usual tittle-tattle.
“Jakob, love.” She looked over at him, sitting in his favorite chair, there in the front room. “You don’t s’pose the Riehls’ boarder and our Gracie are becoming fast friends, do ya?”
“How would I know?”
“I saw them walking together today, just a-talkin’ to beat the band.”
He turned his head slightly. “Is that so.”
“I sure hope that Englischer doesn’t put a spell on our Gracie.” She frowned.
“Now, Adah, what on earth?”
She pulled a hankie from beneath her sleeve and began to fan herself. “It’s just a peculiar feelin’ I have.”
“Borrowing trouble, I daresay.”
She looked up and there stood Grace, the biggest smile on her face.
“Am I ever glad to see you’re both in the same room,” Grace said, looking first at her, then at Jakob.
“What’s on your mind, child?” Jakob sat up, more alert than before.
“I know something that’s sure to make you smile.” Grace came into the dim room and sat with them. “Word has it Mamma was seen this morning in a little town south of Sugarcreek, Ohio.” She explained that a friend of hers had heard it from Nancy and Sylvia Fisher. “They saw Mamma with their own eyes.”
“Well, for pity’s sake!” Jakob said.
Adah fanned herself even more briskly with the hankie. “
Gut
news, indeed.”
Grace began to share all sorts of details, but then, in the midst of that, she startled them by saying she’d gotten her father’s permission to travel there. “I’m leaving tomorrow . . . with Heather Nelson.” Grace motioned toward the north window. “But we’ll be gone and back before ya know it.”
“Goin’ to fetch your Mamma?” Adah asked.
“If she’ll agree to come . . .” Grace looked momentarily sad.
Jakob had fallen silent. And there was nothing more Adah could share, either, that would benefit Grace. Nothing at all. Even though it was wonderful to know where Lettie was, she was in turmoil. Why would Grace want to go with a near stranger? And what had gotten into Judah to say that she could?
“It won’t be long till we’re all together again,” Grace was saying. “Least I hope so.”
“We’ll pray that way.” Adah looked at Jakob, wishing for all the world he’d say something.
“You don’t seem as happy as I thought you’d be.” Grace turned in the chair, folding her arms. “Neither of you.”
Jakob spoke at last. “No one knows why your Mamma up and left like that, Gracie.” He drew a slow breath. “Seems she just might need to decide when to come home . . . on her own.”
“You really think so?” Grace asked.
Jakob tugged on his beard and nodded.
“We’d hate to see you disappointed,” Adah said.
“Well, why not look on the bright side? Maybe knowin’ how much we all miss her will encourage Mamma.” Grace rose suddenly, looking as though she might cry. “I best be getting back to Mandy and the boys. Dat will be starting evening prayers pretty soon.”
“Jah, ’tis that time.” Jakob reached for the Good Book.
“Pray for us, won’t ya?” Grace said before slipping into the hallway.
“Ever so hard, dear one,” Adah whispered.
Sleep would be difficult to come by tonight, Adah knew, thinking now of her favorite psalm. While Jakob thumbed through the Bible to find his place, she recited the verse silently and embraced the truth of the words:
Yet the Lord will command
his lovingkindness in the daytime, and in the night his song shall be
with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.
B
efore dawn the next day, I packed a few things in a small suitcase I borrowed from Mammi Adah. Not wanting to awaken Mandy or Dat, I merely looked in on my sleeping sister and then crept down the stairs, eager to get an early start on the trip, as Heather’d suggested when we discussed it last evening.
In the kitchen I chose two firm bananas from the bunch and sliced some sweet pumpkin bread made fresh yesterday—a poor substitute for a hot breakfast, but I wasn’t certain if or when we might stop for the noon meal.
Outside, I waited silently for Heather’s car to appear. Across the meadow to the north, the Riehls’ rooster was crowing. The morning stillness carried the familiar sound like a loudspeaker. And as the rooster heralded the coming dawn, I wondered if it was somehow a good omen—a declaration of happy things to come—even despite the damper my grandparents had thrown on my leaving.
Heather soon arrived, the blue of her car blending in with the darkness.
“I’ll come up the drive without headlights,”
she’d said, wanting to be considerate and not cause a rumpus so early.
We exchanged “hullos,” and I got myself settled in quickly. Then, as we backed up to the road, I found myself staring at the tall outline of Dat’s big house—the place I’d always called home. A lump crowded my throat as I realized we were heading in the same direction Mamma had gone, leaving behind the familiar landscape I loved.
To think I’d agreed to travel so far with Heather in her fancy car with what Heather called a GPS. Whatever that was! And I mean fancy, with her small, portable telephone guiding our way. She sat in the driver’s seat, surprisingly relaxed, tapping her long fingers on the steering wheel in time to a peppy song. Perhaps it was the music that made her cheerful—the “tunes” on the radio nestled into the dashboard, nearly in front of my nose. The worldliest music I’ve ever heard. She seemed so happy-go-lucky, I wondered if she looked on this trip as a final adventure before her stay at the Wellness Lodge.
In no time, the highway seemed to open up, with little traffic due to the early hour. I spotted the exit signs for the city of Carlisle, already missing the lush, thick carpet of green meadowland where our white lambs frisked about with their mothers. Where Becky’s father’s herd of cattle grazed—all the cherished sights fading with the miles.
Goodness, but it seemed like just yesterday I’d planted all the new herbs, replacing those lost to winterkill. Mamma still was at home with us during that garden-planting time. I doubt she would’ve believed I’d be leaving now for Holmes County with an English girl I’d just met. Despite that, it was a blessing how things had fallen into place.
As we continued onward, the sun gradually peeped over the hills behind us. I could see the golden gleam in the mirror jutting out from my side of the car. No turning around now, even though I could still smell the earthy fragrance of our gardens back home. I’d left both plots well weeded and watered. I had also checked each of the birdfeeders. The black-capped chickadees had certainly moved in again, making themselves at home in our yard. I’d paused to watch three of them fussing over the sunflower seeds Yonnie and I put out. It was sweet the way they held a seed in their black beaks and shook their little heads, their white cheeks twittering with their whistle-like song:
fee-bee-ee
.
Does Mamma see different kinds of birds where she’s staying?
Has she started a new list of sightings?
Oh, surely she hadn’t begun putting down roots anywhere else. When I allowed myself to ponder such things, I felt ever so sad. But I didn’t want to distract Heather with my sniffling. No, she needed to keep her wits about her and watch the road as the signs and cities flew past us on our long journey.
Long, indeed.
Heather told me it might take till mid-afternoon to arrive, what with stopping for gasoline and a sandwich or something to drink. Honestly, I didn’t dare get my hopes up about bringing Mamma home. I’d be misleading myself. Even so, I wondered how I’d feel if she refused my invitation. Yet at the same time, it was hard not to consider what life might be like if she
did
agree to return
.
How long before Dat and all of us might begin to understand what had compelled her to leave in the first place?
How long before the pain and sadness fade away?
Sighing, I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes, trying to imagine Mamma’s face at first seeing me.
Will she be
pleased?
If all went well, our family would be complete once again. Oh, such a joyful reunion that would be!
Surely you’re ready now, Mamma. Surely you’re longing for
home. . . .
O
ffering the words
thank you
is the mere tip of the proverbial iceberg for the gratitude I wish to extend here. While Heather Nelson’s story is entirely fictional, her decision to choose naturopathic treatment is based on years of my interest and research into the topic, including interviews with and invaluable gleanings from many helpful sources, including the follow-ing: Joel Fuhrman, MD; David Frahm, certified naturopathic doctor and co-founder of Health
Quarters
Ministries; Gabriel Cousens, holistic MD; and Judith Chandler, NP. However, I do not endorse any particular healing methods—conventional, holistic, or otherwise.
My constant thanks to David Horton for shepherding this new trilogy with much joy; and to Rochelle Glöege, my line editor, who finesses my writing with such grace. My content editor, Julie Klassen, and I had great fun poking around the quaint town of Baltic, Ohio, and eating at the well-known Miller’s Dutch Kitch’n during my recent book tour. Thanks so much, Julie!
Great appreciation to Hank and Ruth Hershberger, who graciously answered my questions about Ohio Amish tradition. As for Pennsylvania Amish, my Lancaster County consultants have gone the third and fourth miles on a regular basis, for which I’m ever grateful. Hugs to Carolene Robinson, who drops everything to answer my medical questions no matter the time of day. I appreciate you!
To my faithful reviewers, Ann Parrish and Barbara Birch—thanks so much. Also, I cannot imagine writing a single novel without each of my devoted partners in prayer.
As always, thanks to my husband and first reader, Dave, for all the sacrificial hours and sweet encouragement!
Finally, all praise and honor to our heavenly Father for anything that is considered good or redemptive in these pages.
Soli Deo Gloria!
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