The Missing (8 page)

What she
did
recall was being told by her mother not to fret, that the doctor had already set up the baby’s legal adoption with a local attorney.
But with which law office?
she wondered now.
Was I ever told his name . . . or the doctor’s?

Trudging to the mirror, she lifted off her Kapp and began to pull the hairpins from her bun, letting down her waist-length hair.
My mother made me remove my prayer veiling and hair bun
for the birthing. . . .

The frightful day rushed back, and Lettie felt as helpless in that moment as she had in the hours before and after delivering her first baby. The precious child she’d never seen and never held had been born so far from home, in an inn full of strangers. So unlike her children with Judah, who were born upstairs in Judah’s and her own bedroom, with their father sitting near the window, eagerly waiting to hear each newborn’s cry. Such blessed births those had been, yet even they had been overshadowed by the first.

“ ’Tis best this way,”
Mamm had repeated the midwife’s words to Lettie hours after her firstborn was bundled away.
“For the
baby and for you, dear one.”

“Dear one,” she whispered now. Shaking off the injustice, she let her thoughts drift homeward. She pictured Grace or Mandy finding her letter in the mailbox, the girls vying to read it, their heads nearly touching.

“How can I bear this?” Lettie whispered. In her mind’s eye, she saw Judah coming in from the barn to wash up. “Mamma wrote us,” one of the children might say, handing him the envelope. Would he be curious enough to look for the postmark, see Ohio, and wonder why she had chosen to travel there?

He never knew what happened to me in Kidron,
she thought with a mix of regret and sorrow.

There were times when she wished her mother had not demanded their secret be kept from Judah. The unsuspecting young man had married a girl he had scarcely courted. She was not the innocent bride Judah Byler had assumed he was getting. And for that, Lettie was still sad. Sad . . . and terribly sorry.

Yet she had never dared question her parents. Why had she been so willing to let Dat and Mamm make all the decisions for her, whisking her away? Oh, but she knew. As their daughter, Lettie had been expected to obey, to go along with whatever they had deemed right and good for her. Her idolatry of Samuel had created a wound in her family, and giving up her baby was her punishment. Certainly she had let her parents down, and there was no forgiving that. No forgetting, either.

She had been so terrified those weeks and months. Afraid Samuel would no longer love her, cast her away if he discovered she was with child. At night she stared up at the sky from her bed, terrified that her future was doomed . . . that if Samuel left her and the secret got out, not a single boy in the church district would ever want her. She would end up living her life as a
Maidel,
trapped with her unyielding parents.

And now here I am alone, and by my own doing
. . . . The past continually plagued her, as did a new and growing fear that the longer she stayed away from home, the angrier Judah might become. Had she waited too long already?

Lettie pulled her hair over to one side and lowered herself onto the bedspread.
Will I be put off church soon?
she thought, becoming anxious about the
Bann
and shunning
.

She gripped the edge of the pillowslip as tears rolled down her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.
Oh, dear Lord,
help me,
she groaned, feeling lost. She must find Minnie Keim. Somehow she must. And the doctor, too, who would surely know something about her baby. Anything.

A train rumbled through the downtown crossing, and its whistle startled her. She curled up on the bed, tucking her chubby bare feet beneath her long skirt. Ever so spent, Lettie gave in to sweet and irresistible sleep.

Grace watched her fifteen-year-old brother dart across the yard, lean and nimble as a katydid. “Hope you cooked enough,” Joe said, glancing back over his shoulder at the barn as he came into the kitchen.

“Enough what?”

“Food, silly.” Joe’s light brown hair was matted under his ratty straw hat, which he had just removed to fan himself. “Yonnie’s goin’ to be putting his feet under your table today.” His brown eyes sparkled as if delighted.

“Today?” She drew in her breath.

“And every day, prob’ly . . . ’cept for Saturday and the Lord’s Day.” He scratched his oily head. “Dat wants him workin’ here, seems. At least till birthin’ season is past.”

“Dat does?” She puffed the words out of her mouth.

Joe nodded. “Yonnie’s mighty
gut
with the frail lambs. That’s his job, makin’ sure the new ones that’re rejected by their mothers are bottle-fed frequently.” He went on, lauding Yonnie as if he was his long-lost brother.

“You best be washin’ up,” she told him and headed back to the table. Grace did not like this unforeseen turn of events, not one bit. Her hands shook as she filled each glass with water.
Cooked enough food, indeed!

chapter
eight

A
t dinnertime, Yonnie sauntered indoors with Adam and Joe to wash up. Grace felt awkward and disconcerted with Yonnie staying for the noon meal. And he was looking her way, of all things.

“Where would ya have me sit?” he asked quietly, drying his hands.

In your own kitchen
, she thought. His steady gaze unnerved her as he waited for her response. Did her expression give her away? Could he tell she was displeased?

“Right there’s fine.” She pointed to an empty spot on the bench down near where Dawdi Jakob always sat.

Not only did he slide in next to her grandfather, but he chattered like a magpie before the silent blessing. Dat’s frequent blinks seemed to suggest Yonnie’s yammering surprised him, as well.

After Dat’s prayer, Yonnie lost no time in dishing up a generous portion of beef stew. Grace had made hot biscuits, too, serving those alongside dishes of pickled beets, chowchow, and Mamma’s delicious dill pickles.

But she could hardly wait for the meal to end. Goodness, but other than Adam and Joe, she’d never fed another young fellow in this kitchen, including her former fiancé.

She sat stiffly next to Dat, in her mother’s usual place, her hands fidgeting beneath the oilcloth. She picked at her apron and tried to avoid Yonnie’s eyes. This fellow seemed downright indifferent to their traditional ways—either that or he was just plain stubborn.

Like her father and brothers, Yonnie cleaned his bowl several times. Grace lost count how many. If there was anything to be relieved about, it was that Yonnie brought an air of surprising ease with him, an arresting confidence she’d not seen in other men his age.

As he talked with Joe and Dawdi Jakob, who seemed quite friendly toward him, she considered that Becky must be right now pining for Yonnie, next farm over. Clenching her teeth, Grace reached for her water glass.
I must talk to her soon
.

Then, because Mandy had insisted earlier that her sweet tooth needed some attention, Grace brought out two snitz pies made with dried apples. Her sister could not conceal her delight; food always seemed to do the trick with her. And the pies weren’t lost on Yonnie, either, she noticed.

When the pies were gone but for a few slices, Yonnie thanked her across the table. “Denki, Grace . . . a wonderful
gut
meal.”

She could hardly believe her ears. What a peculiar thing to do! Although there was no denying how nice such a compliment was to hear, rather than the slurping and burping men traditionally used to show appreciation at the table.

Later, when the kitchen was empty, except for Mandy at the sink, Joe pulled Grace aside. He steepled his fingers. “You’re scheduled to work at Eli’s today, ain’t?”

“Jah, and I need to leave right quick.” Grace noticed the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes and drew a long sigh. “Joe . . . why are you askin’?”

“Just thinkin’ something might be a
gut
idea,” he said.

“Listen, I’ll be walkin’ to work if it’s not
you
who’s drivin’ me. Ya hear?”

Joe’s expression changed from comical to more serious as he glanced in the direction of the barn—and probably Yonnie. He ran his hand through his light brown hair, making his bangs stand straight up. “All right, then.” With that he headed for the hallway to get his straw hat. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave,” he called back.

Mandy started giggling. “What was
that
about?”

“Pure nonsense,” Grace told her. But to herself, she wondered why her younger brother wanted to push her off on Yonnie for the drive to Eli’s.
Why, when Joe surely knows what
Adam thinks about me ending things with Henry Stahl?

While removing expired items from the shelves, Grace pondered her next step in finding her mother.
Should
she write to her mother’s cousin Hallie—ask if Mamma was visiting there? Considering how mysterious Mamma had been, she realized that contacting Hallie might present a problem, especially if Mamma hadn’t gone to Indiana . . . or if her cousin wasn’t aware of Mamma’s leaving home.

No sense in embarrassing Mamma further,
Grace thought,
no
matter how badly I want to locate her.
She was deep in thought, wishing she might somehow call a community phone in Hallie’s area and find out something, when she sensed someone standing nearby.

She turned to see a tall but slight young woman. “Ach, sorry.

I must’ve been daydreaming.” Grace stood up quickly.

“No problem.”

Grace balanced her clipboard on top of several cans on the second shelf. “Can I help you? I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Not at all.” The young woman looked to be close to Grace’s own age. “Do you carry herbal teas? Especially Japanese green tea. I understand it’s a detoxifier and an antioxidant.”

Grace nodded. “Sure, follow me.”

The customer nodded and looked around. “It’s a little dark in here.”

“Jah. Our fancy English shoppers sometimes find it hard to get accustomed to the gas lamps.”

The girl tilted her head, a peculiar expression on her pretty face. “There’s no electricity?”

“No.”

“Wow.” The customer’s eyes lit up. “How do you refrigerate your foods?”

“We use gas-run refrigerators in the store.”

The young woman seemed befuddled; then she said, “Well, I see you carry organic carrot juice. And bulk foods, as well as organic meats and cheese. Eggs too. Hey, I think I’ve hit the jackpot.”

Grace shook her head. “Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, just an expression. You know, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?” The girl laughed. Her brown hair fell forward and she reached back, pulling it high into a ponytail and securing it with a hair tie from her pocket.

“I don’t know much ’bout jackpots and rainbows.” Grace smiled, going along with her little joke. “Here we are.” She pointed out an array of herbal teas.

Leaning over, the girl asked if she knew how to choose the best ones for anti-inflammatory benefits.

“Oh, I’d be cautious ’bout sayin’, really. You best look through that book.” Grace pointed to the reference material they kept on hand to answer customers’ questions. “We can’t recommend any particular product.”

“That’s okay, thanks.” The girl went to the table and picked up the book, leafing through its pages.

After helping other customers, Grace noticed the young woman was still standing there, perusing the reference book. She walked over to her and asked if there was anything more she could do to help.

The girl pressed the book against her chest. “Have you ever heard of a dietary approach to curing serious diseases? I’m talking colonic cleansing, juice fasting . . . organic teas?”

Grace stepped back in surprise. Other than being almost too thin, this young woman didn’t look sick. The girl’s face had good color—although maybe that was due to makeup. “Do you mean just any type of illness or . . . ?”

“I mean . . . have you heard of this kind of thing?”

The young woman seemed desperate for reassurance. But most of what Grace knew about home health remedies had come from Mammi Adah, who’d taught her as a young child all about the herbs in their garden.

Without waiting for an answer, the Englischer continued. “I was told today that there’s a cure found in nature for nearly every disease known to man . . . or woman.” She sighed and glanced quickly at the ceiling. “The medical community views these guidelines as radical, even ridiculous. And yet, in spite of that, there are some very lucky people who are cured of . . .well, serious diseases.”

Sounds like she wants a magic pill to take to make her well.
Grace didn’t dare ask if she was referring to herself. “Feel free to jot down any of the information in the book,” Grace told her.

The girl reached for a box of green tea with mango, peach, and pineapple. “ ‘Individually wrapped for freshness,’ ” she read, turning the box over to look at the back. And just that quick, tears welled up. “I’m so sorry. . . .”

Grace suddenly realized this was the young woman she’d seen out on the road, walking and crying, not many days ago.“There is someone you could talk to ’bout this,” she said, wishing she had a tissue to offer. “Our preacher’s wife cured herself of cancer. I know you’d like her quite a lot. Her name’s Sally Smucker.”

“Really?” The girl raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’d hate to intrude on her.”

“Believe me, Sally would never feel that way.”

“She wouldn’t mind fielding a gazillion questions from . . .an outsider, I guess you’d call me?” She stopped a moment. “A fancy Englisher, right?”

Grace laughed softly. “Ach, sorry . . . earlier I didn’t mean—”

“No . . . perfectly understandable.”

“But Sally would truly enjoy sharing her journey with you,”she added. “She’s helped lots of folks. Back some years ago, she tried to get my aunt Naomi to make a drastic change in her eating habits . . . to no avail.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, it was a peculiar diet, I daresay.”