The Parting (12 page)
“More couples means more babies.” Rosanna smiled. “We’ll all be in good company, raisin’ our little ones.”
The People grew their communities through large families. Ten to fifteen children were not uncommon.
Kate agreed, a knowing look in her eye. “Just think, you’ll soon have yourself a wee one to call your own.”
Rosanna reached out to touch her cousin’s hand, ever so thankful for Kate’s generosity, yet hoping her cousin was truly comfortable with the whole idea.
Nellie Mae sat in the corner of the kitchen, behind the table closest to the wall, trying to suppress her envy as she watched Rhoda and Nan sitting on the large rag rug in the center of the room, playing a cozy game of checkers.
I’m always the third wheel anymore,
she thought.
That Rhoda and Nan had each other was certain, and just now as Nellie watched them smile furtively before moving their checkers, she truly felt she had no one.
Not even to play checkers with
.
Neither sister had made any effort to reach out to her in her time of loss, though they, too, were in mourning for Suzy.
Redirecting her thoughts, she decided now was as good a time as any to add to the circle letter. No sense inconveniencing those waiting by putting it off. After doing so, she shuffled through her stationery and chose a soft yellow sheet, intending to also write a more personal letter to Treva.
Dear Cousin Treva,
Greetings from Beaver Dam Road . . . and Cousin Nellie Mae.
Have you been out walking much this autumn? I can’t resist the nice weather. I’m sure yours is quite similar, although Dat says you can never tell around here. Just look at how odd it was that all our sweet corn—and our neighbors’—was stunted, but yours wasn’t. Still strange, I daresay.
It was such fun to hear of the poetry you’re reading. I, too, like Emily Dickinson’s poems, if they’re not too sad. There is enough sorrow without having to read about it, seems to me. My sister Rhoda is reading Pilgrim’s Progress and when she’s through, I plan to read it, as well. Dat says he read it when he was a teen, so I know he’ll approve.
Business is as busy as ever at the bakery shop. It would be awful nice if you and your sisters could come over and see it for yourself sometime. Rhoda and Nan would enjoy seeing you, and while Mamma has recently been in need of some solitude—understandable, considering—she’d no doubt be glad for your company, too.
Lately I’ve been experimenting with a new cookie recipe, but I haven’t put it out in the display case just yet. I want to make sure it’s good and tasty first. I haven’t decided what to call it, either, but it’s chock-full of red, green, and yellow peanut chocolate candies. Mamma says I could call them cheer-you-up cookies because of all the colors. What do you think of that?
The Sunday after next we’re having Preaching service at Ephram’s, so we’ll go over there and help Maryann clean out her corners come Friday. It will be good to have some more time with her and her family again.
I hope you’ll write again soon.
Your cousin and friend,
Nellie Mae Fisher
There was so much more Nellie could have written. Next time maybe things would have calmed down to the point she wouldn’t have to mention a word about the private “tractor meetings” . . . or that it seemed their bishop had flown the coop.
When Nellie spotted Iva Beiler at Singing in a bright cranberry-colored cape dress without even an apron over it, she immediately thought of strawberries and homemade ice cream. Where on earth had Iva gotten the bold, nearly red fabric? Surely not at the yard goods store they all frequented. Was she hoping to catch Caleb’s attention?
The sweetness of a lowland musk pervaded the area in the barn just below the haymow. A slight haze of dust hung in the air from the good sweeping the barn floor had doubtless received earlier.
Nellie Mae was glad for the large turnout.
Lots of youth from other districts
. She saw many new faces but not the face she most wanted to see. She certainly didn’t want to appear to be looking for Caleb or anyone in particular. That was the way to do things, she’d learned from coming along with Rhoda and Nan for a full year now. A few months back, Rhoda had announced she’d gotten her fill of these gatherings and quit coming. Nan, on the other hand, seemed to live for them, her blue eyes shining like boy-magnets.
Nellie chose to sit with some of the other girls at the far end of the length of narrow wooden tables, content to be where she was. Again, there was no sign of Caleb among the boys on the other side of the tables. Nellie reminded herself there was no need to worry: Caleb was
her
date this night. Oh, the way he’d looked at her last Lord’s Day—the inviting twinkle in his hazel eyes, eyes that looked into hers as if he’d been searching for her his whole life.
When at last she saw Caleb across the room, Nellie Mae’s heart skipped a beat. He came toward her, finding a place across the table only a short way down from her. In that same moment, Nellie spotted Susannah Lapp, whose eyes fleetingly met hers. One glance of understanding and they saw in each other the potential rivals they were.
Briefly looking once more at Caleb, Nellie remembered sitting with her three sisters in the schoolyard one spring years ago, watching the boys play baseball during afternoon recess. Caleb had been up to bat, and instead of swinging and fooling around at home base like most of the boys did to show off, he had leaned forward with the bat, licking his lips as he awaited the pitch.
Crack!
On the very first pitch, the bat had slapped the ball, sending it high into the air, over the top of the boys’ outhouse and clear out past the white picket fence into the pastureland beyond. She remembered squealing as Caleb ran around to all the bases, his right foot stamping hard on each one as he flew by, headed for home. Never once had he looked over his shoulder at the outfielder, who was still hunting for the ball. Nellie had pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her glee, so pleased he’d made the home run.
Presently he grinned across the table at her and then wiped the smile off his face fast. There were oodles more songs before they could talk to each other, assuming Caleb would even want to. The way he’d written to her, planning for her to wait elsewhere for him to pick her up, made her think he might not seek her out here at all, not in front of others. All of that was just fine with her, as long as he appeared later in his buggy to pick her up.
Suddenly feeling a bit shy, Nellie Mae decided to mingle with some of her girl cousins and her sister Nan, far removed from the table where they always sat to sing the usual songs. Surprisingly, someone had brought along a guitar. Instruments were not usually allowed, at least at the Singings meant only for their church district. Was all the fuss about pushing the limits of the Ordnung filtering into the Singings, too?
Dozens of boys gathered around the fellow, and Nellie longed to press in and see the fingers working the strings that made such lovely music. For sure and for certain, something was quite different about this gathering—even though it was much too early in the evening, girls and boys were already pairing off. Some had gone high into the haymow to sit and dangle their feet over the sides, holding hands and laughing.
Her heart beat faster as she wondered if Caleb might sit that close to her tonight in his buggy. While she’d ridden next to several different boys on other nights, none of them had affected her the way Caleb did even now, from the other side of the room.
“Nellie Mae.” She turned to see him smiling down at her. “Let’s go walkin’.”
She nodded, following him, but he slowed to let her walk beside him toward the barn doors, instead of behind like some boys preferred.
“Such a moon.” He glanced at her, smiling more freely now as they stepped into the privacy of twilight.
She wanted to say something memorable, but the right words didn’t come. It wasn’t that she was too timid to speak; she simply wanted every word to count.
“Did you see that guitarist?” he asked. “Came all the way up from Georgetown. My older brother knows of him.
Says he’s trouble.”
“No doubt. Uncle Bishop’s gone a few days, and this?”
There, she’d said something worthwhile, or so she hoped.
Caleb stopped, his back to the full moon. She couldn’t make out his expression in the shadow. “Bishop Joseph’s gone? But where?”
Her heart sank. “You didn’t know? I figured your father or one of the other menfolk must be helpin’ with his livestock.” She went on. “Aunt Anna was in the shop Monday to purchase some sweets for their trip. They’re out visitin’ her relatives in Iowa,” she said, telling what little she knew.
Caleb stood silhouetted against the blazing white moon, taller than she’d ever remembered. And silent.
“They’re in need of some rest, is all,” she offered.
“Well, I hope they have a right good time.” He leaned toward her and reached for her hand.
The warm thrill of his touch caught her by surprise, rooting her feet to the soil. She wondered how her hand felt to him—probably all sweaty from nerves, even in this nippy weather—but so far he hadn’t let go.
The unmistakable sound of lively guitar music came from across the barnyard.
“My father says it’s best to run away from evil, not move toward it.”
Caleb surely meant the guitar player in the barn, not their holding hands. Nellie smiled, mighty glad for the shadow cast on them as he led her through the thick willow grove, far from the barn and the devil’s music. She wouldn’t admit to having been drawn to the pleasing sound . . . wouldn’t think of saying anything to make him stop walking with her, his thumb stroking her hand, his arm brushing against hers. She needed to be able to think clearly, to be alert and on her guard all the rest of their time together tonight. No matter her attraction to Caleb, Nellie Mae would not disappoint her mamma by behaving recklessly.
“We’ll walk over to that white stake—see it?—then we’ll head back,” he said, pointing.
“Jah, fine.” She had to smile. How confident her voice sounded, nearly fooling even herself.
With the house good and quiet—Betsy busy with her embroidery and the girls all out for the evening—Reuben settled down with two Bibles, the old German family one and the English one. He much preferred sitting in the front room near the open door, but now that fall was in the air, he found himself enjoying the warmth and comfort of Betsy’s kitchen.
“Betsy,” he said, glancing over at his wife, who sat within the golden ring of light coming from the gas lamp he’d hung over the table.
She looked up from her work. “Jah?”
“I’ll be reading the Scriptures now.”
She nodded.
She has no inkling what I have in mind. . . .
This night he would read the whole of chapter three in the Gospel of John. Reuben had been downright curious about the passage ever since his visit to Cousin Jonathan’s. According to his shunned relative, there was something important—even powerful—to be learned from this section of Scripture. Others too.
He felt a glimmer of guilt as he thumbed through the unfamiliar pages, one mingled with a hint of boldness. Truth be told, he had felt peeved ever since Preacher Manny had laid into him for no understandable cause. Manny knew precisely where he stood on things. Why treat him so?
With all the commotion already going on, what could it hurt for Reuben to read where he wished to in Scripture? He wanted Betsy to hear this, too, halfheartedly though it might well be.
For that reason, he began in English—he would read the same chapter to himself in German later. “ ‘There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.’ ”
He paused, glancing over at Betsy.
Her mind’s wandering, for sure
.
He continued. “ ‘Jesus answered . . . Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.’ ”
Right there, that’s what Cousin Jonathan talked about: being born again
.
Reuben hadn’t believed these words were written at all the way his wayward cousin had stated them, yet they were right here before his eyes. Had Betsy heard what he’d just read?
He went on to the next verse, then the next, eager to see what else Scripture had to say. Was this what Jonathan meant by “hungering after the Word of God”? He shrugged off the memory. Leave it to outspoken Jonathan to say such things. Better for Reuben to do as he was told, to do things the way the People had always done them. Better he should listen to the bishop . . . and close the Good Book right now.
Listen and submit
.
But when all was said and done, who was the final authority? Was it God and His Word? Or the bishop and the ministerial brethren?
Reuben struggled with all he had been taught . . . the unique way the Lord God identified the men to lead the People . . . the ordination process by the drawing of lots. All of it.
Can I trust what I know . . . what has always been?
His eyes followed the outline of his wife’s ample shape across the room. Her body sagged with exhaustion and grief. Neither of them was getting any younger. Had they missed something altogether important, as Jonathan had suggested? In daring to consider this, was Reuben opening himself up to what was not allowed, letting worldliness creep in? And if he were to memorize these verses, what then?
Would
they spring to life in him as Jonathan had insisted they would?
Puh!
He was just offended enough by Preacher Manny’s rebuke that he forged ahead. “ ‘That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.’ ”
The air seemed to leave him, and he found himself gasping. He read on, silently now. Jesus seemed genuinely surprised that Nicodemus did not know the vital things of which he spoke.
