The Parting (26 page)
Reuben shook his head. “Jonathan won’t be alone for long.”
A heavy silence ensued as Betsy pondered all that her husband had shared.
At breakfast Betsy offered to help her husband mow hay, since last evening Reuben had announced this would be a “good, clear day for it.”
By late that morning, the hay was out drying in the sun. Her husband had indeed chosen a fine day—sunny yet cool enough to make hard labor comfortable.
All during the noon meal, whenever Reuben looked her way, he was smiling. His eyes simply danced with joy.
Nan got up to serve the dessert she’d made, urging them to stay put.
Betsy noticed again how empty their long table looked most of the time now, what with the boys grown . . . and Suzy gone. But she was determined to look at life differently. Instead of dwelling on what she didn’t have, she wanted to embrace what she did have, and to the full. Since yielding her life to God, she felt a stirring within.
Is God helping me find hope amid my grief?
She glanced at Nellie Mae, who looked utterly miserable, her eyes tired and downcast as though she was trying hard not to let her distress show. Betsy’s heart went out to her.
Nan was more talkative than usual, mentioning several of the morning’s customers at the shop. Much as Betsy enjoyed hearing her describe the regulars, she hoped they weren’t becoming too important in Nan’s mind. She mustn’t fall into the curiosity that had surely pulled Suzy down.
Rhoda began talking about the many tall martin birdhouses in the Kraybills’ yard.
“Like we have,” Betsy said, finding this tidbit interesting.
“Well, Mrs. Kraybill’s about as Plain as you can get and still be English,” Nan said.
“What do you mean, dear one?” Betsy asked.
“She cooks from scratch like we do,” Nan said, glancing at Rhoda, who was nodding. “And she sews the children’s clothing, too.”
“Most by hand,” Rhoda piped up.
“Now, that is surprisin’,” Betsy admitted.
“She’s even tried making her own paper—imagine that!”
Nan laughed softly.
Betsy smiled at her daughters and at Reuben, who looked to be about ready to pop his suspenders. Twice during the meal he’d actually winked at her. Once he reached for her hand and covered it with his own, squeezing it quickly before letting go.
So great a secret we share,
she thought, looking fondly at her daughters.
O Lord, please show your narrow path to our dear girls. . . .
Nellie Mae didn’t want to stare, but she couldn’t help but notice the affectionate exchanges between Dat and Mamma during the meal. What was going on between them? With all she’d learned of Suzy’s life, she felt still more troubled by Dat’s incessant Scripture reading. No matter that his waywardness pulled him in a different direction than Suzy’s—it failed to follow their tradition just the same.
She hadn’t even considered opening Suzy’s diary this morning before getting out of bed. No, she wanted to rest her mind, hoping to erase the troubling visions her keen imagination provided. Her once-innocent sister had willingly dabbled in sin, and because of what? Simple boredom with the Plain life?
The very notion angered Nellie, and she hoped what she felt was more on the side of righteous indignation than resentment. There was no point in allowing anger over the revelation of Suzy’s iniquity to cause her to sin, as well. Thankfully she was not the ultimate judge.
Unable to sit still and hide her feelings a moment longer, Nellie rose abruptly from the table. “Who wants ice cream with Nan’s cake?” she asked.
Nan frowned, obviously not pleased at Nellie’s attempt to usurp her role of server. Rhoda’s mouth gaped open, and she appeared ready to reprimand Nellie. Of course, she had every right to, being older.
“Girls, please sit down, the both of yous,” Dat said, surprising Nellie and obviously Mamma, too, who wore a concerned look on her sweet face.
“I’ve got something on my mind,” he continued when Nellie and Nan had taken their seats. “Something that will change the direction of our lives.”
Suzy’s shenanigans lingered in Nellie’s mind in spite of her father’s words. What possibly could alter her life more than what she’d already discovered? “Your mamma and I have accepted all the teachings of Jesus.” Dat’s face turned solemn as he spoke the words, and Nellie’s stomach clenched. “We want to know more, to study the New Testament with others who are saved, as we are.”
Rhoda raised her eyebrows, and Nan turned white.
“Saved?” Nan blurted out.
Nellie gulped, immediately thinking of Caleb.
Ach no, not that!
Nellie felt as though she were drifting, her mind pulling her backward to Dat’s frightening announcement . . . and forward, into the future, which seemed less clear than ever. She tried her best to get her bearings in the midst of a steady stream of customers all Friday afternoon. But her attempt to remain rooted in the here and now was futile.
It seemed inevitable that the People would band together against this notion of Dat’s and follow the bishop on the matter of salvation. Declaring it as a completed act was ever so prideful, or so they were taught. Yet the way her father talked, one of their own preachers wanted to have meetings to study the Bible with as many families as were interested.
Dat had quoted the verse “as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” as his prayer for his family. Naturally he would desire his offspring to follow him in his beliefs, although it would be a real miracle if all five of her brothers abandoned their baptismal vows for this. Ephram, for one, was headstrong—and firmly tied to the Old Ways. So was Benjamin. Wasn’t the Ordnung supposed to be obeyed, without exception?
Ach, how can Dat expect us to follow in this?
Between customers, Nellie stepped outdoors to soak in some of the sunshine and promptly developed a headache. A tightness wrapped around her head, like a wide rubber band pressing on her brain. Still, she lingered outside, inhaling the spicy fragrance of midautumn. The sky shone as if newly washed.
Suzy’s first missed autumn . . .
Nellie spotted several sugar maples, their leaves turning to reddish orange at the edges. She took heart in the promise of blazing splendor soon to come.
Her thoughts turned to Mamma. No good thing could come of handing over the diary to her mother or anyone else. And Nellie knew she should not have given in to such impulsive crying yesterday.
Watching a car filled with more customers pull into the lane, she realized suddenly that their English neighbors, or even some of the People, surely must have bumped into Suzy last spring in town during her wild times. She would have been difficult to miss, spending time with such a crowd in her Plain attire.
Suzy did nothing at all to conceal her rebellion. How far did word spread?
Nellie feared that this, coupled with Dat’s announcement at the dinner table, was merely the beginning of their sorrows. “So the rumors were true,” she said to herself.
Do I dare admit this to Caleb?
Nellie couldn’t help but think the life Suzy had lived—as well as the one Dat seemed determined to live—could doom her chances with her beau.
Betsy had never dreamed she would do such a thing as violate the privacy of a daughter’s bedroom. Yet she felt convinced this search for Suzy’s diary was justifiable. Even so, she hadn’t decided how she would explain the deed to Nellie Mae. In some strange way, Suzy’s writings struck her as Nellie’s rightful possession.
She had sensed something change in Nellie nearly overnight. Her daughter appeared terribly depressed, and it worried Betsy no end. She felt the tension in her neck and shoulders as she relived the heartbreaking sound of her Nellie-girl crying her eyes out.
Betsy stood at the threshold and scanned Nellie’s room—the bed, the dresser, the large rag rug.
Am I strong enough for this? Do I really want to read Suzy’s account of things?
Betsy knew what to look for because she’d seen Suzy writing in her little book . . . her head tilted down close to the page, hand fisted around a stubby pencil. Oh, but the very memory triggered pain—an intense one at that.
Do I need to know whose influence our Suzy was under?
She wondered where Nellie Mae might keep such a book of secrets . . . and why Nellie herself had felt the urge to learn more about Suzy’s rebellion.
Going to sit on the bed quilt, Betsy touched the small table where Suzy had set the lantern at night. Betsy recalled the many times she herself had sat in this very spot, soothing Suzy’s feverish brow with her hand or bringing a homemade chicken corn soup to either daughter when she took ill. Her heart felt a pang at the memory of Nellie Mae and Suzy sitting on the bed, dangling their short legs as they hugged each other, giggling over their little-girl secrets.
This room holds so many memories
. She rose and went to the dresser, seeing an unfinished circle letter lying there. She picked up the small hand mirror and frowned into it, aware of new lines in her face—all the not-so-subtle changes created by the sadness around her mouth and eyes.
Setting the mirror down, she wanted more than anything to know what would have caused Nellie Mae to weep here, in this room.
Both Nellie and I want answers, evidently,
she thought. Even Reuben had so many unanswered questions; he just hadn’t voiced them, at least not to her.
Betsy walked back to the bed and gently lifted both pillows, glancing beneath them. Moaning softly without meaning to, she worried she might be walking over Nellie Mae’s still raw emotions if she pressed forward. It wasn’t like her to trample on the trust of her daughters. Nellie might be horrified to know her mamma was snooping about while she was out closing up the bakery shop for the day.
Such a hardworking girl she is
.
Fluffing the pillows and smoothing the coverlet quilt, Betsy eyed the bedside table yet again.
Would Nellie bother to hide the diary? Or simply keep it nearby?
When she opened the drawer of the small table, the air went out of her for a moment. Slowly she reached for it, lifting Suzy’s journal to her lips and pressing it there for ever so long, like clasping a gem to her heart.
It was enough to merely feel the book in her hands, against her cheek. “Oh, Suzy, I wish I might’ve helped keep you innocent. . . .”
She placed the diary back in the drawer. She was not as upset with herself for intruding on Nellie’s special bond with her sister as she was sorrowful for a life lost for all eternity.
Lingering there, her eyes fixed on the diary, Betsy decided not to read a single page unless Nellie offered it.
Otherwise, I might lose her, as well
.
Caleb lifted the reins and clicked his tongue.
Four months ago this week, Suzy Fisher drowned,
he thought.
How’s Nellie Mae taking the terrible anniversary?
The hay wagon jolted forward, and he remembered precisely where he’d stood in the tobacco-drying barn when the astonishing news had reached his ears.
A group of carefree Englischers drove to the lake at Marsh Creek State Park for a day of fun. None was wearing a life jacket. One Amish girl drowned. . . .
For days he’d walked in circles, concerned for the girl who’d stolen his heart in a single glance, realizing his pursuit of her would have to be pushed back. He’d thought at the time that it didn’t matter what you’d done up till the point of your death—when your number was up, that was that.
Yet deep inside, where he squelched the more difficult questions, Suzy’s death was to him like a night without a single star. Venus snuffed out, never to shine like the white jewel it was.
His gaze roamed over the alfalfa field. He had always enjoyed the way the breeze rippled through it in waves. All the many acres surrounding him called to his sense of beauty . . . and pride. To think this fine spread would someday be his. He was ready to claim his inheritance, even though it would be yet another year before he could do so, Nellie Mae by his side. Daed had said at breakfast that any day now they’d sit down and talk over the plan for the farm’s transition to Caleb. He couldn’t imagine being more grateful for the gift that was to be his. For this reason alone, he would always defer to his father, including him in the day-to-day management of the farm. Daed and Mamm would be well cared for. He’d see to that.
He chuckled outright. His hope of writing Nellie Mae a letter had not been acted on as the busy week wore on. No time had surfaced to sit privately in the kitchen, what with Mamm and his sisters hovering. Besides, he saw more wisdom in directly telling Nellie Mae the things in his heart.
Jah, all the things . . .
He looked forward to the day when he could make her his bride . . . but first things first; he had yet to pinpoint the location of her bedroom window, for when the big day arrived. Of course he could learn it by merely waiting around after letting Nellie out by the road tomorrow, following the hog-butchering frolic—watch to see which window lit up.
A good plan
.
Caleb thought how ridiculous he must look out here in the middle of the field with the mule team and a big grin on his face.
