The Photograph (24 page)

A
S
THE
DAYS
PROGRESSED
and Lily was still missing, Eva sensed Frona was walking on eggshells, wondering when or if Menno or the bishop might come rushing over to say Lily had been found. But at the end of each day, when still no word came, both sisters prayed all the more fervently. Eva promised herself—and God—that she would never give up on Lily.

Candy sales were climbing ever higher, and Eva feared it was somehow tied to Lily's disappearance. Her loyal customers were anything but snoopy, yet nearly all offered their concern.

Ida Mae was one of them. “Lily must be markin' the days off on her calendar, figuring out a way to get home,” she said with a heartwarming smile.

Others who were waiting in line overheard and glanced at each other, some nodding. One longtime English customer said she'd requested prayer for Lily at her ladies' Bible study group, and another mentioned asking for prayer for Lily at her monthly book club.

Naomi Mast was a frequent visitor, as well, although she was
more focused on Frona and Eva, helping out with whatever they agreed to let her do in the house, given she had her own kitchen—and Abner—to look after.

“Word's getting out beyond Eden Valley's borders,” Eva told Frona the evening of the first Saturday in June. “It's remarkable, the folks who care 'bout Lily.”

“Can't believe we haven't heard a peep from my appeals to Ohio relatives,” Frona said, putting a small basket with golden biscuits, nice and flaky, on the table. There was also raw honey straight from the bee-keeping neighbors up the road.

Eva tried to take what Frona said in stride. How was it possible that
none
of their Ohio cousins—and anyone they'd surely talked with by now—had heard anything about Lily?

Outdoors, the farmhands were heading for home.
If I married Alfred,
Eva thought,
I'
d have a full table of workers to feed twice
or more a day, like Mamma always did.
After their father died, Menno had stepped in and brought in new help. Now with Mamma gone, too, Frona only occasionally invited all of the menfolk to stay around for the noon meal—any more would have put a strain on the monthly budget. Several times a month, Bena cooked for the whole crew, since she and Menno lived only a short distance away.

Eva considered Alfred again and wondered what he'd thought of her letter. Not hearing back right away gave her some breathing room—time to ponder being courted by a man who was more like a friend than a possible mate. If it came to it, could she marry him and be content?

“Supper's ready,” Frona said, and they sat down to a yellow tureen of corn chowder that had simmered all day.

Once Frona concluded the time of silent blessing, Eva chose a biscuit and waited for her sister to reach for the long ladle and dish up her own serving. The sight of Mamma's tureen brought
back happy memories of days with many sets of feet under this big table, and dear Mamma dishing up Dat's bowl.

“Have ya heard anything from Jed Stutzman?” Frona said, reaching for the honey.

“I don't expect to.”

“You had such a nice time while he was here. I'm really sorry for ya, sister.”

Eva looked up, surprised at this from Frona, who rarely seemed so sympathetic. “Awful nice of you.
Denki.
”

Frona's cheeks reddened. “We need each other,” she said softly. For a moment, Eva thought there might be a tear in her eye. “I did something today
 . . .
something I never thought I'd do.”

“Oh?”

“This morning I overheard Emmanuel talkin' with Rufus, and I spoke up,” Frona admitted. “Evidently Menno had plans to knock down the playhouse out yonder, where you and Lily used to take your dollies and books.”

Eva was horrified. “Why would he do that?”

“For firewood, Emmanuel said. Menno thinks the place has seen better days.”

“Lily once told me she felt closest to God in that sweet little place. She could pray better there than kneeling at her bedside.”

Frona grimaced. “You wanna know what I told our brothers? I interrupted and said they were
not
tearin' it down unless both you and Lily gave the say-so.”

“You said that?”

“I've had it up to here.” Frona tapped her forehead. “I'm beginning to feel like I might burst, all this fussin' over Lily, and no one able to find her.”

“
Gut
for you, makin' a stand.”

“I even went to see if Lily might have decided to hole up out there.”

Eva hadn't thought of that.

“I didn't find her, of course, but I did see one of your shared books.” Frona motioned to the sitting room. “I put it in there—a child's poetry book. Robert Louis Stevenson, remember?”

“Aw
 . . .
Lily loved that book. I didn't know it was missin'.”

“Maybe Bena's youngsters will enjoy it.”

When they
move in here and everything changes,
Eva thought, looking pensively at Frona.

Naomi was out tending her flower beds and had just stood up to rest her aching back, thankful for the late-day sunshine. The first cutting of hay was at hand, and the air felt warmer. A breeze came up, cooling her brow, and with it the hush of the leaves high in the old trees that made up the northern windbreak.

She remembered being a little girl and pretending she could fly by riding on the crest of the wind, though she'd never told anyone. Not even her closest sister. Naomi wondered if Eva and Lily had ever shared those kinds of childish secrets. If so, wouldn't Lily feel like a lost soul wherever she'd taken herself off to?

The sun was sinking quickly now, and as Naomi made her way toward the house, stopping at the potting shed to put her hoe and trowel away, she noticed the bishop's horse and carriage coming up the road. Menno was riding inside with the man of God.

Oh, her heart leapt up, and she hoped this might be the good news they were all waiting for. Even though Lily had been gone for less than a month, it seemed like a long time coming.

Bishop Isaac stared at Menno as he sat across from him with Eva and her sister. “You'd think something would come of all the searching.”

Eva sighed. Should she speak up
 . . .
say what she was thinking?

Menno removed his straw hat and put it on the bench. “From what I was told, Cousin Jeptha King solicited help from a half-dozen other men and some women, too. They've gone to a good many small towns—rural, mostly—and talked to nearly all the local merchants, restaurant managers, and the like in each location, but not a soul has seen Lily or even heard of her.”

“What if she's somewhere else?” the bishop asked. “Has anyone considered that?”

“Anything's possible,” Menno said. “Which makes me wonder if we need to do more.”

The bishop inhaled deeply. “You're not thinkin' of getting the authorities involved, are ya?”

“She can't really be classified as missing,” Menno said, his eyes serious.

“
Nee
 . . .
since there's a note in her handwriting.” Bishop Isaac glanced over at Eva. “Do you still have it?”

Eva nodded. “Would you like to see it?”

“If ya don't mind.”

She was actually glad for the opportunity to leave the kitchen, tense as the atmosphere was. How was Frona managing? If she knew her sister, she would soon have coffee made and poured, and produce a plate of cookies, too.

Upstairs, Eva found the note, and while she didn't mind showing the bishop, she almost wished she hadn't offered it. Lily had written this only to Eva. “On this very desk.” She ran her hand over the smooth surface—some of Dat's best handiwork.

How many times had their father sanded down this desk to make it extra smooth? She and Lily had watched him that day, years ago. Dat was perspiring and covered with sawdust from his work, yet he never would have considered stopping till the finished
product was ready to be stained. She had been so delighted when he'd eventually placed it in this bedroom.

Drawing a sigh, Eva hoped the bishop wouldn't keep the note.

Naomi wasn't expecting their son Omar that evening, but all the same, he walked right into her kitchen without so much as a knock on the side door. Unlike their other grown children, who knocked or rang the bell, he had never been one to do so, even once he'd left home to marry. Evidently Omar felt the most comfortable here. His light brown hair looked darker than usual tonight.
Oily from working in the fields all day,
Naomi thought, wishing he might have respected his father enough to clean up.

Abner invited him to sit at the table, where he and Naomi had been enjoying each other's company over a slice of snitz pie.

Naomi offered both men a cup of coffee, and Omar a piece of pie, which he politely declined, saying he'd already had dessert at home. Omar jokingly made a point of reminding her that he took his coffee black.

“Did ya think I'd forgotten?” she chuckled and opened the cupboard for one of her new coffee mugs.

Omar smiled as she poured him a cup before joining him on the wood bench. “I'd like to talk over my political leanings with ya, Daed.”

“
Ach
, son.” Naomi turned quickly, speaking out of turn.

Abner waved his hand and sent her a message with his eyes:
Let him get
this out.

Omar began again. “I know the Scripture verse from Romans the brethren like to quote: ‘And be not conformed to this world
 . . .
'”

“I read that one aloud quite a lot to you and your brothers and sisters while you were growin' up,” Abner said.

Omar nodded. “That you did. And just so ya know where I stand on this, I don't believe that verse has anything to do with voting or performing jury duty, neither one.”