A Wedding Quilt for Ella (9 page)

“Yah,” Ella said, nodding, “it does seem so.”

“Lost a child myself… It was years ago,” Susan said. “He was just a small boy, my David, but I did sorrow for him. I imagine it would be worse if he had been full grown. I guess
Da Hah
always has mercy.”

“It does hurt a lot,” Ella said, unsure of how to reply. Then she added, “I think I’ll just step outside for a little while.”

“Yah, you do that, and we will get busy here,” Ida said. “We’ll have breakfast ready soon, and you can eat when you want.”

Behind them the bedroom door opened, and Lydian stepped out, already dressed in her work clothes.

“Now, you get right back in there,” Ida and Susan said at the same time. “We’ll be takin’ care of breakfast.”

“But I should help,” Lydian said.

“No, you rest,” Ida said, her voice firm. “You get back in bed. We’ll be callin’ when breakfast’s ready.”

“You’re much too kind,” Lydian said, a catch in her voice.

“It’s the least we can do,” Susan said, stepping forward to give Lydian a hug. “I lost a son too. He just wasn’t as old as yours.”

“I remember that,” Lydian said. “His name was David.”

“Yah, David. Yet
Da Hah
has healed my wounds, as He will yours.”

“This is true,” Lydian agreed. “Even with this great a pain,
Da Hah
can be healin’ it.”

“Now, get a few more winks of sleep,” Ida said. “We disturbed Ella enough already.”

Ella smiled weakly. “I really want to go outside…to see the morning much more than I want to sleep.”

“We will call you, then, when the food is ready,” Susan said warmly.

Ella nodded and stepped outside as Lydian closed her bedroom door.

The predawn morning air held just enough chill to need a light coat. Ella paused.
Should I go back in? Nee, the cold feels good to my aching head.
It seemed to ease the throb.

Aden’s parents’ house lay in a hollow, surrounded by trees and the murmur of the little creek in the distance. Open farmland lay behind them, and the open swath ran up the hill a ways. From here none of the open sweeping vistas could be seen from Seager Hill.

To Ella this had always been Aden’s place and still was today. Many times she had come here Sunday afternoons and for family occasions. To Ella this place had grown to seem much like her own home.

Few Amish ever moved from Cattaraugus County. It would have been the same for Aden and herself. Aden’s parcel of land lay up on Chapman Road, and they would have brought their children down here and to Seager Hill, adding to both of their parents’ list of grandchildren. She would have called this “Mommy and Dawdy’s place” when speaking to her children. Now it was not to be.

It was yet another loss among the many she had experienced the last few days. The pain just seemed to continue like tearing away the layers of an onion one at a time. Surely the end would come soon; a time when the pain would be less.

Perhaps today after the funeral the lessening would start.

As if to add to her discomfort, the first rays of the morning sun broke over the ridge. Great streaks of light bathed the few low clouds, which hung on the horizon, in orange and red. Above them the half slice of moon still glowed, adding to the glory. Ella gasped at the beauty of it. Yet how could the dawning of Aden’s funeral day bring such magnificence?

She wanted to shout into the stillness and tell God He must intervene. This was too cruel, too unfeeling to let alone. Her world had been stripped of beauty, love, and desire and left bruised, broken, and undone. What right did this day have to display such beauty?

The clouds ought to hang their heads in shame, weep in great thunderclouds of grief, and drive winds across the fields as a token of the destruction she felt. Aden, the man who should have lived, whose children she should have borne, was dead, and all the sky could do was show this beautiful sunrise. She lifted her face and wept at the injustice of it all and at a God who would decree it so.

As if in answer, the sky in front of her increased its brilliant display, adding green and yellow to the color scheme. Ella watched, her face still uplifted toward the heavens. The caw of crows came from the distance. She heard the faint beat of horse’s hooves on the road, and a cow bellowed from the barn. Across the road a house door slammed.

After a few moments, Ella’s thoughts turned to what would be expected of her after today. She would, of course, be expected to go on with her life. Tradition would be demanded of her. Amish girls didn’t stay single, locked away from society, and lost in their own worlds. She was almost twenty-one. Soon she knew the questions would come. In a thousand ways, she would know she must show she was ready to live again. There would be litde dropped hints and seemingly innocent questions raised, perhaps not immediately but soon enough.

“I wonder if the time’s been long enough,” they would say. “Has Ella healed from her sorrow yet?” Even her mamm and Dora would join in. “When are you going to move on, Ella? You know you mustn’t waste your life. There’s a man somewhere who needs you, who can love you, and whose children you can bear.”

She held both hands out in front of her. No man’s arms would ever be placed around her again. There would never be another to draw her into his embrace, to find her lips in love, or to feel the beat of her heart on his chest. In fact, she did not desire another man to love, and she would not allow herself to be drawn into another man’s embrace.
I
will stay true to Aden, to his memory, to his love, and to what we experienced together. Let people say what they want.
She raised her face to the sky.
Let the heavens dare to say nee.

A soft whisper of a breeze flowed across her face, cooling her brow, soothing the throb of her headache. Ella took a deep breath and let it back out slowly. Her eyes were dry now, and her fingers were clenched in her hands.
Yah, I will live my days alone in my parents’ house if necessary but not in another man’s. Ella Yoder, you will not be untrue to Aden’s memory, whatever the cost. My life will stretch out before me as long and lonely
—

“I saw you come out,” the voice of a man called out behind her, the sound soft on the morning air.

Startled, she whirled around to find Daniel a few steps behind her, his eyes cast down.

“You surprised me,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, raising his gaze to hers. They were sad eyes, as hers must be. “He was a good brother, Aden was. Yah, as good a brother as one might ever have.”

She nodded.

“I see the sun is putting on a right good display,” he said.

She turned to look again at the colors in the sky. “It doesn’t seem right,” she said slowly. “This beauty…does it? Not today.”

“Nee.” He shook his head. “None of it makes much sense.”

She glanced at this face, his eyes studying the bright colors above them.

“How can one understand such a loss as Aden?” he continued. “Aden was so alive, so full of life…only a few days ago. We worked on the job together the day before. It’s so hard to believe that it could really have happened.”

“Oh,” she said, her interest rising, “you were with him?”

“Yah,” Daniel said, nodding, “we worked hard all day. Aden, of course, always worked hard. With what we know now, that was the worst thing he could have done. It must have pumped the poisons all the way through his body, with his appendix ruptured like it was.”

“Why didn’t Aden visit the clinic? He could have seen a doctor.”

“He could have,” Daniel said, meeting her eyes. “He probably wanted to save money. I don’t know. Aden didn’t think it was serious enough, I guess, especially when the pain seemed to have gone away.”

She nodded. Choosing to be frugal was a common trait in her people. Usually, though, the results weren’t this tragic.

“By the evening I could tell he was tired,” Daniel went on, “but I just thought he’d worked a little too hard too quickly. Mamm checked his temperature when we got home. She said he ran a fever and that he should eat supper and rest, which he did. I guess we all figured he’d be better by morning. I heard nothing from him all night. You would think I would have heard something, as sick as he was. I was just across the hall.”

Ella nodded again.

“That’s the kind of man he was. It took a lot to slow him down,” Daniel said and then turned the topic to Ella. “I’m sorry for your sake, Ella. I know Aden loved you a whole lot. He told me so all the time. He thought you well worth the wait over all those years.”

“I know. He told me that too.”

“We all thought he’d just gotten the flu or something and that perhaps he needed antibiotics from the clinic at the worst. But we never thought of this.” He shook his head. “Now my brother’s gone, and I don’t quite know what will be happening with the construction business. Aden pretty much ran the crew. I guess I can go on…if I can get the courage up. Maybe someone else will help.”

“It’s going away,” Ella said, motioning toward the sky where the colors had faded. “Rain would be much more fitting on the day of his funeral.”

“I know,” he said with a long glance upward. “The moon woke me a while ago. I don’t know exactly when. I spent some time thinking about Aden. I think he would like this morning, though, with the sky so full of colors.”

Ella considered this. Perhaps the weather didn’t suit her for the occasion, but Daniel was right. Aden would have loved the beauty of this morning.

Behind them the house door opened, and Ida called, “Breakfast is ready.”

Eleven

G
athered around the table, they all bowed their heads in silent prayer and then ate breakfast with few words, the weight of the day’s sorrow heavy on the house.

“You can go clean up and change your clothes in our bedroom,” Lydian whispered to Ella as they finished their meal.

After she changed into her black dress, Ella glanced out the bed-room window to watch a few of the buggies pull in—mostly Aden’s relatives. The clock on the dresser read a little after seven-thirty. In an hour the service would begin and the pain would start anew.

When Ella returned to the kitchen, the men had already started rearranging the benches in the living room. They soon had every corner full, quickly moving some into Lydian and Albert’s bedroom. The body was brought out by the pallbearers and placed on short benches close to the front door.

Apparently an overflow crowd was expected because a wagon arrived bearing more benches. They were unloaded into the barn where, as customary, a separate service with separate preachers would be held.

By eight-thirty the house was full. The only sounds in the house were the soft cries of babies and the squeak of a bench when someone moved. Two men in charge of the seating made sure the immediate family sat in the proper front seats. Ella was placed with Lydian and Albert on the first bench. Behind them the brothers and sisters sat, followed by cousins and then more distant relatives.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ella saw her parents along with Dora and Clara ushered in and given seats in the house. Some of her aunts and uncles also made it inside, which was a nice gesture from the two ushers. They could have sent them out to the barn service, giving priority to the church people from Aden’s district.

At a quarter of nine, one of the ushers gave a nod to Bishop Mast, who abruptly stood to his feet and began speaking. “We are gathered today to share in the sorrow of the Wengerd family. They have lost a son whom they loved, and their grief is great. We have been told by God to laugh with those who laugh and to mourn with those who mourn. Today we mourn with the Wengerd family.

“No man can comprehend the mind of
Da Hah
or understand why a tragedy like this happens. Even the wisest of mankind cannot begin to understand. Man’s duty is to trust and to believe that
Da Hah
knows what is for the best. This hour may well be one of the darkest hours in the lives of the Wengerd family, and yet it could also be the one that bears the greatest fruit in eternal life.”

Ella shifted on the hard bench, thinking that whatever the rewards were in eternity, she would still have preferred to have Aden here.

The bishop had a kind face, and his eyes were moist as he turned his look to the family seated in the front row.

“I have never lost a son,” he said. “All of my children are still alive. Many might say that I can never understand what you feel, and that may be true. Yet in the Lord, we trust that we can share in your sorrow. Where we do not,
Da Hah
can fully understand.
Da Hah
lost His Son to death on a cruel cross, and He knows what those who have lost so much are feeling today.

“On Calvary the Son of God, the eternal One who had come to save the world, died. He was slain by evil men. That day of death was a terrible day, more terrible than anything men have ever experienced. The earth shook when Jesus died. His death was so awful that the sun hid its face in shame and darkness.”