Pennsylvania Patchwork (24 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Esther brought out several yards of plum-colored fabric, stretched it across the clean kitchen table, and lay out the pattern pieces for her new dress. She should be giddy with expectation, but she felt helpless—like a snared rabbit waiting for a fox to pounce on her.

Unable to concentrate on her sewing, she decided to tromp upstairs for the bread box and read Jeremiah's letters. No, she needed to unravel the mystery of the doll and silk first, even if it turned out to be the more painful task.

Holly's cell phone in hand, Esther located Chap McLaughlin's number on the phone's contact list and pushed the button. After a couple rings, she heard a twangy male voice. “Yo, this is Chap.”

At first Esther's tongue refused to obey her. Finally she said, “Hello, this is Esther Fisher, the woman you sent a doll and silk to.”

“Great, I'm glad you called. I was going to answer your letter—” He cleared his throat. “Sounds like you're not convinced I located the right Samuel Fisher.”

“I have my doubts. There are many Samuel Fishers.”

“You're telling me.”

“Could you please describe what this Samuel Fisher looked like?” Replaced by Nathaniel, Samuel's image at age eighteen had become hazy in Esther's mind, as if looking through the wrong end of a telescope. But she'd never forget him.

“I have a photograph of a bunch of us,” Chap said. “Want me to send you a copy?”

“No. Thanks for your kind offer, but we're not supposed to have photos.”

“Huh? Well, let me think. Sam had brown shaggy hair, long sideburns, and a mustache.”

“My Samuel never would have worn a mustache or sideburns.”

“He could have grown them over there, ma'am. Lots of guys did—Well, they did all kinds of things they wouldn't have done at home.”

Not wanting to hear the repugnant depictions of war, Esther said, “Can you tell me more about him?”

“He was one of the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet.”

“Did he like to sing?” She recalled Samuel's tenor voice crooning for spare change on San Francisco corners before he was inducted into the army. Out the window she saw the sun lowering itself, a salmon-colored orb. But its radiant beauty brought her no joy.

“I can't say I recall hearing him sing,” Chap said, “but he was a regular jokester, always keeping us in stitches and trying to rally a poker game. You know, five-card stud, Texas hold 'em.”

“That can't be my Samuel. He'd never bet on a card game.” He would never gamble, unless, like a butterfly reverting to a caterpillar, he'd mutated into a totally different person while in Vietnam.

“Sam made a fortune off us suckers. But it gave us something to laugh about, so we were grateful for him when he wasn't out on a mission.”

“You mean in the jungle?” She'd seen photos of the dense terrain, inaccessible to vehicles and pocketed with hiding places for the enemy, on the news while Samuel was serving his term.

“Yes, we lost many in our unit. Sometimes guys called him Lucky Louie, the way Sam dodged land mines and bullets, and kept coming back in one piece.”

“When Samuel wrote, he told me he worked as a medical aide.” Dangerous in itself; the enemy was always lurking.

“Sam's team usually went out by helicopter to care for the wounded,” Chap said.

“I see—” Maybe Samuel had wanted to spare her the gory descriptions.

“He told us he was married and that his wife lived in Seattle.”

“I moved there after he went into the army.”

“Don't that beat all?” Chap said. “I might have hit the jackpot.”

“I still don't believe my Samuel would buy such a doll.” She doubted Chap would understand that it was an inappropriate gift. On the other hand, she and Samuel were living like Englischers back then.

“Lots of the guys sent them home,” he said. “I did.”

“Still, there are many men called Samuel Fisher.”

“Don't I know it. I've gone down multiple rabbit trails. Did you recognize his handwriting on his note?”

“There was no note.” Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls.

“Yes, I left the letter at the bottom of the box, where I found it.”

“Ya don't mean it. I can't believe my ears.” She warned herself not to get her hopes up.

“It's under the tissue paper,” he assured her.

“I'll say good-bye, then, and go look.” She sprinted to the sitting room to locate the box. It lay jammed between the arm of the sofa and the wall, tipped on its side, where Mamm must have dropped it. Esther knelt on a cushion and reached to retrieve it, then tore the remaining crumpled tissue out. A handwritten letter fluttered to the floor. She recognized her Samuel's penmanship on the lined paper from five feet away.

A cloak of dread paralyzed her. Her ears began to ring. Her breathing increased, but she could barely inhale, as if her ribs were tightening, bending in like giant fingers, cutting off her air. Moisture accumulated under her armpits and around her waist.

A heart attack?

She didn't care. She would read the letter! Feeling light-headed, she leaned over and picked it up with trembling hands.

She mouthed the words:

Dear Esther,

I meant to send you these gifts and to come clean months ago, but kept putting it off. Now it looks like I'm being shipped back to the States so maybe I'll send them from there.

In your last letter you hinted you want to visit your family after the baby is born. There's no easy way to tell you I won't be going with you. I was never cut out to live the plain life and don't want anything to do with my parents' guilt trips. Or to be a father. I'd make a crummy dad. I'm not the man you thought I was. I let myself get drafted. You heard me, I knew what I was doing: escaping!

I'll probably stay in San Fran. I've kept in touch with a friend there who has an extra bed.

I'm sorry, Sam

She read and reread the letter. A farewell note! All these years she'd held herself responsible. She was appalled and then disgusted. Her legs giving out on her, Esther's eyesight diminished, blinding her for a moment, blackening the room. She crumpled down onto the couch.

What would Holly think when she saw her father's letter? Well, she never would; Esther would make sure of that. It would break her daughter's heart. She blinked her eyes open and saw her surroundings with clarity. Without a qualm, Esther shredded the letter into strips. She pulled herself up and mounded them in the fireplace, then lit a match, filling the air with sulfur. The flames hungrily curled and consumed the paper in less than a minute, leaving nothing but ashes and a puff of smoke.

That evening, after Esther had milked Pearly, she ate a light supper with Mamm. Holly had called earlier to say she was dining at a restaurant with Zach. Esther must be
verhoodled
; she'd thought her daughter had headed to Armin's. And Armin hadn't stopped by for supper, either.

After washing the dishes, sprucing up the kitchen, and helping Mamm into bed, Esther knew she wouldn't sleep, not with her mind gyrating with questions about Samuel's letter. Ach, he must have been on drugs, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, or perhaps he had simply fallen out of love with her. She decided it was for the best that her daughter never found out. She'd allow Holly, Jeremiah, and Beatrice to hold Samuel up on a pedestal—second to God, of course. She'd give the doll and silk to Holly, and ask her to keep them out of sight, for everyone's sake.

She stood at the table cutting out fabric pieces for her own dress. A combination of fatigue and worry encompassed her, causing her hand to shake as she directed the scissors through the plum-colored fabric. A sloppy job, she noticed.

Another surge of incredulity pummeled Esther as if she were wading out to sea while the tide was rising, each incoming wave thrashing against her legs, swelling in multitude, until she'd be washed away.

“Help, Lord,” she said softly. Only Jesus was perfect, she reminded herself. “Please, help me forgive Samuel.” She'd never be alone as long as she called out to God. His Spirit was in this very room, could hear her inner moaning, and would intercede on her behalf.

She felt her lungs expand and contract in a relaxed manner, her anger subsiding. She didn't want to dwell on Samuel anymore.

If only Nathaniel were here.

She carried the cut fabric pieces into the sitting room, sat at the sewing machine, and found a bobbin with thread almost the same color. She inserted it into the machine, and then threaded a newly purchased spool to match her fabric. Not like Esther to be so lackadaisical, but she didn't care if the threads were a slightly different hue.

Esther sat before the machine, placed two fabric shapes—side-seams—together, and lowered the pressure foot. Pumping the treadle, she noticed her line wasn't as straight as it should be, as it had been only hours ago when she'd assembled Holly's dress—before she had read the letter.

She heard someone knocking on the back door.

She checked the battery-run clock on the wall and saw it was 11:59. Who would visit at midnight? No one she wanted to entertain. She decided to ignore the person. She was in no mood for chitchat. Holly would let herself in the unlocked door, and so would Armin if there was a problem.

Another rap-rap. Again she ignored it.

Esther recalled a biblical story about a neighbor knocking on a man's door begging for loaves of bread at midnight. Luke 11:7, she thought. The man of the house said, “Don't bother me. My door is already locked and my children and I are in bed.” But because of the neighbor's boldness and persistence, the man in the house was eventually prompted to get up and give his neighbor what he needed, as God provided for him.

Esther dragged herself to her feet, trudged through the kitchen, and opened the door.

“Nathaniel!”

“Sorry to disturb you so late,” he said, removing his hat.

“
Es macht nix aus
—it doesn't matter. You're back!”

She searched his gaunt face and saw haggard eyes and anemic-looking lips. Of course he'd be weary from the trip, but she wondered if he'd brought with him bad tidings. Ghastly information!

“
Kumm rei—
come in,” she said.

“I should get back home and let you go to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

“Nee.” She grabbed Nathaniel's jacket sleeve. “You've got to tell me what happened. I won't be able to sleep a wink until I know.”

“Got room for me in there?” Larry said, making his way through the utility room. He wore jeans and a yellow T-shirt with the words “Earth is now, Heaven is forever!” written in a bold red font on the front.

“Sure, welcome, Larry
.
” Esther stood aside as Larry passed her carrying his jacket and overnight bag. He looked beat too, his eyes bloodshot.

“Thank you for all you've done,” she said to him. “Why didn't you call?”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Larry said.

As Esther put Nathaniel's hat on a peg, she heard an automobile pull up and a car door shut. Moments later, she recognized her daughter's vivacious voice.

“Having a party in my absence?” Holly sashayed into the kitchen. “Hi, Nathaniel.”

Larry swung around and saw her Amish attire. “Wooo—isn't that outfit a bit over the top?”

Holly's hands moved to her hips. “Larry, weren't you just traveling with an Amishman and staying at an Amish house?”

“Well, actually I slept at a B&B with Internet connection and electricity. But I had my meals at Nathaniel's cousin's.” He gave her a thorough looking over. “Are you planning to dress that way from now on?”

“Awhile, anyway.” Her Kapp strings swung freely, as if still in motion. “It's a long story.”

“Where were you just now?” His brows raised, then lowered.

“Out to dinner with Zach.”

“Dressed like that?”

“Yup.” Holly glanced to Esther and Nathaniel. “Come on, Larry, let's give these two some privacy.”

When Esther and Nathaniel were alone again, Esther said, “You must be hungry. I'll fix you a snack.”

“Nee, I couldn't eat.”

“Then something to drink? Hot cider or tea? Or I have decaf coffee, thanks to Holly.”

“Yah, I am thirsty, now that you mention it.” He sat at the table, across from Esther's usual chair. While the coffee brewed, she cut a wedge of pumpkin pie, positioned it and a fork on a plate, and set it before him. He dug into it like a starving man.

“'Tis the best pie I've ever had.”

Pleased, she lowered herself onto her chair. “Why did ya come home so late in the day?”

“The local sheriff heard tales of my situation and came to see if he could help, bringing with him a swarm of newspaper reporters, snapping pictures left and right. I tried to shield myself, but I wouldn't be surprised if one caught my image and my face and the story ends up on the front page.”