Secret, The (30 page)
Around half past eleven, Aunt Lavina brought over two large pans of Busy Day casserole, with cubed ham and diced vegetables, topped with biscuit dough and grated cheese. The work came to a swift halt as all of them headed indoors to wash up. Grace and Mandy set the table right quick, then put out two kinds of dinner rolls, along with butter, strawberry jam, and apple butter. There was also a large crock of coleslaw and some chowchow, too—a fine feast of a meal, thanks to Mamma’s days of canning last summer . . . and her sister’s thoughtfulness in bringing the main dish.
Later, when the men had resumed the shearing, and Lav-ina, Mandy, and Grace were cleaning up in the quiet of the kitchen, their aunt asked about Mamma. “Have you heard anything?”
“Not yet, if you must know.” Mandy had never been so pointed with their aunt, nor had she looked so pale.
“Oh, sister,” said Grace, chagrined.
“
Es dutt mir leed—
I’m sorry.” Mandy looked first at Aunt Lavina, then at Grace. She sighed. “Guess I’m feelin’ under the weather.”
“Of course you are, dear.” Aunt Lavina reached for a tea towel and began to dry the plates. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No . . . no, it’s only natural you’d wonder,” said Grace, putting her hands back in the dishwater.
“She’s
your
family, too,” Mandy added.
“If . . . or
when
we hear something, I’ll tell you right away.” Grace carefully placed each glass in the hot rinse water on the right side of the double sink.
Lavina’s oval face broke into an encouraged smile. “I’ll be holdin’ my breath, then.”
Nodding, Grace said she hoped they’d hear something soon. Anything to end the not knowing.
L
ater that afternoon, Heather headed out to her car to explore the back roads. She glanced toward the little chicken house, her digital camera case slung over her shoulder. One of these days, she hoped to feed the hens with Becky.
The sights and smells of farm life captivated her as she looked toward the south, taking in the fields of newly planted corn. Birds twittered and called back and forth in the trees and beyond. This would be a great day to locate a coffee shop. After that, she wanted to drive the byways she and her parents had explored together in the past.
She was just getting into the car when Becky came running out, feet bare, skirts flying. “Wait . . . Heather!”
“Yes?”
“I . . . well, I just wondered if you’d like to go on another ride, maybe.” Becky’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’d be ever so happy to take ya.”
Heather hadn’t expected this; she could always drive to Lancaster later. “Sure. That’d be super.”
“Come, I’ll show you how to hitch the horse up to the buggy.” Becky laughed. “If you want to watch, that is.”
“I never pass up a guided tour.” She closed the car door, not bothering to lock it. She’d heard Marian tell the flirtatious man at breakfast this morning that nobody locked anything here.
“Not even your house?”
one of the other two women guests had asked. Marian had seemed nearly offended at the question, which got the two women talking at once. The room had seemed as chaotic as a group of CNN pundits hashing out the current political landscape.
Didn’t outsiders pose a single threat? The idea was nearly as startling as the earthy smell rising from the nearby manure pit. But even the strange smells added to her carefree feeling—she felt alive, in spite of everything that was so completely wrong with her life.
“Come, Heather!” Becky was calling for her.
“Jah, comin’,” she whispered, smiling to herself.
Judah was happy to see his neighbor Andy Riehl walking across the pasture to help with the shearing. Having rushed back and forth between the newborn lambs, the pregnant ewes, and the shearing, he was nearly ready for another fine dinner—and a good long nap, too. Yet here it was only three o’clock, and three agitated ewes were complicating things by showing signs of early labor. They’d isolated themselves from the herd, refusing feed, Adam reported when checking on their latest arrivals.
A while later, when he and Andy were hand pumping well water for a drink, Andy himself brought up what had become the consensus among the community. Judah’s ire rose quickly. “Listen here, Andy: I don’t want ya speakin’ so about my wife and Martin. Both of them are good folk. You must continue to call Martin for transportation.” He shook his head. “It just ain’t right not to.”
Andy removed his straw hat. “But—”
“No buts to it. I know my wife . . . and I know Martin. Just shut the People up ’bout this, ya hear?” Judah strode away, down toward the springhouse. “What’s come over me?” he muttered.
He’d never spouted off to Andy like that . . . nor to anyone else.
Is this how I am without Lettie?
Heather was surprised at how quickly Becky Riehl located Dad’s plot of land.
She reined the horse over to the side of the road so Heather could get a better view. “I wonder where we’ll build.” Heather surveyed the sweep of grassy field.
“Well, I see several choices, really.” Becky pointed out the various locations. “It would be nice, though, to have the house shifted off to one side of the property—maybe over there by the trees. A
gut
windbreak, I daresay. And if you do plant anything, you should rotate crops so as not to wear out the soil.”
Heather laughed and explained that her dad would need plenty of advice about such things. “You know . . . my mom would have liked this idea of his.”
“Your mother’s not living?”
Heather shook her head.
“Ach, so sorry.”
“I am, too.”
Every single day . . .
“Was it recent?” Becky’s face was somber.
“Still feels like it.” Heather nodded. “She passed away eighteen months ago.”
Becky appeared to take that in. “Grief’s harder for some than others,” she said thoughtfully. Then she asked if Heather had seen enough of her father’s new place. “If you like, we can circle around Bird-in-Hand.”
“Sure, I’d like that. And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I need to find a spot to recharge my phone.” She smiled a little, saying this to a conventional Amish girl.
“I know just the place.” Becky picked up the reins and urged the horse into a trot.
Looking over her shoulder at the piece of land, Heather could hardly believe Dad was embarking on this extraordinary adventure. She stared until her neck got a kink, then turned to face the road. “I feel like I’ve been missing out on something my whole life,” she blurted, her emotions dictating her words. “Ever feel like that?”
Becky shrugged. “Around here, we just take things in stride.” She glanced at Heather. “Maybe that’s not what you meant.”
“I’m the only child in my family. Maybe that’s why.”
A sympathetic look spread over Becky’s face. “Aw . . . no wonder, then.” She paused. “Maybe you know that Plain folk are surrounded by lots of siblings and family, grandparents included. And we look after each other.”
Heather asked, “Is everything really family focused, then?”
“Pretty much.” Becky smiled. “And I’d say we’re more about the whole community, though families are mighty important. The ministerial brethren oversee each church district, and their word comes down to the family through the heads of each household. It’s the menfolk who rule . . . some more kindly than others.”
So much for freethinking women.
Heather could not believe how similar this system was to the one she was addressing in her master’s thesis, on the patriarchy of colonial days. For a moment, she wished there was time to change the topic to the role of the Amish patriarch, since she was here, living the research.
“The oldest men in the church district have the biggest say—‘the most clout,’ Mamma likes to say, always with a twinkle in her eye.” Becky covered her mouth, stifling her laugh. “But ’tis ever so true.”
“What about women—do they have any choice on personal preferences?”
This brought more laughter from Becky. “Such as what?”
“You know, things like fabric colors for dresses or quilts, or who to name their babies after.”
Becky’s eyes lit up. “To tell you the truth, Mamma’s well known round here as good at namin’ babies.” She explained how her mother had once given some suggestions to their neighbor when her first daughter was born—“my
gut
friend, who lives in the first house to the west of us. Her name’s Grace. She was the first of many children Mamma helped to name.”
Heather had no idea what Becky meant. “So . . . do the People have some sort of old-time naming ritual?”
“Well, let me tell ya . . . Mamma holds the baby up and turns around three times. Then she closes her eyes real tight, says the alphabet backward and—” Becky’s face burst into a grin. “No, I’m just pullin’ your leg, Heather. All she does is look at a new infant to see if a particular name fits. That’s all.”
“But who would let someone else name their baby?” Heather asked, hoping she wasn’t corrupting Becky with her modern mind.
“Oh, no one. People do ask her for ideas, though. Let-tie Byler would never have come up with Grace on her own. Ain’t such a common name amongst us.” Becky glanced at her. “Sorry . . . we joke a lot round here.”
They continued to ride through the farmland, abounding with willow trees and laced with a wide, flowing creek. They saw dozens and dozens of grazing cows as, at Heather’s insistence, they kept discussing community versus the individual. She wished she had her laptop along to take notes when Becky made an interesting comment: “God put in the heart of His creation—in all of us—the need to belong. Husbands to wives, families to one another, and all of us to our heavenly Father.” Becky said this with such wide-eyed conviction, Heather scarcely knew what to think.
Soon, they arrived at a small house set near the road, with a sign out front:
Emma’s Cupboard.
“My mother’s cousin has electric here,” Becky said. “Emma’s Mennonite. She’ll be happy to let you charge up your phone or whatnot all.”
Heather was glad for this chance, but if asked she would have admitted to not missing her phone at all today. Quite satisfied with her decision to come to Amish country, she followed Becky into the adorable white clapboard shop with black shutters.
That evening Heather sat at the long kitchen table with Becky, who was drawing with colored pencils. Three hummingbirds in flight, each subsequently larger than the other.
Heather had decided to chronicle her trip longhand, with the plan to transcribe it to her journal file on her laptop later in her room. She continued writing about her day and the collision of emotions she’d experienced while sorting through her feelings about her illness and Devon in this almost magical setting.
It’s the last day of April, and I’ve been in Lancaster County
for only a little more than twenty-four hours. Mom loved coming
here so much, yet I miss her less here than when I’m home.
Well, about my first day back in Plain country. I observed
marked differences between Emma, a Mennonite shopkeeper who
allowed me to recharge my phone, and Becky, with her Amish
customs. Becky wouldn’t think of owning or driving a car, or
having anything run on electricity.