Secret, The (32 page)

Sighing, she leaned her head against the window, not sure who baffled her more these days: her father or her fiancé.

Judah breathed in the rich, leathery scent of the harness shop. It was one of his favorite places for that reason alone. Intensely aware of his mounting neck pain, he wondered if he might be on the verge of a stroke. His great-aunt had suffered with such pain for months prior to the brainstem bleed that eventually took her life.

There were times when he could not make sense of what he truly felt about Lettie’s departure. And now this—it was unthinkable for her to withdraw such a large sum without discussing it. Was her need for money the reason she’d struggled so to tell him? And why hadn’t she contacted him or anyone else since leaving? Her exasperating silence struck him as uncaring and downright cold.

He reached in his pocket to fish for an aspirin and found none. If the excruciating pain didn’t subside soon, he’d have to see a doctor.
Prob’ly should’ve before now
, he thought, waiting his turn for the smithy, who was finishing shoeing a horse.

Hurry up and wait today . . .

Hazily, he heard his name spoken behind him.

“Judah Byler! I was hopin’ to see you this week.”

Turning, Judah saw a tall blond man in his early twenties. He’d slipped in the door unnoticed till now.

“Yonnie Bontrager.” The young fellow offered an engaging smile and a solid handshake in return. “Will you spare me a minute, sir?” He explained that he’d planned to stop by the house. “But since you’re here . . .”

Judah nodded, unsure what the boy could want.

“
Gut,
then.” Yonnie’s grin was infectious. “I’ll wait out by my buggy.”

When the smithy finished up with his other customer, he caught Judah’s eye and hurried to the back room to get Judah’s repaired harness. Soon he returned, hauling it out and laying it down on the long table. “You’ll be glad to know the amount came to less than we’d agreed on. Don’t hear that too often, jah?”

Judah nodded and pulled out his wallet.
Every little bit
helps . . . ’specially now,
he thought. While tallying up the correct amount of cash, he recalled the bank clerk’s hushed counting of these same bills. And his sinking feeling when he realized Lettie had taken so much for herself.

He slung the harness over his shoulder and headed outside. Yonnie stood near his horse and open carriage.

“Here, let me help.” Yonnie took the harness and carried it to his own buggy, lugging it inside. “Looks like you could use a ride home.” Going around to the driver’s side, he hopped into the courting buggy. “That is, if you don’t mind ridin’ in my new wheels.”

One ride’s as good as another
, Judah decided and got in.

Yonnie’s eyes grew serious now as he reached for the reins. “If it’s not too forward, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Speak your mind,” Judah said absently.

Yonnie pulled out onto the road, letting the horse trot a ways before speaking again. “Would it be too much to ask . . . well, to give your blessing for me to court your daughter Grace?”

Judah had never heard of such a request. Certainly, among some of the more conservative Mennonites—even the Brethren folk—the potential groom was expected to ask the girl’s father for her hand in marriage but not prior to merely courting. “I believe Grace is spoken for,” said Judah, looking at Yonnie.

“Puh! I’m too late, then?”

“You’d know better ’bout who’s pairing up at Singings and whatnot.”

Yonnie raised his eyebrows. “Glory be, if Grace’s spoken for, she doesn’t look too happy ’bout it.”

Judah flinched. Grace
was
carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but not for the reason Yonnie now assumed. “Tell you what: I won’t stand in your way if Grace wants ya. How’s that?”

Yonnie patted his hat and gave a whoop. He clucked his tongue and the horse moved from a trot to a near gallop.

Now, here’s a boy in love,
thought Judah, thinking back to his own courting days.

There had been a mighty stir among the area youth when Samuel Graber started showing up at Singings before the appointed time. He was only fifteen, if that, when he first came and sat high on the bales of hay, just watching the youth sing. Nearly staring them down, some said. Gawking, said others.

Then, when some of the couples started pairing up, Samuel wandered around the barn, always with a book tucked under his arm and a pencil stuck atop his ear. Some of the girls thought he was getting ideas for poetry, but Judah didn’t know what to make of that. Sometimes he struck up a conversation with a couple, or several girls, and other times he simply strolled along the perimeter of the social gathering. Then, after a time, he went and sat again, making drawings of faces and profiles in his notebook, or writing snippets of rhyme.

There was enough hearsay to know this Samuel was mighty strange. And Samuel seemed to know, somehow, that he wasn’t truly accepted by the other youth, but that didn’t seem to discourage him one iota. He continued to overstep his bounds by attending all the youth-related events.

Then, along about the time Lettie Esh started attending the get-togethers, Samuel suddenly quit coming. Later, word had it he was seeing Lettie on the sly at her house—according to two of her sisters, anyway. Samuel was known to go over there several times a week, which was considered giving a girl the rush—nobody did anything like that. Not that Judah had heard of, anyway. Still, none of that seemed to matter to Lettie, and the two of them were frequently seen after the common meal on Sundays, their heads nearly touching as she sat behind the barn with him, watching him write in his so-called poetry book.

Meanwhile, Judah realized he’d dallied and hadn’t acted quickly enough. More of an observer than a go-getter, he’d lost his chance with Lettie—and to Samuel, of all fellows. Samuel, who wasn’t too keen on following the Lord in holy baptism, or taking the required instruction to join church. Some said he was working on getting Lettie to “see the light, too” and making other disturbing remarks against the church.

Judah figured if that was the kind of fellow he was, then Let-tie must be on the fringes, too, or heading there. So Judah began seeing other girls, hoping to find a devout, hard-working wife from among the remaining group of eligible young women.

Months passed, and by the time he heard that Lettie Esh and her mother had gone to assist an ailing aunt out in Ohio for a time, Samuel Graber and his poetry books were long gone.

Meanwhile, Judah was dating a new girl, though not one nearly as pretty as Lettie. It was much later that Jakob Esh came knocking one morning, and they went talking, man to man. Although he’d thought at the time how unusual it was for a father to play such a role, Judah was still plenty interested in having a chance to court Lettie—willing and ready, in fact, having never forgotten her. And while he was nothing like Samuel, he hoped she might come to love him. Judah’s talent was laboring with his hands and by the sweat of his brow—he had never read a poem to a girl or even to himself, let alone written one. At only eighteen, he worked the soil hard and tended to sheep.

Once he started seriously courting seventeen-year-old Let-tie, he gave her the courtesy of not speaking about Samuel. For her part, she, too, never uttered his name. At least, not intentionally.

There were times, though, when Lettie sometimes whispered Samuel’s name while she lay sleeping. Judah had refused to let it bother him. He knew as well as the next fellow that plenty of young folk didn’t end up hitched to the first girl or fellow they took a shine to.

Most important, Lettie had agreed to marry
him.
And nearly ten months later, she bore him a fine and healthy son. The Lord had been good, seeing fit to give them four wonderful children and twenty-three years of marriage.

Till now . . .

Grace was greeted warmly at the back door of the Stoltzfus home. Cousin Rose actually threw her arms around her. “Oh, it’s so nice to see ya!”

“And you, too.” She was glad when Rose suggested they go walking on the road, which was rather unlike their own busy street. The unpaved road more resembled a private lane, and Grace began to relax, the warmth of the sun on her face as Cousin Rose chattered away. Grace was surprised—and pleased—when she realized the grapevine had not wended its way this far concerning Mamma. It made things much easier all around.

At last Grace hesitantly asked Rose about Mamma’s friend at the barn raising. “Do you remember the woman? She wasn’t from around here, I don’t think.”

“Goodness, I believe I
do
know who you mean,” said Rose. “That was Sarah Graber, visiting from Ohio, though I can’t be sure of the exact city. Might be in Wayne County.” Rose fanned herself with a hankie. “She lives
somewhere
out there, anyway.”

“Is she related to you . . . or to Mamma?”

“Not to me, no. She was in town to see her grand-niece’s baby, is what I heard.” A sudden frown appeared on Rose’s plump face. “Ach . . . I ’spect you might not know who Sarah’s twin is, then.”

“No.”

“Well, that would be your mother’s first beau, Samuel Gra-ber. He was already on his way out of the church right around the time he and your mother started courtin’.” Rose paused and drew in a slow breath. “Seems from what was said back then, he had a real hankering for fancy, modern books—poetry and whatnot. Even wrote some himself. I believe I’ve got that right . . . so long ago now.”

That explained the books Mamma had retrieved from Uncle Ike’s; they must’ve come from Samuel.
But how odd that Mamma
wanted to keep them.
Grace blinked her eyes, trying to absorb the news. “Why didn’t they marry?”

“Well, like I said, Samuel wasn’t much interested in joinin’ church. And your mother surely was.”

Mamma certainly had married someone devoted to God and the church. “She’s been a stickler for goin’ to Preaching all my life.”
Just not so much recently
, thought Grace, not knowing what to make of all this. She’d never heard Mamma breathe a word about her first beau, yet she’d chosen to keep the poetry books . . . even taking some away with her.
Of all things!

Rose asked in a roundabout way about Grace’s relationship with her parents, and Grace saw through it. No doubt Rose wondered why Grace had come all this way to ask something her own mother could have answered.

“Your Mamma was better off without Samuel, I’ll say,” Rose added. “Some called him a troublemaker.”

Grace knew she ought to be heading home right quick. “Denki ever so much, Cousin Rose, but it’s ’bout time for me to start back—I have dinner to make.”

Now Rose was frowning to beat the band, staring over her glasses at her. “Is your mamma too sick to cook today? You can certainly stay and eat with us . . . that’d be just right fine.”

She had slipped up but good. “Another time, maybe,” Grace said quickly. “My driver will be returning soon. It’s kind of you to visit with me. Thank you again ever so much.”

“Anytime, Grace . . . just anytime at all.” Rose took off her glasses and cleaned them with her hankie. “Tell your family hullo from all of us down here. We sure miss the Sunday visits.”

Nodding, Grace told how busy they were now, what with lambing. She hoped Rose wouldn’t ask specifically again about Mamma and open up that can of worms.

Very soon, Martin Puckett’s van came inching along the narrow lane.
Just in time, too.