The Amish Seamstress (53 page)

T
WENTY
-N
INE

S
leep did not come easily, but somehow I managed to catch a few hours. By the time I woke up again, the sun was over the horizon, and a peek out the front window showed that several buggies were parked outside. Even though it was Christmas Eve day, I had a feeling they belonged to members of Alexander and Klara's district, who would have come to do chores and help prepare the house and property for the impending visitation and funeral.

I dressed and fixed my hair, and then I went to the kitchen of the
daadi haus
for some breakfast. Last night Alexander had said he would leave a message on my parents' machine about Frannie's death, so I expected my
daed
to show up at some point soon. After some yogurt and a few bites of toast, I cleaned my dishes and then returned to my room to pack as quietly as I could. Giselle was still asleep.

Daed
hadn't shown up by the time I was finished, so I brought all of my stuff to the living room and stacked it beside the door. Though I knew I should go on to the main house and pitch in with everyone else, I just couldn't bring myself to do so. Instead, I returned to the little kitchen for
another cup of coffee and then sat at the table, alone in the quiet, and tried to work through what I was feeling.

Unsettled
was the word that came to mind—though not from Frannie dying. I had seen her go in peace. She had been ready, surrounded by those who loved her. I had now faced a death of someone important to me, and I had seen what Marta had told me about, the beauty of the transition.

No, I think what had my mind spinning was Zed. Had he meant what he said last night before the film? Was he really willing to join the Amish church for me? For us? The thought both thrilled me and terrified me at the same time. Such a move would be a sacrifice for anyone, but especially for him. It would mean the end of his education, his film career. His dreams.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside and the gentle knock I recognized as my father's. I let him in, holding a finger to my mouth as I whispered, “Giselle's still asleep.”

I pointed to my things beside the door, saying I just needed to straighten the kitchen and then I'd be out. As he began carrying the boxes to the buggy, I cleaned my cup and put it away, and then I dug from my handwork bag the bookmarks I'd made for all the women. I placed them on the table, fanned out in circle, and then dashed off a quick note for Giselle and left it there as well. I asked her to please pass them along to Klara, Ada, Lexie, Ella, Marta, and herself as a small token of thanks and love. I hesitated, not sure how to end the note, and then I finally added, “I'll be praying for you and your family. See you at the visitation. Love, Izzy.”

Once we were home, I unpacked my things and then jumped into the fray, helping prepare for tomorrow's Christmas dinner. Finally, however, late that afternoon, my
mamm
sent me off for a nap, saying I was nearly asleep on my feet. She was right.

I ended up sleeping through our entire Christmas Eve family time. Linda tried to wake me, but my body felt like lead and I just couldn't get up. I didn't even realize I'd fallen back to sleep until I awoke many hours later, early Christmas morning. I headed downstairs in the pitch dark and lit the lamp. It was four forty-five. I assumed
Mamm
and
Daed
would be up soon. I started the coffee and the fire, and then I looked in
the refrigerator to see if
Mamm
had left her Christmas coffee cake ready to bake. She had, so I took it out to warm by the stove.

Next, I gathered tape, scissors, and some brown paper bags and then retreated to my little room to wrap the gifts I'd made for my family, tying each one with a strand of red yarn. As I worked, my mind returned to Zed. He'd said he was willing to join the Amish church, but I didn't expect he would feel that way for long—not once he really thought it through.

Wait
. Sighing deeply, I forced myself to surrender the situation, yet again, to God's will, not my own.

One by one, my other family members began to appear. First
Mamm
, then
Daed
, then Thomas and Stephen. As
Daed
and the boys did the chores,
Mamm
sent me upstairs to wake Tabitha and Linda. After
Daed
and the boys came back in, we ate our breakfast of sausage, eggs, and the coffee cake. Afterward,
Daed
read the Christmas story, and then we all went into the living room. I stopped to gather the gifts I had for the others and then joined them, the morning light through the windows brightening the whole space.

We all exchanged our gifts. Tabitha had knitted me a scarf and Linda had made socks to match. Thomas drew me a picture of a bird in a tree, and Stephen made me a pinecone wreath that he said I could hang on my “little room” door. I passed around the cloth bags I'd made and the handkerchiefs I'd embroidered.

Mamm
and
Daed
gave the girls new dresses and the boys new shirts and pants. We each got one small, personal item as well, and I opened my box slowly, eager to see what might be inside.

To my surprise, as I lifted the lid, I saw that it contained a book with an illustration on it of an Indian wearing buckskin. Eyes wide, I looked to my
mamm
, who explained, “It covers all the fashions in America during the 1700s. What everyone would have worn. Natives and Europeans. Rich and poor.”

“Where did you find it?” I asked.

“I asked at the bookstore. They did some sort of search…” As usual she'd didn't give much of an explanation. She didn't need to.

I was deeply touched, not so much for the gift itself as for what it represented. Their acceptance. Their approval. Their support.

Sure, this family of mine overwhelmed me at times, but hanging out with another family for such a long stretch had taught me much about my own. Maybe
Mamm
wasn't the talker or the nurturer I wished she was. And maybe my sisters, every one of them, were the exact opposite of me. But I knew they loved me. I knew they were there for me. I knew I belonged to them, always.

The next day was Frannie's funeral, which was held at Klara and Alexander's house. The men and women of the family sat together up front, near the minister, beside the pine casket. Everyone else in attendance sat divided, as usual, into their two sides. I was on the women's side, next to
Mamm
, while
Daed
sat with the men.

The service was long and somber. In attendance were Frannie's family, many of their extended relatives, numerous members of their district, and other specially invited guests, such as me and my parents. Just as we were taking our seats, I noticed Ada greet a young couple at the door, and I had a feeling they were Daniel and Morgan, the friends she and Giselle had told me about from Switzerland, who were currently in the States. What a blessing they had been in the country and were able to come today.

The service had Scripture readings and a sermon, as usual. At the end, though Frannie's name had yet to be mentioned, the bishop finally looked down at her casket and said, “Francis Lantz was eighty-four years old.” To eulogize her beyond that would be prideful and wrong.

After the service, the pallbearers carried the casket out to the hearse—an enclosed wagon with a black top. I followed as far as the porch and watched the wind whip against their bodies as they slid the casket onto the bed of the wagon.
Mamm
stepped beside me. “Your
daed
's going to stay and set up the tables,” she said. “And I'm going to get the meal ready. Do you want to help me?”

I shook my head, surprised she'd thought to ask. She was offering me an out—but I didn't need one. “Thank you, but I'm fine. I'll go to the cemetery with the family.”

Zed and I rode in the back of Alexander and Klara's buggy, which followed behind the hearse. Zed sat close to me on the back bench seat, and
though we didn't talk, I reached out and took his hand for a while when I knew no one was looking.

During our short time at the cemetery, Zed angled himself to block the wind. Thankfully, the minister kept it short considering it was bitter cold and growing more so.

This was the part of Verna's service that had gotten to me the most, but now as I gazed at the deep hole waiting in the ground to receive Frannie's casket, I was filled not with terror but with peace. She had lived a good and godly life. She had known the Lord as her Savior. Surely she was now with the One who had numbered all her days.

By the time we returned to the house, the noon meal of soup and bread was ready to eat. The older people dined first, then we
youngie
took our turn. Zed and I ended up seated near Daniel and Morgan. They were so nice and friendly that soon the four of us were chatting away like old friends.

Nearby, Ada and Lexie were talking and laughing like sisters, and once again I was amazed at how close they seemed despite not having grown up together—or in fact even knowing about each other—until they were both adults. How nice it must be for Giselle to see her daughters get on so well.

I glanced around for Giselle but didn't see her.

Conversation turned to Zed's filmmaking, and then to my contribution as a costumer. When Daniel learned I was a seamstress, he asked what other sorts of work I did. As those around us jumped in and began to describe my various creations, he became excited and said he would love to see some of it if he could.

“I'm always on the lookout for authentic Amish handwork. We sell it in the gift shop at the hotel.”

Hearing our conversation, Ada leaned over and added, “Izzy's multi-talented, you know. She
is
an amazing seamstress, but she's also quite the caregiver.”

“Oh, right,” Morgan said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “You were the one who cared for Ada's grandma.”

I nodded, surprised when she added, “So what's next? You should think about working for Herr Lauten. We've been trying to find someone
for him forever. You could come to Switzerland and be his caregiver—and you could do handwork for the shop while you're there!”

“Switzerland?” I squeaked with a laugh. “Sure. Just let me get my things and we can go.”

Everyone laughed, but deep inside I had to wonder if the idea was all that crazy. I didn't necessarily have the wanderlust I knew had driven Ada to travel a few years ago, but I did have a deep love of learning and experiencing new things. I also felt I had established a bond with Giselle, one that could only grow stronger if we lived near each other, at least for a while. Perhaps she might even mentor me. There was just so much about fabric and art she could share and that I yearned to know.

Once again, I looked around for Giselle but still didn't see her. In fact, she seemed to have disappeared. I wasn't quite finished with my dessert, but a gentle urging told me to
go
. I feared this day had been a greater struggle for her than for almost anyone else.

After excusing myself, I retrieved my cape and went out the back door to the
daadi haus
, but she wasn't there. Next I headed toward the barn, but on the way a movement down by the creek caught my attention. There was someone there, a woman from what I could tell, though the hair was covered by a hat and she stepped out of view as soon as I started walking toward the willows. On a hunch I kept going.

As I neared the trees, I could hear the sound of someone sniffling.

“Giselle, don't let me scare you,” I said. “It's me, Izzy.”

She didn't answer so I continued on, finding her with her back against a willow, her face streaked with tears, her eyes on the icy water before her.

She looked exhausted. Defeated.

Tormented.

I took a deep breath and turned my eyes to the water as well. Somehow, I knew this wasn't just about her mother's death.

It was also about what happened to her right here, so long ago, when Lexie was just a toddler and had almost drowned because of Giselle's negligence. According to what Ella had told me, that event was the final straw that led the woman to give up both daughters for adoption and move away.

I stood next to her now, my back also against the tree, and thought
about what I could say that might make her feel better. I wanted to reassure her that her decision, though painful, had been a wise one, as Lexie and Ada had both been raised by loving parents in homes filled with faith and goodness. But I couldn't think of how to say it without hurting her feelings.

I remained silent instead, offering only the comfort of my presence.

Finally, still staring down at the creek, Giselle spoke. “A piece of me, the selfish part, hoped they would never get over losing me. Instead, they have both gone on to become wonderful, loving, productive adults without my help at all.”

She barked a laugh through a fresh wave of tears. After a long moment, she added, “It's just astounding how so many lives can be changed in an instant, you know? A mother falls asleep. A child wanders off. A creek nearly swallows her up…”

I said a silent prayer for wisdom as I leaned closer to Giselle, our shoulders touching. “God's hand was on it, though,” I whispered. “He knew every one of those things was going to happen.”