The Bridesmaid (17 page)

E
ben's hand shook as he pulled the number for the cab company out of his pocket and attempted to dial the phone.
Worst day of my life.

He stopped and hung up, still gripping the receiver as he stared out the lone window. If he did succeed in acquiring transportation back to the bus depot, he would sit there for a couple of hours until time to board for the overnight return trip—squander his precious time with Joanna. Yet there was nothing more to say; she seemed upset by his presence . . . even put out with him. It had been so long since he'd seen her, he wasn't sure he was reading her correctly. Was she sad he was calling off their plans? Angry?

We're almost like strangers.

He prayed for wisdom. Life had come crashing down indeed. And here he was, muddling through when he ought to be moving heaven and earth to win Joanna's heart and make her his bride.

Lifting the receiver again, he managed to dial this time. He went through the motions of speaking to someone at the dispatch office, asking for a ride within the hour, hoping that might give him a bit more time here—to make sure Joanna was all right. Although at the rate he was going, he wasn't certain she wanted him around at all. And who could blame her? He'd written her love letters, promising things based on mere hope . . . things he now knew he couldn't fulfill. “
Ich hab en Hutsch draus gemacht
,” he whispered, glancing at his watch. There was no doubt in Eben's mind: He
had
made a mess of it.

———

Joanna was in such a bad way, she couldn't bring herself to stand there and wait for Eben to finish up his call. To preserve her sense of propriety, she walked back to the house and began to unhitch the horse, wondering where her parents and Cora Jane were keeping themselves.

She forced her thoughts away from the ragged ache that hadn't let up since she realized Eben was returning to Indiana, taking back his promise of love and a future together. Why hadn't she told on herself about the visit from Preacher Yoder . . . the complication
she'd
caused by not explaining herself? Why not, when their courtship was already coming to a painful end?

In a few minutes, Jake appeared again on this side of the barnyard, having returned through Dat's field. As before, his face glowed at seeing her. “Say, let me help ya, Joanna.” And before she could politely refuse, he began to assist with the heavy harness. She hoped Eben wouldn't get the wrong idea, if he were to spot them working together. But then, realizing that was a ridiculous worry now, she dismissed it. After all, Eben had just let her go, so why should she fret? It might even be providential for Eben to see her with Jake.

Just that quickly, Joanna felt chagrined. No way did she wish jealousy on Eben. But she did wish she could erase his words and return to the days of their romance, however stalled. At least then the sting in her heart would not be so sharp.

In that moment, Cousin Malinda's husband, Andy, came rumbling down the road in his hay wagon. He slowed at the end of the lane, then called to her. “Joanna, come
schnell
! Hop aboard!” Something was obviously wrong. And without hesitation, she dashed to the road, leaving Jake behind.

Andy was hatless, his blond hair sticking out every which way like he'd run his hands through it.

“
Was fehlt?
” she asked.

“Mammi Kurtz collapsed in the kitchen . . . seriously injured her hip,” Andy explained.

“Ach, no!” Joanna had seen how unsteady her grandmother had been earlier.
I should've stayed with her!
“Are my parents and Cora Jane over there already?”

“Jah, and your mother needs help with Dawdi, 'specially once the ambulance arrives.”

Joanna felt terrible for not making sure her grandmother was all right. For more reasons than one, she should not have come home.

However anxious she was to be with her family, she also didn't want to leave just yet . . . not without saying good-bye to Eben.

Looking back, she saw him heading toward the house, within a few yards of Jake and the horse and carriage. She groaned inwardly, knowing Jake was a talkative sort. It was anyone's guess what he'd chew the fat about . . . and what Eben might say to him.

She asked Andy to wait a minute, then hurried to Eben. “My grandmother's fallen—might have a broken bone,” she said. “I'm needed over there.”

Disappointment seemed to cloud his countenance as she offered a quick farewell.

Unexpectedly, he reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “
Gott
be with you, Joanna,” he said simply.

She tried to give him a smile in return, then, knowing it was best not to linger, headed back to Andy, who hoisted her up and into the wagon.

The horse moved forward, and Joanna looked back to Eben . . . just in time to see him shake Jake's hand. The two of them turned and were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking altogether befuddled as she rode away. If Joanna hadn't felt so miserable right then, seeing Jake and Eben together like that might've struck her as almost comical.

———

“Looks like it's just us,” Jake said after introducing himself, helping Eben lead the horse to the stable. “Most folk call me Freckles Jake . . . guess you can, too.”

Eben, still reeling with emotion, felt momentarily thankful Jake was being so down-home and relaxed.
Like Leroy always was . . .

“
Gut
to meet ya, Freckles Jake. I'm Eben Troyer.”

Jake removed his straw hat and scratched his head. “That's a family name we don't hear much round here.”

Eben nodded. “I'm from Indiana . . . Shipshewana, to be exact.”

“Ah, so you're the fella who visited last year.” Jake grinned now, planting his hat back on. “Nice to put a name to a face.”

“Have you lived here your whole life?” Eben asked.

“Born and bred.” Jake straightened and pushed out his chest. “We here in Hickory Hollow are mighty proud—well, in a
gut
sort of way—of our secluded little spot, hidden away from the English world. 'Tis hard to find, if you don't know where you're goin'.”

Eben could vouch for that. The cab driver today had never even heard of Hickory Lane and didn't know it was east of Intercourse Village—
a strange name for a town,
Eben thought.
Thank goodness for the cabbie's GPS.

“Well, what do ya think of our hollow?” Jake asked, looking him over but good as they walked out of the stable.

“I see why folk like it.”
Joanna especially.

“Looks like you've got some time on your hands, what with Joanna carted off and all.”

If Eben had been in a better mood, he would have chuckled. “Not much time, actually.”

“All right, then. You gonna spend it standing lookin' like you're lost?”

Something about this young man demanded his attention. “I like you, Jake. I truly do.” He clapped his hand on Jake's shoulder, feeling the muscles there. No question this was a hardworking, responsible fellow. “What can ya tell me about your Ordnung here? How strict is your bishop, for starters?”

A frown appeared on Jake's face. “Oh, now, you don't want to fool with the likes of Bishop John Beiler.”

“So . . . mighty strict, then?”

Jake bobbed his head. “Imposed the harshest shunning anywhere some years ago. A young girl wouldn't submit to the church over her music.”

Eben's ears perked up. “Really, now?”

“She ended up leavin'—took her guitar with her.”

Eben didn't need to hear how harsh they'd treated her, but he did wonder about the types of vows required at church baptism. “Some churches want their members to stay put in the same district their whole life.”

“Jah, that's pretty much what we've got right here.”

Eben considered that, his mind going a hundred miles an hour. “Ever know anyone who managed to get permission to move to another Amish church?” No doubt the reason for his questions was apparent to Jake, but Eben couldn't help asking.

“Well, a few . . . sure. But they were members in good standing.” Jake studied him hard. “Why do ya ask?”

“Curious is all.” Eben couldn't help but wonder why Joanna had said so emphatically otherwise. Had she purposely misrepresented the bishop? Surely not. And he couldn't imagine a girl like Joanna not being highly regarded in the church.

No, Eben knew the real truth. She simply was not interested in leaving her beloved home . . . not even to marry him.

A
s she rode to her grandparents' house, Joanna could still picture Eben with Jake, standing at the end of the lane. She squelched the urge to cry, knowing she must be strong for her mother . . . and for poor Dawdi, who would surely want to go along in the ambulance with Mammi. That's just how he was these days—hardly let her out of his sight.

I'll be the one to stay home with him.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she considered both the unforeseen breakup with Eben and now Mammi's terrible fall. Truly, Joanna could hardly hold herself together.

Eben spotted the yellow cab coming this way and immediately regretted having to leave. If only he could have come here under much different circumstances. Like his visit last wedding season. Yet, knowing what he did now, he could see she was not willing to commit, not when it meant a move. Otherwise, why would she not say there were exceptions to membership transfers? She'd lost interest in him . . . perhaps in part because of the friendly fellow beside him.

“Mighty nice talkin' with ya,” Jake said, moseying onto the road with a wave as he headed toward home.

“You too.” The encounter with Jake had seemed meant to be.

Eben opened the back door of the cab and got in, watching Joanna's house fade from sight as they sped away. He took in the springtime views, especially noticing the well-tended lawns and surrounding flower gardens—every farmhouse here was pristine and tidy, too. Not that his community back home wasn't as well cared for, of course . . . it just struck him that each and every property here was remarkably maintained.

No wonder Joanna adores the area.

With a glance into the rearview mirror, the cabbie asked if he had kinfolk here.

“No.”

“Ah . . . a girlfriend, maybe?”

“Not anymore.” Eben shrugged. “It didn't work out.”

“Sorry, man.”

No more than I am,
Eben thought.
My whole future was bound up in Joanna Kurtz.

“Remember, there are lots of other good fish in the sea,” the driver said with another glance over his shoulder and a sympathetic smile.

Eben considered that. Meeting Joanna had seemed providential—so much that he had trusted in it completely.

As they drove a bit farther, he noticed a large farmhouse where an ambulance was parked in the lane, as well as several gray buggies, a van, and the same hay wagon that had come for Joanna.

He caught sight of Joanna herself standing on the front porch, opening her arms to an older man. Was it her Dawdi? Watching her comfort him, Eben swallowed the lump in his throat, touched by her compassion.

Oh, dear Joanna,
he thought sadly.
What have I done, letting you go?

Just as Joanna had guessed, she was left in charge of her grandfather as a vanload of various relatives, including her parents and Cora Jane, followed the ambulance with Mammi inside to the hospital. She helped get Dawdi settled in a rocker on the front porch, where he'd insisted on being positioned facing west, in the direction the ambulance had gone.

“Would ya like something cold to drink?” She concentrated on doting on her grandfather, glad to have something to occupy her mind.

Dawdi smiled a little, his blue-gray eyes still moist from weeping. She supposed, as tenderhearted as he was, he might sit out here and cry some more. “There's a pitcher of lemonade in there,” he said.

“I'll get some for ya.”

“You're as thoughtful as your Mammi, ya know?” he surprised her by saying.

“That's awful nice.” Joanna remembered again Eben's disheartening visit. Lots of girls would've questioned him even further—talked up to him, perhaps. Cora Jane would have!

While Dawdi drank his lemonade and kept cool outdoors, Joanna put the casserole she'd delivered earlier into the oven to reheat. Once she'd set the table for two and checked on Dawdi again, she wandered to the sitting area in the kitchen alcove and noticed her Mammi's devotional book open and lying upside down. Looking at it, Joanna began to read the selection for the day from Psalm 29:11, surprised by its pertinence.
“The Lord will give strength unto his people; the Lord will bless his people with peace.”

Still holding the book, she sat down in Mammi's chair. “I long for your peace, O Lord . . . I truly do.” She stifled her urge to cry as she looked with fondness around this little corner where Mammi loved to sit and read. “With God's help, I'll get through this unbearable time,” she whispered, wishing Eben Troyer safe travels home. She did not harbor any bitterness toward him, not one speck: Eben was a good man, she knew. But she was hurt terribly and longed to receive the peace spoken of in the psalm. She leaned her head back, hoping her grandmother would be all right.
Let her know you're with her, O Lord.

After a time, Joanna went to stir the casserole, making sure it was hot enough to serve. And she burst into tears, realizing she would never cook such a supper for Eben.

The man in front of Eben on the bus smelled of cigarettes. Now that he thought of it, Eben realized that Leroy had smelled a bit like smoke, too. Surely his brother hadn't gravitated toward that kind of habit. But then, Leroy had dabbled in plenty of things since he'd attended high school and college.

Eben looked out the window, the sky already dimming as the sun dropped low, flicking light between thousands of tree trunks as they headed west.

Back to where I came from . . .

He'd learned more about the Hickory Hollow church district in a few short moments with Jake than he had in all the months of courting Joanna by letter. But then, Eben hadn't probed about her community, so it wasn't fair to measure in that way. Joanna was a responder—she had never been pushy or forward like some girls. No, Joanna was kind and patient, and she certainly hadn't deserved being put through the wringer today. What a rotten outcome for someone so wonderful.

Squinting into the fading sunlight, Eben thought it served him right if Jake Lantz
was
interested in Joanna. Considering how forthright and congenial the young man was, Eben almost hoped he'd pursue her. At least then he'd know Joanna would have a fine husband.

He closed his eyes, again seeing Joanna's sweet face when first she'd seen him sitting there on the back porch. Repeatedly, he made himself remember only her demure and cheerful expression . . . the way she looked before he'd opened his mouth and ruined everything. He resented the pain in his heart, for it was his own doing.

Rest eluded him. Eben opened his eyes and stared out the window at the landscape along the highway, a greenish-brown blur as the bus sped along faster and faster toward home.
Away from my dearest love,
he thought as the wind rushed past the windows.

After supper, Joanna sat in her grandmother's chair and listened as Dawdi Kurtz read the old German Bible. She wondered when someone might return to give some word of Mammi.

Not surprisingly, Dawdi eventually called it an early night and headed off to bed in the downstairs sleeping room. Her grandfather was a quiet man who lived his life inside his head and disliked engaging in much conversation—like Joanna's own father. Sleep was Dawdi's way of coping with his great concern for Mammi, now far away in the hospital.
Amongst Englischers . . .

Feeling restless, Joanna wandered upstairs to look at the rooms that had been set up by Fannie and her husband to look nearly identical to those in the main farmhouse, where decades before, Joanna's grandparents had nurtured and raised their children. The more spacious bedroom was presently arranged as a comfortable guest room, and the smallest was a sewing room. Just as in the bigger house next door, the larger bedroom was situated directly over the kitchen for the best warmth during the cold months. The room still looked the same as when Mammi and Dawdi had moved here to the slightly smaller Dawdi Haus, right after Cora Jane was born. Joanna's mother had needed some extra care from her own mother, so Joanna was brought here at the age of seven to spend a week. At that time, Mammi Kurtz had shown her a secret opening in the wall, a concealed bookshelf where she'd kept her diaries and a New Testament in English. There was also a file of old letters—
“relics,”
Mammi had called them—and an assortment of books, including one titled
Voice of the Heart
, by John Newton.

Knowing Mammi wouldn't mind if she poked around a bit, Joanna made her way to the crevice in the wall. There, just as she remembered, was the small hideaway, now filled with still more books. Joanna looked more closely and noticed that some were novels—
“made-up stories,”
as Preacher Yoder had described them. Then, opening one of the devotional books, Joanna saw two letters tucked inside, both on parchment. The words
Aunt Joanna
were beautifully written on the strip of paper wrapped around them.

“Is this my namesake?” Joanna whispered, noting the June 1932 date on the letter. Surely this confirmed it was written by the aunt who'd made the double wedding ring quilt. Joanna sighed.
I'll ask Mammi if I can read these sometime.