The Bridesmaid (21 page)

J
oanna was very sure Salina's threesome had grown taller just in the space of two days. Mamma often said children grew faster in the summer months—
“like weeds”—
and looking at her nieces and nephew, Joanna couldn't help but agree.

Strolling about the backyard between the time Preaching service ended and the shared meal began, Joanna enjoyed the shade from several tall trees. She spied Salina and a couple other young mothers with their youngsters and went over to talk to them. Joanna's nephew Stephen was on the verge of being grouped with other boys his age—first graders come this fall. For now, though, he still played with his little sisters and young cousins, chasing them around the tree trunks and teasing the girls, some of whom were playing with their little white handkerchief dollies.

Joanna noticed Cora Jane on the other side of the yard with a few teenage girls, including Mattie Beiler's granddaughters Martha, Julia, and Susie. Martha and Julia looked at Jake Lantz and his younger brother, Jesse, with disdain when the guys walked by with a handful of other courting-age young men. Joanna wondered if Susie and Julia had perhaps been two of the girls who'd complained about Jake's forwardness. Would he behave differently now, were he to go riding with either of them?

Over on the long back porch, Mary Beiler crept alongside her elderly grandfather Abram Stoltzfus, searching for a chair for him.
Bless their hearts.
Joanna watched them tenderly, missing her own grandparents today. Dawdi Joseph hadn't felt well enough to attend, so Mammi Sadie had stayed home with him. And of course her Kurtz grandparents hadn't come, either, and probably wouldn't until Mammi was more sure of herself with her walker. Dawdi Kurtz refused to leave her, even though someone was there caring for her—he'd missed her terribly while she was in the hospital. Joanna wondered what Bishop John thought of that. Did he ever send the preachers out to talk to elderly and infirm members about missing church?

“You're deep in thought, ain't?” Salina leaned to whisper to Joanna.

“Guess I am . . . sorry.”

“Couldn't help but notice you and Cora Jane sitting far apart during church today,” Salina said, moving closer to Joanna beneath the shade tree to talk more privately. “You girls still at odds?”

“It'll pass.”

“Well, I should hope so, after all this time . . . ain't the best example for the other young folk, ya know.”

“No, s'pose not.”

Salina frowned and made eye contact. “There
is
something bothering you, Joanna. I hear it in your voice.”

She didn't want to criticize her younger sister on the Lord's Day, especially. “Best just pray 'bout it, jah?”

“Watch and pray, Scripture says.” Salina was smiling too broadly.

“Ach, don't be so
labbich,
sister.”

“Ya think I'm silly, do ya?” Salina said, rolling her eyes. “Hard not to see what's goin' on round us, jah?”

Joanna had never thought of her older sister as a
Schnuffelbox—
busybody—but today she certainly did seem to know what was going on with nearly everyone.

The two of them laughed softly, and then Salina really cut loose, which made Joanna laugh even harder. Laughter felt good; she couldn't deny it. And she knew it was wrong to harbor bitterness toward Cora Jane . . . or anyone.

Eben willingly helped his older brothers construct the temporary tables for the common Sunday meal at their father's house, using three wooden church benches for each table. First, they placed the benches side by side, then raised them using a hidden trestle. The very moment each table was put together, the womenfolk began setting down plates and drinking glasses.

When the tables were in place, Eben spotted Daed come inside and remove his straw hat out of reverence. His eyebrows rose when he caught Eben's eye. He came right over and patted him on the back, saying nary a word. It was Daed's way of expressing gratitude. And it was still interesting to Eben that nearly the minute Leroy and his wife left for their own home, Daed's demeanor had returned to normal. Although it
was
clear his parents were pained through to the heart over Leroy's decision to leave the Amish life for good. Daed wore the regret on his face every waking hour.

To think Leroy's offspring will never experience the Plain life . . . never be taught the Old Ways.
Eben couldn't begin to imagine that.

“Have ya heard 'bout the birthday doin's for the bishop's wife next month?” Salina asked Joanna.

“Didn't know. Does Mamma?”

“I think so. Everyone's talking 'bout it.”

Everyone?
Once again, Salina was in the know. “Where and when will it be held?”

“At Bishop John's—on August eighteenth. A Saturday.”

“Must not be a surprise party, then.”

“Oh, believe me, it was supposed to be.” Salina smiled. “But the cat managed to get out of the bag.”

Joanna understood. “Must be a special birthday, ain't?” She'd lost track, since birthdays weren't celebrated all too often, particularly not too fancy-like.

“Mary's turnin' twenty-five.”

My age,
thought Joanna with a shock, watching young Stephen pull on Sylvia's apron strings. How could she have forgotten?

A light breeze swept over the lawn, rustling leaves above her head, letting dappled light through. A squirrel scampered to the highest branch and daringly pattered out to nearly the end of the limb. Joanna enjoyed watching the little animals and thought suddenly of Eben, who'd once written about caring for a wounded squirrel when he was a boy.

Oh, Eben . . .

Would he forever be just on the edge of her thoughts? He had been such a huge part of her life for too long to expect that she was over him. No, she couldn't fool herself into thinking she was fine, because she was far from it.

“Before I forget, can ya help Mammi Kurtz this Tuesday for a few hours—get the noon meal started and whatnot?” asked Salina, bringing Joanna out of her reverie. “She's already doin' so much better since returning home.”

“Sure . . . I'd like that.”

“All right, then, I'll let Fannie know. She has to run an errand for the deacon's wife.”

Joanna perked up her ears. Fannie Kurtz rarely interacted with Sallie, the deacon's shy wife. “What's Dawdi doin' to keep himself busy?”

“Hovering, mostly, like a worried old hen.”

“Aw, so sweet, jah?”

Salina nodded. “Still lovebirds after all these years.”

Lovebirds . . .
The word whirled in her head.
Will I ever know that kind of love?

The noontime siren sounded in the distance, reminding Eben that along with the sun's progress across the sky each day—and the occasional pocket watch—there was more than one way to tell the time on Peaceful Acres Lane this Lord's Day. He'd heard, though, that the siren wasn't always prompt—sometimes it was early, depending on the fellow who was in charge of pulling the lanyard. Eben grinned at the very notion as he stood over near the woodshed with other young men his age, waiting till the first seating of ministerial brethren and older couples had an opportunity to eat the light meal inside.

It was such a beastly hot day, Eben wondered why they hadn't set up the tables on the lawn, like two weeks ago when church was held at his uncle Isaac's place, just a mile up the road.

Eben stood with hands clasped behind him, like several of the more pious young men did, determined not to let hunger pangs get the best of them on the Lord's Day. He listened as Cousin Chester talked about having just landed a job on the west side of Elkhart, doing some welding work. But it wasn't hard to notice the faltering way Chester was describing this sudden change of work. It was almost like he was leaving the area.

Then Eben began to piece things together. Anyone would have to be blind not to have seen Emma Miller's swollen eyes earlier as she waited in line for the service with her mother and younger sisters. Had Chester broken up with his longtime girlfriend? Eben observed his cousin gesturing with his big hands, apparently overcompensating as he told about the “wunnerbaar-
gut
job” he'd landed.

Eben felt downright sorry for him, and for poor Emma, too, knowing something of what they were going through.
If
he was correct about their circumstances.

Emma Miller was an attractive girl and awfully nice, but Chester had gotten to her first, years ago, preventing Eben from pursuing her himself. But now . . .

His head was spinning with what to do. How long should he wait for Emma to get over Chester? Eben had his own reasons for not rushing into something serious. It hadn't been long since he'd hoped to make Joanna his bride.

Even so, he hoped Emma might be at the Singing tonight, although he seriously doubted it.
Girls tend to wait awhile,
he thought and wondered how long before Emma might go out again . . . or was she so upset with Chester that it didn't matter?

A
fter the Singing in Andy King's big barn, Joanna discreetly slipped out with Jake to his courting carriage. He set her at ease at once by sharing a funny anecdote about what a sound sleeper his brother Jesse was, even during an afternoon nap. He insisted that Jesse could sleep through thunder and lightning, and even a tornado. Jake described the scene, just today, prior to coming to Singing—how he'd shaken Jesse and hollered at him, finally resorting to pulling him across the floor by one leg. At last, Jesse woke up. “What're ya doin' to me, Bruder?” he'd yelled. “Couldn't ya see I was sleepin'?”

Laughing as she pictured the scene, Joanna momentarily forgot her plan to come clean about wanting no more than a friendship with Jake.

They talked in a relaxed manner as they rode behind several other carriages, the sounds of chatter and laughter filling up the night. He asked her what sorts of things she liked to read, and whether she liked to cook or bake better. So many questions . . . he sure seemed eager to get to know her.

But Jake wasn't Eben, and Joanna knew it wasn't right to keep accepting dates with him. So, breathing a silent prayer for wisdom, she pressed forward. “I've enjoyed spendin' time with you, Jake,” she said so softly she scarcely heard herself.

He looked at her with a smile. “Same here.”

“And I like you—”

“I like you, too, Joanna,” he broke in.

She felt so bad for him . . . hated saying what must be said. “But I'd prefer to just be friends, if ya don't mind.”

“Well, we're already that, jah?”

She nodded. “But how would ya feel if we were to stay only friends for a while? Till I have enough time to—”

“To forget about Eben?” He turned away and looked at the road now; the horse's head bobbed up and down.

“I'm sorry, Jake . . . I really am.”

“No need,” he said, sounding more upbeat. “Why don't we see where this leads?”

She pondered that. “Maybe in time, jah. I don't want to be thinking 'bout him when I'm with you.”

“Well, then?” He chuckled, breaking the tension.

She paused. “I hope you understand, Jake.”

“I certainly do,” he replied. “But I'd like to keep seein' you, Joanna . . . as a friend, of course.” He smiled over at her. “All right?”

As long as he understands, what can it hurt?

Much later, when they were heading back toward Hickory Lane, Jake mentioned how much he appreciated her honesty. “I truly do,” he said.

Then, turning into her lane, Jake said, “I can see why Eben was so taken with you, Joanna.”

She blushed and was glad he couldn't really see her face in the darkness.

He leaped out of the carriage and raced around to help her down on the left side. “Sweet dreams,” he said as he walked her around toward the back door. Then, turning, he told her good-night and made his way back to the waiting horse and open buggy.

Joanna realized she felt relieved to have a good friend in Jake, and that he understood.
I did the right thing by telling him.
She went to sit on one of the rockers on the back porch and watched ten thousand stars light up the summer sky. It made her think again of Eben and wonder if he, too, was stargazing this warm, muggy night.

Mammi Kurtz's face shone with joy as Joanna walked into the kitchen the following Tuesday morning. “I'm Fannie's substitute today,” Joanna said, going over to greet her grandmother with a smile. “Did Salina tell ya?”

“No, but Fannie did, before she left.” Mammi sat in a comfortable chair near the wide-open window, drinking root beer. She held up her glass. “Would ya care for some?”

Joanna thanked her and went to get a glass from the cupboard. She reached for the pitcher from the counter and poured a half glass, then returned to pull out Dawdi's chair from the table and turned it to face Mammi. “How're ya feelin' today?”

“So much better. Fannie insists I walk back and forth the whole length of the driveway now.” Mammi told of the home-care nurse's visits, as well. “I do believe I'm getting back to normal. Slow but sure.”

“And Dawdi—how is he?”

A beautiful smile appeared. “Since I've been home, he's doin' all right.” Mammi mentioned he was in their room resting, having his morning nap. “A bit clingy, though, I have to say.”

Joanna was pleased they were alone—the perfect chance to mention the quilt from Cousin Malinda. And after they'd talked about Mammi's hospital experience and all the kindly Englischers she'd met there, Joanna asked about the tale behind the quilt made by her great-great-aunt. “I'm really curious, Mammi. Why'd you want
me
to have it?”

Mammi nodded and looked more serious now. “Well, because your namesake—I'll call her Aunt Joanna to make things simpler—made that double wedding ring quilt in the midst of great disappointment . . . out of sheer faith.”

“What do ya mean?” Joanna was determined to persuade Mammi to at last tell her everything she knew.

“She was nearing her fortieth birthday and had never married,” Mammi explained. “And although it was her heart's desire, your aunt had been labeled a Maidel by then.”

Joanna listened intently, her heart breaking for a relative she'd never known.

“Aunt Joanna wrote all about ‘the ache' in her heart, as she described her disillusionment at being passed over during her courting-age years.”

Joanna was intrigued—it sounded like the seeds for a good story. “Where'd she write this?”

“In two letters to her younger sister.”

“Did she also keep a diary?”

“Oh, I'm sure. Most folk did in that day.”

Joanna admitted that she'd looked in the special cubby in the wall upstairs, in their former bedroom. “I saw a devotional book with two letters in it. Were they hers?”

“Snoopin', were ya?” Mammi teased.

“Well, I didn't read them.”

“That's all right. I've nothin' to hide, dear girl. Least of all from you.” Mammi readjusted herself in her chair. “I'm surprised I never thought to have ya read them.”

“Oh, could I?”

“Sure, go on up and get them. But before ya do, I'd like you to know why you were named after this particular relative.”

Ever so delighted, Joanna said, “I understand the name Joanna was rather unusual in her time. Cousin Malinda said as much.”

“Oh my, was it ever. But it certainly fit her—she was a pretty unique soul,” Mammi said. “And such faith was involved in makin' a wedding quilt for herself. Unheard of in those days.”

“Because everyone had given up on her marrying?”

Mammi's eyes glistened. “That's right.”

Joanna felt even more drawn to this woman who'd left such a precious spiritual inheritance.
For me.
“So it must've been hearing about Aunt Joanna's courage that caught Mamma's attention, and the reason she decided to name me after her.”

“Jah—ain't it the dearest thing?”

“And kind of peculiar, too, if ya think 'bout it,” Joanna said softly.

“Why's that, honey-girl?”

Joanna took a deep breath. “Well, because my own beau and I parted ways.”

“Ach, I'm so sorry. Shouldn't have said anything.”

“No, no, it's all right. Hadn't you heard this, Mammi?”

“Jah, I believe I did.” Mammi sighed. “But it was some time ago now.”

“Well, to be honest, it seems like just yesterday to me. I'm still struggling with it.”

Mammi frowned amiably. “This young man . . . you must've loved him very much.”

Joanna nodded thoughtfully as she remembered all the letters, the good times she and Eben had spent together, however short. “I know he loved me, too.” Joanna opened up even more and explained that Eben had been hoping to come here to live and work, to become established in the community while courting her. “But all of that fell through when his youngest brother married an Englischer and refused the partnership with his father.”

“No wonder you're sad. Sounds to me like the two of you had your future all planned out.”

“We did.” Joanna was relieved to share with her grandmother, who seemed to understand.
At last someone cares.
Mammi Kurtz was quite sympathetic about Eben, unlike Ella Mae Zook had been.

“Have you ever considered goin' out there to be with
him
?” Mammi asked, surprising her.

“I really don't see how.”
Not with Preacher Yoder's warning to me.

“If he still loves you, I mean,” Mammi added.

“He tried to ask if I would, but at the time, well . . .” Joanna's voice trailed off as she remembered again the dreadful moment. Eben
had
asked her about moving, hadn't he? Yet he'd seemed so hesitant, almost apologetic. And she . . . she knew it would never be allowed, though she hadn't explained why. “We haven't even written each other since April,” she murmured. “I'd thought of it—but I don't want to be forward.”

Mammi shrugged. “Well, you should read the letters your namesake wrote to her sister if you think that.”

Hearing this, Joanna got up from her chair that quick. “I'll be right back!” She hurried upstairs, opened the hidden spot in the wall, and found the letters. Then, returning to the kitchen, she placed them in front of her on the table, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Go on, it's all right,” Mammi coaxed. “Read them in the right order.”

Joanna looked at the dates in each postmark and opened the earliest one. She began to read with great interest this account from the past, from one sister's heart to another.

My dear sister Miriam,

Since our visit, I've been a-pondering many things. For one, I realize it is important for each of us to become humble, like a little child, so much so that we cry out to our Father in heaven, looking to Him for guidance first and foremost. We must reach for His hand each and every day. Just as you said, it's the only way to live a happy life in the midst of disappointment. And I say, it's the only way to live life, period.

Joanna finished the letter, which continued in a similar vein. But apart from what Mammi Kurtz had just told her about this woman of great faith, Joanna didn't know why her great-great-aunt had written in such devout terms. Had her sister counseled her about being single?

“Are ya ready for the next one?” Mammi asked, her voice gentle.

Joanna removed the letter from its envelope and unfolded it, suddenly trembling as she began to read.

Dearest Miriam,

Since your last letter, I've taken your advice and decided to put out a fleece of sorts, like Gideon of old. I realize some folk will think I'm all but ferhoodled. But to demonstrate my belief that God will hear and answer my heart's cry, even now as I've just marked forty years of life, I've started to piece together a double wedding ring quilt. Some might poke fun behind my back, but that's all right. And I'm not superstitious enough to think that once it's finished, I shouldn't spread it on my own bed, even though at my age I have no prospects for a beau. Fact is, I'm going to do just that!

So, coupled with my earnest prayers, I'm putting my confidence to work, so to speak. “Faith with feet,” I read somewhere. True, this is not the typical Amish way. Even so, I believe that when the Lord God puts a desire in a person's heart—remember Psalm 37:4?—it's there for a reason and ought to be acted upon.

I'll keep you informed as time goes along. And I'm telling you right now, I won't be shy when the Good Lord brings a beau to my door!

I wait and pray with expectancy for the husband He has chosen for me.

With love,
Your sister, Joanna

Blinking back tears, Joanna looked over at her grandmother. “What an amazing woman, jah?”

Mammi nodded her head, face solemn. “She certainly was . . . and God not only heard her heart's prayer, but gave her two children—twins, a boy and a girl—a double blessing, to be sure.”