The Bridesmaid (22 page)

Joanna couldn't help asking—she had to know. “How long after the quilt was completed did she wed?”

“One year,” Mammi said. “She married a lovely man, a widower who was only three years older . . . and a respected preacher, as well.”

“With that kind of faith, she must've been a wonderful-
gut
preacher's wife.”

Now Mammi was brushing away tears. “We have an inspiring heritage, ain't so?”

The Good Lord had known, all the way back to the day her great-great-aunt Joanna was threading her little quilting needle, that on this day, these many years later, another much younger Joanna would be deeply touched by the unseen yet very real bond between them.

Joanna remembered the line toward the end of the last letter.
I won't be shy. . . .
“With as much pluck as she seemed to have . . . did Aunt Joanna pop the question to the widowed preacher, just maybe?”

“As the story goes,” Mammi said, the most encouraging smile on her pink face.

“Denki for sharing this with me.”

“Happy to, dear girl.”

“Aunt Joanna's quilt is a mighty special one, I'll say.”

“Special indeed,” said Mammi, a twinkle in her eye.

E
ben had lined up two dates with two different girls for the next couple of weekends, well into the middle of July. Maybe filling up his free time might help him recover more quickly from his loss of Joanna, though so far that plan hadn't been working. And since Emma Miller, Cousin Chester's former fiancée, was by no means interested in mingling with any new fellows, Eben was stuck with asking out much younger, and rather immature, girls.

Each Friday since returning home, he'd thought of Joanna when the usual time rolled around to call her. By now, though, he had lost track of which Friday it was, and for that he was sorry. He'd thought he would always remember the every-other-week pattern.

Life had plodded along for him. He scarcely had any leisure, what with threshing in full swing and his father depending more and more on Eben's decision making.

Since Leroy's visit, his letters had become increasingly frequent, which Eben found curious. Now that Leroy was married and had completely severed himself from Amish life, did he miss it?

But it was a mistake to entertain such thoughts. Besides, Eben had gotten a good look at Leroy's Mustang convertible and his English wife. Mrs. Debbie Troyer was by no means inclined to think of becoming Plain, even if her husband might begin to regret his decision in years to come. No, it was hard to comprehend why Leroy now wrote to Eben each week. Was he merely making up for lost time?

One night in mid-July, a couple weeks after Joanna's enlightening visit with Mammi Kurtz, she gently removed the large double wedding ring quilt from her hope chest and placed it on her bed. Of course, with the summer heat almost unbearable upstairs, there was no way she'd use it to cover herself, but placing it there felt like a celebratory act.

When she'd taken care to lay it out just so, she knelt beside her bed and prayed as earnestly as Great-Great-Aunt Joanna had prayed so many years ago. Silently, she poured out her heart to God, sorry for not having prayed for His will in her life before now, especially in regard to a husband. She asked for a broken and contrite spirit, acknowledging her part in the wall that had come between her and her sister.
Please, Lord, forgive me for my own unkind attitude. . . .

In the quiet, Joanna also confessed her repeated defiance toward the ministerial brethren when it came to her writing—whatever she might think of it.
Lead me in every aspect of my life . . . just as you led my namesake.

After a while, Joanna rose and sat on the only chair in the room. Her heart felt lighter somehow as she began to knit soft white baby booties for Cousin Malinda's coming child. She had also been crocheting a pale-yellow-and-mint-green cradle afghan, which she picked up now and then, taking her time and praying all the while for this new little one.

The minutes passed, and she glanced up to see Cora Jane lingering in the hallway, her long hair down and clad in her lightweight house robe. Her sister looked like she wanted to come in. “It's all right,” Joanna said, motioning to her.

Cora Jane blinked her eyes as she gawked at the quilt. “I must've missed something,” she said, face puzzled. “Did ya secretly get married?”

Joanna laughed softly. “No.”

“Well, what's this doin' here?”

“I've decided, why not just enjoy it while I wait?”

Cora Jane's eyes fluttered. “Wait for what?”

“Well, for a husband.”

“And you think this quilt will make that happen?”

“Nee—not at all.” She smiled at her sister. “But it will happen in God's time.” Quickly, she shared the story behind the old quilt, glad for the opportunity to finally tell her.

Nodding slowly, Cora Jane gathered up her hair and pushed it over one shoulder. “You wonder me, sister.”

I understand that feeling.
But Joanna kept the thought to herself.

In the following days, Joanna wished there was a way to broach the topic of her namesake with Mamma. On one of the last Tuesdays in July, she helped finish up the ironing while baking several loaves of bread. Her mother put up a batch of green beans with Cora Jane and talked about the peaches and plums that were coming on soon. Mamma hoped they'd make lots of extra jam, along with canning the fruit.

The heat was so sweltering, Joanna suggested they take their noon meal under the shade tree in the backyard. “How about a nice picnic instead of a hot meal today?”

Cora Jane nixed the idea, arguing that Dat and their older brothers helping cultivate the cornfield needed a big, tasty meal to keep up their strength. “A sandwich just isn't enough.”

Mamma gave Joanna an agreeable look. “What a nice idea, though,” she said while Cora Jane glowered. “Another day, maybe?”

“Well, Dat's not goin' to want to sit on a blanket on the ground anytime soon, is he?” Cora Jane piped up again. “His back's out of whack again, what with all the field work.”

“That's true,” Mamma said. “But still, it was a lovely thought your sister had. And your father and I can always sit on lawn chairs out there, ya know.” She wasn't going to let Cora Jane have the final say on this—that was clear.

Joanna braced for another spirited remark from her sister, but when none came, she offered her best smile to Cora Jane, who held her gaze, then suddenly looked sad.

“So what should we make for dinner, then?” asked Mamma.

Joanna observed her sister more closely. Something wasn't right. Cora Jane's lower lip quivered as she moved to the window and stood there looking out, her shoulders heaving.

Then, of all things, she left the kitchen and went running across the side lawn to the celery patch.

“What on earth?” Mamma said.

“I'll see to her,” Joanna said, leaving the ironing board set up. She rushed out the back door.

It was so stifling out there under the noontime sun, Joanna hardly wanted to move, let alone run after her surly sister. But run she did, determined to talk to Cora Jane . . . and find out why she'd gone to stand in the middle of the celery patch, holding herself around the middle and weeping like she'd lost her best friend.

“Cora Jane . . . honey, what's a-matter?” Joanna said softly, standing back a ways.

“Leave me be!”

“I just want to help.”

“Ain't nothin' you or anyone can do,” Cora Jane sobbed.

Joanna saw Mamma step out on the back porch down yonder. “You're terribly upset,” Joanna said more softly. “I know you are.”

Cora Jane leaned over, still holding her stomach like she might be sick. Then she did a strange thing. She fell to her knees and began to yank up young celery stalks, as many as she could grab with both hands, weeping. “I never should've planted these! Never!”

“Aw, sister . . .” Joanna felt like crying now, too. “I'm ever so sorry.”

Cora Jane turned to look at her, letting the plants fall on the rich, dark soil. “I was a fool.” She wiped her tear-streaked face with her grimy hands. “That's all I am. A fool, I tell ya.”

“Come with me.” Joanna held out her arms, moving closer. “Won't ya, please?”

Her poor sister sat back on her heels in the dirt, surrounded by uprooted plants. “We'll never need this much celery come fall.”

“Maybe things'll turn around.”

“That's impossible.” Cora Jane pulled her tan-colored bandana off and sat there with her soiled hands on her head. “Just leave me be.”

“You're in no shape to sit out here. Besides, you'll get cooked by the sun,” Joanna persisted, stepping near. “I want you to come inside with me. How about I draw you a nice cool bath?”

“I don't deserve that. I'm
gut
for nothin'!”

“That's not true,” Joanna said gently. “You heard me, Cora Jane. Get up and come inside.”

“I'm done for, that's what.”

Joanna reached down and assisted her sister into a standing position. “Your heart's all broken apart, but you won't let whatever's happened get the best of ya. I know you, sister.”

Cora Jane turned, her lower lip trembling, and looked at Joanna. Then she flung her arms around her, just as Joanna had done with Cousin Malinda, crying like she might never stop. Joanna held on to her as she sobbed, her whole body quaking with every gasp. The day had come crashing down around them.

“Go ahead and cry,” Joanna managed to say. “That's all right. . . .”

Once she could gently pry Cora Jane loose enough to walk her back toward the house, Joanna knew it was a good thing the noon meal wouldn't be outside with their father and brothers relaxing on the back lawn in the shade of ancient trees. No, a picnic was not a good idea on this wretched day.

C
ora Jane went to lie down in her room that afternoon, needing some time alone. Joanna truly hoped she'd find a way to rest.

Returning to her own room, Joanna looked up at the creak of floorboards and saw Mamma standing in the doorway, a frown on her face as she stared down at the bed.

“I've noticed you put the quilt on your bed,” Mamma observed. “Can't help but wonder if that has something to do with Cora Jane's tears today.”

“I decided to bring out the quilt from my hope chest is all,” Joanna explained, standing at the foot of her bed. “A while after Mammi Kurtz told me the story behind it.” She tried to keep her voice calm, her sister's cries still in her ears. “And I hope you understand, Mamma, my quilt isn't what set Cora Jane off.” She looked toward the ceiling and heaved a sigh. “I feel sure this was coming on for a while now.”

“What was?” Mamma's eyes narrowed as she stood near the dresser, her arms folded.

Joanna sighed, feeling a bit hesitant. “Apparently my sister's without a beau.”

Mamma's jaw dropped. She glanced toward the hallway, to Cora Jane's bedroom. “So there'll be no wedding?”

“Jah . . . she didn't tell me a lot, but she made that much clear.”

Mamma looked fatigued, dark circles beneath her eyes. “I didn't mean to make it sound like I was accusing you, dear.” Her mother lowered herself onto the bed and sat there gingerly, as if she didn't want to mash the heirloom quilt. “Since we're alone, I'd like to talk to you 'bout something else altogether.”

Joanna went around the bed and sat on the other side, wondering.

“I want to tell you a little something about your namesake, Great-Aunt Joanna Kurtz.”

“I'd like that.” Joanna didn't need to say that Mammi Kurtz had already told her a few things when she'd shared about the quilt itself.

For a moment, Mamma was very still, looking out the window, then back at the quilt, smoothing it gently with her right hand. “Your father mentioned you'd brought it up to him once.”

Joanna remembered. “Jah, I've been curious for a long time.”

“From what I knew of your father's great-aunt, well, I'd have to say I was impressed. She was a unique woman, and in some ways, a woman who put me to shame . . . her unusually strong faith and all.” Mamma sighed. “She knew what she wanted and clung to prayer.”

“You've given me a special gift, Mamma . . . with my name.” Joanna felt the lump in her throat.

“The name suits ya,” Mamma said, looking at her from across the bed. “As does this quilt.”

Joanna ran her fingers over one of the double wedding ring patterns. Then, pausing, she covered Mamma's hand with her own. “This time together, talkin' like this, I mean . . . it's just awful nice. Denki.”

Mamma rose and came around the bed, placing both hands lightly on Joanna's shoulders. “I see your faith at work in displaying this quilt, even without a serious beau,” she said quietly. “You surely do resemble your namesake, Joanna. I'm ever so thankful for that.”

Joanna raised her eyes to Mamma's and held her gaze. “I believe the Lord God has a plan for me,” she whispered. “Just as He did for my namesake.”

Mamma nodded sweetly. “I believe that, too, Joanna, dear.”

Truly, she had never felt so close to her mother.

Cora Jane stayed home from all youth-related activities for the next few weekends, as did Joanna. Not knowing how to draw her sister out, Joanna wrote short poems of encouragement and slipped them under her bedroom door at night. Rhyming poems with such titles as “My Sister, My Friend,” and “From My Heart to Yours.”

Cora Jane actually brought up the “nice poetry” one night in mid-August after their parents had gone to bed. Joanna had drifted over to her room, hoping to strike up a conversation, and with a small smile, Cora Jane had invited her in. Ever so slowly, Cora Jane began to open up, sharing what she believed had gone wrong between her and Gideon. “But I can't blame my beau for everything. It takes two to make things work well,” Cora Jane said, grimacing.

“Now that I'm this far away from our breakup, I can see better that we weren't right together.” Cora Jane tilted her head and looked hard at Joanna. She opened her mouth, then shook her head.

“What is it, sister?”

Cora Jane pursed her lips for a moment. “Well, since we're talking so openly . . . but I really hesitate to bring this up.”

“Say what's on your mind.”

“Just wondered if ya think Eben was well suited to you.”

Joanna pressed her fingers to her temples, then ran her hands through her long hair. “I know we'd be engaged by now, or possibly even married . . . if it weren't for his father's need for a farming partner.”

Cora Jane nodded sympathetically. “Seems like something should've worked out for you two.” She sighed.
“Something.”

Joanna couldn't let herself think that way. “The past is behind us.”

“Did he ever ask you to move there, even though it would take some doin'?”

“He mentioned it, but I knew it was out of the question.” She stopped for a moment, realizing that what she was about to say surely implicated Cora Jane. “After Preacher Yoder talked so straight to me, I knew I couldn't leave Hickory Hollow.”

“The preacher said you couldn't?” Cora Jane's eyes grew wide as quarters.

“He suggested it, jah. Said I shouldn't get any ideas to transfer my membership out to Indiana . . . not with my story writing.”

Her sister's gaze dropped, her face losing its color. “And to think I caused much of that.”

“Not entirely. I should've taken heed, thought twice about it, for sure. It's not easy, believe me, turning my back on something I've enjoyed so much. The writer's muse is a powerful thing. But I have stopped writing stories—I don't want to continue doing something others dear to me consider wrong. Lately I've been writing poetry instead, hoping maybe I can honor the Lord in that.”

Cora Jane turned and held out her hand. “Do you still resent me for tellin' on you?”

Joanna's breath caught in her throat. She reached for her sister's hand and pressed it gently, letting the gesture speak the loving truth. “I forgave ya some weeks ago. And . . . are you still angry with me for pushing you away after Eben came along?”

Cora Jane shook her head slowly. “Who could ever stay angry at a sister like you?”

“I should've told ya from the first, but my relationship with Eben seemed so fragile and new. 'Specially with the distance between us, I was afraid things wouldn't work out if we were watched too closely.”

“Truth be known, I was jealous of you for bein' so self-assured, as if you thought you could just keep accepting invitations from brides like that, always bein' a bridesmaid . . . and not heeding tradition.”

It felt good to set things right. Cora Jane had made it clear she was sorry, and in time, the sting from her sister's betrayal would surely lessen.

But it was Cora Jane's remark that something should've worked out with Eben that gave Joanna a fleeting feeling of warmth. At the same time, it was also a miserable reminder of what had been lost. Even if she had a glint of hope, she could see no way to fan it into flame.