The Longing (11 page)

“What about you, Caleb?” asked Chris, disappearing beneath the cow. “Where do you find peace?”

He felt his chest tense up. Instead of answering, he shrugged and then steered the topic to the mild weather. He brought up the growing season and tobacco seeding just around the corner, anything to avoid Chris’s question. “Still catchin’ up, really. Hadn’t been home for nearly two months.” He glanced at the row of heavy milkers on the other side of the barn, aware that Chris was looking his way.

“Two months is a long time,” his cousin said.

“Just workin’ for my grandparents, is all.” He opened his mouth to say more but thought better of it.

“You weren’t needed here?”

Caleb rubbed his lower back and stretched. “We don’t see eye to eye, Daed and I.”

Chris paused. “When I was little, your father used to play volleyball like his life depended on it.”

Caleb guffawed. “That’s how he does everything.”

Chris squatted to reach under the cow again. “Sure hope his health improves.”

“No one seems to know what’ll happen.” Caleb hesitated to mention what he feared. “Doctors say he could be paralyzed for the rest of his life. But with his rehabilitation sessions . . . maybe those’ll help get him back on his feet.”

Chris nodded and turned his talk to the past, asking Caleb what he thought of having such fancy cousins. Fact was, Caleb had never given it much thought, having little interest in the outside world. Yet
despite their obvious differences, including Chris’s keen interest in “God’s Word,” Caleb was surprised by how comfortable he felt with him. He appreciated his tenacity and hard work, too. Chris had come twice already since his first visit last week, when he had stayed a good two hours, keeping close tabs on the feed for the cows and helping to put on the milkers. Chris was strong from working for his father at their family-run nursery and landscaping business, something he did several hours during the week and all day Saturday. Even so, he’d made it clear he was available to help Caleb with some afternoon weekday milkings, provided he was able to keep up with his homework.

Chris had a real special way with the herd. Yet as surprisingly well as this little arrangement was working out, Caleb couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once his father got wind that an outsider was lending a hand.

Most likely my days with Chris are numbered.

C
HAPTER 9

Cleaning up for supper, Caleb heard his mother calling. He quickly dried his hands and hurried through the sitting room to the bedroom just off the front room, where Abe and Gideon were helping lift Daed from his wheelchair to the small bed on the far wall.

The wound on the right side of his father’s head was still bandaged, and the rest of his face seemed somewhat swollen. Fading bruises marked his temples.

“Steady the wheelchair, won’t ya, Caleb?” asked Mamm softly.

He squatted down and set the brake.
They should have done that sooner,
he thought, wondering why Mamm had called for him. Soon enough he knew, and it was just as he might have guessed. Daed’s gaze fell on him momentarily before his father looked away, never acknowledging Caleb at all. Then, turning toward Gideon and Abe, Daed spoke quietly . . . slowly thanking Caleb’s brothers for all they’d done.

Caleb experienced a jumble of emotions, but he straightened and pushed out his chest, daring his father to ignore him once again.

When Daed finally did acknowledge him, he offered a brief nod. Nothing more.

Is this how it’s going to be?

A few minutes later, when Mamm was setting the table, she offered a quick apology. “Your father’s out of sorts, ya must know, son.”

Jah, well, he’s always been that,
thought Caleb.

“
Willkumm,
Treva . . . and Laura,” said Mamma as Nellie Mae opened the back door to greet their cousins. “We’ve been expectin’ you.”

“Hullo, nice to see ya,” Treva said with a big smile, removing her black outer bonnet. Her face was flushed with excitement.

Mamma ushered them inside, and Nellie took their long shawls and hung them up on the wooden wall pegs. “How was your trip over?” asked Nellie, taking the shared suitcase from Treva and setting it in the kitchen.

“Well, we did get stuck in some traffic, but overall the car ride went by quick,” replied Treva, glancing at her younger sister. “Laura, here, was a bit nervous, though.”

“First time?” Mamma asked.

Laura nodded somewhat bashfully.

“Oh, go on, you were
so
nervous . . . holdin’ on like we were doomed.” Treva shook her head in pretended disgust and then smiled.

Mamma glanced at Nellie and suggested she take them upstairs to see their room for the night.

Nellie Mae nodded, motioning for her cousins to follow. Treva chattered away all the while, and Nellie understood better why it was she was such a frequent letter writer—Treva loved to express herself, no getting around that. Maybe she’d ask Treva to rattle off some of her favorite recipes, too.

Smiling politely, Nellie couldn’t wait for the wonderful- good supper Mamma had planned. And for Rosanna King’s big quilting bee tomorrow.

Saturday breakfast was plentiful, with blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and German sausage—a typical early morning meal and not just putting on the dog for company. Dat made a comment about how “extra light” Nellie’s pancakes were, and everyone agreed.

Once at Rosanna’s, it was clear how well she had planned for the special frolic. She had already spent numerous hours doing the piecework and appliqué, stitching the many rings down till they were as pretty as a picture. The middle, a thin layer of cotton batting, was already in place, and the plain tan backing had also been skillfully fitted.

Twelve chairs were positioned around the large quilting frame, and everything necessary for the quilting was on hand, including the cardboard templates for the intricate figural motifs designed and passed down through the generations. There were even two tin templates, heirlooms from Rosanna’s quilter grandmothers.

“You’ve done a beautiful job with all the piecework,” Nellie said, pointing to the array of pastel colors. “When on earth did you find time for all this?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of time, believe me.” Rosanna laughed, but she looked a bit peaked. “I enjoy the work.”

“You feelin’ all right?” Nellie whispered.

“I’m fine.”

Nellie noticed the gray shadows under Rosanna’s eyes.
She needs more distractions . . . like today’s frolic.

“Well, I’d be happy to help serve the pies at noon. Or do anything else to help you today.”

“Denki, Nellie Mae . . . I appreciate it.” Then Rosanna hugged her unexpectedly, a short little embrace.

“You sure you’re—”

“Nonsense.” Rosanna waved her away and headed into the kitchen.

She’s not herself.
Nellie turned to see Treva and Laura standing and talking with Nan and Rebekah Yoder. “Would ya like to all sit together?”

Laura looked at Treva as if awaiting her lead. “We’ll sit wherever you say,” Treva spoke up quickly. She smoothed the auburn hair that peeked from beneath her Kapp and touched the rings in the quilt. “Downright perty, jah?”

Laura nodded and followed, and Rebekah stayed put, still talking in low tones to Nan.

After a time, they settled down to work. Treva had brought along her own thin needle, brass thimble, and a cloth measuring tape in a small packet, as had several others.

The prattle rose and fell with the rhythms of a lively sermon. And Treva filled the occasional lulls with her own chatter—just like her letters, she was newsy and interesting.

Later, during the noon meal, while Nellie Mae cut each pie into eight helpings and dished up ice cream, Treva singled out Rosanna. “Did Nellie say anything to you about . . . well, something a bit personal?” Although Treva had lowered her voice to a whisper, the question was loud enough for Nellie and anyone else present to hear.

Nellie Mae cringed.
No, don’t bring that up!

Treva continued. “Did she tell you ’bout my neighbor, next farm over, and two women in our church district . . . what they’re hopin’ to do?”

Rosanna shook her head. “No.”

Nellie cast a warning glance at Treva, who asked Rosanna and Nellie to go with her into the empty sitting room.

Rosanna agreed, frowning at Nellie. “What’s she talking ’bout?”

When all was clear, Treva leaned in close to them both. “All three women have offered to give you a baby, Rosanna.” Treva nodded, as if to punctuate her declaration. “None knows ’bout the other, but they each want you to visit. You could go and meet them—decide which woman should be the one.”

Rosanna’s eyes dimmed suddenly. She stared at Nellie as if in disbelief.

Nellie
reached for her friend’s hand. “Ach, Treva,” she said, glaring at her cousin. “Come, Rosanna, we best be talkin’ this over . . . alone.”

Quickly they headed for the front room, leaving Treva behind. “Are you sayin’ you knew of this . . . and said nothin’?” Rosanna whispered, her tone tense.

“Oh, Rosanna . . . I just learned of it last week. I was frightened, honestly. I didn’t want to open the door to more sadness for you and Elias.” She shook her head. “Please, believe me.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Rosanna trembled. “Is your cousin ever so sure?”

“ ’Bout the women’s intentions?” Nellie nodded. “Seems so.” Rosanna leaned into her and wept.

Before the final quilting stitch was made midafternoon, Rosanna had decided to indeed travel to Bird-in-Hand to meet the women. Nellie worried that Rosanna might suffer further heartache just from the visits, let alone agreeing to receive one of the babies once he or she was born.

Treva leaned forward to ask, “Would you want to come along with Rosanna?”

Nellie offered a smile. “If that’s what she wants.”

Rosanna’s tears sprang up again, and she nodded silently, her lips pursed tightly together.

Bless her heart . . . does she even know what she’s getting into?

Knowing Rosanna as she did, Nellie was somewhat surprised her friend hadn’t said she’d wait to discuss the idea first with Elias. And surely she would, as close a couple as they were.
Far closer than any husband and wife I know . . . ’cept Dat and Mamma.

Rebekah Yoder and Nan offered to help Rosanna take the quilt off the frame after the guests began to leave. Then, come Monday, they would drop by to finish off the edges by adding a colorful, contrasting one-inch border.

Nellie offered to sign and date the wedding quilt in a chain stitch, one of her favorite kinds of stitching. “Do you have a bride-to-be in mind?” she whispered.

“Let’s leave it as is—just today’s date for now.” Rosanna’s face looked nearly gray.

“Oh, Rosanna, you’ve overdone it.” Nellie touched her elbow. “Here. Sit and relax, why don’t ya?”

“
Nee—
no. I best be keepin’ busy.”

Nellie wondered why she wouldn’t let the rest of them remove the quilt and dismantle the frame. “Just for a minute?” she pleaded.

Rosanna shook her head, going straight for the quilt and frame, almost as if she were miffed. This hurt Nellie no end, but she tried not to let on and volunteered to help her and the others with the quilt while Laura headed to the kitchen for another piece of pie.

Turning off the road that Monday afternoon might have been crazy, but it was too late now. Chris was already headed into the drive leading to the country bakery shop. Not normally given to impulsive decisions, he knew only one thing as he stepped out of his car: Strange as it seemed, he wanted to talk to Nellie Fisher again. Besides, he hadn’t tasted shoofly pie in a long time, and he was pretty sure his parents and Zach would enjoy something homemade
and
Amish. Who wouldn’t? And anyway, he had plenty of time before he had to be at David Yoder’s for milking. This new connection to the Plain community was a great idea—something he’d overlooked for too long—getting reacquainted with relatives, learning about his own heritage.
Getting a peek into Nellie Mae’s world, too
.

Pushing open the door, he was startled to see five Amish-women standing behind a counter, three of them smiling a glowing welcome. Two he recognized as Nellie Mae and her sister Nan, whom he’d met at the Honey Brook Restaurant. The other two young women looked like they might be related somehow, but he knew Suzy had talked of having only three older sisters. The last woman was much older and quite plump, with wisps of gray hair mixed among the blond visible beneath her prayer cap.

“Hullo,” she said, her blue eyes reminding him of Suzy’s. “May I help you?”

Nellie and her sister glanced at each other shyly, as if to say,
What’s he doing here?

When he asked to purchase a shoofly pie, the older woman— Mrs. Fisher, he guessed—pulled out a deep-dish pie. “Wet bottom’s the best, I have to say.” She offered another big smile. “And we also have two fruit pies today. Do ya like Dutch apple?”

Eyeing the shoofly pie in her hands, he hesitated—Dutch apple was one of his father’s favorites, and both smelled fantastic. Suddenly he was unsure which to buy.

“Both are just delicious.” She tilted her head.

Nellie Mae surprised him by speaking up. “You could take two pies and decide which one you’d like to buy another time, maybe.”

He looked at her, taking in her fresh beauty—her clear-as-silk complexion and kind and sensitive eyes. “Sure, why not?” He smiled at her specifically, and she smiled back, her eyes brightening as she did.

He felt his face redden.
She’s on to me,
he thought. Then, reaching for his wallet, he said, “I’ll take both pies, please.”

Nellie’s friendly manner made his heart beat faster. While he waited for them to box the pies, he looked around at the shop, which wasn’t as stark as he might have guessed. The tables and chairs scattered around were a nice touch, and the uncurtained windows let the light pour in.

Feeling all sets of eyes on him, he turned and paid for the pies. “Good-bye,” he said. “And thanks!” He headed out the door, aware of the jingling bell as he left.