The Missing (11 page)

Lettie traced the tan latticework design on the burgundy tablecloth. She stared at the wall clock with its small pendulum across the room, then glanced at the wallpaper border of colorful fruit high on the wall. Feeling terribly conspicuous, she looked out the window at the flour mill across the street before reading every single word again on the menu. She was quite relieved when the waitress returned with the meal.

But she was startled, though somewhat pleased, when Susan later pulled out a chair and sat down with her. “I thought I’d take my break now . . . keep you company. That is, if ya don’t mind.”

“Well, it’s awfully nice, but you don’t have to . . . if there’s something else pressing.”

“I don’t have to do near half what I do round here,” the woman said softly. And leaning forward, she said, “I’ve lived here for a long time . . . worked here for quite a few years, too.” She bowed her head for a moment. “I daresay I’m as lonely as you look.”

“Ach, I . . .” In the Plain community, a woman stood out if she was by herself. And Lettie was fairly sure that’s what had prompted the waitress to feel sorry for her. Why else?

“Are you visitin’ someone in Baltic?”

“I hope to, jah.” She was hesitant to say the midwife’s name in the midst of all these people, unsure if the vivacious waitress just might announce it.

“I’m Susan Kempf,” the brown-eyed waitress said.

“Glad to meet ya, Susan. I’m Lettie . . . Lettie Byler.”

Susan glanced around the restaurant. “I know how it feels bein’ single in a world of couples and families.”

She thinks I’m a Maidel. . . .

“The sadness of loss . . . I see it in your eyes.” Susan sighed, frowning tenderly. “I’m a widow, too.”

“Oh, but you’re mistaken,” Lettie blurted out. “I’m quite married.”

Susan apologized, nearly falling over her words, her face red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I thought . . .”

“No hurt feelin’s at all,” Lettie was quick to say. “That’s understandable.” She admitted she was traveling without her husband.

“Well, I hardly ever see that.” Susan explained that most Amishwomen in these parts were accompanied by their husbands or another woman when they came to the restaurant.“You’re one courageous soul, I ’spect.”

She shook her head. “I’m anything but that.” She half expected her companion to ask why she’d come alone. Instead Susan asked where she was staying, and before Lettie realized where the conversation was leading, the thoughtful woman had invited her to stay at her big, empty house.

“For the time being,” Susan said.

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I’ve already paid the motel through this Sunday, so . . .”

Susan looked disappointed. “I just thought it might be more comfortable for you . . . and we could get better acquainted.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again, here, at the restaurant. Maybe for supper tomorrow?”

“Well, I’ve got some vacation days coming. . . .”

At that moment, several customers entered. Lettie was astonished to see Sylvia Fisher, an employee friend of Grace’s.
What’s she doing here?
Sylvia worked at Eli’s Natural Foods with her sister Nancy, who was also standing right there next to her near the cashier, talking and smiling.

Oh, goodness!
Lettie’s heart sank; the girls would know her in an instant. She ducked her head. The Fisher girls would surely contact Grace if they spotted Lettie here.

“On second thought,” she said quickly, “maybe I’ll take you up on that, Susan. If the motel will refund the next three days, that is.”

“Well, let’s just see what they say.” Susan’s eyes twinkled. “Since you’ve already paid your supper bill, we’ll go through the kitchen to get my purse. My horse and buggy’s out back.”

Relieved at the prospect of leaving the dining room, Lettie rose and headed straight for the bustling kitchen.
Whew! Too
close for comfort!

As Heather packed up her laptop at the coffee shop, her father called to say he was only a few miles away. “Will you meet me for supper? I have a few stops to make first.”

“What are you hungry for?” she asked.

“Oh, you pick. I’ll bet you’ve discovered some great places to eat by now.”

She suggested the Bird-in-Hand Family Restaurant & Smorgasbord, and they met there some time later.

Her dad gave her a big hug in the parking lot. “I’ve missed you,” he said as they headed inside.

“Me too,” she said, eyeing him. Right now she didn’t care to make small talk. What she really wanted was to blurt out that she was seriously ill—get it all out in the open at last. But Dad was busy talking about his work and how famished he was.

At her father’s urging, Heather joined him in ordering the full buffet, and her resolve to eat only fresh raw vegetables and fruit quickly disappeared.

“It’s much too quiet at the house,” Dad said as they settled in at a table for two. “Besides that, Moe and Igor miss you.”

“Aw, they’re such sweet little kitties,” she said. “Did you bring them along?”

He shook his head. “No, and your mother wouldn’t be happy if she knew her beloved felines are winging it.” He poured more sugar into his coffee and stirred it. “I asked the neighbor to look in on them—feed and water them—while I’m away.”

“That’s great, Dad. The cats like her.”

He set down his spoon and picked up his knife and fork.“Well, eat up, kiddo. I’d say you could use it.” Her father took a bite of pork and sauerkraut, smiling at her as he chewed. It was obvious he had something on his mind. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this house. I don’t know when I’ve been more excited about anything.”

“It’s all over your face, Dad.”

“At first I thought it would take a few months to get the ball rolling, but I asked around, and it turns out there’s an Amish carpenter who can start right away.” He chuckled. “Guess even the downturn in the housing market has its silver lining.”He suggested they drive together to the home of the Amish carpenter he’d hired to construct the new place. “I want you to meet Josiah and his family. He’s touted as the best Amish builder in Lancaster County. . . . I saw several of his houses earlier today.”

In spite of his drive from Virginia, her dad looked better rested than Heather remembered. “Everything’s falling into place so quickly,” he said.

“Sounds like it.” She could hardly believe this was her dad talking—it wasn’t like him to be so impulsive.

He reached inside his tan sports coat and pulled out a sketch of a floor plan. “It’s rough, but what do you think?” He passed it across the table to her. “Three bedrooms are enough, right?”

She nodded, assuming he would use one as a home office, as he did at their present house. “Dad . . . you know I’ll be going back home to Virginia in the fall.”
If all goes well.

He frowned. “You’re working on your thesis, right?”

“Well . . . not so much.”

“I thought you came here for that—to get away from distractions.”

“I’ve just lost some steam, that’s all.”

Suddenly he looked worried. “Honey, what are you saying? You had such passion before.”

She sighed, knowing this was lousy timing. She couldn’t possibly reveal her terrible news when he was so exuberant about the new property . . . and the house plans.

“I’m just saying I won’t need my own space there, except when I come to visit.” She had to play down whatever he’d picked up on in her voice. Sometime soon—perhaps tomorrow—she would tell him about her enlightening appointment with the naturopath.

She stared at her plate of chipped beef, potato salad, baked beans with brown sugar, and her tall glass of Coke. She’d certainly blown it at this meal.
I’ll eat better after my cleansing program,
she told herself.

Her dad referred again to the Amish master carpenter. “Josiah Smucker has an amazing reputation here. And not only is he a carpenter, but he’s a preacher, too . . . though he makes his living building.”

Smucker?
Could this be Sally’s husband, or were there lots of Smuckers in the area?

“Amish ministers aren’t paid a salary,” Dad explained—strangest thing she’d ever heard. Yet she was intrigued by her father’s seemingly avid interest in all things Amish.

“What exactly does being a master carpenter entail?” she asked.

“Josiah’s in charge of planning barn raisings and other local building projects. He’s had tons of experience, and he’s really great. I think you’ll agree soon enough that we’re lucky to have caught him and his crew at the perfect time.”

“We’re lucky . . .”
Heather was worried her dad was including her too much in all of this. And she found it hard to believe when he said the house could be built and ready to move into within about five weeks. Maybe less. “Sounds like
Extreme
Makeover: Home Edition
,” she quipped.

Her dad laughed and raised his coffee cup to her in a sort of toast. “It does sound incredible, but with the kind of teamwork Josiah has, he can raise a two-story barn in a day.”

Their young Amish waitress returned to the table. “Will there be anything else this evening?” she asked before tallying up their order.

“I think we’re fine.” Dad looked across the table, grinning.

“Unless the young lady would care for more.”

“Oh, I’ve had plenty.” She smiled up at the rosy-cheeked girl, who couldn’t be a day older than eighteen. “Thanks anyway.”

Her dad also thanked the waitress and accepted the bill. They got up from the table—
the scene of my latest dietary crime,
thought Heather, recalling her discussion with LaVyrle.

Weaving through the maze of tables and diners, she followed her father to the cashier’s table, noting the many Amish and Mennonite customers, as well as Plain waitresses, some with white netting prayer caps. As many trips as her family had made here throughout the years, she still was not completely accustomed to this somewhat foreign place nestled within the bounds of the contemporary
real
world. And now here was her dad, ready to put his job on hold to build a new house and start up a gentleman’s farm on former Amish land. It was hard to wrap her brain around that, but the past eighteen months had taught her the death of a spouse could alter a person’s thinking.

Like the loss of a mother?

Observing him pay for their meal, she felt as if she was seeing her father for the first time in a very long time. The prospect of building a house had definitely put a spring in his step. A man his age needed purpose in life, something to get him out of bed every morning. Supposing he kept it up, his successful career couldn’t be his only reason for living.

As long as Dad doesn’t use the new house as a place to retreat
from the world . . . like I am. . . .

Together they walked through the parking lot, to their individual cars. Dad suggested they caravan over to Josiah’s. “I’ll lead the way,” he told her. “I’d like to get some of your ideas down on paper as soon as possible. I can only stay around for a few days.”

Long enough for a serious father-daughter talk,
she hoped.

“Sounds like you know where you’re going.” She clicked the remote to unlock her car.

He chuckled. “That I do. I’ve already visited Preacher Josiah at his farmhouse,” he admitted, opening her door.

“Wow, Dad . . . aren’t you full of surprises.”

Smiling, he touched her elbow. When she was inside, he closed the door and patted the window. “See you there, kiddo.”

Kiddo . . .

Thinking what her news might do to him made her depressed. And no amount of wishing could change the fact Heather was still somewhat skeptical about Dr. Marshall’s natural approach to healing.
Is it too good to be true?

chapter
eleven

T
here’s going to be a hen party next Wednesday morning,” Susan Kempf said as she took the reins in her all-black buggy.

“We call our baking get-togethers back home Sisters Days or baking bees,” Lettie said. She was quite taken by the openness of Susan’s carriage.
Not at all like our buggies back home.

“I think you’d enjoy meeting my neighbors, ’specially May Jaberg. She helped me pick up the pieces . . . after Vernon died.” Susan went on to talk more about her “dear neighbor,” who was hosting next week’s work frolic. “May’s Amish-Mennonite, and the most nurturing woman you’ll ever meet. She has three adopted children, and a whole bunch of biological kids, too.”

Adopted?
The word tugged at Lettie’s heart.

“We’ll be baking cookies and pies for her church’s bake-sale benefit.”

Lettie was still deep in thought about May’s family. “How old are May’s adopted children?”

“Oh, let’s see: The two older girls are in their twenties. I’m not sure about their son,” Susan said. “Believe me, Lettie—May would be ever so pleased to have you join us.”

“Well, it would be nice, but I doubt I’ll be here that long,”Lettie said, though she did wonder whether she might catch a glimpse of May’s children there. The idea she could be very close to finding Samuel’s and her missing child gave her pause.

Oh, dear Lord, could it be?

Susan continued to sing the praises of her neighbor, and Lettie found the woman’s winning way quite infectious.
Is meeting
her the answer to my prayers?

Except for some occasional prattle with Tracie Gordon in Kidron or the heartbreaking visit to Samuel Graber, Lettie had been cut off from any real fellowship since departing Bird-in Hand. Being with jovial Susan was ever so encouraging.

“Would you happen to know how May and her husband went about adopting their children?” she asked somewhat apprehensively. “Was it through an agency . . . or a private adoption?”

“You know, I never heard.” Susan glanced at her. “But as forthcoming as May is, she’d pro’bly be glad to talk about it.”

“Ach no, I don’t need to be that nosy.”
Though I’d love to
know . . .

“We can drop by right now, if you’d like.” Susan smiled.“Are you thinkin’ of adopting?”

“No, no,” Lettie protested. “It’s just so interesting how families come together.” She felt bad, fudging on the truth to this good-natured woman.