The Missing (15 page)

I just take it to the Lord. Don’t you?”

“Oh, honey-girl, I certainly do.”

Grace placed the left sleeve on one side of the table, away from the bodice, which she presently began to cut. “Mamma’s out in Ohio, or she was. For what reason? You must know something.” She held the pinking shears in her right hand, letting their point rest on the table.

Mammi Adah rubbed her forehead for the longest time. Then she looked at Grace. “I can’t possibly know what’s in your Mamma’s heart. Only the Lord sees that.”

“Sometimes I ask the Lord if He wouldn’t consider putting a
gut
word in for us with Mamma. Well, for
me
anyhow.” Grace’s voice quavered unexpectedly.

“Aw, honey-girl, it’s so awful difficult. For you, ’specially.”

“Instead of getting easier with time, it’s harder. The reality sets in more with each day.”

“Like it did when your aunt Naomi passed so suddenly . . .

In some ways, your mother’s absence is nearly like a death.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way, not since Mamma’s short letter.

“ ’Course, Naomi never had a chance to say good-bye.” Mammi Adah shook her gray head.

Grace turned back to her cutting and pondered her grandmother’s words, struggling with her memory of Mamma on the road that night. “Jah, life’s too short not to stop and at least say good-bye.”

Mammi Adah reached across the table for Grace’s hand.

“Let’s not fret, dear.”

Grace looked down at their intertwined hands. “Mothers don’t leave their families on a whim. I’m convinced Mamma is missing because of something important . . . at least in her own mind.”

“I believe you’re right.” Mammi released her hand.

Grace began to pile up the pattern pieces and cleared off the snibbles and extra fabric. Ought she bring up the innkeeper’s remark about a midwife?
Too hard to comprehend,
she decided
.

“It’s not like your Mamma to up and disappear without a powerful-
gut
reason,” Mammi Adah said thoughtfully.

“Well, I mean to find out what . . . the minute lambing’s done.” Grace hoped Adam might be able to spare a few days to accompany her to Indiana in early June or even sooner, though she hadn’t discussed the impulsive notion with him or with Dat just yet. And, things being what they were, there was no sense in bringing it up to Mammi Adah.

chapter
fourteen

I
t was a rare morning when Adah could sit and tat for an hour. Today she listened carefully as Grace poured out her concerns, her fingers working the tatting shuttle. Adah glanced up for a moment, beginning to feel wrung out. Yet what could she do?
It’s too late to change the past.

She sped up, wanting to complete the handkerchief trim to give to her next younger sister for an upcoming birthday. Several other siblings and a good many girl cousins had their birthdays in August and September, too—amongst the People, many birthdays fell in the late summer months and early autumn.
Biggest
months for birthdays, what with winter calling for warmth . . . and
tenderness.

She was silent as she watched Grace gather up the fabric pieces for the dress. “Awful nice of you to help me like this,” she said. “My eyesight being what it is . . . well, I’m just so grateful.”

“No need to thank me, Mammi, with all you do for us.”

Adah worried about Judah and his four with each passing week. “Still, I daresay your family needs you more than ever.”

“Seems so.”

For the life of her, Adah could not understand why Judah had asked Grace to move into her mother’s place at the table. Made no sense to her or to Jakob. It seemed to them that Grace had too much on her shoulders now. Even as a youngster, she’d often been too willing to accept responsibility. Grace was, after all, supposed to have time for courting, but Adah doubted she was seeing anyone anymore. In fact, Grace often headed upstairs for bed even before Mandy.

Each day Adah recognized anew her growing frustration with Lettie, who hadn’t bothered to consult her before embarking on her unreasonable journey.
Was
she visiting Samuel—telling him about their baby? Adah realized she must never underestimate either Lettie’s grit or her determination.

Grace left the sewing room to go and start the noon meal, and Adah stretched a little before examining her stitching. As she continued her tatting, she wondered why Judah rarely spoke of Lettie—not even to Jakob. Was he just too pained over her leaving? Or was he put out with her?

She’d heard tell from the bishop’s mother-in-law that there’d been a gathering of sorts early Tuesday morning, confirmation of what Jakob had brought to her attention. She’d made a point of finding out more—Lettie
was
her daughter, after all. As it turned out, the bishop’s wife had kindly taken her into confidence, saying that if the brethren were fixing to slap a probationary shun on Lettie—long-distance, of all things—then Adah certainly had a right to know.

And, according to what Grace had learned from talking to the innkeeper’s wife, Lettie just might be heading to Cousin Hallie’s in Indiana. If so, Adah figured she could easily write a letter of warning to her daughter. On the other hand, if Lettie hadn’t gone there at all, Adah would be setting herself up for a dozen or more questions from too-curious Hallie.
I surely don’t
want that!

Adah put down her tatting and went to her bedroom to sit on the cane chair near the window. Jakob and Judah had made the lovely chair together the year Lettie and Judah were newlyweds. She was torn, truly, between wishing Judah might be more interested in wanting to search for Lettie . . . and worried that if he did, he might discover his wife’s terrible secret.

So Adah sat there and stewed and pondered and fretted till she had no better idea what to do than when Lettie had first left the family. Still, Adah knew one thing for certain: She felt responsible for the whole jumbled-up mess.

“Two doctors come to mind,” Minnie told Lettie as the rain slowed to a mist. “One’s in Haiti with Christian Aid Ministries. But since he and the other fellow worked together for years in Kidron and Apple Creek, I daresay what one might know about the placement of your baby, the other would, too.”

“Who’s the second doctor?” Lettie was breathless.

“Joshua Hackman. Everyone calls him Dr. Josh.”

“Here, in Ohio?”

Minnie shook her head. “Not anymore. Last I knew, he took over a practice near Nappanee, Indiana.”

Immediately Lettie thought of Cousin Hallie. Then, because Minnie seemed so willing to give answers, Lettie asked the question she’d never breathed to a soul. “Do you know if the couple who adopted my baby was Amish?”

“That would make
gut
sense, I ’spect. But I wasn’t privy to their identity, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they were local.”

An adoptive mother like May Jaberg, perhaps?

Minnie paused, eyes searching Lettie’s. “I can see this troubles you greatly.”

Lettie willed her pounding heart to slow. “If only I’d specified Amish parents . . . how much easier it would now be to find my child. My
daughter.
” Her words caught in her throat.

“Have you ever considered that she might not want to be found?” Minnie’s words fell like stones to the ground. “What if she’s not aware of her adoption?” Minnie patted Lettie’s arm. “You might bring heartache, instead of joy, if you go knockin’ on her door.”

Samuel had brought this to her attention, as well, two weeks ago.

Lettie groaned softly. “I must seem awful selfish.”

“Well, you surely feel cheated . . . having missed out on raising your child.” Minnie offered a considerate smile. “But have you seriously considered your daughter in all of this?”

“Searching for her isn’t only for
my
benefit.” Lettie began to describe how Samuel’s wife had died, leaving him alone and without offspring. “I wanted to somehow make up for keepin’ the truth from him all this time. Wanted to help ease his sorrow . . . with the news of our child.”

“I guess I don’t understand.”

“It’s ever so complicated.” The awkward turn in the conversation embarrassed Lettie further. Minnie seemed to indicate she’d done something wrong in wanting to find her daughter . . . for Samuel’s sake. “I don’t intend to be selfish.” Lettie rose.

Minnie continued to frown, and Lettie felt increasingly chagrined as the seconds ticked by. Then at last, and with a slow breath, Minnie replied, “Turning this situation over to the Lord is the best suggestion I can make.”

“Well, I’ve done that repeatedly . . . all these years.”

Minnie’s expression turned to disbelief. “If I may be so bold, I believe you’re holdin’ on to the past, embracing it longer than necessary,” she said quietly. “Coming before God with hands filled and leaving with them empty . . .
that’s
relinquishing control.”

Lettie’s lips parted, but she could not speak.

“ ‘ . . . Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word,’ ” Minnie quoted Scripture. “The mother of our Lord Jesus was truly a model of submission.”

And I certainly am not,
Lettie thought sadly.

“Ach, since I’m meddling already, I can’t help but wonder if your mother has been a help to you in your struggle with these hidden things.”

Lettie began to cry.

Minnie leaned near. “You’ve never forgiven her, have you?”

“She made me give my baby away,” Lettie sobbed into her hands. “You must surely know she forced me to.”

“You’re not alone. Many girls have been coerced by their parents into doing the same.”

“But you don’t understand. I would’ve brought up my dear baby alone, Minnie. You must believe me.”

Minnie slipped her arm around Lettie. “Let’s stop and pray right now.”

Before she could respond, Minnie had begun to lead out in a plea for divine guidance. “Please direct this precious, brokenhearted child of yours, dear Lord.” She also asked for the will of God to be done, and while she prayed, Lettie thought of how confident she sounded—much more so than Lettie herself had ever been in prayer.

When Minnie finished, her eyes fluttered open, bright with tears.

Lettie said, “I can see why so many young women are drawn to you.”

“I feel called to tend to the poor little lambs, wounded as they’ve been by wrong choices.”

“Denki for takin’ time for me, Minnie. Truly.”

The midwife smiled. “Trust the Lord to lead you, Lettie. And I believe when you understand why your mother demanded what she did—for both you and for your child—you’ll be ready to forgive her fully.”

Lettie tensed at her words, unready to wipe away the painful memory even if she could muster up the forgiveness. She
had
offered it up to God, only to keep taking it back and harboring it—stuck now with the weight of the burden.

“I can’t be more grateful to you.” Lettie rose and walked with Minnie back toward the house.

Minnie looked her way. “You know where I am if you need anything more. Anything at all.”

Lettie made her way to the horse and gave Molly a sugar cube before she untied her. Then from the lane, she waved again to Minnie, who was still standing on the porch steps. Lettie gave the kindly woman a wistful smile.
I will long remember this day.

“You can’t mean it, Gracie.” Adam held his frown for several
seconds as he poured himself a glass of water before the noon meal. Then his solemn expression turned to a half smile. “I really hope you’re pullin’ my leg.”

“No, seriously, we can use some of my money from Eli’s to catch a train or a bus . . . or even hire Martin Puckett to drive us,” Grace replied.

“I s’pose you think we’ll bring Mamma right back?”

She brightened. “Why not?”

“Well, you aren’t thinkin’ straight. Ya can’t just go out there hopin’ to run into Mamma. Besides, what if you
do
find her and she doesn’t want to come home? What then? It’d break your heart all over again.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

“The lambs are comin’ on fast, in twos some days. It’s a terrible idea to leave now.” Adam pressed his straw hat down on his head. “Besides, I promised Priscilla I’d take her to the next work frolic with a bunch of other couples from our district.”

Grace smirked. “Well, I s’pose Prissy wouldn’t like it much if you went off lookin’ for Mamma, jah?”

“Well, say what ya want, but she’s awful concerned ’bout Mamma goin’ missing,” Adam replied.

“Maybe
too
concerned?”

Adam’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mamma’s absence didn’t seem to bother Henry much at all,” she ventured.

Adam frowned. “Maybe if you’d stayed put with him, you would’ve found out what he
really
thinks.”

“Ach, you know as well as I do that Henry has trouble opening his mouth.”

“But you hardly gave him a chance.” He grimaced. “According to Prissy, he talks a-plenty.”

Just not to me . . .

Adam went on. “Henry’s not the only one hurt over it. Prissy had high hopes for the four of us being extra-close family.”

She knew that, all right. “But I’ll still be her sister-in-law, even
not
marryin’ Henry, if you go ahead with your wedding plans to her,” she said. “Besides, are you sayin’ it didn’t matter that Henry and I weren’t right for each other? That Prissy just wanted me to go ahead with a bad match?”

“Maybe you—”

“No, really. Is your sweetheart that thickheaded?” Immediately, she regretted saying it.

“Well, this is goin’ nowhere, and mighty fast. And it ain’t becomin’ of you, Grace.”

She felt bad—she hadn’t meant to insult her closest brother’s fiancée, but she found Prissy’s meddling unbearable. “Aw, Adam . . .”

He raised his glass to his lips, emptying it all in a rush. Wiping his mouth on the back of his shirtsleeve, he said, “And another thing, too: It’s obvious Joe’s pushin’ Yonnie off on you.”

She’d hoped this wouldn’t come up, especially now.

“Dat too.” Adam frowned, catching her eye. “Mind you, Grace, I’ve nothin’ against Yonnie, but if you accept him as a beau so soon after Henry, you’re as fickle as Prissy says.”