The Missing (29 page)

For now, though, she was itching for a walk. In the distance she heard a dog barking as she wandered toward the road, turning north toward Becky’s house. She paid little mind till she saw Yonnie running on the opposite side of the road, jogging this way, his German shepherd straining on the leash.

“Grace—hullo!” he called, halting the dog.

Nearly like a runaway horse,
she thought of his large pet.

“Nice day,” she said.

His familiar smile was infectious as he wrapped the leash around his wrist several times. Quickly, the dog sat at his feet. “A wonderful-
gut
day, jah?” Yonnie’s hair shone nearly gold in the sunlight.

She breathed in the fresh fragrance around them. “Smell that?”

“Won’t be long till summer.”

Had he somehow planned this encounter? But how could he have possibly known she needed to stretch her legs after hours of weeding?

“Out walkin’ alone?” he asked.

She glanced down at his compliant pet. “I only have barn cats to keep me company, and they don’t much like a leash.” She didn’t know what had gotten into her, joking like that.

“Well, walk with
me
, then.” His lips parted, waiting for her answer . . . his blue eyes wide with hope.

“All right.” She fell into step with him.

They walked for a ways without speaking. Knowing Yonnie’s inclination for wanting to talk, she was surprised he was this quiet, yet the silence wasn’t at all uncomfortable. She enjoyed watching Dat’s young lambs darting about just beyond the sheep fence.

After a time, he looked at her, a questioning expression on his face. “You know, Grace, I’ve never said anything, but I can see how sad you are ’bout your mother.” His tone was thoughtful. “It wonders me.”

Not willing to disclose anything, she merely nodded. Did he assume her initial unfriendliness was due to her distress over Mamma?

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your family. What I mean is . . . this must be a difficult time for
all
of you.”

She’d never experienced such caring from a fellow—except for Adam, of course, though they were siblings. She recalled Yonnie’s gentle way with animals. Maybe this was just part of his nature.

“My prayers are with you,” he added. “I wanted you to know.”

She had to look away. “Kind of you,” she whispered.

Yonnie glanced over his shoulder. “Something else, too,” he said, looking now at her. “I bumped into your father at the blacksmith shop recently. I believe it was Providence.” He paused, offering his winning smile.

“Why would ya think that?” Grace wasn’t sure why the shop was so special—here lately Yonnie’d seen plenty of Dat.

All of us, really.

He stopped walking and removed his hat, pushing it under his arm. “I hope you won’t think I’m too plainspoken, but I talked with him about something important. And I want you to hear it from me.”

She listened, quite befuddled. How intriguing for him to want to be so open. She thought of Henry—it was hard not to compare him to her former beau, if fleetingly.

“I asked your father for his blessing,” Yonnie said.

“Sorry . . . you did what?”

“Where I come from, askin’ the father’s go-ahead before courtship is essential. Some bishops strongly urge it.”

Her mind whirled. “Oh, Yonnie, I think you’re mistaken.”

He frowned, his eyes intense. “You mean you’re spoken for?”

She thought about what she’d said to Becky.

“
Are
you engaged, Grace . . . as your father supposed?”

“I was . . . but no longer.”

His swift smile gave him away. “Then I’d sure like to court ya—that is, if you’re so inclined.”

Before Henry came along, she had been interested. Then, while Yonnie was getting acquainted with other girls, she had dismissed him, thinking he was fickle . . . or worse. And Becky’s heartache had complicated even the most subtle feelings Grace had managed to squash. But now, with Becky seeing Henry, what would her friend say to this? Didn’t that give Grace some kind of permission?

“I’d be willing to wait for the appropriate time,” he pressed.

So it wouldn’t look fishy . . . after Henry,
she presumed.

“Well, there’s a wonderful girl for you right next door.” She pointed toward Becky’s house. “What about her?”

“What do ya mean?”

“I know for truth she really liked you. I don’t know what you’re thinkin’, passing her up.”

“Becky’s a sweet girl, I’ll say that.” He paused, his eyes fixed on Grace. “But she’s not
you.
”

She was speechless—Yonnie’s eyes were soft. He cared for her; that was clear.

She sighed, pushing a pebble aside with her bare foot. “I couldn’t think of hurting my dear friend. . . .”

“I’m talkin’ about
us
now—you and me, Grace. I want to court you . . . when enough time has passed, if that’d make you feel better.” He wanted an answer, and Grace knew he deserved one.

“With Mamma missing, things are so unsettled.”

Yonnie frowned. “Missing?”

Grace noted his strange look of curiosity and suddenly realized that he must not be privy to the whole story. Well, at least the things she and her family knew. Most likely he’d kept himself clear of the sordid talk of local gossips.

His frown deepened. “I thought she was . . . visiting friends.”

“Not that we know of.” She shook her head. “ ’Tween you and me, we haven’t been able to find her.”

He put his hat back on, eyes serious. “Grace . . . what if I told you I know where she is?”

She studied his face, disbelieving. “How can that be?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, I know right where your mother is.”

If this was a joke or he was making light of it, she didn’t find it one bit funny.

“Listen,” he said. “The grapevine takes only a few minutes to travel from Baltic, Ohio, to Bird-in-Hand.”

Baltic’s close to Kidron,
she thought, stunned
. He must know
what he’s talking about!

“Two of your friends from Eli’s saw her just today—less than two hours ago.”

Grace’s breath escaped her. “Saw Mamma? Where?”

“Nancy and Sylvia were at a doin’s with other women, Mary Liz told me. Your mother was making fruit mush.”

“How’d your sister hear?”

He explained that Nancy Fisher had access to a telephone in an Amish-Mennonite woman’s house. “They’re visiting their father’s cousins, the Jabergs. Anyway, Nancy called Sally Smucker’s cell phone . . . the one she has for her little soap shop.”

Grace had passed through the shop just last Sunday. “Did your sister mention the name of my mother’s friend . . . where she’s staying?” Grace asked, still unbelieving—she’d never heard Mamma speak of anyone in Ohio. Was she a new addition to Mamma’s circle letters, perhaps?

“Her name’s Susan Kempf. She lives right behind the farmhouse where the Fisher girls are visitin’.”

“Oh, this is so wonderful-
gut
!” She wanted to let him know how grateful she was, but right quick she squelched the thought of a spontaneous hug. “How can I thank you?” Truly, Yonnie deserved more than a token of appreciation for this information . . . and for everything else he had done, too.

“Your happiness—just seein’ it on your face—that’s enough thanks for me, Gracie.”

She’d never cared much for the nickname, but hearing Yonnie say it made her feel warm all over.

Brushing back her tears, she glanced toward the house and suddenly remembered her big pot of cubed meat and vegetables. “Ach, my dinner!” She wrung her hands apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but my suey stew’s goin’ to overcook.”

He grinned and tapped his hat brim. “Well, then, by all means hurry!”

The courtship question circled in Grace’s mind all during the noon meal—the table seemed quite empty without Yonnie.

Ach, I never gave him an answer!

chapter
twenty - eight

H
eather leaned back to look at the sky and shielded her eyes. She marveled at the beauty surrounding her, here in this quiet haven she’d claimed for herself. Was the day unusually pleasant due to Jim’s comments about God? Or was it his abandoning the screen name for the more personal Jim?
How do I know that’s
his real name, anyway?

She couldn’t let herself fall for someone she’d met online, could she?

Refocusing her attention on her laptop journal, she was suddenly aware of the friendly voices drifting down the road. Long before she ever saw the couple, she could easily make out their conversation . . . embarrassingly so.

One voice was unmistakably Grace Byler’s. The other apparently belonged to a young man named Yonnie, who seemed pretty worked up about Grace’s mother. Heather looked up from her laptop, unable to keep from listening. She wondered if Grace realized that this Yonnie guy was totally into her.

Heather wanted at least a glimpse of them. But she wouldn’t stare, even if she had the chance when they walked past the willow trees. It was bad enough she had heard such a personal discussion!

To think she was listening in on a real-life Amish romance. It was just as she might imagine.
Well, not actually.
As of yet, she hadn’t noticed any suspicious pauses, and she very much doubted kissing was even in the cards. But there was definite longing in Yonnie’s voice.

Now Heather was second-guessing her decision to put off the herb garden tour. Why had she failed to make good on the invitation when she’d found Grace Byler so engaging?

Don’t I owe it to her to keep my word?

She pushed the laptop into its case and hopped up from her grassy perch. Slipping the strap over her shoulder, she glanced toward the road again. Not spotting Grace and her guy just yet, she ambled toward the creek.
Has Grace’s mom really been visiting
friends all this time?
If so, why hadn’t she told her family?

Talk about an Amish riddle! And Yonnie’s sister had heard it from the proverbial grapevine? How was Grace expected to cope with such a revelation?

Shortly, she saw Grace running this way . . .
away
from the blond Amish boy who earlier had proposed courtship. Heather saw both of them now—Grace in a dull gray dress and long black apron, her hair the color of raw honey. She had a blue kerchief in her hand as she ran.

Quickly, Heather called, “Grace!” not certain why she was so compelled. “Over here!”

Grace stopped her mad scramble and waved. She wiped her brow, out of breath. “Ach, I didn’t see ya. How’ve you been?”

“Just great . . . spending time with my dad.”
Making plans
to extend my life.
Heather walked toward her. “Looks like you’re in a rush.”

“I need to get back to cookin’ dinner.” Grace was out of breath, and now she glanced back toward Yonnie and his dog. “Would ya like to see my garden sometime today?”

Heather assumed she was making small talk, especially because she was noticeably preoccupied with Yonnie. “Sure . . . I’ll come over later.”
What can it hurt?

“All right, then. See ya.” Grace lifted her skirt, her apron flapping as her bare feet flew across the road. She darted over to the grassy area along the shoulder, then toward the sheep fence, and slid under. She ran through the pasture. Now Yonnie was jogging this way, his dog at his side, his eyes still fixed on Grace.

Heather would soon be face-to-face with the young man who loved Grace far more than Devon had ever loved her—she was willing to bet money. As he ran this way, Yonnie’s eyes met hers and he looked away. His face turned instantly red.
Does he
guess I heard them talking?

“Good morning,” she said as he grew closer.

“Hullo,” he replied. He was visibly uncomfortable being addressed by an outsider—and a feminine one at that.

Watching him jog away, Heather replayed the conversation she’d overheard.
If only I had the chance to retrieve
my
own mom,
she thought wistfully and wondered if Grace would want to go and visit her mother in Ohio.

Heather’s mind began spinning with ideas.
The lodge program
doesn’t start until Monday
.
Would Grace be allowed to drive out
there with me?

There was only one way to find out. It was the very least Heather could do for someone who had been so incredibly generous.

Lettie stood in Susan’s front yard, pacing as she waited for the mail truck, which she could see at the end of the road. The morning’s catastrophe had left her exhausted. She had excused herself following the noon meal and rushed back here, hoping for some peace of mind. But that was next to impossible. She could just imagine the reports flying to Bird-in-Hand. All too soon her husband and family would know where she was staying. Perhaps Judah might come calling himself . . . or send Adam out here to fetch her. She contemplated the pain of such a confrontation—forced to reveal the ugly truth. And Lettie shivered at the thought of her sin laid bare.

She held her breath, watching for the mail. Surely today Cousin Hallie’s letter would come!

Judah stood in the barn, watching Grace walk with the Englischer from Virginia. He felt he was intruding on his daughter’s privacy somehow, despite the fact he could not hear a single word she and the tall young woman were saying over there in the herb garden. As he observed them through the smudged window, he was amused now and then by Grace’s bending low to pick off a leaf of spearmint or lemon-scented thyme. She offered each sample to the girl, who either tasted or pinched it, sniffing the fragrance.
This one knows little about gardens,
he decided as he watched the Riehls’ boarder trailing Grace through her beloved herbs. The fancy young woman squatted and ran the palm of her hand lightly over the low mounded chamomile, with its white daisylike flower. She looked as if she was in awe of the leafy vegetation rising out of their rich black soil.

But it was the way the two girls lingered, as if conspiring together, that gave him pause. Wasn’t this the young woman Andy Riehl had described in hushed tones? The one whose father had hired Preacher Josiah to build a house? Andy had said the young woman spent hours alone in her rented room. He’d even found her once late at night, curled up in the haymow with a small black computer, weeping like her heart might break.