The Missing (7 page)

Without another word, Mandy headed for the steps to the cold cellar. Relieved, Grace went to the window, still wishing she had concealed her emotions better. It was then she noticed the Spanglers’ big dog—the golden Lab she’d played fetch with yesterday—tearing through the sheep pasture. “For pity’s sake, no!” She rushed to the kitchen door and was thunderstruck to see Yonnie heading across the barnyard. He slipped beneath the fence and pushed his straw hat back on his head, strolling briskly toward the middle of the field.

The terrified sheep were all huddled together in the far corner. Some of the pregnant ewes would be so frightened they might birth too early, and that would never do. Dat needed every single one of the new lambs this season, just as he did any other springtime. The lambs were their main source of livelihood.

Yonnie crouched low in the middle of the pasture, holding out his hand to the excited dog. Although Grace couldn’t be sure from where she stood observing, she thought he might be talking to the Labrador.

She continued to peer out, her nose almost touching the screen door. “Well, I’ll be . . .” The dog ceased its barking and moved slowly toward Yonnie until he was licking his hand, and then Yonnie’s face, nearly knocking his hat off. “Unbelievable,” Grace whispered.

“What is?” Mandy asked, startling her as she came up from behind.

“Over there.” She pointed to Yonnie, now leading the neighbors’ dog by his collar, up the hill toward the Spanglers’ house.

“Ach, that dog’s been watchin’ the sheep for several days now,” Mandy replied. “I wondered if this might not happen.”

Grace, too, had noticed the dog’s interest in the sheep—just yesterday, in fact. “It’s a
gut
thing someone was there to calm that Lab,” she said, thinking of the ewes.

“You mean the lion tamer?” Mandy teased.

Grace gave a small smile. “He sure has a way with them.”

“Well, with dogs, anyway.”

They laughed at that. Then Mandy said she’d seen Yonnie carrying one of their sickly lambs yesterday. “ Dat says Yonnie’s keen on savin’ the weakest of them. You know which one?”

Grace knew. Adam and Joe had continued bottle-feeding the pitiful creature after Yonnie left. “Mandy . . . did Dat say anything ’bout needing extra help?”

“Not a word. Why?”

It was Grace’s turn to shrug. “Just curious.”

“Ain’t troublesome, havin’ Yonnie Bontrager here . . . is it?”

“Why would ya think that?” But it
was
a strange predicament, and Grace knew full well that Mandy was smarter than she was letting on. Still, Grace was weary of talking about the boy who’d hurt Becky so badly. She wondered what Becky must be thinking.
Surely she saw him coming this way.
She simply could not let her dearest friend wonder if Yonnie was sweet on
her
. Not for the world!

Once Mandy emptied her apron full of potatoes onto the counter, she left to assist Mammi Adah with a pile of mending. Grace breathed a sigh of relief, letting out her pent-up frustration as she chopped potatoes for the stew.
That Yonnie—he’s
a charmer, for sure
. Goodness, but sweet Becky was the perfect choice for him. How could he not know this? Quite unexpectedly, Grace realized he might’ve broken
her
heart, too, if she’d let him a year ago.

What would happen if the object of Becky’s affection kept coming to help Dat in Mamma’s absence? For now, Grace could only hope Yonnie wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to stay over for the noon meal.
Like he’s hired help—or worse yet—family!
Mandy’s teasing she could take; it was her brother Adam’s seeming disapproval that truly bothered her.

The young receptionist and subsequent nursing staff were so friendly, Heather was caught off guard. As a result, her apprehension slowly began to subside as she followed the brunette nurse down the hall to the examination room. Instead of the typical stark décor of a doctor’s office, the room was enhanced by earth tones and a skylight, which lent a bright and tranquil feeling. Sinking into the comfortable chair, Heather willed herself to relax.

She was equally impressed with Dr. Marshall, a pretty, vivacious blonde with an infectious smile and twinkling blue eyes.“First of all, I want you to call me LaVyrle,” she began. “I hope we’ll become good friends.”

Encouraged, Heather nodded. “I’m counting on you to help me,” she said. “I’ve been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, stage IIIA. That’s why I’m here.”

“A confusing disease, to be sure,” Dr. Marshall said. “Rituxan is the conventional medical treatment for B-cell lymphoma—it’s a monoclonal antibody that targets the CD22 antigen on the surface of the lymphoma cell.”

“A complicated name for chemo, right?” Heather talked about the horrors her mother had endured. Then she said, “Believe me, I’m not interested in that.”

LaVyrle leaned back in her chair and offered an understanding smile. “You may know that our bodies have the amazing ability to fight off cancerous cells, given the right kinds of foods.” She went on to describe the effects of a poor diet.

“Obviously, I’ve been the product of my parents’ lousy eating habits,” Heather admitted.

“That’s true of most of us. But remember, it’s never too late to start anew.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” Suddenly Heather felt less alone.

LaVyrle gave her a brochure about a health lodge. “Perhaps you might want to consider my wellness program. It’s the most effective way I know to help undo the harm done by eating poor-quality food or from exposure to environmental toxins. Think of it as jump-starting your own personal program to health.”

A ten-day commitment?
She scanned the information, surprised to learn that the lodge was located in the vicinity of the Riehls’ tourist home. “Thanks. I’ll read every word.”

LaVyrle smiled. “Before you decide on that, I’ll need to order a battery of blood tests to help me move ahead with a plan tailor-made for you. I want to know exactly what we’re facing.”

Heather attempted to disguise her surprise at being subjected to yet another test.
Needles are anything but natural
.

Following the appointment, Heather sat waiting to be called into the lab for blood work. Dr. Marshall’s nurse had asked her to refrain from wearing perfume or hair products at her next clinic visit. Besides several patients, some of the staff members were allergic.

She thumbed through a nutrition magazine, intrigued by an article about enhancing the immune system.

“Heather,” the nurse called.

She rose and carried the magazine into the lab with her, reopening it again to the article. Reluctantly she pushed up her sleeve for the blood draw, wishing she’d requested her medical records from home. Except that this clinic was searching for things her regular clinic hadn’t even considered, like thyroid deficiencies, potential liver enzyme irregularities, or a possible toxic overload of heavy metals. Even mercury from eroding dental fillings could compromise the immune system, she’d learned.

She winced as she anticipated the initial poke, followed by the steady stream of dark blood into the vial; she dreaded needles. But she
had
been surprised at the forty-something doctor’s vibrant demeanor. Heather could sense how much the optimistic woman loved her work. Best of all, LaVyrle believed she could help her beat her illness. The road to good health seemed to stretch ahead.

“You may actually feel worse before you feel better,”
the naturopath had warned during the appointment.
“Nausea, headaches,
cramping, skin eruptions—all of these symptoms can occur as diseased
cells and toxins leave the body . . . but they are early signs of
recovery.”

Heather realized this was going to require a steely commitment on her part. A lodge stay would mean not eating any solids, enabling her body’s energy to go toward healing rather than digestion. Plant-based juices and broths would free her body of toxic buildup. And in addition to daily liver and colon cleansing, steam baths and saunas, she would learn to do a dry-brushing technique to detoxify her largest organ—her skin. But the juice fasting was central to it all.
“Consuming freshly extracted
organic greens and veggies will detox your body at the cellular level,”
LaVyrle had explained, giving her an approximately one-hour crash course on health and wholeness.

Heather had jokingly said,
“Garbage in, garbage out?”
when LaVyrle spoke of feeding the body the right kinds of foods to prevent disease and to maintain optimum well-being.

Surprisingly, after all of this, Heather had maintained her determination to give the natural way her best shot, starting today, by purchasing the list of necessary herbal teas and food supplements, including zinc and B and C vitamins.

So, with LaVyrle’s encouraging remarks lingering in her mind and a Band-Aid in the crook of her elbow, Heather left the lab and headed for her car. She wanted to get to Eli’s Natural Foods, on the east side of Bird-in-Hand, right after lunch at a local natural foods restaurant . . . before she lost heart or began to second-guess LaVyrle’s holistic plan for eating and living. Aside from the snippets of information her mother had shared before she passed away—most of which had come from books on strategies for fighting debilitating disease—Heather had never received so much information on naturopathic medicine from a reliable source.

She slowed as she spotted the Wellness Lodge, operated year-round by LaVyrle and her staff. She already knew its exterior rather well, having driven by it several times, intrigued by its stately presence. The place was something of a contrast to the Riehls’ quaint homestead, although both boasted similar white signs on the front lawn near the road. The brick red farmhouse-turned-lodge was actually within walking distance of her father’s newly purchased land. Broad white shutters trimmed the front and side of the house, and a large bay window gleamed to the left of the black entry door. All around were purple lilacs dense with blossoms. The yellow-green hue of draping willows beyond highlighted Mill Creek, which ran through the large piece of property.

While creeping past the lodge, Heather was amazed again at her luck in getting into LaVyrle’s office weeks ahead of the initially scheduled visit.
Or was it luck?
She could not dismiss the significance of that as she considered she was now steering toward a new path, a major fork in the road of her life.
And to
think I have Mom to thank for setting all of this in motion. . . .

“Time to kick those CD22 B cells in the teeth,” she said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “And time to level with Dad about my diagnosis.”

Heather drew a long breath and remembered the phrase Marian and Becky Riehl often said as they went about their daily chores—“Lord willing.”

“That too,” she whispered.

Lettie Byler locked the motel-room door behind her and removed her lightweight shawl and blue cape and apron, dropping the garments onto the nearby chair. She glanced around the small yet clean room. The off-white walls were brighter than even hers back home, but the gray carpet and matching drapes made the place gloomy, nearly depressing—such a contrast to her pleasant room at the Kidron Inn. Tracie Gordon had been quite apologetic when she had informed Lettie that the entire bed-and-breakfast had already been reserved for the past week. Thankfully Lettie had managed to acquire another room in the Kidron area for much of that time, at least until she felt she’d made every attempt to locate Minnie Keim, the midwife who’d assisted with her first baby’s birth.

Twice, prior to leaving Kidron, Lettie had slipped into the weekly livestock auction, where farm folk bid on dairy cows, hogs, sheep, and goats. Though the place was packed with mostly men, she’d encountered a few women—wives and daughters of the bidders—hoping to talk to someone who might know Minnie or her husband, Perry.

As Providence would have it, on her walk back from the auction one Saturday afternoon, Lettie had stopped to toss a stray ball back to a towheaded schoolboy. He was standing around the U-Wash It, of all things, with his two younger brothers, all three of them wearing wide-brimmed straw hats. The adorable trio had been waiting for their mother to finish scrubbing down their black buggy for Preaching services the next day. When she heard Minnie’s name, the pretty blond woman had brightened, certain the midwife had relocated to near Baltic.
“Minnie’s staying
with an uncle and aunt, is what I heard.”

“Why’s that?”
Lettie asked.

“Her husband got laid off recently,”
the woman said, sympathy pinching up her face.
“Lots of folk have fallen on hard times lately.”

So Lettie had come here to quaint little Baltic, a few short miles southeast of Charm. It
had
been something of a godsend to find this affordable place, one offering a discount for longer stays. Even so, she’d decided she might not need to be here much longer. Already she had nearly exhausted her few leads in
this
rural town, as well as the outlying areas north and east of here. All but one slim lead, which had come from an Amishwoman she’d met in Kidron, a talkative clerk at Lehman’s Hardware who had known Minnie’s only daughter, Dora. She had been told that Dora’s fiancé worked at Green Acres Furniture, just north of Mt. Eaton. So Lettie had traipsed all over that area, including Apple Creek and the surrounding villages, surprised at the sight of many red barns, something she’d rarely seen in Lancaster County. She’d also hired a Mennonite girl to drive her around Goose Bottom Valley, in Walnut Creek, but had come up empty-handed. No sign of Minnie, Dora, or Dora’s fiancé.

Lettie was beyond perturbed that the folk she’d encountered hadn’t the slightest inkling of Minnie’s present whereabouts. Some said she was possibly visiting extended family in Wisconsin, while others said she sometimes did missions work in South America. Even the post office no longer had a residential address listing for her. Lettie was beginning to think Minnie Keim had gone missing.

In her heart, she refused to give up her search, but her physical body was weary of the continual roadblocks. She could only wonder if the midwife had become reclusive out of necessity. Was it possible the benevolent Amishwoman who’d arranged the adoption of Lettie’s baby was doing something other than midwifery now? Minnie had been the one responsible for acquiring the trusted doctor, a man highly regarded by her and the local Plain community. Both Lettie’s mother and the sympathetic midwife had assured her that all was taken care of properly. In short, Minnie had been anything but flighty or elusive back then, but the years had a way of diminishing one’s memory.