The Telling (5 page)

eight

Heather was grateful for the abundant fresh salad at supper, and all the trouble Susan had gone to, providing celery and carrot sticks, as well as sliced tomatoes and cucumbers. All the same, she’d still felt hungry at the end of the meal; she assumed her stomach was in the process of shrinking. She had also waited thirty minutes after eating before slowly drinking a full glass of water, per Dr. Marshall’s advice.

Now she lay staring at the ceiling in the small guest room, having already showered and dressed for bed. If she had her way tomorrow, she’d be up and out of here before dawn, heading back to Pennsylvania. But the way Susan had talked at supper, it sounded as though she was urging Grace to stay around for a few hours tomorrow morning, to relax a bit.

She could hear Grace in the next room, humming a melody she didn’t recognize. It would seem that her Plain friend had had her fill of socializing – either that, or she simply craved some downtime.
Like I do.

Propping herself up with several handmade crocheted pillows, Heather realized again how very different this trip had turned out for Grace. For herself, she hadn’t had many preconceived notions. The drive here was her little adventure, of sorts, before her upcoming stay at the Wellness Lodge. That, and an attempt to do something nice for a consistently thoughtful young woman.

Rolling over, Heather stared at the slender kerosene lamp on the nearby table. A Bible rested on the small shelf below, with a bookmark sticking out at the top.
“Mom read the Bible more at the end of her life than at any other time,”
Dad had told her a year ago.
“Don’t people become more religious when they’re dying?”
she’d asked. But Dad hadn’t responded.

Heather slipped off her watch and placed it on the small table. She reached for the Bible and leaned up on her elbow. With a slow sigh, she slid her finger between the pages, near the pressed floral bookmark. There, she found a slip of paper with a list of various birds:
black-and-white warbler, lark sparrow, Baltimore oriole, scarlet tanager, bobolink, brown thrasher...

She scanned the page and noted more than twenty birds, each with a description of its call after its name. At the bottom of the page, in even smaller letters, was printed:
LB, May 16.

“LB?” she whispered. “Lettie Byler?” She looked around and realized Grace’s mom must have stayed in this very room.

For a moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to go and knock on Grace’s door, to offer to trade bedrooms, perhaps.
Wouldn’t Grace want to sleep in the bed her mother slept in?
But Grace might be too settled in and comfortable by now. So Heather relaxed and soaked up the atmosphere of the space where the runaway Lettie had watched birds, read this Bible, and probably slept.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there with the Bible open, but when Heather awakened, she heard crying. Getting up, she placed the Bible back on the shelf. When the list of birds fluttered to the hardwood floor, she stooped to pick it up and noticed a reference for a Scripture verse on the back.

She had no idea where Psalm 42 was located in the thick Bible, so she didn’t bother to search. Grace would know. With the list in her hand, she crept across the room, past the low windows covered by green shades, blocking out the moonlight.

Standing in the hallway, Heather heard Grace blowing her nose. “Are you all right in there?” she called through the door quietly, not wanting to awaken Susan.

“Come in, Heather.”

She tiptoed inside and saw Grace curled up in the bed. “I heard you stirring. Anything I can do?”

Grace sat up and leaned against the headboard. “I had a bad dream,” she whispered. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like such a child.”

Heather smiled. “My mom once said we’re all children inside.” It was perhaps a silly thing to say, but it was the first thing she thought of. “I’m not sure, but I may have found something of your mother’s.” She gave the list of birds to Grace. “Thought you might want this.”

Grace got up and lit the lantern on her bedside table. The list trembled in her hand as she held it tenderly, almost reverently. “Ah... bird sightings. How Mamma loves her birds!”

Heather pointed out the reference on the back of the paper. “Is this a favorite, too?”

Grace pinched her lips together and closed her eyes. There was a softness in her expression as tears spilled down her cheeks. “‘Yet the Lord will command his lovingkindness in the day time, and in the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.’” She brushed back tears. “Mamma wrote this very verse in my birthday card last month.”

Not knowing what to say, Heather looked away. “I’m an April baby, as well,” she said absently.

“Jah? Are we the same age, too?” Grace brushed away her tears.

“I’m twenty-four.”

Grace had a look of touching timidity. “I’m twenty-one... and nearly a
Maidel
.”

“I sure hope that’s not what it sounds like.”

“Amongst the People, I’m considered nearly an old maid.”

Heather turned to look at her again, offering a smile. “If only Yonnie could see you now...”

“Well, not
right
now. Our bishop frowns on bed courtship –
Bundling.
It’s against our church ordinance.”

Heather was stunned. “Hey, I was
kidding.
” There was so much she didn’t know about the Amish culture. “I just meant, as long as Yonnie’s sweet on you, I doubt you’ll become whatever you called it.”

“A Maidel.”

“Yeah,
that
.”

Grace laughed softly, but all too soon her tears welled up again as she pressed her mother’s list to her heart.

Heather was helpless to stop Grace from reaching for her and crying on her shoulder. Was she weeping for her missing mother, or for Yonnie? Whatever the reason, Heather was overwhelmed by this poor girl sobbing next to her.

Slowly she found herself opening her heart, astonished at how much she cared. “It’s okay, Grace,” she whispered, putting her arms around her. “You go ahead and cry.”

Heather observed Grace’s serious, almost dreary, expression as they loaded the car the next morning, relieved they were getting an early start. Grace carried her bags without speaking, deep shadows evident beneath her blue eyes.
She’s devastated.

There was still one more item to retrieve from the house. Heather headed back inside, going out of her way to thank Susan for inviting them to stay overnight. “It was really very kind of you,” she told her.

Susan smiled. “Anytime you’d like to return for a visit, you have a place here. I do enjoy company.”

“Well, you’re a terrific hostess,” Heather said.

Susan gave her a hug. “I’ll be prayin’ for you today while you travel.”

Grace suddenly appeared at the front door. “Denki, Susan,” she said quietly. “And for takin’ care of my Mamma, too.” There was a catch in her voice, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Heather excused herself and hurried upstairs to grab her last bag, a cosmetic case, which she slipped over her shoulder. She glanced around the room once more. Spying the Bible where she’d found Lettie’s bird sightings, she felt an overwhelming sadness for Grace. So many unanswered questions – why had her mother run off, where had she gone, and when might she return home?

Outside again, she found Grace already sitting primly in the front passenger’s seat, staring blankly through the windshield. Susan walked over and leaned on the open car window, talking softly. Soon, the three of them were saying another round of good-byes and God-bless-you’s – Susan and Grace offering the latter.

Then they were on their way, winding back up the same narrow country road they’d come by, the cows grazing on all sides as Heather and Grace headed toward Sugarcreek.

“Susan was really something,” Heather remarked.

“Like family... almost.”

When they drove past the area where Heather had encountered the friendly woman with the charming name of Minnie, she glanced in the rearview mirror, recalling how relaxed she’d felt during the walk.

Grace turned to her. “I’m sorry this was such a dead end... that you drove me out here for nothing.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Grace.”

“We just missed my mother.” Grace wiped tears from her eyes and went silent, hardly breathing in the passenger’s seat. She sat nearly like a rag doll, no life in her arms, with her legs stretched out and feet resting on the gravel-sprinkled floor mat below.

A fleeting thought crossed Heather’s mind that if she hadn’t signed up for the Wellness Lodge, she might have offered to play sleuth there in Baltic or elsewhere. But the clock was loudly ticking on her health.

nine

S everal other patients were sitting in Dr. Hackman’s waiting room when Lettie arrived, some with children who eyed her curiously as she signed in and took a seat. Others sat and flipped through magazine pages, glancing up hopefully each time the nurse opened the door to call another name. Accustomed to being given sideways glances by Englischers during her travels or while tending tables at market, she wasn’t troubled by the stares. Some folks were just more discreet than others.

At last, when Lettie’s name was called, she followed the nurse through the doorway, rehearsing in her mind the questions for the doctor. Would this visit bring an end to her search, just as she’d prayed while waiting for the driver to arrive this morning?

Lettie felt nearly too reticent to speak when the doctor, a large man with gray-blue eyes, entered the room and leaned down to shake her hand. Feeling fuzzy-headed, she wished she’d written down her questions.

“My receptionist left a note for me. Am I correct that you’re looking for an adoptee, a child you had years ago?” Dr. Hackman asked as they sat across from each other at his large desk.

Lettie confirmed that was the reason she’d come from Lancaster County to meet with him. “The adoption took place in Ohio,” she added.

“Do you have access to a computer?” he said, frowning. “If so, you can easily print out the form and mail in a request to authorize the release of your identifying information.”

“Sorry... a what?”

“There’s a standard form for biological parents who are searching.”

She shook her head. “I don’t own a computer.”
And wouldn’t know how to use it if I did.

His face softened to a cordial smile. “Well, then, you could simply write a letter and request a reply by mail, if you wish.”

Lest she lose her nerve, Lettie asked if he remembered working with a midwife in Kidron, Ohio, named Minnie Keim. “She delivered my baby twenty-four years ago – April twenty-ninth.”

He shifted his wide shoulders and glanced briefly toward the window, a contemplative frown on his portly face. “I do recall Mrs. Keim, yes. But it has been some years since I’ve worked with her in that capacity.”

“My baby’s adoption was handled privately – not through an agency. Or so I was told.”

He shook his head, still looking rather amazed. “It was totally unnecessary for you to travel here.”

Sighing, she thought of Hallie’s neighbor Lana. But it had been hard enough to ask to use her phone, let alone asking to borrow Lana’s little computer – and not knowing what to do first after that. “Would it be possible to have someone here help me... in your office?” Lettie did not want to risk making a single mistake in filling out such an important form. Just the thought of it made her feel nearly panicked.

He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, a brief smile playing on his lips. “Let’s see what we can do.” He rose and reached for the door. Quietly, he called for one of his staff from the doorway. “Could one of you come and assist Mrs. Byler, please?”

She was greatly relieved at the doctor’s kindness and told him so. He nodded warmly and said he wished her well in her search. “The state department of health will file your request with the court and respond to you via mail at your home address. Assuming your child has filed a petition with the probate court, your information will be released to her.”

Momentarily, Lettie wondered if having such a letter come to her home was a good idea. But, no, she would follow through, just as the good doctor was suggesting.

Before he left, she said, “I have one more question. Do you keep any records of private adoptions?”

He wore a fleeting look of regret. “Our files don’t go back that far. You’ll have to work directly with the office of vital statistics at the Ohio Department of Health. You can expect to hear back from them within two to three weeks.”

She thanked him, and he was gone.

Soon, one of the nurses appeared in the room and went to sit in the doctor’s chair, in front of the desk computer. She introduced herself as Fiona, and her accent and name made Lettie think she was from another country. Fiona printed out a form she found online with the Ohio Adoption Registry. Then she carefully went over the information, beginning with Lettie’s legal name at the time of the birth, and the date and location of the birth. Lettie felt like a bundle of nerves, and a great shyness fell over her, like a large cobweb descending. But she did her utmost to print neatly, and to the best of her knowledge, she carefully answered each question, filling in every blank, except for the name of the baby on the day of birth.

“Ah, there you are, Martin,” his wife said as Martin Puckett pushed open the screen door. “Hungry?”

“You know me well.” He chuckled and glanced at his watch.
Twelve-thirty
– later than he preferred to sit down to lunch, but there had been many calls from Amish requesting his transportation services this morning.

Janet moved back and forth between the kitchen counter and the table in a sporadic dance of sorts. He leaned back in his chair, appreciative of her attempts to make every meal festive.
Festive
was her own description of the colorful napkins and ever-changing place settings. At last count, she owned five full sets of dishes.
“My weakness,”
she’d admitted to him last week as they enjoyed a light supper, complete with her maternal grandmother’s best china – a pattern of small flowers – and crystal goblets. The goblets were making an appearance again today, although presently his was filled with ice water, a small slice of lemon floating down midway.

Janet was feminine in every way – the way she dressed, the way she carried herself, and her demeanor. And, good night, could she ever cook! To think this was the same woman who’d worked for years behind a cosmetic counter in one of the department stores over in the big Lancaster mall, on the other side of the bypass. She’d given makeovers to middle-aged women, recommended lipstick hues, and passed out free samples until she resigned after their third child was born. While she said she did not miss working full-time, Martin was fairly certain she missed the spending money. Particularly now, with things so tight. The exceptionally high cost of gas this spring had certainly done their bank account no favors.

“Here we are.” Janet carried the last two food items and placed them just so in the center of the table, including a molded tuna salad with chopped hard-boiled eggs he could see through the gelatin. “No mayo for you, dear, but I think you’ll like the healthy substitute.”

Don’t remind me....

“Looks delicious.” He smiled at his bride of nearly forty-one years. They had certainly been through the mill with two of their now-grown children. One daughter had surprised them recently by finally beginning to mellow. Even the younger daughter was showing steady indications of the same. Their sons, married with children of their own, had given them no trouble at all – at least that Martin could recall. Aside from his own forced early retirement due to stress-related health issues, he and Janet knew they had enjoyed more than their share of blessings.

Bowing his head, he offered a heartfelt prayer, being mindful to ask a blessing on “the hands that prepared this food” toward the end. After the amen, he leaned over and kissed Janet’s soft, pink lips. “Let’s dig in,” he said.

His wife reached to scoop up an ample portion of the kidney bean salad, waiting for him to hold out his plate. Next the molded tuna salad – which he was not so fond of, though he would never let on – and a thick slice of hobo bread, one of Janet’s own favorites.

Grateful, he looked down at his plate and picked up his fork, all the while attentive to his wife’s pleasant chatter.

“How’s the Virginia businessman’s house coming along?” Janet asked after she’d filled him in on the latest with their kids.

“The permit has been approved and the plot’s been surveyed. Excavation will begin after Memorial Day – next Tuesday, I’d guess.” He broke his bread in half and took a bite. There wasn’t a lick of butter anywhere in sight, thanks to Janet’s heeding his doctor’s orders.
“Recommendations,”
she liked to say instead.

“So the house should go up quickly?”

“Yes. And according to the fellows I’ll be driving to and from the site each day, there’s an air of excitement about this particular house.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Well, it’s planned as a look-alike Amish farmhouse... except with every imaginable modern convenience,” he said. “How about that?”

“Sounds like the owner is trying to fit in over there.”

“That’s my thinking, as well. But since I’ve yet to meet Roan Nelson, I can’t tell you why that would be.”

Janet reached for her own goblet of water. “Some of the girls in the neighborhood said they heard Mr. Nelson has a daughter about to get her master’s degree. She’s staying with the Riehls.”

“Heard that, too.” He shook his head and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Andy and Marian certainly have their hands full with all they do.”

“Running a tourist home would keep
me
hopping, let alone handling all the work of a dairy farm on top of it.”

They traded smiles. Martin had had his share of working with cows, back when he was a boy. His father’s older brother had a few he raised to slaughter. Martin shook off the memory of one particular day when he’d observed the process a little too closely for his liking. He’d almost given up eating meat after that, but only until the disgusting memory faded. And now here he was, happily married to a woman who excelled in the kitchen, cooking occasional beef dinners, along with other leaner meats, and he was the contented recipient.

“I’m curious to know why anyone from Virginia wants to build a modern-day house, sandwiched between two Amish farms,” Janet said. “Any idea?”

“Roan Nelson’s his own man, I’m hearing. And somewhat dogmatic about how he wants things done – the old way, he’s insisted to the Amish contractor who’s overseeing the whole thing – Josiah Smucker.”

“Sally’s husband? The preacher?” Janet’s eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”

“You know her?”

“I’ve met her at the farmer’s market several times. The first time we were both at a table of homemade facial scrubs.”

He let out a guffaw. “Hard to imagine an Amishwoman wanting something like that.”

“Well, now, darling” – and here she touched his wrist – “a woman’s a woman, no matter the Plain clothes she wears.”

He smiled. “Should’ve seen that coming.” Martin finished eating his helping of tuna salad, trying for the life of him to remember how it had tasted
with
mayo.