Abby Finds Her Calling (3 page)

Abby grimaced, covering her face as she fought back tears. It wasn’t the right time for such thoughts. The day belonged to Zanna and James, even if her sister had chosen not to show up.

Breathing deeply, Abby refocused her thoughts. There was nothing to do but entrust their dilemma to God and wonder if her sister had any inkling of the feelings she’d hurt… the lives she’d changed before this day had even gotten started. They had a kitchen full of women in tears, worried about what had happened to Zanna—and what they’d tell their guests. Abby paused on the stoop before she went in.

In the yard the bishop, Vernon Gingerich, listened with his head tilted to one side while Sam spoke with even more frustration than he had when they first discovered Zanna was missing.

“… should’ve seen it as a red flag when Suzanna insisted on such a worldly nickname,” Sam stated. “It wasn’t a gut idea for Dat to allow it, but—”

“It seems a common part of rumspringa for young folks to see how they feel with a different name. I myself went by—”

“But, Vernon,” Sam interjected, “you surely never ran the roads in a car. We caught Zanna
driving
! Out on a county highway with—”

“I tested my parents at every turn, Sam,” came Bishop Gingerich’s reply. “But none of this second-guessing solves our problem. All these guests are here, and the feast is prepared. And the bride’s in hiding.”

The men’s conversation came to a halt. Sam raked his fingers through his steel gray hair, exhaling harshly. “Abby?” he called, waving her over. “The bishop wants a word.”

Aware that her older brother’s clipped tone had sometimes inspired Zanna’s resentment, Abby did as she was told. She noted that Sam stood stiffly while Vernon appeared more stooped than usual.
The bishop’s beard, salt sprinkled with pepper, brushed the top of his black vest as he fixed his gaze on her. His eyesight might not be so sharp anymore, but he saw through to the heart of a matter better than most.

“Gut morning to you, Vernon,” Abby said with a sad nod. “Not that it’s one of our
better
mornings.”

“It’s another day our Lord’s given us to celebrate, no matter how we choose to glory in it—or to make a mess of things.” The old man’s expression remained unruffled. “We’ve gathered here to worship God, so ask the women to join us for the service now, Abby. Then we’ll proceed with the meal, as planned.”

Abby frowned. “But if the bride doesn’t come home—”

“Suzanna has chosen not to be here. She’ll have to face the consequences of that decision,” the bishop pointed out.

“And we can’t send folks away without feeding them and visiting with them, not after so many of them hired drivers and traveled hundreds of miles to get here,” Sam insisted. The lines around his eyes were etched more deeply now; their youngest sister would indeed deal with the humiliation and worry she’d caused him these past few hours… along with the ongoing speculation of every person in Cedar Creek, since they all did business in his store. “So we’ll start the service in ten minutes. It’s better if
you
tell Mamm that, rather than me,” he said to Abby.

Her eyes widened. Surely Sam wasn’t
afraid
to enter a kitchen filled with upset women. Raising three daughters and a son—and becoming the head of the Lambright family after their father’s death last spring—had given him the authority to quell arguments and protests with a single purposeful look. But then, Sam had never dealt with the mother of a missing bride, or the sympathetic friends who’d banded together to help Mamm and his wife, Barbara, and James’s mamm, Eunice Graber, get through such an unexpected turn of events.

“We’ll be over directly, then,” Abby replied quietly.

She gripped the doorknob, studying the familiar faces through the glass: some stood near the stove to comfort Mamm and Barbara while others clustered around Eunice, beside the long table laden with serving bowls, platters, and pitchers that they would use for the noon meal. Their eyes were wide, their kapps bobbing as they discussed today’s dilemma in voices that came through the Dutch door. It wouldn’t be proper to get their attention with a shrill whistle between her fingers, but Abby figured it might require that.

The rapid-fire clatter of horses’ hooves made her look up to see James Graber racing down the road in his open buggy. Even from this distance, Abby could tell from his urgent expression and his focus on the surrounding fields that he wouldn’t be attending the church service.

And why would he? What groom would sit humiliated on the bench up front, the object of everyone’s curiosity and pity, after his bride hadn’t shown up?
He’s looking for Zanna and, dear Lord, please help him find her… Help us all find answers to questions we never dreamed we’d be asking on their wedding day.

Abby opened the kitchen door and stepped inside the noisy room. Best to inform her mother and Barbara first, and proceed from there. The two of them were pulling covered casseroles from the oven to hand over to their friends. “Mamm! Barbara!” She spoke through the chatter. “The bishop’s made a decision.”

As the two of them looked up at her, the kitchen suddenly got quiet. All eyes were on Abby, all conversation suspended.

Abby clasped her hands, hoping these women wouldn’t challenge what she was about to say. “We’re to go over for the preaching.”

“Zanna’s come home, then?” Barbara straightened to her full height, her expression cautiously optimistic. “So the ceremony will go on as though—”

“And she’s not come in here to explain to me first?” Mamm demanded.

Abby sighed. Mamm looked the worse for wear, eager for news
of her runaway daughter yet prepared to give Zanna a piece of her mind for the worry she’d caused.

“No, it’s not like that,” Abby explained with a sigh. “There’s still no sign of Zanna. Vernon’s decided worship should go on, followed by the meal, rather than wasting everybody’s day and all the food we’ve cooked. We’d better get ourselves seated now, so the hymn singing can start.”

“And does James know about this?” someone called from across the crowded kitchen.

“I suspect not!” Bessie Mast exclaimed. “I saw the poor fella racing down the road, no doubt lookin’ for her.”

“And what of poor Eunice here?” Beulah Mae Nissley asked. “She’s never been all that keen on her boy marrying that girl anyway.”

“Please! We shouldn’t make the others wait.” Abby looked sharply at Beulah Mae, their neighbor from down the road. She had made a beautiful wedding cake in her bakery, Mrs. Nissley’s Kitchen, but nobody needed the clatter of her sharp tongue when Mamm’s composure was unraveling and Eunice looked ready to burst into tears. It wasn’t good that the mother of the bride and the groom’s mamm—lifelong friends—stood in the same room, yet seemed miles apart. “We’ll know more about what to do after we listen to the bishop’s wisdom,” Abby said.

Thank goodness Phoebe, Barbara’s eldest daughter, took her mother by the elbow and the rest of the women fell in step as they started for the barn. Abby stayed to make sure that the ovens were turned off and the perishable food was stored in the fridge. Her other nieces, Ruthie and Gail, draped clean dish towels over the hot casseroles and then filed outside ahead of her with their heads bowed. It felt as if they were going to a funeral, even though their new dresses were the rich colors of fall foliage rather than black.

Abby gazed past Matt’s sheep sheds, scanning the green pastures for a female figure, but only the ewes and their lambs grazed there,
peacefully unaware of the human turmoil. The trees along Cedar Creek sparkled yellow and orange in the sunrise, the most striking panorama of color they’d displayed in years. Autumn had always been Abby’s favorite season, but at this moment she felt bereft… troubled by the day’s events and by her inability to make them right.

Why had Zanna run off, when she’d appeared so happy to be marrying James Graber? And what would the poor man say to her if he found her?

“Abby! Abby, wait— What’s going on?”

James’s sister sprinted toward her down Lambright Lane. Emma Graber was a few years younger than Abby, but they’d been best friends through thick and thin. How pretty she looked in her purple dress—and what a shame to have this occasion spoiled, when Emma so seldom wore new clothes. She came to a breathless halt, reaching for Abby’s hand. “What’s this we hear about Zanna running off?”

“She slipped out in the night, far as we can tell.”

“But why would she do that, Abby?” Emma’s face looked splotchy beneath her fresh pleated kapp. “She and James have been so excited. They’ve planned all their visits to the aunts and uncles and—” Her expression sobered as she glanced at the women filing into the barn. “You don’t think something…
dangerous
has happened, do you?”

Abby sighed as they walked toward the end of the women’s line. “We’ve wondered about that, jah. But finding Zanna’s wedding dress cut up on the floor sort of told the tale.”

“Oh, Abby! And you made all our dresses so perfect, too!”

Abby gripped Emma’s slender hand, which was calloused from doing all the cleaning and yard work her mamm could no longer manage. “And what of James? I felt so bad, having to tell him this news.”

“Ach, he was so stunned he could hardly talk! As upset as I’ve ever seen him, but really worried,” Emma replied in a tight voice. “Truth be told, after James raced out of the house, Dat got so rattled that Daniel and Amos said they’d stay home with him so he wouldn’t
fall and hurt himself—or pitch a fit during church if Zanna showed up after all.”

“She’s gotten a lot of threads in a nasty tangle, for sure and for certain. I’m sorry your dat’s not taking it so well.”

Emma smiled ruefully. “I’d better check on Mamm. No doubt she’s been stirring the pot over here amongst the women, and she might walk out of the service when she sees that Dat didn’t come. If there’s any way I can help, Abby, you know I’m here for you.”

As though she didn’t have enough to do, keeping track of her parents and now her brother, too, Abby mused as Emma slipped between the women in the barn doorway.
Lord, be with us all as we figure out what to do next. And especially be with Zanna, wherever she’s gotten herself off to.

Z
anna awoke with a jerk. Achy from hugging herself to keep warm in the Masts’ big old barn all night, she sat up to listen.

“Zanna? Zanna Lambright!”

James! Right outside, by the sound of it. She burrowed deeper into the straw, and then clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. A pair of doleful brown eyes gazed at her between the wooden stall slats. The Belgian whickered, as though to ask why she’d been napping there.

If anybody comes to hitch up these horses, the whole world will know where you spent your wedding day.

Tears welled up in her eyes, which were already itchy from crying all night. Mervin Mast wouldn’t be doing any fieldwork today—or at least not until he and Bessie came home from the wedding. Would the bishop proceed with the service without the wedding ceremony? Would everyone stay to eat all the food that had been prepared, so it wouldn’t go to waste? If James had come looking for her, did that mean the bishop had dismissed the crowd, or just that James, too, was not there for the service?

She shouldn’t have dozed off. Shouldn’t have ducked into
Mervin’s barn to get warm, either. How long did she think she could hide?

“Zanna? Zanna, if you’re hurt, can you holler at me?”

Her heart thudded. If James thought she was ill or injured, would he and the other men start up a search party? She hadn’t intended to cause so much trouble.

“And if you’re not hurt… can we talk about this?” His voice drifted off on the breeze. James sounded so confused and disappointed, she started to cry.

Why did you pretend things would work out and everyone could be happy?

Zanna mopped her face with the sleeve of the smelly old chore coat she’d taken from a peg. She should have stayed home. She could be wearing her new blue dress and taking her vows to become Mrs. James Graber, so there would be no looking back—

Move along! You’ve got to keep moving because you certainly aren’t thinking straight.

She rose on legs that were stiff from being tucked underneath her. Shaky from too much crying and nothing to eat since she’d picked at last night’s dinner, she peeked out a knothole.

James was driving down the road. If she cut through the woods, past Pete Beachey’s place, she could follow the county blacktop to Clearwater. Maybe she should take the Belgian in the next stall instead of walking all that way…

The two twenty-dollar bills in your pocket that you took aren’t bad enough? You’d steal a horse, too?
Not that this Belgian, trained to the plow, would take kindly to a rider.

When James became a speck in the distance, Zanna slipped out the barn door. She
had
to find something to eat. Maybe Bessie had baked bread yesterday, or had some cookies in the jar on her kitchen counter.

And now you’re sneaking into houses? Taking food?

“Oh, God,” she mumbled wearily—and then caught herself.
Would He hear that phrase as a prayer, or think she’d taken His name in vain? “Show me where to go. Give me the right words… because I’m not getting anything right doing it on my own, ain’t so?”