Mammi’s smile faded to a frown.
“This might sound strange to you—well, I know it will.”
“What, Grace?”
She was ever so hesitant to say. Even so, looking into her grandmother’s eyes, Grace believed she could trust her with this concern. “Why would Mamma want a midwife? Could it be . . . well, could she be with child?”
Mammi’s eyelashes fluttered. “What would give you that idea?”
“The innkeeper’s wife said as much—about the midwife, I mean. I didn’t want to mention it to anyone.” She paused. “I almost didn’t.”
Mammi had a peculiar glint in her eyes. She was still for a moment, looking up at Grace. “Well, I ’spect that’s something your father might know.”
Grace shook her head. “ ’Tis too awkward to bring up.” She would not think of it . . . much too embarrassing. And, anyway, knowing he and Mamma had differed terribly on something before Mamma left was enough. Was it about a baby?
“I can’t imagine that your Mamma’s in the family way, no.” Mammi’s face was suddenly moist with perspiration. She picked up one of the quilt squares and fanned herself.
“You’ll keep it mum, won’t you?” pleaded Grace.
“Upon my word.”
Worried that she’d somehow revealed something she shouldn’t have, Grace carried the newly finished dress to Mammi Adah’s bedroom. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she hung the garment on a wooden peg near the bureau.
Ach,
I’m sorry, Mamma . . . if I spoke out of turn.
Adah tried her best to concentrate on placing the pastel-colored squares for the baby quilt. So Lettie must be looking for the midwife who’d delivered her firstborn. That, and that alone, had to be the reason she’d left her family.
Adah’s heart felt heavy . . . guilty. She was disturbed no end by her own response to Grace’s innocent question.
I distorted
the truth to my own granddaughter! Lied, truly . . .
She stepped back to study the layout of squares on the table. The crib quilt would be a welcome addition to daughter-in- law Hannah’s baby items. If Adah wasn’t mistaken, son Ethan and Hannah’s seventh child was due in another couple of months.
Stopping her work, she let out a little gasp.
Could Hannah’s
coming baby be part of Lettie’s angst . . . and her unexpected
search?
Staring at the pattern of colors before her, Adah felt both eager for another new grandbaby and terribly convicted for her outright deceit. She would not confide in Jakob, as frail as he was. No, she must carry the weight of Lettie’s pain deep within herself. Yet she knew full well that even if Lettie did come home, that would not necessarily make things better here. Particularly if word about the past got out, her return could make things even worse!
Oh, if only there was some way to make amends to her daughter. Adah placed her hand on her heart, thinking of all the years of Lettie’s sorrow.
Jakob and I brought all this on her,
she thought miserably.
Judah hung back near the doorway and peered into Adah’s kitchen. He wanted to talk to Jakob man-to-man, and thankfully Adah was nowhere to be seen. She must still be working on the baby quilt for yet another grandchild—or so Grace had mentioned in passing a few minutes earlier, when he’d inquired after her grandmother.
Grace had seemed downright skittish as he came through the sitting room toward the main hallway. He couldn’t be sure if that was due to Yonnie’s presence . . . or Lettie’s absence.
He cleared his throat so as not to startle Jakob. The older man turned and waved him into the room. “Ah, Judah . . . come, pull up a chair. Rest your weary bones.”
There was no getting around it: The day had been long. And he was growing tired of the routine of lambing season. He had no use for small talk, not with Adah’s movements upstairs so unpredictable. No, what he had to say, he ought to just get out in the open. “I’ve been thinking . . .” he began, faltering. “ ’Bout Lettie.”
“As you should be” came the chilly reply. “She’s been gone much too long.”
Judah sat straight as a twig, looking across at the old man who’d brought Lettie to his attention all those years ago. “Is there anything in my wife’s past that might explain her flyin’ the coop like this?”
At the question, Jakob looked stunned. Then he shook himself a bit, pulling on his old suspenders. Through the open kitchen window, Judah could see the sun falling behind the horizon.
“Now, son . . . why would ya think such a thing?”
Not once since he and Lettie had become man and wife had Jakob referred to him as son. But Judah was not inclined to sit there and be grilled with unnecessary questions. “Either ya know somethin’ or you don’t,” he replied. “Easy as that.”
Jakob scratched his wrinkled face, letting his callused fingers run down his long gray beard. “Not sure why you’re so ferhoodled tonight, Judah.”
“Just wonderin’ if you’re holdin’ something back.”
Jakob shook his head slowly, as if a burden had descended upon him.
“Is there something I ought to know?” Judah’s ire was up but good. For days Jakob had been avoiding him . . . not even making eye contact at their shared mealtimes. He’d figured Jakob was feeling poorly, like Adah kept saying. But she, too, was acting strange, if not distant. And why would that be?
He looked again at Jakob, whose eyes seemed stripped of their usual life. Goodness, but Judah knew this man as well as he knew his own sons, and he could tell something wasn’t right.
“What is it, Jakob? What can you tell me ’bout Lettie?”
Lettie had decided to wait up for Susan. She had a pot of water on the stove, ready to steep tea as soon as Susan arrived. She’d also kept busy baking chocolate chip cookies as a surprise, wanting to cheer up her friend after what would surely prove to be a difficult day.
When she heard the buggy pull into the driveway, Lettie hurried outside to help unhitch the horse. Once the chore was done, she led the animal to the stable as Susan plodded toward her home, having said little about the day.
Lettie got the horse settled in for the night with feed and extra water. Then, breathing a prayer, she made her way back to the house, the light from several gas lamps glowing in the back windows.
Like golden faces shining into the darkness . . .
“Would ya like some sweets?” she asked when she’d entered the kitchen. She washed her hands, then dropped the tea bags into the teapot.
Susan sat at the table, her face wan. “Ach, such a hard day.”
Lettie sat across from her and slid the plate of cookies toward Susan. “Maybe these will help some.”
Susan gave a half nod and reached for one. “I’m all tuckered out.” She began to describe her visit. The chief of police had come to her sister’s house, demanding that Edna fill out papers against the rock-throwing boys. “It was just terrible. And the authorities were baffled as all get-out
. . .
why she and her husband wouldn’t consent.” She removed her Kapp and rubbed her temples in a circular motion. “They just don’t understand our way. And no explanation we gave was convincing a’tall. Edna simply refused to cast blame.”
Lettie had heard before how perplexing Englischers sometimes found the People’s determination to forgive as almighty God had commanded.
“One man even said the boys who did this should be taken out and shot.” Susan shook her head sadly. “Such hatred.”
Lettie empathized with her friend. “Where were Edna’s children durin’ all this?”
“Over in the
Dawdi Haus
. . . Edna and Jonas did not want them upset further.”
Bad enough that they saw their little brother injured.
“We prayed before I left that God’s sovereign will might be done in this calamity,” Susan said in a near whisper. “Jonas has already searched out the young boys’ parents, trying to befriend the boys’ families. The police were so appalled. ‘How can you overlook this?’ one of them asked, shaking his head and growing almost angry with them. I never saw the likes of it.”
The tea had steeped long enough. Lettie got up and poured some into two cups. They stirred in sugar and droplets of cream, then sipped the tasty chamomile tea, eating nearly all the cookies before them. As they relaxed together, Lettie hoped to keep in touch with Susan once she left for Hallie’s.
“I’d like you to know what happens with my search,” Lettie said when their conversation had turned from tiny Danny, who remained in the hospital, though the doctors fully expected him to recover. “You’ve helped in more ways than I can say.”
Susan agreed to keep in touch by letter writing. “And it looks like you might be still here for the hen party at May’s on Wednesday. ’Tis
gut.
”
“Maybe so, but I trust Cousin Hallie will be quick with a reply. I should be on my way no later than Wednesday afternoon.”
“Usually it takes only a day for a letter to come from Indiana,” Susan said.
“That’s what I’m hopin’ for.” The last thing Lettie wanted was to wear out her welcome here, yet in a way, she dreaded leaving. It was becoming more emotionally difficult to continue her wanderings. At night her dreams were of a vagabond, sorely lost, who did not know if she would ever be welcomed home with open arms. The daylight hours were equally filled with longing. She yearned continually for her children back home, as well as for their father . . . her Judah.
The thought of her beloved poetry books—Samuel’s gift from years ago—crossed her mind. The books had been a comfort in all this.
Perhaps too comforting,
she thought ruefully.
When Susan said good-night and they outened the lights and headed to their respective rooms, Lettie found her most treasured book of poems. Holding it, she thought of tearing out the first page, where Samuel had written his greeting and signed his name on her sixteenth birthday.
But something stopped her from actually doing so. Her missing daughter—hers and Samuel’s, wherever she might be—what if
she
might cherish this book?
Once I find her . . .
She considered Vesta Mae, the Jabergs’ adopted daughter across the way. Lettie so badly wanted to glimpse her. “At the hen party,” she whispered, putting the book on the dresser.
Reaching up, she removed her head covering and began to dress for bed. She slipped on her long cotton robe and took down her hair. Then, kneeling on the floor, she tucked the book of poems, so descriptive in its phrases, deep in the recesses of her suitcase with the others. That special book had been a crutch for more than two decades, something she no longer needed. In all truth, she believed she could walk without it . . . from here on out.
Truly my soul waiteth upon God. . . .
With a renewed sense of hope, Lettie covered the books with the clothes she’d already packed for her trip to Hallie’s. She rose and, pulling back the lightweight quilt, slipped into bed.
H
eather wended her way through a maze of Amish buggies to pick up her dad Tuesday morning. Was it just her imagination, or were the horses and carriages multiplying by the day?
She squinted her eyes, stressed at the thought of their consultation with Dr. Marshall and how things might play out. Would Dad be polite today—listen and learn? Or would he create a scene?
As she parked near the inn’s entrance, he came strolling confidently toward the car, wearing a sporty navy jacket and tan dress slacks. She figured he had brought mostly jeans and khakis for the trip. “Looking sharp today, Dad,” she said as he opened the door and got in.
Even before she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, he began drilling her with questions about LaVyrle—where she’d gotten her credentials, what
kind
of credentials did she have, how long had she been in practice? Heather really just wanted to say,
Ask her yourself,
but bit her tongue.
The naturopath’s parking lot was busier than at her first appointment last week.
Not a good sign,
she thought, worried that sitting around was sure to set her dad off even more.
Surprisingly, they waited only fifteen minutes before her name was called. She introduced her dad to the nurse who led them down the hallway. So far, he was the consummate gentleman. They followed the cheerful nurse back to LaVyrle’s office, a well-decorated room with comfortable chairs across from a refurbished antique desk. Heather hadn’t seen this room before, having spent the hour last time in an examination room.
The room had sea-green cloth shades that gathered at the bottom and covered the top fourth of the windows. She admired LaVyrle’s taste in dark woods for her lovely old desk and the built-in bookshelves. “We should’ve invited Dr. Marshall to help pick out your cabinets, Dad.” Despite his seeming ambivalence, she could see that he, too, was taken with the attractive office.
After being seated, Heather pointed to the wall and jokingly said, “Now’s your chance to check out Dr. Marshall’s qualifications. Look, Dad. I’ve never seen so many framed certificates.”
“A dime a dozen,” he retorted.
I can see it now—disaster ahead.
“Looks like she’s got everything from a chiropractic degree to a license in massage therapy for sports injuries.” He pointed out various certificates, then got up suddenly and went over to the wall, his nose nearly touching the glass as he peered at the words. “Unfortunately I’m not seeing anything MD-worthy.”
“She’s a doctor of naturopathy . . . in practice for seventeen years. Please don’t judge her before you meet her, Dad.”
After a few minutes, LaVyrle breezed into her office and closed the door. She wore a smart aqua suit with silver jewelry at her throat. The shade of her outfit accentuated the blue in her eyes, which fairly sparkled now as she reached to shake Dad’s hand. “You must be Heather’s father,” she said, smiling.
“Roan Nelson.” He nodded, returning the smile. “Heather’s talked about you nearly nonstop since I arrived.”
That’s a stretch.
Heather was amused by her dad’s snap-to-it- iveness.
Maybe this will be a slam-dunk.
“What can I do for you today?” LaVyrle leaned back in her office chair, making eye contact with both Heather and her father.