Threads of Grace (25 page)
“Seth, do you want some coffee?”
“Jah, danki.”
For once he wasn’t looking intensely at her, but seemed distant and removed. He sat down across from his father and Alice plied him with baked beans.
“What ails you,
sohn
?” Samuel asked.
Seth let out a breath. “I’m struggling, I guess, trying to figure out why Lilly lost the baby. I’m weary of hearing that sometimes what looks like a mess is really God’s will.”
His
daed
nodded. “In the middle of the mess, Seth, there is majesty.”
“I don’t know.”
“There’re some so-called Christians who would say she lost the baby because of sin in her life—that God is punishing her for something unconfessed,” Alice said.
“Silas Beiler would have said that too,” Grace added softly. “He believed that misfortune befell people because they deserved it for sinning.”
“I don’t understand how someone could be that off in the head, in the heart, to consider such a thing.” Seth’s voice was tight. “Jacob and Lilly are
gut
people, the finest I know.”
“Sohn.”
Samuel laid a weathered hand on Seth’s arm. “This is not about punishment.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“Sometimes bad things happen in our lives,” Samuel went on. “What matters most is how we respond to the bad things. Now, I could say that I’ve been cheated out of a grandbaby and spend my time being mad at God, or I can trust Him that there’s something better.”
Grace watched Seth draw a deep breath, then he looked
straight at her. “The pastor at the church in town talked about how we can’t be separated from God’s love—nothing can separate us. So I guess this wrestling with
Gott
won’t separate me either.”
“Nee,”
Grace whispered. She felt a surge of hope when she saw the spark return to his blue eyes.
Nothing can separate us
. . .
T
he next day a pink flyer arrived, advertising the annual mud sale and spaghetti dinner that the
Amisch
would host in conjunction with the Lockport volunteer fire department.
“It’s in two weeks,” Alice said. “So tell me about my first mud sale.”
Grace refilled their coffee cups.
“I didn’t get to go to them in Middle Hollow, but I’ve heard they are a great place to get just about anything a person could imagine: quilts, preserves, sheds, livestock, cabinets, mirrors, firewood, plants—
ach
, anything!”
“Isn’t it a little late for a mud sale?” Alice asked. “The grass is pretty green.”
“
Jah
, but this spring was so rainy that the actual mud was too much, so they postponed it. But I expect the ground will get pretty muddy still, with five hundred
Englisch
and
Amisch
people traipsing about.”
“I’ve heard the food is good,” Alice said. “What all do they have besides spaghetti?”
“I don’t know.” Grace smiled. “Pot pie, barbecued chicken, kettle cooked chips—I suppose we will eat ourselves silly.”
Alice sighed with satisfaction. “Now that I can do.”
W
hen Jacob walked into the barn his first morning back, Seth had to restrain himself from hugging him. He wanted to act normal, to respond like old times. But there was something changed in his brother’s face—a calm maturity, as if he’d been tried by fire and not found lacking.
“Hey,” Jacob said softly.
“Hey.”
Seth cast about for something to say, feeling unusually tentative. Jacob smiled at him.
“Seth, it’s all right. You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves. I took some time, wrestled it out with Lilly and
der Herr,
and I’m okay.”
“I hate to see you hurt. I’ve always hated it. Like the time you had your ribs broken by that stallion—”
“But this didn’t break me, I promise. Now, tell me how Grace is and how things are moving along.”
“We fight about the painting. It subsides, then flares up.”
“Like many wounds,” Jacob observed.
Seth looked at him intently. “My painting is not a wound.”
“It’s a secret well kept, though. What does the Bible say? ‘What I tell you in darkness; proclaim in the light’? Maybe you
hug it to yourself, and that contributes to the wound between you and Grace.”
In his brother’s words, Seth heard an echo of his own accusations to Grace the other night. Had he been doing the very thing he had accused her of?
“You know, your cheek pulses when you think,” Jacob said. “I’m surprised
Mamm
and
Daed
never figured it out while you manufactured excuses for our lateness with the girls.”
“Yeah, the girls . . .”
“Regrets?”
Seth sighed. “Some.”
“Then try to put all of your ‘practice’ into good experiences for your
fraa
.”
“You’re right,” Seth said. “I guess something positive can come out of this, after all.” He grinned at his brother. It was good to feel as if balance had been restored between them.
T
he day of the sale loomed quickly. With her ankle finally healed and free of the cast, Grace had spent much of the week making baked goods to be auctioned off.
“All of the money goes to support the volunteer fire department,” Grace told Alice. “We’re really blessed to have them.”
“I should say so,” Alice said. “You don’t need a barn burning around here.”
“Whose barn is burning?” Seth asked from the doorway.
He came in and casually brushed his knuckles against Grace’s
cheek. “There’s some stuff up in the attic that
Mamm
and
Daed
want to donate to the sale. Want to come help me look?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said. “Abel—”
Alice picked up their coffee cups. “You go on. I’ll wash these up and then get Abel. I promised to make salty-oily play dough with him this morning.”
Grace followed Seth up to the third floor. She hadn’t been up in the attic yet, though she knew she would spend a lot of time there in the fall when it was time to dry the root vegetables.
“Jacob and I used to play up here a lot.
Mamm
would have a fit because she was afraid we’d knock the onions down. But mostly we spent time scaring ourselves and fooling around among all of the old chests and things.”
Grace was out of breath by the time she gained the top step to the attic.
“It’s a climb, isn’t it?”
Grace nodded. She stood there for a minute, gazing around at the wide expanse of the center room. Remnants of dried vegetables still lined the edges of the walls. There were several old trunks and a massive wardrobe against one wall.
“There are two other side rooms off of this one.” Seth opened a panel hidden cleverly in the wall, concealing the entrance. He gestured to the opening. “Want to hear a secret?”
“Okay . . .”
Grace lifted her skirt and navigated through the space. She could spend days up here, just opening the trunks to see what was inside. But not today.
She stooped to get through the small door in the wall, then stood fully erect and followed her husband.
Sunlight streamed in through a window and played across the dusty wooden floor. Boxes of strange bird feathers were strewn about—even a peacock feather.
“
Daed
used to tie flies,” Seth said. “He used the feathers for the lures.”
They passed a massive wooden desk, complete with dozens of compartments and cubbyholes. Grace thought it had to have been put together on the spot—she saw no way it would have made it through the door. An old spinning wheel, more chests, and a faded upholstered rocker took up more space.
“This is a huge room.”
“I know.” Seth smiled at her and dropped into the rocker. He gave it a few experimental moves, apparently pleased with its creaking, then patted his lap.
“Come and sit down,” he said. “I want you to hear the secret.”
She hesitated, then gingerly smoothed her skirt and perched herself on his knees. “Well, all right . . .”
He pulled her back against his chest and slipped an arm around her.
“Listen,” he whispered.
She tried but only heard her heart in her ears. “I’m listening.”
“No, really listen.”
She closed her eyes and took a breath, and then she heard it: the sound of the faint wind outside whistling like a melody under the narrowed eaves of the room. It was delightful, and if she tried, she could imagine herself atop a mountain with the wind dancing about her, free and beautiful.
“Jacob and I used to come up here at night and scare ourselves with the wind whipping around. Sometimes it sounds like crying, but mostly it’s a joy to hear.”
She sat listening for a few minutes, gradually pulled into the warmth of his nearness, the earthy scents of horse and barn and the faint spice of soap.
“What are you thinking about?” he said.
Grace felt like a little girl caught with her hand in a jar of sweets. “Um . . . the sound of the wind.”
He laughed low. “Grace Wyse, I do believe that you are sinning.” He touched her lips lightly with one finger. “Repeat after me: Thou shalt not lie.”
S
eth braced his feet on the attic floorboards and tried to focus on the old spring poking him in the back—anything to distract him from the tiny curl that had escaped her
kapp
.
“What are
you
thinking about?” she asked.
“Alas, given your propensity for sin, my sweet, I am forced to tell the truth. I’m thinking about you.”
“Well, stop it.”
“I can’t. Not ever.” He rocked forward and nudged her with his chin. “Kiss me,” he said.
“From what I hear, you’ve had more than enough kissing in your short life.”
“A fact you should appreciate.”
She turned to him with genuine curiosity. “Why?”
“Because I’m
gut
at it.”
She gave him an arch look. “I think that’s something that a wife should discover for herself.”
Seth felt an odd thrill go through his chest and he caught his breath. “So you should.” He relaxed back against the rocker and waited.
She laid a hand on his chest and turned toward him, then slowly lowered her lips to his.
He kissed her with all the finesse he could muster, relishing her closeness, her gentleness. Then suddenly she was up and gone from his arms, and his eyes snapped open in dismay.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked down at him with a smile. “I think you’ve had enough practice. I’ve got to check on the stew.”
T
he day of the mud sale arrived.
“Look at all the buggies and cars,” Grace said as they pulled onto Farmer Esh’s drive. Hundreds of them,
Amisch
buggies and
Englisch
cars, all gathered together. So many different types of
Amisch
vehicles—some with plush carpeting, brass lanterns, and battery testers; some so shiny they looked brand new. It took them a long time to get parked because Seth and Abel kept stopping to inspect the interiors.
When they actually got to the field, it was already muddy with the pounding of many feet.
Amisch
came from all around to support the volunteer fire department. Many of the
Amisch
volunteered their time alongside the
Englisch
—it was one place where the two communities worked together.
Delicious smells mingled in the air, and Alice took Abel’s hand. “What do you say we go get a funnel cake and a snow cone?”
“But it’s hardly ten o’clock in the morning,” Grace said.
Seth laughed. “It’s all right. Go on with Alice, Abel. We’ll walk around a little and meet you later.”
Grace took Seth’s hand. They walked among the crowds, stopping at various vendor booths to look at things. Grace was careful not to pay too much attention to any one item, knowing that Seth would buy it for her if she did. Instead she took pleasure in his company.
But when they came across a booth selling old-fashioned, mother-of-pearl hairbrushes, he wanted to stop. “Whoa, there,” he said. “I think we might find something here for you.”