Daylight still lingered outside of Menno and Anna Hostetler’s home; the last rays of the setting sun painting great swatches of red across the western sky.
“It will be a gut day tomorrow for the fall plowing,” Menno said, looking out the kitchen window.
“For an old man like you, don’t you think it’s time to turn the farm over to the younger generation?” Anna asked, sliding the loaves of fresh bread out of the oven. “With the hopes of Susan’s wedding gone, couldn’t you speak with Deacon Ray about finding a young man to help on the farm? What if I go out and find you fallen off the plow some morning? Or what if you’re working in the back field, and the horses come home alone in the evening?”
“You worry too much,” Menno said with a laugh. “I’m still young. And it does the body good to keep going. What would I do without the work on the farm to keep me busy? Nothing.”
“Perhaps you could make a wood shop out in the barn and tinker around all day. That would be all the work you need. I’d feel much better about it.”
“Making children’s toys,” Menno said. “I don’t call that work. Sure they might sell well in Salem on Saturdays, but Da Hah didn’t make a man to stay inside all day away from the sun and the rain. A man was made for the outdoors, for tilling the soil, for feeling the heat of the sun on his neck. He was made to have the sweat pouring down his back. That’s how I wish to die—in the fields, close to the plowed ground.”
“Who says anything about dying? I’m talking about living right until the end.”
Menno studied her face for a long moment. “Nee, this isn’t about me. It’s about Susan, isn’t it? You miss her.”
“Well, shouldn’t Susan have us worried?” she asked.
“Yah,” Menno agreed. “But sometimes we have to let go of the reins. We have to let the horse have its run. Only then will she settle down.”
“So my youngest daughter is a horse to you? Is that how you handle the thought of her up there in the big city, playing around with all sorts of evil, getting into more trouble than you and I can even imagine, Menno? You know what I’m saying is true, and we have to do something about it.”
Anna’s hands trembled as she slid the last loaf of bread onto the counter. She dropped the hot pad on the floor, and as she bent over to retrieve it she groaned.
“My dear, dear, frau!” Menno turned to lay his hand on her shoulder. “You know I also suffer, though I can’t find the ways to speak them at times. Our daughter is like a fine filly, high-spirited and full of zip. No matter how it grieves us or how much we miss seeing her face, we must let her run, keeping our hands off the reins. Da Hah has not forgotten her or our prayers. Do we not pray for her as we have for all our children? She will come back if it is His will. Of this I am more than confident.”
“You speak words that have no meaning, Menno. Words like the Englisha speak. Words about caring when they place no action behind them. Take me to the big city. I want to go, Menno. I have the address where I send the letters, and that Bonnie woman Susan worked for will give us good directions. I know Susan will come home if we both speak to her. She will see how foolish this all is.”
Menno pulled her trembling body close to his, kissing her on the forehead. His bent fingers brushed her cheek. “You know I would, dear, if it would do any gut. But we could make things worse, much worse than they already are. If we go up there and cry our tears all over the street, it will not change anything. Susan had her heart broken by young Thomas, and only Da Hah can be putting the pieces back together.”
“But we could try, couldn’t we? Doesn’t Da Hah bless those who try?”
“The things of the heart should only be handled with tender hands,” he said. “Man’s hands are made from the clay of the ground, and they break things easily.”
“What if Susan learns the Englisha ways and never comes back to us? You know how hard it is to turn back the tide once it’s gone out. She will be exposed to so much, Menno. To so much evil in the world.”
“I know.” Menno pulled her tight. “But we still have each other to care for. Should we not be thankful for that?”
“I am.” Anna pushed him away. “And I can start by getting you supper.”
“Yah, you will, though I wasn’t worried about that. And why are you making bread this time of the night?”
“I guess because I’m all fahuttled on the inside. I can’t even think straight.”
“Have you written to Susan lately?”
“A few days ago. She should have the letter by now.”
“Has Susan written since her first letter, the one telling us she arrived safely?”
Anna nodded. “But the letters don’t say much. Nothing about how she’s feeling, just little things about the bakery and how nice Laura is. It’s not like Susan at all.”
“You must let go, Anna. Life still must go on. Come, sit with me, and we can pray. That will do more gut than all our worry and talk will ever do.”
“What if she finds the love she’s looking for out there? Oh, Menno, I can’t stand the thought of it. Can’t you go over and talk to Thomas about this, see what problems the two of them ran into. Things had been going so well, then boom it was all over.”
“You know that will do no good,” Menno said, tugging on her arm. “Anyway, I don’t want to go traveling to the big city. It’s not right somehow. Come, we must pray to Da Hah about this. He is the only one who can help us.”
“How can you be so certain, Menno? Really, Susan might find what she’s looking for out there. Some of our young people already have, and Susan could be one of them. Surely you don’t doubt that?”
“I know,” Menno said, guiding Anna by the arm. “And I know she might find something she likes better than what we have to offer. This weighs heavy on my heart as it does yours. But we can only pray.”
“Oh, my Susan, my baby girl!” Anna cried. “What if she’s lost to us forever, Menno? Even the Mennonites would have been better than this.”
“Come…” Menno helped Anna kneel beside the couch.
“Oh…” Anna groaned. “How can I stand this any longer?”
Menno stroked her arm and prayed. “Our dear Gott im Himmel. You are the one who made the stars, the heavens, and the earth, fashioning them with the fingers of Your hand. Draw near tonight and hear the cry of our hearts for our youngest daughter, Susan. We confess our many sins to You. We know the many times we have failed You in raising our children. Yet you say in Your Book that You are a God of mercy and compassion. Have mercy tonight. See the pain in our hearts and look after Susan. Protect her from danger, keep her from the perils of the city while she lives there, and guard her against the temptations in the Englisha world. If it be Your will, bring her back to us someday. Amen.”
Anna paused and then slowly got up. She walked to the bedroom and returned with a clean handkerchief. She wiped her eyes. “I’d better get you some supper now,” she said.
“I’ll help,” Menno said, rummaging around in the cupboards. He took down two plates and then got silverware from the drawer. He set the items on the table before stepping out into the utility room. Soft noises broke the silence as he filled the gas lantern with air. Thoughts raced through his mind. Had he given Anna the correct advice? Perhaps they should be traveling up to Asbury Park with a hired Englisha driver. Or on the bus and train. But no, he had made the best decision.
He lit a match, turning the lantern’s handle just a little, listening for the hiss of the gas before he pushed the flame close to the white mantle. The lantern lit with a soft poof, burning brighter and brighter in ever-growing spurts of light. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Not that long ago Susan had been a little girl, brought into the world by the old midwife Martha Stoll.
The midwife was gone now, and Susan was no longer a babe. So quickly she had become a toddler who grew spoiled from all the attention from her eight older sisters. Perhaps that had been part of their problem with raising Susan. The youngest child always got spoiled a little. Yah, perhaps this was true, and a brother in the house to grow up with might have helped. But he couldn’t do anything about what Da Hah chose not to give.
School had been an easy thing for Susan, her grades always high. She got along well with whoever the teacher was, always willing to learn. Did an easy schooling sow the seeds for what was growing now? The Englisha’s education could be that way. It carried so many dangers. The mind was a strange thing, quick to think highly of itself and disregard the ways of the fathers.
Anna hadn’t said much when Susan started running with the young people, more and more the vision of a lovely woman each day. One didn’t speak of such things, though it had worried him often. That was when he first started praying for Susan, praying hard that she would find the right man for marriage. Anna had also been praying, he was sure. So much could go wrong with such a high-strung personality.
Thomas had seemed to be the answer. From their school days, Thomas hadn’t wasted any time getting his word in for Susan. Had the boy misjudged his own abilities? Or was he simply unable to keep the girl? From the sounds of it, Thomas had rejected Susan, which was strange indeed.
Perhaps he should have interceded with Thomas and Susan when the problem first came up a month or so ago. But it had seemed best not to. Young people needed to work out their own problems, especially when it came to things of the heart. If older people intervened, it often made things worse. Even Anna hadn’t disagreed with him on that point. It was just later, when things had gone so badly, that she had her doubts.
Swinging the lantern, Menno went into the kitchen, squinting his eyes. How he did miss Susan’s cheery smile around the place! He held the lantern aloft, searching for the hook driven into the ceiling. Finding it, he flipped the loop over it and let the weight of the lantern move out of his hands.
“Supper’s ready,” Anna said.
“That was quick,” Menno said, sitting down and pulling his chair forward.
“There’s not much to eat—just leftovers.”
“I’m not complaining.” Menno patted his stomach. It wasn’t overly rolling, but perhaps some humor would help. He glanced up at her face. It was nice to see Anna smile, even if faintly.
They bowed their heads in silence, and when they raised them again, Anna dished the food out for him. She didn’t have to serve him tonight, but Menno allowed it, sensing that it helped her now that she had no children to mother.
“Thank you,” Menno said, when she was done. “You always know exactly how much I want.”
“If it makes you feel better, perhaps you can care for me someday.” Anna turned back to her own plate.
“Cheer up.” Menno reached over to tickle her chin. “We have many more years together, and so many family members still to be thankful for.”
She nodded, trying to smile.
“Are there any family gatherings planned soon?” he asked. “We need to have more of them.”
“Perhaps some of the girls will come over Sunday evening. I don’t know. Would that help?”
“It would do us both good,” Menno agreed, watching her face.
She tried to smile again, losing the attempt.
“If our youngest just hadn’t turned out so badly,” she said. “What did we do wrong, Menno? And Susan was the best of the bunch.”
“We’ll make it,” Menno said getting up and rubbing her back. “We will…with Da Hah’s help. And Susan will come home again.”
Anna didn’t meet his eyes as he returned to his place and sat down. Silence settled over the table as they ate.
When Menno stood, Anna said, “We have to butcher soon. I think several of the girls will go together with us. We can take the hog over to John and Betsy’s place since they have plenty of room.”
Menno nodded, his eyes focused on the blank wall. He imagined the big city. What was the place like where Susan lived?