Chapter 26

That evening, Ellie heard Boston playing his favorite melody on his mouth organ again, beautiful yet heartbreaking. She and Roman had quietly slipped out the front door to the porch while the girls did up the supper dishes. Roman had suggested they spend some time alone, something that rarely happened anymore.

Together, they relaxed on the old glider, Ellie on one side and Roman on the other. She felt glad it was just the two of them; so many things were on her mind.

But it was Roman who was first to speak. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said, eyes fixed on their sprawling front yard. “Wasn’t sure ya knew that Jake’s been helpin’ Boston do some of the chores.” He folded his arms across his old white work shirt. “Chores Boston is doin’ in exchange for room and board.”

Ellie wondered what to say.

“Strange as it seems, the boy’s able to do more lifting and whatnot than I thought . . . and for longer, too,” Roman said. “More strength in those arms than I would’ve guessed.”

Ellie was heartened but held back.

“Jake’s mighty fond of Boston. Which ain’t gonna be so gut when Boston leaves.”

“Jah, when that day comes, it’ll be hard for our son,” she agreed.

“I really think we should figure out a way to help Boston get back to his family or friends—move this along, ya know. Someone must be out there wonderin’ what’s become of the man.”

“I’ve thought that, too,” Ellie replied.

They talked about what they were willing and able to do under their church ordinance as far as searching. Getting the authorities involved, or not.

“Jake told me just yesterday that he’s gathering snippets of information . . . I think that’s how he put it,” said Roman.

“He said that?”

Roman nodded and glanced at her for the first time since they’d sat down. “The boy’s surely not bright enough to do somethin’ like that, is he?”

Since her husband scarcely ever asked her opinion, Ellie felt tongue-tied for a moment. “Well, he’s smart in some ways but struggles in others, as we both know.”

“But what sort of clues—or snippets—could he be getting from Boston?”

“Maybe they’re from the love letters,” she admitted.

“The what?”

Ellie told him about the clutch of letters in Boston’s satchel. “He says he doesn’t know who the letters are from, exactly . . . what his relationship to the woman might be. Boston really doesn’t remember much at all, I’m afraid.” She continued, telling Roman that both she and Small Jay thought the letter writer, Abigail, was Boston’s wife. “But she might be deceased now. On the other hand, he also talks ’bout a woman named Eleanor, but Small Jay and I really can’t figure out who that might be.”

“I guess that explains some of what Jake’s sayin’.”

Ellie smiled a little, pleased to hear Roman talk this way after all the years they’d been at loggerheads over their son. She ventured out on a limb and asked, “Since Boston’s workin’ for ya, have you given any thought, maybe, to lettin’ him sleep next door?”

Roman’s eyes locked on hers. “What ’bout those sewing classes you’re havin’ over there?”

“But . . .”

A long silence passed between them. Then Roman said, “Well, never mind, I daresay Boston can sleep over there.”

Ellie’s heart leaped up.

Roman continued. “I nearly forgot you’re quitting your classes.”

“I do plan to, but there’s a hitch with this Friday.” She described her quandary.

“How’s that a problem, Ellie? Just tell any of the girls who might show up for the last class.”

She nodded compliantly but was annoyed when Roman got up right then and went into the house without even looking her way or saying more.

I brought this on myself.

———

By the time Ellie managed to compose herself and return to the kitchen, the place was spotless, and the girls were out playing hide-and-seek in the backyard. Roman’s allowing Boston to sleep in the Dawdi Haus, she thought, watching her husband put up a rope swing on one of the sturdiest limbs on their old oak tree for the girls. Ellie stood behind the screen door now, listening while Boston played the lovely tune over and over. Small Jay sat transfixed next to his friend the harmonica player, keeping him company there on the back porch while Allegro and Sassy snoozed at their feet.

It was hard not to simply ask Boston if she might just sit down and read through all the letters he kept in his bag—one after another. The fact that he wanted someone to read them aloud caused her to wonder. Does he realize how personal they are?

Ellie wondered how she’d feel if such special correspondence belonged to her. She pondered this till the tears welled up. If she were the one suffering with a waning memory and was lost from home, would she realize the letters might be the only tangible link to her beloved . . . or to her family?

She was certain Small Jay believed this. Even so, it was beyond her how on earth their son could make heads or tails of it all.

Marlena found her grandmother sitting outdoors in the gazebo with her Bible after Angela Rose was asleep for the night.

“I’ve been doin’ nothing but praying while you put Angela to bed,” Mammi said before Marlena even brought up the phone call again.

“Our family needs prayer,” she said, sighing. “Guess we’d better start getting Angela’s things packed and ready.”

“I’ve wondered if Gordon’s parents might try to come home sooner if something has happened to him.” Mammi’s voice sounded so frail. “We must pray earnestly for them. Ach, receiving such news . . . their son over there in a terrible war. No wonder they want their grandbaby with them.”

Marlena nodded. She certainly couldn’t deny them such a comfort. Angela Rose would bring Gordon’s grieving parents some much needed solace. “If only they had the dear Lord to lean on just now,” she said quietly, more to herself.

“Well, they do, my dear. He’s closer than a brother, our Good Shepherd, everything their hearts long for.”

“Do ya think they understand how to reach out to Him?”

“That’s what we’re here for, Marlena. To point the way and be the light they need.” Mammi wiped her eyes. “We’ll do all we can to show kindness when they come. They may never experience God’s love otherwise.”

She should have known her grandmother would talk this way. Mammi always did.

“The Lord Jesus says ever so gently, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden.’ He offers rest and peace. Think of that, honey-girl. Rest and peace during this awful sad time.” Mammi dabbed her eyes with her hankie. “Come . . . oh, come unto me, He says. Don’t wait a minute longer, He pleads.”

Marlena had never seen Mammi so moved.

“If we sow seeds of compassion, we harvest love. If we sow kindness, we receive kindness, Marlena. And the Lord calls us to be witnesses to that compassion and kindness, too, remember.”

“This must be the reason your church—and others—sends missionaries to other countries.”

Mammi nodded her head slowly. “I just wish someone had put their arms around poor Luella to let her know how precious she was to us . . . that we cared for her and wanted the best for her.” She turned her head toward the Bitners’ farm, looking that way for the longest time. “I don’t mean that none of us did, mind you. It’s just that once she was gone from the family, who knows if she remembered how much God loved her.”

Marlena thought of Olive’s correspondence with Luella.

“Do ya hear that music?” her grandmother asked. “I hear the same melody nearly every day now.”

“It’s Small Jay’s friend Boston. Is the tune familiar to you, Mammi?”

“I don’t recall ever hearin’ it before.”

Marlena didn’t say what she was thinking, but the melody sounded like a sad yet sweet love song. Maybe the sweetest she’d ever heard.