Chapter 33

The very next evening, Roman surprised Ellie by urging her to invite Boston to join them at the supper table. Happily, she complied.

After the silent prayer of thanksgiving, there was some lighthearted talk about Boston’s ever-increasing beard and moustache. His thick eyebrows rose at the children as he remarked that he hadn’t seen a single upper lip sporting hair anywhere at yesterday’s Preaching service. Then the topic of his bow tie—missing yet again—came up when Small Jay asked about it, but Boston didn’t seem worried.

“Do the men of your community ever wear ties to adorn their Sunday shirts?” he asked.

“Some church districts allow it,” Roman spoke up, “but ours is considered a low church, so we’re more traditional—and simple and modest.”

“What do you consider a high church?” Boston asked, eyes serious.

“Some call it progressive,” Roman told him. “They go softer on the Ordnung, allowing telephones, holding Sunday school on the between Sundays, even lettin’ some members drive cars, of all things.”

He’s thinking of my sister Orpha and her husband, Abram, thought Ellie, wondering how far Roman would take this conversation.

Boston bobbed his head, his expression playful, and asked if it was permissible to request seconds. Roman said it was fine, and then he, too, helped himself to more of the ham loaf and mashed potatoes and gravy.

At the end of the meal, Boston offered hard candy to everyone, beginning with young Sally. “I purchased it at Joe’s store the other day with your young man here.”

Sassafras came meowing over like she wanted some, too, and Boston patted her little head while the girls thanked him repeatedly.

Ellie noticed how quiet Small Jay was. Quiet and pensive. So far, this has been a different kind of summer for him . . . for all of us.

When the chatter died down, Roman mentioned that the farrier would be coming tomorrow to scrape the horses’ shoes and to check if they needed new ones. Immediately, the girls asked if they could go out and watch. Roman paused a moment, his eyes lighting on Small Jay. “Don’t ya think it’s your brother’s turn this time?”

Small Jay made a little gasp. “I’d like that, Dat. I would!”

Ellie smiled at their boy and her husband, then nodded her approval.

“Maybe Boston would like to go with ya, too,” Roman said just before folding his hands and bowing his head, ready for the second silent prayer.

Ellie followed her husband’s lead, thanking God for their scrumptious meal, and for Roman’s budding interest in their son.

Between baking two loaves of bread and doing all the ironing Tuesday morning, Marlena also took time to play with Angela Rose, thrilled at her progress in trying to push onto her knees. “You can do it, sweetie,” she encouraged her, clapping when she’d get up on her hands and knees, only to flop down on her tummy again. Marlena was careful not to applaud when Mammi was around, guessing she might frown on it. Even so, Marlena knew firsthand that her own mother had coddled Katie and Rachel Ann till they were each two years old, the age when training in character development and yielding to authority began in earnest.

So I’ll spoil you for a little longer, she thought, enjoying Angela Rose’s dovelike cooing.

The mail came early that morning, and Marlena spotted a letter from Nat. She couldn’t open it fast enough and begin to read.

My dearest Marlena,

How is your little niece faring? Truth be told, I was surprised to hear your sister’s baby is still in your care. No doubt, though, you’re eager to return Angela Rose to her rightful place with her father’s family. An Englischer child belongs with her people, after all.

I’ve looked to my own father for some advice concerning several things, Marlena. And since you and I are planning to join church together, I do expect you to stop attending Mennonite services there in Brownstown. Frankly, it gives everyone here the wrong impression, and Dat says nothing good can come from flirting with the edges. It’s essential for our future as man and wife that you hear me out on this, or we’ll need to discuss our future together.

Marlena reread the last lines, attempting to comprehend. Not only did Nat seem certain that Angela Rose did not belong with her, but he was clearly displeased to hear that Marlena planned to continue to attend church with her Mammi—so much so that her beau seemed to be giving an ultimatum. Yet, why now? Surely this was all due to his father pressing him. Marlena recalled what her mother had mentioned when she’d called.

Distressed, Marlena wasn’t sure why it was so necessary for her to quit going to Mammi’s church now, when she would only be in Brownstown a couple more months. Oh, in her heart of hearts, Marlena realized she was reluctant to stop attending any sooner—the words the preacher said each week were a bright spot in the midst of her grief and confusion over first Dawdi’s and then Luella’s death. How can I possibly give that up?

“Or Angela Rose, should it come to that,” she whispered.

And all the rest of the day, Marlena felt covered by a dark and dismal cloud.

Wednesday morning, when Sarah Mast was dropped off by her mother in the family carriage, Marlena had already decided to pour her melancholy about Nat’s letter into a sketch for the baby quilt’s design. Thoughtfully, Sarah brought along a few crazy quilt sketches, one of which her cousin had made.

The two of them laid out the piecework and took turns holding Angela Rose. Later, they had some of Sarah’s wonderfully moist midnight chocolate cake while Mammi Janice embroidered pillowcases on the back porch, humming hymns.

“Luke mentioned meeting your young niece Sunday, out on the road,” Sarah said in passing. “He said she was a very sweet baby.”

“Oh, and she is.”

Sarah wiggled her fingers at Angela. “I s’pose it’s hard not to dote on such a perty baby. But you don’t want her to become vain.”

“You’re right ’bout that.”

Sarah studied the drawing Marlena had decided on, and then showed her how to number the pieces on her sketch. “Do ya know what color binding and backing you want?” She asked if Marlena wanted the top and bottom ends to be bound in a different color than the sides. “There are lots of ways to do this, Ellie says.”

“I’m still deciding,” Marlena told her, so glad she’d come.

They discussed scalloped edges and decorative bindings, but it was Sarah who asked if Marlena wanted a quilt more in keeping with a “lower” church like the Old Order, or something that would be acceptable to her grandmother’s church.

Hearing it put that way, Marlena realized again what a quandary she was in, not knowing where her niece would grow up—as an Amish child or an Englischer.

“Angela Rose’s situation is uncertain at this point,” Marlena shared with Sarah. “Honestly, it makes me feel awful sad, thinkin’ of losing touch when her father’s parents come for her.” She still felt too frustrated with Nat to talk about him just now.

“I hope you and your family will be permitted to see Angela from time to time,” Sarah said. “She is your blood kin, of course.”

Marlena nodded and thanked her for being such a supportive friend.

———

At the appointed time, Luke arrived for his sister. Seeing him from the window, Marlena recalled how fervently he’d prayed along the road the other day. She realized just then that she hadn’t even asked Nat to join her in prayer about the challenges facing them, whether about Angela Rose’s future or their own. That’s just what I’ll write in my next letter to him. She hoped this request wouldn’t cause further conflict, but he needed to know how important prayer was to her. Nevertheless, if he loves me, we’ll work something out.