Chapter 17
It was nearly seven in the evening when Rachel, wedged between her mother and her father in the front seat of the family buggy, arrived at the site of Hannah’s wedding supper. It was still light, and the ride along the narrow country road—with the sound of buggy wheels, the familiar clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the road, and the whispers and giggling of her younger siblings—filled Rachel with happiness. It was good to sit close beside her mam, and even if her mother didn’t actually speak directly to her, it was clear she was happy to have her eldest daughter with her. Rachel’s dat seemed pleased to have her with them as well, and he humored her mother, passing information back and forth between her and her mother without losing his patience.
“Is a good match, Aaron tells me,” her mam said as her dat reined the horse into a farm lane lined with buggies. “This Thomas Miller, he owns nearly five hundred acres and leases more in Wisconsin. Beef cattle he raises. And he has a house of logs and stone. Where it lies Aaron didn’t know. Ask your daughter if she has heard.”
“Ne, Mam,” Rachel said. “I didn’t even know where the wedding supper was being held.” Not that it was a big secret now—she could see at least a dozen cars and trucks, including Ed and Polly’s delivery van and Hulda’s black Volvo sedan.
By tradition, the wedding service and dinner began in late morning and continued on until midafternoon. That was usually attended only by the Amish, but the supper was much more informal and Englishers and a larger crowd of neighbors and friends were often invited.
Just behind them, in another buggy, came Rachel’s brother Paul; his wife, Miriam; and their two children. Rachel’s sister Sally had told her that their sister Annie and her husband, Benjamin, had stopped by earlier, and sister Lettie had chosen to ride with them. Rachel was looking forward to seeing all of her sisters and brothers and her niece and nephew.
“One of these days, maybe we’ll be holding a wedding supper for you, ne?” her father teased. “Even if you pick an Englisher, we’re still your family. You know I have a dowry saved for you.”
Her mother stiffened and sniffed, clearly voicing her disapproval.
“Now, Esther,” Dat soothed. “Didn’t you say the same thing to me not a week past?”
“Three more girls to provide for, not to mention the boys. It’s not much of a wedding we can provide for Englishers. And you can tell her that for me.” Rachel’s dat’s hands were firm on the reins, his eyes bright and kindly in his bearded face. Tonight, he’d worn his black felt, wide-brimmed hat and his mutze, the longer, more formal coat with the split tail, clothing usually reserved for worship services. Rachel thought he looked quite distinguished. For her own outfit, she’d chosen the same suit that she’d worn for Beth’s funeral, which she supposed met her mother’s standards because she hadn’t complained.
“God will provide, Esther,” her father reproved gently. “And when Rachel marries, whoever she chooses, we will do no less for her than each of the others.”
“Did I say we wouldn’t?” Her mother’s tone was meek, but she smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her immaculately ironed navy skirt with a vengeance. “I love my children equally, but the only true marriage is one in our church.”
Her father guided the horse into an open spot between two other buggies and turned to give instructions to the younger children. “You may go and seek out your friends, but do not stray from the supper area, and heed your mother should she need anything. And if your actions are any less than they should be, the next time, you’ll remain home with enough chores to keep you busy until long past dark.”
He got down out of the buggy and opened the back door, holding it wide so that Rachel’s brothers and sisters could scramble out. Then he came around to assist her mother. It was an act that never failed to touch Rachel. Helping his wife in and out of a buggy was one of the few times that they ever touched each other in public, but it was obvious to any who witnessed the act that they were devoted to each other.
Will anyone ever love me like that? Rachel wondered. I hope so.
“We’ll leave at ten sharp,” her father said to Rachel. “If you’d like a ride home, be here promptly. If you aren’t here, we’ll assume you’ve found other young people to take you.”
Her mother turned a soft cheek for Rachel to kiss, nodded, and walked away in search of her own friends. Rachel’s father smiled and shrugged. “You two are like a pair of banty hens,” he said, “all ruffled feathers.”
Rachel chuckled. “I suppose we are,” she agreed. “But Mam was born a Hostetler, and they’re not known for accepting change easy.”
“I like to think of it as a trait of . . . consistency,” he said, and his eyes lit with mischief. “I was warned about her stubbornness before I took her to wife. Thankfully, I didn’t listen to that good advice. If any team was well matched for a long pull in harness, it’s the two of us.”
“I’ll be here on time if I need a ride home,” she promised. “I’m so glad I came with you.”
Eli Rust came around the row of buggies and called out to her father. Her dat strode off to join his friend. From every direction came the sounds of Deitsch conversation, calls of greetings, and easy laughter. Even an observer who didn’t speak the German dialect would have recognized, at once, the difference between this gathering and the somber one that had been Beth Glick’s wake.
Rachel walked toward the house. It was a small, circa-1940s bungalow, but the size of the dining area was of no concern this evening because supper was being served outside. As with communal Sabbath dinners, long tables had been erected with benches on either side. The tables were already laden with bowls of fried chicken and duck, roast turkey, chicken and dumplings, spare ribs, sausages, potato, macaroni and gelatin salads, platters of sliced onions and tomatoes, cooked carrots, lima beans, and applesauce. Young boys walked up and down the outside of the tables with fly whisks, chasing insects away from the food, while teenage girls filled glasses with water.
An array of carefree children, dressed as miniature adults, ran and played, tugged at their parents’ hands, or rode high on a father or older brother’s shoulders. Not a single youngster whined or cried, fought over a toy, or acted out. Although Rachel hated to make comparisons between English babies and Amish-raised, there was no doubt that the more rigid style of parenting seemed to produce happier and less-demanding children.
Tubs full of ice standing under the trees held pitchers of lemonade and bottles of soda pop; all, Rachel suspected, had been donated by Polly and Ed. The Amish were their best customers at the grocery store because they rarely left the valley to shop. The Waglers appreciated their patronage and never failed to show their gratitude by donating food for Amish celebrations.
There had to be more than a hundred people of all ages gathered there to honor the bride and groom. Groups of bearded men stood around, talking crops and livestock and telling jokes. In other areas of the yard, women traded recipes, gave or asked for advice on child rearing, and shared news of illnesses, coming betrothals, and visits from distant relatives.
It was custom for the sexes in Amish gatherings to socialize separately. When it came to sitting down to partake of the meal, the women might wait for a second seating or they might sit at another section of the table. It wasn’t that Amish women were considered inferior to the men; interaction wasn’t forbidden, but conversations naturally tended to cater to one sex or the other. Most men would have felt awkward amid a covey of females, and women preferred the easy give-and-take of their own kind.
The only exceptions to this unwritten code were courting couples, and young people seeking boyfriends or girlfriends. Weddings and other celebrations were one of the few places where teenagers and unmarried adults could meet possible marriage partners and were much anticipated. Rachel noticed her sister Lettie deep in conversation with a cousin; both girls were pretending not to watch the young men unloading benches from the bench wagon and carrying them to the tables. The two might be too young to think of marriage, but they weren’t too young to survey and critique the available candidates.
Across the yard, a couple came down the back steps of the house. Rachel recognized Hannah, even though her white prayer kapp and blue dress were identical to many of the young women present; brides didn’t wear special wedding dresses. Walking beside her was a short-statured, average-looking man of perhaps forty years of age. The stocky bridegroom, for Rachel assumed that this must be the mysterious Thomas, was shadowed by a chubby little boy, while Hannah held tightly to the hand of a slightly older girl. To Rachel’s surprise, Hannah was smiling at her new husband, more animated and engaged than Rachel had seen her since their rendezvous in New Orleans. And Thomas, in turn, seemed equally absorbed with his new bride.
Rachel glanced around in hopes of seeing Mary Aaron, but her cousin was nowhere in sight. If the groom was from Wisconsin, Hannah would be traveling there soon; if any information was to be gained from Hannah, Rachel knew they were running out of time. Thinking that Mary Aaron might be inside helping with the food, Rachel started toward the house. She had gone only a few feet when she was waylaid by the Waglers.
“Rachel! I thought that was you,” Polly exclaimed. “Have you met the groom? Such a nice man. Well spoken. Seems devoted to his children. There’s a third, I understand. Too young to make the journey. Stayed with grandparents.” She waved her hand, expansively taking in the guests and the tables laden with food. “Can you imagine? Putting this wedding together in so short a time!”
“It is impressive,” Rachel agreed.
“As many years as I’ve lived among the Amish, I’ve never ceased to be amazed at their ways,” Polly continued. “Good people, though. Salt of the earth. But hard to figure out. Why do you suppose Hannah is marrying so quickly after her return?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel offered a quick smile, glancing at Ed, who seemed eager to escape. His gaze kept wandering to a group of Englisher business owners. Polly was a talker. Rachel imagined celebrations like this gave him the opportunity to escape his wife’s chatter. “Hard to say.”
“Right. Who knows what young people will do today?” Polly exclaimed. “Maybe she met him while she was away, working out there.”
Rachel knew that was the rumor being passed around for the benefit of those who didn’t know the truth about Hannah’s time away. An untruth, perhaps, but one that would shelter the community from scandal.
Polly beamed. “But Hannah does make a lovely bride, doesn’t she? Ed was just saying so, weren’t you, Ed?”
The Waglers had dressed for the occasion. Ed was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a green, white, and orange leaf pattern, buttoned up and worn with a navy tie, while Polly might have been a candidate for admission to a convent in her midcalf-length, long-sleeve, black knit dress, white Peter Pan collar, and Mary Jane shoes. Her purse, Rachel noted, was a black leather designer clutch. Expensive. Rachel knew Ed liked to play cards for money and traveled to Atlantic City once a month. Or so Hulda had told her.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Ed agreed, nodding at Polly, then glancing in the direction of the knot of men again.
The Waglers always agreed. At least, Ed always seemed supportive of his wife’s opinions. While Ed was almost always in a cheerful mood, Polly could be plainspoken at times. In truth, it seemed to Rachel that Polly, who some thought was a little ditzy, was the brains behind the successful Wagler grocery enterprise. And Rachel had no doubt that Ed held his wife in high regard.
Polly looked to Ed. “We’re boring you with women’s talk, aren’t we? So on with you then.” She made a shooing gesture. “I’ll find you later.”
“Good to see you, Rachel,” Ed said and quickly slipped away.
“I meant to call you today. I did get in a case of that organic wheat flour you were asking for,” Polly told Rachel. “I have to warn you that it’s pricey. So much so that I doubt I’ll find many other customers for it.”
“That’s fine,” Rachel assured her. “Organics are more expensive, but my guests appreciate healthy food. I’ll come by and pick up the order tomorrow.”
“No such thing.” Polly tucked her pricey handbag under her arm. “I’ll have Ed deliver it. That’s what we bought that van for. A customer as good as you are, no need for you to come in. Anything else you want, just call first thing. I’ll send it over with Ed tomorrow.
“Oh, look.” Polly pointed. “That wooden butter churn on the steps. I see people putting envelopes in that hole in the top.” She looked up at Rachel. “I better get that envelope from Ed before we forget it.”
Mary Aaron had warned Rachel that due to the distance the bride and groom would have to travel to get back to their home, guests were bringing money instead of the usual gifts. It seemed a sensible solution to Rachel, especially since Thomas might already have most of what they would need to set up housekeeping. She passed Polly her envelope and took the opportunity to escape because she’d just seen the groom step away to speak with Bishop Abner and Hannah was standing alone.
Knowing that this might be her last opportunity to learn anything from her, Rachel approached her. When Hannah saw her walking toward her, she smiled and hurried forward, hands extended. “Rachel! I was afraid I’d miss you.”
Rachel took Hannah’s hands in hers and looked into her eyes. Hannah gazed back with such an open expression that Rachel thought, Maybe she will be all right. “Are you certain this is what you want?” she asked. “Will Thomas be good to you?”
“He is my husband,” Hannah answered. “He needs me, and I need him.” Her lower lip trembled slightly. “He knows the truth, and he accepts it as it is—something that happened in the past. We will not let the bad things keep us from making a good life.”
“I’m glad. I was so afraid for you,” Rachel admitted. “Afraid maybe you’d been coerced into this marriage.”
“I am a practical woman,” Hannah said. “It is better for me and those I love if I am far from Stone Mill. Our faith will sustain me . . . sustain my new family.”
Two young Amish women were making their way to a table where the desserts were being put out. Each carried a huge tray covered with paper plates with slices of pies and cakes. The girl with the glasses flashed a quick, shy smile at Hannah as they passed.
“My sister Lorna,” Hannah explained. “And our cousin Vi.”
Rachel remembered Vi from the young people’s singing she and Mary Aaron had attended. She was cute and plump, with freckles on her turned-up nose and bright blue eyes. The sister, Lorna, Rachel didn’t recognize. She was a thin girl in her late teens with acne and glasses. In contrast to Vi’s laughing countenance, Lorna seemed timid, even sullen.
Rachel waited to speak again until the girls were busy unloading their trays. “Hannah, I’m sorry to keep harping on this, but it’s really, really important that you tell me who gave you a ride out of Stone Mill the night you left.”
Hannah put her hands together, threading her fingers. She gazed at the grass at her feet.
“If you tell me who it was, maybe I can figure out how what happened to you happened. How you got there,” she said, trying to be cryptic because, as the sister and cousin set out desserts, people were coming to get them.
“Please, Hannah,” she whispered desperately. “I ask only because of what happened to Beth.”
“I pray for her soul every day,” Hannah answered. “I can do no more.”
Rachel wanted to grab the young woman by the shoulders and shake her, but the sister glanced over her shoulder at them. Rachel took a step closer. “Is there nothing else you can tell me, Hannah?” she whispered.
“None of that matters now because I have closed that door. Nothing can make me open it again.” She lifted her gaze to meet Rachel’s. “No one can make me speak of it again.” She reached out and squeezed Rachel’s hand. “Thank you for being my friend. For helping me when I needed it. I won’t forget you.” She let go of Rachel then and walked away, calling to someone.
Rachel stared after Hannah, a little shocked that she’d not been able to get any more information out of her, certain this had been her last chance. She was surprised by the tears that stung her eyes. She turned away from the festivities, seeking some quiet spot to be alone, suddenly afraid that the horror of Beth Glick’s death would fade into legend and no one would ever find out who killed her or why.