The next two days of the wake continued the same as the first day. Esther’s exhaustion had taken on a greater breadth than she had imagined. She was grateful when her aunts and uncles arrived from Pennsylvania, Iowa, and Ohio to carry some of the burdens and duties that had landed on her. Tears were shed, rhythmic prayers recited, and hymns sung. Through the wake, the dear deceased lady lay in her bedroom in the glow of a single candle that the Amish lit for their dead. Discussion of Esther’s future plans without Orpha went unspoken during those early dark days. Light conversation about community happenings and the life that God had given Orpha were the only words on the mourners’ lips.
Late at night, before Esther fell into sleep, or in the early morning, between her dreamlessness and wakefulness, she imagined the gossip over what seemed like a generational curse. Orpha’s husband, Atlee, had died surrounded by rumors about having been a man few trusted, just like his father before him. People whispered that none of the Detweiler men would ever be chosen for church leadership, that there was a wild hair embedded in their hearts, leading them astray.
Some said that the devil chased Atlee back to the church after he had walked away for over a year. Although Esther’s own father had died in prison, put away because he had maintained his loyalty to their community’s nonresistant standards after he’d been drafted, people still said that the Detweilers were a tormented family. No one else they knew who had gone to prison during the war had died. They’d all returned. Although Orpha had the kind of peaceful passing that the elderly hope for, there was no doubt that there would still be lingering gossip through the district that Orpha’s and Esther’s lives were cursed.
Esther rose on the morning of Orpha’s funeral with these thoughts wandering through her mind. A summer storm thundered above the roof of her home like a herd of cattle and continued as she filed into the Yutzys’ barn, where the funeral would be held. The Yutzys were cousins to Orpha and had the largest farm in their district, which was needed for such a well-attended funeral. Although they would sit in the barn for the funeral, there would be dozens of women in the large farmhouse preparing the meal to serve after the burial.
Hours later the large red barn still creaked and groaned in the howling wind. The rows of backless benches were filled with hundreds of church members. Esther could feel the heat of every eye on her back and tried to focus on the steady stream of cool air that whistled through the broken window nearby.
The preachers, one local and two visiting, spoke about living humbly and always being prepared for death. Always being ready to be judged by the Lord. Never being caught off guard.
“What if our schvester Orpha had been in the midst of speaking poorly over a bruder or schvester when she passed from this world? What if she had cheated her neighbor or lived in dishonesty? Eternity will reflect her life. Oh, woe to the brother or sister who cannot live a life of purity and separation from this world.” The old preacher inhaled quickly and continued with admonishment and a little encouragement.
Like Mrs. White’s radio, Esther dialed back the volume of the traditional rhythmic High German preaching. While still looking straight ahead, she listened to how the rain had gone from thrashing about to a gentle shower. Though High German was always used for church services, the language sounded foreign and distant when all she wanted to hear was Orpha’s contagious laughter and sweet treble voice.
With sweat at his receding hairline, the second visiting preacher finished, and Esther was suddenly lining up behind her aunts, uncles, and cousins. It was time to make her last good-bye to Orpha. Esther had been the closest to Orpha and would have the privilege of being the final person to bid farewell before the pallbearers closed the casket for burial. As Esther approached the casket, Daisy’s small hand in her own, every eye was trained on her.
During the three-day wake, Esther had not visited Orpha’s body. She was afraid if she saw her lying there in the candlelit room, she would not be able to control her emotions. But now her family created a wide half circle around her back as it was tradition to remain together at this point in the funeral. She took deep, long breaths to keep her composure. She finally looked down at Orpha; her heart pulled against her chest like a tree uprooted by a stiff wind.
She tasted blood from biting the insides of her cheeks and swallowed hard when she finally looked at Orpha’s face. This was the woman who had cared for and loved Esther the most. While no one expected her eyes to remain dry, she couldn’t release her burden. Her grief was her own, and she didn’t want anyone’s pity.
Esther looked down at Daisy. The little girl’s eyes only grazed the top of the casket, and Esther wanted Daisy to take one last look at the still figure.
See, Esther signed. The mute communication helped her to briefly set aside her grief.
Daisy tucked her chin and shook her head no. Esther sighed and looked back at Orpha. Visions of the years gone by poured through her mind. Remembering Orpha’s hair, which had not salted over until she was well into her sixties. Even today, through her kapp, she could see entire sections of hair that remained as black as Esther’s own. The soft, round woman always had a way of looking at the bright side of things. Most people called Orpha fahgesley, a nice way of saying absent-minded. But the spirit of the woman she’d been was gone now. Orpha didn’t even look like herself anymore. Esther closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and conjured the image of the old woman’s smile, letting it penetrate her mind.
A pull on Esther’s skirt caught her attention, and she looked down to find Daisy’s round eyes. The little girl used her pointer finger and made a circle around her lips.
Who? Daisy signed. Then with the same finger she pointed to a man who had walked into a small gap in the line of family.
Esther’s gaze moved over the man’s face and a flash of a memory crossed over her vision. A memory from long ago—so long ago it was almost a dream. Somehow she knew that the man’s hair had been black and thick and used to be cut in the traditional Amish style; now, what little remained of it was salt and pepper and smartly trimmed. The mustache wasn’t just different from every other man’s in the open space of the barn; it seemed out of place for the stranger himself.
The English suit reminded her of the ones farmer Bart White used to wear all those years ago before he died. He wasn’t a large man in any way—almost small, really. He stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other. Who was he? He looked up into the rafters, making it impossible for her to see his eyes.
Then Uncle Reuben turned to the man, and after an expression of recognition passed over his face, he put out his hand to the stranger. The men shook hands.
The heat in the room seemed to heighten for Esther. Her ears burned with the din of whispers that filled every cracked floorboard and the gapped wooden slats of the walls.
The stranger stepped toward her, but then stopped as their eyes met. She recognized herself, and Orpha, in the man’s eyes. She recognized a man she once knew. He inhaled and then gifted her with a weak, crooked smile, a smile etched deep into her memory.
She realized who he was.
This man was her dead father.