2

David’s house was filled to the brim with well-meaning, overly helpful relatives.

He had forgotten to stop by the phone shanty to pick up messages for the last few days, and apparently, there had been quite a few important ones waiting for him. Like the one yesterday from his sister-in-law, informing him that Gabby and Laura were on their way to save the day, and to please fetch them at the bus stop. And another one from his mother, who said she had heard of his travails and was heading to Stoney Ridge. And probably a few others that he would rather not even know about.

How had the news traveled through the Amish grapevine so quickly? News of the earthquake in the Stoney Ridge church had spread to at least two states in scarcely a week’s time.

Tonight’s dinner did not go well. Molly had tried a new chili recipe. She couldn’t find the chili powder, so she improvised with ground cayenne pepper. The chili was so spicy that it left everyone’s taste buds numb. Laura bravely soldiered through, Gabby pushed it away, and his mother gave Molly a step-by-step critique of what she had done wrong. The meal was strained, stressed, and by the end, Molly was fighting tears. David’s stomach felt as if a pilot light had been lit from the inside out.

As soon as supper was over, his mother took the children upstairs to bed while Gabby and Laura washed and dried dishes. Normally, Ruthie never went to bed this early, but she was delighted to be excused from dishwashing. Molly had a habit of using every utensil and pot as she cooked, using them hard. David’s nightly chore was to scrub the pots. No one else could get them clean; each evening, there was usually a thickly burned and unrecognizable glob on the bottom.

He picked up the chili pot to scrape it out, knowing it would be a fearsome task. He had to use a wire brush to loosen the burnt beans on the bottom of the pot. He had barely made a dent in it when his mother returned from upstairs and walked into the kitchen. Laura and Gabby picked up their pace considerably, finishing the rest of the dishes in record time before slipping out of the kitchen like barn cats.

“So, David, what are you going to do about Freeman Glick?” his mother asked.

His stomach felt as if someone was turning up the burner. “I’m not sure yet.” That was the truth.

“Well, I’m sure I know. When he switched those lots, it was as if he was playing God. You need to silence him.”

“I’d like to avoid that torturous inquiry.” The process was rare, but David had observed a Quieting in his former church when he was a teen. He remembered the sorrow that covered the church like a heavy blanket. “My hope is that Freeman will repent on his own. Truth discovered is better than truth told.”

“Was waahr is, darf mer saage.” Truth bears telling. “If you don’t take care of this now, your church will be wounded.”

He lifted his eyes to look at his mother. “It already is.”

At that, he heard a clopping of hooves and the jingle of a harness. Minutes later, his son, Jesse, burst through the kitchen door, and it seemed as if the temperature in the house rose from bone-chilling cold to toasty warm. Funny, David thought, how one person could completely change an atmosphere. Jesse had always been able to do that—instantly warm up a room.

“Oh, no! Did I miss Molly’s dinner?” Jesse tried to look disappointed, but David wasn’t fooled for a second. “Mammi! What a wonderful surprise!” The conversation abruptly switched from the quagmire with Freeman Glick to Jesse’s new career as a buggy repairman. When David’s mother left the room for a moment, Jesse jabbed him in the ribs. “Dad,” he whispered, “Katrina didn’t come by?”

“No. I left a message, but she must not have gotten it. I’ll tell her about Mammi’s visit tomorrow.”

“Warn her, you mean.”

Yes. Yes, that might be a more fitting description.

After Jesse left and everyone was settled in for the night, David stayed downstairs to sit by the fire with a book. His favorite time of day. He stretched out his legs and opened Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. It was said that Bonhoeffer wrote the book in one month’s time, a fact that David marveled at.

Just as he was feeling the pressures of the day melt away, he heard light footsteps descend the stairs.

Ruthie. She had a blanket wrapped around her and didn’t look happy. He closed the book. “Can’t sleep?”

“Mammi is snoring so loudly that the windows are rattling.”

“I know. I can hear her from downstairs.”

“Dad, do you think they’re going to stay a long time?”

“I asked Mammi how long she planned to be here. She said, ‘As long as it takes.’”

“What did that mean?”

“Honey, I wish I knew.” But judging by the quantity of luggage David hauled up the stairs, he figured they were settling in for a long winter’s stay.

Ruthie ventured a little farther into the room. “Gabby’s as annoying as having fire ants in your drawers.”

“Ruthie, don’t be unkind. Gabby just has her own way of interpreting people. And events.”

“And everything else. She’s . . . snooty.”

David frowned. “I think you’re misinterpreting Gabby’s intentions. Everything is black and white to her, not gray. She doesn’t complicate situations with feelings.” Frankly, he thought everyone could use a little bit of Gabby’s logical outlook. Her literal interpretations were something that David had always found rather appealing. In fact, she had always been his favorite niece.

“Gabby said that our kitchen is in utter chaos and that she will show me how to organize it. She said that a kitchen should have departments.”

“Organizing is Gabby’s area of strength. Maybe we could learn a few things.” He reached out and patted the chair next to him, then waited until she sat down. She curled up her legs under her the way she had done as a little girl. “Ruthie, let me teach you a trick I’ve learned. If you can accept a frustrating quality about a person, understand that you can’t change it, and then look past that behavior to see many other fine qualities, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Take Gabby, for example.”

He could tell that Ruthie was listening, but just barely.

“Let’s say her bluntness is what bothers you. Set that aside and you’ll start to see other things, like how committed she is. If she says she’s going to do something, she’ll do it. And she’s very loyal.” Gabby was the one who had been a faithful caregiver to her father, a gentle man prone to severe depression. His wife, David’s sister-in-law, had lost patience with her husband’s fragility years ago, and David didn’t fault her. It couldn’t be easy to raise a brood with a husband who was often unable or unwilling to get out of bed.

Ruthie sighed. “Gabby said they’re all here to fix us.”

“Me. Not you. You and your sisters and brother are doing just fine.”

“Not Katrina.”

“She’s doing very well, all things considered. Moss Hill has proven to be a blessing in all sorts of ways.”

“Do you think Andy Miller is going to marry her?”

“Marry? That’s getting a little ahead of things. They’ve only known each other a few months. Besides, Katrina seems a little gun-shy.”

“Mammi asked me to make a list of every suitable bachelor in Stoney Ridge between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five.” She uncurled her legs and leaned forward. “So here’s my theory. I think Mammi might be here to try to find a husband for Katrina.”

David laughed. “It couldn’t have been a long list of bachelors.”

“No. I could only think of six names. And only three could be reasonable possibilities.” She considered this for a while with her head tipped slightly to one side, reminding David of a brooding sparrow. “Was Mammi always the way she is now?”

“She’s had to be strong, if that’s what you mean. My father was killed in an accident before I was born. She raised the six of us on her own. It couldn’t have been easy to . . .” He left the thought dangling as he studied his daughter quizzically.

Ruthie was barely listening; she was caught on something he had said. “Wait. There’s six of you? I thought there were just five.”

“I have a sister who left the Amish. She loved to learn. She went on to college, then medical school. She’s a doctor. And I’m sure she’s a good one. She was always very capable.” He thought he had told his children about this sister, but from the shocked look on Ruthie’s face, he realized he must not have. For that, he felt ashamed.

“Dad! You mean to say that we might have more cousins?”

“No. She never married.”

“And no one ever sees her? Or talks to her? Just because she left the Amish!” She had a disapproving look on her face. “I don’t get the whole shunning thing. Luke says it’s extremely hypocritical and—”

“Luke . . . as in Luke Schrock? Luke from the Inn at Eagle Hill?”

“Yes. He says the Meidung is completely ironic and—”

“Wait a minute. You have always described Luke Schrock as subhuman.” Ruthie disliked Luke intensely. And now she was quoting him?

She looked down at her toes. “He’s not so bad . . .” Her voice drizzled off.

Deep breath. This happened, he knew. “What happened to Yardstick Yoder?” He had thought there was something brewing between Noah Yoder, also known as Yardstick, the fastest boy in town, and his Ruthie.

“Nothing. He just . . . spends a lot of time running.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me Jesse’s still sponsoring him to run in races.” David had hoped that his son’s fondness for gambling was a thing of the past.

“No. Yardstick just likes to run.” She frowned. “The point is that shunning is the one thing that would stop me from getting baptized.”

“You don’t have to decide that now. You’re only fourteen.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nearly fifteen.”

What? Could that be? He did a quick mental calculation. She was right. Her birthday was in January. How could time be passing so quickly?

“I would never turn my back on Jesse or Katrina or Molly or Lydie or Emily, not the way you turned your back on this mystery aunt.”

“I’ve never turned my back on my sister, Ruthie. She’s the one who chooses to stay away. My door is always open to her.” He looked straight at her. “Always.”

“It seems like we could do more than just leave a door open.” Ruthie rose to her feet and took a couple of steps, then pivoted around. “What’s the name of this mystery aunt, anyway?”

David looked up at her. “Ruth. Her name is Ruth. You were named for her.”

Abigail got up at half past six the next morning, dressed, and went downstairs to work so that she could slip past her grandmother’s watchful eye—only to discover that the house was already stirring with activity. Her cousin Molly was in the kitchen, furiously pounding a lump of bread dough on the countertop. Ruthie was down in the basement wrestling with the laundry. Uncle David had books covering his desk in the living room and seemed completely absorbed in scribbling down notes. She didn’t dare go back upstairs and risk waking Mammi. Heaven forefend. But there was no place to be here. Every corner of the house was filled. And she was on the brink of a breakthrough! She could feel it in her bones.

She simply must find a library and get to work to break through the brick wall for her Stoney Ridge client. Though it was still dark outside, she decided that if she could just get on the road, sooner or later, some buggy would pass by and give her a lift to town. Yesterday afternoon, she had noticed The Sweet Tooth Bakery on Main Street. She could wait there until the library opened.

Her hand was on the doorknob, turning it ever so cautiously, when she heard The Voice. Shrill and loud and domineering.

“Gabby! Where in heaven’s name do you think you’re going at this hour?”

Abigail turned slowly to face her grandmother. “I have an errand to do in town.”

“Nonsense!” She stood watching Abigail, blinking her eyes behind those round wire spectacles. She had a piercing look, one that made a person’s hair stand up on end. “A young woman shouldn’t be going to town at this hour. And it’s going to rain. Come with me. We need to have a chat.”

She followed her grandmother into the living room and exchanged a look with her uncle, who quickly gathered up his books from his desktop and left the room without being asked.

Mammi crossed the thread-worn rug to the woodstove, pointing to a chair. “Sit.”

Abigail sat.

“What was so important that you were leaving the house before the sun rose?”

“I’m working on a project. Genealogy. Tracing people’s family trees. Finding their ancestors. I’m trying to complete a case for Dad.”

Mammi adjusted her glasses and nodded. “I know all about your father’s work.”

“We have a client in Stoney Ridge. Dad has given me the responsibility of working on this woman’s family tree. That’s why I want to get to the library as soon as it opens.”

Molly appeared at the open door with the ball of dough, now tinged a light shade of gray, in her hands. “Stoney Ridge’s library is closed. It has a leaky roof and the books got ruined in the last big storm. They’re trying to fix it this winter.”

What?! This was extremely disconcerting news.

“But you could go into Lancaster,” Molly said. “That’s a thirty-minute bus ride.”

Abigail slapped her hands to her cheeks. “How will I get my work done?”

Her grandmother turned to her, raised an eyebrow, peering down over her glasses. “May I remind you that you are not here to work on your futile pursuits?”

“Futile . . . ?” Brick walls were definitely frustrating but not futile. “Family history is important.”

“Your family is right here. Under your nose.”

“Not my family’s history, actually. Our client’s. Our paying client.” Well, that might be stretching things a bit. The client, a woman named Francis, hadn’t paid Abigail anything yet because she hadn’t completed the family tree. Her father had a strict policy: they only billed clients after they had finished the work.

Her grandmother paced in front of her. “Gabby, first and foremost, you and your sister are here to bring comfort and solace and—” she ran her finger along a tabletop and lifted it up to reveal a very dusty fingertip—“practical help to your extended family.”

“There seems to be a mistaken perception. Everything seems to be shipshape.” Perhaps that was an overstatement. Uncle David’s household could certainly use some improvements in efficiency and organization. But it wasn’t in quite the disastrous condition that her mother had described it to be.

It still astounded Abigail to think that, only two days ago, her life was carrying on in its predictable course. Each morning, she devoted a few hours to help her father on genealogy projects. He was at his best in the morning. Three afternoons a week, she volunteered as a librarian in the county’s bookmobile. Out of the clear blue sky, her mother banished her to Stoney Ridge to help Uncle David and his household of redheaded children. It was extremely frustrating.

“I would go myself,” her mother had said, as she hugged Abigail and Laura goodbye at the bus stop. “But someone needs to look after your father.”

Abigail presented an alternative solution. “Mother, you go to Stoney Ridge. Let me tend to Dad.” After all, that’s how they’d been managing for the last year or so.

Her mother waved Abigail’s outstanding idea off with a flick of her wrist. “Gabby, consider yourself freed of all responsibilities. You shouldn’t give us a second thought.” As an afterthought, she added, “Besides, I like to sleep in my own bed at night.”

And Abigail was the one so often accused of being too inflexible!

She suddenly realized her grandmother was still talking. “. . . And the second reason you’re here is to find a suitable husband.”

“For whom?” But as soon as Abigail said the words, she knew for whom: her cousin Katrina. It was a reasonable quest, given the circumstances. “Katrina?”

“No.” Her grandmother polished her spectacles with her apron, then put them back on and blinked. “For you.”

Abigail stared, not liking the direction this conversation was taking.

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Nearly twenty-two,” Laura said.

Abigail whipped her head around to find her sister standing by the doorjamb.

Her grandmother sighed. “You cannot keep hiding away behind old papers and books, thinking yourself immune to God’s great plan.”

This was exactly the reason she took great pains to avoid her grandmother. Mammi the Meddler felt she had a mission in life: to make sure her eligible granddaughters were doing their part in God’s great plan. Marriage and motherhood, in that order.

For the last few years, each time she visited Abigail’s family—which was quite often because she only lived a few hours away—Mammi had been determined to find a fellow for Abigail. However, the relationships she had with these young men had never lasted long.

The Black Raspberry Incident was a good example.

Mammi had come for a visit on a warm summer day and brought along her friend’s grandson, a highly intelligent carpenter named Ben Miller. At Mammi’s meddlesome urging, Ben and Abigail headed out for a picnic at a pond near the Stoltzfuses’ home. The outing proceeded very smoothly, thanks largely to Ben’s interest in reading. They had a very stimulating conversation about the value of bookmobile libraries in rural locations. For once, Mammi had found someone who was interesting to Abigail. She could already envision the possibility of a relationship developing.

Just before they reached the pond, Ben stopped to buy fresh blackberries from a farm stand. Abigail determined that the blackberries were not blackberries at all, but black raspberries. She said as much to the salesgirl.

“Same thing,” the salesgirl said. “Three baskets for five dollars.”

Abigail couldn’t believe it. “They’re completely different,” she said. “Blackberries are one thing, raspberries are another, and black raspberries are a whole other kind of berry.” She explained the differences in some detail. The easiest way to tell the difference between the two was by the core, where the stem attached to the berry. Blackberries always have a white core, whereas black raspberries are hollow in the center, just like raspberries.

Abigail assumed that anyone who was in the business of selling fresh produce would appreciate the opportunity to be educated about her products. But from the look on the salesgirl’s face, she did not appear at all grateful. By the time Abigail finished sharing her wealth of knowledge about the differences between the two berries—that black raspberries were less sour than blackberries, which made them better for eating fresh (excellent material for a sales pitch, she pointed out), whereas blackberries, which weren’t even ripe yet, were the best choice for desserts—the salesgirl had started to cry.

Ben Miller suggested that Abigail wait for him in the buggy. He spent quite some time trying to comfort the upset salesgirl. Quite a long time.

In retrospect, Laura said that Abigail should have recognized that gap of time as a warning sign. When Ben did return, he brought with him a large flat of black raspberries. He had bought out the entire supply. And then he said he felt a headache coming on and needed to cancel the picnic.

A few weeks later, she saw Ben Miller and that very same salesgirl holding hands underneath the table during a hymn singing at a youth gathering.

Mammi released a long-suffering sigh. There had been quite a long lull since either of them had spoken, and Abigail realized it must be her turn. “I am not closed to the topic, Mammi, but I have not found anyone of interest.”

“I can tell you that if you put off things for too long, you might miss the boat altogether. Mind you, you’re not getting any younger.” Mammi raised a sparse eyebrow hiding behind her wire-framed glasses. “It’s time for you to get your head out of your books and papers and libraries and consider your opportunities.”

Opportunities?

“You’re in Pennsylvania now, Gabby,” Laura said. “Surely, you could be open-minded to meeting potential suitors in a new state.”

Mammi smiled at her. “You see? We have only your best interests in mind.”

We? So . . . Mammi and Laura had become a team, which probably meant her mother was in on it too. Abigail opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her.

Mammi took two steps toward Abigail and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time to turn your thoughts seriously toward the future. Find a good husband and end up with a houseful of children.” She patted Abigail like she was a child. “That’s our winter goal.”

It’s not that Abigail was impervious to the thought of romance, but she had never run her life in order to find it. She had never assumed love could arrive on demand, just because a certain grandmother thought it was high time.

When Abigail didn’t respond, Mammi returned to the kitchen in a businesslike fashion to supervise Molly and her bread-dough kneading. Abigail settled back into the sofa to mull over this development.

Laura walked tentatively toward her. “I’m sorry. I know I should have warned you.”

“That would have been preferable to a Mammi ambush.” A complete betrayal. “Why have you joined the Meddling Conspiracy?”

“Well, because . . .” She took a few steps closer. “Well, the truth is that Tim wants to get married and I refuse to set a date until you get married. Or at least . . . until you have a boyfriend.”

Tenacious Tim would not be Abigail’s choice for a mate. While she admired his persistence to win her sister’s adoration, obviously successful, he had a pair of caterpillar eyebrows that hinted to be a frightful sight in his old age. What if they had a daughter who inherited Tenacious Tim’s wooly eyebrows? “No one is stopping you from getting married. Certainly not me.”

“I can’t do it. I would worry about you too much.” Laura plopped down in the chair across from her. “I can’t leave you alone. Mom would turn you into Dad’s permanent nurse and you’d let her.”

Why would that be considered a problem? Their mother was a very unenthusiastic caregiver. Someone had to take care of their father. Why not her?

Laura read her mind. “We don’t want you to miss opportunities to have a life of your own.”

Opportunities. There was that word again. What opportunities was she missing? Men did not consider Abigail as marriage material. As soon as a man started a conversation with her, he rapidly lost interest. Laura said it was because Abigail made small talk a challenge. In fact, she often reminded her, the nickname Gabby (which Abigail loathed) was given to her in school as a joke.

“Do you think, Laura, it matters so much to say the right things and act the right way?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . what if . . . why do I have to pretend to be someone that I’m not? What if I end up fooling someone into thinking I’m someone different than he wants? And then, one day, he wakes up and realizes I’m not at all the person he hoped I was.”

“Maybe . . . you can change. Become the person he wants you to be.”

That kind of future left Abigail feeling like an animal trapped in a too-small cage. “Or maybe I’m just not the type to marry. There are plenty of maiden aunts and bachelor uncles in our family tree. Perhaps I’m one of those.”

“Most of those are rather eccentric. Think of old Aunt Louise, who refuses to wear her choppers because she says they pinch. She looks like a dried apple doll. Or Uncle Simon, who won’t leave his house.” Laura stood and put a hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Of course you should get married. You’re not like those batty old aunts and uncles.”

But that was just it. She was.

“Gabby . . . be open to Mammi’s ideas while we’re here,” Laura said, a pleading tone in her voice. “That’s all we’re asking.”

This conversation with Laura left Abigail even more frustrated. There were serious matters at stake. Her client needed help to break through her brick wall. Her father needed an incentive to get well.

But her sister wanted to get married and Abigail stood in the way, despite the illogic of that assumption. Laura was her sister, and her only friend, so she had no choice.

Abigail supposed she could try to be open-minded, as long as it didn’t interfere with the brick wall. She reflected on the kind of men her grandmother would find suitable, the type she would introduce her to, in hopes of marrying her off. It was a truly terrible thought.

She frantically searched her mind and came up with a sudden stroke of genius. She hurried to the kitchen. “Mammi, what about Katrina?”

Mammi stopped mixing dough in a bowl to look at her. “What about her?”

Abigail noticed Molly standing in the corner. A bowl with her gray dough was on the counter, set aside. Clearly, Mammi had demoted Molly from being chief bread baker. “I would think Katrina’s situation . . . her unfortunate circumstance . . . time being of the essence . . . I would think she might require all of your attention.”

Mammi gave Abigail a satisfied smile and reached over to cover her hand with her own floury one. “And so she shall have it. I’m here to help you both embrace God’s great plan.”