OUR DAILY BREAD HAD BEEN AN AMISH STORE SINCE THE 1950s. Owned and operated by the Lapp family, it was untouched by the tourist trade, being a discreet distance from any main road. The Amish in Paradise liked to joke that it was their Walmart, selling everything from farmware to household goods and fabric. Ann Lapp had continued the tradition set by her husband’s grandmother, that on Saturdays at two o’clock local women would gather in the store’s upstairs storage room to meet for a time of fellowship and prayer. It was a peaceful highlight of Fern’s week and provided a chance to catch up with women she might not otherwise see.
She entered the store to the good-natured greetings of various men, who liked to gather downstairs for their own time of talk, and made her way through the good-smelling place to the back stairs. She could hear the drift of feminine voices as she climbed and soon arrived at the upper room. Hiram Lapp always made sure that there were folding wooden chairs set up in a circle and plenty of tables for food.
Fern unwrapped her gingerbread and smiled as Eve Bender and Hannah King came over to greet her. Both women were good friends; Eve was a bit older than Hannah and Fern, but her beautiful face belied her age.
“Mm, gingerbread from Esther Zook’s recipe.” Hannah laughed. “I can’t wait.”
“Where is your mammi?” Eve asked.
Fern pushed away the worry she felt at the question. “Ach, she decided to stay home and have a bit of a rest.”
“Is she well?” Hannah put a concerned hand on Fern’s arm.
“She says so, but I don’t know. I’m trying to convince her to go see Dr. Knepp sometime soon. So, what did you ladies bring?”
Fern was soon absorbed in the general time of talk and catching up before Ann Lapp called for everyone’s attention and they all sat down to share prayer requests and concerns as well as items for praise. Fern was wishing that she could somehow share how she felt about Abram Fisher, but the thought made her embarrassed. She decided to continue to pray about the man alone.
After a hurried, hushed conversation with Hiram Lapp, Abram made his way as fast as he could through Our Daily Bread. He climbed the stairs and sought through the circle of bowed, kapped heads for Fern. Thankfully she was sitting nearby, in front of a flour barrel, and he sidled up to it to tap her gently on the shoulder.
“Fern,” he whispered. “Please come with me.”
She opened her eyes wide with surprise, then made to shoo him away, but he caught her hand in a tender grip. “Now, please.”
She rose, and he heard the telltale rustle of listeners as she went with him, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He led her downstairs and through a surprisingly silent store, then out to the wagon full of quiet kinner.
“Abram Fisher, what is going on?” She glared up at him in the sunlight, and he bowed his head, dropping her hand.
“Fern, I went to your home a bit ago. Your grandmother . . . I thought she was sleeping, but she’d passed away. I’m sorry.”
He watched disbelief become replaced with a calm practicality on Fern’s pretty face. “We’ve got to go for Dr. Knepp,” she said, her voice quiet and detached.
“Fern, I stopped there on my way. He’s gone for the day. Anyway . . . I’m sure. She wasn’t breathing.”
“Take me to her, sei se gut.”
Fern entered her home quietly while Abram and the children waited outside in the wagon. She tiptoed across the floor to where her grandmother sat in the rocker, her eyes closed and a peaceful expression on her face. Fern automatically did the things that she knew should be done—checking for a pulse and respirations, looking at the arms for signs of mottling. Finally she dropped to her knees beside the chair to lay her head gently in the dear lap, knowing she was truly gone.
She sat for a long moment, blaming herself for not taking her grandmother to the doctor sooner. And yet she remembered the rose tea, the secret of the rose tea . . . Could her grandmother have known even then that this time was close?
A soft knock sounded on the door, and she looked up. She could see the stocky, balding figure of Bishop Smucker through the screen door.
“May I kumme in, child?”
Fern rose and swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. News of a death spread fast in the community; someone from the store must have told the steadfast leader.
She opened the door to the kind, elderly man and he entered, placing a bracing hand on her shoulder as he glanced at her grandmother.
“As the Lord wills, Fern. Ya?”
Fern nodded, knowing it to be true.
“I sent young Abram home with his bunch of kinner, and I stopped at the phone shed to notify Dean Westler. He’ll be here later this afternoon, once the women have come and helped tend to things.”
Fern looked away. Dean was an Englischer and the only ausleger the Amish of her community had used for longer than she could remember. He was familiar with the Amish customs and was a quiet, gentle man. Fern had seen him attend to many a preparation; she just hadn’t expected to need his services so soon, despite her grandmother’s age.
Soon Esther Zook’s closest women friends began to arrive. Eve Bender caught Fern close in a tearful hug, and Fern was relieved at the strength of her friend’s shoulder.
“Everything will be all right,” Eve whispered.
Fern smiled through her tears, then turned away as a group of women carried her grandmother into the bedroom, where Fern knew they would bathe the body and dress it in white before the undertaker arrived. The body would then be embalmed for two viewings, the funeral service and then the final viewing at the burial. It seemed like an arduous amount of emotional strain to climb through, but Fern remembered the gentle conversation she’d had with her grandmother the previous night and felt some comfort.
She accepted a cup of herbal tea from Hannah King and took a place in the rocker where her grandmother had sat. It was her job now to greet and mourn with others of the community, who came bearing words of comfort and good food.
Hannah pulled a kitchen chair close to Fern and spoke softly. “They said it was Abram Fisher who came and got you—I didn’t see.”
Fern dipped her head from her friend’s gaze. She knew Hannah wasn’t being nosy; the two had often discussed their similar desires for husbands to appear in Paradise.
“Ya. It was Abram, but I think the bishop sent him home.”
“Too bad. He would be gut comfort, I bet.”
“Ach, Hannah, I don’t know. We—we had been . . . talking. But then . . .”
The other girl reached to pat her hand. “No explanations needed. Just don’t shut him out if you can help it. Remember, some of your plants must surely be more stubborn to grow than others.”
Fern couldn’t help but smile despite her sadness.
Abram rubbed the back of his neck. He was worn out with explaining to the kids about Esther Zook’s death. Mary was afraid that Mamm and Daed might die in Ohio, and she got John worrying too. Even Mark seemed pensive, while Luke occupied himself with a last look under the beds for Moldy. When everyone but Matthew was finally asleep, Abram went into the boy’s room and sat down on the edge of his bed.
“What are you reading?” Abram asked.
“An Englisch book—I know Mamm might have a fit. But it’s Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”
Abram smiled. “A monster tale, then?”
“Ya, but it’s more than that. It makes you think about things—like what happened to Esther Zook today. I mean, I know that it will happen to all of us sooner or later; I just don’t think I’m ready.”
Abram cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “You don’t have to be ready tonight. I guess that when that time comes, Gott prepares the person somehow. I mean, some sort of clue maybe, so that the person can maybe help others around them get ready so they won’t hurt as badly.”
“Are you going to see her?” Matthew pushed his glasses up on his nose and stared at his big brother.
Abram had to laugh. “Ya, if you’ll keep a watchful ear for any mole problems or the like.”
“I will,” the boy promised solemnly.
“Danki, Matthew. Enjoy your book.”