Chapter 11

FOLLOWING PREACHING SERVICE the next day, Martie kept busy cutting pieces of her snitz pies and distributing them around the tables set up for the shared meal. She’d noticed Lucy out on the back porch, hanging back a bit with Lettie, a cluster of courting-age women nearby. Faye, however, was farther from the house, smiling and talking with Rose Anna Yoder. It seemed a bit odd, since Rose Anna was married and typically visited with the other married women.

“Need a helpin’ hand?” Mammi Flaud asked, looking nice in her navy blue dress and black apron.

Martie thanked her. “I think we’re ready for the table blessing once the elders and their wives are seated.”

Her grandmother squeezed her arm, a twinkle in her eyes. “Come over sometime, and bring your boys, too, won’t ya?”

“All right,” she agreed, then whispered, “I have something to tell ya.”

Mammi’s eyes lit up. “Another little one on the way, maybe?”

Martie ran her thumb and pointer finger along her lips to seal them, then said they’d talk later. “This week, I promise.”

———

Lucy felt cornered when Lettie pushed the note into her hands as they waited to go in to eat.

“You think I’m pullin’ your leg, don’t ya?” Lettie said, eyes bright. “Tobe Glick really did give me this for you.”

Lucy stared at the folded piece of paper from a lined notebook, its edges rumpled. She stuffed it into her dress pocket. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Lettie’s eyes danced. “Furthest thing from my mind!”

Lucy gave her a mock stink eye, and Lettie giggled.

With a wave to Rose Anna, Faye returned to them on the porch.

“I’m not the one with ideas, I daresay!” Lettie grinned and exchanged glances with her twin.

Faye caught on. “Watch yourself, Lettie —it’s the Lord’s Day.”

Lettie’s eyes twinkled. “Tobe’s up to something; you mark my words.”

“Ach, you two.” Lucy left them standing there, not far from a whole batch of their girl cousins, as well as Rebekah Glick, all of them twittering and whispering.

Lucy patted the note through her dress as she strolled through the backyard.

What could Tobe want? she wondered, his note burning a hole in her pocket.

———

Christian folded his arms at the table, lingering where he’d sat for the common meal. He suddenly felt put upon, what with Deacon Edward Miller having singled him out. The deacon had taken a seat across from Christian, a deep frown on his ruddy face.

“What is it, Ed?” asked Christian, wondering why he was so sober.

Deacon Ed leaned forward, his voice low. “Something’s come to the bishop’s and my attention,” he began, then glanced about them and motioned Christian toward the door with a bob of his head. “Let’s go outdoors.”

Christian wolfed down another bite of the delicious pie, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and rose to follow. Now what?

Outside, they meandered back toward the stable, where several road horses were quenching their thirst at a large galvanized tub full of water.

“I’ll just say it right out—there are at least three families talkin’ of pulling up stakes and movin’ out west,” Deacon said, grimacing. “Is this something you and Sarah might be thinkin’ of doing, too?”

“Hadn’t heard anything till now,” Christian said, instantly curious. “Are these established farmers?”

“Jah, every one of ’em . . . which is what’s most surprising.”

Christian didn’t know what to make of this. “Are they lookin’ for land for their courting-age youth, maybe?”

“Seems so.”

“Might be time to pay some visits . . . knock on doors,” Christian suggested.

“Well, I’ve been askin’ around here today, and so far only a few have gotten wind of it.”

“Interesting.” Christian said he’d keep his eyes and ears open. “So is this hush-hush?”

“Nee—it’s all right to tell Sarah.” Ed headed back to the farmhouse, leaving Christian to scratch his head.

After the third and final seating for the meal, the one for teenagers and older youth, Lucy stayed around to help Martie and the other designated women clean up the dishes, drying them and packing them away carefully into boxes, getting them ready for the men to carry out to the bench wagon at dawn tomorrow.

Martie went out of her way to include Lucy in conversations with the married women there in the kitchen, and Lucy loved her all the more for it. Since their childhood, this sister had had a way of making Lucy feel comfortable enough to share her dearest thoughts . . . and some of her deepest heartaches. Martie listened not only with her ears but also with her heart, and most of the time, Lucy could tell Martie anything without her jumping to conclusions.

When the kitchen was put back in order, Martie offered for Ray to give Lucy a lift home, but Lucy politely declined. “I’d like to walk, if ya don’t mind.”

“Oh, we mind terribly,” Martie joked. “Nee . . . do what you need to.”

One buggy after another passed by as Lucy walked the long stretch back to her father’s house. Folk kept waving and calling thoughtfully, offering to take her in theirs. Her brother Ammon and his wife, Sylvia, and their six children, the four young boys squeezed into the back of the carriage, fondly called her name in chorus. Fourteen-year-old Cora and twelve-year-old Emma Sue waved excitedly, their Kapp strings floating in the breeze, and Cora even pleaded for her to come over for a visit later.

“I will another time,” Lucy told her, loving the fact that she was close to all her nieces, but especially Ammon’s girls.

“Geb mir dei Watt!” Cora said, making her saddest face.

“Sure, I’ll give you my word,” Lucy said, realizing the walk wasn’t at all what she’d intended. They mean well, she thought.

The truth was, despite her curiosity about Tobe’s note, still hidden away, she was altogether distracted by what she’d seen earlier—Deacon Miller seeking out her father, and the two of them going together to the stable, Dat looking awfully solemn. She hadn’t been able to get the image out of her mind—it stirred up memories she much preferred to erase. Memories of offering to put aside her church membership for as long as the brethren deemed necessary—a temporary shun—for having dated an outsider after her church baptism. But that wasn’t the worst of it . . . she’d never told the deacon the full truth.

Just then a gust of wind worried the trees overhead, churning them into a whirl much like her own troubled thoughts. She remembered how nervous she had been the day she’d gone to speak with the deacon about her transgression. Yet it hadn’t been nerves alone that had kept her from revealing all.

Near home, the expanse of grazing land came into view, and Uncle Caleb’s barn dog howled at her. Lucy felt drawn into the landscape—the orderly stacks of firewood, the homemade scarecrow in the pumpkin patch. And observing Sunshine and Hurricane Henry, or Caney as most of the family called him, galloping gracefully in the large paddock, Lucy smiled. Our beautiful pets, she thought, glad their racing days were long past. She thought then of Kiana and Van, wondering if they were enjoying the outdoors, too. Thus far, her attempts to find anything affordable for them had failed, though she would continue to search the newspaper every day.

In the near distance, Lucy recognized Tobe Glick’s father as he vigorously sang one of the Ausbund hymns while their family carriage rumbled down the road. She couldn’t help but smile. It was as if the Almighty One had brought them along just now to cheer her up, like a small blessing. Mamm would be quick to point out that, no matter how hard it was to reconcile the past, there was always the Lord’s Day to encourage and bring comfort. “Like a tether between you and your heavenly Father, dear Lucy.”

Does Mamm even suspect how far away He often seems to me?

Lucy sighed and slipped her hand into her dress pocket as she continued walking, ready to see what Tobe’s note might reveal.

Hi, Lucy,

Even if you’re not interested in coming to Singing tonight, will ya at least consider meeting me on the road near your house afterward, and I’ll pick you up in my buggy? No need to let me know in advance—I’ll come by either way. I’d really like to talk with you privately.

Your friend,
Tobe Glick

Maybe he wants my opinion . . . although it’s been a long time. She remembered back when Tobe had turned sixteen, dating age, and he’d sought out her advice regarding certain girls. More than once, he’d broken things off on Lucy’s counsel alone.

And look where it’s gotten him, she thought sadly. My loyal friend . . . still single.

“This must be urgent. It’s not every day I get a letter from Tobe,” she whispered.

Back at home, she made her way to the top of the house, where she flung herself on her bed and wondered if Lettie imagined she was playing matchmaker. Wishful thinker . . .

Lucy let herself rest awhile, recalling when she’d first started going to Singings and other youth-related activities. Somehow or other, she’d always ended up on the same volleyball or softball team as Tobe, who had a way of making every gathering more fun.

Getting up to remove her hairpins, Lucy brushed her hair one hundred times, just as Mamm had taught her to do. Quickly, she put it back up neatly to go visit Mammi Flaud next door.

Lucy’s grandmother wanted to sit out on the wooden swing on her small white porch to enjoy the weather. At either end of the porch, a rusty yellow watering can was filled with an abundance of orange marigolds. A robin’s-egg-blue decorative birdhouse sat in one corner, making for a cozy, inviting spot.

“Well, much to my surprise, I managed to recall even the most recent birth dates, including all my great-grandchildren,” Mammi said. “So I’m on my way. I just hope I don’t forget anyone.”

“I knew you’d put that chart together, Mammi. By the way, Sylvia has an old cross-stitch from her grandmother with the names of each grandchild and their day of birth. It’s hanging on the wall in Ammon’s and her front room. It’s really something to see.”

“What a gut idea,” Mammi said. “Next time I’m there, I’ll look at it. More than likely I’ve seen it and just haven’t paid close attention.”

“Well, you won’t miss it, now that you know.” Lucy was glad she’d come to visit, though she knew there’d been several other visitors at her grandmother’s door this week. It was the way of the People to look after widows, something for which Lucy had always been grateful, especially since Dawdi died. If only it were that way for all the folk in hospice, too.

“I only hope I’ll be around when you finally bring a little one into the world,” her grandmother said, the swing moving gently.

Lucy felt her cheeks warm. There had been more than a few times Mammi had dropped hints about marriage. “Well, I daresay you might have a long wait, Mammi.”

“For pity’s sake, what’re ya saying, Lucy dear?”

“Just that . . . it’s unlikely I’ll be marryin’.”

“Don’t you want to?”

She has no idea, realized Lucy, feeling relieved her grandmother had been spared.

“Oh, I’ve given it some thought.”

Mammi looked askance. “Well, now . . .”

Taking a breath, Lucy continued. “Back before Dawdi Flaud passed away and you moved here to be near Dat and Mamm, I suffered some real difficulties. I’d made some terrible choices . . . which I soon regretted.” Ones I might never be able to make up for . . .

A silence passed between them; Mammi’s expression was clearly ferhoodled.

“Oh, my precious girl, try an’ remember that our Lord Jesus was a man of sorrows,” Mammi said, her smile sweet as she patted her hand. “He’s closer than a brother.”

“I know, Mammi,” Lucy whispered, tears welling up. “I know.” If only I could believe it . . .