18

A full week later, October fifth, Ellie still had no reply from Evan. But she had decided to try something new.

Without telling her father, she headed to town with a dozen bushels of apples, making a beeline for a restaurant that had been open less than a year. She prayed that God would help her have a winning way with the owner, like Evan always seemed to with their accounts. Once she got over her nerves and even offered apple samples to taste, the amenable middle-aged man purchased three bushels on the spot. He also asked to be on their regular customer list, then suggested another larger restaurant she might want to stop by. “My cousin’s place,” he said. “Be sure to tell him I sent you.”

Greatly encouraged, she drove the spring wagon straight to the next restaurant, ever so thankful and excited to tell Dat the news.

When she returned home, Ellie found her longed-for letter from Evan. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes as she hurried to the house to announce it to Mamm, who smiled and placed her hand on her chest.

“Praise be to God!” she whispered.

Ellie sat at the table and opened the envelope, wishing there was another letter from Evan for Dat and Mamm.

“Why don’t ya read it first, then tell me what you’d like to share,” Mamm said.

Ellie nodded at the suggestion and began to read, her hands trembling a little.

Dear Ellie,

Thanks for your great letter! I enjoyed getting it—read every word. I’ll try to answer quicker next time. Since I don’t have a lot of time right now, I probably won’t be able to write Mamm and Dat today, too, so go ahead and pass on whatever I’ve written here that you think won’t alarm them.

Nearly within the first hour after I arrived at camp, my head was shaved down to my scalp and all my personal possessions were taken away and replaced with army-issued items like toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a comb. Then came a whole batch of required shots in my arm and more tests. I didn’t feel like myself at all.

Since we all wear the same brown uniform, everyone in my platoon looks alike. And we march everywhere—to eat, to class, to our drilling activities, to the barracks. We’re up each morning around four o’clock—something I’ve adjusted to more easily than most thanks to the hours I kept back home—and we eat whatever they give us without complaining (how I miss Mamm’s cooking!) and speak the way we’re told to. Too often for my liking, we do long-distance runs till we’re either told to stop or drop from exhaustion, which happened to several guys the first few days here. Two of them are no longer with our platoon, and I’m not sure what happened to them.

Copies of the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) are posted everywhere in the barracks, at the mess hall (huge room where we eat), the classrooms, and in the latrines (bathrooms). We’re required to know it inside and out, and the same with the Code of Conduct. If we’re called on (hollered at) by the drill sergeant, we must recite the exact section of it he asks for, stating it perfectly.

I’m sure by now you can tell that my life here is very different from anything you’ve ever experienced, Ellie. We’re even told how to think! Honestly, between you and me, I’m still trying to figure out this strange world called the U.S. Army. Plenty of days I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, but it’s too late for me to back out.

That last line haunted her, but Ellie continued reading the remainder of the letter, thankful Mamm had busied herself with making beef stew for supper, putting a pot of it on the woodstove to cook. She had no idea which part of Evan’s letter wouldn’t alarm Mamm. Now, Dat was a different story. Ellie wasn’t sure what he knew about military life, but she guessed he might know a tad more than Mamm even though all of this was so new to them. New even to Evan.

“He’s happy to receive letters from home,” she told Mamm, sharing something he’d written close to the bottom of the second page. “He also hopes we’ve passed along his address to Lydia and the boys and anyone else amongst the People who’d like to write him . . . if any aren’t still too upset.” She paused. “Maybe Sol would like to write him,” she said more to herself than to Mamm.

“So . . . Evan’s okay?” Mamm turned around to ask.

“He’s just getting used to things.” Ellie didn’t want to paint a rosy picture, but she certainly wasn’t going to upset Mamm with details about all the strenuous activities, or the part about learning to carry and shoot a gun, which Evan had also mentioned close to the end of the letter. It would never do to bring that up.

“I’ll write him again,” Mamm said.

“So will I.”

Later, while making a tossed salad, it struck her that Evan had never been one to complain. Not that she could remember. Yet this letter seemed to be all about complaints. She wondered if he’d just been out of sorts or if everything he’d described was starting to affect him negatively.

He’s not even halfway through boot camp.

At supper, Ellie told her father about the two restaurant managers she’d visited.

“What a schmaert thing to do,” he replied, grinning and glancing at Mamm. “Denki, Ellie.”

Mamm nodded approvingly. “You are truly your father’s daughter.”

Ellie was happy to hear it, since working hard, especially for the orchard, made her happy. “I’m glad to help wherever I can.”

“I’ll say,” her father replied. He looked at Dawdi Hezekiah, whose smile lines deepened as he grinned, too.

They kept the cider press busy even as the late apple varieties began to come at the end of October and into November. Ellie, Mamm, and Rudy worked together, using three hand-cranked apple peelers, while Jonah, Dat, Titus, and some of the crew turned to spreading the fall fertilizer. Sol, Menno, and others continued with the apple harvest, and whenever they could, she and Menno stood and talked together.

It wouldn’t be long until Thanksgiving, after which the enormous process of pruning the fruit trees would begin, encompassing all the months till April. As was their usual tradition, Dat, Dawdi, and her brothers took a day off to go bow hunting for wild turkeys in Gobbler’s Knob southeast of Strasburg, and Ellie couldn’t help wondering how strange it must be for them with Evan absent.

To Ellie’s surprise, Sol occasionally sought her out, as if keeping an eye on her, and she had to wonder if Evan had anything to do with that. Sol mentioned Leah at times and her upcoming visit for Thanksgiving. She, too, could hardly wait to see Leah again, though the visit would be short. At every opportunity, Ellie slipped in a comment about Ruthann, wanting Sol to know she fully understood how fond he and her cousin were of each other, though Ruthann had been rather mum on that lately.

Very early Thanksgiving morning, Ellie helped Mamm set the table and make side dishes while Dat brought in some firewood for the cookstove. Since Jonah and his family were the only relatives coming for the noontime feast this year, the turkey Dat had bagged recently was just right.

After the meal, followed by coffee, dessert, and lingering conversation, Dawdi excused himself and headed to the Dawdi Haus for his afternoon nap. Dat and Jonah continued talking in the front room. Every now and then, a word or phrase about the future of the orchard drifted to the kitchen and caught Ellie’s attention. What will Dat do?

Once the kitchen was all redded up and the children had run outdoors to play, she, Mamm, and Priscilla sat in the kitchen, sipping more coffee. Ellie enjoyed hearing her sister-in-law talk about patching her grandmother’s old quilt.

After Jonah and his family left for home, Ellie decided to walk up and see if Leah was free to visit now. The day’s high temperature was supposed to be thirty-nine degrees, but the air felt a little warmer due to the sunshine and lack of wind. Even so, Ellie was glad for her black coat and warm headscarf.

She felt fidgety as she strolled along, going out of her way to walk in the fallen leaves, the crunching sound a sweet reminder of her and Evan’s jaunts up to see Sol and Leah when they were children, kicking the leaves and laughing as they went.

Oh, she could hardly wait to lay eyes on Leah again. She recalled how, nearly every Thanksgiving Day since she was school-age, she and Leah had met halfway between their homes after the family meal to walk together—sun, rain, or snow. Afterward, they usually returned by way of the orchard, which for Ellie was like the frosting on a cake any time of the year.

Ellie heard quick footsteps coming this way, and when she glanced up, there was Leah walking on the opposite side of the road. Her face shone with delight. “Happy Thanksgiving, friend!”

“I was just headin’ up to see ya,” Ellie replied, grinning as she crossed the road.

Leah’s laughter rang out in the chilly air. “And I was on my way down to visit you.”

Ellie fell in step with her friend as they walked hand in hand back toward the orchard. “I’m so glad you could get home.”

“Me too. It’s been the best Thanksgiving. I’ve missed bein’ here ever so much. And I’ve missed you, Ellie.”

“Could ya stay longer, maybe?”

“Oh, I wish.” Leah sighed. “But I’ll be home longer at Christmas.” She glanced at Ellie like she had something more to say.

They were nearly to the orchard when Leah finally said, “How’re ya doin’ . . . I mean, with Evan gone?”

“Well, it’s not easy, but it helps that he’s writing to us.”

“Des gut.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure how we’d bear it otherwise.”

“I’m so sorry.” Leah squeezed her hand. “I truly am.”

Ellie didn’t want to dwell on this with such a short time to spend with Leah, so she changed the subject. “Tell me what it’s like at the church in Chambersburg.”

“It’s a joy, actually—and similar to our church here. I was startin’ to feel lost not being able to attend Preaching for so long.”

Ellie nodded. “There’s just something about joining your voice with everyone’s and hearin’ the sermons, ain’t?”

“And visitin’ with folk at the common meal.”

Ellie laughed softly. “Gut fellowship, jah.”

Leah suggested taking a shortcut through the orchard, and Ellie agreed, wondering how often they’d done this on their many walks. “Mamm’ll wanna see ya, I’m sure.”

“I was hopin’ to visit with her. And how’s your Dawdi? Still tellin’ his stories?”

“He’s all right. Still has his sense of humor, for sure.” Ellie mentioned their frequent jaunts to inspect the trees for pests.

When Ellie and Leah arrived at the house, Mamm greeted them at the side door. “Willkumm! I’m glad ya stopped by, Leah.” She ushered them in through the hallway to the warm kitchen. “There’s hot cider waitin’ and some dessert leftovers,” she said, giving Leah a hug, tears welling up.

Ellie took Leah’s coat and scarf and hung them beside hers, then returned to the kitchen, so thankful her friend had come, helping to dispel some of the sadness on this special day.

The final days of November brought milder weather, and Ellie often encountered both Menno and Sol while out pruning the apple trees. Menno and the other seasonal workers would soon be let go for the winter, which meant Ellie would only see Menno regularly at church and Singings every other week. She rather lamented that—though it wasn’t as if he was leaving town again like Leah had.

Lyle was relaxing with Elisabeth in their bedroom as she read him the letter Evan had written to them on Thanksgiving. Evan said he’d “somehow lived through” basic training, with its five-to-six-mile runs before breakfast every day and obstacle courses. Presently, he’d start eight weeks of Advanced Infantry Training. Today was November thirtieth, and Lyle made the calculation in his head for when that would end.

When Evan made a point of saying he’d still have time to read letters from home at night, Lyle realized their son had spared them any comments about combat practice and other preparations for war. He appreciated that for Elisabeth’s sake. Anymore, these letters had a tendency to give him heartburn, and it disturbed him to think that Evan was likely marching with a rifle on his shoulder. Sometimes he wondered if he would even recognize his youngest son if he ran into him on the street somewhere.

Elisabeth, on the other hand, seemed to pour her worries into baking cookies, including some of Evan’s favorite bars, and sending a fresh batch nearly every week. And because he’d written that his platoon buddies were “going bananas over the treats,” she now baked extra to mail.

As the days came and went, Ellie continued to write to Evan, sometimes twice a week. Every so often, late at night when she came downstairs for a drink of water or some milk, she’d find Mamm sitting at the kitchen table writing by candlelight. It wasn’t Ellie’s place to know what her mother was sharing with Evan, but she was curious all the same. One thing was surely apparent to her brother by now: He was greatly loved and prayed for in spite of his worldly stance. Even Dawdi Hezekiah occasionally added a handwritten note to him in Ellie’s letters, which was rare for Dawdi to do, considering he wasn’t fond of writing much of anything. In one of the notes, he’d written, God’s presence is real even in the most difficult times. I know this firsthand, Evan.

Ellie wondered what he’d meant by “firsthand,” but if he wanted her to know, he would tell her eventually.

At the smithy’s, Lyle ran into his younger brother, Omar, who’d been treating him as if he were to be pitied for Evan’s lack of interest in upholding their peace-loving ways. Since Evan’s shortcomings were already evident to Lyle, he merely nodded when Omar frowned at him. He didn’t expect Omar to speak to him, but Lyle asked about his best driving horse all the same, trying to break the ice. “Any improvement after the vet’s visit?”

Omar shrugged. “Some.”

“Des gut.”

Omar looked at him askance. “I’m curious. Does your Evan have the decency to keep in touch?”

“He has been.” Lyle nodded. “And he could use more prayer.”

Acting skittish at that, Omar quickly said, “Ain’t like we’re not prayin’ for him.”

“I appreciate that.”

This sort of thing had happened a few times before—even after the common meal following Preaching, of all places. Each time, Lyle had silently asked God for a spirit of meekness, much as he wanted to speak up. Truth be told, he was still smarting from his son’s desire to forge ahead with joining the army.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” Lyle asked Omar now.

“Gut. Half the kids were home. You know how it is: The married ones must juggle the in-laws.” He actually chuckled.

“’Tis true.”

When Lyle finished making an appointment with the smithy, he waved at Omar, who bobbed his head slightly.

None of his boys have given him a speck of trouble, Lyle thought as he headed for his waiting horse and buggy.