The Forbidden Page 12

  The more she pondered it, the more fascinated Nellie was by the recent change in her mother. Initially worried sick about Mamma’s grief-stricken state in the weeks and months after Suzy died, Nellie could see how near-jubilant she was now. Momentarily, perhaps all of them had lost their way, but truly for Mamma, her life had changed, apparently for the better. She’d begun to refer to this life journey as a “gift of grace” even while living in the midst of great grief, and Nellie doubted the change had come because she’d pulled herself up by her own bootstraps. No, Mamma’s joy came from an intangible source beyond anything Nellie had known.

  “Nellie Mae,” Dat said before leaving to return to his woodshop. “The new tables and chairs will be ready later this afternoon. Maybe I could bring them over after you close?”

  “That’d be ever so nice.”

  “Just in time, too.” He said it with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Ain’t that the truth!”

  Nellie stepped outdoors as Martha got the children bundled up and settled into the carriage with some help from Dat. Emma carried on with extra kisses for her Mammi and a wave for Nellie Mae.

  Turning her attention back to the bakery shop as they drove away, Nellie was anxious to see how many customers might come yet today.

  Did I bake enough?

  She wasn’t sure, really, though they’d soon know. She looked forward to seeing firsthand how inviting her father’s tables and chairs made their corner of the shop. She hoped the women who frequented Nellie’s Simple Sweets—both the new customers and the regulars—might stay longer to visit . . . and open their pocketbooks and spend more while doing so.

  Pleased as pie, she waited for Mamma to return from her good-byes, thinking they might resume their previous discussion, if time allowed.

  She considered Mamma’s words and her invitation to church. She knew what her parents longed for. Except for Ephram and Maryann, she was supposedly the last to come to her senses. But all the confusion of folk splitting off from the old church and becoming even more broad-minded, getting cars—like James and Martha were talking of doing— made Nellie even more sure that the Old Ways were best . . . at least for her and Caleb.

  Yet she couldn’t dismiss her curiosity about the transformation in Mamma’s life, especially. Much like Suzy herself changed, she thought suddenly.

  One thing she would never understand, however, was the desire to own or drive a car. What was James thinking? Nellie shook her head. She’d ridden in automobiles enough to know she preferred to leave the driving to the Mennonite folk her father occasionally hired. Besides, Nellie saw no need to go so fast or so far. Life wasn’t meant to be lived that way, was it?

  CHAPTER 19

  Nellie made a complete circle in the bakery shop, admiring the way the small alcove and window across from the display counter made for a cheery spot on a sunny day, thanks to Dat’s beautifully made tables and chairs. With twelve places for customers to sit and nibble, the shop was the perfect spot to visit with friends.

  For now, Nellie Mae was the only one who sat there, grateful her father had taken the time and care to do this thoughtful thing for her and her customers. On a slow day, Nellie and Mamma could even sit down themselves to relax, enjoying a cup of cocoa and a bite of cookie, perhaps. Of course, a day like today kept both of them on their feet.

  Nellie daydreamed of Caleb during the short lulls in business. She envisioned him coming up the lane on foot or in his fine black open buggy, just to see her. On different terms . . . in a different time, he might have done so. What a lovely thing it would be if the schism had never happened, if the People had continued in the Old Ways as they had for more than three hundred years. She could scarcely imagine what it might be like for Caleb to court her as he wished, even though that, too, would have been in secret, as was their custom.

  But now theirs was a desperate sort of secrecy, their courtship completely forbidden. Was that what made them all the more determined to be together? She hoped that wasn’t the case, for if true, it seemed to diminish their love.

  Nellie dismissed the idea. They loved each other deeply. ometimes, if she were to admit it, she even loved Caleb fiercely. She would do almost anything to be with him. She knew her own heart, which beat with Caleb’s name. Surely his did the same for her.

  Just then, the small bell on the door jingled loudly. She jumped, startled. Turning, she was surprised to see Nan jostling inside, all wrapped up in one of Mamma’s heavy woolen shawls, her own black outer bonnet on her head.

  “Hullo, Nellie . . . I hope I’m not intruding.” Nan looked around. “You alone?”

  “Jah.”

  “Well, do ya mind?” She sat down. “I . . . wanted to see the chairs. Dat said they were all set in place.” Nan ran her hands over the backs of the finely sanded oak chairs, her face solemn as could be.

  “Sit for a while.”

  Nan looked somewhat relieved.

  They were quiet for a time, relishing the silence. Then Nan said, “I’m takin’ a big step come midsummer. I wanted you to know directly from me.”

  “What’s that?” She couldn’t imagine what her sister wanted to say.

  “I’m goin’ to take baptism instruction—to join the new church.”

  “Preacher Manny’s?”

  Nan nodded and smiled. “Jah, the Lord God’s helping me set aside any longing for modern conveniences. I’ve been thinking ’bout it for a while now and I believe He’s calling me to do this.”

  Nellie felt surprise at the earnest tone in Nan’s voice; she’d never known her to be so serious about such matters.

  “Won’t ya think on it, too, sister?”

  For so long she’d yearned for this sort of sharing . . . this special closeness with another sister—the way she and Suzy had always been together. “Does anyone else know?”

  Nan blinked back tears as she slowly shook her head. “I thought of tellin’ Rhoda first, but ’tween you and me, I fear we’re losing her to the world. I can only pray that our oldest sister does not fall prey to the fancy.”

  “She must find her own way—”

  Nan looked pained. “No, I don’t believe that. Not at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that Rhoda is following her own will, desiring her own way. Left to her plans, she could fall into sin. I’m ever so worried.” Moving her hand over the tabletop, Nan sighed. “I won’t be joinin’ church to go through the motions, Nellie Mae.”

  Did Nan have more to tell? Had she perhaps found herself a new beau already? Joining church usually signaled a wedding.

  “I’ve found what Mamma has . . . and Dat . . . in the Lord Jesus.”

  Nan reached for her hand across the table, palm up. “Ach, I haven’t been a very caring sister, Nellie Mae. I’ll be changin’ all of that, believe me. You’ll not be grieving alone anymore.”

  “Oh, but . . .” Now it was she who could not keep back the tears.

  “I love you, Nellie.”

  Nellie nodded, accepting her dear sister’s hand. “And I love you, too.” She looked at their clasped hands. “There is something I promised to tell you. Something your closest friend asked me yesterday to share with you.”

  “Rebekah?”

  “She has made an equally difficult decision. Well . . .” She paused. “Possibly more so.”

  Nan frowned, her radiant expression suddenly clouded.

  “Is Rebekah all right?”

  “I’m thinking so. She asked if she could ride along with you, Dat, Mamma . . . and Rhoda to church next Sunday.”

  Nan clapped her hands, leaned back, and made a little whooping sound before quickly composing herself. “Ach, what news! Did ya tell her she could?”

  “Well, there wasn’t much to say, really. She seemed to have pondered it at length and said she’d be out on the road on foot, and if Dat wouldn’t mind, he could stop and pick her up.”

  Nan covered her mouth. “Oh . . . she’ll be in such straits with her fath
er, jah?”

  “I brought that up, but Rebekah was unwavering.” She paused. Such a good time she was having here with Nan as dusk settled in around them. “You can be proud, even thankful, to have such a strong-willed friend, I daresay.”

  “And you’re not equally strong willed, Nellie?” Nan’s comment threw her off guard. “Surely you’re still seein’ Caleb, despite his father’s—”

  “Nan . . . you silly, we’re talking ’bout Rebekah—of her interest in your church, nothin’ more.”

  Nan giggled, and with that Nellie rose, torn between what she wanted to revel in and knowing what she must do to protect her beloved.

  A single glance at Nan, still sitting, led Nellie to wonder if she ought to have shared openly with this sister who seemingly desired to make amends. Jah, I should have. But the moment had passed, so she slipped into her coat and bid Nan good-bye, pulling the door shut behind her.

  The lights strung high over the car lot nearly blinded Rhoda as she stepped out of Mrs. Kraybill’s gray-and-white Buick Electra, with its white sidewall tires. She’d seen the term “loaded” and wondered if Mrs. Kraybill’s comfortable car would be considered that.

  She’d fantasized about what she wanted in a car, and this evening she might just lay eyes on it. Mrs. Kraybill, looking pert in her rimless glasses and woolen hat and tweed coat, had asked on the drive there what price range she’d had in mind. Rhoda told her precisely what she could afford. “No higher, and I’d rather spend less.”

  Glancing around now, she admired the neat rows of cars, looking for all the world like some kind of fancy crop. The lot was light and bright and thankfully quite devoid of customers. Someone had plowed the area so people could easily walk without slipping in the snow.

  Soon, a man dressed in a long gray overcoat and matching hat walked across the lot to them and politely extended his hand. “Good evening, ladies. I’m Guy Hagel,” he greeted them. “Any chance I can help you find the car of your dreams? I’d like to make tonight worth your trip.”

  Rhoda immediately liked him. Mr. Hagel was both well-mannered and considerate, walking clear around the lot with them, pointing out the features of each car and offering to let them take first one and then another “for a spin,” in spite of the snowy streets.

  “Now, here’s something really special—a sixty-one Chrysler New Yorker in a striking dubonnet red color. Took it as a trade-in just last week.” He waved his hand toward a bright wine-colored two-door with rear fins—a mite too flashy for Rhoda’s tastes.

  Rhoda spoke up. “Thanks for your help, but we’re just seein’ what’s here.” At this Mr. Hagel looked dubious, and with a bit of embarrassment she realized she did not appear to be someone who would be in the market for a car.

  “If you don’t mind, my friend and I will keep looking for a while,” Mrs. Kraybill added, relieving the awkward moment. “We’ll certainly let you know if we need any assistance.”

  They continued to wander rows of Buicks of all kinds— convertibles, Rivieras, LeSabres . . . and even several Electras like Mrs. Kraybill’s. Black and white seemed to be quite popular, as were a soft gray, a pale blue, a tan, and a sort of turquoise green. But it was not so much the color that appealed to Rhoda as the entire package.

  They took their time, with Mr. Hagel allowing them to sit in the cold interiors of three different cars, all as nice as could be. So nice, in fact, the cars were beginning to run together in Rhoda’s memory. How would she ever narrow it down to one?

  “We’d best be headin’ home,” she said quietly while Mrs.Kraybill sat in the driver’s seat of an especially eye-catching coupe, admiring its plush upholstery and chrome-accented dashboard.

  By then Mr. Hagel had excused himself to meet another customer, and Rhoda could hear him repeating much the same words he’d said to them earlier.

  “Well, what do you think?” asked Mrs. Kraybill, her black-gloved hands still on the steering wheel. “Do you have your eye on one in particular?”

  “They’re all so perty, ain’t?”

  Mrs. Kraybill smiled. “They truly are . . . especially those fetching machines.” She laughed heartily, pointing to the convertibles next to them.

  “Jah.”

  “It’s getting too cold to be out, dear. Shall we call it a night?”

  Rhoda agreed, torn between wanting a car right away and wanting to be able to actually drive it. “Could we come back tomorrow in the daylight?”

  Mrs. Kraybill agreed that was a good idea, and she offered to teach Rhoda how to drive. “However, you’ll need a learner’s permit first.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll take you to get one soon, if you like. First you’ll need to study for the written test. I can pick up a copy of the Pennsylvania Driver’s Manual the next time I’m in town.”

  Though her mind was now reeling with the decision ahead and all she had to learn, Rhoda was determined to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. To think of being forever finished with horses and buggies!

  More than an hour later, Rhoda bowed her head while Dat offered a tedious prayer, followed by an equally lengthy Scripture reading. Tonight the passage was from the first chapter of 1 Peter. Dat read a verse about souls being purified by obedience several times . . . and something about a pure heart, too. She didn’t feel he was singling anyone out in doing so, but he was clearly urging their attention on that particular verse.

  He’d be furious if he knew where I went tonight.

  She wanted to make sure her father—both of her parents, really—was unaware of her car purchase till it was too late for him to intervene. Not like some of her older brothers who actually sought out Dat’s advice beforehand. Nan had reported that their own brother James was interested in buying a car, too. She assumed it wouldn’t be long before the oldest boys—Thomas and Jeremiah—would also have one each. Or maybe they’d share one between them. They seemed to like to do that sort of thing, living as they did in a large farmhouse, split in half by a center hallway. One side for Thomas and his wife and children, the other side for Jeremiah and his.

  After evening Bible reading and prayers were finished, Rhoda waited around, hoping to talk to Mamma. When the time came, she said, “I’d like to move into James’s old bedroom.”

  Immediately it was apparent Mamma wasn’t keen on the idea, shaking her head right quick. “Nee.” She frowned. “There’s no need, Rhoda. You and Nan are just fine together in your present room.”

  Well, that was that. No one in her right mind would think of arguing with Mamma. Rhoda knew she was stuck, exactly as she feared she might be if she didn’t hurry and set her plan in motion to purchase a car—and net a fine husband.

  More than anything, Nellie longed to write a letter to Caleb, but that was out of the question. She sat on her bed, several pillows supporting her back, and tapped her pen on the stationery, frustrated that Caleb could send her a letter, but she could never reply. Their situation felt as lopsided as all get-out, and she pushed away her resentment toward David Yoder.

  Puh, my future father-in-law!

  Wondering if Caleb might also be thinking of her now, she leaned against the headboard, considering their love. Could it survive the expected separation?

  The Lord willing, Nellie surprisingly found herself thinking. Suzy had often written that in her diary, following her conversion.

  Would it take God’s intervention for them to marry? She really didn’t want to think that way. Such thoughts of divine miracles and interventions were appealing, but they went against the teachings of the Old Ways she and Caleb believed.

  Writing the date, Monday, January 21, Nellie sighed. If she couldn’t write her thoughts to Caleb, then what about a nice long letter to Cousin Treva? They’d become good pen pals over the past year, occasionally enjoying personal letters while still sending much of their news in circle letters. Tonight, though, Nellie sought a more personal way to express herself.

  Dear Cousin Treva,

  Hello from Hon
ey Brook on a very chilly day. Is it equally cold there, I wonder?

  Well, my family traveled to your neck of the woods yesterday afternoon and—can you believe it—I missed the trip! I got to holding Ephram and Maryann’s pretty new baby, Sadie, and it was like time just stopped.

  Honestly, have you ever experienced such a thing? I did not want to give that baby back, nohow.

  I felt like such a silly, not getting home in time to go with my family to Bird-in-Hand, especially when I might’ve been able to visit you, as well as Dawdi and Mammi Fisher. Such a Dummkopp I am!

  I’m telling on myself, jah? Anyway, I’m hoping you’ll come for a visit when things warm up a bit— maybe the next Sister’s Day, if you’re able. If you want to, you and one or more of your sisters could spend the night in the spare bedroom next to mine. We have two more guest bedrooms downstairs, off the front room . . .and, of course, the Dawdi Haus. That remains empty, even though I know Dat would like to persuade Dawdi and Mammi Fisher to reconsider moving here.

  Thinking of that, lots of changes have happened in our district. Nearly half of the Old Order folk have now gone to the New Order or the Beachys. How many are still in the old church there? Do you see Dawdi and Mammi Fisher at Preaching service?

  Well, write when you can. I always enjoy hearing from you.

  Hope the new year is off to a good start.

  Your cousin and friend,

  Nellie Mae Fisher

  Personal letter though it was, she didn’t think of writing even a hint about her brother James’s fascination with cars— no need to hand that off to the rumor mill. Such embarrassing news flew through the community mighty fast.

  Much like the never-ending guessing about who’s pair-ing up.