The River Page 16

  He threw up one hand. “Everyone’s worried. What can I say?”

  She’d never been one to speak up to her father, and she could see that he wasn’t going to budge. He was merely using her fancy life against her, and it seemed cruel . . . and unnecessary. While she’d expected her parents might ask her to reconsider returning to Eden Valley, she hadn’t anticipated this.

  Exasperated, Ruth decided to press in a direction she’d never have dared otherwise. “Frankly, Daed, this may sound disrespectful, but I think I know why you and Tilly never got along.”

  His head jerked up. “What’re ya sayin’?” He looked terribly worried.

  “You’re both awful stubborn.”

  Daed frowned yet looked strangely relieved. “Well, now, I ’spect you’re right.” He lifted his cup to his mouth again.

  She didn’t know what to think. Now was as good a time as any to make her exit, or she might regret opening her mouth again. As Ruth left, she glanced back and saw her father reach for his wooden stool and sit down with a moan. Then, ever so slowly, he raised the thermos cup and took another drink.

  Chapter 28

  Tilly volunteered to check the clothes on the line after the noon meal, well aware that Daed had disappeared just minutes before Mamm put dinner on the table. I’m invading his territory. . . .

  Josie’s presence at the meal was a pleasant memory of former days when she sometimes came to visit. Once Josie graduated from the eighth grade, Tilly’s younger friend was always most happy to help, glad for any excuse to be around.

  The white and gray towels still needed a bit more time to thoroughly dry, Tilly decided. She noticed Uncle Hank waving from the barn’s entrance and wondered what he wanted. Then, of all things, he came rushing over, right up to the clothesline.

  “Don’t mean to stick my nose in, but your grandmother can’t seem to stop talking ’bout your visit the other day,” Hank said, hazel eyes shining. Small pieces of hay were stuck in his brown beard, and his black work coat was frayed at the sleeves.

  “I enjoyed seeing her, too.”

  Uncle Hank stepped back a bit, as if appraising her. “I don’t s’pose you might drop by again, before you leave for home.”

  Tilly liked the sound of it. “Tell her I’ll plan to do that.”

  “All right, then.” He paused, a frown flickering on his brow. “I have to say it’s mighty odd seein’ you and Ruthie so fancy.”

  “It must be quite a shock to everyone.”

  “I know your Mamm misses ya,” he said.

  “It’s good to be back, even for a visit.” Tilly was hesitant to say more.

  “Well, I’d best be returning to work, then.” Hank nodded slightly, face flushing a bit, and turned to go.

  For some odd reason, Tilly thought of Ruth’s old dresses hanging in her room, where she’d seen them yesterday. It was remarkable that Mamm had kept them. In hopes of Ruth’s returning, perhaps? Tilly’s own dresses, of course, were nowhere to be seen. Even if they had still been around, she wouldn’t think of trying to dress Plain to lessen the shock for her Amish relatives. In an attempt to honor her parents, the clothes she’d brought for this visit were skirts and dresses—floral and solid colors. She’d purposely left her blue jeans and polyester slacks at home. Ruthie, on the other hand, had worn jeans this morning, showing off her small waist and straight hips. Is she trying to make a statement that she’s truly English?

  It was hard to know what Ruth was up to, but Mamm certainly hadn’t shown them the door yet. So that was as encouraging a sign as any.

  After Ruth and Josie removed the washing from the line and brought it into the house to be folded, they resumed their work of boxing up the canned goods in the cold cellar—everything from fruit preserves and vegetables to homemade soups.

  Later, Sam came by to take Josie home, and Ruth helped Mamm and Tilly make supper. It was their mother’s idea to cook one of Daed’s favorite meals—sausage loaf and mashed potatoes. They also heated up some canned lima beans and sliced carrots, which Mamm buttered only lightly.

  She must be trying to make up for Daed not being around at dinner, Ruth thought, glancing at Tilly. Poor sister . . . always getting the brunt of Daed’s moods.

  When her father eventually came indoors, he was standoffish and silent, going to sit at the head of the table with his arms folded across his chest. Ruth had always pictured him in that very spot, after she moved to Rockport and sat mostly alone in her little kitchen. At my minuscule table.

  Tilly seemed to wait until the last moment to be seated, first carrying the remaining hot dish over and placing it on the table. When she finally sat down, it was on the right side of Mamm, farthest from Daed. Ruth sat to her father’s left, across from them.

  “Let’s give thanks,” Daed said, bowing his head.

  They joined in the silent grace. Ruth prayed that something good might come of the mealtime encounter.

  After the amen, the stillness was so palpable Ruth felt the need to cough or make a small sound. Anything. The odd situation played out for many minutes, until Mamm asked if anyone wanted something that wasn’t on the table.

  She feels the awkwardness, too, Ruth thought, looking at Tilly, who kept her head down, eating quietly, almost hiding over there beside Mamm. Like always.

  No, on second thought, Tilly looked more defiant than sad. Her sister was put out in a big way.

  Ruth wondered how long the charged atmosphere would continue. Mamm had taught them to be peacemakers, although she couldn’t remember her mother ever making an effort to bring a peaceful resolution between Tilly and Daed. Why not?

  ———

  About the time Mamm got up to bring over the warm apple crisp, Daed spoke for the first time. At last. Tilly had actually wondered if this was a contest to see who’d talk first.

  “Your brother Joseph is droppin’ by to see you later on.” Daed glanced at Tilly, but he didn’t frown or look agitated. “Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Well, he’s taking a chance on coming, because I doubt I’ll be around,” Tilly replied right quick.

  Ruth cast a fleeting look at her.

  “But aren’t you and Ruthie both stayin’ here?” Daed asked. “I thought yous—”

  “If we’re welcome.” Tilly didn’t look at him as she reached for the server to dish up some of Mamm’s delicious dessert.

  “Joseph’s visit has nothin’ to do with where you’re sleeping tonight.” Naturally, Daed had to have the last word, and Tilly let him. Gladly, she thought, anticipating that Joseph’s visit was about his need to vent his opinions with her. She was fully prepared to be lambasted yet again. It was as if she had never left.

  ———

  After supper dishes were washed and put away, Ruth excused herself and slipped on her jacket and left the house. The tension with Tilly there under the same roof as Daed was already becoming a trial, and her sister had just begun her stay. Ruth needed to get out for a while, and this was the ideal time to do something she’d had in mind since arriving.

  There was still some light in the pale sky as she walked up the road to the Amish cemetery. She remembered the peculiar sort of service they’d had for Anna. In lieu of a burial, Daed had given the bishop a newly chiseled headstone that the men had sunk into place while a hymn was spoken. Bishop Isaac had said a prayer of committal, but without speaking the familiar words ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  What had left the greatest impression on Ruth was the enormous group of Plain folk from as far away as Strasburg, Nickel Mines, and Gap—Amish, mostly, and their many Mennonite relatives and neighbors. The blurry assortment of different-colored dresses and cape aprons amongst the womenfolk, representing all different church districts, was still vivid in Ruth’s memory. There were even black head coverings mixed in with a sea of white heart-shaped ones. All the dear people had come together for a single cause: to say farewell to the petite girl who was Lester Lantz’s last child . . . and Tilly’s little shadow. Till we m
eet again.

  Ruth had observed how the young folk from other families seemed less somber on the walk back to Daed’s house for the funeral supper that day. Some of them had managed to laugh, even to tell a few quiet jokes, talking as if life had somehow returned to normal.

  She’d felt nearly sick with heartache that day as she stared at the little white stone marker, Mamm’s gentle hands on her shoulders as if Mamm needed steadying.

  Ruth’s haze of grief had been so deep, it was all she could do to hold herself together. And oh, she’d missed Tilly, who had been home and ill that day, heartsick from the loss of Anna.

  We still miss Anna. Ruth was a little surprised that Tilly had declined coming with her now but had taken Daed’s comment to heart and was waiting for Joseph to arrive at the house. Brave soul that she is.

  Truth be told, Ruth didn’t know why anyone would still hold any animosity about Tilly’s leaving—or Ruth’s following her in the end. Truly, Joseph just needed to drop it and mind his own business. Sure, the Amish carried a deep sense of duty to their community, but Tilly and Ruth had long since left the People.

  She shrugged off the tension in her shoulders, relishing the mild evening accompanied by intermittent breezes, wishing they might blow away the dust of concern from her head. Ruth hoped never to have to endure another challenge like they’d just sat through at supper. What was the matter with Daed anyhow? It was downright ridiculous.

  In the near distance, dark trees clutched the fading sky as she made her way to the small mound—“cemetery hill,” the older folk called it. It’s a hard walk when anyone is feeble or sorrowing, Ruth thought.

  Stepping through a heap of newly fallen leaves, she could see the turnoff to the narrow dirt path where the hearse carriage always led the way. Now that she was there, she wished she hadn’t come alone. But she knew she might not find another opportunity, so, determined, she made her way up the murky knoll.

  It was easy to find Anna’s headstone—the third one in on the left, in the third row. Having memorized the spot, Ruth could have found it in the black of night, but it was only twilight . . . plenty of time to get home before dark. She remembered Daed telling her not to be gone long, or he’d come looking for her. But her father had always been like that, nearly scared to death of the dark, or so it seemed . . . at least where his daughters were concerned.

  At that moment, she heard the crackling of leaves and turned. A rush of adrenaline shot through her. “Who’s there?” Ruth said it loudly to sound confident but startled only herself.

  “Didn’t mean to frighten you,” Will Kauffman called. “I saw you out walkin’.”

  That quickly, her heart jolted, like a motor just set off. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I could ask you that, too, Ruthie.”

  Her heart’s powerful pounding made it so she could not think straight, not for anything. “Arie’s gone back to Ohio. And she won’t be returning here,” Josie had said some hours ago.

  “Mind if I come up there with you?” His voice was urgent.

  “That’s fine,” she said, then stiffened. What am I doing?

  “Odd, ain’t it, running into each other in a cemetery?”

  She couldn’t have agreed more, but she felt so overwhelmed with emotion, she couldn’t come up with a sensible answer. How had he known she was there?

  For what seemed like a lengthy time, they stood side by side, their coat sleeves brushing. She stepped away, not wanting to encourage him.

  “You must be here for little Anna,” he said. “Ain’t so?”

  “I needed to visit this place, jah.” She couldn’t stop thinking about all the time she’d missed with him. Has Will been someone else’s beau while I was gone? The question plagued her even as he stood there.

  “Ruthie, I don’t want to upset ya, but I have to say this—I made a mistake. I threw our love away,” he confessed dolefully. “Trampled it and tossed it to the wind.” Will paused. “And I can’t begin to say how sorry I am. I really am.”

  “You don’t blame me for leaving?” She had to voice this, had to get it out into the air.

  “I might’ve done the same thing.”

  “Honestly?” She turned to him.

  He paused, grew silent. Then he said, “I was the one to blame, Ruthie.”

  Her thoughts were all jumbled up like never before. How she’d once dreamed of a day like this. He must still care. Yes, he did care. And, quite unexpectedly, Ruth was leaning her head against his shoulder. Then, just that quick, she realized what she’d done and straightened. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Truly . . .”

  “It’s all right,” Will said, reaching now for her, gently pulling her into his familiar embrace. “I’m here . . . Ruthie. It’s me, the boy you loved.”

  He held her like she might fall if he didn’t. And while she’d never have expected to be so close to him like this in the daylight, the covering of night seemed to embolden her . . . them.

  Will whispered her name. “Oh, Ruthie, there’s so much I want to make right with you. Will ya let me?”

  She tried with all of her heart to push Arie Schlabach far out of her mind. For this moment, all that seemed to matter was Will’s nearness . . . and what his strong arms were telling her. Forget the past. . . .

  Chapter 29

  Why’d I come here tonight, you ask?” Joseph mocked Tilly as they stood out near the stable. “After all I’ve just told ya, ain’t it obvious?”

  She’d had enough of his accusations. “You’ve made your point,” she said, giving him that much. “I’m going inside now.” She moved in the direction of the house, recalling Mamm’s mournful look as she’d followed Joseph out there earlier.

  “You’ve forgotten that you’re not in the English world here, Tilly,” he called after her. “On the outside, womenfolk do as they please, disregarding their men . . . their sacred covering under Gott.”

  His voice was becoming fierce, like Daed’s could be. And his words were inflexible . . . demanding.

  She kept walking. “I’ve chosen a different way, brother,” she said over her shoulder.

  “But you will have to answer for your actions . . . at the Judgment,” her brother declared. “Remember this day—this very moment, Tilly. Remember it and you will weep later.”

  She turned just then, stopping to wait for him to start reciting something from a recent sermon; he sounded that fired up. But nothing came. Tilly looked at him, his mouth pressed into a firm line, his sharp eyes narrowed to near slits. “Christ Jesus has set me free,” she told Joseph. “And while I didn’t leave here in search of a strong faith, I certainly have found it. I’ve found love and acceptance in my Lord and Savior. And I have a husband and children who share that faith.”

  Joseph stared at her, openmouthed. “Given all of that, don’t you feel the need to repent? Return to the Old Ways—not be so prideful?”

  “Actually, I don’t. I was never a member of the church here. I haven’t broken any vows.”

  “But ya stole Ruthie away.”

  “It was her idea from the start. There was no coercion from me,” she insisted. “None.”

  Slowly he shook his head, eyes holding hers. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Joseph, do you really think you know Ruthie? Do you?” Tilly tried to keep her voice calm, to not let her emotion get the better of her. “You never were one to spend much time with her. When our sister’s heart was breaking, did you ever try to understand her? That’s what loving siblings do.”

  “So you think you’re the perfect sister because she wrote to you, is that it?”

  “Ruthie sought my counsel.”

  Joseph spat on the ground. “And just what constitutes a good counselor?”

  He was egging her on, enjoying the battle too much. Daed’s son.

  “The fact remains, Ruth needed someone and she chose me. She asked for a one-way ticket out of here, and I cared enough to help. End of story.” Tilly turned boldly and kept walking this time,
not interested in hearing more.

  He’d left one thing unsaid and untouched: Joseph hadn’t brought up the topic of their little sister’s drowning. But it was there all the same—she’d seen it in his pained eyes. Surely he blamed her for that, as well.

  Not saying good-bye, she hurried to the house. There, she restrained herself and closed the back door quietly, even though everything within her wanted to slam it.

  The evening star looked like a tiny white spotlight in the darkening sky, and Ruth pointed it out to Will as they wandered down the grassy slope, making their way toward the road.

  “I’d like to walk ya home,” Will said suddenly. “If that’s all right.”

  Ruth didn’t want to say no, not as connected to him as she felt just now. Strangely, it was as if they’d never parted. “My family won’t understand if we’re seen together,” she said, hoping he’d respect her desire for caution.

  “You’re prob’ly right. I’ll walk ya just to the end of the driveway.” He was quiet awhile, then reached for her hand. “It’s time I did better by you, Ruthie . . . did things the right way.”

  “I’m settled in my new life, a long ways from here,” she reminded him.

  He squeezed her hand gently. “What would ya think if we talked about that?”

  Her heart started to leap again, nearly out of control. “What do you mean?” Do I even want to know?

  “Just simply this—I love ya and would like to have the chance to court you properly, Ruthie Lantz, now that I’m back on a straight path here.”

  After all the heartache, this was so much to take in, so fast. “I’m an Englisher now, Will. I go to a community church, have a job, and live in a house with every modern convenience.” Ruth held her breath, their fingers intertwined. “And something else.”

  “Jah?”

  “Can you tell me what’s become of Arie?” It was impossible to forget Will’s happy reaction to seeing the gregarious young woman on Sunday after Preaching.