The River Page 18

  They talked quietly of all the fun they’d had growing up, nearly like close-in-age sisters. And amidst the busyness of emptying trunks and boxes, Tilly realized what a mistake she’d made not keeping in touch with Josie, the most helpful person she’d ever known, and sweet as shoofly pie.

  As they worked, they finally began catching up with each other’s lives. Eager to tell her former best friend about Kris and their twins, Tilly took the lead in removing the barrier her silence had long created.

  “You might be surprised that I’ve taught Jenya and Tavani how to sew a little.” Tilly glanced at her, checking to see if Josie looked surprised, but she didn’t. It was perfectly normal for an Amish mother to put a needle in her tiny daughter’s hand at the twins’ age.

  “Will ya show them how to quilt, too, as they grow older?”

  “It’s still one my favorite pastimes, so I want to, yes.” Tilly laid out some ecru-colored linens on the floor, unsure whether they were family heirlooms. If they were, Mamm would surely have had them downstairs in her sitting room, on display. She decided to set them aside and ask her mother later.

  “My girls like to sing together, too,” Tilly added. “Mostly little worship songs from Sunday school.”

  Josie didn’t comment directly on that. “I wish I could meet your daughters,” she said, her soft blue eyes bright.

  “Wouldn’t that be fun?” Tilly paused. “And your Kinner . . . it’d be nice to get to know them better, too.” With the lingering uncertainty between her and Daed, she had no idea what the future held as to visiting there again . . . but she could hope.

  “Lots of folk meet their one and only well after their teen years,” Mammi Lantz was saying as Tilly settled in for the second visit at her grandmother’s later that afternoon.

  “You must mean Ruthie?” Tilly smiled.

  “Who else?” Mammi tittered and pushed her small reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. “She’s how old now . . . and no prospects for marriage?”

  Tilly pointed out that Ruthie was still fairly young at twenty-three, according to the English world. Tilly herself had been twenty-five when she married Kris, and she knew two young women who were going back to get their master’s degree, after working for several years. They’re still single. While Ruth wasn’t interested in pursuing much more higher education, Tilly didn’t think her sister was at risk of remaining a Maidel. And from what Ruthie had told her privately that afternoon, once Josie left for the day, she wanted to talk things out further with Will before supper. Right about now. Tilly checked her wristwatch.

  “Well, you must’ve finished up early over at your folks’,” Mammi said, glancing at the wall clock. “I would’ve expected ya to still be pokin’ through all the disarray in the attic.”

  “With four of us, counting Mamm, we made fairly short work of it.” Tilly explained how they’d organized everything from old sets of dishes to Anna’s baby clothes. “You should see the sorted piles of things everywhere.”

  “Oh, I remember my own move . . . and hope to never have to go through that again,” Mammi said. “Such a Marasch it was, truly a mess for days on end.”

  They talked about the tendency to accumulate things, sometimes unwittingly. Tilly thought of her mother, who had thus far been unwilling to relinquish Anna’s things.

  “Well, chust remember, havin’ doesn’t bring happiness. Never, ever does,” Mammi said, as if Tilly hadn’t heard it repeated during her childhood. “Investing time in family and friends and fellowship with Gott is what adds up to happiness on this earth, ya know.”

  Tilly agreed. She also knew full well the value of such blessings as compassion and joy, goodness and faith, and peace and patience. And gentleness and cheerfulness, which Tilly observed in Josie. There was just no one as happy as Josie Riehl Lantz. And Tilly could hardly wait to in some way make up for lost time with her sister-in-law and friend.

  “You’re awful quiet, Tilly. Your mind must be somewhere else.” Mammi angled her head questioningly.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Are ya worried ’bout something, my dear?” Tilly’s mother had always said that Mammi had a way of seeing a person’s heart through their eyes.

  “Ruthie’s meeting someone today.” She let it come rushing right out. “Just don’t say anything, all right?”

  “Must be a young fella, then.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have said.”

  “Well, that answer told on ya.” Mammi gave a shrewd grin.

  Tilly sighed. “I’m a bit concerned, actually,” she said, deciding she could trust her grandmother with more. “Ruth’s seeing her former beau today.”

  Mammi’s eyes lit up.

  “I just hope Ruthie’s not impulsive about such an important decision.”

  “Does she want to return to bein’ Amish, maybe?” Mammi asked. “That’s the first thing for her to consider, ain’t so?”

  Tilly couldn’t have said it better herself.

  Will Kauffman insisted he and Ruth talk sensibly and not let their emotions guide their time together as he and Ruth walked toward the big pond between his father’s grazing land and the English neighbor’s cornfield.

  “Are you sure we aren’t being too public about our meeting?” Ruth asked, glancing around them.

  Will shook his head. “No one but the heavenly Father can see us walking out here together.” His tone was gentle.

  But if I can glimpse the road from here, surely we can be seen, she thought, though she kept her opinion to herself.

  “If you’re worried, then we can head up to the woods over yonder.” He pointed in the direction of the dark forest.

  “Well, the pond’s so pretty,” Ruth said, feeling more comfortable in the sunlight.

  “You seem anxious.”

  “Do I?” She smiled at him.

  “Maybe it’ll help if I tell ya that I know of a rental house with electric,” he said, a grin on his handsome face. “What do ya think of that?”

  “That’s thoughtful of you, Will, but electricity alone isn’t enough to make me decide to return.”

  “What do ya mean?” He gave her a confused look. “Help me out here.”

  She felt sorry that she couldn’t be as confident as he was that they had a future together. To come back to Eden Valley was her decision alone, after all. “I really don’t know if I can embrace the Old Ways again.”

  But he wasn’t listening. “We’re young, Ruthie . . . we don’t have to figure everything out this second . . . or this week. We have our whole life together, Lord willing.”

  It was clear he didn’t understand her need to ponder things . . . or that she might feel rushed.

  “If I’m to return, I need to come back for the sake of the Amish way of life, for the church,” she said. Not because Will wants to court me.

  “Ach, let’s stop right now and pray about that, all right?”

  “I have been praying, Will. I even prayed about us the last time, when we went our separate ways.” She paused a moment. “Besides that, we’re starting over as friends, getting reacquainted. We really don’t know each other anymore.”

  But he seemed bent on his agenda. “I’m not talking ’bout praying whether or not we should be together.”

  Well, I am! she thought, glad she hadn’t voiced it. “Go ahead and say a prayer,” she said, trying to show a smidgen of meekness. Goodness, she needed to be more submissive. If she was entertaining the idea of being courted by a young Amishman, she must start putting on the adornment of a gentle and quiet spirit—a priority she’d lost touch with in the English world. Her female friends, even the ones from church, rarely talked about deference to the men in their lives. Only to God. In fact, most of them would have been shocked if they knew she was thinking about giving up her modern life to go back to Plain farmland. But then, they didn’t know of her past affection for Will . . . or his for her.

  So long ago, she thought.

  Will stopped walking and bowed his head. “O L
ord God, I come before You, askin’ for our paths to be made straight, and ever so clear—’specially for Ruthie. We need divine help in finding our way through the obstacles ahead. We know that where Your presence is, we can find peace. And we look to You for all that we need for our body, mind, and spirit. In the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  Ruthie wiped away a tear—she’d never imagined hearing Will pray aloud, especially not in such a reverent, heartfelt manner. It was heartening and a real blessing, too, seeing how much he’d changed. “Denki, that was beautiful.”

  He reached for her hand. “We’ll get through this together, with the Lord’s direction.”

  “If God’s in it,” she reminded him. An echo from the past.

  “When we put Him first, everything will follow. Ain’t so?”

  Ruth studied him at that moment . . . his sincere eyes, the confidence he exhibited in his faith now. But could she trust Will as her beau? His present behavior was certainly light-years better than the way he’d carried on before. God forgave; but could she?

  Thinking about Will’s prayer for her—for them—a covering of peace settled over her. “Jah,” she said. “I do believe the Lord will guide us, whether we’re together . . . or apart.”

  Chapter 32

  After a supper of scalloped ham and boiled potatoes; and a side dish of cabbage, pepper, and carrot salad; Daed read aloud from Second Corinthians, chapter six for family worship. Tilly noticed how quiet, if not contemplative, Ruthie looked over in the corner of the front room near the heater stove.

  Mamm, on the other hand, looked bleary-eyed and ready to call it a day while Daed read verse seventeen, “ ‘Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord.’ ” There was not a speck of expression in his voice.

  I could fall asleep to his monotone, thought Tilly as he read the Bible. It took her back to the days when her older brothers were still living at home, and this room seemed much smaller with all of them present. Joseph and Jacob were always the most relaxed during evening Bible reading and silent prayer, as she remembered. Was it that they were less interested? She also remembered later, when Anna was old enough to calmly sit on Mamm’s lap and fold her little hands while Daed read to them.

  Thinking of her baby sister still took her breath away, as if Tilly were realizing yet again that Anna was gone.

  Later, when they knelt for silent prayer, Tilly asked God what to do about Mamm’s envelope with her name on it. She knew better than to open it without permission, but asking Mamm about it would mean admitting she’d been poking around Anna’s room. Especially embarrassing now that I’m a grown woman. . . . Perhaps she should just go about her business, get the house packed up tomorrow and moved over to the Dawdi Haus, so that she could get herself back to Kris and the girls, where she belonged.

  Then again, maybe this was an opportunity for Tilly not to run from confrontation . . . to open her heart to Mamm again. After all, she might not have another chance.

  Ruthie shuffled across the hall to talk with Tilly after their parents headed for bed later that evening. Both young women had slipped into their robes, but neither felt very sleepy. “Do ya mind if I sit and talk with you for a while?” asked Ruth, seeming almost reticent about asking.

  “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Where’d you go this afternoon?” Ruthie asked as she got settled on the bed.

  “Over to visit Mammi Lantz again.” Tilly shared how Uncle Hank had urged her to stop in there before leaving the area.

  “It’s probably a good thing—she must get very lonely.” Ruth pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’d make a point of seeing her often . . . that is, if I should decide to move back.”

  Tilly swallowed her relief. “So you’re taking it slow and easy.”

  “As much as Will wishes otherwise.” Ruthie smiled demurely. “I need to take one day at a time for now.”

  “It’s always a good idea to let tomorrow worry about itself.”

  Ruthie nodded. “To be honest, when I think about not seeing you and Kris and the twins, I feel sad.”

  “Oh, but you’d still see us,” Tilly was quick to say. “Just not as often.”

  Ruthie sighed. “It wouldn’t be the same, though. And I’d face a lot of challenges.”

  “At first, sure. Like when you left here and got settled in Rockport.” Tilly gave her a small smile as she remembered. “But you haven’t decided to move back. And you know what I think about it, for what it’s worth.”

  “Well, it’s worth ever so much to me. You’ve always helped me make sense of things.” Ruth looked away. “There’s just so much at stake.”

  A silent, unruffled moment passed.

  Then Ruth said, smiling at Tilly, “Can you actually picture my colorful sofa and chair in a farmhouse?”

  Tilly laughed. “No, but even more than that, I can’t picture you living out your life as an Amish wife and mother . . . let alone as a church member.”

  “Sincerely?”

  “You’re entirely settled as an Englisher, my sweet sister. And it’s a good fit, in my opinion.” Tilly appreciated her sister’s humor—Ruthie was on a more even keel than three years ago, for sure. And from the sound of it, she was leaning toward dismissing the idea of returning for Will alone. If, however, Ruthie decided to make the leap back, she would have to embrace the Old Order Amish tradition, leaving the English world behind completely. There really was no middle ground.

  “I’m glad you know what you’re up against, Ruthie.” For sure and for certain!

  The room was pitch-black when Tilly awakened before midnight. She felt terribly restless. It was impossible to sleep, knowing that the wooden box was just a foot or so beneath her head and pillow. It was as if the box demanded her attention.

  After several more attempts to get comfortable, Tilly sat up in bed for a few moments, staring into the darkened room. Then, exasperated, she went to the window and opened the blind, but the moon was shrouded by thick clouds. She had little choice but to get the flashlight, not wanting to light the lantern.

  Is anyone else sleepless?

  She stepped lightly on the back staircase, heading down to get a drink in the kitchen. The house seemed to moan at night, something she remembered from growing up here. Back then, the nighttime sounds had seemingly come from deep within the house and always made her scurry to get back into bed.

  At the creak of a floorboard, she turned and was surprised to see Mamm standing in the opposite doorway. “Heard someone up,” she said in a sleepy voice. “You feelin’ all right, Tilly?”

  “Not really.” She sighed, wondering if now was the best time to talk about the strange letter. She crept to the long wooden bench near the table and sat down, letting the flashlight shine onto the corner cupboard. “I found something in Anna’s room,” she began, then mentioned the lone letter. “I haven’t opened it . . . though I really wanted to. Would you mind telling me about it, maybe?”

  During the silence that ensued, Mamm looked so troubled, even agitated. A hint of suppertime scents still hung in the atmosphere, and Tilly felt almost sorry for putting her mother on the spot.

  “Ach, maybe ’tis best, after all, if ya know this awful hard news now,” Mamm replied quietly, shaking her head. “It might help you understand your Daed better, for one thing.” She sighed. “You were my very first daughter, and I’m ever so grateful for your life. In fact, every day I give thanks to God for you.”

  Tilly listened, as moved by the faltering of her mother’s phrases as the words themselves.

  Her mother continued. “I’ve thought for many years whether to tell you this . . . wanting to spare you the trauma of your earliest beginnings—the memories I carry silently, deep in my heart.” Mamm sighed and came to sit beside her on the bench. “I wanted to take them to my grave, honestly. But then I decided perhaps it was better for you to know . . . at least once I was gone.”

  Tilly shuddered, suddenly fearful of what her request
had set in motion . . . what Mamm was about to reveal.

  “One moonless night, I was violated, daughter. My pain and horror was such that I did not expect a child to come of it . . . certainly not my darling Tilly.” Her mother reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “I scarcely know how either of us survived, dear. It was an alarming time for us—for you and for me. The stress I bore surely affected you, my tiny babe, as you grew protected beneath my heart.”

  Tilly scarcely believed what she was hearing. If her mother hadn’t been right beside her, real and solid, she would have rejected it as an appalling nightmare.

  “Maybe now you’ll understand why Daed has always kept you at arm’s length, an added heartache for you and for me. Jah, I noticed that, believe me, I did . . . I always have. And no one but Daed was ever told of what happened in the woodlot that night. For your own sake, we made a pact to keep it just between us . . . a pact I’ve broken now.” Her mother let go of Tilly’s hand and wiped her eyes.

  “The woodlot?” Tilly managed to ask.

  Mamm nodded her head slowly, sadly. “The man was an outsider passing through the area. Not Amish, for certain.”

  Tilly’s lip quivered. Oh, the pain her poor mother had suffered! And no wonder Daed had warned her and Ruthie against that woodland area, making it seem as though he never trusted them to go anywhere without him. No wonder . . .

  “I can surely see how the torment of that night colored your life, my dear. Daed’s overprotectiveness . . . our concern that ya turn out right. Daed was harder on you than my other children—never could forget what happened. I witnessed it all through your growing-up years.” Mamm was weeping now. “It was wrong of your Daed and me to let that happen. I am sorry, Tilly. So very sorry.”

  Shaken to the core, Tilly sat like a pillar on the bench. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to turn off the flashlight. It was so difficult to breathe, to pull air into her lungs as she and her mother sat there in the now dim kitchen.

  Poor, dear Mamm! Tilly thought, her mother’s words tearing at her heart. To think I never suspected . . .