The Missing Page 7

  “That’s okay, thanks.” The girl went to the table and picked up the book, leafing through its pages.

  After helping other customers, Grace noticed the young woman was still standing there, perusing the reference book. She walked over to her and asked if there was anything more she could do to help.

  The girl pressed the book against her chest. “Have you ever heard of a dietary approach to curing serious diseases? I’m talking colonic cleansing, juice fasting . . . organic teas?”

  Grace stepped back in surprise. Other than being almost too thin, this young woman didn’t look sick. The girl’s face had good color—although maybe that was due to makeup. “Do you mean just any type of illness or . . . ?”

  “I mean . . . have you heard of this kind of thing?”

  The young woman seemed desperate for reassurance. But most of what Grace knew about home health remedies had come from Mammi Adah, who’d taught her as a young child all about the herbs in their garden.

  Without waiting for an answer, the Englischer continued. “I was told today that there’s a cure found in nature for nearly every disease known to man . . . or woman.” She sighed and glanced quickly at the ceiling. “The medical community views these guidelines as radical, even ridiculous. And yet, in spite of that, there are some very lucky people who are cured of . . .well, serious diseases.”

  Sounds like she wants a magic pill to take to make her well. Grace didn’t dare ask if she was referring to herself. “Feel free to jot down any of the information in the book,” Grace told her.

  The girl reached for a box of green tea with mango, peach, and pineapple. “ ‘Individually wrapped for freshness,’ ” she read, turning the box over to look at the back. And just that quick, tears welled up. “I’m so sorry. . . .”

  Grace suddenly realized this was the young woman she’d seen out on the road, walking and crying, not many days ago.“There is someone you could talk to ’bout this,” she said, wishing she had a tissue to offer. “Our preacher’s wife cured herself of cancer. I know you’d like her quite a lot. Her name’s Sally Smucker.”

  “Really?” The girl raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’d hate to intrude on her.”

  “Believe me, Sally would never feel that way.”

  “She wouldn’t mind fielding a gazillion questions from . . .an outsider, I guess you’d call me?” She stopped a moment. “A fancy Englisher, right?”

  Grace laughed softly. “Ach, sorry . . . earlier I didn’t mean—”

  “No . . . perfectly understandable.”

  “But Sally would truly enjoy sharing her journey with you,”she added. “She’s helped lots of folks. Back some years ago, she tried to get my aunt Naomi to make a drastic change in her eating habits . . . to no avail.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, it was a peculiar diet, I daresay.”

  “It couldn’t be much more peculiar than what I learned today.”

  “This was mostly fresh and raw fruits and vegetables each day. Very little cooked food—and no meat or dairy at all.”

  “That is extreme. And radical diets are hard to stay committed to, or so I’m told.” She looked sad again, working her mouth. “I really don’t know . . .”

  “I’d be happy to take you to meet Sally. Honestly.”

  “And you say she’s presently in remission?” The girl’s pale blue eyes shown with the slightest measure of hope.

  Just then Grace knew for certain that all the questions were about her. She must be terminally ill. . . . Hardly anyone Grace had ever known made drastic changes in their eating habits unless they were dying. “Jah, Sally’s blood tests keep comin’ back just fine every three months or so.”

  A slow smile spread across the girl’s face. “Thanks, uh, miss. I didn’t mean to keep you from your work.” She reached out her slender hand. “I’m Heather Nelson, by the way, and I really appreciate your time.”

  “Grace Byler . . . ever so happy to help.”

  Heather remarked on the warm weather as they walked to the cash register together. Then she mentioned that she was staying in a private tourist home. “And with the kindest hostess—Marian Riehl, on Beechdale Road.” Removing her wallet from her purse, Heather looked up with a smile. “She’s Amish, too.”

  At this, Grace was truly delighted. “Well, for goodness’ sake . . . I wondered if perhaps I hadn’t seen you before. Marian’s our neighbor! And her daughter Becky is my dearest friend.”To think this was the young woman from Virginia both Becky and Mammi Adah had spoken of. Jah, the very one!

  When Heather had paid her bill and was heading for the door, she asked Grace again about visiting Sally Smucker. “If you’re sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  “Absolutely not.” She followed her outside before she realized what she’d done. “Let’s get you on the road to health right quick.”

  Heather’s eyes pierced her own.

  Touching her arm, Grace said, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “And . . . I’d really appreciate it if you kept what I told you to yourself.”

  “Goes without sayin’,” Grace assured her.

  “Since you and Becky are good friends, I mean. And the community here is . . . well, pretty close-knit.” Heather’s voice faded away.

  “For sure and for certain.”

  “My father doesn’t even know yet,” Heather added, frowning.

  Grace wondered at this revelation, but it wasn’t her place to question her new acquaintance. “Well, you have my word.” She paused. “And let’s decide soon on a gut time to visit Sally.”

  Heather’s face lit up. She waved and made her way to the dark blue car Grace had seen at the Riehls’, with its sleek silver stripe across the side.

  “I’ll be seein’ ya.” Unable to move away just yet, she watched Heather back out. All the while Grace hoped she might remember all the wonderful-good things Mammi Adah had taught her about healing herbs. And that Sally might be able to help Heather as much as she’d helped so many others.

  There were no accidents where the dear Lord was concerned—Preacher Smucker called it Providence. Help Heather find whatever she needs most, Lord.

  chapter

  nine

  Later on Wednesday afternoon, Adah sat at the worktable with her friend Marian Riehl, glad for help on her piecework for a niece’s hope chest. Between household duties and meals, she liked to slip away to the cozy sewing room. There, she found a bit of tranquility, especially when Jakob went outside to work with Judah and the boys for a while. Truth be known, her husband had become ever so fretful since Lettie’s leaving.

  Fond as she was of him, Adah chafed under his unrelenting worry over Lettie nowadays. His concern weighed her down, made her sorry she’d ever given Grace the address for the Kidron Inn. And while Grace had shared that her mother had indeed stayed at the inn, Adah suspected her granddaughter had learned even more from the phone call than she was telling. Ever since making the call, Grace’s eyes had carried her apprehension. She’d also kept the phone card, so Adah assumed she planned to track her mother down further.

  “You’re off somewhere in a daydream,” Marian said, leaning forward on the table.

  “Oh, s’pose I am. I was thinking of Lettie,” she admitted.

  “We received a letter from her yesterday.”

  Marian arched her eyebrows. “Did you, now?”

  Adah nodded.

  “So . . . is she comin’ home?”

  “Only the Good Lord knows.”

  “Lettie didn’t say in her letter?” Marian stopped her sewing altogether. “Why’d she bother to write, then?”

  Adah had wondered the same. “To let us know she’s all right.” She shook her head slowly, not wanting to say more. Besides, she knew Jakob would caution her not to reveal their family secret to even a dear friend like Marian. The burden weighed heavily after these many years.

  “Well, Lettie’s surely missed around here. I see it in Grace whenever she comes by to visit Becky. She yearns
for her Mamma.” Marian pushed her thimble down onto her finger and picked up her needle again. She ran it through the fabric, pulling it taut.

  “Jah, we all miss Lettie,” replied Adah, her lower lip quivering. “Something awful.”

  Marian reached across the table, her thimble resting on the back of Adah’s hand. “You mustn’t bear this alone, dear friend.”

  Adah swallowed, close to tears. Nodding her head, she managed to say, “You’re ever so kind.”

  They resumed their sewing for a time. Then Marian spoke up again. “What I don’t understand, I guess, is how Lettie can ramble all over the countryside, expectin’ she can come home whenever she pleases.” Her words jelled right there in the air.

  Adah’s breath caught in her throat and she began to cough. So hard, in fact, she had to get up and go downstairs for a drink of water.

  In the kitchen, Jakob looked up from his sunny afternoon spot near the window. “For pity’s sake, love, sounds like you’re chokin’.” From his comfortable chair, he could look out and watch the birds. Sometimes he simply got up and wandered outside to sit on the small back porch for some fresh springtime air, if he wasn’t needed in the barn for an easy chore. These days, Judah was relying on him less often. Though Adah didn’t like to admit it, her husband was in decline.

  She took several sips, patting her chest as the water soothed her throat. “It pains me . . . Lettie didn’t think to write specifically to Judah.” Among other things.

  Inhaling slowly, Jakob agreed. “Seems she’s avoiding her husband.”

  “Which makes me think she might be out there visiting someone. . . .” Here she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Maybe that so-and-so fella, Samuel.”

  “Now, why on earth?”

  “I ask myself the selfsame thing every day.” She looked toward the stairway, and Jakob seemed to understand, giving her a nod.

  “Marian’s upstairs askin’ questions,” she said, carrying her glass with her across the kitchen to the steps.

  “Seems everyone is.”

  She turned around. “Ach, Jakob?”

  He smoothed his uneven bangs. “The bishop, most recently. Judah was on his way back from a meeting with the brethren when Willow injured her leg.”

  A shiver ran through her. “I hope there’s no talk yet of the Bann.”

  “Well, it’s sure to come”—his face was solemn—“if Lettie doesn’t get herself home.”

  Adah turned sadly to head back upstairs to Marian, Jakob’s words echoing in her mind. She couldn’t help but worry the plans they’d set in motion long ago had miserably backfired. And even worse damage might be done if they lost Grace to the world in her search for her mother.

  Grace was relieved when Mandy offered to redd up the supper dishes. In fact, she fairly flew out of the kitchen door, leaving much of the cleanup undone. The past several evenings had been remarkably warm; it was nearly impossible to stay inside. She walked along the road toward the Riehls’, fingering the phone card in her pocket as early evening breezes ruffled the meadow grasses.

  She enjoyed the shimmering twilight—the way it cast its long shadows over the cornfield to the east and beyond. She wondered how Heather was faring this evening. She had sensed the girl was different than most fancy folk who came into Eli’s. Heather had been guarded, even discreet in her curiosity about the Plain-run store, not asking any prying questions. Refreshing, for a change.

  Grace truly hoped a new approach to eating might provide Heather with the help she needed—she certainly seemed up for it. And, as frank and open as the girl had been, Grace wished to talk with her again soon. But first things first. She wanted to visit Becky tonight—tell her Yonnie was going to be working for Dat for a while. Certainly not my idea!

  She hadn’t gone more than halfway down the road when she heard a carriage coming up behind her. Turning, she was surprised to see Henry Stahl and his mother, Susannah, nearing her in their gray enclosed buggy. They were close enough for her to see Henry’s hand go up in a stiff sort of wave. Goodness, but when she and Henry were engaged, he had scarcely greeted her on the road. Momentarily she relived the awkwardness of their last date—the night she broke things off. She felt sorry for him . . . but not at all for herself.

  She continued walking, somewhat hesitantly now, as she watched the horse and carriage turn into the Riehls’ lane. Henry’s mother glanced her way with a cheerful smile. She must not know . . . yet.

  It felt awkward going to see Becky with Henry probably waiting in the buggy for his mother to run in and visit with Marian. Grace had seen Marian earlier, waving a fond goodbye to Mammi Adah as she left the big house. She and Mammi often spent several hours together each week, sewing and whatnot all.

  Grace purposely focused her attention away from the back of the buggy, looking across the road at the old woodshed, overtaken by kudzu vines. Talk amongst some of the young people was that the harmful vine was getting inside the shed and spreading all over the place. Becky’s brothers had actually hacked the giant green leaves and their tendrils down to nothing last year, even though Adam had urged them to report it so the fast-growing vine wouldn’t spread and kill off every plant in sight. “We don’t want it to devour houses,” he’d told her with a smile, but she knew the kudzu was no laughing matter.

  She tugged on her apron as she made the turn into the Riehls’ lane. Slow down, she told herself, trying to pace things so she wouldn’t encounter Henry face-to-face. She could see the horse and carriage parked near the side door. “Can ya believe this?” she whispered to herself.

  But as she continued walking, it turned out that Susannah was the one who stayed in the buggy while Henry carried a box of canning jars to the back door. Ach, but Grace did not want to run into him there on the back stoop!

  Just as she was eyeing the pasture, planning to make an escape if necessary, Henry handed the box to Marian and headed back toward the buggy. “Hullo, Gracie,” he called to her.

  She felt her heart pound, worried what else he might say.“Hullo, Henry.” It was ever so awkward, trying to be polite when she wished he’d just return to the carriage and ride away.

  “Well, have a nice evening.” He tipped his hat.

  “You too.” She hoped she hadn’t seemed too quick to speak. Truth was, she’d endured two uncomfortable moments in the space of a few hours. First Yonnie’s imposition at noon, and now this. She stood there, counting the seconds as Henry and his mother drove around the curve in the lane to head out toward the road.

  It was then she spied Becky across the side yard in the dirt, pulling weeds from soil that had been dampened with a garden hose. It was still light enough to see her expression tighten for a second as Becky looked up. But she didn’t look glum for long, not once Grace waved and smiled. Grace dashed across the lane to her friend and knelt down in the dirt to begin helping her weed the garden patch.

  “Aw, you mustn’t,” Becky protested.

  Grace heard the catch in her voice. “I came over to talk about Yonnie.” She paused, aware of Becky’s long face. “He’s helpin’ my Dat . . . for a time.”

  Becky’s lips formed a nearly straight line as she pressed them together. She didn’t respond, choosing instead to keep her attention on weeding.

  The silence unnerved Grace. “Please, don’t be put out with me. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “I heard he was over there . . . from my brothers.” Becky rubbed her hands together to brush the moist dirt off her fingers.

  “He’s helpin’ with the lambs.”

  “And coaxing Willow back to health, too, I s’pose,” Becky said.

  “Well, he’ll have a time of that.” The beautiful old horse was surely suffering. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if Yonnie’s hurting you by doing this . . . truly I am.”

  “Well . . .” Becky’s light brown eyes were sad. “Remember, he liked you from the very start?”

  “Oh, Becky . . .”

  “No, he talked ’bout you, Grace. Quite a lot,
in fact.”

  She straightened. “This is silly. I came over to tell you I have no interest in Yonnie . . . which is the truth.”

  Becky looked toward the pastureland and her father’s cows. “Seems strange that you’d break up with Henry Stahl . . . then right quick, Yonnie comes a-callin’.”

  “Well, he’s not comin’ to see me. I can tell ya that.”

  “Ach, Gracie . . . the timing’s suspicious, ain’t so?”

  She hadn’t even thought of that. “Guess it might look that­away.”

  Becky shook her head. “Jah, to me and anyone else who saw Henry head home alone after Singing last Sunday night.”

  A stab of gloom hit her between the ribs once again.

  “No, I don’t mean that—not many of the youth saw him by himself.”

  They just stared at each other, not speaking. I despise this, thought Grace.

  Suddenly, Becky squeezed her arm. “Oh, Gracie, I’m bein’ too hard on ya, ain’t? If you say you’re not interested in my beau—I mean, my former beau, then . . .”

  Grace was surprised at the way she described him. “So Yonnie broke things off?”

  Becky’s head dipped, and her chin nearly touched her chest.“Frankly, we never courted. Not really.”

  Grace frowned, unbelieving. “But the two of you looked so happy together.”

  “I did hope it might lead to courtship,” Becky continued.“That’s what hurts so bad.”

  “I wish I could do something to take away your sadness.” She sighed. “And I’m not interested in Yonnie Bontrager. Anyway, with Mamma gone, it doesn’t seem right to be thinkin’ of a beau.”

  Becky brushed away her tears. “Aw . . . Gracie, I’m sorry. I know you’re missin’ your Mamma.”

  Grace’s shoulders tensed, and she swallowed hard, lest she give in to crying, too. She told Becky, “I called an inn, out in Ohio . . . and I must’ve just missed her.”

  “Honestly?” Becky frowned. “Did they say where she was headed?”

  Grace shook her head. “ ’Tween you and me, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over this. . . .” She couldn’t go on.