Secret, The (19 page)
When she dreamed, both Devon and her mom were talking together, and she woke with a start, afraid the dream had some predictive meaning.
No . . .
She groaned and reached to move Moe closer, until once again she fell asleep.
Lettie felt the sway of the train, the near-mesmerizing rhythm of the
clackety-clack
of wheels on the rails. She’d endured the stares of Englischers and the strong smell of cigarette smoke in Pittsburg upon disembarking. Thankfully, she had little trouble locating her second train. The connection in Pittsburg had been more nerve-racking than her boarding in Lancaster—so many more passengers. She’d found herself breathing a prayer when her fear began to rise, and somehow, she’d kept her wits.
Settling deeper into her coach seat, she exhaled, glad for the empty spot beside her on the train to Alliance, Ohio. Her head bobbed repeatedly until she eventually yielded to the sandpaper feel beneath her eyelids and fell asleep at last.
While she slept, she dreamed happily of bygone days—of gripping the softball bat in her youthful hands . . . swinging it hard and hearing the
crack
as the ball connected with the wood. That ball had sailed high over the girls’ outhouse, sending the boys jumping the fence. They were late for the clanging bell at the end of recess.
In her dream, she was a tomboy once again, just as she’d been right into her early teens. But that had changed after Samuel Graber’s twinkling hazel eyes met hers during eighth grade, before graduation their final year at the Amish schoolhouse. Oh, how her heart had ached with longing when he looked her way and smiled across the one-room school. Samuel . . . her first true love.
When Lettie awakened, the train was pulling into the Alliance station, and she realized yet again just what she’d done to get this far. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was 1:30 am. Most likely Judah would be up, spending time in the barn with his newborn lambs, a chore he hadn’t asked her to share of late. She’d had her own responsibilities indoors.
Responsibilities I’ve left behind . . .
Her guilty conscience gnawed at her as she reached for her book and woolen shawl, gathering up the things she’d brought on board. All too soon, a time of reckoning would come.
M
amma won’t be back anytime soon,”
Dat kept saying in the dream. Over and over the phrase was repeated till Grace awakened with a start. It was well after midnight, and she rose and reached for her robe at the foot of her bed.
Creeping down the steps and into the kitchen, she noticed the door was ajar, and peering out, she saw that the barn door was open, as well. Still feeling drowsy, she decided to take a look. In the past, they’d had lambs stolen—not by anyone among the People, she was sure, but newborn lambs had gone missing all the same.
Moving slowly across the backyard, she took in the night sky. Was Mamma looking at the moon and the sweep of stars tonight, too? Somewhere . . . wherever she’d run off to?
More than likely at this hour, her mother was fast asleep, and Grace wished she, too, might fall into a peaceful slumber. But a bitter root had taken hold in her, planted when Mamma did not turn to acknowledge her out on the road. She knew enough not to nurture it, to allow the memory to entangle her heart. Even so, the knowing and the doing were two different things.
Surprised to hear her father’s voice, tentative and low, coming from the barn, she went in search of him and caught her breath when she spotted his dim silhouette, there in the faint light of the moon. He stood near Willow, his hand stroking her long neck. “Things are in a terrible mess, old girl,” he confessed.
“ ’Tis my fault . . . and there’s no goin’ back.”
Grace had never known her father to express himself so openly to anyone. Yet there he was near beautiful Willow, pouring out his regret.
She stepped back against the gate. Would there be no end to her family’s pain?
Hours later, Grace awakened in her bed, still mulling over what she’d witnessed in the barn. She wished the dawn away as she lay stretching in her bed—she possessed little courage for what was sure to be a difficult day ahead, what with two of Mamma’s older sisters coming. Lavina and younger sister Mary Beth were expected to arrive after breakfast. They would surely wonder why everyone in the house looked to be in mourning. She was fearful, too, of their reaction—what would they think? Would Mamma be harshly judged?
In her mistiness, Grace dozed off again. When the alarm awakened her, she sat up and reached for the Good Book, turning to the Psalms. Mamma had always loved reading them.
“Scripture set to poetry,”
she liked to say.
Grace finished and marked her place, pondering her upcoming talk with Adam. She wondered what he would advise about her engagement to Henry during such a time as this. Of course, by tomorrow the grapevine might already be rippling with the news of Mamma . . . so it wouldn’t surprise her if it was Henry who decided to postpone their wedding, or even cut off their engagement. She truly hoped he would see fit to stand by her for as long as it took.
She leaned up on her elbows and peered into the dresser mirror. With Mamma gone, it somehow seemed all right to sit and stare at herself. So much had altered so quickly. She thought again of Dat speaking to Willow, of all peculiar things.
When Willow dies, many secrets will go with her,
she thought as she got out of bed to brush her hair. She moved to the window, brush in hand, and raised up the blind. Looking out, she remembered the thrill of seeing Henry’s light swirling on the windowpane just the night before last. Setting her brush on the windowsill, she leaned down and opened the window, then knelt there. Deeply, she breathed in the clean morning air. The faint scent of fresh beeswax wafted downwind from their beekeeping neighbors across the road.
She stayed on her knees till they ached. What had kept Mamma from saying she was leaving that night, here in the room where Grace had been so eager to listen? Instead, Mamma had written a puzzling letter . . . one that revealed so little.
She picked up her brush and finished counting the strokes, watching for a glimpse of a hummingbird just outside the window.
Judah moved slowly among his grazing sheep and the older lambs. Voices came from the road, and he looked to see two of Lettie’s sisters—Mary Beth and Lavina—coming this way from the Riehls’ place. He surmised their driver had dropped them off after picking up Andy, who’d planned to visit an ailing brother at Lancaster General Hospital.
Hearing the women’s animated chatter, Judah was certain they knew nothing of Lettie’s sudden and mysterious departure. He could only imagine how quickly their lightheartedness might turn to shock, and he wished he might soften the wallop they were soon to receive. It made not a lick of sense, Lettie’s going away. Especially not with all the new lambs coming on.
Lettie’s sisters continued their prattle as they made the turn toward the driveway. They waved to Adam and Joe, hauling feed, and his sons waved back, glancing at each other as if concerned for what their mother’s sisters were about to discover.
Watching the women make their way toward the house, Judah pushed his hands into his pockets. Steeling his resolve, he hurried across the pasture to the side yard.
From the kitchen window, Grace saw her aunts headed toward the door. She had been watching for them and was surprised to see Dat running across the walk, calling to her aunts. She heard him ask if he might speak with them “before you’s head inside.”
She was tempted to stay right there, but she went upstairs to overhear her father’s explanation through the open hallway window.
Dat’s tone was ever so solemn as he relayed the news, sparing them all but the most pertinent details. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell ya,” he said finally.
“Well, what the world’s wrong with Lettie?”
Aendi
Lavina whimpered softly.
“Is she just wore out, maybe?” asked Mary Beth.
“You’ll go and find her, won’t ya, Judah?” Lavina asked, sounding all out of sorts.
Grace had wondered that, too, and waited for Dat to continue, but it was Mary Beth who spoke next. “Our Lettie’s just upset, ain’t so? What else could it be?”
“Hard to know,” Dat replied, ending the conversation with an awkward thanks for their help today. He turned and headed for the barn, leaving Mamma’s sisters to stand on the stoop, blowing their noses and drying their eyes.
They were whispering to each other now. “You don’t think Lettie’s first beau has surfaced, do ya?” Lavina said—at least that’s what Grace thought she heard.
What a wretched thing to say!
She refused to think less than respectfully of Mamma. Surely no one threatened her devotion to Dat!
When she heard the kitchen door open, Grace hurried downstairs to meet them, plastering on a smile.
Aunt Mary Beth had on her rattiest old brown dress and apron, but her hair looked nice and clean, pulled back in the usual tight hair bun, her Kapp strings tied loosely in back. Aunt Lavina’s dark brown hair was already coming free of its bun, stray strands falling on the sides as though she’d been in a hurry to put it up. She wore a maroon dress and faded black apron, her smile too broad for the news she’d just received.
“Denki for comin’ to help redd up,” Grace said, suddenly conscious of the lump that threatened her voice.
“Oh, we’re mighty glad to . . . ’specially now.” Mary Beth’s eyes locked with Grace’s. “Let’s get started upstairs.”
Grace nodded. “Mammi Adah will be over in short order; she’ll lend a hand. So will Mandy.”
“Jah,
gut . . .
the more, the merrier,” said Lavina. She caught herself and said, “Ach, sorry.”
Struggling to remain composed, Grace called for Mandy, who promptly came over from the other side of the house. “Time to fill the buckets with lots of warm, soapy water. We’ve got plenty of scrubbin’ to do,” she said as the aunts hugged and kissed Mandy more fondly than Grace had ever remembered.
Mandy’s chin quivered when Mary Beth put her arm around her. “Now, honey-girl, you just remember how much your mamma loves you. Always has.”
“And always will,” added Lavina.
Mandy nodded tearfully. But her eyes asked the question they all were thinking:
Then why would she leave?
Lavina took some old rags out of the cupboard. “We’ve got work to do.”
Grace reached a hand to Mandy. “Mamma always said to work hard when things are troubling, ain’t so?”
Mandy nodded and followed dutifully, dabbing at her nose with a hankie. And at that moment, Grace felt as if she’d wholly taken over her mother’s place, uncomfortable though it was.
