Secret, The (22 page)

She crumpled up the stationery. This was not at all the right way to do things. She must simply wait and tell Judah to his face.

When I can help him fully understand, I will.

Needing something to quench his thirst, Judah walked toward the house early Saturday evening. He was halfway across the backyard when he saw the bench wagon coming. Deacon Amos rode high at the reins but did not remove his hat, nor did he wave, as was his usual way. Today his face was austere as he climbed down and tied up his horse.

Judah reached back and massaged his neck, the burning pain growing more intense each hour. Seeing Amos’s grandsons jump down and start the process of unloading the benches, he pushed down his hat and strode forward.

The deacon’s bringing the bench wagon was no doubt intentional.
We’ll have us a very different Lord’s Day
, Judah thought, picking up one end of a long bench, which would also serve tomorrow as a tabletop. Adah, Grace, and Mandy had the food all lined up, Grace had told him, thanks to some help from Marian Riehl. He’d seen their kindly neighbor arrive earlier to visit with Adah and Jakob.
Could be she’s gotten word
about Lettie.

Just now the air was stiff with undeclared inquiry. He was relieved when Adam and Joe came running out of the barn and pitched in to help. Soon, Grace and Mandy stepped outside, as well, wiping their hands on their aprons, having just finished up in the kitchen.

No one had yet spoken to him directly about the calamity that had befallen his household, but he sensed it coming now as Deacon Amos caught his eye, a severe frown on his sunburned face.

“After a bit, it’d be best if we moseyed out behind the barn,” Amos said in a low voice.

He nodded. His wife had brought disgrace to the Byler name, and he’d have no choice but to own up to his own grim part in the quarrel. Surely that’s all her departure was—Lettie’s response to their unfinished argument. So many years of unspoken tension. She had done strange things before—hiding letters that came for her alone, for one.

She had behaved curiously about attending the barn raising, too, he recalled. Someone—he didn’t know who—had put a bug in her ear about taking food down there. That much he knew. When she’d first talked about wanting to go, she hadn’t included Grace in the plans. It had been Judah who had insisted if she was going that far, she ought not be alone with Martin Puckett. It just didn’t look right. Not that he didn’t trust Lettie—of course he did. It was the appearance of evil that weighed on him . . . so he’d sent Grace out the door with her.

Now, though, it was clear Lettie shouldn’t have gone at all. She’d returned moody and agitated, unable to lie still for a moment’s rest. Unable, it seemed, to even remain at home.
Where she belongs.

He set down his end of the heavy bench in the front room and followed meekly as Amos made his way out the door and down the front porch steps. Amos walked briskly around the side yard, then waited for him to catch up as they neared the barn.

“Do you know where Lettie is?” Amos had never been one to hem or haw. His eyes held Judah’s, unrelenting.

“No.”

“She’s run off, then?”

“Might be.”

“And you have no idea where to?”

Judah shook his head.

“All right, then . . . I must bring up the rumors that’re flyin’.”

Puzzled, he braced himself.

“One of the local drivers, Martin Puckett, was last seen in Lancaster with your missus in the early mornin’ hours this past Thursday. He also seems to have disappeared.”

This was the first Judah had heard such a thing.

“Why do ya think Martin would accompany your wife somewhere, Judah?” Amos’s slightly sunken gray eyes looked increasingly weary as he spoke, as if he hadn’t slept much.

Truth was, Martin was one of the men Lettie felt most comfortable with driving her—Judah felt the same way. In his opinion, Martin was a fine man. And his Lettie had never given him any reason to doubt her fidelity.

“You’d have to ask Martin ’bout this,” Judah replied.

Amos glared. “You ain’t much help.”

“Well, I know nothing ’bout it.”

“Surely you realize that Lettie’s rebellion is an outward show of disobedience to you, her husband, as well as to her parents, who raised her to be a God-fearing woman. We’ll investigate this further.” Amos turned away.

Judah matched the deacon’s pace. He noticed Andy Riehl’s horses out grazing, several of them standing head to tail.

“The ministerial brethren will be lookin’ to me for a report of our discussion,” Amos added.

“Do as you must,” Judah said, uncertain why Amos seemed bent on trying to put the fear of God in him.

“Preacher Smucker will seek you out tomorrow, followin’ the common meal.”

Nodding, Judah said that was just fine. In all truth, he’d much prefer talking things over with Josiah, the younger of their two preachers, if he was to own up to his fault in the matter. No sense putting off that confession. Some ministers in other districts could be downright domineering, even specifying how often the marital bed was to be used for the purpose of procreation—but neither of their preachers was that outspoken. Still, Judah knew he had some personal fess-ing up to do.

chapter
twenty

G
race stood beside her grandparents’ front room window, watching two squirrels give chase. They pattered across the front walk, up the steps, and over to the porch swing. Anymore, each time she looked at the swing, she thought of Mamma.

“What’s on your mind?” her grandmother asked from her chair behind Grace.

Turning, she went to sit next to Mammi Adah, watching the tatting hook fairly fly across the border of a pretty yellow hankie. Her own birthday handkerchief had not been used at all since the wonderful supper Mamma had cooked. Grace had nearly forgotten about it and her other gifts. Nearly everything had stopped when her mother had gone away.

“I heard some awful things today,” Grace whispered.

A softness came over her grandmother’s wrinkled face. “I think I might’ve heard some of that, too.”

“Well, it ain’t true . . . is it? Mamma’d never do such a thing.” Something powerful rose up in Grace. “I’m goin’ to go and talk to Dat’s cousins, the Stoltzfuses, down south.”

“Ach, why?”

“Because surely one of them knows who all was there for the March barn raising.”

Mammi’s face fell.

“There was a woman I’d never seen before.”

“Why, sure . . . a
gut
many folk, I ’spect.” Mammi’s voice sounded strained.

“Jah, but this woman seemed to know Mamma. She went off walkin’ with her.”

Mammi’s tatting hook hung loose in her hand as she took that in for a moment. Then she asked, “Do ya recall what she looked like?”

“Not sure I can describe her, really. Her Kapp was altogether different from any around here, so I figured she was from elsewhere, but I don’t know for sure.” She sighed. “Frankly, I don’t know at all.”

“And that’s why you want to see your father’s cousins?”

Grace wondered why Mammi Adah was so full of questions. “Ach, you should’ve seen Mamma jump up during the noon meal to go to her.”

“So ya think there might be a connection ’tween that day—and the strange woman—and your mother’s leaving?”

“Sure seems like it.” She hadn’t meant to sound wavering, but she hadn’t expected her grandmother to take such a disbelieving tone.

“Oh, Grace, I hate to dampen your spirits, but I just don’t see how that can be.”

“Well, I want to find Mamma.”

“Why, of course you do . . . we
all
do.”

Her grandmother’s petite features and light hair made her look nearly angelic. Or at least like some of the delicate pictures of angels Grace had seen in one of the poetry books Mamma had brought home from Aunt Naomi’s bookshelf. One of the missing books, in fact.

Grace scratched her head through her Kapp. “You must not think it’s a
gut
idea, then?”

“I’m saying we ought to leave your Mamma be” came the surprising response.

“Maybe she just needs rest, jah?” Grace suggested. After all, Mammi Adah should know Mamma best . . . aside from Dat.

“Well, she doesn’t need you or anyone beggin’ her to come home, I daresay.”

Grace was astonished. “So ya think she’ll return on her own?”

“Perhaps . . . when she’s ready.”

Fear pricked her chest, making it suddenly tight . . . so tight Grace thought she might not be able to draw her next breath.

What exactly does Mammi Adah know?

Once Grace left, Adah went straight to the kitchen. She stood at the sink and ran cold water over her wrists, hoping to slow her pulse. Why should Grace, or anyone, go looking for Lettie? Wasn’t there too much to be done here? And wouldn’t Grace risk losing her job at Eli’s?

The coolness soothed her as she leaned against the sink, staring out at the two-story barn beyond the yard. Ever so slowly, she began to feel calmer. No, all the work here was not the biggest argument against Grace’s searching for Lettie. Not at all.

She wiped her hands on a small towel, then patted her face, as well. Calling for Jakob, she made her way upstairs to find her husband reading the Sugarcreek-based paper,
The Budget
. “We might have us a problem,” she said, recounting Grace’s earlier announcement.

“Well, she’s Lettie’s daughter, so there’s no stoppin’ her.” Jakob looked up with worried eyes.

She sat in the chair next to him, wishing Lettie had just stayed put. This was more than a mere complication. “We need to discourage Grace somehow.”

“Jah.” He closed the paper and folded it in half. “No tellin’ what poor Gracie might discover out there.”

She gasped. “So you must think Lettie’s gone back to Ohio?”

“We live life as though it matters, jah?” he said mildly. “And since we believe it does matter . . . then in Lettie’s mind
all
of it must count for something.”

She understood perfectly. And it was precisely what she feared . . . that Lettie was suddenly determined to undo her past. “Do ya think she’s goin’ to make things right, once and for all?”

“What other explanation is there?” he asked, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She hadn’t known until now how much she looked to Jakob for his opinion. How much she depended on his levelheaded point of view . . . his cautious yet deliberate manner. If only she’d paid more attention to his advice on handling Lettie’s teenage whims.

Given the chance, Adah realized she’d go back and do everything differently. Just as she feared Lettie had now decided to do.

Lord, help her!

Grace headed outside to see how many more dozens of hymnals were yet to be unloaded. Deep in thought, she inadvertently brushed against Mandy, not seeing her.

“Ach, Gracie?”

She turned.

“You ain’t ignorin’ me, are ya?” Mandy’s face scrunched up.

“Sorry, sister.” She touched Mandy’s arm. “You all right?”

“Truthfully, I’ve never . . .”

“Aw, Mandy.” She led her around to the front porch. “Let’s sit awhile.”

Mandy chose Mamma’s spot on the porch swing, and Grace sat across from her in the wicker chair, Mammi Adah’s favorite. “Now, tell me, what’s a-matter?”

“What
isn’t
?” Mandy muttered, not looking at her. “Things are even worse than I feared. It’s all over the place that Mamma has run off with another man.”

Grace folded her arms tightly. “You can’t believe everything you hear,” she said. “We have to cling to what we know, Mandy. Remember that.”

“But nearly everyone’s sayin’ it.”

“Well,
we
aren’t. . . . We know it has to be a lie.”

“Then where is she?”

“Time will tell that.” Grace shifted her position, not wanting to reveal her desire to find Mamma and bring her home. “Meanwhile, we’ve a lot to do round here. Adam and Joe could use some help deworming the sheep next week, for one.”

“I hate helpin’ with that.” Mandy got up and sat on the railing. “And the sheep hate it, too.”

Grace subdued a smile. She had seen Dat and Adam—Joe, too—firmly holding the sheep as they fought having the syringe stuck in their mouths. The sheep bore no love for shearing, either. Some of them nearly fainted during the process, and Dat kept water in a bucket close by to revive them if they did.

Always before, Mamma had assisted with the lambing. Every year, as far back as she could remember, Mamma had taken her turn at night, checking to make sure the wee ones were nursing frequently. Despite some rough patches, she and Dat had always made an attempt to demonstrate their silent unity in that and other things—at least up until last month.

It seemed her sister needed continual reminders that life must move ahead with or without Mamma, for as long as that might be.

“There’s lots more work . . . with Mamma absent,” Mandy said glumly.

“Well, and we all have to pull our share,” Grace replied.

“Sure doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Sometimes life just isn’t.”

“You’d think Mamma would send word. Tell us she’s all right.” Mandy’s voice was muffled.

“We’ll just keep praying for her safety. Something’s troubling her, that’s certain.”