The Forbidden (2 page)
All four sisters had used this selfsame sleigh over the years, pushing through the snow on foot, in search of spring’s greenery. Even the sight of dull green lichen on a tree trunk gave cause for rejoicing.
Oh, for spring to hurry!
Nellie opened the door to the snug shop and began unloading the sleigh of the day’s inventory of goodies. Immediately, though, she sensed something was amiss, and when she moved behind the counter, there was nineteen-year-old Nan crouched with her best friend, Rebekah Yoder, Caleb’s older sister. They rose, streaks of tears on each girl’s face, and Nan quickly sputtered, “Ach, but it’s just so unfair.”
Confused, Nellie shook her head. “What is?”
“Rebekah’s father . . . well . . .” Nan glanced at her friend, who was clearly as upset as she.
Instantly Nellie knew why the pair had been hiding.
Rebekah dabbed her face with a handkerchief. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she admitted and sighed loudly. “What with the split between the People, my father’s not in favor of certain friendships.”
Certain friendships?
Unable to divulge her own predicament, Nellie simply nodded as Rebekah revealed that her plight was “all the family’s, truly.” She didn’t go on to explain what that meant, but Nellie presumed she was speaking for herself and her brother Caleb, as well as Rebekah’s mother, who until these past few months had often given Nellie’s mamma rides to and from quilting bees.
Nan suddenly reached for Nellie’s hand. “Would it be all right, do ya think, if Rebekah and I met here sometimes to visit?” Nan’s eyes were pleading.
Nellie forced a smile.
Will I get myself in further trouble
with David Yoder, harboring Caleb’s sister?
Nan groaned. “Oh, I don’t understand why this has to be.”
Rebekah’s face was taut with worry. “Me neither.”
“Even the bishop said no one’s to be shunned for followin’ Preacher Manny and the new church,” Nan reminded.
“Well, you don’t know my father, then,” Rebekah said. “He’ll shun if he wants to.”
Nellie’s spirits sank like a fallen cake.
“Come.” Nan reached for Rebekah’s hand and led her toward the door.
Nellie watched them go, not knowing who had her sympathy more—Nan and Rebekah, who were most likely scheming about future ways to visit—or her beau, Caleb.
She turned on the gas-run space heater in the far corner and then removed her coat, scarf, and mittens. Rubbing her hands together, she waited for heat to fill the place. As she did, she walked to the window and stared out at the wintry landscape.
Why didn’t Caleb send word during
Christmas?
“How much longer till he gets his father to see the light?” she blurted into the stillness.
Deep within her, she feared Caleb’s longing for his birthright. One hundred acres of fine farmland was nothing to sneeze at, and his father’s land was ever so important to him. To her, as well, for it would provide their livelihood as Caleb cared for her needs and those of their future children. He had worried something awful about this when they’d met unexpectedly at the millstream—their last time together. She’d heard in his voice then the hunger for his inheritance. Soon she would know where things stood. After all, Caleb was a man of his word. He’d asked her to marry him and she had happily agreed, but that was before his father had demanded they part ways.
Why should David Yoder keep Rebekah and Nan apart,
too?
Having witnessed Rebekah’s misery, she worried that David Yoder had more sway over his son and daughter than she’d first believed. What with Rebekah busy working as a mother’s helper for another Amish family, she had less opportunity to be influenced by the world than Nellie’s sister Rhoda did working at the Kraybills’ fancy house. No, Rebekah would most likely join the old church and stay in the fold, just as Nellie would when the time came. Doing so meant Rebekah would also eventually comply with her father’s wishes and choose a different best friend, which would hurt Nan terribly.
Turning, Nellie took visual inventory of her baked goods—an ample supply of cookies, cakes, pies, and sticky buns. The bleak reality was that there had been few customers willing to brave the temperatures this week. She’d thought of asking Dat if she ought to close up during the coldest weeks as some shops did in Intercourse Village, although many of those were not Amish owned. Yet Nellie had hesitated to ask—her family needed the extra income from the bakery more than ever this year, due to last summer’s drought.
“Right now we look as good as closed,” she murmured, eyeing the road and the lack of customers. It was safe to head to the barn to see how Dat’s new tables and chairs were coming along.
On her way, she noticed Nan and Rebekah now walking side by side toward Beaver Dam Road, Rebekah’s hands gesturing as she talked spiritedly.
Rebekah knows her own mind.
At twenty, she would be marrying before long—if not next fall, then the following year. As far as Nellie knew, Rebekah had no serious beau, though, of course, that didn’t mean anything. Courting was done secretly, and most couples kept mum.
Glancing over her shoulder, she looked back again at Caleb’s sister, graceful and tall even next to willowy Nan. Nellie couldn’t help but wonder what the two girls were cooking up, the way they leaned toward each other. For now, at least, their tears had turned to laughter.
Nellie opened the barn door and headed to the area opposite the stable. Her father had carved out a corner there for his business records and occasional woodworking handiwork.
His back was to her as he appeared to scrutinize one of the chair legs, his nose nearly touching the oak. “Hullo, Dat,” she said quietly so as not to startle him.
He turned quickly. “Nellie Mae?”
“Not many customers yet . . . well, none at all, really. Thought I’d drop in.” She paused, aware of his pleasant smile. “Just curious to have a look-see.” She pointed at the unfinished chair.
“Two tables are done, but, well, I’m a bit behind on the chairs, as you see.” He set the chair down. “You discouraged ’bout the winter months, with so few customers?”
“The pies sit, is all.”
He nodded slightly. “Seems winter’s got sharper teeth this year, jah?”
She couldn’t remember such a long cold snap. “I daresay we’ll be eatin’ more of those baked goods ourselves if . . .” She didn’t finish. No need to say what Dat knew.
It wasn’t merely the cold that kept folks away. Here lately they were seeing fewer of the families who held steadfast to the teachings of her father’s older brother, Bishop Joseph.
Uncle Bishop
Nellie had always called him—a term both of endearment and reverence. Though the bishop himself had instructed the People not to shun one another because of the church rift, the truth of the matter was clear in the dropping number of customers at Nellie’s Simple Sweets. Never had it been so quiet.
Nellie wondered if she’d have to start working for worldly folk, as Rhoda did, upsetting her father even more. Doing so would bring in extra money and help make up the difference for the family in the long run, though it would further jeopardize her chances with Caleb.
“Saw David Yoder’s girl over here,” Dat spoke up.
Nellie nodded, unwilling to say anything.
“Seems odd, ain’t?”
“Jah.” She sensed his meaning.
“We’ll reap what we sow . . . sooner or later.”
She inhaled slowly. “ ’Spect so.”
Dat winced openly. “It’s a new day in many ways, and there’s no tellin’ folk what to do. You and I both know that.”
She said not a word, for she was unsure now what he was referring to. She suspected he might’ve had his ears filled with David Yoder’s disapproval of Preacher Manny’s teaching on “salvation through grace.” More than likely that was a big part of it.
Sighing, she figured if Dat suspected Caleb’s father of keeping her and Caleb apart, he’d be all for encouraging them to continue courting. Dat was like that. When it came to love—the kind you married for—she was sure he would err on the side of the couple’s choice.
“Like I said, people will embrace what they long for, Nellie Mae.”
She caught the perceptive glint in her father’s eye.
He
knows I have a beau. . . .
Rosanna King wasn’t surprised to see Kate Beiler around midmorning on Friday. Her cousin had been faithfully coming once a day to supplement the twins’ formula following their release from the hospital five weeks earlier.
Kate liked to coo at the babies, kissing the tops of their fuzzy little heads. Since New Year’s, Rosanna had noticed Kate was visiting more often than simply to be a wet nurse. But today she looked tired, and Rosanna wondered if she might stay for only a short time.
Making a beeline for tiny Eli, Kate picked him up from the playpen. “Ach, look at you.” She stroked his rosy cheek. “You’re catchin’ up to your sister, seems to me.” She held him out a ways, moving him up and down, as if weighing him in a scale of sorts.
“He’s eating right good,” Rosanna spoke up.
“Every four hours or so . . . like the nurse at the hospital said?”
“Jah, and if one baby doesn’t awaken and cry for nourishment, the other does, and soon they’re both up. They’re well fed, I’d say.”
Kate turned back to Eli, who was bundled in one of the crocheted blankets Rosanna had made.
Meanwhile Rosanna reached for Rosie, whose soft fists were moving for her open mouth. “You need some love, too, jah?” Cuddling Eli’s twin, she walked the length of the kitchen, pondering her feelings. Why was it every time Kate arrived, she felt like declaring, “The babies are mine, too”?
Lest her brooding show on her face, Rosanna sat down at the table and smiled down at Rosie. It was clearly time for the babies’ feeding, and she ought to be glad for the break in the near-endless bottle-feeding routine. There were instances when she had to resort to propping up a bottle for one twin while holding the other. When that happened, she’d burp the one before switching babies for the second half of the four ounces of formula.
Helpful as Elias tried to be, her dear husband obviously had more on his mind than assisting with the twins, although it was plain he was partial to baby Eli.
Truly, Rosanna was getting plenty of motherhood training with her double blessings, both of them precious gifts from the Lord. She glanced over at Kate, still cradling little Eli in her arms, and pushed away the peculiar thoughts that beset her today.
No need to worry. . . .
She lifted Rosie to her face, burrowing her nose into her warm, sweet neck. “You ready for somethin’ to eat?” she whispered, loving the smell, the feel of her.
“You go ahead and take care of Rosie while I tend to Eli here,” Kate directed. “Not sure I’m up to feeding them both today.”
Rosanna felt some surprise at this, though she knew it was time for Kate to be done nursing the twins altogether.
In all truth, she had been looking forward to this day.
Eli let out a howl and Kate began to undo the bodice of her cape dress. “Mamma’s here,” she muttered, never looking Rosanna’s way as she offered her breast.
Rosanna’s heart caught in her throat.
Maybe Kate’s not
the best choice for a wet nurse.
Now Rosie was
rutsching,
nuzzling for nourishment in earnest. Put out with Kate for her comment to Eli and for always placing his needs before Rosie’s, Rosanna stood to warm her daughter’s bottle, swaying back and forth and making soothing sounds as she did so.
She recalled Kate’s unexpected decision to nurse the twins after their birth. Kate had never conferred with her cousin about this, though Rosanna had assumed she wanted to give the premature babies a good start. Despite her intentions, the recovering Kate hadn’t had enough milk to keep up with the minimum six feedings a day per baby, so after a week, she’d nursed each of them only once daily, returning to the hospital for the feedings after being discharged herself. With the debt of gratitude Rosanna felt she owed her cousin, she had been quickly persuaded that Kate should continue to supplement the babies’ formula until they were two months old. What she hadn’t realized was how awkward the arrangement would be.
For both of us, probably.
As she nursed Eli, Kate cooed softly. Then she addressed Rosanna from over her shoulder. “I hear your husband’s been spending a lot of time with Reuben Fisher.”
“Jah, Reuben—and others—have been a big help to Elias.”
“No, I don’t mean helpin’ round the farm.” Kate frowned. “Your Elias and Reuben are talkin’ Scripture, that’s what.”
For the life of her, Rosanna did not recall Elias mentioning any such discussions with Reuben Fisher or anyone else, although Nellie Mae’s father often assisted her husband in mixing feed and unloading it from the silo. “Are ya sure ’bout this, Kate?”
“Well now, I wouldn’t make it up.”
Suddenly she felt all done in. “Who Elias chooses to work with ain’t my business.”
Or yours . . .
Kate’s eyes widened. “You must not understand. I meant—”
Nodding, Rosanna softened her tone. “Well, I believe I do.”
“You’re sayin’ you don’t mind if Elias is listenin’ to wrongful teaching?”
“If the bishop’s not troubled by it, then who are we to—”
“No!” Kate shook her head. She removed Eli from her breast and put him on her shoulder, rubbing his back. “Flash conversions, Rosanna . . . that’s what’s going on here. Folk are getting emotionally caught up, talking ’bout prideful things like a close relationship with God. It ain’t right.”
Secretly Rosanna hoped her husband
was
drawn to the teachings she’d been hearing herself from Linda Fisher. To her, they seemed wonderful-good—not wrongful at all.
Without saying more, she carried Rosie to the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen, putting some distance between herself and Kate. Rosie lurched forward when presented with the bottle, and Rosanna enjoyed her nearness as she rocked gently, caressing the baby’s downy soft hair.
Watching Rosie, she wondered if there was a way to bring milk into her own breasts. She’d heard of it, though perhaps it amounted to an old wives’ tale—or something requiring a Lancaster doctor, maybe.
What would it take?