The Guardian (28 page)

Ella Mae glanced at the white hankie on Jodi’s head and twinkled a smile. “And you, as well.”

“Is it time to take this off?” Jodi reached up and removed the handkerchief.

“Well, sure, if you’d like to.” Ella Mae leaned closer. “Did ya understand anything at church today?”

“A few things.”

“Such as what?” There was mischief on her face.

“Everyone seems so humble,” Jodi said.

Ella Mae nodded. “If a body ain’t humble, he or she ain’t truly Plain.”

Jodi folded the hankie.

“Isn’t that Leda’s?”

Jodi said it was.

“If ya look closely, you’ll see the
L
embroidered on it.”

Jodi unfolded it and looked. She traced her finger over the ornate letter. “This must be a special handkerchief. Is it?”

“I gave it as a birthday present when Leda was just a wee five-year-old.”

Jodi liked the woman’s personal approach. “That’s lovely.”

“Tellin’ the truth, we’re not s’posed to teach our young girls to embroider and whatnot. Basic sewing skills are thought to be more important, ya know.” There was a twinkle in Ella Mae’s eyes. “I’m not much-a one for rules that make no difference. If you know me for long, you’ll learn this soon enough.”

The woman was refreshing. “Really? What else aren’t children supposed to do in Hickory Hollow?”

“Well, if ya come over to my little Dawdi Haus next door when you’re through eating, I’ll tell ya. It might be a
gut
idea to know, ‘specially with the more ornery pupils, since I hear you’re going to be the new schoolteacher.”

Jodi suppressed a smile. To think she’d stumbled upon an eighty-something dissenter of sorts—and a rather sassy one—also known as the Wise Woman!

J
odi followed Ella Mae through the alcove at the far end of what she called the front room of her daughter Mattie’s home, where the church service had been held. Soon, she found herself in a smaller version of the main farmhouse—Ella Mae’s own Dawdi Haus. Before Jodi left with Ella Mae, Maryanna had said to take all the time she needed. She seemed to derive a measure of happiness in seeing the two of them together.

Ella Mae moved directly to her gas stove, snatched up the teakettle, and filled it with water. “I like to offer my guests some tea, as you may have already heard.” She offered a smile. “My peppermint tea hits the spot, hot or cold.”

“Sure, I’d love some … iced.”

“You’ll enjoy my special tea, Jodi. For sure and for certain. And, I hope,” she paused a beat, “our conversation, too.”

Jodi could already see why folk liked her. “I’m anxious to hear what the children are expected to do and not do.”

“Well, they’re taught to accept simplicity in all things. There aren’t many toys, for one, and those they do have are handmade or right simple, for the most part. Girls won’t name their dolls anything but what their sisters and aunts are called.” Ella Mae’s
eyes beamed. “Although I did hear there was once a dolly named Kaylee—little Sarah’s, ain’t so?”

Jodi had heard Sarah say the name before. “Are English names off limits, even for dolls?”

“Oh my, are they ever.” Ella Mae sighed loudly and fanned herself with a tea towel. “Children are also not to talk back or be restless in school or church. They mustn’t be idle, for it is the devil’s workshop. And, of course, they must not yearn for the world.”

“I expect some children are more curious about the so-called world than others.”

“I daresay some are.” Ella Mae held Jodi’s gaze. “Maryanna knows this all too well. Ain’t really my place to say more.”

Jodi remembered what Maryanna had told her. “Grief tends to make people weary. Exhausted.”

“Ach, ‘tis true.” Ella Mae motioned for her to sit at the cozy table. “When I lost my husband ever so suddenly, I was
bedierlich—
pitiable—let me tell ya. Really beside myself. ‘Twas a
gut
thing I wasn’t raising children then.”

Jodi found it interesting that she wanted to talk about grief. “I understand something of that. My only sister died recently.”

“Did she, now?” Ella Mae frowned slowly and shook her head. “I’m awful sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve told just a few souls this, but I want to tell you,” Ella Mae said, stopping to wipe her eyes. “After my husband died, I plumbed the depths of anger. No one knows how upset I was. Oh, I tried to hide it, but it was there, oozing from me all the same.”

Jodi nodded, no longer hesitant to bare her soul. “I’ve felt that, too, over Karen’s death.”

“It may be quite natural—some are depressed or bitter, but
I was just plain mad, sad to say.” Ella Mae’s voice softened, and her eyes filled with tears again. “Until one night, the Lord met me in my room while I was prayin’. I poured out my anger like a big mixing bowl full of pain and ire, and you know what happened? He took my pain as His own … reached right into that bowl of emotions and removed all of it. And I knew from that time on, I was not alone and never would be.”

Jodi felt like crying herself, she was so touched by Ella Mae’s account. “I’m glad you told me,” she said in a near whisper. “I really needed to hear this. You just don’t know how much.”

“Well, dearie, the Good Lord knows, jah?”

Smiling through her tears, Jodi nodded. “I guess He does.”

Ella Mae reached across and patted her hand just as the teakettle began to whistle. “My dear girl, deep down in your heart you know He’s been there all along … ain’t so?”

While the peppermint tea steeped with sweetener, Jodi pondered that. Then Ella Mae poured ice cubes into large tumblers to serve the tea with a flourish. She brought over embroidered yellow rose placemats to adorn the table and matching dessert napkins, then a few homemade sweets on a pretty plate: peanut blossoms and hermits.

“I realize we just ate, but the common meal’s not intended to be substantial. Rather something to tide the farmers and their families over. They need to return home in time for afternoon milking and chores, then they feed their faces more heartily in the evening.”

Making a mental note, Jodi thanked Ella Mae for inviting her to the delicious tea party of sorts. She commented on the table setting, as well. “If mothers aren’t to teach their young daughters embroidery, how did you learn to make such lovely things?” She fingered the placemat.

“Well, these are compliments of Maryanna, whose mother
taught her to embroider and crochet when she was a teenager. She and I have the same birthday month, and they were a special gift on my eightieth birthday, a few years back.”

“And a very nice one, I might add.” Jodi looked at the yellow roses. “Is June your birthday month?”

“It is. Why do you ask?”

Jodi could hardly get the words out. “June is my sister’s month, too. Well,
was …
”

“Aw, dear girl, your sister’s with the Lord, jah? And waiting to be reunited with you, one sweet day. It’s our blessed hope when our loved ones go home to Glory.”

“Yes,” Jodi managed to say. But hearing that Ella Mae and Maryanna shared Karen’s birthday month stirred up more sorrow than anything. “I think about her every day.”

“And you have a tender heart, which makes you miss her even more.” Ella Mae went on to say she’d heard Bishop John Beiler was so impressed with Jodi in part because of this. “He saw into your spirit, so to speak, the way you attracted the little ones over at Joshua Peachey’s place two weeks ago.”

“I’ve always loved children.”

“That’s evident, dear, and it’s a gift from God.”

Jodi sipped some more tea. “I think I needed to come here and talk to you. My sister’s passing has been eating me alive.”

“Loving someone never has to end, ya know? Your love for Karen will carry you through till you see her again. Never forget that.” Ella Mae rose then and stuck her hand into a cookie jar and brought over three large carrot cookies. “I almost forgot to offer ya some of these. I made ‘em yesterday afternoon.”

“I’ll just have to run off the calories,” Jodi said, accepting one and peering down at her dessert plate.

“Who was it who told me you were out running with a group of Plain folk here recently?”

“Maybe you heard it from Rosaleen or Barbara Yoder.”

“That might be.” Ella Mae picked up a cookie and placed it on her napkin. “Awful nice havin’ you visit me.”

“Thanks for sharing your response to your husband’s passing,” Jodi said. “You have no idea how helpful it was.”

“Ah, well, I believe I do, dearie … I can see it on your face.”

Jodi hoped she’d have the opportunity to visit with the Wise Woman again, because she could hardly pull herself away.

“You come drop by anytime, ya hear?”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“And if there’s anything you’ve missed while preparing for school to start, don’t worry your perty head. Those children can nearly teach themselves, is what I’ve heard.” Ella Mae tugged on her earlobe. “That’s not sayin’ they can’t benefit from a teacher … ‘specially a bright one like you.”

Jodi hardly knew how to take the woman at times. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a laugh.

But as she walked back through the opening into the main house, she cherished the image of the Lord comforting Ella Mae in her great need.
Her heartache became His!

E
ven the air feels different here,” Jodi whispered to Maryanna as they headed for the stairs Sunday night three weeks later.

Maryanna was heartened to see Jodi putting in so many hours of study in preparation for school’s opening tomorrow. Thank goodness Rosaleen had been faithful to come every weekday, answering Jodi’s many questions. The two had even gone to visit two other Amish teachers in the area, which helped immensely, or so Jodi had confided in Maryanna earlier this evening, before family worship. It was also apparent that Jodi had learned to say the Lord’s Prayer fluently in German, as well as sing several hymns in Deitsch.

Weary now, Maryanna climbed the stairs after praying with Benny and Tobias in their shared room downstairs. She stood in the hallway near Leda’s room and remembered the first time she’d shown her how to dry dishes. Just three years old and so anxious to imitate her Mamma, Leda had stood on a chair.

My precious helper,
she thought, going in to pray quietly with her, grateful down to her toes for this darling girl. Maryanna held her hand as Leda nestled in her cozy bed, looking peaceful
as she closed her eyes, ready for sleep. When she’d said amen and “I love you,” Maryanna kissed her on the cheek and reluctantly closed the door.

Then, going next to little Sarah’s room, Maryanna watched her sitting on the bed in her white sleeping gown, talking to her new doll.

“Mamma and me will be alone tomorrow, when school starts for my sister and brothers,” Sarah said quietly.

“But you can walk with Joshua and Buster to and from school,” the doll replied. “And with Jodi and the others, ain’t?”

“Still, it’s not the same as when everybody’s home,” Sarah answered the doll quietly.

Engel began to tremble and made whimpering sounds.

“Are you all right?” asked Sarah, tilting the doll toward her.

Sarah helped Engel wipe her eyes. “I’ll miss Jodi when she’s done teaching here,” the doll said.

Sarah held her right close to her face, then slowly pressed the doll against her heart. “I know you will, but don’t cry, little one. I’ll miss her, too.”

Maryanna caught herself and stepped back into the hallway to take a deep breath. Then, coughing a little, she moved into the doorway. “Time for a Bible story, dear one.”

Quickly, Sarah put her doll on the pillow next to her own, pulled back the quilt and sheet, and scooted into bed.

“Did Tobias tell you his secret?” Maryanna reached for the Good Book.

Sarah shook her head, her long hair swirling about her face.

“I gave your brother permission to bring Joshua’s rabbit home tomorrow.”

“
Fer schur?
”

She sighed—it hadn’t been the easiest decision. “Jah, for sure.”

Sarah’s smile lit up the room, and she reached up to wrap her arms around Maryanna’s neck, pulling her face near. “Denki, Mamma. Maybe you’ll like Shadow after ya meet him.”

It was impossible not to smile.

Later, after she’d read the story of Jonah and the great fish and they’d said their prayers, Maryanna tenderly tucked in her little one. She slipped past Jodi’s closed door to her own room at the end of the hallway.
Such a lonely place.

Sitting on the bed, fully dressed, Maryanna wondered what had come over her to agree to Joshua Peachey’s suggestion about the black rabbit, all these weeks ago now.

She rose and went to the window and peered out at the white-cast landscape. She recalled that Jodi planned to go running again tomorrow evening with the Vella Shpringa.
“By the light of the moon,”
their English guest loved to tell the children.

But it was not talk of the moonlight on the practice route for the Bird-in-Hand Half Marathon that tugged at Maryanna just now. No, it was the way the shimmering light played down on the tip-top of Joshua’s barn and silo, and the house, too. The grazing land was washed in the silvery light. She looked in awe at the light shining on her neighbor’s property. A blue moon was coming soon—the second full moon in a single month. Was it a sign?

“No,” she murmured, refusing such nonsense. “Joshua’s taken with Ida Fisher, plain and simple.” Maryanna knew it was true, for she’d seen Ida over there two, maybe three times in the last weeks. Always delivering a hamper of food—
the most direct path to a man’s heart, lonely or otherwise.

Closing the shades, Maryanna dressed for bed. Eventually, she outened the light and sat in her bed, the plumped pillows behind her, and relived the lovely evening with Turkey Dan two weeks ago. She’d let his sister, dear Nan, tell Dan she
wished to accept his supper invitation, asking Nan not to share the matter around.

So far, so good.
Thus far, no one but Maryanna and Dan themselves knew of their exceptional evening together. Yet despite the delicious food and animated conversation, primarily concerning his sons and her children, she had again yearned for Benuel. And more than ever, if that was even possible. There was something about the great void in her life that was accentuated by being with Dan Zook, and she felt terrible about it.

Did I feel that way when I was out riding with Joshua?
Maryanna disliked comparing the two, not sure what she’d felt the evening she’d ridden off with her longtime neighbor. Was her knowledge of Benuel’s close friendship with Joshua some kind of roadblock for her? Could that be?

She bowed her head and prayed for some direction. Dan Zook was eager to move forward and start their courtship, but she’d put him off, needing time. Two weeks had passed as he’d waited word from her, all the while sending her a pretty card and a couple of letters.

Because of his strong connection to Benuel, Joshua, on the other hand, was nearly like a brother in her thinking, or had been for so long, she thought. Joshua, master bow hunter and fisherman that he was, had shared his life and love of the outdoors with her own Benuel for so many years.

How would it feel to hold hands with Joshua, anyway? Maryanna wondered. Or to be kissed by him? But she mustn’t let herself think that way. Not when word had it that Ida was hoping for a marriage proposal here before too long. So they were serious, nearly engaged.

For sure and for certain, Joshua had ceased pursuing Maryanna, like a turtle vanishing into its shell. Who could fault him? She’d put the nix on things, and now that she considered it, she could
easily recall
that
aspect of their time together. Her words of rejection had sent him away.

So, to soften matters between them, she’d decided to let Tobias have Joshua’s rabbit after all. “Of all things.”

Maryanna slid down into her bed.
Might not be the best way to make amends,
she thought, glad Joshua would have a wonderful-
gut
cook in the house, if he and Ida married.
Like Suzanne.

One of the things Jodi had learned in her twenty-seven years was that heavenly scenes like the one she was now a part of didn’t just happen by sheer accident. She considered this while walking up Hickory Lane with Maryanna’s children, including little Sarah, and Joshua Peachey, who held his black rabbit while keeping faithful Buster on a leash.

They were all wearing their new yellow safety vests, looking like a page out of Jodi’s grandparents’
Saturday Evening Post
. This stroll to school along a curving, peaceful road, with a stream trickling nearby and the sweet sound of birds and horses in the distance, was a memory to cherish. Time was such a precious commodity. No one had enough of it. But
here
… here in Hickory Hollow, time stood still.

The happy chatter of children the first day of the new school year made Jodi ponder Trent’s change of mind about desiring a family all his own. The feel of little Sarah’s hand in hers had to be the reason for such thoughts.

“Have you ever seen a prettier day?” she remarked to Joshua next to her, his straw hat square on his head.

“Why, sure,” he replied, his grin infectious. “It’s beautiful
every
day.”

“I guess it is.” She smiled.

“Have ya lived in the city all your life, then?”

“I grew up in New Jersey and attended college in Madison, Wisconsin. So, yes, I’m a city slicker.” She told him she presently lived in a small town in Vermont. “There, everyone knows your name, what you do, and who you belong to.” She smiled. “A little like here.”

“Oh, that’s the truth.”

The older children waved their hands high to alert the younger ones each time a car passed, which thankfully wasn’t often. Jodi was touched by the gesture. “It’s sweet how the older children look after their younger siblings.” She thought again of Karen.

“Amish families have something of a pecking order. From the top down, there are unique expectations for each child,” he said. “You’ll soon learn the specific responsibilities,” Joshua explained, “if ya haven’t already.”

Sarah looked up at her just then, waving her angel doll and smiling but never letting go of Jodi’s hand. “I guess Sarah will walk back home with you,” she said to Joshua.

“Oh, jah, and that one’s
gut
company, ever since Tobias started school a year ago,” Joshua said. “She missed him a lot, Maryanna said, so Sarah started walkin’ to and from school with me and the other children. She pretty much told her mother she was goin’ to, and that was that.” He chuckled. “‘Tween you and me, I think she’d be attending school, too, if they’d let her start early.”

“She’s a little corker.” Jodi glanced down at her. “Good thing she doesn’t know what we’re saying.”

Joshua nodded, his dwarf rabbit held close to his chest. Then he stopped to hand the rabbit to little Sarah, who squealed gleefully. All the children turned around and came back, oohing and aahing, wanting to take turns holding the little creature.

This man needs a family,
Jodi thought as she watched him patiently stand near Sarah, making sure Shadow didn’t get dropped.

After Joshua took back the rabbit, they began walking again, and along the way, more and more children ran down their lanes to join them. By the time the old schoolhouse was in view, Jodi noticed more than half the children in the entire school were walking barefoot two by two on the roadside.

Before arriving at the schoolhouse, Jodi mentioned hearing that Tobias was ecstatic about getting the rabbit. “According to Maryanna, anyway.”

Joshua looked shocked. “First I heard it,” he said, his expression brightening considerably.

“Oh.” Jodi wondered if she’d spoiled something.

Joshua walked silently for a while. Then he turned toward Jodi. “Tobias is welcome to Shadow, of course—the cage, too.”

Jodi listened, all ears.

“Naturally, it would be best if I heard from Maryanna directly, though, just to … uh … confirm her permission. Actually, why don’t ya tell her to come get the rabbit herself.”

“I’ll let her know.” Jodi suppressed the urge to smile.
What’s he have up his sleeve?

“I daresay I was wrong to worry ‘bout you, Jodi,” Joshua said softly. “I can see why the bishop was willin’ to take this chance.”

She smiled. “I’m determined not to disappoint you … or him. And the children most of all.”

He held her gaze for a moment. “I believe that, jah.”

Lovina and Rosaleen were waiting outside the schoolhouse gate and greeted Jodi warmly when they spotted her. She planned to run the Bird-in-Hand Half Marathon with Rosaleen and Barbara—and still hoped to run in Boston in October, as well. Her father had recently urged her to do so, even suggesting
they make it a small reunion, of sorts, bringing Mom so they could spend the weekend together. Jodi welcomed this idea, glad her parents understood her need for independence.

Presently, Joshua unlocked the gate and swung it wide, and all the children rushed inside. They removed their safety vests and piled them on the front porch of the quaint schoolhouse. Jodi had relished several afternoons with Rosaleen last week inside the one-room building, quickly navigating her way, noting where each of the so-called scholars would sit, with the smallest desks set closest to the row of windows, medium-sized desks in the middle rows, and the largest on the right.