The Love Letters (15 page)

“Brother Jake's said word has it a homeless man's been holing up in the former grist mill.”

Ellie could hardly believe it. “So you think Small Jay's in danger, then?”

“My brother doesn't lie.”

“'Tis true.” Jake Bitner was an upstanding man in the church and had even been nominated for preacher on at least two occasions. Ellie knew he would never warn her husband unless he felt there was a reason.

“That's all I'll be sayin' about this,” Roman concluded brusquely. He dashed off before she could make another remark.

As Ellie headed back to the house, she knew without asking who was expected to be the bearer of this news.

“Your father forbids you . . .”
She tried out the words in her mind, helpless to do anything but Roman's wishes. This dreadful declaration only made her son's narrow little world even more confined.

M
arlena pushed the screen door open and slipped inside the utility room. The fiery words of the woman near the mill had her worried, and she wished she'd gone to investigate Small Jay's so-called friend immediately.

She was also curious about the angels Small Jay had mentioned and planned to ask her grandmother about that. But in the kitchen, she found Mammi veiled by tears at the sink, scrubbing potatoes. “Aw, Mammi . . . Mammi.” She rushed to her side.

“I'm fine.” Mammi protested as she rinsed her hands and wiped her swollen eyes with her apron. “What with Luella gone . . .” She stopped. “I 'spect it stirs up more sadness over your Dawdi Tim.”

Marlena flung her arms around her. “Why don't ya rest for a while . . . let me finish up here.”

Mammi turned to look at the playpen. “The baby was ever so fussy, but she's asleep, at last.”

Having Angela Rose here is both a joy and a hardship
for Mammi.

“What if I finish makin' supper for ya?” Marlena kissed her cheek and was relieved when her grandmother removed her work apron and headed into the front room to get off her feet.

If only she could pray the kind of openhearted prayer Mammi would send up to God right now if Marlena had been the one grieving so awful hard. But she couldn't find the words in her head, nor in her heart.
So many years of rote praying,
she thought, remembering the remarkable change in her father's prayers—from memorized prayers to fervent ones—after he and Mamma joined the Beachy Amish church. She didn't know exactly what had caused the difference, but she much preferred the way her father prayed now.
Like Mammi.

Glancing toward the front room, Marlena checked on her grandmother. Mammi surely felt lost without Dawdi Tim, having spent all those years loving him and raising their children together, working this fertile green land, only to have everything end so abruptly.

Marlena took time to scrub off the soil on the potatoes, still searching for some heartfelt yet reverent words to pray. Besides, it wasn't far from her mind that Luella's husband would soon hear the saddest news of his life. How would he take it, not having the chance to say good-bye to his bride before she died? Marlena simply could not imagine such a thing.

She finished washing the pile of potatoes, then dug out each of the sprouted eyes with a paring knife. She and Mammi preferred to cook extra for potato salad or to make fried potatoes with the leftovers. Afterward, she washed down Mammi's electric range and oven, then polished their for-good shoes out on the back porch and left them to dry.

Marlena paused to look in on Angela Rose, still asleep. Later, she hoped to find the time to start another letter to Nat.
If Angela Rose cooperates.
The letter she'd sent him yesterday should have already arrived there in today's afternoon mail. Oh, but her return to Mifflinburg for the funeral would only fuel the yearning to see him again.

Following the tongue-lashing from Mamma, Small Jay took Sassy upstairs to his room and closed the door. He'd never felt so upset or embarrassed. Not only had Mamma told him he was not to leave the farm anymore to go wandering about, but his father had come inside and interrupted Mamma's conversation with him.
“You're
takin' a terrible risk by spending time with a vagabond,”
Dat had stressed. Small Jay didn't know what
vagabond
meant, but the way it was said—and the glare on Dat's face—made him very worried for Boston.

Is des Druwwel?
he wondered. “But how can they even know if he
is
trouble?” Small Jay complained to his cat.

He lowered himself onto a chair in front of one of the tall windows overlooking the road, giving in to his urge to just sit and stew. “Where are you, Boston . . .
where
?” The image in his mind was of the poor man suddenly being forced to leave the mill. Small Jay shivered and remembered the sad, sad song Boston had played on his harmonica.
Like Mr. Martin used to play
up yonder.

Tears threatened to spill, but he brushed them away. What would Gracie Yoder think if she saw him bawling like a baby? She'd nearly caught him crying two years ago, when Danny Glick snatched away the ball right as Small Jay was about to catch it during a recess softball game. He'd waited nearly an endless year to be a second baseman, but freckle-faced Danny had other ideas.
“Hop-a-long, you're too
small to be playin'
, let
alone on any bases!”
Danny had said the cruel words for Small Jay's ears only.

Hop-a-long, indeed! Later, on the way into the schoolhouse, Gracie had come that close to bumping into Small Jay—almost saw his tears—but he'd had the good sense to look away.
Don't be so
doppich, he'd told himself.

Now, struggling with the painful ache in his throat, he looked over at Sassy. She was taking dainty steps as she stalked over to the dresser and rubbed against first its wooden legs, then the chair's. He didn't much mind her being aloof when it was best for him to sit there alone, what with his parents all
ferhoodled
downstairs. They didn't trust him if they were this vexed. Did they still think of him as a child?

“But I ain't!” He raised his voice just enough to vent his anger.

Boston calls me “young man,”
he thought.
Not Small Jay.

He buried his face in his trembling hands.

The afternoon sun had slipped behind some hazy clouds, a welcome respite from the heat. Marlena went around opening all the upstairs windows, the house much too warm for Angela Rose. She'd given her a lukewarm sponge bath after supper, dressing her in one of the sleeping gowns Aunt Becky had brought along. The little one smelled so sweet.

Recalling last evening's walk—how much better she'd felt afterward— Marlena decided now was a good time for a short stroll. She invited her grandmother to join them, but Mammi was happy to sit and rock on the back porch, fanning herself.

Marlena placed Ellie's lightweight baby blanket in the
stroller for Angela Rose and set out walking along the driveway, back and forth. After finding Mammi in such a sad state earlier, she didn't want to leave her there alone on the porch too long. Marlena playfully called “peek-a-boo!” when she and the baby strolled past, which altered Mammi's pensive expression to a smile each time.

Pondering the upcoming funeral, Marlena took in the farmland around her as she pushed the stroller. Not until that moment had she given much thought to Angela Rose's attire for her mother's service. Never before had Marlena seen such a little one at a funeral, except for occasional nursing infants with their mothers, way back in the kitchen of the hosting house.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden commotion out on the road—cars honking and a horse and buggy being halted with a loud “Whoa!” Curious, she turned the stroller around and headed back down the driveway toward the road.

Lo and behold, besides a buggy there were two cars, one with its bumper blackened, and another one clad in shiny chrome. A small group of Amishmen and English neighbors had gathered. “What the world,” she whispered, inching the stroller back.

Another enclosed gray carriage pulled up, and then a hay wagon filled to the brim stopped right in the middle of the road, blocking any through traffic. And at the center of it all was a tall, rumpled-looking man carrying a rolled-up black blanket, a striking border collie standing near.

Uncertain what was happening, Marlena quickly made her way to the back porch with Angela Rose. “There's something strange goin' on down the road,” she said. She filled Mammi in, asking if the baby might stay with her on the porch. “I want to take a closer look.”

“She's getting droopy-eyed, so she might just fall asleep,” Mammi noted. “Be careful, dear.”

By the time Marlena arrived at the scene, she remained on the circumference of an emerging crowd. Peeking over a shoulder, Marlena began to put it together: This must be the man from the mill she and Small Jay had attempted to visit earlier.

“The neighbors around the mill have complained,” one of the Amishmen was telling the scruffy man in question. “It wonders us why you're stayin' there.”

The stranger peered around the circle, looking sideways at his accusers, seemingly self-conscious.

“Rightly so,” said another man who leaned against his car. “Are you from around here?”

The sunburned man with a cockeyed black bow tie looked so unsteady, he could scarcely hold his blanket any longer, and after more questions were directed at him, it rolled out of his thin arms and fell to the road, narrowly missing the dog. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said, his brow rutted. “Perhaps I've been in the heat too long.”

“Can you tell us your full name and address?” the first man asked, his voice more gentle now.

Marlena moved forward slightly to hear the drifter's response.

Pushing his hand into his pocket and rummaging about, the man from the mill pulled out a notepad. “This is the longest day I've lived,” he murmured, sounding exhausted and confused, “but I shall attempt to make heads or tails of this.”

“Have ya been drinkin'?” asked another Amishman.

“I do not imbibe.”

The questioner seemed to accept this, perhaps relieved by the man's sudden clarity. This poor man, who, in Marlena's opinion, needed a good long shower and a nice hot meal, too.

“Why ain't ya at home, 'stead of sleepin' at the mill?” asked another Amish farmer.

Marlena was surprised to see Luke Mast step forward near his road horse, in front of the hay wagon. His straw hat rested on his straight blond bangs. “I'd be glad to look after this man.”

Marlena could hardly believe her ears.
Does Luke know him?

Just then she heard someone calling, “Boston! Boston!”

She turned and saw Small Jay hobbling down his father's lane as fast as his legs could move.
He must've heard the commotion.