The Love Letters (3 page)

Picking up her pace, Marlena took into account the many chores still ahead of her. “I might've stayed too long at Ellie's,” she muttered.

She hurried through the willow grove, looking about her and thinking again of Small Jay. Ellie had said his wanderings worried her sometimes, yet Marlena had no spare time to devote to keeping track of the lad, although she surely would
if she could. Scanning the area thoroughly, she glanced over near the glistening pond but saw no sign of him.

Rounding the house as she came in from the east meadow, Marlena heard the phone ringing and was glad for her grandmother. Someone to talk to . . . a church friend, perhaps.

She dillydallied, going to the potting shed to sweep the floor, then taking the broom over to the gazebo to sweep that, too. Marlena recalled overhearing her father tell Mamma that, after Dawdi Tim's sudden passing, his four sons arrived at the farm, some of them mighty upset. Apparently, Dawdi had made some unwise business decisions in recent years, so his boys had swooped in and hauled away hundreds of hens and every last one of the nanny goats, and the tractor, too, selling them at auction. Thankfully, her grandfather had owned the farm and, while it was highly unusual to purchase life insurance, it was required by the bank in order to get a loan. So Mammi Janice had nary a financial worry after those debts were satisfied. And being the good steward she was, she'd rented the farmland to an Amish neighbor the Bitners knew.

Carrying the broom back to the white shed, Marlena hung it on the designated peg and made her way toward the house. “Now to pick strawberries,” she said to herself.

When she turned around, she was startled to see her grandmother outdoors, moving hesitantly as she came this way. “What is it, Mammi?”

Mammi's eyes fixed on hers, and her shoulders slumped as if an unseen weight was about to crush her. “Your sister Luella's been in a car accident.”

Marlena gasped. “Is she all right?”

“She's seriously injured.”

Marlena's mind was reeling.

“She was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital,” Mammi said, voice trembling as she placed her hand on Marlena's arm. “Honey-girl, let's go an' sit for a bit.”

Pulse racing, Marlena followed to the porch, finding it hard to think, let alone to be still. Suddenly she remembered her older sister's baby, and worry squeezed her heart. “Was Angela Rose riding with her?”

“Thankfully, no. The baby was with a friend.” Mammi reached down to lift the edge of her apron to her face, fanning herself. “Praise be.”

More concerns came to mind. Luella's husband, Gordon Munroe, possibly didn't know any of this, and Mammi's silence surely signaled similar worries. There must be a way to contact him through various military channels, but Marlena didn't know anything about that process or how long it might take.

Nearby, a bee hovered over the red, white, and pink petunias. It was strange to hear the distinct sound of this lone bee, Marlena thought, her heart elsewhere.

“Your aunt Becky is planning to bring the baby here tomorrow.”

It was no surprise that her father's youngest sister would step in to help, but . . .

“
Here?
” Marlena sputtered.

Mammi put her hands to her plump cheeks and moaned softly. “Gordon's parents left for a two-week Mediterranean cruise, so they're out of reach.”

They sat quietly for a time until Marlena spoke at last, struggling for the words. “Mammi, will Luella be okay?”

Mammi lowered her head for a moment and sighed deeply. When she lifted her eyes again, there were noticeable tears.
Even so, she said quietly, “Let's hold our dear Lord's hand in faithful trust, my dear girl. That's all I know to do.”

Marlena nodded, yet it wasn't always easy to trust when things looked so bleak. Oh, she hoped her parents were with Luella at the hospital right now.

Mammi looked over at her, her gaze tender as she blinked back tears.

Aunt Becky's bringing the baby to me.
Marlena couldn't fathom why Mamma wouldn't take her. She was unable to decipher such news. “I guess I'm the one they want to take care of Angela Rose,” she said in a near whisper.

“Just till Luella's better.” Mammi reached for an embroidered hankie from her apron pocket and dabbed at her blue eyes. “Your mother has her hands full with your younger siblings and all the summer canning and whatnot. You know that, dear.”

Oh, she knew. And she wouldn't shirk her duty in caring for the little one, even though she'd only laid eyes on the baby once, a few days after Angela Rose was born. Her fancy niece had been dressed in a tiny pink outfit complete with bows. Heaven knew five-month-old Angela Rose needed someone to tend to her.

“Where can we get a crib by tomorrow?” Marlena said, resigning herself to doing what she must as they rose and headed inside to resume their morning chores.

My poor sister!

S
mall Jay tiptoed, mimicking Sassy as he moved along the road, stepping around a pothole, the cat's leash slack. He'd purchased the bright red leash at Joe Stoltzfus's general store with the coins that jingled in his metal bank, after he'd pried the seal from the base of it. He didn't remember how long ago that was, but he'd had it in his mind for the longest time that there must be a way to keep track of Sassy when he took her outside.

If I could just grow a few more inches . . . maybe then Dat
would let me help,
he thought.
Someday, when I'm stronger and smarter.

He swung a long stick in slow circles over his head with his free hand, pretending he could stir up those fluffy white clouds. Why did they sometimes look nearly close enough to touch, especially just after dawn?

“Deacon . . . bishop . . . preacher . . . preacher,” he chanted happily in
Deitsch
as he looked over the fields to the farmhouses ahead. It was curious, really, how all the ministers in their church district lived neighbors to each other. He imagined what it'd be like for all four men to go hunting in the fall,
coming together for something other than the house meetings every other Sunday.

Small Jay had, in fact, seen the deacon and one of the preachers over at Joe's General Store, not chewing the fat but chewing on black licorice.
Getting it on their beards,
he remembered with a grimace.

He considered what he'd once overheard their old deacon telling his mother.
“Everyone has a purpose in life. A task only
he can do.”

Mamma had started to cry, and Small Jay had backed out of the room, feeling sorry for her, wondering why she was so upset. That night he'd prayed,
“Help Mamma not to feel so sad
. Make her as happy as I am when Sassy's
lickin' my bare toes!”

“Deacon . . . bishop . . . preacher . . . preacher,” he repeated, looking down at Sassy, wondering how long before her little legs and paws would give out.
Might need me to carry you,
he thought, remembering the afternoon his father had pulled him in a wagon over to the pond and showed him how to skip stones. He smiled at the distant memory, wishing he might have another day like that with Dat.

Sassy began to meow; it sounded like crying. He picked her up and snuggled her under his chin. It was time to have a look-see, make sure that stray black-and-white border collie he'd seen down the way wasn't standing out in the road again, where the horses and buggies came tearing down the hill.

He knew the most dangerous spot was right close to where the road met up with the old one-lane bridge spanning Conestoga Creek, before the road came to a T on the other side of the bridge. One turn, to the right, took you past a cemetery on a hilly slope. The other way, to the left, took you toward Brownstown and Joe's wonderful-
gut
store. Small Jay knew that
much, for sure, but little else when it came to directions and where roads went. The fastest way for him to get to the store was hitching up his father's pony to the little cart, which he'd done since second grade at the one-room schoolhouse. His mouth watered at the thought of the store's candied caramel apples and jelly beans.

“I must be Joe's favorite customer,” he announced, laughing, then thought how sad it was for others who didn't get free goodies. “Why does Joe give them just to me? Why do ya think, Sassy?”

She looked at him, narrowing her pretty yellow-green eyes and meowing like she understood. Small Jay couldn't help but believe she did. It was like they had their own private language.

Tired already from limping along, Small Jay wished he had brought the pony cart, now that his mind was on the Amish general store. He liked to open the front door to make the bell above it ring . . . too high for him to reach up and grab it and ring it for dear life, like he sometimes dreamed of doing. That bell had such a tempting sound.
Listen to me,
it seemed to say. Sometimes, when he didn't see Joe around or standing by the cash register, Small Jay would open the door several times in a row, simply to hear it ring.

Just then the sound of a horse and carriage,
clippity-clop,
wheels clattering against the pavement, caught his attention, and as the buggy drew closer, he knew enough to move farther onto the dirt shoulder of the road.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was his father's older brother, Uncle Jake Bitner, and waved. His namesake's long white beard was the first thing he spotted as the carriage came near. That, and the sunburned hand resting on the wide-open window.

All too suddenly, the old feeling of terror came and made him tremble—a secret worry that the hitch might break and the carriage come careening down the hill, out of control, and smash into him and Sassafras. Of course, there was a brake on the buggy, but what if the driver forgot in the midst of the fright?

Small Jay held the cat tighter, letting the leash dangle as he stepped off the roadside and waited, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Mighty fine day 'tis, ain't it, young Jake?”

“Hullo,
Onkel,
” he said softly, his voice in his toes as the carriage passed by.

Just that quick, his pulse calmed and he felt better, seeing the back of the buggy make its way down the incline to where the road leveled out near the paved bridge ahead.

“All right, Sassy. Safe now.” He set her down and wound the leash around his right hand, having tossed his stick somewhere but not remembering when or just where. Sassy sniffed at a patch of grass and sat down, staring at something behind the box-shaped hedge. “What's a-matter?” he whispered as her intent gaze moved from one side of the dark green hedge to the other.

Then he heard the subtle sound of a dog digging and panting from behind the leafy green wall. Right quick, Sassy arched her back and began to hiss and spit. “Oh now,” he said softly, reaching down to tickle his cat under the chin. She raised her head to his touch, and he squatted down to do so longer, even though it hurt his bad leg.

Suddenly the gate between the two long hedges opened, and out sprang the border collie. The beautiful dog came right over to Sassy and sniffed, then tentatively nuzzled her nose. To Small Jay's astonishment, she nuzzled right back!

“
Ach
, never seen anything like it.” Small Jay couldn't get over the instant attraction between the two. For some reason, the sight of the big dog and his own petite cat made him think of pretty Gracie Yoder, two grades younger in school last year. Gracie was the only girl who'd ever talked to him during recess. True, he was sweet on her, but he wouldn't admit it to anyone but his loyal cat. Now that he was done with school, he wouldn't get to see the soft-spoken redhead much anymore other than at Preaching service twice a month.

“You've made yourself a friend, Sassy,” he said, reaching to let the dog sniff his hand, then gently petting its head. He looked down at the dog's collar and saw the oddest name:
Allegro.

“Ain't heard that before,” he said, straightening to ease the weight on his bum leg. In fact, he wasn't even sure how to say it.

As if the collie had heard something on the other side of the road, he turned away and started in that direction. When the dog crossed the road, he seemed to wait for them, panting with what looked like a smile until Sassy walked Small Jay over there to be with Allegro once again.

“Good boy, come home now!” A man with a hoarse-sounding voice was calling to the dog. He called again before he began to play a mouth organ, the sweet strains filling the air.

Lo and behold, the dog obediently scampered toward the man, who looked about the same age as Dat's twin brothers, maybe in his late fifties. Except this man wasn't a speck of Amish. He had the start of a salt-and-pepper beard and a thin, graying moustache. His mostly light brown hair was thick and wavy, unlike Small Jay's twin uncles, who were balding on the top of their heads, and his eyebrows were so thick Small Jay
could see them from this distance. But what caught Small Jay's attention even more was the old pair of trousers that looked ragged on the hems, and the drab gray shirt with a black bow tie neatly tucked beneath the collar.

Bow-tie man also had a worn leather
Schnappsack
slung over his right shoulder, and he gripped it with one hand like some fancy
Englischer
women clutched their pocketbooks. The man took a step, stumbled, and then while he was trying to catch his balance, slipped and landed on his backside with a yelp.

Small Jay ran over and tried to say something, but his tongue was all tied up. The poor man was lying there while the dog licked his face, not moving until he turned to look up at Small Jay and smiled. “Slippery here.”

Small Jay felt he ought to reply. “Your dog sure likes ya.”

Rolling to his knees, then pulling himself up to his feet, the man brushed himself off and nodded. “It is frequently said that a dog is a man's best friend.”

Unless your best friend is a cat,
Small Jay thought.

Bow-tie man said good-bye, patted his dog on the head, and turned toward the pebbled lane leading to the stone mill—the large four-storied Old Brownstown Mill.

Eyeing the bridge, Small Jay walked over there, first picking up a few stones from the side of the road to toss into the creek. The sound of the
plunk
from high above, on the bridge, made him curious to know how deep the water really was.

Small Jay looked across the road toward the man with his black-and-white dog and directed Sassy to the side of the road, where
Mamm
had always taught him to walk against the traffic.
“Keep your eyes and ears wide open,”
she'd urged.

His father never told him things like that. Yet his mother had insisted this was important.

Small Jay leaned on the cement wall and turned to see where the man and the dog had gone. He was surprised to see them slip inside the abandoned mill on this side nearest the millrace.

When he leaned down to choose a few more pebbles, he noticed a white envelope caught between a bush and the edge of the bridge. “What's this?” He dropped his stones and reached for the envelope, trying to read the name and address centered there:
Dr. 
B. L. Calvert.
The postmark was Amsterdam, March 1958, but he could not make out the address.

Without thinking, Small Jay pulled the letter from the open envelope and began to read.

My dearest darling,

I trust you and your traveling companions are doing well. What an ambitious schedule you face!

Just this morning, while visiting in Amsterdam, I explored the Rijksmuseum, where you and I have strolled together, marveling at the Dutch Masters. Remember “The Merry Fiddler” that first took our breath away? It is so lifelike, and the violin seems to leap out of the canvas, my dear! It made me recall our passion for violin sonatas. And all the while, I counted the hours until we are reunited.

Oh, how I wish I could be with you, but that simply isn't possible, and my prayers follow you always.

The remainder of the letter was smudged and unreadable. Small Jay looked around to see if someone had dropped it on the way over the bridge. But he saw no one, even farther down the road.

He felt sheepish, having read as much as he had, even though he hadn't understood a few of the words. Quickly,
Small Jay pushed the letter inside the envelope again and returned it to the bushes, just like his schoolteacher had always taught the class to return things that didn't belong to them.

Distracted once more by the call of the creek, Small Jay picked up a handful of stones and hurled the first one over the bridge with all his might, thinking again of his Dat and their fun together.
So long ago.