The Love Letters (33 page)

T
he following Wednesday, Marlena welcomed Sarah Mast for a second time to work on hand sewing the crazy-quilt pieces. They talked casually as they sat around Mammi's kitchen table—Sarah told of helping her mother and sisters, putting up forty-five quarts of canned green beans. And Marlena said she and her grandmother had done the same, only fewer quarts, while reciting Scripture verses.
Nat wouldn
'
t be
pleased if
he knew
the latter
,
she thought.

Sarah kept looking at Angela Rose in her playpen. “She's becoming so active. I wonder if she'll walk early.”

“Well, my mother says it's important for a baby to crawl for a
gut
long time before learnin' to walk.”

Sarah agreed.

Mammi, who was feeling better, suggested that Angela be permitted to lie on a blanket on the kitchen floor while the girls worked. Marlena gave her a rattle and a teething toy to keep Angela occupied.

“I've been wanting to dress her more like Mammi and me,”
Marlena confided in Sarah when Sarah commented on the baby's little dress. “Not necessarily to push too quickly in that direction, though, considering everything.”

“You've been mighty busy, I see.”

Marlena said she'd managed to squeeze in an hour or so lately each day to sew. “I hope to make several small dresses in all—pale blue, soft pink, and mint green.”

“Do ya plan to have Angela longer, then?”

Marlena said she really didn't know. “But she doesn't have enough dresses, and she'll outgrow them fast.”

Pleasant conversation occupied their time as the two young women pieced together the colorful quilt. Marlena mentioned having also spent time redding up Mammi's pantry, organizing things. She'd painted the porch railing outside and accomplished a lot of garden work, as well as kept Mammi's house clean—and all this just since she'd gone to the New Order Amish church that past Lord's Day. She thought once more of Luke and realized she hadn't given much thought to his dilemma, but she had offered up a prayer for divine wisdom and comfort.

It must be difficult, caring for someone who has no interest
in him.

On Friday, Mammi asked if there was any more word from Patricia Munroe about Gordon's parents. But none had come. Were they having second thoughts? Marlena knew from Mamma that they had been reluctant for Gordon to marry Luella in the first place. Was that partly behind their hesitancy now?

As each day passed and Nat's response to Marlena's last
letter did not come, she became more vexed, even though she tried her best to relinquish her anxiety to God. She found herself trying to second-guess what Nat might be thinking, but she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. At times, she was just about sure that all would be well if she could only talk face-to-face with him about Angela Rose, as well as her growing faith.

How can such things put a wedge between us, unless we allow them?

It was already very warm early Saturday morning as Ellie headed to market with Small Jay and Boston, tickled to treat him to his first such experience.

At her market booth, Boston began to play one tune after another on his harmonica, drawing an inquisitive crowd. Youngsters and their parents watched with bright-eyed amusement, some of them tapping their toes. The music, so skillfully played, created a pleasant shopping atmosphere for the tourists and locals alike. One male customer, who'd come all the way from London, England, to tour the back roads of Amish farm country, suggested Boston get a job playing every Saturday.

Meanwhile, Small Jay assisted Ellie in ways he hadn't before—greeting customers and bagging up jars of preserves, along with her handmade items. Ellie wished with all of her heart that Roman could witness this transformation for himself.

Small Jay's finally getting more attention from Roman,
she thought, recalling several times recently that her husband had told of his encounters with Small Jay and Boston as the pair worked side-by-side.

It was hard for her to make sense of what she felt whenever Roman shared these observations—such a sense of relief after all these years. And Roman held the reins in his hands and heart.

Driver Vernon Siegrist regularly kept the radio turned off when the van was full of Plain folk. Today, however, he'd turned the music on right away when they were getting in, a treat for Small Jay, to be sure. The soft music provided a nice background for the womenfolk's chatter.

Slowly, one Amishwoman after another got off the van as Small Jay sat with Boston, heading home for the afternoon. Mamma seemed extra pleased because she'd run clean out of her homemade wares. Small Jay knew she would have liked to stay around and visit with many of the womenfolk there, but as planned, they'd left a bit early, not wanting to tire out Boston. Aunt Orpha had been one of those who stopped by and commented on Boston's lovely music that morning. Even Luke and Sarah had dropped by to say hullo.

Small Jay tried to mind his p's and q's as he gazed out the window, noticing a pond in the distance. He wondered just when his father might suggest they go fishing, but it wasn't something he would bring up again. He'd said that he wanted to and felt sure his father would follow through. Or so he hoped.

Reliving the market experience today, Small Jay realized how much better things had been with Boston along. The one lack was Gracie Yoder, who hadn't been present this time, at least that he knew. Gracie's aunt Nellie often wandered down to talk with Mamma, and if Nellie had been there, Small Jay
was sure she would've dropped by to see Mamma and to soak up Boston's music. But there'd been no sign of either Nellie or Gracie.

Glancing now at Boston, he noticed the man's eyes were half closed, his head forward. His shaved upper lip and straw hat made him look so very Amish. If Boston stayed on indefinitely with them, would he eventually want to take baptismal instruction and join church? If so, he'd have to go through the two-year or longer Proving time, but Boston sure didn't seem opposed to dressing like the People or working hard.
As hard as he's able,
thought Small Jay.
Kinda like me.

While he sometimes daydreamed about Boston living permanently amongst the People, he also had a feeling that Boston might not really want to be Amish at all. He wondered if the man ever had glimmers of memories about his former life. Did he miss Abigail, for instance, the woman responsible for so many letters to her “dearest darling”?

Presently, Dat's farmhouse came into view, and Small Jay pointed toward the east-facing
Dawdi Haus
, where Boston had been spending his nights. “Home again,
jah
?” Small Jay said softly.

Boston nodded and smiled drowsily, then turned around to thank Mamma for inviting him today. “A delightful experience, to say the least. I met some fine folk.”

A few minutes later, Boston pulled out his billfold and offered to pay Vernon for the round trip. Mamma intervened and said
she
wanted to pay, but Boston insisted until Mamma backed down and let Boston give some money to Vernon, who thanked him heartily.

Boston leaned back then, waiting for Mamma to slip out
of the van from the seat behind them. Small Jay realized how quiet it had become, and he sat very still, listening to the radio music, knowing it would be a long time before he heard such fine radio melodies again.

Boston climbed out next with Vernon near. Vernon waved at Dat and hurried across the yard to visit, but Small Jay felt like staying put. That's when he began to recognize the melody of the song on the radio and found himself humming along.

“
Ach
, I
know
that tune,” Small Jay said to himself.
But how?
he wondered. Then it struck him:
That's Boston's melody! He plays
it every night!

Small Jay got up and leaned his head out the open van door. “Boston, come back right quick! Somethin's on the radio you oughta hear.”

Boston turned and frowned, then walked back this way. All the while, the radio was playing what sounded like Boston's favorite song.

“Just listen,” he said as Boston poked his head inside.

Then a smile spread across his face as Boston stepped into the van and slid over next to Small Jay. “Well, what do you know?”

Silently, they sat listening, and Small Jay observed a flicker appear in the man's eyes, along with a kind of settling into place, and he turned to smile at Small Jay.

“That's Eleanor Frank, one of the finest soloists in the country,” Boston said, his hands moving and dipping now as he liked to do.

“Is that a piano I hear?” Small Jay asked, captivated by Boston's strange expression.

“Ah yes . . . I recall making this recording.” The man placed
his hand on his chest and hummed lightly. “What you're hearing is my accompaniment, young man.”

“On the radio?” Small Jay was confused.