The River (22 page)

“If Ruthie succumbs to Will and returns, will she stay with Mamm and Daed in the
Dawdi Haus
or in her old room here?” Tilly whispered. She almost thought she saw her breath in the chilly air.

Thinking more of her sister’s unexpected state of affairs,
she wondered suddenly why, if Will Kauffman was so eager to court Ruth, he hadn’t pursued her by letter long before now. Had he actually needed Ruth to make the first move toward Eden Valley? If that were so, Tilly believed her sister deserved far better.

M
amm slowly inched out of the neighbors’ blue Studebaker when she arrived at the house near dusk. Tilly hurried out to meet her, reaching to steady her. She offered to pay the neighbors for their time and trouble, which they graciously refused. She made further small talk, asking how they were doing, feeling a little strange about seeing the Eshlemans again now that she was an Englisher like them. Greg Eshleman hadn’t changed a lot; he was still as stocky as she’d remembered, if not more so, and his blond hair had thinned in places on top. His wife, Jocelyn, had lost a significant amount of weight, and her light brown hair was peppered with gray. Greg had been one of the men who’d leapt into the river to try to save Anna that dreaded day, along with Chester and Melvin.

“We think of you and Ruthie so often,” Jocelyn said, her voice sounding pinched as she regarded Tilly with her beagle-like eyes.

“Well, it’s wonderful to see you both . . . and good to be home for a visit,” Tilly said, glancing at Mamm.

“Call anytime, Tilly. It’s good to stay in touch,” Greg said before waving and then starting to back out the car.

“Such nice folk,” Mamm said softly as they headed around the side of the house to the back door.

Indoors, after Mamm removed her best gray shawl, Tilly hurried to warm up the supper leftovers for her mother and sat her down at the table, lit up by the welcoming sight of the familiar gas lamp. “Have you eaten much today?”

“Oh, enough, I’m sure.” Mamm mentioned that a number of Daed’s relatives had brought food along, mostly fresh fruit and snacks, things to nibble on. “No one went hungry, that’s for sure.”

“Did a tray of food come for Daed after we left?”

Mamm said the nurses seemed to be taking good care of him, and that he would definitely be discharged in the morning. “The doctors want to observe him tonight, but he may not need a pacemaker after all . . . at least not for a while yet.”

Tilly offered to drive her to the hospital in the morning, and Mamm seemed relieved. “As long as I’m here, you really don’t have to call the neighbors, all right?” she said. “I’m happy to help.”

“Well, but you’ve done so much runnin’ today, I just thought . . .” Mamm’s voice gave out.

“Don’t worry, rest yourself . . . and enjoy Aunt Naomi’s wonderful meal.” She sat across from Mamm, where Ruthie had always sat growing up, getting up once to make some hot chamomile tea to calm her mother’s nerves, and later for an ample dish of fruit cocktail. “Would ya like some ice cream with that?”

Mamm declined, which was a bit of a surprise, but Tilly just let it be.

Several times while they were quietly chatting—connecting so wonderfully as they had the past couple of days—Tilly was
tempted to say that she and Daed had cleared the air . . . and that it was Daed’s doing. But for whatever reason, Tilly held back.

Mamm glanced around. “Where’s our Ruthie?”

“Out with her old beau, if I may be so bold. She was wearing her blue church dress and matching cape apron, too.”

“Aw, I would so love to see that again.” Mamm smiled sweetly. “She must look as perty as a bride.”

Tilly worried that Ruthie might be just a little too excited for the evening, but she didn’t say. She merely watched her mother take tiny spoonfuls of the fruit cocktail.

Some time later, when Mamm was finished, Tilly rose from the table and carried the paper plates to the trash under the sink. Her mother offered to help redd up, but Tilly wouldn’t hear of it. “Go lie down, Mamm. I’ll finish here. You’ve had a long day.”

Standing in the doorway, Mamm leaned against the wood frame. “
Denki,
Tilly. I appreciate you. Can ya even begin to imagine how I’ve prayed for you . . . and for Ruthie?”

Tilly nodded, suddenly feeling clammy all over, like she’d fallen into deep water. How she wished her sister would return soon.
I
can’t bear to lose Ruthie to Will
, she thought desolately.

The Strasburg Creamery was homey and quiet on a Wednesday evening. “Prayer meeting night,” Will told Ruth with a smile as they sat in the wooden booth. Many of the churches around Lancaster County held Bible study and prayer meetings that night.

“My church in Rockport has Wednesday meetings, too,” she was happy to tell him.

“Well, there’s none of that in Eden Valley,” Will replied. “’Cept the occasional private ones, though I doubt Bishop Isaac knows about ’em.”

She knew it wasn’t customary for the People to study or discuss the Bible—the ministerial brethren had stated years ago that doing so had the dangerous potential to lead to stating opinions, or to taking verses out of context. Ruth had never felt strongly about that stance, however. She’d always assumed that if she read God’s Word often enough, it would simply seep down into her spirit.

“Have you ever thought of visiting other churches?” she asked. “Just curious.”

“Not sure how wise that is, since I’ve spent so much time talkin’ with the brethren. They really helped me get my feet back on the ground after I went astray,” he reminded her. “Why do you ask?”

She wasn’t ready to delve into all of that, but she again thought fondly of her missions-minded church. “We can talk about it sometime, maybe.”

This seemed to satisfy him. “Fine with me.”

It was getting late, and she really hoped Mamm was home from the hospital by now. Was Daed still improving . . . and were some of his brothers and sisters still there with him? Many questions simmered in her mind, yet she tried to meet Will’s eyes and engage herself in conversation. He seemed to yearn for it so.

Then, during the ride back toward Eden Valley, Will had romance on his mind. He sat closer to her once they were back on the unlit roads, away from town. He reached for her hand, adeptly holding the reins with his right hand.

Feeling surprisingly comfortable, Ruth enjoyed the distant sound of horses neighing and all the nighttime sounds as they
turned off May Post Office Road. This special night—this moment—belonged to them. She breathed a silent prayer amidst her many emotions.

Will did most of the talking as they rode ever so slowly now. He encouraged her to snuggle next to him, both of them enjoying the peace of the evening.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead and paused, his breath so near. “I still feel like I must be dreaming. You’re here again, Ruthie. You’re actually here with me.”

She’d missed him, too, or so she felt at that moment.
Maybe more than I realized . . .

He ran his fingers across her cheek, along her chin. “Honey,” he said dreamily.

She wondered if he was going to kiss her again.

He moved even closer. “Oh, Arie, I’m mighty glad you’re . . .” He stopped right then, catching himself. “Wait,
ach
 . . . I didn’t mean—”

“Arie? I’m
Ruthie,
” she said, bolting straight up. “Oh, Will . . . you kissed Arie Schlabach?” Her head and heart were whirling. “You said there was no romance between—”

“Ruthie, I—”

“Please stop the buggy.” She fought back tears but was determined not to let him know. “I want out! This minute!”

“But it’s dark and too late for you to go on foot,” he argued. “Please, Ruthie—honey—don’t leave like this. Let’s talk.”

“What’s to talk about? Your answer is either yes or no. And I’m not your honey!”

“
Ach
, you’re reading way too much into this.”

“Am I?” She was furious, wanting him to simply refute the notion that he’d kissed the young woman from Ohio. “I asked you to please stop the horse.”

When he pulled off the road and halted, he got down to help her, but she refused, tossing the lap robe aside. “I’ve just made my decision . . . I won’t be moving back here, Will. You can be sure of that!” She lifted her skirt and began to run from him, running as fast as her legs could take her from her embarrassment and hurt.

Halfway home, she spied the shortcut Tilly had mentioned the other day and took off through the field between Chester’s property and Daed’s. She defied everything she’d heard from Daed and tore through the middle of the forbidden woodlot, sobbing and getting Mamm’s shawl caught time and again on the low branches. She kept her eyes peeled for critters or whatever else might be so worrisome. But she saw nothing at all.

Back at the house, the lantern was lit in Tilly’s room, creating a warm glow. Tilly was still up, as if waiting for her. Ruth plunked down on her sister’s bed, not crying any longer—her tears had dried up on the way. “I’m certain now about what I want to do,” she said, her words pouring out of her. “I want to stay English.” She put her head down for a moment, then met Tilly’s eyes. “It’s over between Will and me.”

“Oh, sister . . . what—”

“I was stupid to ever think of taking him back.
Dumm—
stupid!” With that, she covered her face with her hands again and more tears sprang forth.

“Ruthie . . .” Tilly sat next to her on the bed and tried to comfort her, but no amount of sisterly soothing could return the peace she’d known earlier tonight. Nothing Tilly could say or do would assure Ruth that Will hadn’t cared deeply for Arie Schlabach.
He might care
for her still,
she thought.

It took some time, but she managed to collect herself. Tilly had been right all along—entertaining thoughts of a life with
Will Kauffman was a mistake, indeed. His heart may have changed toward God and the church, but he sure didn’t know himself when it came to women.

Ruth brushed away her tears and reached to hug her sister. Then, when they’d said good-night, she slipped away to her room and soundly closed the door. As fast as she could, Ruth began to unpin her cape apron. Her hands trembled and she couldn’t get it off quickly enough. When all the pins were out, she flung it, uncaring, into the corner, then removed her best blue Amish dress, tossing it into a heap on the floor, as well.

T
illy, Ruthie, and Mamm set right to work early Thursday morning, after a quick breakfast of cold cereal and bananas. They worked doubly hard to finish the very last of the packing before Tilly was to drive Mamm to the hospital later. Ruthie planned to stay behind to direct her brothers and others from the community when they came to move the furniture.

The day was exceptionally hectic and became even more so when one of the road horses got loose and Chester and Melvin dropped everything to run after the mare. A wind had kicked up out of the northeast, and heavy gray clouds loomed as Tilly drove Mamm to the hospital. “Looks like rain,” Tilly mentioned, but Mamm was quiet, undoubtedly lost in a world of concern for Daed.

Once Tilly and her mother arrived at Lancaster General, they waited patiently for Daed to be discharged. Daed seemed almost perky while they sat in his room and waited for the final papers, including numerous instructions as to his care—primarily medication. He twiddled his thumbs, not grumbling but clearly eager to be let out of there. Every few minutes,
he rose from his chair to look out the window, checking the sky in hopes of rain, talking in
Deitsch
about his livestock and the turkeys and the harvest. His thoughts were of home and the farm, and neither Tilly nor Mamm brought up the runaway horse.

By the time Tilly returned them to the
Dawdi Haus
after stopping off at a pharmacy to fill the prescriptions, Chester, Melvin, and the twins had located the runaway mare, as well as already moved in most of the heavy furniture. They’d immediately set up their parents’ bed so Daed could rest upon his arrival. In an odd sort of way, Daed’s being away for the move may have tempered the transition for him, Tilly thought as she led Mamm past the back steps of the main house, to the little porch and steps of their new home.
“Willkumm heemet,
Mamm!”

“It’ll be awful nice to have less to dust and clean,
jah
?” Mamm quipped, her countenance lifted by bringing Daed home.

Tilly smiled and escorted her inside.

Not long after, Josie and her mother, Edie, along with Aunt Naomi and Mammi Lantz, arrived to help complete the unpacking. Tilly and Ruth were grateful and reminded again of the kindly way the People showed up to assist at the drop of a hat.

Once the main house was empty of all boxes and furnishings, except for the beds in Ruth’s and Anna’s former rooms, which Mamm and Daed would no longer be needing, the womenfolk converged over there and began washing down walls and windowsills, followed by sweeping and scrubbing the floors. They cleaned as thoroughly as if they were readying the house for worship. Even the ceiling.

Tilly was actually surprised that Ruthie didn’t look any the
worse for wear, considering she had shed so many tears the night before.
To think her happiness was
so short-lived.
She did find it peculiar that Ruthie wasn’t willing to talk in much detail about what had taken place, despite Tilly’s attempts to reach out to her.
Maybe it’s just too soon.

Melvin finished stacking hay in the loft with his robust younger brother Allen while Sam and a few of their male cousins finished moving the last of the furniture into the
Dawdi Haus
amidst the threat of rain. Allen talked of nothing but Sam’s taking over Daed’s farm, saying he was glad it was Sam and not him. “Why’s that?” Melvin had to know.

“For one thing, I’m mighty happy for Sam. Honestly, though, it’d be tremendous work to run this dairy farm, what with all the fowl, too.”

“But a pretty
gut
living, you have to admit . . . ’specially for a young couple like Sam and Josie.”

Allen scratched the back of his neck. “Well, if they have as many children as Daed’s parents ended up with, that could all change.”

Melvin felt he understood Allen’s meaning to some extent. “That’s up to the Lord, for sure. Thankfully, we parents start with just one and grow into our family.”

Allen shot him a boyish grin and bobbed his blond head. “Ain’t that the truth . . . and a mighty
gut
thing, too. Just think if we got married and then,
pow,
just like that, we were handed eight to ten youngsters to look after . . . and to feed. It’d take some doin’, too, keepin’ em all on the straight and narrow.” He was chuckling as they headed down to the main area of the big barn. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Can’t imagine,” Melvin said. He thought now of having run into Will Kauffman rather late last night. The young fellow’s horse had acted up and stalled him in the middle of Eden Road, up a ways near the turnoff to the main road. Somehow the horse had managed to turn the carriage so it was at a right angle to the country road.

“I think I just lost ya,” Allen said. He was waving his hand in front of Melvin’s face.

“Sorry ’bout that. Deacon Kauffman’s grandson Will came to mind, is all. He had some troubles with his horse last night.” Melvin told Allen he’d been out making a call at the phone shanty and was walking home at the time. “It was a
gut
thing I came upon him when I did.”

“Oh?” Allen raised his eyebrows.

“Let me tell ya, Will seemed flustered over more than his driving horse—he seemed downright upset. His voice sounded awful scratchy, too.”

Allen frowned. “Maybe girl troubles again.”

Melvin had heard tell of the breakup between Will and Ruthie some years ago. “Didn’t ask what was the matter, but it sure looked like there was a lap blanket all rumpled up next to him, like his sweetheart-girl had just been out ridin’ with him.”

“Well, we don’t really know ’bout these young fellas, ain’t? ’Specially the ones who go wild for a time . . . then come crawlin’ back to the church.”

Melvin nodded. It wasn’t any of his business, really. He’d done his best to help Will with the horse so the young man could get on his way. And he felt sure it was Providence that he’d stumbled on the situation when he had. It could have
been a real tragedy had a car come by and not seen Will and his courting buggy, all turned like that.

Mercy’s sake!

At noon, Tilly offered to take a tray of food to Daed, glad her mother had decided on the large downstairs bedroom. The southeast-facing room was presently cheery and light—the fast-moving storm had come and gone. The sunlight suited Daed. “The hospital just isn’t my favorite place to be, no matter how hard they try to make ya feel comfortable.”

“I understand,” she said. “Nice to see you home again, Daed.”

He looked around the room, undoubtedly noticing that things were laid out akin to how they had been in the other bedroom next door, theirs for so many years. “Things look a bit different here, but it’s the same bed. I’m thankful for that.” He chuckled a little.

“You’ll be up and around in no time.”

“I guess so, if I follow the doctor’s instructions.” He fretted over the several heart-related pills he had to take daily, one of which was to be taken twice a day.

“Mamm will help keep track. You’ll be just fine.”

He nodded contemplatively, looking out the window. “Your mother is one angelic woman, I have to say.”

Thinking of Mamm and the terrible trial she’d endured all those years ago, Tilly wholeheartedly agreed.

“I did a lot of pondering while I was in the hospital,” Daed said quietly, returning his gaze to her. “I realized my time could be short . . . and believe it’s high time I told you the truth ’bout yourself, Tilly.”

The room became so still she could hear her own heartbeat. “I already know,” she said before even thinking.

He frowned, apparently confused. “What’re ya sayin’?”

“It’s okay, Daed,” Tilly said. “I already know what happened to Mamm in the woodlot.”

He folded his weathered hands, his expression grave now, even shocked.

“Mamm explained everything—confessed, if you will—after I stumbled across a letter she’d written. She’d meant for me to open it after she passed.” Tilly paused to make herself breathe. “Daed, she revealed all because she thought it might help me . . . understand
you
better.”

He sighed loudly and gazed at the quilt covering him, his work-roughened hands tan against the fabric. “I should’ve been the one to tell you . . . years ago. But I’ve been a coward, hushing up the facts and wanting to plow under the—”

“Daed, this is just too hard for you,” she said, worried.

He ignored her. “Some things have to be said, Tilly. Life doesn’t always make sense.”

“
Nee,
Daed. And life here didn’t always make sense to me, either. Not before I learned about this anyway.”

He shook his head, then groaned, eyes watering.

“Even so . . .” She could hardly speak, considering how upset he looked. “You were always a good provider, Daed—took such good care of Mamm and the family. A God-fearing man.”

He knotted up the quilt with both hands. “When you were an infant . . . all I could see was another man’s child, Tilly. A brutal man, at that. Yet I watched your mother fussin’ over you, lovin’ you as if nothin’ terrible had happened. You belonged to her, Tilly, no matter what we knew . . . but not to me.”

“
Ach
, Daed . . .” As if a light had burst forth, she could sympathize with her father’s reluctance toward her . . . and his enduring pain.

For the first time ever, she actually felt sorry for him.

“I wish I could roll back the years.” He struggled to get the words out. “And, honestly, I don’t know how you will, but I hope you’ll forgive me for my sin of omission. Someday.”

His hand shook as he reached for her.

She stared at this offering of reconciliation. Tilly clenched her teeth to hold back the tears. “You’re forgiven, Daed. Of course you are.”

Tears streamed down his flushed face. “I understand why you didn’t want to stay here, not with your tough childhood . . . and my failings.” He went on to explain how he’d wanted to do right by her, to raise her to be a good Amishwoman like Mamm. “Instead, I was much too harsh and overprotective,” he admitted. “Always keepin’ an eye on you—surely ya must have expected I was just waiting for you to make mistakes . . . and sometimes maybe I was. And Anna’s drowning didn’t help none.” He raised his sorrowful eyes to her. “I feel certain you must blame yourself for that, daughter. You must think
I
blame you, too. That you disappointed me in not lookin’ after your little sister that day . . .” His voice trailed off.

She bowed her head. “
Jah
 . . . I do. Ever so much.”

He drew a long breath. “You had nothin’ at all to do with Anna’s death. You must cast off that false blame and forgive yourself.” He was weeping now. “Please, you must, Tilly-girl.”

She choked back her own tears, disbelieving. “If only it were that easy.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “
Ich verschteh
—I understand, Tilly. I do.”

She took yet another bold step toward him. And trembled as she leaned to kiss his tear-stained cheek.

That evening, during family worship, Daed managed to walk to the small front room from the bedroom and sit in his favorite chair. He read from Psalm 51. “ ‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.’ ” Tilly thought his tone was gentle and even somewhat expressive. It was as if their frankness earlier, their heartfelt exchange, had dispelled the sometimes humdrum feel of his reading. He articulated the Scriptures as though they meant everything to him, as if he was a man who wanted to live, and to live for a very long time.