The River (3 page)

F
ollowing early worship the next day, before Kris thoughtfully fired up the grill for the birthday steaks, Tilly hurried upstairs and threw open the cedar chest under the window. “I
know
it’s in here somewhere,” she fretted as she lifted layer upon layer of handmade quilts and linens.

Then, seeing the small plastic bag, she lovingly removed it. How many years had it been since she’d set eyes on little Anna’s white organdy head covering? Not thinking it wrong at the time, Tilly had taken it from her mother’s room without saying anything when she moved to Massachusetts. But the Scripture reading in this morning’s sermon had stirred things in her mind and heart.

She studied the delicate
Kapp
, which she’d sewn for Anna, and carefully lifted it from its wrapping. Even now, her little sister’s death seemed a stab to Tilly’s awareness.
So very
final.
Holding it against her face, she thought,
Oh, Anna
, I miss you so.
Her petite baby sister had shadowed Tilly from the time she was a toddler.

Tilly pondered Ruth’s sudden insistence that they return to Eden Valley, and for the first time, gave it serious thought.
Ruth wants
to go,
she mused as she turned the little cap over in her hands, eyes filling with tears.
If for
no other reason, I should go and give this back
to Mamm.

She knelt there and wiped her eyes, trying her best to envision a setting where she and her mother could sit quietly together and actually have a conversation. At the end of her days there, they’d scarcely had more than a few words to say to each other, although her mother wrote occasionally, keeping Tilly updated when new babies were born and about family doings.

“Tilly, are you up there?” her husband called from the foot of the stairs.

“I’ll be right down, hon.” She put the head covering back into its safe spot and wondered if returning it was a good enough reason to put herself through the agony of facing her family, a family that had all but disowned her.

No, but I
should do it for Ruthie.

“You’ll miss the harvest festival here,” Kris mentioned later, while Tilly cleared the cake plates from her birthday celebration.

“I know,” she admitted, “but with my father’s health so poor, it seems like the right decision.”

He reluctantly agreed. “I could take the girls downtown next Saturday to choose their favorite scarecrow, but I can’t afford to miss work on Monday.”

She explained that Ruth was really the one pressing to go—at least for the anniversary. “She doesn’t want to wait around.”

Nodding thoughtfully, her husband caught Tilly’s eye. “Maybe your sister has unfinished business there.”

“Oh, Ruthie closed that door, believe me.”

Kris slipped his arm around her waist. “It’s not like you, or Ruthie, to want to go back, hon.”

“Right.” She nodded. “
This
is my home now.” Tilly met his lips as he leaned down to kiss her.

Kris murmured, not arguing for or against any longer.

She moved from his embrace and turned on the hot water, then began to rinse and scrape the dishes. “Do you think your mother might agree to come and help with the girls?” Tilly asked.

“Move in, you mean?” Kris smirked.

“I’d only be gone from Friday morning till we get back the following Monday afternoon.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “If your mom can’t help out, I’ll drop the whole idea.”

They tossed it around further, and Kris surprised her by saying, “I think it’s you who wants to go.” He reached for the phone on the built-in desk across the kitchen. “Let’s just find out if it suits Mom and be done with it,” he suggested.

Tilly thanked him and loaded the dishwasher, happy every day of her modern life for such timesaving conveniences, recalling the hours she’d spent in Mamm’s kitchen washing oodles of dishes. Pots and pans, too. From the age of six on, the chore had seemed daunting.

While she worked, Kris talked with his mother on the phone. Tilly knew how blessed she was with her helpful husband. He was thoughtful, too, and she believed unreservedly that their first meeting had been intended by God—the Wednesday evening she’d walked into their church and was warmly welcomed by handsome Kris Barrows. They’d dated eight months before becoming engaged, his parents accepting
her as their own.
Despite my Plain
background,
she thought gratefully.

Hearing Kris describe the possible scenario for his mother just now, Tilly prayed silently,
Please, Lord, give us a stop sign if this is
a mistake.

For the first couple of years after Tilly left, Melvin Lantz did what siblings do when someone in the family does a strange and hurtful thing. He prayed, determined never to give up hope, thinking surely Tilly would grow up and realize her contrariness.

“Hurry and
come to your senses,”
he had sometimes found himself saying aloud as he worked in the stable or drove the market wagon over back roads . . . whenever his thoughts wandered to the sister who’d never seemed to mesh well with the rest of the family. That was before he’d heard that she had married, discarding the Amish life for good. After that, Melvin knew there was no chance of real reconciliation.

As the years merged into more, there was only news about Tilly via Ruth. At the time Tilly left, fifteen-year-old Ruth was the only one in the family who even knew where Tilly had gone . . . and later, that she’d married and given birth to twin daughters.

Melvin had always assumed Tilly would have preferred to correspond with her childhood best friend, Josie Riehl, who’d married Melvin and Tilly’s younger brother Sam. But, oddly enough, it was
Ruthie
whom Tilly’d chosen to share her thoughts with. This still struck Melvin as surprising, since, with eight years between them, the two sisters hadn’t been all that close before.

Walking along Eden Road toward his parents’ old farmhouse now, Melvin was anxious to get the anniversary plans under way. Thus far, he and his brothers had kept it quiet from Daed and Mamm, but today he felt it was time to tell them something about the gathering next Saturday noon for dessert. “Sure wouldn’t want to surprise them
too
much,” he whispered to himself, uneasy about his father’s heart.

Ruth stayed after the ladies’ luncheon in the church basement, helping with cleanup in the kitchen. When she dried her hands and left for the stairs, she heard Jim Montgomery’s voice and noticed he and two other men had just finished tearing down the folding tables and chairs.

“Ruth,” he called to her, looking especially smart in his tan suit. His light brown hair was swept to one side and waved gently over his forehead and, like most young men his age, Jim’s sideburns were wide and long. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too, Jim.” She mentioned her part in the luncheon, pleased by his seeking her out this soon after their dinner date last week. His interest was conveyed in his glance and the way he walked quickly toward her. It was obvious he couldn’t suppress how he felt about her.

“Are you going to church tonight?” He sported his usual engaging smile.

“I am.”

“What if I picked you up? We could sit together,” he said, his golden-brown eyes twinkling. “And . . . there’s a great little pie place not far from here.”

“Sounds wonderful.” She smiled.

He nodded and pushed one hand into his trouser pocket.
“Terrific. I’ll look forward to it.” He walked her outside and to her car, then waved and headed off to his own vehicle.

This is a big step
,
Ruth thought, realizing how very public their friendship was becoming.

Ruth wondered if Tilly would approve of Jim, but since Tilly and her family didn’t always attend Sunday evening services, Ruth decided she didn’t need to reveal anything.
Not just yet.

Sitting with Jim in church turned out to be less intimidating than Ruth might have expected. For one thing, not a single person looked twice at them during the brief fellowship time prior to the sermon. And afterward, Jim didn’t want to linger, so they made a quick exit.

At the pie place, which looked almost like a Mennonite grandmother’s breakfast room, complete with floral wallpaper and ruffled yellow curtains, Jim asked what she’d like to eat and politely ordered for her.

They’d chosen a comfy booth, away from the more occupied area where families were talking and enjoying dessert—everything from pies to cake and ice cream.

Jim mentioned how happy some of the families looked, in particular one family of six, where the mother beamed down at a new baby. Ruth wondered if it was a roundabout way to gauge her interest in children. “Having a large family can surely be a blessing,” she said. “Though my own family hit some rather rough patches.” She paused, not ready to tell him all about that, though he had to suspect as much, seeing as how she and Tilly were no longer Amish. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe it’s been three years since I’ve seen them. But my sister and I are planning a trip back—next weekend, in fact.”

A slow smile spread across his clean-shaven face, and he leaned one arm on the table. “Well, I hope you don’t forget about me with all those eligible farmers around,” he quipped.

She appreciated his charming attempt to lighten her mood. It was almost as if he knew about her heartbreak over Will.
Long past.

“I won’t be gone for more than a few days,” she added.

He was nodding. “Good to know.”

Thoroughly enjoying their time together, Ruth found herself comparing Jim to Will—the two men were as unalike in manner as they were in appearance.
Jim seems to know his mind . . .
and he’s steadfast in the Lord, too. And what
a
gentleman
!

She found herself relieved yet again that she hadn’t stayed in Eden Valley, waiting for Will Kauffman to get his life straightened out.

W
hat’ll we do about attending church if Sunday’s a Preaching service?” Ruthie broached the topic to Tilly as they headed southwest on I-95 around Boston the following Friday.

Tilly still couldn’t believe they were actually going home, let alone talking of Amish house church. “Well,
I’m
not interested,” she said, hands tight on the steering wheel.

“I’d rather not go, either, but since I’m staying with Mamm and Daed, I’ll be expected to.”

“Honestly, I think you’ll be expected to do a lot of things if you stay at the house.”

Ruth grimaced. “Well, it’s better all around for me to stay with them.”

She doesn’t want to offend our
parents,
Tilly thought but said no more. In Tilly’s opinion, Uncle Abner and Aunt Naomi were the much preferred company, followed by their brother Melvin and his wife, Susannah. Melvin’s friendly, pleasant tone on the phone the other day when Tilly called him certainly demonstrated that. Aunt Naomi had sounded genuinely delighted when Tilly connected with her, too.

Despite her lingering misgivings about the trip, Tilly was happy for this special sister time—she and Ruth even managed to laugh from time to time. As always, they truly appreciated each other’s company.

Eventually Ruth dozed off, her light blond hair falling loosely around her face. The color had a liveliness to it—like the flash of a match struck in the wind. Tilly remembered the first time she’d held newborn Ruth, an hour after her birth. To eight-year-old Tilly, tiny Ruth had been better than a new dolly.

Hours later, as they were entering the state of Connecticut, Tilly mentioned, “No pressure, Ruthie, but Aunt Naomi was very nice about saying there would be room for both of us at their place. That is, if you change your mind before we arrive.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Just thought you should know . . . in case things get, well, prickly at Daed and Mamm’s.”

Ruth nodded. “It’s only three short nights, and then we’ll be heading home again.”

Home.
Tilly glanced at her pretty sister. In all truth, she was glad they were staying at separate locations, since then Ruth might not have to know Tilly’s secret—Tilly could time her conversation with Mamm so Ruth was out in the barn or with her beloved horses in the stable at Daed’s. And Ruth could be spared overhearing Mamm’s tongue-lashing for Tilly making off with their little sister’s
Kapp
. Mamm—Daed, too—wouldn’t take Tilly’s age into consideration. You were to respect your elders your whole life and follow the rules of their household.

Much later, they took a detour to pick up burgers and something to drink near Terre Hill, north of Lancaster. Unexpectedly, she saw a road sign for the old Weaverland Bridge, which crossed the Conestoga River just ahead. Tilly shivered as they approached the river, forever fixed in her mind and heart.

“Is it too late to turn back?” she murmured.

———

The sun shone bright against the windshield as Ruth listened to the radio. Her favorite love song was playing. The lyrics to “It Was Almost Like a Song” always gripped her, but today she had to look toward the window so Tilly wouldn’t see the tears welling up as the singer crooned.

The first verse described her and Will’s courtship exactly. As the song continued, Ruth felt the old angst again, remembering all that went wrong between her and Wilmer Kauffman. Their special love had ended so abruptly.
Out of necessity,
Ruth reminded herself.

Ruth had never understood why Will followed his friend Lloyd Blank to join the wild buddy group, the Jamborees. This had perplexed her, because she’d never known Will to be swayed by anyone.
So many unanswered questions.

Ruth had continued to scratch her head over Will’s choices, and she wondered now if he’d settled on a girl from that Amish “gang” for his bride. If he was already married, it was wrong for her to second-guess what had transpired between them. Or even to pine for him, if that’s what she was feeling while hearing this sad love song.

To think she was going back home, where the risk of running into Will and any wife, and possibly a baby, was quite high. Oh, why hadn’t Ruth thought this through before pleading with Tilly to return?

I must be a glutton for punishment,
she thought, knowing her growing relationship with Jim should put Will far from her mind. Yet the feeling of melancholy lasted all the way to the turnoff to Strasburg and beyond.

———

It was Tilly’s idea to drive directly to Uncle Abner’s, bypassing their father’s farmhouse. It made little sense, perhaps, but Tilly wasn’t ready to see her parents without the emotional cushion of more siblings.

Ruth went along with the notion with some measure of uncertainty, ever concerned with good manners. “Hope this won’t add more fuel to the fire,” she told Tilly.

At the small historic square at the intersection of Route 896 and 741, Ruth’s face lit up as she pointed out the creamery while they waited for the light to change. “I loved that old place, didn’t you?”

“Plenty of happy memories there?” Tilly asked.

Ruth nodded dreamily.

Probably
with Will Kauffman,
Tilly surmised.

“They have the best ice cream—the most varieties I’ve ever seen in one place,” Ruth said.

Tilly’d had her own pleasant experiences there, too, with a couple young beaus before she’d decided she couldn’t live in Lancaster County any longer.

Another world ago . . .

The remaining portion of their trip was a short distance of only a few miles, and Tilly slowed as they approached White Oak Road where it intersected with May Post Office Road. It was still hard to believe that they were actually headed toward Eden Valley after all this time away from home. She was struck by the height of certain trees, as well as the additional homes
that had been built in the last eight years. And the brilliance of the red sugar maples.

This was
the road we took to the picnic that summertime morning
.
Tilly’s thoughts flew back to the day that had begun with such promise. Their English neighbors, the Eshlemans, had taken them in their large van to visit Mamm’s ailing aunt at Lancaster General Hospital early that morning.
An
off-Sunday from Preaching,
Tilly recalled. After the hospital visit, they’d gone to Central Park in Lancaster around noon, having invited their neighbors to join them for a picnic—they wouldn’t have considered stopping at a restaurant on the Lord’s Day. The weather was warm and humid, and the hours following were filled with the sweet tastes of watermelon and other delicious treats—homemade root beer and nice cold meadow tea.

There were long swings at the lovely park, and if you pumped hard enough and leaned way back, it seemed you could nearly touch the clouds with your bare feet. And there were seesaws, too—everything a child could enjoy against the backdrop of the beautiful Conestoga River.

The river,
thought Tilly, her shoulders tensing.
So
much was lost in the space of one dreadful afternoon.