The River (7 page)

T
he sky had turned silvery white as dusk began to fall over the landscape, the sun a large pearled onion. It was as if the very countryside was Ruth’s companion, familiar as it still was to her.
Familiar
and
foreboding
.
While she dried dishes for her mother across from the windows, she noticed the trees were beginning to cast shadows in the waning light.

She stacked another white plate in the cupboard, and the little cow-shaped creamer caught her eye—its handle the tail.
Mamm’s birthday gift from
Tilly,
she recalled, startled to see Mamm had kept it, considering everything.

Ruth turned and let her gaze roam to her father’s chair at the head of the table and recalled their conversation during the meal earlier. She assumed the unexpected pleasantness was due to Tilly’s absence. Daed had been more relaxed than Ruth anticipated—he’d seemed pleased to see her. Talkative too. Presently, he’d gone out to check on two new calves even as Mamm scoured a large pan in the sink.

Nothing had been said about Tilly’s disappearance prior to supper, though since her parents hadn’t mentioned it, Ruth
suspected they were relieved, which made her feel uneasy. Even sad.

Mamm broke the tranquility. “Besides the family get-together, is there another reason why you and Tilly wanted to visit after all this time away?” Her eyes probed Ruthie’s.

“I felt the Lord nudging me.”

“The
Lord
?” Mamm turned swiftly. “Oh, Ruthie, are ya thinkin’ of changing your mind and—”

“No, Mamma. I didn’t mean that.”

Her mother’s face drooped; she looked terribly disappointed. “
Ach
, I can still pray, ain’t so?”

Ruth groaned inwardly. Mamm’s remark had put Ruth’s stomach in knots. She held her breath, and when her mother leaned down to rinse out the sink, Ruth closed her eyes. In the space of less than a minute, her mother’s demeanor had changed to one of misery.

Tilly was especially lonesome for Kris and the twins as she unpacked in the main level guest room at her uncle and aunt’s. The kitchen had been long since redded up, and she and her aunt and uncle had sat awhile at the table as Tilly got caught up on various folk, including Mammi Lantz. Mammi, it turned out, currently resided in the small
Dawdi
Haus
attached to the main farmhouse where her oldest son, Tilly’s uncle Hank, lived with his wife.

Uncle Abner urged Tilly to go over and pay a visit to her grandmother.
“How about before you head home Monday?”
he’d said with a serious look.
“At her age,
ya never know . . .”

Tilly closed the bedroom door but saw no way to lock it for complete privacy. Even so, she felt secure enough to remove
Anna’s
Kapp
from its wrapping. After all, her aunt and uncle had retired to their room.

As she held her little sister’s delicate white head covering, Tilly bowed her head and asked for divine guidance in approaching her mother. “Help me know the right way to do this—the best way to honor You, Lord,” she prayed.

Later, when she had returned the
Kapp
to her suitcase and was ready for bed, Tilly felt she should be as forthright as possible.
As plainspoken as Mamm will allow me to be
.
She reached over to extinguish the lantern on the small table next to the bed, but instead of settling into bed, she stepped to the window and raised the dark green shade to peer out in the direction of her parents’ home. She could not see the farmhouse, but she imagined a golden flicker of light in one of the upstairs windows.

She prayed for her sister, asking God to give Ruthie a peaceful night of sleep.

Tilly’s eyes roamed the moon-swept landscape to the hill beyond, where Anna’s grave marker stood less than a mile away. But Tilly would leave that particular visit for Monday morning, before they drove back home.
If at all.

There was another location she felt even more compelled to visit, a place she’d always thought she would never want to see again—Central Park in Lancaster City, where Anna had fallen into the river. No need to breathe a word to Ruth, or anyone, for that matter. Tilly would go alone and pay her respects before leaving for Rockport.

Ruth had waited till the house was quiet before she crept down the back staircase to pour milk in a cup and then, just as silently, returned to her room. Now, as she sat on the bed,
the small gas lantern illuminating the room, she stared at the locked door across the hallway. If Mamm hadn’t reminded her it was locked, she might not feel so drawn to go over and peer into the keyhole.
Human nature,
she thought.

What if I jimmied the lock with a hairpin
?
She’d seen one of her twin brothers do this in the past at a cousin’s. Jacob, she thought it was.
Always the prankster
.

She began to quietly sing a verse from a favorite hymn. “I will sing of my Redeemer, and His wondrous love to me; on the cruel cross He suffered from the curse to set me free.” She continued to hum, knowing she would miss her church this Sunday. The comforting hymn brought her peace as she sat there, a guest in her parents’ home.

Getting up, Ruth closed her door and lined up her slippers where her feet would land when she got out of bed in the morning. She put out the lantern and slipped into bed beneath the Sunshine and Shadows quilt.

Lying still, Ruth prayed her silent Amish rote prayers, in honor of the old days. And when she was finished, the thought crossed her mind that she might have been wrong to be put out earlier today by Wilmer’s friend Lloyd Blank.
Was I, Lord?

Sighing, she rolled over and slid deeper into the covers, hoping Tilly was as cozy tonight as she felt here in her old bed. Ruth also hoped with all of her heart for a happy day tomorrow, especially for her parents, then wished that her dreams might be sweet ones. And to encourage that, she slipped in a quick prayer for Jim Montgomery, thankful for their growing friendship.

In the soft light of his lantern, Melvin noticed a bunch of old newspapers still scattered on the floor in one corner of
the kitchen, where Susannah had churned butter today. He recalled helping her at one point, both of them taking turns churning. He’d grinned when the telltale yellow dots finally appeared, then slowly formed into a rich glob. Susannah had been the one to pour off the buttermilk right quick. His dear wife was a hardworking woman, and he thanked the Good Lord for her each and every day.

Making his way out to the utility room now, Melvin reached for his work jacket and pushed his arms into it. While Susannah slept soundly, he would check on his ailing mule, knowing he might need to call the vet first thing in the morning.
An inconvenience, considering the family plans,
he thought as he put on his old work boots and headed outdoors.

A big harvest moon shone starkly this night. Melvin glanced over yonder toward Daed’s, wondering if Ruth had been treated cordially at supper. Up until recently, Daed had been known to make occasional asides about Tilly and her disloyalty, but he’d spared Ruth. He’d always preferred Ruth to Tilly, though it was Anna who’d been his favorite.
The baby of the family . . .

In all truth, there had never been any child quite as favored as Anna, amongst her family, at least. Many had taken notice of it, but no one had ever said a word, knowing she was Daed and Mamm’s youngest. As a toddler, Anna had been eager to please, but he and Susannah had seen another side of little Anna that had worried him at times. It nagged at him, even now.

Melvin had never been able to completely erase the memory of her screams that terrible afternoon. Right after Anna’s fall, the wind had torn through the treetops along the river, punctuating the horror. He and Chester had leapt into the dark waters, along with other men, but Anna’s thrashing took her
life before they could swim out to her. His heart broke anew at the memory—so unnecessary, her death.

Three sisters lost to
us—one to death, the others to English life.

Lifting his eyes to the night sky, Melvin watched the radiant moon’s climb over the neighbors’ tobacco shed. Tilly and Ruth’s long-awaited return had definitely stirred up the excruciating past.

“You must move on, dear,”
Susannah had gently suggested so many times he’d lost count.

Not
easy.

He slid open the stable door and heard the low moaning of his poor, sick mule.

T
illy was indistinctly aware of the refrain of birds and a faint scent of flowers and beeswax. Was she dreaming? She reveled in the feeling, delightfully relaxed . . . thinking it was springtime and that she was a young girl again.

Slowly, she sat up in bed and began to realize she was not in her old room but rather in her Mast uncle and aunt’s house. Absorbing her pleasant surroundings, she was thankful she’d left one of the window shades up, providing an appealing view of the landscape—the field visible even from her cozy perch. Late October in Lancaster County had always been splendid.

As she loved to do, Tilly offered a prayer of blessing for the day, then slipped out of bed to get her Bible from the dresser, where she’d left it last evening. Turning to the psalms, she located her bookmark. “ ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’ ” She relished the inspiration. It was certainly a day that could well be laden with circumstances beyond her control; a day she must give wholly to the Lord, who’d never left or deserted her, in spite of the many mistakes she’d made.

Thinking now of her mother, Tilly decided to write a note instead of attempting a face-to-face apology—awkward at best, particularly on a day meant for celebration. This way, she could simply leave it with Anna’s
Kapp
in her parents’ bedroom and be done with it.

Dear Mamm,

I’m returning Anna’s head covering, offering my apology for taking it when I left Eden Valley. I hope you can understand that it was all I had of my baby sister. That may sound like a poor excuse, I realize, and I know it probably holds special meaning for you, too. I am sorry if this has caused you further pain. Please forgive me?

Your daughter, Tilly

She struggled with conflicting emotions as she wrote. Truly, she felt that her parents, Daed especially, had consistently viewed her as always in the wrong, filled with naughtiness and a tendency to blunder. Perhaps they’d suspected all along that she’d taken the
Kapp
.

Locating Anna’s
Kapp
in her suitcase, Tilly put it and the note into her purse and snapped it shut. She would give the timing of its return to God and trust that all would be well.

“Sometime before Tilly and I leave for home, would you mind opening up Anna’s room?” Ruth asked Mamm while stirring eggs and milk for a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. “I’d like to see it again.”

“I’m sure you would, dear, but—”

“If it’s too painful, I’d—”

“Well,
jah
, ’tis certainly that.”

Ruth knew she must honor that, even though she didn’t know why she couldn’t be given the key, perhaps, and go in there on her own. But seeing her mother’s eyes dim just now, she thought better of pressing the issue.

“When do ya think Tilly’ll be over?” Mamm asked while separating the bacon strips before putting them into the black frying pan on the cookstove.

“She didn’t say.” Ruth really didn’t know when to expect her sister. Truth was, Tilly was even more on edge than Ruth, evidenced by the way she’d exited so quickly prior to suppertime.

“Well, do you expect she’ll come for the dessert today at noon?” Mamm asked, her face showing concern.

“That’s why we’re here,” Ruth replied. “I’d be shocked if she didn’t show up.”

Mamma bobbed her head, still looking serious. “Since you won’t be around for long, it’d be nice to see
both
of yous.”

Ruth was happy to hear it, thinking at least Mamm was getting used to the idea that Tilly was back in Eden Valley.

“We’ll have a bite to eat before everyone arrives,” Mamm added. “I’m plannin’ to make some tuna salad after breakfast.”

“It’ll be fun having all of us Lantz kids under the same roof, right?”

Mamm smiled and patted her shoulder. “So nice,
jah
.”

Ruth prayed it would be not only nice . . . but wonderful.

Tilly counted four carriages parked in her parents’ northeast yard when she arrived on foot—with all her brothers’ families in attendance, she’d decided it wiser to leave her car behind.
She’d already enjoyed some delicious corn chowder and a toasted cheese sandwich at Aunt Naomi’s table after helping her aunt make lunch. It brought back such good memories, a bright spot she sorely needed as she made her way up the driveway, then past the deeply colored mums along the side of the house. Tilly remembered all the times she and Ruthie had planted flowers for their mother. Ruth had always been the one with the green thumb, or so their father pointed out. Tilly, on the other hand, had been known to overwater plants—particularly a problem for the more finicky rosebushes, causing them to wither and die.

Seeing the buggies, Tilly wondered if everyone had already arrived. Aware of her pounding heart, she wished Ruth might spot her and come running outside so they could go in together, two sisters united.

Breathing a silent prayer for peace, she was glad she’d worn a modest-length skirt and had taken care to brush her hair back into a low ponytail. She made her feet move one in front of the other as she headed around to the back door, hearing the happy chatter inside. There was laughter, too.

She reached for the storm door and pressed the handle, wishing she could just sneak inside and avoid causing a scene.

The door swung open with a creak, and Tilly slipped inside and spotted Josie, wearing a royal blue dress with a white cape apron. She was helping Ruth cut the anniversary cake centered on the long table as other sisters-in-law passed around dessert plates.

From the way it looked, Tilly seemed to be late for the celebration and didn’t know how that could’ve happened when she’d tried so hard to be on time.
This time,
she thought, remembering her childhood nickname: Too-late Tilly.

Allen saw her and nodded, then glanced at Daed. Did he fear tension between them?

Several others looked her way, as well, then quickly at Daed, as if expecting something to happen. Oh, Tilly could feel the pressure in the room—the undertow of the old expectations. She hung back a bit.

Soon Chester began to lead out in his clear baritone voice, and they all joined in, just like at church, minus the pitch pipe. “Happy anniversary to you, happy anniversary to you, happy anniversary dear Daed and Mamm . . . happy anniversary to you!”

Tilly sang, too, while standing beside her brother Sam, Josie’s husband, who was behind most of the cluster of family. He was dressed in Sunday clothes—the black trousers, white shirt, and black frock coat worn by Lancaster Amishmen. When he glanced at her, Sam smiled amidst the commotion of so many crowded in the kitchen, large as it was.

“Hi,” she said softly, grateful for his welcome.

“Well, looks like you
are
here,” Sam said. “
Gut
for you, brave girl.”

Brave?
If only he knew, she thought, offering her own smile and stepping in next to him. “How’s the cake?”

“It looks
wunnerbaar-
gut
,” Sam said. “Oh, here, take this piece.” He offered his untouched plate and fork.

Glad for it, she thanked him and accepted the plate.

Meanwhile, Sam moved forward through the line, past thirty-four-year-old Jacob and Joseph and their respective wives, Becky and Rachel . . . and then Allen, two years older than Ruth, along with his brunette wife, Hannah. Allen’s two little boys were sitting cross-legged on the floor over near the windowed wall. Except for Tilly and Ruth, everyone in the room looked like they were dressed for Preaching service.

Sam finally made his way to the table and asked Josie for another plate. “Sure, here’s another piece,” Josie told her husband. She glanced up, eyes twinkling, then noticed Tilly. “Thought for a minute you were already hopin’ for seconds.”

Standing on the perimeter as she was, Tilly wished she might not be seen by her parents. But in a few short minutes, Daed looked her way and seemed to study her, his head tilted. What was that look? But no, she knew better than to hope. He wasn’t really acknowledging her presence so much as just noticing her there.

She made herself smile for him, and he nodded yet again. Maybe he
was
acknowledging her, his expression more pleasant than any she’d known all the years growing up. Because of that, Tilly felt brave enough to inch through the crowd to attempt to greet him.

Her father took a couple of bites of cake, then stopped, fork in hand, and grimaced as if in pain. He gave an odd glance at the ceiling before leaning to whisper something to Mamm. She looked up at him sweetly, then frowned—a look of concern, perhaps. And before Tilly could get to him, Daed excused himself and left the kitchen.

He made his way through the next room, where Mamm had always kept her china hutch and other nice dishes on display—especially her collection of teacups and saucers. He trudged to the front room sofa like a horse following furrowed ground. Daed sat gingerly for a moment before slowly reclining, his glasses sliding down his nose. His right hand rested on his chest.

A foreboding came over her, and Tilly realized how very much she wanted to speak to him, despite his apparent fatigue. Determined, she pressed onward and saw Mamm look over
her shoulder at Daed before going to talk with Chester, her expression grave.

Keep going,
Tilly told herself, unintentionally blocked again by more family members.
Follow him . . . offer a
friendly greeting.

But by the time she’d stopped to chat with a couple of her sisters-in-law, Tilly saw that Daed was sound asleep. Pausing in the doorway between the large kitchen and the wide hallway, she regretted all the years of absence.
I’m too late.