The Beginning, page 11
“How ’bout we walk toward the bishop’s farm on Hickory Lane? I like seein’ those towering willows out front.”
Susie nodded, wondering what was up. “Mamma says nothin’ looks more peaceful than a willow tree . . . like ours round the pond.”
Britta seemed to consider that. “I wanted to tell ya that Mamma shared some things with me this mornin’ ’bout my first mother. That is, after I asked her some questions.” Britta’s gait slowed considerably. “I can’t be sure, but it might’ve been awkward. She seemed uncomfortable.”
“Well, she was her cheery self today when Polly and family came to visit, though,” Susie said, recalling how Mamma had cooed at Nellie Ann and played with little Joey.
Britta’s cheeks puffed out as she forced air between her lips. “It was wunnerbaar to see Polly an’ family again, jah. I think it got Mamma’s mind off what I’d asked her earlier. ’Least I sure hope so.”
Now Susie had to know. “What exactly did ya ask?”
Britta told her the questions and Mamma’s answers, and then was quiet.
“Does it help to know?” asked Susie.
“Not really, ’tween you and me.”
“Well, I remember layin’ eyes on a sweet little baby who wore the softest yellow dress I’d ever seen—one with ruffles, too,” Susie said, her Kapp strings blowing in the breeze. “Mamma and I instantly fell in love with ya.”
Britta nodded. “You’ve told me that before, and it surprises me that you remember it so clearly.”
“Clear as anything. It was wonderful when I came home from school and there you were, though I knew you were a foster baby, like the few others Mamma and Dat had cared for—infants and even several toddlers earlier, before you came along,” Susie told her, recalling the initial surprise but also the incredibly warm feelings she’d had upon first seeing Britta. “Mamma sat with me on the settee and let me hold you, sayin’ how she’d wished for another child to care for and believed God had answered her prayers.” Susie paused. “It might have seemed odd to some people, ya know, for a widow to take in another baby.”
Britta was quiet.
Susie reached for her hand. “I’ll never forget how you snuggled into my arms, Schweschder. Like we were meant to be sisters. I grew very attached to you and wasn’t ready to lose you after the foster care came to an end.”
Britta smiled pensively, like there was more on her mind. “When Mamma told ya my name, what did ya think?”
“It was such a perty name for a perty baby. And I s’pose I should have guessed you were born to an Englischer—you were dressed that way, that first day—but I never learned for sure. Guess it didn’t matter to me. I was just so glad to have ya to love.”
Britta was swinging her arms now as she walked. “Well, I still wish Mamma would’ve been the one to name me, ’least after she adopted me.” Then for a long time she was silent, as if she’d run out of things to say.
Susie stayed quiet, too, hesitant to break the silence and Britta’s obvious reflection.
When they came to where the road curved away to the home of Aaron Kauffman and his family, Britta stared at the large property, with its several Dawdi Heiser. Then she said softly, “I never told ya what Aaron said to me when we were in first grade.” Britta shook her head sadly, then turned so she and Susie could head back the other way. “That ornery boy spouted off that I didn’t belong here and never would.”
“Oh, Britta . . . that must have been awful to hear. What a thing to say!”
“I never forgot it,” Britta said, her voice breaking. “It keeps goin’ round and round in my memory.”
Susie continued to hold her hand while they walked, the sound of crickets in the thickets nearby as lightning bugs flickered over the meadow. “Remember, you’ll always be my sister, and Mamma’s daughter, too.”
Britta glanced at her. “I know, and I’m grateful.”
“Aaron wasn’t thinkin’ when he talked like that,” Susie added.
“Honestly, I wonder how many others think that ’bout me.” Britta sniffled, but she clung to Susie’s hand.
“No one that I know,” Susie said adamantly.
Just then, a boy flew past them on an Amish scooter, right down the middle of the dusty road. Susie looked and thought it might be the same impudent boy Britta had just mentioned. But Britta seemed too absorbed in her thoughts to have noticed whoever it was, which was probably a good thing.
As they walked toward home, Susie realized that, from this end of the road, Hickory Lane seemed to stretch out far into the distance before it faded almost out of sight, skirted by cornfields and alfalfa on either side. Behind them, in the opposite direction, an early Fourth-of-July firecracker went off, followed by two more distant explosions.
“Do you know anything more ’bout my adoption?” Britta asked unexpectedly.
“Only that it took a while before Mamma could officially adopt ya. Sometimes it’s like that.” She paused. “And I remember prayin’ that we’d get to keep you.”
“Would Allen or Polly know more, do ya think?” Britta pressed.
“I’ve never heard either of them talk about it.”
Britta let go of Susie’s hand and began swinging her arms once again. “Well, someone’s gotta know somethin’,” she murmured.
“Why not ask Mamma again?”
“She wants to wait till I’m older.”
Susie wondered why that was, as well as why not having answers burdened Britta so.
“S’pose I oughta be submissive and quit askin’ so many questions.”
Susie glanced at her. “Could ya pray ’bout it?”
Her sister sighed. “I have . . . many times.”
Susie slowed her pace. “This seems awful hard for ya, sister. I’m real sorry.”
Britta nodded her head slowly. “I’ve kept it inside for all these years.” She wiped her eyes. “Not sure I can wait five more to know where I came from.”
Susie swatted at a shrill pitch near her ear. Then came the tiny prick on her cheek. Mosquitoes! she thought. “What’s it matter where ya came from?”
Britta laughed a little. “That’s kinda what Hazel said.”
“Isn’t where you are now more important?” Susie asked, then added more softly, “Ella Mae once told me that patience is a virtue the Lord rewards in His time.”
“Must be where Mamma got that idea.”
“Well, that, and from the Good Book,” Susie reminded her, thankful Britta felt comfortable talking to her so freely now.
CHAPTER
17
The hot, sticky days of summer slogged along, and with the heat came an abundant harvest of vegetables and berries. The mosquitoes were thicker than in recent summers, and one could hear the chirping of grasshoppers from sunrise to sunset.
Susie and Britta took turns working in their garden and at their roadside farm stand, selling the surplus once the canning and preserving were done. When neither of them could be out there assisting customers, they left the cardboard honor box with its slot for payment.
Meanwhile, Mamma tended the little shop, where it was a bit cooler, thanks to a large gas-powered fan Henry had hauled over.
While the days were long, Susie took time to answer Obie’s newsy letters when they came. She also went out with Del every couple weeks or so, which was about all either of them could manage during this busiest season of the year.
As September approached, Susie continued to be touched that Obie wrote to her so faithfully, offering an inside glimpse at his life in Sugar Valley. He even described some of the youth work frolics there, as well as the enormous corn maze at a nearby farm—though he made it clear he didn’t have a lot of time to engage in such activities. In October, he also wrote of driving two big work horses to pull a hay wagon one night, instead of participating with the group of die Youngie out for the hayride. Susie wondered why.
Yet there was one subject Obie never touched on: Del’s intentions. And she wondered if Obie would ever broach the topic. He must assume we’re getting serious by now, she decided.
The harvest season came around again, and Susie used Dat’s old wheelbarrow to transport large pumpkins and gourds from their garden to the farm stand out front. Britta had grown many chrysanthemum starters in pots in the daylight basement, then later brought them outdoors to grow larger in order to sell, too.
Twice in a single week, Del Petersheim dropped by to purchase a pumpkin and, the second time, a basketful of gourds for his mother. He invited Susie to go out with him and his friends Mervin and Cindy Jane—once to play Ping-Pong and, on another occasion, Dutch Blitz at the Gordonville home of Cindy Jane’s aunt. Susie was happy to accept, but the more time she spent with Del, the lonelier she felt around him. He was kind enough, but he didn’t understand her as well as Obie, and he didn’t share the kinds of things Obie would have known she liked to hear. Yet she recognized it was unfair to compare him to Obie.
Do I just need to give our friendship time to grow? she mused. How much longer should we continue to see each other?
In late November, as they rode home from yet another double date, Susie thanked Del politely for his attention to her and the fun outings they’d shared, saying she was going to step back from dating for a while. Fortunately, Del seemed to take it in stride, not asking any questions and telling her how much he’d appreciated getting to know her before relaying that Mervin and Cindy Jane were very close to being engaged.
Susie was glad for the kindhearted couple, but she couldn’t help wondering if she would ever meet someone who loved her enough to court . . . and eventually marry.
The snow fell so heavily the first Wednesday in December that it pattered against the windowpanes as Susie sat in the front room by the black coal-burning stove to read Obie’s latest letter. She enjoyed his account of interacting with the repeat customers who’d become his friends, but the news he was coming home for Christmas caught her completely off guard. His family will be happy, she thought, feeling quite pleased herself.
Reading on, she was delighted to learn that he wanted to see her while he was home. She recalled the many Christmases they’d gone ice-skating on the pond by the willow grove, and the Christmas evening he had come to play Dutch Blitz with them and been stranded overnight when the snow became so deep and the winds so fierce that the roads drifted over. Mamma had folded several large quilts and blankets to make a comfortable pallet for him in the front room near the coal stove. The next morning at breakfast, Obie had kept them all in stitches with his stories and jovial personality.
Susie realized now she was daydreaming and looked at Mamma, sitting nearby. “Obie’s comin’ home for Christmas,” she said with a glance at the letter.
Mamma chortled. “Ach, Susie, no wonder your face is glowin’.”
Flustered, Susie backtracked a bit. “It’s just nice that he plans to visit, isn’t it?”
Mamma set her mending aside and gave her a thoughtful look. “Are ya happy Obie’s coming or mostly surprised?”
Susie didn’t have to think twice. “Both.”
“Well, bein’ happy’s a very gut thing,” Mamma said, her voice ever so tender now.
Susie pondered that and wondered how she’d feel seeing her friend again after all this time.
The following Sunday, another storm blew in—a ground blizzard, where snow slithered down the road like long white snakes. The mile and a half to Preaching service with the horse and buggy was hard going. Thankfully, after braving the weather to go out and milk the goats early that morning, Britta had urged Susie and Mamma to bundle up extra warm. She’d even heated some bricks to place at Mamma’s feet in the carriage, to help her stay warm enough.
With the weather worsening, they left church before the fellowship meal. Once she’d helped Susie unhitch the carriage, Britta plodded out to the stable again to feed and water the horses, the pony, and goats. While there, she glanced at the telephone on the wall, wishing she could just dial up Hazel, whose family had a phone in one corner of their big barn. Something had crossed her mind about her adoption, and she longed to talk with Hazel privately about it. But, of course, with Hazel not knowing ahead of time about the call, it was unlikely anyone would even answer.
Besides that, the wind was so severe and the snow so heavy, she ought to get her chores done and head back to the house right quick. Dismissing her urge to call Hazel, Britta began to scoop up the feed and pour it into the horses’ trough, working quickly.
When she was finished, Britta opened the stable door to snow falling so fast it was hard to see where to walk—she could make out only the dark tree trunks. The snow hides some things and defines others, she thought as she leaned into the harsh wind and cold.
Once the Monday washing was hung in the basement and Jonathan Ebersol had come to plow the driveway open, Susie and Mamma donned their snow boots and headed on foot to help Liz wash and cut up the chickens that Jonathan’s widower brother, Joel, had just butchered two farms away. In exchange for their help, Joel had generously offered to share with Mamma.
After they finished and returned home again, Susie carried the wrapped chicken to the propane-powered freezer in the basement, then spent several hours stitching one of the largest family trees she’d ever agreed to make. Her goal was to complete it well before the school program the Saturday before Christmas. This year, Britta had been chosen to play the part of Mary, and there was even talk that Bishop Beiler’s two-month-old great-grandson would represent the Christ Child. Susie could hardly wait, telling herself that her excitement had nothing to do with seeing Obie again.
The temperature had been falling the morning of the schoolhouse Christmas program, and Susie wondered if Mamma should even attempt to go out in the cold. Britta was stringing up Christmas cards over the doorway between the kitchen and the front room, as well as over two of the kitchen windows. Susie had added a couple Christmasy touches in her room, too, decorating her dresser with Obie’s pinecone and holly sprig—placed so as not to be readily visible from the hallway.
Mamma suggested Britta bring down the colorful quilted table runner from the upstairs blanket chest, since the red and green would make the kitchen look festive.
Eagerly, Britta ran up to Mamma’s room to get it, and when she returned, she remarked how unique the runner was. “I’ve never seen one like this anywhere else,” she said. “Ain’t hand sewn, either.”
“A gift from a neighbor years ago,” Mamma replied.
“Englischer?” Susie asked, surprised.
Mamma nodded.
Britta placed the pretty runner on the kitchen table, then stepped back to admire it. “You know, I think maybe Susie or I could make somethin’ like this to sell,” she said. “Using our treadle machine.”
Mamma looked at them, smiling. Then she said, “I daresay Susie doesn’t have a speck of extra time, but maybe you could, Britta.”
Britta nodded. “I’ll draw up a pattern during Christmas break. If it turns out all right, I’ll put it in my hope chest, then make more for customers, if ya think they’ll sell.”
Mamma smiled. “I’d be happy to display them in my shop.”
Britta’s face shone at the prospect.
Susie placed two candles on the table and centered them on the Christmas runner. “Have ya memorized your lines for the play?”
Britta laughed. “Actually, I’ve been practicing while I milk the goats every day,” she said. “Really, though, I don’t have much to remember. But I do want to please Tessie. Teacher’s been helpin’ us with our parts for quite a while now.”
“You’ll do fine, dear,” Mamma encouraged her.
Susie agreed. “Mamma’s right, and I’ll be there to cheer you on.”
Britta looked concerned and turned to their mother. “Aren’t you goin’, too, Mamma?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Mamma glanced out the window, which was beginning to frost over.
“Are ya sure?” Susie asked, worried. “It’s awful cold.”
“Well, we could call Rachelle Good to pick us up and bring us home.” Mamma’s eyes brightened. “What do ya say, girls?”
Susie wanted to suggest that she stay home where it was toasty warm, with no risk of getting chilled. But Mamma’s eyes were full of love for Britta, and Susie couldn’t bear to discourage her from going.
A large wreath with a red bow graced the schoolhouse door as families entered. Inside, the large single classroom was bedecked with paper chains of red and green draped over the windows, as well as manger scenes drawn on the chalkboard behind the teacher’s desk. Paper snowflakes and other artwork by the children decorated the windows.
The schoolhouse was filling up quickly, and the air of excitement was nearly tangible as Susie sat with Mamma along the north wall, where chairs had been set up in rows. The opposite side of the room also accommodated the same amount of seating, and Susie could see Josh and Becky Miller with two of their little children and assumed their older ones were in the program. Verena and Marnie were present, too, as were Bishop Beiler’s twin grandsons, Michael and Jonas, and many others.
A number of Susie’s school-age cousins, all wearing different colored dresses and matching capes and long aprons, stood along the front left, behind Tessie, who wore a bright green dress and cape apron as she welcomed everyone to this year’s Christmas program.
Standing there among the other scholars, Britta looked bashful and uncertain. Susie’s heart went out to her, and she hoped her sister would remember her lines.
Partway through the second half, Susie pushed back tears when Britta was seated beside the manger and leaned forward gently to touch the infant, whose tiny hands were moving. If Susie wasn’t mistaken, the baby was cooing at Britta. Witnessing this precious exchange, Susie was moved by her sister’s very natural portrayal of Mary. What a wonderful mother she’ll be someday. . . .
Later, as the program was coming to a close, Susie shifted in her chair and happened to glance over at the other side of the room. And there was Obie, looking right at her!
