The Beginning, page 26
They spent the afternoon playing games and, later, put on coats and boots to tramp through the snow to call Mamma at the old phone shed half a field away. It was a precious time, hearing her voice again and passing the phone around. Even little Nellie Ann expressed a Christmas wish for her grandma to come home. “Kumme Heemet, Mammi, jah?”
When it was Britta’s turn, Susie noticed her eyes well up.
She misses Mamma more than ever.
Later, Susie enjoyed watching Henry and Polly give each of the children green-netting bags of hard candy, nuts, and oranges. Henry also read the Christmas story from the gospel of Matthew while the children sat attentively at his knee.
Afterward, as she gathered up her things to travel back to Hickory Hollow, Susie reflected on last night’s short exchange between Henry and Britta, praying Britta would take it to heart, as Henry intended.
Three days later, the wind howled and snow flew horizontally during the van ride home from Saturday market. Susie was relieved when their stone house came into view, she felt that tense.
As soon as the van stopped at the end of the driveway, Britta got out and dashed over to the mailbox while Susie paid Rachelle for the ride. She then joined Britta as they trudged up the driveway together, leaning into the wind.
Inside, Susie didn’t bother to remove her coat or scarf before stoking the coal stove, grateful for the remaining embers.
Meanwhile, Britta opened an envelope addressed to her and pulled out a pretty card. She read the greeting, then let out a gasp. “What the world?”
Susie frowned.
“It’s a card.”
“Jah, I can see that,” Susie teased, edging closer. “But who from?”
“Kathleen Williamson . . . and she wrote her telephone number at the bottom.”
Susie’s heart fell.
“She says she’s happy I contacted her and looks forward to talking to me,” Britta said, “if I would welcome that.” She glanced at the envelope again. “She didn’t put her name with the return address. Maybe she wanted to surprise me. Ach, I’m so happy!”
Not wanting to put a damper on Britta’s enthusiasm, Susie hardly knew how to react.
Britta held out the card.
Susie reached for it and noticed the lovely nativity on the front and a Scripture verse inside. Hearing from you was an unexpected Christmas surprise, Kathleen had written.
“It’s very nice,” Susie managed to say, handing the card back to Britta.
“I think so, too . . . she didn’t have to write back, or even this quick.” Britta’s excitement seemed to grow by the moment. “I might just run out to the stable and give her a call.”
“Don’t ya want to think it over first?” Susie wished she would—Henry’s remarks on Christmas Eve must not have caused Britta to reconsider forging this connection.
“Nee, I’m gonna call her before I get cold feet.” And with that, Britta got up and headed out to the utility room, where Susie could hear her putting on her snow boots again.
Why such a rush? Susie thought, feeling at a loss to know what to do. If there was a way to stop her, would I?
Don’t be ferhoodled, Britta thought, her hand trembling as she dialed the number. She heard the ringing, and her throat felt like she’d eaten a ball of cotton. O Lord, help me do this right, she prayed, gripping the phone as she counted the rings.
At the end of the stable, one of the goats began to bleat, and she realized it was close to milking time. “I’ll be right there,” she called to the animal, then felt silly.
Kathleen’s line kept ringing.
No one’s home, Britta thought, disappointed.
Finally a man’s voice came on the recording, directing her to leave a name and number and someone would return the call.
Quickly, Britta hung up. This was not how she’d imagined it. And now that she’d dialed and waited, she wondered what she would have said if Kathleen had answered.
Let down, she made her way to the shelf to grab the milk box containing everything she needed, including the clean stainless-steel bucket. As she worked, she wondered when the best time to call again might be.
While Britta was out in the stable, Susie went to her room to pray. At first, few words came to mind, and she tried to imagine what Mamma would pray in her position. Of course, Mamma had sent Kathleen’s address to Britta, so that was something to ponder. Why did Mamma seem to encourage her to reach out?
After praying, she picked up her Bible, in its pretty quilted cover Britta had so beautifully made for her. Sitting in the chair between the two large windows, Susie read from Psalm 34, trying to calm herself. I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. . . .
“May it be so,” she whispered, looking out at the rapidly falling snow. She could scarcely see the willow grove and the pond beyond. It’ll be beautiful once it stops. Maybe I can go skating again when the weather improves, she thought, wondering what the forecast was for next week. First she’d need to get Britta to help her clear the pond of all this new snow.
Tomorrow was an off-Sunday from Preaching service, but she was certain they would not be traveling to visit any relatives. Not in this weather. We’ll have to stay put, she mused, wondering how long Britta would be out there talking on the phone.
The snow had stopped in the night, leaving behind a glittering scene the next morning. The gazebo looked like a giant white muffin top, and the willows around the pond were cloaked in purest white.
After breakfast, Susie and Britta began to shovel out the back walkway, and it was only a short time before Jonathan Ebersol arrived to plow the drive.
Susie wondered if her sister would try to call Kathleen again, but she decided to let Britta bring it up. No sense encouraging her. . . .
This being the Lord’s Day, they would suspend all stitching, mending, and cleaning, and there would certainly be no sorting through boxes. As had always been Mamma’s way, there would be little or no cooking, either. Susie had adhered to that practice, choosing to make Sunday different than other days. Rather, she and Britta would enjoy reading and playing checkers, as well as writing letters.
“I hope you’re not upset with me for tryin’ to contact Kathleen,” Britta said during the noon meal of tuna sandwiches, potato chips, and fruit cup.
“Not upset, nee.”
“But you’re concerned, jah?”
“Concerned is a better way of putting it.” Susie reached for her sandwich.
Britta seemed to consider that. “I prayed last night, askin’ God to help me have the courage to call again . . . and for the words to say.”
Susie didn’t let on that she really wondered how this potential relationship would benefit Britta, although she could understand how Kathleen might want to know the daughter she’d given away.
“Will ya pray for me while I call?” Britta asked, eyes pleading.
“When?”
“After dishes are done. Hopefully this time she’ll answer.”
Susie looked at her dear sister. “What would ya like me to pray for?”
Britta sighed. “God’s will most of all.”
It was obvious how much this meant to Britta. “Jah, I can pray for that.”
Maybe it was because she had prayed herself, or maybe it was because Susie was praying even now, but Britta felt less nervous when she heard the phone ring this time.
“Hello?” came a woman’s mellow voice on the line.
“Is this Kathleen Williamson?” Britta asked softly.
“Who is calling, please?”
Britta’s heart beat fast. “It’s Britta Mast . . . from Hickory Hollow.”
A slight pause, then, “Britta? How wonderful to hear your voice!”
“Denki for the perty Christmas card and note,” Britta said, pleased by Kathleen’s enthusiastic response.
“And yours, too. It was so thoughtful—and such a wonderful surprise, too.”
Britta mentioned that her Mamma had volunteered Kathleen’s mailing address.
“Aquilla is very kind,” Kathleen said. “Every year, without fail, she’s sent me a lovely long letter to tell me about your life—your schoolwork, your hobbies, every imaginable thing my mother’s heart longed to know. . . .” She stopped a moment. “Please excuse me, Britta. While I’m very glad you’ve reached out to me, I hope you understand I don’t want to interfere with the beautiful relationship you obviously have with Aquilla. She’s been a true mother to you in every way that matters.”
A true mother, thought Britta, wondering how Mamma would feel if she could hear Kathleen say that. “I was . . . well, I’ve been very curious ’bout you,” Britta continued, touched by her gracious words. “Do ya have other children?”
“Yes. My husband, Chad, and I have two sons, Trey and Randy, ten and eight.” Kathleen mentioned that Chad managed an auto repair shop and that she and her family enjoyed winter sports: skating and tobogganing, but especially cross-country skiing.
Britta felt a little overwhelmed at this news, as well as how eager Kathleen seemed to be to share about her life.
“We’re also very involved in our church. We host small groups in our home once a month, and Chad conducts a Saturday men’s prayer group every other week, too.” Kathleen talked of her sons’ recent interest in rowing, and Britta mentioned the boat Dat had built years ago.
When there was a pause, Britta asked if she knew much about Hickory Hollow.
“Well, occasionally I take the boys to one of the farmers markets near there.”
“Really?” Britta remembered seeing a woman at market who she’d thought could be her birth mother—at least as she imagined her—and with two young boys, no less. “I actually wondered if I saw ya there once,” she told her.
“How long ago?” Kathleen asked.
“More than two years.” Britta couldn’t believe it. “To think we might’ve run into each other without knowing.”
“No kidding.” Kathleen paused. “Perhaps your mother told you, but I visited you several times when you were little. Has she said anything to you about those visits?”
Britta heard the note of hesitation in her voice. “Jah,” she said. “I mean . . . yes.”
“I’ve never been able to understand how Aquilla could forgive me like she did that first time we met,” Kathleen said. “It was so immediate—I could tell that the loss of her little boy grieved her, yet she didn’t seem to have to think about it. It was such a selfless gift to me.” She paused, and Britta could hear her sigh. “I still can’t forgive myself for Eli’s death, though. And my own parents certainly haven’t forgiven me for giving you up to be adopted. Thankfully, I made sure your mother had legal temporary custody before they found out about you. I granted her that even prior to your adoption.”
Britta felt a pang in her stomach. “Well, I forgive you,” she said, recalling all the times Mamma had shown mercy to someone, Britta included.
“Thank you, Britta. That means everything to me.”
“Well, it seems to me that someone besides Mamma needed to forgive ya.”
“You are truly her child,” Kathleen said, her voice breaking.
“And you should know that everyone here in Hickory Hollow forgave ya long ago.”
Kathleen was silent for a moment. “I’m so thankful. I hear what you’re saying, but it’s all so difficult to comprehend.”
“The People believe in forgiveness. Mamma says it’s about learning to let go. The Lord Jesus is our example, teaching us that if we seek forgiveness for ourselves, we must forgive others in turn.” Britta stopped speaking, hoping she hadn’t overstepped, but also certain that it was right for her to share this with Kathleen.
“I’d read that verse in the Sermon on the Mount, but I never experienced it until Aquilla forgave me. What a moment!” She sighed as if thinking back, then seemed to remember herself. “I assume you’ll continue living there with your Plain community, once you’re grown?”
Britta thought of the things Kathleen had shared earlier about her busy modern lifestyle . . . the kind of life she might have had. Truth be told, a part of her couldn’t help comparing all of that to her own upbringing: the rewards of hard work, the simple pleasures of going to market, playing with the barn cats, learning to cook and bake from scratch, and sewing whatever was needed. She considered, too, her closeness with Susie and Mamma’s unreserved love for her and the tender connection they’d always had.
Unexpectedly, Britta also recalled Aaron Kauffman taunting her years ago, and her own fretting over the name Britta, questioning her place in the community after learning of Kathleen’s role in Eli’s death. But most of all, she remembered the People’s open arms to her, and she honestly doubted she could find such a warm reception anywhere else, in any other community.
Something rose up in her, and she said with conviction, “Jah, I belong here.” The words sounded wonderful to her ears as tears sprang to her eyes. “In fact, Lord willin’, I’ll be baptized into the church this coming fall.”
“You are quite a young woman,” Kathleen replied. “I’m thankful you know your mind, and your heart most of all.”
“I’d like to get to know ya better . . . exchange letters, if that’s all right.”
“Sure,” Kathleen said. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Oh—just one other thing. Is your hair wavy and hard to manage?”
“Is it ever!” Kathleen chuckled. “Why do you ask?”
Britta told her about trying to keep her own hair nice and neat under her Kapp, and they shared a little laugh.
Eventually, their conversation came to a pleasant end.
“I’m very glad you called, Britta. Happy New Year to you and your family.”
“Same to you.”
They said their good-byes, and when Britta hung up, she felt like a bird on a wind current, floating to the highest branch of their backyard tree. All doubts were gone, her burden lifted. She was free to be who God had intended.
CHAPTER
44
Wanting to make the most of her remaining days at her family’s old stone house, Susie had been going out to skate on the pond after chores during the final days of the year, no matter how cold the temperature. Whenever Britta was occupied with babysitting at the Ebersols’ or visiting Cousin Marnie or Hazel, Susie would pull on her black leggings and snow boots and don her coat, warmest scarf, and blue mittens before picking her way down to the pond, past the bare sugar maples and the new silhouettes of drifted snow.
On this first morning in January, Susie was grateful for Britta’s recent decision to be baptized into the Hickory Hollow church. Her heart filled with joy, she decided to treat herself to a nice long skate out in the dazzling sunlight. As she carried her skates to the brink of the pond, she was thankful for the waterproof mittens she’d purchased with Mamma’s Christmas money. While sitting on a small boulder beneath the leafless willows, she removed her snow boots and pushed her stockinged feet into her skates, then took off her mittens to lace them up.
Glancing over her shoulder, she looked fondly at her childhood home, where Dat and Mamma had welcomed each new baby, where Dat’s and then Eli’s passing were deeply mourned, and where tiny Britta had been received with great delight. And where Britta and I became close sisters, she thought as she stepped onto the hard, shimmering surface.
She pushed against the blade, propelling herself forward, gliding over the ice. Facing into the sun, she crouched forward to gain speed, thankful for a new year, a brand-new slate. A year bound to bring big changes for her and Britta, although she still hoped Emmalyn’s house, just up the road, would be the place where they might end up.
In thinking about the near future, she felt sorry about her unkind opinion of Allen. “I need to let my resentment go and forgive him,” she admitted, the air cold against her lips. She had been too critical. After all, he was only doing what seemed best for Mamma while managing his own large family.
Why have I been so unyielding? she thought, doing slow figure eights now, the sun pleasantly warm on her back, then face . . . and now her shoulder. What does it matter, as long as Mamma’s content there and well cared for?
Susie tried to imagine someday making the trip to visit her mother, and Allen and his family, too. Such a reunion!
Just then, the crunch of snow and the snap of a twig caught her attention. Startled, she turned and came to a sudden stop, her skates’ blades scraping against the ice. She stared at the figure, her thoughts flying. When did he get home? Was he in Hickory Hollow for Christmas?
“Hullo, Susie,” Obie called, waving to her.
She waved back, unsure what to say.
He sat down on the small boulder, removed his backpack, and took off his snow boots.
She felt ferhoodled at his presence. How’d he know I was skating?
Thinking she ought to head over to him to say something . . . anything, she pushed forward but simply skated the perimeter of the pond again. On the next time around, he was there by her side, matching her pace, as he often had when they skated together years ago. Why is he here? she wondered, bewildered yet so glad to see him.
He glanced at her, smiling. “Hope I’m not crashin’ your party.” He sped up, and she followed.
“Are ya home for New Year’s?”
He nodded. “Have ya heard ’bout the bishop’s upcoming retirement?” Obie asked, then said that he planned to buy out the business, taking over as Hickory Hollow’s new blacksmith.
“Must be a recent decision. First I’ve heard it,” she said, waiting for Obie to mention something about his girlfriend, thinking it was nice of him, though strange, to come skating like this for old times’ sake. “Your family must be happy to have ya home.”
