The Beginning, page 6
Susie shuddered suddenly, recalling how stubborn Eli had been before they began their walk home from Aendi Emmalyn’s that day. If only I’d stood my ground with him, she thought, tears welling up.
“Susie . . . you’re crying,” Obie said, fishing for something in his coat pocket.
“Still thinking ’bout Eli.” Sighing, she uttered, “And what happened before he was hit.”
Obie offered her his blue paisley handkerchief, concern on his handsome face.
She accepted the handkerchief, wishing now she hadn’t brought this up. Such bad timing, she thought.
“I’m a gut listener, ya know,” Obie said, a faint smile appearing.
That she knew, but she’d been caught off guard by her emotions. “I thought I could talk about it, but I guess I can’t. It’s just too much right now.”
He was quiet for what seemed like a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was muffled. “I’ve said this before, Susie, but you can tell me anything.”
Inhaling deeply, she exhaled slowly before admitting, “It’s the same awful grief, rearing its ugly head whenever I least expect it.”
“I’m sorry you still suffer so,” he said. “But I think it’s normal. My Dat said he felt that way after his uncle died. Never knew when the sadness would overwhelm him.”
“Jah, I feel like I might drown sometimes.”
“I wish I could help; I truly do.”
She nodded, glad she was able to confide at least that much. “You’re a help, believe me,” she managed to say.
“Gut, then.” He picked up the driving lines, checked over his shoulder for traffic, and directed the horse to move forward.
What came over me, crying in front of him? It wasn’t something she’d done before.
Obie turned onto the side road and drove clear around to avoid the accident site, a gesture she appreciated. This ride was longer than she had expected with suppertime approaching, but Obie had moved on to talk about some of his favorite memories from their many years of friendship, as though he’d already made his decision to leave Hickory Hollow. She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt that, not for the world.
He reminded her of their first time out in the rowboat Dat had built. “To try it out, remember?” Obie asked.
“Jah, and it nearly capsized, both of us yellin’ for dear life.” She gave a small smile.
“It would’ve, too, if your brother hadn’t been there to right it.”
Susie remembered full well. “We got plenty of use out of that rowboat. In fact, Mamma said we went out in it more than she and Dat ever had.”
A while later, as they returned to the house, Obie offered his hand as she stepped out of the wagon. He walked with her over the long walkway, past the gazebo, and up the porch steps to the back door, where, for the first time around Obie, she felt incredibly self-conscious.
The tinkle of the wind chimes filled up the silence.
Quietly, she said, “Denki for comin’ by.”
“Remember what I said ’bout you bein’ able to tell me anything.” He smiled thoughtfully, his eyes serious. “I mean it.”
For a brief moment yet again, she experienced something different between them—a spark or deeper sense of connection, perhaps? Or was it just her imagination?
“Well, Gut Nacht,” he said and turned to leave.
“Gut Nacht, Obie.” It didn’t make sense to say good-bye when October was still months away. If he committed to going to Sugar Valley, that was.
Hopefully we’ll talk again soon, she thought as she opened the back door and stepped inside.
After supper, Susie listened closely as Mamma read in the front room from Isaiah, chapter twenty-six. When she’d read verse three, Mamma paused to reread it a second time. “‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.’”
With a sweet smile, Mamma commented softly, “Always remember this verse, my dear girls.”
Susie glanced at Britta, whose gaze was intent upon her, of all things.
Her sister looked away suddenly, as if sheepish.
What’s going on? Susie wondered yet again, thinking she might try to talk with Britta soon.
“‘Trust ye in the Lord for ever: for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength,’” Mamma continued, and Susie asked God to soothe her mind and heart about Obie, and to give her wisdom regarding her sister.
CHAPTER
8
Following a night of steady rain, Susie rose very early to finish work on the fiftieth-wedding-anniversary gift for Mattie’s uncle and aunt. When this piece was done, she was looking forward to starting the next cross-stitch, this one for an Englischer customer. And maybe sometime this week, Del would be placing his order, too. Creating these projects gave her joy, as did witnessing the delighted smiles on customers’ faces.
After breakfast, Susie and Britta redded up the kitchen for Mamma, then walked out to the stable so Britta could check on her cats.
“I’m a little curious,” Susie said, trying to sound casual, “did Hazel happen to say something ’bout Obie’s chance to work in Sugar Valley?”
Britta suddenly looked sheepish.
Susie prodded, poking her sister’s elbow. “C’mon now.”
Britta blew out a breath. “I didn’t think it was my place to tell ya, partly ’cause I prob’ly wasn’t s’posed to know.” She grimaced. “But mainly ’cause I didn’t know if Obie wanted to keep it a secret.”
“Is that why you’ve been so quiet here lately?”
Britta nodded. “I felt like frosting in a whoopie pie, stuck between you and Hazel.”
Susie had to laugh. “Well, I’m glad we got this cleared up. Obie told me yesterday, so you can be yourself again.” She glanced at Britta. “It must’ve been kitzlich for ya.”
“Ticklish, for sure.” Britta opened the stable door, and Lucy came running right to her, while Tabasco hung back near the pony’s stall.
“Obie says if he does accept the job with his Onkel, he’ll be gone for at least two years,” Susie told her.
Britta’s eyes widened. “Wha-at?”
“I thought ya knew.”
“Not for how long. Hazel didn’t share all that much.” Looking pensive, she said, “I’ve been wonderin’ . . . well—” Britta shook her head, as if having second thoughts.
“Tell me.” Susie leaned down and reached for cuddly Lucy, picking her up and carrying her like a baby.
“I prob’ly shouldn’t.” Britta hesitated. “But . . . I’ve always wished Obie might be part of our family someday.”
“Aw, Britta.” Susie shook her head.
“Ain’t my business, I know.”
Susie snuggled Lucy’s furry little head as she recalled Obie’s thoughtful smile last night before they’d said good-bye. “For a while, I thought there might be something between us, but I’m very sure he thinks of me as a sister.”
“Well, having an older Bruder is real nice,” Britta replied. “In that way, he is sort of in the family.”
There was a slight pause before Britta continued. “Speakin’ of that, have ya ever noticed that Mamma never talks ’bout Eli? ’Least, not to me. Does she ever to you?”
“Nee . . . I guess not, now ya mention it.”
“Why not, do ya think? She’ll mention your Dat, from time to time.”
Susie wondered why Britta was asking this just now, of all things, as if it somehow weighed on her. “For one thing, it’s ever so painful—just ain’t the right order of things. Parents aren’t s’posed to outlive their child.” She paused. “I believe Mamma’s still heartbroken.”
Nodding her head sadly, Britta seemed to ponder that. “I think you’re right, and for gut reason.”
“We’ve had losses, jah . . . but many happy moments, too. For one thing, you brought great joy into Mamma’s and my life when ya came along.” Susie put Lucy down gently. “I’m glad we could talk like this.”
“Me too.” Britta smiled.
Gut, at least Britta’s all figured out, Susie thought, going over to the first stall to groom Brambles.
The next morning, while Susie worked in Mamma’s shop, Del Petersheim arrived in his father’s family carriage. He smiled broadly as he entered the shop, looking all scrubbed and smart in his black broadfall trousers and black suspenders against a pressed white long-sleeved shirt. He removed his straw hat and walked directly to the display counter. “Mornin’, Susie.”
“Wie geht’s?” she asked, wondering where he was going, all dressed up.
“I’m just fine. How are you?”
“Doin’ all right.”
Del looked at the jars lined up on the counter. “Well now, first things first,” he said, pointing toward them. “I’ll have some of that grape jelly, please.”
“How many jars?” Susie asked, noticing his frequent glances her way, as if trying to catch her eye.
“Two. That might last for the next couple of weeks.” He chuckled.
Sounds like he plans to be back for more, she thought, amused. She reached beneath the counter for some newspapers to wrap them in, and a sturdy paper bag. She placed the jars carefully in the bag before setting it aside.
“Now, about the family tree.” He pulled a piece of paper from his trousers pocket. “Here are the names of my parents and everyone in the family . . . so far.”
Accepting the paper, Susie could see how neat and methodical he was. “This is helpful. Denki.”
“Look on the back, too, if you’d like a possible idea for the basic layout.”
She turned the paper over and was again impressed with the care and thought he’d put into this. “Do ya want your family tree to look exactly like this?” She tapped the paper.
“It’s just one option.” He shrugged. “Feel free to plan it however you like.”
Nodding, she assured him she would do her best. “Wedding anniversaries are so special,” she added. “I feel honored you picked one of my cross-stitches to be your gift.”
“My mom has commented on how beautifully done yours are. She and my father will be so pleased,” he said, lingering as though he wanted to talk longer. He glanced around, his gaze falling on the small shelf Dat had built years ago, where Mamma kept a few small lanterns, a rustic birdhouse, and a quilted potholder hanging from a hook, just to decorate the shop a little. “Has my sister come by yet? I know she’d enjoy this little nook.”
“She may have,” Susie said, explaining that she, Mamma, and Britta took turns helping customers. “But if not, she’s certainly welcome to.”
He glanced again toward the display of jams and jellies. “Just curious, do yous ever sell rhubarb jam?”
“We do, once the rhubarb comes on.” She laughed a little. “It’s still early, and we sold the last jars of that before Christmas. Ours is extra special, so it always goes fast.”
“What makes it special?” he asked, stepping closer to the counter.
“Three secret ingredients.”
“How secret?”
She shook her head, laughing now. “Mamma’d never let me tell.”
“Ach, guess I’ll just have to taste it to know, then.”
She wasn’t sure if he was pulling her leg. “Honestly, you can tell ingredients by taste?”
“S’pose it’s a family trait. My Dat and sister can do it, too. Mamm makes a little game of it sometimes—tries to see if she can stump us.”
“Okay, then. I guess you will have to taste it.”
“When will there be a sample?”
“Oh, in another six weeks or so.”
“Sounds gut to me.” Del paid for the jam, thanked her, and was on his way.
Susie had noticed how hard he’d tried to be matter-of-fact and not too obvious. But she was quite sure he was interested in getting to know her better. After all, not many young men came into their shop.
Suddenly, the door opened again, and Del poked his head in. “Would ya like to have dessert with me, say a week from Sunday night?”
“I have a Singing at Deacon Peachey’s that evening,” she said, figuring he’d be attending his in Gordonville.
“What ’bout afterward?”
She couldn’t help but agree. “That’d be nice, Del.”
“All right with you if we double with another couple—gut friends of mine?”
“Sure.”
Again, he grinned. “I’ll see ya after my Singing, then.”
“In the meantime, I’ll get busy on your cross-stitch.”
Del waved and closed the door behind him.
He must’ve dressed up just to come here, she thought, smiling to herself.
CHAPTER
9
It was still dark that Saturday morning when Susie sat up in bed, breathing hard, hands clammy. She trembled, trying to push away the bad dream, in which she had been trying to reach Eli, warn him that a car was coming. . . .
After a time, she eased back onto the pillow, her heart still pounding as she took deep breaths and tried to calm herself so she could return to sleep. But sleep was far from her now.
Hours later, all wrung out, Susie stood in her room, staring at the farmland calendar and at today’s date, March twenty-sixth. One month till the anniversary of Eli’s passing, she thought, brushing away a tear. “I miss ya so,” she murmured. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, Bruder.”
She often wondered how different her life might have been if Eli—and Dat, too—were still alive. Yet there was no sense in pondering that right now. Lest her sadness get the best of her, she began to brush her hair and make a fresh bun for market day with Mamma and Britta. It wouldn’t be good for her to have puffy red eyes, so she tried to dismiss the nightmare and set her mind on positive things, like the wonderful years she’d had with Eli—very special ones, indeed.
One summer getaway came to mind, their family trip to Cape May, New Jersey, where Dat had rented a small cottage by the sea for a full week. Oh, the sight of the morning mist rising off the waves, and six-year-old Eli standing on the beach beside her, carrying his plastic spade and bucket. “I wanna live here!” he’d declared. And off he had gone to find the perfect spot to dig and build another sandy structure.
Susie smiled at the memory as she finished dressing for the day.
After breakfast, she rode with Mamma and Britta to the local market with Rachelle Good, a young woman driver who had recently met Mamma while purchasing goat cheese from the shop. Susie could scarcely suppress her rising feelings of delight for Mamma, who sat up front with Rachelle, talking cordially while Susie and Britta sat in the seat behind them. Susie couldn’t help noticing the brown leather New Testament on the console.
Rachelle mentioned that she and her husband had been brought up in the Old German Baptist Brethren church but were no longer members. They did, however, continue to embrace much of the Plain life, which was apparent from Rachelle’s conservative attire. Not many Englischer women Susie knew wore skirts with hems at mid-calf or blouses with high necklines.
She’s so pleasant and conscientious, Mamma will want to ask her to drive us again, Susie thought as Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market came into view on the south side of Route 340.
Unexpectedly, she recalled another market day years ago, some time after Eli’s tragic death. Susie had gone to get coffee for them as a surprise, and she’d come upon Ella Mae and Mamma whispering at the market booth, their heads together, ever so serious. Mamma had seemed startled, if not alarmed, to see her suddenly standing there, cups in hand. “I best not say more,” she’d told Ella Mae—rather abruptly, Susie had thought.
The memory troubled her now. What were they discussing? Susie wondered to this day.
In the first two hours after arriving at market, Susie received five new orders for her cross-stitched family trees. Carefully, she wrote down all the essential information—correct dates and name spellings, as well as thread color preferences. Mamma, too, was having a successful sales day.
As usual, Britta didn’t interact much with customers, shy as she was around strangers, but she helped bag up purchases for Mamma. She also went to get brats and potato salad for them for lunch from the deli two aisles away.
Midafternoon, Obie’s mother, Kate, dropped by the market table. Susie tried not to let her emotions overtake her and put on her best smile, listening as Kate talked adoringly about her newborn grandson. But Kate said nothing about Obie possibly going to Sugar Valley come fall, which baffled Susie.
Is it too upsetting to talk about?
After hanging out the Monday washing, Susie called Rachelle Good to schedule a ride to Landisville to visit her sister Polly and Henry, primarily to have the anniversary family tree she’d completed for Mattie Bieler stretched and framed. Henry was skilled at making custom frames using leftover wood and had kindly offered his woodworking services to her without charge for a number of years now.
When Susie arrived, her sister was in the kitchen, rolling out dough. Polly sprinkled flour on her hands and all over the rolling pin, preparing to fit the dough to the large baking pan.
“I’m makin’ deep-dish pizza for the noon meal,” Polly said. “There’ll be plenty for us and you, too. I hope you’ll stay.”
“Sure,” Susie told her, smiling at little Joey over in the corner babbling in Deitsch while playing with building blocks. Susie went over and tousled his hair, the color of butter, and he grinned up at her. “Is your baby sister asleep?” she asked.
“Jah.” He bobbed his little head and held a block up in his chubby fist to show her.
Polly glanced over at them. “Joey has been busy building nearly all morning. He’ll be a big help to his Dat someday.”
Susie agreed, happy to spend time with them both again.
A while later, when two-month-old Nellie Ann awoke crying, Susie walked into the next room and reached down to pick her up from the cradle. She carried her into the kitchen, swaying back and forth. “She’s so petite, like a fragile flower.”
