October song (7 page)

Later in the conversation, Mam suggested Katie “drop by for a chat sometime,” saying that Dat was agreeable to it, but only if the visit was kept short.

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Mamma’s faltering manner made Katie wonder if her mother was hesitant about a face-to-face meeting. And, too, it was clear that Clan wasn’t invited. Not a’tall.

Katie, of course, didn’t promise anything definite, saying she didn’t know how soon she could visit them. She would talk things over with Clan first, wanted to get his opinion on the matter, whether or not he thought Katie oughta be singled out. Not that she was too timid to go alone, wasn’t that. Clan just might think her parents were working on her, trying to get her “to see the light,” according to the Old Ways.

Practicing hymns and gospel songs on their guitars, then leading worship at two different home groups during the past week had taken up much of her and Dan’s time, so she hadn’t shared Mam’s phone call with him. But she would.

For now she plumped her pillow and lay quietly. Then, gently, she reached over and laid her hand on his shoulder, waiting for dawn’s light . and for the alarm clock. So strong was Clan, both physically and in the faith. She could lean on him if need be when things troubled her. He was her shelter in the one and only howling gale of her life, because he fully understood the pain of shunning. Clan was under the

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Bann, too, from the same bishop, the man she’d nearly married. How strange that her dearest friend, Mary, had become John Beiler’s young bride. Well, she was right happy for them both. Truly, she was.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if Mary would go on missing her and telling Mamma so, who in turn would relay the information to Katie. Was it an attempt to get to Katie, make her feel sorrowful for leaving? To make her regret abandoning her Amish roots for her newfound faith?

Sitting up, she pushed back the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet groped about for slippers, and, finding them, she tiptoed across the room. At the window, she stood silently and parted the curtains, looking out. The dawn was as cold and gray as any she’d witnessed lately. An enormous cloud mass hovered over the horizon, blocking out the sun. No wonder the room had seemed so dark upon her first awakening.

She stared down at black tree trunks, mere etchings against a yellowing, now-dormant front lawn. In the distance, not a flicker of sunlight escaped from the gloom as the day began over wooded hills.

During breakfast Katie thought of telling

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Clan of her phone chat with Mam. But she was reluctant to do so. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her beloved that Mamma wasn’t much interested in includinghimin the invitation. So she decided to let it be, put off mentioning anything this morning. Instead, she would pray for the right timing. No need hurting her darling, who sat across the table, looking cheerful in his bathrobe, blond hair disheveled a bit, enjoying his bacon and eggs, glancing every so often outside at the drizzle coming from mournful skies. No, this could wait.

After Clan left the house for work, she spent the morning redding up the front room, a sunny living space, not large but ample enough for entertaining several couples at a time. Wiping down the white wall paneling, she paid special attention to the section that ran up alongside the stairway, where handprints seemed to show up most often. That done, she moved the brown wicker chests off the wide landing below and damp-mopped the hardwood flooring, checking in the corners for dust bunnies, as she’d heard them called as a teenager, when she used to clean house for English folk.

She smiled at the memory of a story she’d heard of a young boy who’d learned

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in church that all of us come from dust and will return to dust. At home he peered beneath his bed and said, “Well, someone’s either coming or going under my bed!”

Standing back, she took in the informal room, its garden-like cane table and sofa blending easily with the oak pressed-back chairs, the sheer lace curtains — nothing at all like the Amish-green window shades of her upbringing and plentiful potted plants. An old workbench, cut down and stained dark by Clan, doubled as their coffee table, creating a casual country look. They’d placed the beautiful corner cupboard, made by Dat, in one nook nearest the dining room. There she showcased her prettiest china, especially teacups and saucers, and dainty glass salt-and-pepper shakers.

Moving to the wide bay window, she stared out, watching two squirrels chase each other across the front yard. “Thank you, Lord, for this day,” she prayed. “Please bless my husband as he works, and touch the hearts of my Amish family.

Help me find the way back to Dat’s heart. Amen.”

The house seemed somehow too quiet just then, so she went to the kitchen and

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turned on the radio. Her favorite Christian station was airing an old hymn. On such a gray-weather day, the music filled the house with warmth and joy. Then, as the song ended and the announcer came on, the comment was made as to the importance of “putting feet on prayer.” This wasn’t the first time she’d heard it said. Mammi Essie, her maternal grandmother, often spoke of not just assisting strangers in need but reaching out to “help our own,” she’d often say. The mutual aid society was a big part of Amish culture, and the philosophy continued to affect both her and Clan in their new church community, as well. She recalled here recently that a young Plain couple had lost their home to fire, including their furnishings, heirloom quilts, and china, along with their wedding gifts, too. But the women — aunts, cousins, and neighbor friends — rallied round and began making new quilts, sewing new clothes. Some of the men helped by contacting a builder who was sympathetic to the People, putting different folk in touch with one another, and soon blueprints were drawn up and subcontractors signed on… till a new house was erected.

She got to thinking of Mary and the

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bishop’s children as she turned her attention to cooking up a pot of vegetable soup. What if she made some extra, froze it, and dropped it by Mary’s in a few days? Surely a gesture like that wouldn’t be misunderstood. Surely not. She’d thought of doing this very thing many times over the past months. Yet not wanting to stir up a commotion in the hollow, she’d thought better of it, keeping to herself and her husband, their church friends and acquaintances. Still, the radio announcer’s words had struck a chord in her, and she decided to take the chance of her soup being’ rejected. Herself too.

After all, Mary had been her benchmark, so to speak. Mary made her laugh. And they’d cried together many a time. She could easily talk over anything with her closest friend, from the biggest problems to the smallest. Everything in life that was dear to her all the important events had always been shared with Mary.

What now? Was she to assume that Mary’s marriage to the bishop would relegate her friend to the exclusive life of the Old Order forever? Was she to think that Mary’s stand against salvation through grace was sufficient enough to keep Katie from “putting feet to prayer”?

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Well, if ever there was a time to show the love of the heavenly Father, it was now. Katie set about cooking some beef ribs till they were good and tender. Then she added diced onions and potatoes, shredded cabbage, ripe tomatoes, carrots, celery, corn, chopped string beans, diced green and red peppers, lima beans, rice, barley, and parsley leaves. Like it or not, Mary was going to receive a home-cooked present from her shunned friend sometime

soon.

While the soup simmered, she dusted the front room, then took out the rugs and beat them against the tree trunk in front of the house. She thought of combining her stop at Mary’s, tomorrow or the next day, with a brief visit to Dat and Mamma, but decided against it. Thinking of the old home place — not having laid eyes on it in such a long time — she felt sad. Typically, at such times, she’d take herself out to visit friends, attend a work frolic, or, if nothing else, simply get out under the sky and look up at the trees. Experiencing the peace of the countryside and a long talk with the Lord, she would often feel better in a short time. Which is what she decided to do the minute the soup was well cooked; some of it put away for her own lunch and a large

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portion of it stowed away in the freezer, for Bishop John’s Mary.

Upstairs, she adjusted her prayer veiling at the bureau mirror, noticing a note from Clan. Along with the note, several checks had been left for her to deposit at the bank.Would you mind taking these for me… if you have time today? Love to you — Clan.

Daniel. What a considerate, dear husband. Still courting her by his words and deeds, even though they’d been married nearly a full year. She wondered what she might bake special to surprise him on their first wedding anniversary in a few weeks. Not one for cake, Clandidlove his pies. And what an assortment of recipes she had to choose from. Fruit pies, cream pies, and the ever-popular shoofly pie — Great-Aunt Ella Mae’s recipe.

Eager to help with the bank errand, Katie headed up Cattail Road,driving towardRoute 340, then turned in the direction of the village of Intercourse. She found herself glad for the chance to get out, in spite of the bleak, cool day, unusual for mid-autumn in Lancaster County. Sunshine and blue skies typically reigned for weeks on end, a luster of fall colors abounding on every hand. Not today.

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As she drove she contemplated her life with Clan. What a truly amazing thing their love story. Had she any interest in writing at all, she might’re put pen to paper, describing how they’d lost each other for five long years, then found each other only to be kept apart by one unforeseen circumstance after another. God, in His great sovereignty and wisdom, had planned for them to be united as husband and wife. She strongly believed this.

Tonight I’ll talk to Clan share my struggle,she thought as she parked the car and got out, hurrying to the bank.

Opening the door to the main entrance, she saw that the place was nearly empty of people. She walked up to one of the two tellers and deposited the checks into her and Dan’s joint account.

That done, she headed out the main doors, fully concentrating on the parking lot and the short walk to her car. It was then she noticed a young man of medium build and slicked-back blond hair, who closely resembled her unmarried brother. A second look, and she wassureit was Beniamin with an English girl at his side. Another furtive glance and her gaze registered the tie-dyed T-shirt, blue ieans, and high-topped tennis shoes.

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She was tempted to call out “Hullo, Ben” but thought better of it. Waiting until the couple went into the bank and were out of sight, Katie walked over to a red sports car — prob’ly belonging to the girl

and peered through the windows. The console was decked out with an array of things: radio, tape player, and what might be one of those newfangled CD players. She gave the car’s interior a once-over, her breath catching in her throat when she spied a pack of cigarettes lying in a com partment next to some loose change.

Well, if this doesn’t beat all,she thought, hoping against hope her brother hadn’t taken up the smoking habit.

Not wanting to cause a scene, she quickly retreated to her own car and sat behind the wheel, waiting for Ben and his girlfriend to come out of the bank. Lin gering there, she recalled her encounter on the road with Dat and Benjamin, the morning of Eli’s wedding. Ben, she re called, seemed downright put out with her. He’d rushed to the horse, trying to control the animal. Yet it was the peculiar way he had glanced out of the corner of his eye at her while Dat struggled with the reins . .

Ben’s angry words,“‘What’reyoudoin” here, Katie?’”

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Ben, after all, had been the brother closest in age to her, the sibling who’d playfully teased her, both at work and play. On their long walk to school, at both morning and afternoon milking, on the way to church — no matter -Ben was always the one bantering or poking fun at her.

When her brother and the English girl emerged from the bank, walking hand-in-hand across the parking lot, she had only to watch Ben’s mannerisms hear his raucous laughter — to know he was acting like a teenager in the middle ofRumschpringa —the running-around years. Truth be known, Ben was close to twenty-six, much too old for such immature behavior. Goodness’ sakes, he was well into marrying age, though she’d heard that Ben’s sweetheart had jilted him for another. One of the hollow’s own girls. Well, no wonder he was strutting round with a fancy Englischer!

What on earth was he doing? Didn’t he know such conduct would ultimately break Mare’s and Dat’s hearts? Hadn’t they suffered enough already, Katie herself having left the Amish church behind and all? Katie wanted to leap out of the car, tell him just how sorry she was, that she

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prayed for him daily.

Yet something restrained her, and she knew in her soul that Ben’s situation was far different from her own. Shehadsown some wild oats as a teenager, playing her forbidden guitar and longing for fancy clothes and things. But she’d never puffed on cigarettes or run with worldly boys. In the end,herreason for abandoning the Amish lifestyle had more to do with spiri tual precepts and beliefs than a rebellious attitude. ‘Least it was from her way of thinking.

Bewildered at what a day can bring forth, she drifted into deep thought, un aware that her brother must’ve spotted her and was now approaching her car. He knocked on the window on the driver’s

side, peering down at her.

“Oh!” she shrieked.

He motioned for her to lower the window. Quickly, she turned on the igni tion to access the power, scarcely knowing what to say.

“Listen here, Katie. You haven’t seen me

today, do you understand?” he said. “Benjamin … I—”

“Don’t tell anyone ‘bout my car, ya hear?”

She frowned, confused.

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“Promise me this!” he demanded.

“What’s going on, Ben?” she asked softly.

“None of your business.” He flattened the sides of his hair with both palms, reeking of a blend of aftershave and ciga rette smoke. “Now, will ya promise you won’t say anything to Mam? I know she calls ya ev’ry so often.”