The Bridesmaid (20 page)

How will Jake feel about that?
she wondered.
Is that fair to him?

T
he following Wednesday morning, Joanna worked with Cora Jane and Mamma—and Ella Mae's daughter-in-law, Mattie Beiler—to transplant celery seedlings from the nearby Amish greenhouse. Afterward, Joanna stopped at the end of the lane to mail a get-well card to Mammi Kurtz. Then, setting off on foot so she wouldn't tie up the family carriage, she went to visit Cousin Malinda.

A quarter mile along, here came Jake Lantz in his pony cart, waving to beat the band. He slowed and stopped in the middle of the road. “Hullo,” she said. It was clear by his smile he was happy to see her.

“We meet again,” he said.

Recalling what she'd wanted to tell him, she suddenly felt bashful. “Nice day, jah?”

“Ideal for helping the deacon. He's still under the weather, ya know.”

She knew all too well. He'd been ill since April.

“Thought I'd take up some of the slack over there with barn chores and whatnot.”

Nodding, she smiled. “
Gut
of you.”

He glanced up the road like he had something on his mind. “I sure had a great time last Saturday. I'd like to take you out again, if that's all right.”

Here was her moment to speak up, but by the happiness in his eyes, he surely wouldn't want to hear anything but a positive response. “When were ya thinkin'?” She amazed herself.

“How 'bout we go riding after the Singing this coming Sunday night?”

She'd guessed that's what he might suggest. “Preaching's at Andy and Malinda's, ya know.”

“Jah, heard Andy's sweepin' out the upper level of his barn come Saturday, so I'll go over there and lend a hand.”

“I was just headin' there now . . . to help Malinda wash down the walls and whatnot,” she added.

“Nearly forgot you're kin to them,” Jake said as he reined in the anxious pony. “So will ya go with me, then . . . Sunday night?”

Another carriage was coming this way, so she had to make up her mind. Joanna smiled right quick. “Jah, I'll go.”

His face burst into a grin and off he went. And, if Joanna wasn't mistaken, she heard him say, “Glory be.”

“What
am
I doin'?” she whispered, moving back to the side of the road to let the coming horse and carriage pass.

———

Joanna enjoyed the walk to Cousin Malinda's less for having bumped into Jake, and she stewed now about not having the courage to say what she should.
This Sunday I will, for certain
, she promised herself as she took in the stands of hardwood trees near the white horse fences of Andy King's land and the open pasture beyond. Indeed, it was a splendid day.

Malinda was outside weeding her marigolds and asters, a patch of yellows and purples, when Joanna came up the driveway. “I've come to give you a hand,” Joanna called.

Malinda was red cheeked in the blazing sun. She wiped her damp brow with the back of her palm, her plain blue scarf having slipped back. “Ach, so
gut
to see ya. Sure, you can help.”

They worked together to finish up the bed so that it was free of even a single weed for the coming Lord's Day. Of course, knowing Malinda, by Saturday she would go back and do the same thing where needed.

Once inside, they cleaned the house from the top of each room down, dusting, sweeping, washing, and making everything tidy and spotless. Joanna felt a hushed reverence about their work, knowing that this farmhouse would become a temporary place of worship this Sunday.

After the noon meal, Malinda's twin sisters, Anna and Becky, joined them in beating rugs and sweeping every inch of the front and back porches before hosing them down. They finished off by cleaning the windows and screens, as well.

Later, once Joanna and Malinda were alone again, they enjoyed a tall glass of meadow tea, which hit the spot, as Mamma liked to say. Malinda dropped into the rocking chair on the shady back porch with a sigh. “Thanks to you and my sisters, I'm a little ahead of things,” she said, fanning herself.

“Glad we could pitch in.”

Malinda asked about her family and Cora Jane, and Joanna told her about planting the celery.

“Oh, Joanna . . . I hope Cora Jane's getting married this fall isn't hard on you,” said Malinda.

“Bein' she's younger than me by a mile?”

There was a sweetness in Malinda's concerned expression. “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.”

“No . . . no, that's all right.”
We're more than cousins . . . we're friends.

They sipped their iced tea, watching the breeze move through the tops of trees and the birds flitting about.

Then Malinda said softly, “I'm afraid I've got a rather prickly topic to bring up. I heard something the other week that's hard to believe.”

Joanna froze and stared at her glass, wondering what on earth.

“Did Preacher Yoder come and talk to you?”

“Jah, he dropped by a couple months ago . . . about my stories.”

Malinda studied her. “Is everything all right?”

“For now, jah.”

“I've been concerned awhile but wasn't sure if it was true.”

“Oh, true enough.” Joanna told on herself. Somehow it was different talking about difficult things with Malinda.
A far cry from talking to Cora Jane.

“You must have a real gift for writing.”

Stunned, she looked at Malinda. “What?”

“Evidently the deacon's wife read part of your story and was quite taken by your talent.”

“She did—she
is
?”

Malinda nodded and took a sip from her glass.

“How'd ya hear this?”

“My mother mentioned it last weekend, when she was over to help me put up beans.”

“Good grief, I wonder who else knows?” Joanna felt it strange to hear someone talk about her private writing like this.

“Word spreads, ya know?” Malinda encouraged her.

Jah, ain't that the truth.

Joanna watched Malinda closely, wishing she hadn't said anything just now. So, was everyone talking about this? Had it gotten to the grapevine? She cringed at the thought.

Malinda continued along the same lines. “Seems kind of peculiar that on one hand, the preacher wants you to put a stop to your creativity, and on the other, the deacon's wife is praising your work.”

“Odd, indeed.” And that, Joanna thought, was all she ought to say.

J
oanna could hardly wait to see her grandmother that Friday when she learned Mammi Kurtz had at last been released from rehab. Fannie and the rest of the family had requested permission for the rehabilitation hospital to dismiss her to their aid. With the help of a home care nurse several times a week, they planned to look after Mammi together.

Hurrying through her morning chores, Joanna got a ride to Mammi Kurtz's with her father, who was on his way to see the smithy. “Mammi must be delighted to be back home again,” she said, making small talk.

He nodded so slightly she almost missed it.

“Do ya happen to know anything 'bout my namesake?” she asked, wondering if she might be able to get him talking. “The aunt I was named after?”

“You might ask your grandmother Kurtz. She'd know best. I don't remember her so well.”

“I hope to but don't want to tire Mammi out, ya know.”

He neither nodded nor commented.

After that, she remained quiet till they pulled over onto the side of the road, at the turnoff to the driveway. “Denki, Dat . . . I'll walk home later.”

His eyes registered her words, and he gave another nod. “See ya then.”

From the street, the white clapboard house looked tall and narrow. Large oak trees flanked the east side of the lawn. A small shed and big barn out back, as well as the curing house over near a grove of trees, rounded out the property. The lawn had been recently cut; whoever had used the push mower last needed to sharpen the blade before the next mowing.

Three small children came running out the front door to meet Joanna—her married sister Salina's three—Stephen, Sylvia, and Susan—all adorable towheads. “
Aendi
Joanna!” they called, flinging their arms around her long skirt.

“Come see the sweets Mamma made. Hurry!” said almost six-year-old Stephen in
Deitsch.

“Could it be sugar cookies, maybe?” Joanna played along.

“Nee . . . come see,” said Sylvia, her eyes dancing.

“What can it be?” Joanna scampered after them, hurrying around the side of the house to go in the back way. “Sticky buns, maybe?”

“Whoopie pies—chocolate ones!” tiny Susan exclaimed as all of them burst into the kitchen.

Salina gently shushed them as they entered, then greeted Joanna.

“Hullo, sister,” Joanna said, the little girls still hanging on her.

“A warm welcome, jah?” Salina fanned herself with a white hankie.

“How's Mammi Kurtz?” Joanna asked once the children were settled at the table, swinging their bare legs beneath the blue-and-white-checkered oilcloth.

Salina set a large whoopie pie on a napkin in front of each of them. Then she motioned for Joanna to follow her to the bedroom just around the corner. There sat her grandmother in a straight-backed cane chair, head bowed and sound asleep. “She's all tuckered out, which is understandable,” whispered Salina, leaning near.

“Can she walk without help?”

“She uses a walker okay, but she shouldn't be alone . . . that's why I'm here today.” Salina smiled and touched Joanna's arm. “Would ya mind checkin' on Dawdi for me?”

“Front room?”

“Jah, there by the screen door, to get the best breeze. He's not too keen on sittin' on the back porch when the children are here.”

“No doubt the commotion wears on him.” Joanna could understand that—Salina's busy three were definitely a handful. She went to the largest room and found her grandfather sitting there, wide-awake. “You all right, Dawdi?” she asked, going over to him.

He said nothing but blinked his eyes at her, and a small smile inched past his lips.

“Okay, then.”

Going back to the bedroom, she stood in the doorway. “Dawdi looks to be just fine.”

“
Gut
,” Salina replied. “Never hurts to check, ya know . . . at their age.” She looked lovingly down at Mammi. “Pains me to see them suffer like this.” She sighed.

Joanna agreed. “So the family's takin' turns with Mammi?”

Salina nodded and moved toward the door to join Joanna. “We have it all arranged. I'll show you the chart.”

Joanna hoped she might be called upon to help, too.

“Here 'tis.” Salina found the paper on the kitchen counter, next to the whoopie pies. “Help yourself,” she said as Joanna eyed the goodies.

“Denki, think I will.” Joanna took a bite and, oh, it was heavenly . . . melted in her mouth.

“Before I forget, Mammi mentioned how much your cards—especially your poems—meant to her in the hospital. In case she forgets to tell ya, I thought you should know.”

“That's why I wrote them,” Joanna replied. “To bring some cheer.”

“Well, they surely did that,” Salina said. “She even read two of them to me. Saved each and every one.”

Joanna was pleased but didn't want to let on. All this talk about her writing here lately had her unnerved.

The children were giggling and becoming rambunctious now.

“Too much sugar,” Salina was quick to say.

As much as their silliness seemed to annoy Salina, it had the opposite effect on Joanna. Watching them act up, poking one another and bursting into laughter, made her yearn even more for children of her own one day. “How 'bout I get them washed up and take them out to see the new calves? Leave ya be with Mammi for a while?”

Salina looked relieved. “You're a lifesaver, Joanna.”

“Not to worry.” She set to work wiping off each little set of hands before permitting them to leave the table.

Salina picked up a basket of mending, then headed back to Mammi Kurtz.

———

They had been observing the new calves for a good twenty minutes or so when Stephen said, “I'm awful hungry, Aendi Joanna.”

“Didn't ya just have a snack?” She smiled down at him, ruffling his flaxen hair.

“Can't remember,” he said, straight-faced.

“He's
always
hungry,” Sylvia piped up from where she was crouched near the smallest calf.

Spoken like a little sister!
Joanna got a kick out of the interaction between those two. “Is he, now?” she asked.

“Oh, jah.” Sylvia dramatically nodded her head up and down.

“I'm hungry, too,” little Susan said, blinking her blue eyes at Joanna.

“I know!” Stephen announced. “Let's get some milk from the cooler.”

Joanna agreed, thinking that would stall the children from returning to the house just yet. Salina had looked tired, like she might enjoy a bit more time alone with their grandparents. Joanna, too, was eager for a visit with her grandmother, but that could wait if necessary.

While they were in the milk house, Stephen gulped down a full glass of the fresh raw milk. Then, looking at her with a white moustache, he asked, “Will you tell us a story, Aendi?”

She began to protest. “I'm not a storyteller like Rebecca Lapp or . . .” She stopped before saying Jake Lantz's name.

“
I
heard ya were.” Stephen was frowning.

“Well, now, who's sayin' that?”

“The deacon's wife,” Stephen said, standing on tiptoes now as he held his empty glass up for more milk. “Heard her tell Grandmammi Mast so.”

Joanna found this ever so curious.
So much for that!

“So will ya tell us a story?” he pleaded.

She guessed it would be all right, especially if she told a Bible story. What could that hurt?

Eben had already spent too much time at the harness shop, overhearing his neighbor Micah Hershberger talk enthusiastically about a group of older folk from their community who were thinking of buying up a row of condos in Virginia Beach.

Where I met Joanna
, thought Eben.

“When's this?” he asked, though he needed to get back to the farm. Still, Eben was mighty curious.

“Oh, in the next month or so,” Levi, the harness shopkeeper, replied.

“'Least before wedding season, anyways,” another neighbor, Elias Schrock, remarked.

At this, Micah shook his head. “Seems there must be quite a few condos available right now . . . same thing's goin' on in Florida.”

“The housing market's in a heap of hurt,” Eben offered.

“Might be the ideal time to snatch up some property, then,” Micah said with a tug on his peppery beard.

Levi nodded. “Wouldn't wait too long to seal the deal, either. Not if you're serious.”

“Well, these folks certainly are,” Micah said.

Eben wondered just who he was talking about. He hadn't heard anyone mention this. “Well, my Daed's goin' to think I'm playin' hooky,” he said, then moseyed toward the door.

“Say, I heard Leroy got married,” said Levi, following him.

“That he did.”

“So the world got him, then?”

Eben nodded. “Sorry to say.”

“Well, now, I'll bet you are.” Levi gave him a sympathetic smile. “Word has it you had someone mighty special over in Lancaster County.”

Eben wouldn't deny it.

“So is she comin' out here sooner or later . . . or is that all over now?” Levi was known to pry, and he was doing a mighty fine job of it.

It wouldn't do any good to explain the problem. Besides, it wasn't Levi's place to ask. Eben shrugged off the question. “Best be headin' on home.”

“Tell your Daed hullo for me, ya hear?” Levi called, turning to greet the man who'd just entered the shop.

“I'll do that.” Eben closed the door behind him and made his way to the horse and carriage parked behind the shop. He looked to the east, wondering what Joanna was up to this hot summer day. Were they having a Preaching Sunday this weekend? Was she going to Singings yet again?

Eben untied his horse, then hopped into the enclosed black buggy and backed out of the spot. All the way home, he smelled the fragrance of honeysuckle and wondered if he'd been right about Jake Lantz's seeming admiration for Joanna. And if so, had Jake made a move to court her? The questions in his head continued until he saw Ada Kemp and her mother in another buggy, coming this way. Ada leaned forward suddenly when she caught his eye, smiling and waving at him. He was polite and gave a slow wave of his own. After their first and only date, he'd taken two other girls out, and knowing how fast the grapevine was, Ada most likely had heard about it.

Eben wasn't interested in leaving a long line of spurned women. But the truth was, none of them compared with Joanna . . . not a one. Maybe he just needed to continue his search. For sure and for certain, he needed someone to fill up Joanna's place in his heart.

I have no other choice.