The Missing (22 page)
“It’s all I know . . . all I care to know.”
“Did your mother have a different opinion? I mean, since she’s gone?”
“That’s difficult to say. But if she’s not home in, say, half a year, then we might think she’s left us for
gut.
” Grace saw Preacher Smucker’s place coming up, and she wanted to hurry the horse to a gallop to bring this awkward discussion to an end.
“She left sometime in April?”
“The twenty-third,” Grace said, recalling her birthday with sadness.
Thankfully, Heather didn’t press further. In fact, she fell silent.
I wish I could be more forthright with her,
Grace thought, hoping Heather, too, might share more fully about her own mother’s illness and subsequent passing.
But the peaceful sweep of Josiah’s rolling green lawn and the stately rise of his three-story farmhouse lay just ahead.
Perhaps another time.
A
s they walked across the vast backyard toward May Jaberg’s farmhouse on this Lord’s Day morning, Susan kindly reassured Lettie. “You’ll enjoy meeting May,” she said, her skirt swishing against Lettie’s own. “She scarcely knows a stranger.”
Being it was a no-Preaching day, just like back home, Lettie was happy to visit Susan’s big-hearted neighbor, with her adopted older children. “Is May comfortable talking ’bout her adoptions, do ya think?” Lettie asked, her eyes on the woman’s tall, four-sided purple martin birdhouses.
“Oh, you’ll see. May’s quite open ’bout all of that.”
I’ll bring it up gently,
Lettie promised herself as she matched Susan’s stride and ducked her head beneath the long rows of clotheslines. Her heart sped up at the thought.
Rosy-faced and pleasantly plump, May Jaberg stood at the door, smiling broadly at the sight of them coming up the back walk. She inched out the screen door as she waved them in. “Hullo, there . . .
Kumm rei
—come in.”
“Denki, May,” Susan said as they stepped into May’s kitchen. Then, turning toward Lettie, she added, “I’d like you to meet Lettie Byler, from Lancaster County.”
May nodded her welcome, her Kapp strings tied neatly under her double chin. “Wie geht’s, Lettie? Would ya care for some pie and coffee?” Quickly she put a pot of water on to boil. “Or does tea suit you better?”
Susan glanced at Lettie, a twinkle in her eye, as if to remind her of May’s benevolent nature. May busied herself with cutting thick slices of banana cream pie while the water boiled. Lettie began to relax, not nearly as tense as she thought she might be. She could certainly see why such a woman might be drawn to having a good many children.
By the time peppermint tea was brewed and poured for both May and Lettie, and coffee for Susan, the three of them had already exhausted the weather talk . . . and even the subject of the hen party this coming Wednesday. “You must join us, Lettie,” May invited her.
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Well, if you’re still here, why not?” Susan urged.
If I am.
Lettie reached for the sugar bowl.
“It’ll be a nice time of fellowship and busying our hands,” added May. “My two married daughters are comin’ to help with the little ones, which is awful nice.”
Lettie’s ears perked up, and suddenly she was quite eager to take May up on her kind invitation.
Later, during a lull in their pleasant conversation, Lettie said thoughtfully, “Susan tells me you and your husband adopted several of your children.” Since talking with Minnie, she’d pondered what it might mean for her own daughter to discover she was adopted.
Her mouth full, May bobbed her head, a bright smile on her face. “I must say, we were in a hurry to start our family and weren’t havin’ any luck at first. But once we adopted our first three, the Lord saw fit to start sendin’ along a whole line of babies. So we’re doubly blessed.”
Lettie listened, considering what May had said. “Did any of them want to search for their natural parents?”
“Well, the oldest of the three, Ruth, wanted to, before she joined church.” May wiped her mouth on a paper napkin. “But after she found her birth mother, it turned out she came to resent her, and now she has no contact with her at all. It’s all very sad.”
Susan caught Lettie’s eye, encouraging her to ask more questions—or so it seemed.
“Did any of the other two also search?” Lettie held her breath.
“The middle of the three hasn’t yet, no,” May replied more softly. She paused, staring at the remnants of pie left on her plate. “But she’s said ofttimes that she’s never felt complete, not knowing, and talks some of wanting to find her birth mother someday.”
“How old is she?” Lettie’s words nearly caught in her throat.
“Vesta Mae’s twenty-four.”
Lettie’s heart pounded.
Might Vesta Mae be my very own?
Susan dished up another sliver of the pie and set it silently on her plate. Meanwhile, May did the same, although her second piece was more generous, and she clucked like a pudgy, contented hen.
Lettie didn’t have the courage to ask May about Vesta Mae’s date of birth. But the question lingered in her mind long after she’d finished tea at the woman’s big kitchen table.
“Yoo-hoo!” Grace called at the Smuckers’ back door.
Always fond of impromptu visits, Sally’s eyes lit up when she let them in. “Oh, Gracie, so
gut
to have you visit,” she said. “And, Heather . . . it’s nice to see you again.”
“You know each other?” Grace was surprised.
“We met the other night,” Sally said, smiling. “Heather and her father, Roan, came to look over the lay of his property—on paper, that is. Josiah’s buildin’ them a house.”
“Actually, the house is for my dad,” Heather added.
“But aren’t you goin’ to live there till you marry?” asked Sally; then she caught herself. “Ach, I mean . . .”
Heather laughed, evidently understanding. “That’s okay,” she was quick to say as they followed Sally through her spotless kitchen, the dishes washed and put away.
Grace couldn’t help noticing how quiet the house was. “Your little ones must be down for a nap,” she said while Sally led them into the smaller sitting room, adjoining the kitchen.
“Oh, goodness, they certainly are.” Sally offered the most comfortable chairs, taking the cane-back chair for herself. “So, now . . . how did the two of you meet?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning back.
“Over at Eli’s.” Grace looked at Heather, who seemed impatient for the small talk to be over.
“Willkumm to ya both,” Sally said. “We’ll have us some dessert in a little bit. I’ve got a homemade pie just begging to be tasted.”
Grace had spotted the perfectly golden pie when they passed through the kitchen. “But I’ll bet it’s full of all kinds of healthy ingredients,” she remarked.
Sally smiled. “And sweetened with grape juice, too.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Grace said. Then she mentioned that Heather was interested in hearing about Sally’s healthy way of eating . . . and her natural path to healing.
“Wonderful-
gut . . .
I’d love to talk ’bout that.” Again, Sally brightened, looking from Grace to Heather. “Grace may have already told you of my recovery from cancer, I s’pose?”
Heather nodded. “She shared a little . . . Grace thinks what you did for yourself might help me.”
When it dawned on Sally that Heather must be suffering from a serious illness herself, she moved her chair over beside Heather’s. Leaning forward, she directed her gaze solely at the English girl. “Well, let me start by saying that I believe God led me to Dr. Marshall’s Wellness Lodge. I was dying, with only a few months to live, when I enrolled.”
Heather’s face was drawn as she listened.
“I’m free now of cancer, and I can’t say enough
gut
about the program.” Sally narrowed her eyes. “You . . . you’re not as sick as I was, I hope . . . Heather, dear.”
Heather grimaced. “As of last month, my cancer had spread to three regions of lymph nodes,” she said quietly.
Sally frowned and looked concerned. Then she shook her head. “Ach, I don’t know much ’bout other cancers . . . but if you make an appointment with Dr. Marshall, she will teach you all about a healthy diet.”
“I’ve already seen her,” Heather volunteered. “But I’ve encountered a significant obstacle.”
The room was hushed, as if no one knew what to say. It was clear Heather wasn’t going to reveal more.
At last Sally said, “Whatever it is, Heather, I hope it can be solved quickly. Many of Dr. Marshall’s patients have been helped greatly. There are numerous testimonials . . . all of them ever so inspiring.”
Grace noticed Heather’s face had turned pale, and she worried Sally might seem too pushy. “Could you maybe just share your experience, Sally?” Grace suggested gently.
Sally nodded and spent the next half hour explaining the treatment procedures at the lodge. “If you go, Heather, you’ll meet some of the nicest people ever. I’m talking ’bout just the staff alone. Some were patients who were so much improved after goin’ through the program, they returned to give of their time to others.”
They talked further about following through with the helpful instruction offered at the lodge. Sally likened it to putting one’s hand to the plow—“as in the Scripture”—and never looking back. “It’s a hard row to hoe, but I want to live to see my children grow up.”
Grace rose and walked to the kitchen, leaving Heather and Sally to talk more privately. She wandered about, turning her attention to the pie on the counter. Sally certainly had a talent for making delicious dishes while maintaining a healthy diet. How difficult was it to make a tender crust out of spelt flour?
Later, after they’d enjoyed the dessert, Grace thanked Sally for the tasty treat, topped off with a nondairy “ice cream” made from brown rice syrup and tapioca starch. As Sally thanked them for coming, she urged Heather, “Visit again anytime, just whenever you’d like. I’ll help you all I can.”
Grace and Heather left the house by way of the back door, walking through the small soap shop there. Trying to absorb all that Sally had shared, Grace stopped outside to stroke Sassy’s neck and mane while Heather got in the carriage. She really hoped Willow might look as healthy as Sassy once again.
Adam
was kind to lend me his horse today. How can I hold a grudge against
such a brother?
After they were back on the main road, Heather said, “Sally must be incredibly disciplined to eat that way.”
“Oh, I’ll say.”
“Does she ever slip up and eat what she refers to as ‘bad food’?”
“I really doubt it.”
Heather seemed taken aback. “But how does she do it? With a husband and children, does she serve two meals every time she and the family sit down to eat?”
“Well, the whole family eats healthful, organic food now, which is an interesting howdy do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve heard of our farm diet, no doubt—mostly meat and lots of starchy foods like potatoes and noodles.”
Heather said she was well aware of it. “Most people think eating heavily produces more energy, but it’s just the opposite. It takes more work for the body to process and digest all that food, leaves less energy for healing.”
“S’pose so.”
Heather smiled. “Thanks for taking time out of your day to introduce me to Sally. I’d like to keep in touch with her.”
“If it helps you get well, that’s what matters.”
Heather leaned back, stretching her neck. “To be totally honest, I’m really conflicted about all this.” She sat up straight again.
“Oh?”
“My dad’s too cautious. He’s come close to demanding that I return home and start conventional treatment.” Heather drew a deep breath. “He’s opposed to the ‘cleansing malarkey,’ as he puts it. He said if I were underage, he’d drag me right back to my oncologist.”
“I can see why you’re torn, then.”
Heather paused. “Dad’s understandably concerned.”
“And you’re still under his covering, jah?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re in submission to your father, under his authority—just as he is under God.”
Heather looked stunned. “Um . . . we don’t live like that.” She laughed. “If I decide to do this lodge thing—crazy as it sounds—I’ll do it.”
“You mean, against your father’s wishes?”
“Well, does he want a compliant daughter, or a living and breathing one? My mother did things his way, and look where that got her: six feet under.”
Grace wasn’t at all accustomed to hearing anyone speak so disrespectfully, especially of a parent. “Perhaps you’ll think this through some more?”
Heather tugged on her loose-fitting blue blouse and patted her jeans. “I’m not meek and mild like you, Grace. My mom raised me to think for myself . . . so did Dad.”
Grace tinkled a nervous laugh, feeling awkward at hearing someone be so candid.
Just across the road, three little girls in pale pink dresses ran barefooted, chasing a yellow tabby cat. “Look there,” Heather pointed out. “Amish children are so happy-go-lucky, like they don’t have a worry in the world.”
“Well, too, off-Sundays are our day for reading the Good Book and visiting relatives and friends. Things are bound to be more relaxed on days like this.” Grace explained there were so many families and friends to visit, her parents had always kept track of which ones they went to see. “That way, we get to visit everyone at least twice each year.”
Heather’s eyes grew wide. “You have that many relatives?”
“Mamma has nine siblings. My father has eleven. And all of them are married with lots of children . . . so there are a-plenty of relatives.”
“That’s one thing I’ve often wondered about.” Heather tilted her head. “Nearly all my life, in fact.”
“What’s that?”
“How different things might have been for me.”
“With brothers and sisters?” Grace asked.
“Right.” Heather stopped and drew in a long, slow breath. “You know, I rarely tell anyone this, Grace, because it’s no big deal to me. But I’m adopted.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake.” Yet even more than this news, Grace felt surprised at Heather’s sudden openness.
Heather nodded. “It’s true.”