The Missing (6 page)

Weary of the day, he pushed the letter beneath his pillow and fell promptly asleep.

Heather woke up Wednesday thinking about a discarded necklace box she’d found last month when she was sorting through her bedroom closet. The small box where her mother had kept all of her baby teeth and her first snippets of soft baby hair.

Stretching, she smiled at the memory of those childhood “treasures.” She slipped out of bed in her rented room, knowing it was wise to claim early the only bathroom on the second floor. She gathered up her brush, shampoo, and robe and darted across the hall.

She showered in record time, and later, after she’d dressed and towel-dried her hair, she realized she had no interest in eating.
Zero appetite.
She was too nervous about her doctor appointment to share in Marian’s “big spread,” as the gregarious Amishwoman liked to describe breakfast. The Riehls’ house was packed to the rafters—each of the guest rooms filled.
“Springtime
in Lancaster County is a real draw for tourists,”
Becky had explained yesterday while she and Heather had fed the chickens. All the quaintness had begun to wear off, but she hadn’t wanted to offend Becky, who had undoubtedly noticed Heather’s backing away since they’d first connected.

She’s figured me out . . . like everyone eventually does,
Heather mused, heading downstairs.

Marian stood at the kitchen counter, wearing a plum-colored dress and matching apron, her blondish hair pulled into a smooth bun at her neck. The strings from her Kapp draped over her slender shoulders as if she’d pushed them back, and her clear blue eyes sparkled as she turned from stirring the pancake batter. “Well, you’re up mighty early, Heather,” she said, her smile contagious. “Can I pour some fresh-brewed coffee for ya?”

“Coffee’s good, thanks.” She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but she supposed she’d have to endure it if she was to have her needed shot of caffeine.

“I’m serving blueberry pancakes this mornin’,” said Marian cheerfully. For as much as the woman apparently enjoyed eating, Marian was quite thin. “Becky went over to Cousin Emma’s yesterday afternoon, where we rent a freezer, and brought back some of the blueberries we put up last August.”

“Sounds delicious, but I need to leave for an appointment this morning.”

“We picked more than a little mess of berries last summer . . . most of ’em with dew still sittin’ on them when we brought them in for breakfast.” Marian’s smile seemed to grow.“For some reason, more blueberries than even raspberries last year.”

Heather turned to look out the window as she waited for the coffee. She missed her mom on mornings like this. The smell of pancake batter—one of the breakfast foods her mother often enjoyed making—brought so many happy thoughts flying back. At first, immediately after her mother’s death, Heather had resisted the memories. She’d existed merely in survival mode, as though moving through dense, deep waters. She’d gone so far as to remove all the pictures of her mom from her bedroom—it tore at her to see her mother looking so healthy and vibrant . . . so alive.

But in recent months, she’d begun to welcome the past and was conscious that Mom was never far from her remembrance. With the realization of great loss had come a yearning for the memories.

“Here’s your coffee, dear . . . just the way you like it.”

“Thanks.” Heather turned, smiling her gratitude.

“Wouldn’t you like something more? Something to take with you, just maybe?” Marian sounded somewhat concerned.

“Not this morning, but thanks anyway.” She did not go to sit at the table as usual but rather carried the mug back to her room and set it on the coaster on the dresser. Scrutinizing her well-scrubbed face, she began to apply eyeliner and mascara, then brushed her still-damp hair again.

By the time she arrived at the doctor’s office, Heather was pleased to see only two cars in the designated parking area. The many times she’d accompanied her mom to the doctor, to the oncologist especially, had led her to realize doctors were primarily aware of their
own
schedules, or so it seemed. But if you were the first patient of the day, now that was a plus. And as Heather stepped up to the receptionist’s window, she could see by the sign-in list that she was indeed the first.

Off to a good start . . .

Grace found Mamma’s note tucked under Dat’s pillow when she made his bed that morning. She didn’t bother reading it again but set it on the small round table next to the bed, wondering if Dat—or Mammi Adah—might have an idea about Mamma’s need to locate a particular midwife. And why one so far from home?
Might such a woman be able to help Mamma with
midlife issues?
Grace had never been so befuddled.

Smoothing the top quilt, she looked about the room. Was there something of Mamma’s here, in the bedroom she’d shared so long with Dat, that might point to her need to go away? Was there anything at all that offered a clue, besides the missing poetry books?

Hesitantly she opened the dresser drawers that had belonged to Mamma. Finding each one empty, she went to the foot of the bed and lifted the lid on the blanket chest. Surely there was something she’d missed before, hidden in the crevices or beneath the coverlets.

But she found nothing. At least nothing that hinted at an answer.

When she’d closed the lid, she again ran her hand over the bed quilt, sighing.
Oh, Dat,
she thought,
I’m so sorry for you.
What might I have done differently?

Downstairs, Mandy was stirring up the waffle mix, having offered to make breakfast the night before.
“It’ll give you time to
check on Willow,”
she’d said. Grace gave her a peck on the cheek and hurried outdoors, under the tall trees Dat had planted years ago.
Shady as umbershoots,
she thought, breathing in the freshness of morning. She noticed the first few blossoms on the trumpet creepers, their bright orange trumpet-shaped flowers climbing the newly painted white trellis Adam had nailed to the back of the house years ago. Mamma had always called them hummingbird vines, because they attracted the lively little birds the whole family enjoyed watching.

In the spring and summer, Mamma had liked to sit in this shaded yard, delighting in the many types of birds that called and flitted from branch to branch in the cool of the morning. Come evenings, if Mamma wasn’t already settled in the front porch swing, Dat sometimes carried lawn chairs out to the backyard for Dawdi and Mammi, as well. The four of them liked sitting there, all lined up, drinking root bear or meadow tea, tired from the day yet with contentment on their faces. Always it was Mamma and her parents who carried the conversation, with only an occasional nod of the head from Dat—if that.

Her musing over Mamma quickly turned to dismay when she walked into the barn and saw Willow sprawled out on the bed of sawdust, her injured leg drawn up close to her barrel. Whatever the vet had attempted must not be working.

Touching Willow’s mane, Grace blinked back tears. “Such a dear pet.” Gently she massaged the injured leg, mindful of even the slightest reaction. She and Dat had taken time last night to ice the limb, alternating cold and hot applications. Her father had assured her stable rest was the best way to heal Willow’s leg.

Adam had also come out to check on Willow, although he’d seemed particularly keen on talking about Yonnie. He’d wondered aloud how Grace felt about his helping Dat.

Grace hadn’t owned up to Adam how she felt. She suspected her brother was still licking his wounds, so to speak, from her decision to release Henry from their engagement. It was clear, though, that Adam assumed Yonnie was quite interested in her.
“Taken with ya, really,”
her brother had said almost accusingly.

Grace wondered how he had gotten that idea.
For Becky’s
sake, he’d better keep such thoughts to himself.
Now she finished massaging Willow and gave the horse a pat, fairly sure Mandy was ready to serve the waffles. Making her way back to the house, she pulled on the rope a single time, to ring the dinner bell. Once was enough, as the menfolk would be mighty hungry.

She moved back indoors to pour coffee, thinking again of Mamma’s absence. More than a dozen times a day, she caught herself turning to ask her mother a question, momentarily forgetting. Or she’d think of something just before retiring for the night and want to share it with her mother.
Why’s she wandering
around Ohio? And why can’t she talk to one of the midwives here?

Grace was ever so glad to hear her father and brothers coming in the main door. The familiar
clunkity-clunk
as they removed their work boots in the hallway brought her comfort. Soon they’d come stocking-footed into the kitchen for Mandy’s nice hot breakfast. She stood back, eyeing the table. Everything was set as it should be. And when Dat, Adam, and Joe were washed up for the meal, she was surprised to see the corners of Dat’s smile spread clear across his tanned face.

“You and your sister outdid yourselves,” he said quietly, going to sit at the head of the table.

She wanted to show her gratitude for her father’s unexpectedly kind remark but said nothing as she took her seat. The spot where Mamma had always sat since Grace could remember remained achingly unoccupied.

After the silent blessing and their unison, “Amen,” Grace said she’d seen how feeble and ailing Willow was this morning.“Can’t something more be done?”

“No change overnight,” Dat said in a low voice.

“Well, Yonnie’s certainly giving his know-how a try,” Joe piped up, across the table. “Yesterday he talked to her and just a-stroked her a
gut
while.”

“What does he know about horses that we don’t?” Adam eyed his brother. “I say, best not to get your hopes up”—and here he looked directly at Grace. “Willow’s had many
gut
years. Isn’t that what counts?”

Grace’s heart sank at this, but she nodded.

Dat said not a word, and they began to silently enjoy breakfast—Dat and the boys all smacking their lips in appreciation. She was terribly conscious of the occasional sound of neighing, sad and pitiful, coming from the barn. It wasn’t right to let the animal suffer so.
Poor, dear Willow . . .

She rose to pour another cup of coffee for Dat, struggling not to cry. Just as she was returning to the table, Adam suggested, “Maybe you could scoot over and sit in Mamma’s place . . .fill in the gap a bit.” Across the table, Mandy and Joe were focused on refilling their plates with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and hot oatmeal—they hadn’t seemed to hear Adam’s startling remark.

But Grace was even more stunned when Dat gave his subtle consent with a quick nod of his head. His instant agreement served to heighten her fears. For some unknown reason, he must not believe Mamma was returning home soon.

Grace said nary a word, glancing instead at her mother’s place on the wooden bench between her and Dat. Why was her brother suggesting this now, on the heels of Mamma’s letter? After all, she’d written that she missed them. Didn’t that count for something?

Adam urged her again, “Why not, Grace?” The question annoyed her. Adam, too, seemed to disbelieve their mother would ever return.
Makes not a whit of sense . . .

Truth was, she felt reluctant to slide over, even though her father had given his approval. Yet being a single young woman, she was expected to obey her father and older brother.

“It’s a hard reminder that she’s gone, is all,” Adam explained softly.

“Dat?” She looked his way.

He drew a long breath, then gestured with his head. “You and Mandy can both move over . . . for the time bein’.”

Without hesitating further, Grace did as she was told. She moved her plate and utensils, and Mandy followed right behind her, sitting in Grace’s usual spot. Looking across at Adam, and then glancing at her father, Grace felt slightly disoriented, but she continued with her meal. She felt ever so strange sitting there.

Dawdi Jakob and Mammi Adah walked in just then, joining them late for breakfast—Mammi made the excuse that Dawdi hadn’t been feeling well. Then, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, they gave Grace a stern look.

“Why’s Gracie sittin’ there?” Dawdi asked with a disapproving frown.

“Can’t hurt nothin’, Jakob,” her father spoke up. “There’s a vacancy at this table.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Dawdi grumbled.

Later, after breakfast was done and Grace walked back with her grandparents to their side of the house, nothing more was said. For that, Grace was greatly relieved. It wouldn’t do to question Dat further. After all, they were in a state of transition—
“flux,”
Dawdi Jakob had said recently. And no one, not even her father, knew how to get things back to normal.

chapter
seven

G
race and Mandy were finishing up the breakfast dishes when Yonnie flew into the driveway in his courting buggy. “Show-off,” Grace said under her breath. Mandy must’ve heard because she shrugged before reaching for the next dish.

It was apparent Dat wasn’t surprised by Yonnie’s return. In fact, by the way they came out of the barn to greet him, Joe and Dat actually seemed to be expecting Yonnie.

Grace turned away, not caring to discuss her surprise with Mandy, who was staring at her now with curious brown eyes. Wanting to complete the chore of redding up the kitchen, Grace hastened to scrub the sink, then rinsed it thoroughly. That done, she moved to the stove and wiped it down.

“You all right?” Mandy said.

“Of course.”

Mandy forced air through her pursed lips. “You sure don’t look it.”

Her sister most likely assumed Yonnie’s showing up again annoyed her. But Mandy couldn’t possibly know why that would be, unless she, too, had observed Yonnie’s interest in Becky, then his leaving alone after the last two Singings. “I’m just fine, really,” Grace insisted.

“Ain’t foolin’ me, Gracie.”

“Will ya bring up some potatoes for me?” Grace asked, hoping her sister might take the hint and leave her be. Besides, it was past time to start preparing the noon meal—thick and hearty beef stew—so it could simmer while she did her other chores.