The River (5 page)

W
hen Mamm came to the door, Tilly was taken aback by her appearance. After so many years, her mother looked as shapeless as a collapsed loaf of bread, though she brightened a bit when she spotted Ruth standing there, too. “
Ach
, here you are. You girls must be tired from your trip,” Mamm said softly. It wasn’t the jovial greeting they’d received at Uncle Abner’s, but there wasn’t an edge to her voice, either.

“Not too bad, really, but I guess I shouldn’t say, since Tilly was the one driving,” Ruth said, opening her arms for a quick hug. “Nice to see you, Mamm.”

Their mother stepped back, looking them over. Then she stretched her hand out to gently cup Tilly’s chin. She smiled almost shyly at both of them as she slipped her arm around Ruth and led her inside, Tilly following behind.

The house smelled of pot roast and carrots. And if Tilly wasn’t mistaken, she detected a cake in the enticing meld of aromas, too. Her father was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief. She thought of simply going up the back stairs with Ruthie to help her get nicely settled. Then she could slip outdoors again and sit in the car. Or take a walk.

Yet even as she planned to do that, she saw the place where she’d always sat at the far end of the table, over on her mother’s side. This table where Tilly had felt like a duck in a flock of chickens as Daed went around the table, interacting with all of her siblings.
Rarely me,
she thought.
Memories I’d rather forget.

“Hope yous haven’t eaten supper,” Mamm said to Ruth, who beckoned Tilly toward the stairs with them, her eyes questioning when Tilly remained in the kitchen.

Tilly wondered if Ruth would reveal they’d spoiled their appetite with first cheeseburgers and then the pumpkin pie and coffee Ruth had enjoyed earlier at Aunt Naomi’s table. But Ruth said nothing of the sort as she and Mamm ascended the staircase together.

Will some of
our brothers come for tonight’s meal?
Tilly wondered, hoping so. While she’d yearned to be singled out by Daed as a youngster, she simply could not bear the thought of it now, having to answer one question after another—if he were to even acknowledge her presence. In fact, the anxiety over that possibility made her feel downright nauseous.

———

After a few minutes standing out on the back steps, breathing in the cool autumn air, Tilly decided against waiting around for Ruth and Mamm. So she made herself scarce and hurried to the car.

Shielding her eyes, she looked toward the nearby pastureland, where a phone shanty stood not far away. She’d used it occasionally during her teen years to call for their neighbors, or to get a ride somewhere too far to take their horse and carriage. Eager now to phone her husband, Tilly started the car and backed out of the lane, hoping Ruth would forgive her for
leaving without a word. After all, Kris would surely wonder if Tilly had arrived safely, and now was an ideal time to talk.

It didn’t take long to reach the shanty by car. When she had somewhat regained her bearings, Tilly parked on the dirt shoulder and got out to pick her way across the newly plowed field toward the familiar phone shack. Sheltered by a thicket of trees and brush, it was concealed just the way the bishop preferred—over the years, the undergrowth had nearly consumed the rustic little shed.

She pushed open the wooden door and heard it scrape, remembering how, one summer night, she’d startled her older twin brothers, Jacob and Joseph, while they’d fussed inside, hollering at each other. Not knowing what to make of it, she’d guessed they were squabbling over the same girl.
“You didn’t see us here,
jah
?”
Jacob had hissed in
Deitsch
, and she’d been good and never told on them.

Making her way into the cramped, stuffy space, Tilly looked about her. She blinked to see Ruth’s initials etched into the wood near the receiver.
Ruthie was
determined to carve out her place in the world. . . .
Tilly recalled how certain her sister had once been that Will Kauffman was a part of that world, until Will chose a buddy group clear out on the fringes.

Die Youngie
in the Jamborees seemed to go out of their way to emulate the English life by pushing all the boundaries of the Amish church—owning cars, wearing stylish clothing, attending movie theatres and rock concerts. Some of its members even played competitive sports like baseball—another no-no under the
Ordnung
of the People here.
The reputation of a young
person is marked by the group they choose during
Rumschpringe
,
Tilly thought, remembering. She puffed out her cheeks.

Suddenly drained of energy, she picked up the receiver and dialed home.

“I’m here safely, hon . . . in Eden Valley,” she told Kris when he answered on the second ring.

“How was the trip?”

“Really pretty this time of year,” she said, sighing. “The drive was just fine.”

“You sound tired.”

“Yes, well.” She paused. “Actually, everyone has been okay so far, but I really don’t belong here. . . . I feel it in my bones.”

“Sorry to hear it, hon.”

She nodded absently. “Thank goodness I’ll only be here a few days.”

Kris was silent for a moment. “The girls miss you already. And so do I.” He said how happy his mother seemed to be, tending to everything. “She really enjoys grandmothering.”

Tilly didn’t know why, but hearing this made her yearn for home even more. “The girls must be enjoying her.”

“They are.”

“Good, then. That’s what counts.”

“So . . . you’ll be all right for the duration?”

“I’ll make the best of it somehow.”

He said he loved her.

“I love you and the girls, too, Kris. I’ll see you Monday afternoon—can’t wait.”

Tilly hung up and leaned against the rough wall. She felt the past close in like an unstoppable wave. She was a little girl all over again—petite Tilly Lantz, and a mischief, for sure. In her mind, she was sneaking to the laundry chute in her parents’ house after everyone had gone to bed and sliding down its narrow black burrow, landing in a pile of bedsheets.
She had been caught off guard when her father was waiting for her in the dank, cold cellar—how had he known what monkey business she’d intended?

She could never do anything right, it seemed, at least where her father was concerned. The knowledge had been ingrained in her as surely as Ruth’s initials on the wall there.

“I was always in trouble . . . always wrong.” She let the words fall from her lips, reaching for the shanty door to yank it open.

On the return drive to her parents’, Tilly slowed when she saw a young woman strolling along the left side of the road, walking a large German shepherd. Tilly felt a rush of anticipation as she realized that this was her former best friend, Josie Riehl, now wife to Tilly’s brother Sam.

Honking and waving, Tilly quickly pulled over to the shoulder and stopped the car. Jumping out, she called to her. “Josie . . . it’s me, Tilly!”

The blond, blue-eyed young woman turned and offered the barest hint of a smile. “I heard you might be home for the celebration tomorrow.”

“I brought Ruthie along, too.”

“
Des gut,
really ’tis.”

Tilly wasn’t sure if she should cross the road or not. It was the oddest thing, Josie being so aloof. But then again, Tilly had snubbed her, leaving her dearest friend out in the cold when Tilly began corresponding only with Ruthie after Tilly’s departure. Still, she wondered if she shouldn’t at least attempt an apology for her years of silence, try to make amends.
Is it
a good idea?

Standing there on her side of the road, she felt the barrier—the invisible
Do not
trespass
sign between them.

“How long will ya be around, Tilly?” A safe enough question.

“We leave early Monday morning,” Tilly replied, her mouth like cardboard.

“S’pose you have to get back home right quick,
jah
?”

Tilly nodded and wondered what to do with her hands, wanting to fold them in prayer, in all truth. She shoved them into her coat pockets, noting the pain in Josie’s eyes. “I guess we’ll see you and Sam at the gathering tomorrow, then.”

“
Jah
, over at the house.” Josie waved so halfheartedly Tilly wasn’t sure she meant it as a farewell.

“Would you like a lift, wherever you’re headed?”

Josie glanced down at the dog. “That’s all right.
Denki.
This one needs some
gut
exercise, I’m thinkin’.” With that, Josie turned and headed up the road, the dog’s leash wound around her right hand.

She
’s holding me at a distance . . . and with good reason
.

“What else can I expect?” Tilly muttered as she moved back toward her car.

Ruth was astonished to see her former room kept precisely the way she’d left it. Never had she dreamed her mother would leave the bed positioned the same, with the headboard facing north and the matching quilt and decorative pillows set just so against the pillow shams Ruth had embroidered. Even her Amish clothing still hung where she’d left it—the for-good dresses on the wooden pegs in the far corner just across from the modest dresser.
Will they still fit?
she wondered.

Ruth didn’t dare to look in the drawers, didn’t want to see the remainder of her clothing neatly folded there . . . or the shoes under the bed. Surely, they were still on the far side.

But she tried not to reveal her astonishment as her mother
offered to help her hang up her clothes just now, not saying much.

Later, when Ruth’s suitcase was emptied and put away for the time being, Mamm sat on the bed, seeming to want Ruth to sit with her.

“If you’d like to take some of the items from your hope chest back with you, that’d be all right.” Mamm motioned toward the gleaming chest at the foot of the bed.

Ruth hadn’t expected this. “Are you sure, Mamm?”

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that . . .” Ruth couldn’t say,
I feel unworthy.

“You made most of what’s in there. I want you to have it.”

“Thanks, Mamm . . . er,
Denki
. I appreciate it.”

Mamm turned and remarked on the exceptionally pretty quilt’s Sunshine and Shadow pattern, and the small yet distinct flaw sewn in for good measure, as was their custom.
To avoid
pride.

“We made one like this for Anna, too,” Ruth mentioned without thinking, then glanced across the hall at the closed door. “Remember?”

“Daed and I still keep Anna’s room locked,” Mamm was quick to say. “It’s best that way.”

Ruth was surprised. So, even that hadn’t changed. Suddenly she yearned to step inside Anna’s small room, to touch her things. “Do you ever visit her grave?” asked Ruth quietly.

“I go.” Mamm bowed her head. “Every month on the date of Anna’s accident.”

“So often . . .”

“Well,
someone
must tend to—”

Ruth shivered involuntarily. “But Anna’s not buried there. She was never found.”

“Even so,” Mamm said sadly. “’Tis a mother’s duty of love.”

It wasn’t just strange hearing her mother talk like this; it was downright crushing. Mamm’s hold on the past seemed as tight as ever.
Maybe more so
,
Ruth thought, gritting her teeth.

O
n her way back down Eden Road, Tilly noticed the lack of scarecrows and jack-o’-lanterns on the Amish and English neighbors’ porches. Given her restless and discouraged state after only a couple hours back in her original neck of the woods, she was beginning to believe she was on a futile mission. And it wasn’t as though Mamm would be keen to talk about Anna.

No one else
will be, either. . . .

Taking her time, she drove around the area, passing several bank barns and a small sawmill, two greenhouses, and resplendent pastures dotted with brown-and-white Jersey cows. Most Amish farmers agreed that Jerseys produced milk with higher butterfat, making for creamier milk and especially rich ice cream. Her mouth watered at these thoughts.

Later, to the familiar strains of “You Light Up My Life,” Tilly turned south onto Groff Road down near her brother Chester’s redbrick house. Two men she did not recognize stood out talking near the large bench wagon parked in the lane.
So, there is church this Sunday,
Tilly thought at the sight of the familiar wagon. She wondered whose turn it was to host the
meeting—not that she’d be going. Ruth, however, still seemed all right with the idea, despite Tilly’s refusal.

“What do I care?” she murmured, recalling the last time she’d attended a Preaching service.
So long ago.

A quarter mile up the road, old Bishop Isaac’s place came into view. Tilly saw what looked like a carpentry shop built back behind the farmhouse. “When did
this
happen?” She found it interesting that the man of God had to supplement his farming income. Farming was certainly the preferred way to make a living, and anything else could be frowned on. Yet she surely wasn’t one to judge, sitting there driving her fancy car.

Tilly pressed the accelerator and drove toward Josie’s parents’ sprawling acreage. She wished Josie hadn’t been so distant to her earlier, as though she were afraid to talk to Tilly. Or worse, harboring resentment.

She has no
idea what life was like for me when I left
home,
thought Tilly.
None at all.

She recalled that Ruth had written to tell her when Josie’s first child was born, six years ago. A son whom she and Sam had named Sammy. Then, two years later, a baby girl, Johanna.

Yawning, Tilly glanced in her rearview mirror. She couldn’t let Josie’s reaction to her spoil her time exploring Eden Valley. No, she must choose to think back on their friendlier days and years, when they’d always shared their thoughts with each other . . . and their secrets, too. It would do her no good to ponder the loss of such a good friend. That was the last thing Tilly needed this weekend.

Besides, a devout Amish girl
like Josie might not have been too thrilled to receive
my letters.

Tilly refused to let her emotions take over. She was killing time, nothing more, while Ruthie and Mamm were getting
caught up on the years they’d missed.
Ruth sure doesn’t need me breathing down her neck
.

She slowed the car to a crawl when she recognized her Lantz grandparents’ homestead just ahead. She assumed that by now her widowed grandmother had moved into one of the
Dawdi Haus
additions at a son or daughter’s farmhouse. Hadn’t Ruth mentioned as much once? Tilly sighed. Her uncertainty about such things was the price she’d paid for not staying in touch.

Nonetheless, there stood the splendid white house with its black front door and trim, a matching white two-story barn off to the left. Her father’s mother,
Mammi
Lantz, would sometimes have Tilly stay over, and she’d loved sleeping in the small spare bedroom, where an old feather mattress became her cozy nest for the night. Tilly’s father insisted that Mammi Lantz went out of her way to spoil her; however, his saying it didn’t faze her grandmother one iota.
“I wish I’d had a little girl to love
,”
Mammi Lantz would whisper to Tilly as she tucked her in beneath handmade quilts that sometimes smelled of mothballs.

Her grandmother’s remark had lingered in Tilly’s mind all these years, though Tilly wondered now why Mammi Lantz, who was so well loved by her four sons, including Tilly’s own father, felt such a loss. Was Mammi disappointed—even pained—by the absence of a daughter?

Back when she was a little girl, when Tilly was sad and feeling lonely and lying in her own bed at home, she sometimes soothed herself to sleep by imagining her grandmother’s cool hand lightly on hers, or the wonderful-good feather bed not so far away.

But as Tilly grew older, times with Mammi Lantz grew less frequent—she had to be around
“to help out at her own home,”
Daed often said. And so it was with many of the joys of Tilly’s life as duty took precedence over all else . . . even people.

Maybe Daed never realized how fond I
was of Mammi,
Tilly thought now, though she wouldn’t have believed it back then. With her return to her parents’ home imminent, she was doing her best to think well of Daed, hoping a change in perspective might ease the coming reunion.