The Thorn (2 page)

I nodded my head wholeheartedly. The way he was wearing his hair so long in back made anyone look twice, especially since the rest of him looked downright Amish.

"Hen's blunder oughta be a lesson to any girl," Mamm added.

Always, always, my parents set up my only sister as an example to encourage my ongoing compliance. "Look what Hen went and did," they'd say, "getting herself hitched to Brandon Orringer" - her Englischer husband.

"Don't worry, Mamm. I'd never marry someone who's not really Amish."

My mother gave me a fleeting glance, then turned to greet her many sisters and oodles of Kauffman and Blank cousins as they stopped to chat. The steady flow of womenfolk continued, all of them ever so fond of Mamm.

And as they came, I caught their unmistakably sympathetic gaze - since I was stuck there and not off with the other youth. And I couldn't help thinking how very different Mamm's life might now be - and mine, too - if I'd simply gone with my mother to market that long-ago autumn day.

- SHAKESPEARE, from Sonnet 35

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.

- PROVERBS I:7 KJV

The history of Rose Kauffman's ancestors was well known in southern Lancaster County. They had fled Switzerland with other persecuted Amish families, eager to embrace the freedom to worship as they pleased, and to settle on valuable land offered by the heirs of William Penn.

Generations of Amish Kauffmans, Hartzlers, and Zooks thrived there in the fertile Big Valley area of central Pennsylvania, hauling limestone in the 1820s, then tilling the soil and planting corn and other vegetables. They raised hogs and chickens and milked dairy cattle, too.

That is, until one of Rose's uppity great-uncles, Yost Kauffman, began to argue with the Big Valley bishop, declaring the Good Lord wanted him to grow a full beard and mustache. The Anabaptist forefathers had always forbidden their men to grow hair on the upper lip, a sober reminder of their European persecutors. When stubborn Yost refused to shave off the offensive fuzz, he was ousted and moved his family away to the floodplain southeast of Quarryville, near Bart in Lancaster County. His old clapboard homestead on Shady Road still stood but a half mile from Rose's own father's land.

Rose's father, Solomon, never heard what became of the errant uncle's whiskers. But Yost's gumption meant Solomon and his family were settled in a fine old three-story redbrick farmhouse set back on the westernmost stretch of rambling Salem Road. There, Solomon lived and worked as a crop farmer and a wagonmaker.

Idyllic Salem Road ran west to east, between Bartville and Farmdale Roads, connecting the two oft-traveled thoroughfares, and a short distance from the ill-fated Bridle Path Lane. Quiet Salem Road was populated by farmhouses and outbuildings, including chicken coops, granaries, hogpens, and woodsheds.

During the summer months, Rose Ann's flower beds on both sides of the house boasted profuse colors, as well as a sea of white daisies. There were rows of golden mums, a well-tended rose garden, and Rose's own flourishing grape arbor. Small birds and butterflies fluttered nearby all summer and into the early autumn.

Years before, when Rose and her older sister, Hannah - nicknamed Hen - were younger, they frolicked outdoors on nippy autumn Saturdays, raking leaves into deep piles. Occasionally, if she was strong enough, their mother sat near the front window doing her hand sewing, cloaked in sunlight. On such mornings, Emma Kauffman undoubtedly observed her daughters making quick work of the raking and believed they were as sedate and obedient as any well-mannered Amish girls.

Sometimes, though, when they thought no one was watching, the sisters made a running start and fairly flew into the brittle heap, leaping and scattering leaves with cheerful abandon before stopping again to rake up the strewn foliage.

But those carefree days were long past. Hen's shocking union to an outsider at age twenty-one had made it painfully clear that at least one Kauffman daughter was anything but proper.

Rose Ann pressed her embroidery needle into the pretty white pillow slip and pulled the light green floss through the stamped ivy design. She knotted the thread on the underside and removed the small hoop.

With a great sigh, she cast an impatient gaze out the window and watched the fast-moving clouds against the gray-blue sky. Her eyes drifted to the treetops and the tall white martin birdhouse, then to the rolling front lawn. A horse and buggy passed by, and she wished she might be heading somewhere this morning. Anywhere at all, she thought desperately.

Mamm moaned softly, and a pang of guilt tugged at Rose's heart. She dipped the point of her needle into the pillowcase and set it on the small table nearby, then helped her feeble mother out of the wheelchair and onto the daybed. There, she'd made a cozy nest for Mamm's daytime naps in the spare room just off the sitting room. Later, when twilight fell, Dat would lift her mother into his strong arms and carry her to their bedroom on the first floor, as he did every night.

"Still feelin' chilly, Mamm?" Rose asked.

Her mother nodded.

Rose raised the quilt and gingerly slid Mamm's frail, useless legs beneath the handmade coverlet, as careful as she could be. "That should warm you up right quick."

"Besser now," said Mamm. "Denki, Rosie."

Rose gave a smile and went to sit on the old cane chair near the foot of the daybed. Because Mamm was in near-constant pain, Rose felt ever so tenderhearted toward her.

Mamm turned her head to face the window, the sunshine spilling over the small bed and onto her brown hair. "Be sure 'n' leave the shades up all the way," she told Rose, "and the door ajar, too." Ever since her injury, Mamm craved the light.

Rose never forgot to do her mother's bidding. She doubted she ever would, intent as she was on being the best caregiver her mother could have - at least now that Hen was gone.

Honestly, as much as Rose loved her mother, she didn't know how she'd managed these last six months without the daily assistance of her maternal grandmother, Sylvia Blank. In the years since the accident, dear Mammi had faithfully helped to bear the burden of Mamm's care, but a sudden stroke had left Dawdi Jeremiah incapacitated and dependent on his wife's help, as well as anxious for her company. Here lately, though, Dawdi was able to get out and about on his own again and was nearly his old self, which meant Mammi could once more tend to her daughter most mornings. During those times when Mammi Sylvia came over from their adjoining Dawdi Haus or when Mamm took long afternoon naps, Rose could scarcely wait to be in the fresh air, free of the confines of the house. Carrying fresh feed and water for the field mules and the driving horses - Upsy-Daisy, George, and Alfalfa - was one of her few joys.

Her outdoor adventures with Nick were another pleasant reprieve. Sometimes they'd ride horses after nightfall, and other times they'd sneak off to go fishing or exploring in the high meadow, once chores were done. When they were younger, they used to make little floating boats of leaves in the bishop's pond, with sticks for the masts ... and caught tadpoles, and made tiny mud huts, too.

Then, as now, Rose spent time talking Nick's ear off, and occasionally about the day Mamm became paralyzed. It had long been rumored that their inexperienced driving horse had been spooked by a runaway stallion on the precarious road, though this was no more than hearsay, since the day of the accident had been wiped clean from Mamm's memory.

What they did know was that their family buggy had flipped over and rolled partway into the rocky chasm. Mamm had been thrown free when the carriage snapped loose from Upsy-Daisy's hitch. The People called it a "mystery of God" that she and the horse had survived at all.

Nick listened attentively as Rose wondered aloud what had, in fact, happened that frightful day. Neighbor Jeb Ulrich had later told Dat of an English boy who'd appeared at his door, asking for help after the accident. But Dat had always questioned the validity of senile Jeb's farfetched account - especially since there were no English boys around the area that they knew of.

Rose shared with Nick how she'd gone with Hen to the narrow dirt road the very next day. They'd knocked on Jeb's door to no avail and scoured the area, looking for Mamm's money tin with its thirty dollars worth of change. They and their seven older brothers speculated about the cause of the accident for weeks. Yet neither the tin box nor the reason for the accident could ever be found.

For months afterward, Mamm came in and out of herself. Bless her heart, for all she'd been through, their mother looked just as pretty and sweet, if not more so, than before the fateful mishap itself. Her will was as strong as ever, but despite the good care she'd received at the Lancaster hospital, she simply did not get any stronger, and her legs remained as useless as twigs.

There were times Rose would find her singing to herself, sitting in the wheelchair Dat and his father had made for her, darning socks near the black cookstove in the kitchen. Mamm wanted to help out - "do my part," she'd say with a pensive, pained look in her golden-brown eyes. Rose was determined to make her life as happy and comfortable as possible.

Presently, Rose Ann reached for the book she was reading. Opening to the next chapter, she read aloud for a while, glancing at Mamm every so often. Oh, the lovely romance described on these pages!

After a time, she set the book down, daydreaming ... the story alive in her heart. She couldn't help wondering if she'd ever be so loved and cherished as the girl in the book. Would she someday know the joys of marriage and having children, as she'd dreamed of even as a young girl ... before Mamm's mishap?

It seemed less likely now with Mamm so frail and growing feebler as the months passed. And Silas Good no longer pursuing me. Rose thought sadly of the handsome, likeable fellow, though she was resigned to God's will. If being a Maidel and caring for Mamm was her destiny, then so be it.

She stared at her mother, resting peacefully. Rose folded her hands against her black work apron, trying yet again to imagine what it must be like, unable to move her legs to walk or run or move about at will.

Or to ride horseback .. .

Quickly, she dismissed her own secret goings-on, knowing her mother would not approve. Mamm would be quick to point out the perils of spending hours with the bishop's wild son on a Sunday night. Instead of going to Singings to pair up with real Amish boys.

Rose opened her book yet again, anxious to lose herself in the fictional world as she waited for her mother to drop off. Devouring stories - especially those with surprising twists and turns - was her favorite escape from her semi-isolation.

Later, standing in the doorway till she was certain Mamm was asleep, she whispered, "Rest well." Then, quietly, Rose walked to the coatroom off the kitchen and pulled on Hen's old sweater before hurrying outside.