A Wedding Quilt for Ella (7 page)

“You used to come here?” Mamm said, breaking into her thoughts.

Ella nodded, her eyes staring at the rushing water.

“It will be like this often,” her mother said softly. “Each place, each day, each sound…Something will come to remind you of him. It will be like this until time can have its way and heal. So it is for all of us.
Da Hah
will bring healing for the hurt.”

“Aden will be in heaven,” Ella said, her voice firm. “He was too
gut
not to be.”

“We must only hope he is,” her mother said, turning around to look at her.

“You must let her talk, Lizzie. Yah,” her dad said,
“Da Hah
will understand that. He knows she hurts.”

“I know he’s in heaven,” Ella said. “I just
know
he is.”

Her mother turned back around, her face grave. The buggy wheels rattled on the gravel as they passed Ben Raber’s place with his
Hickory Rockers for Sale
sign out front. Ella saw Ben look out of the window of his shop and then pull back when he saw who was in the front seat. Ella leaned back as well. People would know who drove past, but they didn’t need to see her.

That poor Ella.
She could hear the voices now.
Almost married, she was. And so suddenly he’s gone.

The other schoolhouse, the one on the corner, came into view. Aden’s parents’ place was across from it. Ella took a deep breath. The body of what once was Aden was in there, and she would have to see it.

Eight

N
oah Yoder drove the buggy onto the yard of the Wengerd’s place and stopped by the sidewalk. One by one, buggies ahead of them parked in a long row beside the barn. Ella made no effort to get out until Mamm undid the vinyl door snaps and stood there waiting.

“You have to come. You can’t stay here,” she whispered.

Ella nodded. She pushed up on the seat with her hands and made her legs move under her. On the step down, she nearly slipped, and her mother caught her hand.

“Do be careful,” Mamm said. “You don’t want to be injuring yourself.”

Mamm didn’t release Ella’s arm until they were at the walk. Behind them Daett drove forward to find a place to park and unhitch.

At the front door, Ella and Mamm were met by Aden’s mother, Lydian, who motioned them inside. “He’s still not here,” she said.

Ella squeezed her eyes shut, stepping up into the house. She would have to find a way to bear the next few hours.

Mamm spoke first. “What a shock this was when Albert brought the news.” She put her hand on Ella’s shoulder, pulling her to a stop.

“I know,” Lydian said, shutting the front door, stepping in front of Ella, and embracing her. “This is so hard for all of us, and I know you loved him as much as we did.”

Ella opened her eyes, taking in the darkness of the room, a single kerosene lamp burning on the counter. She returned the embrace. This was Aden’s mamm, and she must also be hurting.

Around the living room, benches were set up. The bedroom door directly in front of them was open. That must be where the body would be taken. Daniel, Aden’s younger brother, stood against the wall. His girlfriend, Arlene, sat in front of him. They came slowly toward her and then shook her hand. Other black-clad people stood, murmuring words she could hardly hear. When no one stood in front of her anymore, she wearily lowered herself down on a bench.

“The funeral will be tomorrow,” Lydian whispered. “We have sent the word out, but I didn’t know if it reached you yet.”

“No, we didn’t know,” Mamm said, shaking her head, “but we figured on it.”

“Lunch is ready. They brought in sandwiches. Some of the others have eaten already. There’s no line at the moment,” Lydian said, motioning toward the table. Behind them the door opened, and Ella’s daett entered. He came to stand beside Mamm as she led Ella toward the table. Ella glanced over to where the sandwiches, soup, and crackers were set out. She shook her head and whispered, “I’m not hungry.”

Mamm took her hand, insisting, and Ella gave in. What was the use?

“You’ll be needing the strength,” Mamm said, “even if it doesn’t feel so now.”

Ella took the round bowl her mom held out for her. She filled it with a little soup and several crackers. A sandwich was pushed into her other hand. They walked over to the benches and sat down. A few bites later, she still found it difficult to swallow. The rich soup felt like paste in her mouth, the sandwich dry. She was ready to stand and return the bowl to the table, eaten or not, when the long black
Englisha
hearse pulled into the yard.

Aden’s body had arrived. She choked, placed the bowl on the table, the half-eaten sandwich beside it, and had no strength to even think of removing it. Several of the men in the room stood, picked up their hats, and went outside.

Through the window, Ella watched as the long wooden box was removed. With their black hats on their heads, the men gathered on either side of the coffin, bore the load, and stepped toward the front door. She stood, sobbing openly and hiding her eyes with her hands. Arms closed around her to help her move out of the way and over to the other side of the table while the procession slowly passed.

Ella closed her eyes, listening to the sounds in the house. How had she dared make such a fuss? She waited, her hands still on her face. They would just have to think what they wanted to. The sounds of bumping and scraping coming from the bedroom soon gave way to silence. The room where she stood also became quiet. The time had come to view Aden and acknowledge in their time-honored tradition what the hand of God had left.

Ella felt the hands of others helping her to sit. She opened her eyes. How much she wanted to rush out of the house but could not. Aden’s parents stood beside the bedroom door, their arms around each other. She tried to breathe as they walked forward, heads bowed.

Their backs disappeared through the doorway. This was their son, and they would be together to see his departed face. The minutes passed as their muffled sobs rose and fell. No one would interfere or hasten the time they needed.

When they came out, their arms still around each other, their faces red from tears, Daniel made a motion with his hand toward Ella. As a sibling, he or one of the other children could have gone next. He was offering her a special place of honor. He knew and respected the deep love Aden and she had shared.

Ella rose, and her Mamm stood with her. This also was in order. It was
gut
that the mother should accompany her daughter to see the man who would have been her son-in-law. With Mamm’s hand on her arm, the two approached the bedroom.

Through the open door, Ella saw the side of the wooden coffin, its plain wood sanded and varnished to a dull shine. She was about to see Aden, and yet, in reality, Aden was gone. What remained would only look like him. She dared her eyes to turn and see.

They had turned him so that his face looked away from the doorway and toward the window where the light streamed in. The wooden lid was ajar, laid back across a chair. She approached and sought his face, her breath a rough rasp in her throat.

The sunlight fell full across his face, illuminating his stubble of a beard and flushing his cheeks, just as she remembered him when he had been alive. She quietly gasped, reaching out with both hands to touch him, but Mamm pulled her back.

“He’s gone, Ella,” she whispered. “You mustn’t touch him.”

“I loved him, Mamm,” she said, reaching again.

“Aden’s in the hands of
Da Hah,
and you must be leaving him there. Yah, it is for the best.”

“But I wanted him as my husband,” she said, catching her breath. “Why must this be?”

“That is not for us to decide,” her mom said, pulling Ella tight against herself. “Now we can only cry our tears.”

Ella stood for a long time, the tender touch of her mamm on her arm. Long moments passed while those in the living room waited quietly. Time would never move again for her. This was the moment given to her to sorrow, to weep, and to know the pain…for after tomorrow, life must go on again.

After a time, Mamm gently tugged on her arm and tenderly pulled her away.

“Others will be needing to come,” Mamm whispered, guiding her out of the room and back to the benches.

They waited in silence for the long hours of the afternoon while those in the room took their turns walking through the bedroom.

Eventually Ella whispered to her mom, “I’m okay if you and Daett want to go back home and help with the chores.”

Mamm nodded and stood. She walked over to where Daett sat. Ella couldn’t hear what they said, but soon her mother returned and shook her head. How blessed she was with such a mamm. Her parents had decided to stay with her even with the pressing duty of home and the farm.

When supper, which was brought by the neighbors, was served, Ella tried again to eat and managed to get some of the food down. After supper the official time of viewing started. Long lines of men and women formed outside and passed through the bedroom. Enough stayed to fill the benches inside, causing others to move on out to the yard.

Few words were spoken to Ella or to others from the family. The visitors shook their hands, embraced them, and extended comfort by the power of their presence and their willingness to be there. Dora, with Eli and Monroe, arrived just before dusk. They passed through the line, and Ella rose to join them.

She wanted to see Aden again when the sun was no longer on his face. Perhaps it would be different now. With Dora beside her, she didn’t pause long, resolving to return later, to come back when there was enough time to be alone with him.

“It’s such a sad thing,” Dora said when they had taken their seats again. “I’m so sorry it has to be happening to you.”

Ella nodded, squeezing Dora’s arm.
It is
gut
to have a sister who cares.

“It should be happening to me,” Dora whispered. “I’m the real bad person. You and Aden were the
gut
people.”

Ella shook her head. “It wasn’t me. Aden was the
gut
one.”

“I hope you’ll be findin’ someone as
gut
as he was,” Dora whispered.

Ella shook her head. “There will never be another one. I loved him, Dora—really loved him.”

“I know that,” Dora said, nodding. They wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders.

Both of the mamms made their way over and sat beside them, one on each side. Neither woman said anything. They just sat in quiet support.

When the crowds thinned out an hour later, Ella leaned toward her mother and said, “Perhaps I should bring in my clothes from the buggy. I’m staying for the night.”

“I expect so,” Mamm said, nodding.

“I’m sorry ‘bout the chores,” Ella whispered. “I’ll help after the funeral…something extra, perhaps. Yah?”

“You shouldn’t even think about this,” Lizzie said. “Dora and the boys…we can handle things. You don’t have to worry.”

It was
gut
for her mamm to say it, but the guilt and pain didn’t go away. Slowly Ella got up. Eyes from all over the room turned to look at her as she went outside to get her night bag.

When Ella returned, Aden’s mom met her at the front door and whispered, “Up the stairs. The spare bedroom is in the back.”

Ella made her way slowly back through the benches, maneuvering around the gathered women and then upstairs. Likely she wouldn’t spend the night up here, after all. Surely some visiting family would need the space, and she could just as easily sleep downstairs on the couch. Aden’s body would be closer to her that way.

By eleven o’clock only the family—including Aden’s older married siblings and their families—was left in the house, and the benches were moved back against the wall. Aden’s daett gathered the family around for a Scripture reading before some of them would leave.

With a solemn air, he read from the last part of the first chapter of Job. “Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, and said, ‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the L
ORD
gave, and the L
ORD
hath taken away; blessed be the name of the L
ORD
.’ In all this, Job sinned not nor charged God foolishly.”

In the silence that followed, Albert closed his Bible and wept with the great cries of a father who deeply loved his son.

Some of the married children left soon afterward. Others of them were led upstairs to spend the night. Ella gave up her room, insisting she would prefer the couch in the living room.

“You can sleep here. We might be up and down all night,” Lydian said.

“That is perfectly all right,” Ella said. “It really is. I want to be close to him.”

Lydian nodded, wiping her eyes.

When the last person disappeared, Ella lay on the couch in the dress she had come in. Tomorrow morning she would change into her black dress for the funeral. Tired from grief, she soon dozed off.