Adoring Addie (10 page)

I flooded the wringer washer in the basement. Then after getting the whites started, I accidently splashed bleach on a good dress of Mutter's, one that still fit. And by the time I had the first load on the line, it was past time to start scrubbing the potatoes for lunch.

We ended up eating late, which didn't escape Daed's notice. “Ach, Addie,” he said, “I thought pigs would fly before you'd be tardy with a meal.”

I kept my face stoic and unresponsive, but inside I frowned. He couldn't send me to my room for the morning
and
expect me to get my work done.

The meat was dry, the potatoes undercooked, and I'd forgotten to add butter to the green beans, the way Daed liked them, but thankfully, he didn't say another word.

Near midafternoon, I took the whites from the line, folding each item and dropping it in the basket as I did, putting off going back into the house as long as I could. I breathed in the warmth of the sun and the sharpness of the bleach still lingering on the fabric, thinking of Jonathan as I did. Despite the frustration of the morning, remembering the night before made me smile.

I turned toward the willow tree and thought of Jonathan kissing my cheek. Holding a worn pillowcase in my hand, the last item off the line, I pulled it to my face, pressing the crisp fabric against my skin. I felt freshly laundered too as an odd mixture of both hope and satisfaction, as real as the lingering scent of bleach, filled my soul.

Jonathan and I were meant to be together.

A pinecone landed in the laundry basket, startling me.

“Daydreaming?” Timothy stood between me and the barn.

I folded the pillowcase, even though it needed to be ironed, and dropped it in the basket. “No,” I retorted. “I'm working. How about you?” I didn't wait for him to respond but,
leaving the pinecone, picked up the basket and marched to the house.

Mutter managed to iron the small items at the table, while I manned the board and finished up the sheets. She cried a little more, including over her dress I'd ruined.

After I put everything away, Mutter sat in the living room, her feet up on the couch. I'd asked her several times to sort through the stack of
Budget
s, the national Plain newspaper, and the back issues of
The Connection
magazine we subscribed to and that she tended to save, but since she hadn't for the last couple of months, not even when tidying up for the barbecue, I doubted she would today.

Aenti Nell said she planned to quilt for an hour or so, and I followed her into the sewing room, asking her to tell me the story about the grudge. “In a minute,” she said. “First let me give you something to work on.”

It wasn't until she'd given me the pieces of a block to stitch together that I remembered the money Jonathan had given me. I pulled it out of my apron and extended it to her. “Here,” I said. “Don't tell Timothy, but Jonathan gave me back the money I paid him for the mantel.”

She cocked her head to the side, the back of her kerchief dangling at an odd angle. “Why?”

“He said he fixed it.”

She held up her hand. “Well, well,” she said. “He's a gentleman. I'm not surprised.”

“Take it,” I said.

“No, you keep it. Those were old potholders. I probably wouldn't have sold them anyway.”

I gave her a questioning look.

She shrugged. “Think of it as my gift to you in these trying times.” Her mouth turned downward.

She settled into her chair and picked up another stack of pieces.

“Tell me,” I said.

She glanced toward the open door and lowered her voice. “They want you to marry Phillip more than anything else in the world right now.”

“You were going to tell me about the grudge.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You said ‘later.'”

Maybe I needed to warm her up to the idea. I told her my intention to humble myself and apologize to Mutter and Daed and then explain my feelings for Jonathan.

“I can't marry Phillip.” My voice was firm.

“I know,” she said, her voice tender. “But don't tell your parents that yet. I told them this morning that I thought you'd get over Jonathan.”

I began to shake my head as I opened my mouth to speak.

She held up her finger to shush me. “I said he's not your type. That your feelings won't last more than another day or so.”

I gasped, “That's not true.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“To slow them down. To free you from your room. To give you more time to figure all this out. So don't go telling them how you really feel about Phillip—not yet.”

I was surprised she would deceive my parents for me but grateful that she'd intervened. I leaned forward. “Will you help me?”

“I don't know if there's much I can do. . . .”

“You can start by telling me what the feud is all about.”

“
Feud
.” She tilted her head. “That's a strong word.”

“And accurate.”

She sighed and then stood and closed the door. “Just in case your Mamm's hearing is better than I think.”

When she sat back down she turned her chair toward me. “Don't tell your Mamm or your Dat what I'm going to tell you.”

I nodded in agreement. I wasn't in the habit of talking deeply with my parents. I couldn't imagine not being able to keep Aenti Nell's secret.

She took a deep breath, as if to build her courage, and then said, “When your Mamm was your age she courted Jonathan's father—Dirk.”

I gasped.

She took a raggedy breath. “Actually, there's a story before that but I'm not going to share it . . . and one after it.”

“Aenti Nell?” I said, puzzled even more.

She ignored me. “The families back then were from the same district, and the households were very much alike. Both full of fun and laughter. The children were well disciplined. The grown-ups, hard workers.” She paused. “And Dirk and your Dat were the very best of friends, straight from the cradle.”

I could scarcely believe what she was saying. “Oh . . . goodness.”

“Exactly. And they stayed that way, day in and day out. Dirk is the one who gave your Dat the nickname Cap. And it stuck.”

My father's given name was David, but I'd never heard anyone call him that.

“We all thought your Mamm and Dirk would marry—but then they quit courting. Laurel wouldn't tell us why. A few people speculated but no one seemed to know for sure.” Aenti Nell stopped for a moment and rubbed her temple. “Then Cap started taking Laurel home from singings.”

“Oh . . . and that made Dirk mad?”

Aenti Nell shook her head. “No, that was the funny thing. Dirk seemed fine with it. He and Cap stayed best friends. All seemed well.”

“So what happened?”

“Laurel started receiving anonymous letters. The first one said that Cap was trouble and she shouldn't be courting him. The second said she'd be miserable if she married him. They went on and on, probably five at least. Finally she showed Cap. He was certain the handwriting was Dirk's.”

“Was it?”

“It seems so. Everyone thought so. But he denied it.” Her eyes drifted toward the window.

I waited for her to continue.

Finally she did. “Dirk had quite the temper, and he exploded one night after a party.” She paused again.

“Were you there?”

“Jah.” She sighed.

“What happened?”

“Dirk said horrible things to your Mamm and then left for Big Valley the next day. He came back a couple of times but didn't have any further contact with your parents. He didn't come to their wedding. He didn't try to patch things up with your Daed.”

“When did he marry?”

“Several years after your parents did. Mary is her name.” She sat up a little straighter. “But that's neither here nor there. What's important is what Dirk said after Cap confronted him at the party.”

“Which was?”

“That your mother was a she-devil and would destroy the entire community if she wasn't stopped. He said the worst year of his life was when he was courting her and that your
father was a bigger fool than he'd ever suspected and would live in misery if he married her. Then Dirk stormed off.”

I had to agree that Mutter was a bit of a manipulator, but what Dirk said seemed over-the-top harsh. No wonder Mutter and Daed were angry with him.

“The thing was,” Aenti Nell said, “his words seemed to draw your Mamm and Daed even closer. They married three months later.”

I wrinkled my nose. “And that started the problem between the two families?”

“Jah. Not between the Mosiers and the Cramers so much, not back then. Old man Mosier and your Dat's parents all continued on with their friendship, which made your parents angry. But my parents, well, my mother in particular, was very offended and couldn't let it go.”

I could see that. My grandmother, Gladys Yoder, did tend to hold a grudge, and probably without intending to, encouraged her daughters to also. Although Aenti Nell didn't seem to. Not even against the Mosiers.

“Then your Dat's father died and then his mother too, and Dirk's Dat became more lost in his own world.”

I wasn't as concerned about the oldest generation. “Does Mutter still have the letters?”

Aenti Nell blanched. “I wouldn't think so. I can't think of why she would have kept them.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She keeps everything.”

“She wouldn't have kept those.” Nell shook her head as she spoke.

I wasn't so sure.

“She wouldn't need to. She let the memory of them fester all these years,” Aenti Nell added. “That's what's kept the whole thing going.”

“But Onkel Bob seemed to want to patch things—he invited our family and Mervin and Martin's family to dinner—remember? Just over a year ago?” Aenti Nell hadn't gone.

“Jah, Bob and the twins' Dat, Amos, are friends. And the twins worked for Bob. Did your Mamm and Dat behave themselves that day?”

I nodded.

“Well, Amos is quite a bit older than Dirk. And he was never as hotheaded. But now Timothy's all worked up and only making things worse.”

I sat forward in my chair. I needed to get the dough started for the sticky buns for the next day's frolic. But I had one more question first. “What should we do?”

“Don't try to meet him tonight.”

I swallowed hard, not sure I could do that.

“Addie, listen to me. Your parents will know if you go out. And they won't assume it's with Phillip. I'll send Danny on a buggy ride with a message—in a sealed envelope—over to the Mosiers, telling Jonathan not to come.”

“If you think it's for the best . . .” Danny was the only one we could trust.

Aenti Nell gazed beyond me again, out the window. “And then how about if I visit Jonathan's grandfather before the frolic tomorrow? Bring up the relationship he had with your grandfather? See if he can talk to Dirk?”

“All right.” I wasn't sure if it would help or not, but I didn't see how it could hurt.

Foolish me.

Aenti Pauline's kitchen was the biggest in the county, I was sure. New cabinets and counters lined the room, and the white linoleum floor sparkled in the morning light coming through the wall of windows at the far end. The quilting frame stood in the center, with all of us women seated around it in perfectly matched chairs. My Onkel had done quite well for himself and his family raising horses.

My cousins had pushed the table to the end of the room. The sticky buns I'd made and a bowl of blueberries were set out for a morning snack. A pot of coffee simmered on the stove.

Mammi Gladys, the matriarch of my Mutter's clan, was taking a break for the moment, a cup in her hand, watching the rest of us. She wore a black dress and apron. She'd always been tiny, but lately she seemed to be shrinking. However, she was one of those small women whose presence grew more powerful with every year. The older I grew, the more I realized the influence she carried over her daughters.

She had no sons.

And those daughters all had only daughters, except for
Aenti Nell, who had never married, and my Mutter. Ours was the only “boy” family.

Mutter, Aenti Pauline, and Aenti Nell all lived in Lancaster County. My two other Aentis had both married and moved away, one to Ohio and the other to Indiana.

My grandfather had died two years before, and my grandmother still dressed in mourning attire, which seemed oppressively hot, especially on a mid-July day that promised to be a scorcher.

Once I learned English, I thought it odd my grandmother's name was Gladys. She was anything but glad. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Where's Nell?” she asked, as if just realizing she was missing.

“Running an errand,” Mutter answered. “She'll be here soon.”

She was going to the store to buy some thread, but she also planned to stop by Old Man Mosier's place. Of course, Mutter didn't know that.

“Where's Hannah?” my mother asked.

Aenti Pauline shifted in her chair. “Resting.”

“So early in the morning?” Mutter's head shot up from her stitching. “What's the matter with her?”

“She hasn't been sleeping well,” Pauline answered. “She'll be down soon.”

My grandmother frowned and then said, “Well, if she didn't eat so much she wouldn't be so tired. Five pancakes for breakfast would put anyone to sleep.”

Aenti Pauline didn't respond.

My mother and her Schwesters had grown up with their mother talking about their weight. Their father had been on the plump side, and they all took after him, my mother even
more so than the rest. He'd been a jolly man, though, and used to humor my grandmother. Now that he was gone, she seemed to be growing more sour by the day.

Generally, we Amish women don't worry about our weight or how we look, at least not compared to Englisch women. We dress the same. Wear our hair the same. Cover our heads. We don't have to worry about makeup and beauty products. We don't read magazines with fashion models or watch TV or movies, so we don't compare ourselves to others the way I've heard Englisch women do. But in Mutter's family, because of pressure from their mother, there was more of an awareness of first being a little plump, then heavy, and then downright overweight.

Aenti Nell stayed plump, probably because she never had the additional stress to her body of having babies. And Aenti Pauline ended up heavy. But Mutter was definitely overweight—and knew it.

Now it seemed Mammi Gladys was starting in on Hannah.

Thanks to Daed's side of the family, I wasn't plump at all. It wasn't that I was skinny, but I was lean and fit. It wasn't because of how much I did or didn't eat though. It was just the way I was made.

My grandmother turned to me with the hint of a smile on her face.

It surprised me and I smiled in return.

“I heard you're sweet on Phillip Eicher,” she said.

My smile vanished. Besides feeling free to speak about people's weight, she also had no problem being blunt concerning other topics.

I blushed.

“Good family, that one. You couldn't do better.”

“Jah,” Aenti Pauline said. “I hope my girls will follow your
example.” She had seven daughters—from Hannah, the oldest at nineteen, to Maggie, the two-year-old. Deborah—who was four years younger than Hannah because Aenti Pauline had lost a set of twin boys before her and then had some other problems—was next oldest, then Sarah, who was almost thirteen, Katie, Lydia, and Cara. “I hope,” Aenti Pauline continued, “that they'll do as well as Phillip Eicher.”

“Well, they won't,” Mammi Gladys said, “if you don't rein Hannah in now.” She blinked hard as her eyes locked on my Aenti's. “They'll all follow her example.”

“Now, don't start on that,” Aenti Pauline said. “You've said your piece—more than once.” She pushed back her chair and stood. It was obvious the subject had been discussed before.

“Where are you going?” Mammi Gladys asked.

“To check on the little girls.” They were jumping on the trampoline out in the side yard with Joe-Joe. Billy had stayed home to help Daed.

Mammi Gladys said, “Have Sarah check.”

Both Deborah and Sarah had joined us for the quilting frolic, but so far they hadn't said a word. They were both ones to listen and take everything in—and were so quiet that the older women usually forgot they were around. At the mention of her name, Sarah's head popped up and the look on her face was one of concern, as if she were in trouble.

“Go,” our grandmother said to her.

“No,” Aenti Pauline said. “I'm doing it.”

As Aenti Pauline headed for the back door she shot my Mutter a desperate look. I wondered if she expected sympathy. I was pretty sure, inside, Mutter was gloating. It was as if she'd totally forgotten my declaration about Jonathan the day before. Mutter's powers of denial, a term I'd learned from Cate, were incredible. That, or Aenti Nell must have
done a convincing job assuring Mutter and Daed that in no time I'd lose interest in Jonathan.

Mammi Gladys must have sensed Mutter's smugness. “How are those boys of yours doing?” I did not want the conversation to turn to my Bruders.

“Joe-Joe's outside with the girls.”

“I mean your older ones. Why didn't you tell me Samuel and George moved into a trailer?” Mammi Gladys kept stitching, her eyes on the quilt as she spoke. “I heard it from Hannah's friend Molly.” I could imagine how badly that encounter embarrassed my grandmother.

Before Mutter answered, Aenti Pauline came through the back door with little barefoot Maggie high on her hip. My youngest cousin wore a miniature apron, a
Schatzlin
, and a
Kapplin
. Underneath, her blond hair, too fine to stay in a bun, was in two thin braids. Her chubby hands rested on Aenti Pauline's shoulders. My Mutter said Aenti Pauline, because she'd lost the set of twins and then wasn't sure she'd ever have more children, babied her girls, which wasn't the Amish way. Children were valued but never idolized. I thought Mutter was wrong, but still, Aenti Pauline looked at little Maggie as if she was a miracle, perhaps one who could, at least at this moment, do no wrong.

“Laurel,” Mammi Gladys said. “I asked about Samuel and George.”

Mutter sighed. “They're fine. They're both working.” Mutter shrugged. “There's nothing to tell.” I knew she was trying to put up a good front.

Aenti Pauline, who was usually sweet, said, snidely, “Offspring reflect their parents, jah? Your boys are taking after Cap's wild ways.”

Mutter's voice fell in volume. “You're carrying this one
awfully low. Perhaps he'll be a boy. And then you'll have to eat your words.” The story was that Aenti Pauline's husband, Onkel Owen, had quite a running around time too.

Aenti Pauline looked as if she'd been struck. I'd had no idea she was expecting another Bobli, and by the look on Deborah and Sarah's faces, they didn't either.

Pauline didn't say another word and headed down the hall with Maggie. But Mutter had successfully deflected the topic from her husband and sons, and a slight smile spread over her face as she concentrated on her stitches.

Seconds later, however, Mammi Gladys tenaciously took up the topic again. “Speaking of the father of your unruly sons, I heard Cap's old friend Dirk Mosier is back.”

At the mention of Jonathan's father, I glanced at Mammi Gladys out of the corner of my eye, trying my best to be inconspicuous.

“I wouldn't know,” Mutter said.

“Oh? Well, does Nell know?”

I inhaled sharply. What did Aenti Nell have to do with Dirk Mosier?

“Dirk is married, remember? For the last twenty or so years.”

“Of course I remember,” Mammi Gladys said. “I was just wondering what Nell's reaction was to him moving back to the old Mosier place.”

“Why don't you ask her?” Mutter said.

My grandmother snorted, sounding a lot like Timothy.

Mutter didn't respond, and the rest of us stayed quiet until Hannah entered the room and broke the silence. A strand of hair she hadn't bothered to secure fell against her face, and her steps were slow, as if she had to work at keeping her balance.

“It's about time,” Mammi Gladys said.

My Mutter surprised me by considerately asking, “How
are you feeling, Hannah?” Mutter, with her own problems with insomnia, actually appeared somewhat sympathetic to my cousin's plight.

“Fine.” Hannah settled into the empty chair beside me.

I patted her arm and handed her a needle that had already been threaded. She took it from me, holding it in midair for a moment before plunging it into the penciled-in outline on the fabric.

Aenti Pauline came back into the kitchen from down the hall, still carrying her littlest one. “Deborah, take Maggie back outside.”

Deborah responded straightaway, standing and taking the child in her arms.

After they left, Aenti Nell arrived. She was wearing her best blue dress and a Kapp, which I didn't see her in much since around the house she wore her old dresses and kerchiefs. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright. Her dimples flashed when she saw me.

I couldn't help but smile back and hope I'd soon know what she'd found out at the Mosier place. I pulled up another chair for her, in between Hannah and me, just in case Aenti would be able to talk, but she didn't try, which was probably wise.

The morning progressed uneventfully, and I did my best to concentrate on my stitching, half listening to the others. Mammi Gladys gossiped about their new neighbors, an Amish couple with ten children between the ages of twenty-two and ten. They'd moved to Lancaster County from Canada.

“Those kids of theirs are hog-wild,” she said. “The oldest boy came home with a car yesterday. I could hear the mother screeching at him clear over in our backyard.”

Mutter didn't respond, and Mammi Gladys kept talking.

“Joseph and I wouldn't allow it. I don't know what's wrong with parents these days that they just don't say no.”

Some people might have intervened at this point, telling Mammi Gladys to be more considerate of my mother. The truth was, because Mammi Gladys never had a boy, she couldn't know what it was like to raise a bushel of them. Sure, sometimes a girl raised Amish bought a car, but it was mostly the boys. The running around years seemed to offer more temptations for Plain boys than girls.

When Aenti Pauline got up to start setting out the lunch things, a wave of relief passed over me. Finally I'd be able to speak to Aenti Nell. But once the sandwiches were made, Pauline sent Hannah and me outside to help the little ones with their lunch.

Afterward, I settled Joe-Joe down on the couch for a nap, and by the time I rejoined the women, Mammi Gladys was ready to go out to her Dawdi Haus to rest. “I expect to hear about your wedding being published soon,” she said to me. Then she turned to Hannah. “No matter what your parents allow, you need to stop running around. You hear? That's not the way to find a good husband.”

Hannah pursed her lips but didn't say anything. As much as it was the Amish way to have grandparents live with one of their children, I felt sorry for Aenti Pauline's girls to have Mammi Gladys around all the time.

If I didn't have so many Bruders, she might have moved in with us.

Mutter surprised me by standing and saying she thought we should go too. “It's too hot,” she said, dabbing at her neck with her apron. “I need to go rest too.”

I pretended to concentrate on my work. “Could I keep quilting and go home with Nell?”

“Why?” Mammi Gladys turned toward me from the doorway. “You haven't done more than ten stitches the whole time you've been here.”

I did my best not to be defensive. “Well, that's why I should stay. To earn my keep for the day.”

Mutter shook her head. “I don't feel well. Come along.”

“What about Joe-Joe? He just fell asleep.”

Mutter turned toward Nell.

“I'll take him,” my Aenti said. “I won't be long.” But she seemed so engrossed in her quilting that I wasn't sure she even remembered she needed to talk with me.

In the buggy on the way home, Mutter didn't speak at all. As I drove, she closed her eyes, her head bobbing along to the beat of the horse's hooves, until we heard the clopping of a horse's hooves behind us. She turned on the bench seat.

“It's Phillip,” she said.

“Shouldn't he be at work?”

Mutter swatted her hand toward me. “He said he might come by today.”

I groaned inwardly, but the expression on my face must have given me away.

“Addie.” She shifted on the bench and glared at me. “What has gotten into you?”

I forced my face to slacken, hoping she wouldn't persist in her questioning. Obviously she hadn't taken me seriously yesterday.