Adoring Addie (23 page)

I stood. “Let's go for a walk, then.”

Hannah started to laugh.

“I'm serious,” I said and then smiled. “Let's go down to the end of the pasture. To the blackberry bushes.”

As we walked along, five of the horses began to follow us. Hannah cooed at them and rubbed their necks, one by one. I did too, but not with as much enthusiasm as Hannah. She finally pulled away, but the horses continued to follow us.

When we reached the fence line she said, “It wasn't that bad at the clinic. Everyone was really nice. Sometimes I felt as if my parents didn't care much, but now I think they do.”

I nodded. I was sure her parents cared too.

“The counselor helped me see that I'm having a hard time becoming my own person.”

I reached for a blackberry that was nearly ripe and plopped it in my mouth as I thought about what Hannah had said.

She continued. “She said I need to figure out how to grow up safely, by not putting myself at risk.”

“Just how bad were you feeling?” I ventured.

“Ach, Addie.” Tears filled her eyes. “There were times I didn't want to live. Times I even thought about . . .” Her voice trailed off. “But I talked that through with the counselor. That helped. If I have a bad spell again, they'll try some medication—more than what they gave me at the clinic—if the talking doesn't help.”

Hannah turned toward the field. “Another interesting thing the counselor said was that generous people are less likely to be depressed. She encouraged me to give to others—to play with my little Schwesters and read to Mammi Gladys, to not just think about myself.”

I plopped another blackberry in my mouth, mulling over what my cousin had said. One of the horses nudged me, so I
gave her a blackberry too and then giggled as her wet mouth nuzzled my palm.

Mutter was one of the least generous people I knew. Plus, she had little empathy for others and seemed oddly competitive, mostly with Aenti Pauline. I was sure Mammi Gladys's criticism of her daughters had contributed to my Mutter's selfish behavior.

George the Generous, on the other hand, was never depressed. He was always thinking about others. And so was, so far, Billy the Brave.

Did Timothy have bouts of depression? Was that why he drank?

I couldn't help but wonder what came first—my mother's depression or her lack of generosity.

Unaware of my racing thoughts, Hannah continued. “Talking honestly with my Dat and Mamm helped—a lot. The counselor said they're trying to do their best and that a lot of parenting is experimenting. That made me think of your parents.”

I bit into another berry. “Why?” It was a sour one, and I made a face.

“Addie.” Hannah's voice sounded like my Mutter's. “They do care about you.”

I spit out the berry. “They care more about how things look than about me.” I sputtered, getting the rest of the seeds out. “They think my pleasing them is the same as my honoring them.”

Hannah held up her hand. “But they're doing what they think is best for you.”

“Maybe if they educated themselves a little . . .”

“Exactly,” Hannah said. “Hopefully, my Mamm will tell yours about the genetic predisposition. Maybe she'll get some
help. And I'm hoping my Mamm will say something to yours about girls our age needing to become our own person—individuals—even though we're Amish and told being part of a community is more important. We can do both.”

I shook my head. My mother would never believe it.

Hannah picked a blackberry and held it between her thumb and index finger. Her expression darkened. “I still don't see why you don't just marry Phillip.”

“Hannah!” I balked. “How can you say that?”

“Sure we can become our own person, but it's not like we have a lot of choices, not in the long run, not as far as marriage.”

She was contradicting what she'd just said. “Of course we do,” I responded. It wasn't like the Amish had arranged marriages or anything. I didn't know anyone who'd been forced by their parents to marry someone they didn't love—although I was sure my parents wanted me to be the first.

Hannah sighed, still holding the berry. “But we really don't. We're limited to an Amish beau, and someone we've met, right? Most likely someone who lives nearby. And then if our parents don't like his family—say if he's a Mosier—then that's out of the question. Or if he decides not to join the church. Or if he—”

“Hannah, you've said this before. I halfway believed you then but not anymore. It's not hopeless. Not for you. Not for me. I assure you, I'm going to marry Jonathan Mosier. If you have your heart set on Mervin, it will work out.”

She dropped the blackberry on the ground and stepped on it, then lifted her foot, looking down at the purple mess of pulp. She stepped away from it. “We'll see, won't we? For both of us.”

I smiled sympathetically, even though I had a hard time empathizing. I knew exactly what I wanted.

To me, that seemed better than being despondent and unsure. True, I didn't know how to get what I wanted. As much as I'd wanted Jonathan to come up with a plan, I knew all we could do now was wait for God's leading. However, knowing God was in control gave me confidence to carry on. And that knowledge had come directly from Jonathan's words. Honestly, I was surprised by my optimism—and pleased.

“I don't mean to sound simplistic,” I said to Hannah, “but have you been able to pray about how you're feeling? Ask God for direction? For his reassurance?”

“My counselor talked about that,” Hannah said. “I've tried, but I don't feel like he's listening.”

I nodded. “I feel that way sometimes. Or that he's listening but with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot, fed up with me.” Looking a lot like Daed.

Hannah smiled for the first time all day. “Jah,” she said.

“But that's not how he sees us,” I said, pulling three long blades of grass from along the fence line. “Think about how your Mamm looks at little Maggie.”

“Like she can do no wrong?”

“Exactly,” I said, tying a knot at the end of the blades of grass.

“But we do wrong.” Hannah's eyes were big.

“That's right, but he forgives us. And sees the good in us.” I began braiding the grass together. “He's not mad and ready to pounce. He sees our potential, what he made us for.”

She was frowning now. “How did you know I felt that way?”

“Because I've felt that way too, for a long time. But it's changing.” I surprised myself that I could feel so optimistic, even with Jonathan so far away. I was trying so hard to be brave, trying to abide in Christ's teaching, trying to let God's love—and Jonathan's—change me.

Hannah stood statue still for a long moment and then said, “I'm tired. I'm going to go take a nap.”

As we walked back through the pasture, the horses following us again, I finished braiding the blades of grass, knotted the end, and handed it to Hannah. She dangled it for a moment and then held it against her face.

“Denki,” she said. “And not just for this, but for the words too. I'll think about it.” Her eyes teared as her gaze met mine. “I'm sorry about Jonathan leaving.”

“Denki.”

She shook her head. “Molly said she's really sorry for what both you and Jonathan have had to go through.”

“He'll be back.”

“Molly doesn't think so. You really should go back to Phillip. If you don't, you'll be stuck in your parents' house forever.”

“Ach, Hannah, don't say that. You just said we need to become individuals, to have a say in our lives.”

“Well, your parents will only allow that to a certain extent,” she said. “Everyone thinks you should marry Phillip. Your parents, of course. My Mamm. Molly. Phillip. Everyone.”

Even Aenti Nell.
“And you too.” My voice wavered, “Jah?”

Hannah bowed her head. “There's nothing else for you to do, Addie. It's inevitable.”

I'll never know if Mutter had already seen the hope chest Jonathan made me and found an excuse to get me out of the house, or if she just found it that afternoon.

In the long run, the sequence of events didn't matter. Perhaps this too was, as Hannah had pointed out, inevitable when it came to what I couldn't control in my life. Or as Mutter believed, fate had destined it to happen.

No one was around, not even the little boys to run out to greet us, when Aenti Nell and I arrived back at the house. She stopped the buggy, handed me the reins, and stepped down. “Go take care of the horse,” she said. “I need to go cool off.” She waved her hand in front of her face as she turned toward the house.

I urged the horse forward.

Aenti Nell stopped halfway to the back door and pointed toward an object on the lawn, beyond the courtyard. “What is that?”

I gasped. It was my hope chest. “Help me get it back in my room,” I said, setting the brake and then jumping down from the buggy.

The front door screen banged, and Aenti Nell's face fell.

Mutter marched down the steps, yelling, “Leave it there.” She continued on once she reached the yard, straight toward me. “How dare you take such a gift from him,” she said. “And after we forbade you to see him.”

Without answering, I rushed to the side of the hope chest.

“Don't touch it,” Mutter said.

Aenti Nell stepped between the two of us. “Laurel, it's only a wooden box. Addie's wanted one for years.”

“She has mine.”

“That's just it,” I said. “It's yours.”

From the barnyard, Daed called out, “Addie, leave it be.”

Aenti Nell nodded at me, turning to whisper, “Do as they say.”

I stared at it, longingly. “What did you do with my things?”

“They are in the hope chest in your room. The one we wanted you to have.” She shook a finger at me. “You leave this one alone—it's right where I told Timothy to put it. I'll have him move it in the morning.”

“Where?”

“Back to the Mosier place.”

“They're gone,” I said. “Except for Jonathan's Dawdi.”

Her face twitched, as if she couldn't decide whether to smile or frown. “Well then, it seems our troubles are over. You'll never see him again.”

I took a deep breath but didn't respond.

She turned then, toward the house, and marched back the way she'd come, her arms swinging back and forth as she limped along. Aenti Nell followed Mutter.

On the porch, Billy and Joe-Joe peered through the slats of the railing. Behind them, at the door, stood Timothy, his arm still in the sling. I wondered if he'd taken it off to carry the chest down. A shadow passed over Billy's face and he
turned away from me. Mutter must have made him help. Perhaps Timothy had been able to manage with one arm and a conscripted ten-year-old.

Poor Billy. It went against his nature, I knew.

I sat down on top of the chest, rubbing my hand over the wood, again.

From the barn, Daed said to someone, “Leave her alone.” He was either talking to Danny or George, whose pickup was still parked in the driveway.

I stayed put. Daed didn't say anything to me when he headed toward the house a half hour later. Not too long after that, both George and Danny sauntered toward me, stopping and positioning their backs to the house when they reached me.

I turned to George and whispered, “Will you help me get this over to Cate's tonight? After everyone is asleep?”

He nodded.

“I'll help too,” Danny said. “And we've come up with a plan to get you out of this mess.” Danny the Dependable glanced up at George. “Haven't we.”

My generous brother nodded. “Just wait and see. Everything is going to be all right.”

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I stood by my open French doors waiting to see the lights of George's pickup coming down the lane. Ten o'clock passed. Then eleven. At eleven twenty, thunder crashed in the distance, then again a few minutes later, much closer. The smell of rain and ionized oxygen filled the air coming through the doors.

I needed help—now. I tiptoed down the hall to the older boys' room, eased open the door, and made my way to Danny's
bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm dangling over the bed. I shook his bare shoulder.

Lightning flashed, sending a bolt of light through the window, followed by another peal of thunder. Timothy stirred across the room. I stood statue still.

After the darkness returned, I shook Danny's shoulder again. He didn't stir. Nor did he when I shook him a third time. So much for Danny the Dependable helping me. Or George the Generous. Maybe their intentions were good, but their follow-through was lousy.

There was no way I could get the hope chest to Cate's or back up the stairs or even into the house by myself. But I could drag it into the barn.

Lightning flashed again, this time followed by rain pelting the roof. And then a crash of thunder.

I fled the room and hurried down the stairs, hoping the beat of the rain would mask the sound of my steps and the door opening. Through the living room, the kitchen, and out the back I hurried, dashing into the pitiless rain barefooted. By the time I reached the hope chest, it was covered with water.

With rain dripping down my face, I tugged on it, yanking it along the grass. Hopefully in the morning I could scrub the stains from the bottom.

Another flash of lightning cut through the sky. This time the thunder crashed immediately. I pulled harder as the rain soaked through my dress. Wet hair fell out of my bun and into my face as I jerked the box, as heavy as my grief, along.

When I reached the barnyard, the going got better, although the soil was already turning to mud and sticking to the bottom. I would have dirty grass stains to scrub in the morning. I'd get up early and see to it before Mutter was out of bed.

Lightning flashed again—this time in the south field, as
the immediate thunder rocked the ground. I began to pull with all my might. Thankfully, the next strike was farther away, to the north.

When I reached the barn door, I leaned against it. Unlatched, it creaked open.

I pulled the chest inside, making a screeching noise on the concrete floor. One of the horses snickered. I aimed for the empty stall at the very end. As I moved along, the mules raised their heads and one of them snorted. Ahead a starling fluttered toward the rafters.

The patter of the rain drummed on the tin roof, masking some of the sound of the wood against the floor. Once I reached the stall, I pulled the chest all the way to the end. Bending down, I rubbed straw from the floor around the sides, hoping to wipe off the mud. But it was too dark to see if I'd succeeded or not. Then I tucked a horse blanket over the top and sides, securing it in the back.

I latched the barn door behind me and sprinted back to the house. Already as wet as I could be, I stopped before the back porch and held my hands up to the sky, letting the rain fall on my muddy skin. I scrubbed my palms together, but even the downpour wasn't enough to wash them clean.

Once in the kitchen, using soap, I washed them properly and then grabbed a dishtowel to dry them, my face, and hair, thinking about what my chances were of rescuing my hope chest.

Pretty slim, I knew, but it was still worth waking up before the crack of dawn to see what I could do next. There were many things in life I was not willing to fight for. This wasn't one of them. The hope chest was all I had left, for now, of Jonathan.

Tears started to flow down my still-damp face. The chances
of saving it, at this point, were better than my chances of rescuing my relationship with Jonathan. Grief grasped my heart. Were my earlier words to Hannah worthless? I'd give up the chest in a moment if it meant having a future with Jonathan.

I stumbled through the house to the stairs and up to my room, thankful for the continuing fall of the rain on the roof. Still crying, I stripped off my dress, pulled my bath towel from the hook on the back of my door, and dried off. Then, after slipping on my nightgown, I crawled into bed, pulling my quilt to my chin. Shivering, I began to sob.

Why couldn't my family see what I needed for once? And I didn't mean the hope chest.

If they would only recognize Jonathan was best for me, I'd never need anything from them again. But instead I was completely alone. No Jonathan. No support from my parents. No help from my Bruders, who had promised it. Even Aenti Nell had turned her back on me.

Feeling utterly unloved, I curled in a ball, sure I finally comprehended what Hannah had gone through.

I awoke late, past six, to rain still falling on the morning of my nineteenth birthday. The endless beating of the drops and the darkened sky had lulled me into thinking it was earlier than it was. I dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs, horrified to find another set of boxes on the table. Mutter was already up and going through more of her junk—but she wasn't anywhere in sight. Neither was anyone else. I grabbed a slicker from a hook by the back door, wondering why I hadn't thought of it last night—I must have been more distraught than I'd realized—and rushed out into the rain.

Maybe everyone had gotten up late. Perhaps Daed and the boys were doing the milking. Maybe Mutter had been up long enough to search another couple of boxes and then had gone back to bed.

Danny stood in the doorway of the milking barn but turned away when he saw me. My heart raced. Something was up.

I headed toward the horse barn. As I reached it, the sound of an axe splintering wood rang out, as loud as the thunder from the night before. Feeling sick to my stomach I opened the door and raced over the concrete, slipping on fallen straw but catching myself, then making my way to the last stall as the axe fell again.

“Stop!” I cried out as I reached the stall.

Mutter stood with the axe above her head, my destroyed hope chest all around her in bits and pieces.

“No!” I shouted.

Her eyes met mine. But instead of the anger I expected, a wave of regret spread across her face.

“You defied us,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“You were unreasonable.”

“‘Children, obey your parents.'”

“‘Parents, provoke not your children.'”

“I'm done,” she said, lowering the axe toward the floor.

I stared her down. “So am I.” I didn't know exactly what I meant, but for a moment, anyway, saying it made me feel better.

She placed the axe next to the wall, the head against the concrete. “You have dishonored us over and over.”

I didn't answer her.

She stepped through the stall gate and passed me, her rubber-soled shoes making a slight padding noise against the concrete, her gait veering to the left, favoring her bum knee.

Before she reached the barn door, I stepped into the stall. I didn't cry this time. I simply knelt and picked up pieces of wood, turning them over and then putting them down until I found the ones with Jonathan's carving. I found part of the tree. The letter D. Then an E. And the A. I kept looking until I found all the letters of my name. All of the pieces were sharp and jagged with splinters on the sides and ends, in contrast to the varnished fronts. I made a basket with my apron and loaded the pieces, holding the ends of the fabric out as I walked through the barn and toward the house.

Daed stepped out of the cow barn as I passed. I held my head high and aimed straight ahead. Billy and Joe-Joe stood on the front porch, but instead of running out to meet me, they stayed put. Mutter hadn't latched the back door, so I poked it open with my foot. She sat at the table, the clutter around her. She turned toward me, but I didn't meet her eyes.

When I reached the stairs, Aenti Nell was coming down.

“Good morning,” she called out. But her tone changed when she saw what was in my apron.

“Oh, Addie. Look at what all this has led to.”

I shook my head. I let her pass, and then I trudged up to my room, my heart as broken as the bits of wood I carried.