Living in Harmony (17 page)

Not so in the case of her
schwester
.

Nora drew inside her bonnet like a turtle into its shell during most of Thomas's Bible lesson. Amy had found the trials of the Israelites' exile in Egypt fascinating. But Nora's head bobbed several times as she apparently dozed. She made no attempt to strike up conversations at lunch or as the crowd milled about after the hymn service. Nora pushed food around her plate like a picky child, staring into space, and in general didn't behave like a newcomer seeking friendship. But at least she'd worn her black dress, white apron, and her high-top, lace-up oxfords without argument. Perhaps the reason for her lack of interest was the absence of Lewis during the service. Amy overheard his
mamm
tell another woman that he had come down with the flu.

Amy stretched up on tiptoes to pin another shirt to the clothesline. Overhead, geese honked as they headed south in their annual migration. Insects buzzed in the nearby shrubs, making a final
attempt to gather nectar. She heard the comforting sound of John chopping wood.
The Detweilers will stay warm this winter,
she thought, reaching for another shirt.

Nora had enjoyed her trip to town alone once the drama in the yard was concluded. Lewis had given her a personal tour of the co-op, pointing out every product and service they offered. He'd almost flirted with her, according to Nora, but his
mamm
always hovered close by—dusting, sweeping, or stocking shelves. Last night Nora refused her sandwich at suppertime and had gone to bed early, complaining of a headache. Today she was listless and mopey as she helped Amy with the wash.

“Here are more trousers and our dresses,” said Nora, setting down the wicker basket. Amy tucked in a stray lock of hair as they heard the sound of a truck shifting gears. “Mail's here,” she announced. “Why don't you hang that load while I walk to the road?”

Nora murmured an acknowledgment as Amy strolled down the hill through the tall grass. She hummed her favorite hymn on her way to the rural box, where she found inside something more to be joyous about—a letter from
grossmammi
.

“Nora! We got another letter from Lancaster,” she shouted, ripping open the envelope. She extracted a single sheet along with a formal-looking, notary-stamped paper. She glanced at the letter first, feeling familiar pangs of homesickness, and then she studied the other document. “Certificate of Death,” she read aloud.
Why would
grossmammi
send me papers about Leon Hilty?
As she skimmed the information, realization of her grandmother's motivation slowly dawned. And when it did she picked up her skirt with one hand and ran like a child. “Nora, look at this!”

Nora dropped a damp garment back into the basket. “What's the commotion? Did you get stung by a bee?”

Amy didn't slow down until she reached the clothesline. “
Grossmammi
sent Uncle Leon's death certificate. One of her cousins from Ohio had mailed it to her, and
mammi
threw it in a drawer.
Neither woman knew what to do with it because Aunt Prudence was gone.” Amy handed both papers to her sister.

Nora read their grandmother's letter first and then glanced over the document. “I don't understand why you're so excited. We already knew Uncle Leon had died.”

“Look at the date.” Breathlessly, Amy tapped a finger on the line. “Leon Hilty died in July of last year.”

Nora blinked her eyes, holding up a hand to shield them from the sun. “And?”

“Don't you remember what the bishop told Thomas? Prudence and Will Summerton didn't marry until October. Leon was already dead by then, so she's not an adultress. According to Scripture, a woman may not remarry while her first husband
lives
.” Amy exhaled, exhilarated.

Nora patted her shoulder. “That's wonderful news. I'm sure
mammi
was happy to hear it.”

“I have to write to Prudence again and send her this death notice. No, wait. I should make a photocopy first in case she has moved again. Because she hasn't written back, we're not sure of her whereabouts. Let's not lose the only copy we have.”

Nora picked up one of Sally's dresses. “Where do you suppose you'll do that?”

Amy folded the papers and tucked them back in the envelope. “The library in Harmony,” she said after a moment. “I'm sure they will have a copy machine.” Slipping the envelope into her apron pocket, she began walking toward the house.

“Where are you going now?” called Nora. “We have more clothes to hang.”

“You finish up. The fresh air will do you good.” Amy concentrated solely on not tripping in rabbit holes.

From the porch, Amy spotted John at the woodpile. “Can you take a break?” she called. “I have news to share with you and Thomas.”

John signaled he had heard and buried the ax blade in the chopping block. Less than a minute later, he strolled in with glowing cheeks.

“Sally, Thomas?” Amy called from the bottom of the steps. “Can I speak with you, please?”

“What is it?” John closed the short distance between them. “Are you sick?” He held the back of his hand to her forehead despite Thomas's warning about no touching.

“I'm fine.” Amy brushed away his fingers and pulled the envelope from her pocket. “I received another letter from home,” she said as Thomas and Sally entered the room. “
Grossmammi
mailed me Uncle Leon's death certificate.” She gazed from one person to next.

Sally shrugged her shoulders and hitched Jeremiah higher on her hip. “But you already knew he died.”

Thomas fixed her with his cool blue gaze. “Go on,” he prodded.

Amy repeated what she'd told Nora, barely able to contain her exuberance. When she finished, the three reactions couldn't have varied more.

“That's nice,” said Sally with an uncertain smile.

John said nothing, looking mildly irritated, as though the news was unworthy of chore interruption.

Only Thomas's response indicated that he understood the significance. He whistled between his teeth as though summoning a dog and stroked his beard several times. “July, you say? If her husband died in July, Prudence committed no abomination. She remarried after he was dead.”

“It's not important.” John's voice returned at last. “Prudence already turned her back on the Amish community. She made her choice.”

Amy felt mule-kicked. She shook her head to dispel the idea all was lost.

Thomas lifted both calloused palms. “He's right, Amy. Prudence
can be forgiven for divorcing Leon if she confesses on her knees to God, but she might not be interested in that. This news might not make any difference to her or Will Summerton.” He bent to pick up Aden, who was clutching Sally's skirt tightly in both fists.

Amy jammed the two pieces of paper back into the envelope as she collected her thoughts. She had one chance to speak her mind, so she didn't want to whine or stammer. After all, wasn't she always telling Nora to act like an adult and not a child?

“That's true,” she agreed. “But because my family in Lancaster considered it important enough to send me, I will forward it to Prudence at her last known address.” She turned her focus to Sally, avoiding John. “After I finish the next load of laundry, I'll write a note to enclose with the death certificate. If you can spare me this afternoon, I'd like to go to town yet today. Nora and I will fix dinner tomorrow, giving you a night off.”

Sally's eyes sparkled. “Of course you can go, Amy. I cooked by my lonesome before you came. I'm sure I can still manage. But I won't turn down your offer.”

John snorted. “Why go to town? Write your letter and then put it in the mailbox with the flag up. The postman will find it tomorrow morning.”

Amy smiled patiently at him. “I'd like to photocopy the document at the library first, John. That way I'll still have a copy in case the letter goes astray.”

“It's a waste of time, dear heart.” John shook his head but softened his voice. “I'm sure the date of Leon's death will be of no interest to her. It's water under the bridge.”

“You're probably right, but that is what I intend to do just the same.” Amy tucked the envelope into her pocket and marched out the door, leaving behind three astonished faces.

This is the right thing to do. Prudence should know that she could come back if she chooses. And I won't rest until this paper is in her hand.

On her way back to the clothesline, Amy realized that not
all her motives were unselfish and altruistic. She longed to see a beloved family member from her past, a gentle reminder of her
mamm
and her childhood. Aunt Prudence had loved her once. Maybe that love might be enough to restore her to the Amish fold…for both their sakes.

A
my awoke to pots and pans clattering in the kitchen below, the wails of both little boys, and the shuddering snores of her sister. “That girl could sleep through anything,” she muttered, slipping out of bed. She wrapped herself in a heavy bathrobe and padded downstairs. She found Sally at the counter, disjointing a chicken on her cutting board. Several more birds awaited their turn lined up on paper towels. Jeremiah sat on a folded quilt on the floor, squalling, while Aden sobbed in his high chair. “
Guder mariye
,” she greeted.

Sally glanced over her shoulder. “Good morning to you. Sorry if we woke you. I'm not my normal efficient self today.” She half smiled before returning to the chickens. Her face was damp with perspiration, her
kapp
was askew, and flour dusted her dress and apron.

“It was time to get up anyway. What can I help you with?” Amy put on a clean apron and lifted Jeremiah from the floor. The baby immediately quieted.

“
Ach
, there's no help for me. Once again I'll give the district women something to snicker about behind my back.”

Amy carried the boy to the counter, bouncing him on her hip. “What's wrong? Why would the women laugh at you?”

Sally bowed her head, frozen, as sudden tears coursed down her cheeks. “
Mir leid,
” she apologized. “I shouldn't have said that. It's not their fault I can't handle the duties of a preacher's wife.” She walked to where Aden wailed and lifted him into her arms.

Silence filled the room, soothing jangled nerves. Sally carried her son to the window and bowed her head. While she prayed, Aden tried to catch a moth trapped against the glass in his tiny hand.

Amy prayed too, that the balm of silence would remain. After Sally lifted her head, Amy asked, “What has stressed you?”

Sally faced her somewhat composed. “Thomas mentioned this morning that the men are harvesting corn for the Erb family. Cal Erb broke his arm and needs help. Thomas and John left before sunrise to start at first light.”

Amy shifted the baby to her other hip, waiting for the rest of the story. Menfolk helping each other with the harvest sounded like business as usual, not a reason for meltdown.

“He gave no advance notice, yet he expects me to serve a hearty meal to the workers at midday. Mrs. Erb just delivered a
boppli
last week and isn't back to normal yet. When he was leaving, Thomas said, ‘Fried chicken would be nice.' It certainly would if I had six hands.” Sally tried to smile, but her tears returned instead.

“What are the other ladies taking to the Erbs?” asked Amy.

Sally stared as though mystified by the question.

“I don't know. It's up to me to provide the main course and vegetables, while the other minister's wife brings pies and fresh bread. Dora is a better baker than I am.”

“And the other women contribute nothing? That's not how we did things in Lancaster.”

“We're a small district. At least, we used to be. Even so, most women bring something to a frolic.”

“Don't you end up with too much food?” Amy smiled at Jeremiah, who was tugging on one of her
kapp
strings.

“
Jah
, often that's true. We leave leftovers behind for the family so nothing goes to waste. But I never know what's coming. We might end up with fried chicken, Dora's pies, and five bowls of baked beans.” Despite her distress, one corner of her mouth turned up.

Amy considered this. “You said the district is growing, with more families each year, so you need to organize this better. Perhaps you and the hosting family could cook the main dish, while the other pastor's wife continues to make pies. But why not assign the women a type of food, such as a potato dish or a green vegetable or a fruit tray? Someone else could bake bread, and another lady could bring a platter of cheese. How does that sound?”

“It might work if I let them choose.” Sally pursed her lips while setting her toddler down. “Maybe I could make a list and have them sign up for what they wanted. I wouldn't want to
tell
Agnes Miller what to bring.”