The Amish Seamstress (38 page)

“I can't believe how things are coming together for everyone,” Marta continued. “Lexie's flight gets in on Saturday morning, and even Giselle is talking about getting here Saturday night.”

“Really? She is coming, all the way from Switzerland? Frannie will be thrilled.”

Marta nodded and then put a finger to her lips. “Not a word yet, though. To be honest, my sister can be a bit…uh…flaky. We'll tell
Mamm
only if and when Giselle has actually reserved a flight and bought herself a ticket.”

T
WENTY
-O
NE

B
y the next morning, Frannie seemed to have rallied somewhat. Her color was better, and I could no longer hear the rattle in her lungs when I listened with the stethoscope.

She also seemed less confused than she had the day before, not to mention more talkative. She wanted to know about everyone's comings and goings, so as we waited for the water for her Cream of Wheat to boil, I caught her up as best I could. I explained Lexie would be flying in on Saturday from Oregon, and Zed and Ella would get here the day after that.

“Ella? Really? Do you think she'll be okay to travel?”

I nodded. “She still has eight weeks to go, so Marta said she would be fine.”

Frannie closed her eyes, a smile illuminating her features.

“James can't get off of work until the following week, so he's planning to fly out on the twenty-first.”

“Oh, how lovely,” she said, her eyes opening again. “That means he'll be here for Christmas.”

I nodded, smiling at the thought. I'd never met James, but I had heard wonderful things about him from both Zed and Ella.

“How about Luke?” she asked.

“I think he's hoping to come around the same time. I know it's not easy to leave a farm, but his brother lives right next door and can take over while he's gone. He really wants to come. And I know he would never want to spend Christmas away from Ella's side.”

“He's a good man.”

I nodded.

“And Giselle?” she asked finally, her eyes full of hope.

I couldn't out-and-out lie to her, so I hesitated and then said, simply, “As far as I know, she hasn't yet bought a ticket.” But then, feeling guilty for not telling her the whole truth, that Giselle really was planning to come, I jumped up and went to the stove to attend to her cereal.

“We
must
convince her to come,” Frannie said from her bed as I stirred the grains into the pot of bubbling water. “I'll pay for the plane ticket myself, if need be.”

I still couldn't look Frannie in the eye, so once the Cream of Wheat was cooking, I wet a clean dishcloth and wiped down the counter and table.

“This sounds really important to you,” I said, noncommittally.

“It is. It truly is. It's hard to explain why, exactly. It's not that there's anything I want to say to her. If that's all it was, I suppose I could do that over the phone. It's just that I want to see her. More than that I want to hold her. And I want her to know how much I love her.”

Tears filled my eyes at the thought, especially when she added, “I haven't seen my daughter's face, in person, for twenty-eight years.”

“Oh, my,” I managed to say, blinking my tears away as I moved to the sink and rinsed out the cloth. “You're right. I think it would be good if she came too.”

After I'd finished feeding Frannie and getting her ready for the day, Marta stopped by, clearly upset. I stepped to the end of the bed so she could sit in the chair.

“You'll never believe what Klara did!” she said, speaking both to me and to her mother.

Frannie's eyes widened. “What?”

“She called Giselle and told her to think twice about coming. That she didn't think it was what was best for you.”

Frannie sat up in the bed, the first time I'd seen her do so voluntarily for days. “No! That's not true! I
want
Giselle to come—desperately so.”

Marta patted her mother's arm till she lay back down. “Klara knows that.”

“But Giselle doesn't. Call her and I'll tell her,” Frannie begged. “On your little phone. Right now. Right here.”

“I will.” Marta pulled her cell phone from her pocket, dialed, and held it to her ear. It seemed like it rang for a long time but finally she said, “
Gut-n-Owed!
”

It was evening there.

Marta began speaking English after her greeting. I was surprised, but then I realized that Giselle may have forgotten much of her Pennsylvania Dutch without anyone over there to speak it with. And Marta wouldn't know the modern Swiss German that Giselle likely spoke now.

“
Mamm
wants to talk with you,” Marta said into the phone and then paused. “No, I'm serious. She really does. I'm going to put you on speaker.”

Marta stepped closer to Frannie as I stepped away from the bed, feeling as if I were intruding but too riveted to the scene to go far.

Holding the phone in the air close to her mother, Marta said, “Okay,
Mamm
, go ahead and talk.”

Frannie's eyes widened. I suspected she didn't speak on a phone very often. She said, softly, “Giselle, are you there?”

“
Ya
,” the voice answered. “I'm here.” Her voice wasn't soft at all, not like I imagined it would be. “But I can barely hear you.”

Frannie squared her shoulders. “I'll speak louder then.” She did, a little. “I want you to come home, Giselle. I need to see you. Don't worry about what Klara says. She's hesitant, is all.”

Giselle laughed but didn't say anything. Embarrassed, I retreated to the kitchen, listening as they continued.

“Your sister will be fine once you're here.”

“She didn't sound fine on the phone.”

“
Ach
, she's troubled sometimes, but it would do us all good for you to come over. It would do
me
good. I have money set aside for your airfare.”

“Don't worry about that,
Mamm
. I'm okay as far as finances.”

“Well, then. We can talk about that when you come. Just make your arrangements soon.”

“All right. I'll think about it.”

“
Danke
,” Frannie said with an exhale. I turned to see her leaning back against her pillow. “Let Marta know what you decide. And don't listen to Klara anymore.”

“Yes, I hear you.”

“
Gut
.” She closed her eyes. “
Tschüs
.”

I couldn't help smiling at the sweet, informal goodbye.

“
Tschüs
,” Giselle replied.

The call was over, just like that, leaving Frannie exhausted. I had a feeling she would fall right to sleep.

I returned to the dishes I had been washing, and after a moment, Marta joined me in the kitchen. I finished drying the pan and put it in the drawer under the stove.

“I hope that wasn't too stressful for her,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at her mother.

I shook my head. “I think it would have been more stressful if you hadn't tried to convince Giselle to come.”

“Well, it's done. Call me if she gets out of sorts.”

I promised her I would.

She left and Frannie napped for a while, but as soon as she awoke she asked, “Is Giselle coming?”

“I don't know,” I answered, patting her arm. “I hope so.”

She looked so distressed that I sat down beside her bed, trying to distract her by telling her about my current historical research. I just meant to touch on it briefly, but she was so quiet that I kept babbling on until I had talked about all sorts of things, including my own ancestors' apparent support of the Paxton Boys.

Frannie seemed pained, though I doubted the actions of my ancestors were what was bothering her. “These things happen,” she said with a sigh. “We raise them to walk a certain path, but sometimes they detour away…”

Her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes. Somehow, I had a feeling the path she was talking about was Giselle's.

Later, after Frannie woke up, she seemed much more alert.

“Maybe I dreamed this,” she said as I raised the head of the bed and smoothed the covers around her, “but did you say something earlier about the Paxton Boys? And the Conestoga Indian Massacre?”

“
Ya
. I'm researching my ancestors and looking for information.”

“That's right. Well, I just remembered something. I might be able to help you.”

I sat up straight. “Oh?”

“I know for a fact that among my husband's family papers is a small pile of pamphlets about the massacre. Several of them were even written by his ancestor, the nine-greats-grandfather Zed told you about.”

I gasped. “Zed showed me one of those. But are you saying you have additional pamphlets about the massacre, written by other people?”

Frannie nodded.

I hated the thought of it, but I knew there was a chance my ancestors had written some as well, though taking the opposite stand, of course.

“Where are they? Do you have them?”

She thought for a moment. “I think I do. They would be in the attic in a cardboard box labeled ‘Malachi's Mementos,' or something like that.”

“Would you mind if I looked for it?” I asked, trying not to sound as excited as I felt.

“Of course not. Take the flashlight with you.”

She gestured toward the cupboard by the front door. When I looked inside, I saw that it was a big, black, club-like type that didn't fit in my apron pocket.

“Oh, and get the step stool from the kitchen to pull on the rope. You should be able to reach it that way.”

I followed her directions, taking the stool to the hallway. I easily grabbed the rope and pulled on it, unlatching the stairs from the ceiling with a loud, rusty
boing
. I continued to pull as I stepped down, moving the stool with my other hand and clutching the flashlight at the same time. Once the stairs were secure, I turned on the light, shone it upwards, and started ascending. We had a similar set in our house, although on the second floor. I always felt as if I were walking up toward heaven until I
reached the attic. Then it was either really cold or really hot and obviously not anywhere I'd want to spend much time.

Frannie's attic welcomed me with an icy wall of cold air. I shivered, wishing I had thought to put on my cape. I shone my light around as I reached the top and saw that there wasn't an actual floor—just boards positioned across the rafters. Rows of boxes, mostly cardboard of all different sizes, were stacked on top of the boards along each side. Taking them all in, I could only hope that the one I wanted wasn't too far back—and that it wouldn't be too heavy for me.

I stepped onto the wide center board and inched forward along it as I shone the light at the boxes. The wind had picked up outside, and a branch that had been scraping against the siding was louder up here. I hoped Frannie wouldn't get chilled from the trapdoor being open.

I tried to move quickly, playing the flashlight along the sides of the boxes. Only one had Malachi's name on it that I could see, but instead of mementos, the label said, “Malachi—Miscellaneous.”

Downstairs, I could hear voices, and I realized someone had come into the
daadi haus
. Thinking this was better than nothing, I grabbed that one box—grateful it was lighter than I'd expected—and headed for the stairs.

It wasn't as easy getting down as it had been going up, but somehow I managed to juggle the box and the flashlight without breaking my neck. When I reached the bottom, I lifted the stairs back into the ceiling, holding onto the rope to stop the whole thing from snapping up too quickly. Once it had eased its way upward, I let go and the steps clicked into place.

Feeling as if I'd been shirking my duties, I hurried to the living room, where I found Marta talking with Frannie. She looked at me questioningly, so I simply gestured toward the box with my head and said, “Doing research for Zed's next film.”