The Love Letters (10 page)

Resting his bad leg on a low stone wall that ran along the road toward Brownstown Mill, Small Jay held his cat up to his face, whispering. He enjoyed the familiar vibration of purring in his ear as lively Sassy pushed her little nose into his chest.

“Down ya go,” Small Jay said, setting his pet back on the ground and fastening the leash once again.
Dat's right . . . it's a long jaunt over here.

A short way from where he sat, Small Jay saw Allegro poised at the base of a tall tree, wagging his long tail, evidently waiting for a squirrel, his nose in the air.

“It's Allegro!” His energy surged at the thought of his cat and Allegro playing together again, like yesterday, when the bow-tie man—Boston, he'd said his name was—had set out to write “memory notes” after they'd eaten their hot dogs on the tree stump. Small Jay didn't know what became of the note Boston had pushed into Small Jay's shirt pocket.
“I'm always forgetting my name,”
he'd told Small Jay.
“So I wouldn't be surprised if
you did, too.”

In the distance, on the hill beyond the stone bridge and amidst a mass of trees, Small Jay saw a portion of the white church with the tall steeple and spire at the top. He'd once
heard that a handful of people walking toward the bridge one fine autumn morning had seen angels in white hovering near the spire. Small Jay didn't know what to make of such a peculiar tale, but he assumed people around Brownstown ought to know whether such things were true or not. It surely wasn't the sort of thing he'd ever ask his parents about. If people saw an angel near a church, well, what better place? Just maybe it was something the Good Lord had permitted to make those who saw it feel better.
Maybe they were sad or lonely, or needed help to believe,
he thought, slowly walking down the incline near the mill.

“Wonder if Boston'll be out cookin' over his fire today,” he murmured. Sassy padded forward quickly, as if she sensed they were entering Allegro's territory.

“Hello over there!” Boston called to him, looking even more bedraggled than yesterday as he waved both arms to flag Small Jay down.

Picking up his pace as best as he could, Small Jay was aware that he ought to be on the lookout for horses and buggies. But the sight of the man with his bow tie askew drew him onward.

As he came closer, Small Jay blinked at the sight of a single blanket lying on the ground near the fire pit he'd made last evening. “Are ya sleepin' outside now, Boston?”

The man grimaced. “You must be mistaken, young man. I believe Boston is a city somewhere.”

Small Jay shook his head, befuddled. “Remember me? I'm Small Jay Bitner. . . . I visited you and your dog yesterday.” He started to mention the meal they'd shared but stopped cold. “I brought ya some cookies. Thought you might need more to eat, maybe.”

“Small Jay . . .” The man's lips moved as he pulled a notepad
out of his right trousers pocket and flipped through the pages. “Small Jay,” he repeated, stopping at a page toward the back of the notepad. “Ah yes . . . I see that name right here. I've been wondering why it was there.” He held out the notepad and tapped the page with two fingers. Then, straightening to his full height, the man, who was more mixed-up than Small Jay had thought possible, said, “I am pleased to meet you, young man.”

Meet me? He forgot who I am?

Flabbergasted, Small Jay motioned again toward the blanket laid out on the ground near the creek bank. “Ya still haven't answered my question, mister. Have ya moved outdoors to sleep?”

“Begging your pardon?”

Small Jay tried to explain what he had been told previously—that the man was storing his few belongings in the mill, and bedding down inside for the night. He decided not to mention again that the man's name was Boston, just in case the man had been wrong about that earlier. Anyway, Small Jay didn't want to say anything to upset him again.

The man began to hum, and as before, one hand rose into the air, dipping and waving. There was just no talking sensibly to him. And, just as disappointing, the border collie had disappeared.
Is he still hunting squirrels?

Small Jay felt too jittery to even inquire about the dog, but he wanted to tell the man something that had been on his mind since yesterday. “I'm a lot like you,” he confided. “I forget things, too. My brain gets all cluttered up sometimes. My schoolteacher said I'm a child who will never grow up.”

The man's face broke into a gentle, even thoughtful smile. “Is that right?” His eyes glistened in the corners. Then, clearing his throat a little, he said, “What a fine cat you have there.”

“Just a barn cat. But she's my pet, Sassafras.”

“Ah, and sassafras is also a mighty fine-tasting tea. Did you know that if you crush sassafras leaves, they smell like root beer?”

He nodded. “Mamma grows it in her herb garden.”

The man reached into his pants pocket and drew out his mouth organ. He began to play a sad-sounding tune, one Small Jay did not recognize. While he listened, he noticed the gold ring on the fourth finger of the man's left hand.

When the melody was through, Boston asked, “Would you care to have a seat?”

“
Denki,
but I best not be stayin' long.”

“But you just arrived.” The man studied him, frowning a bit. “Are you of German descent?”

“I'm Amish.”

“You sound quite German.” Distracted again, the man put his fingers between his teeth and whistled loudly. He slipped his harmonica back into his pocket, and a minute later, here came Allegro along the trees lining the creek bank. “This is my watchdog.”

“Allegro's right friendly,” Small Jay said.

“Allegro?” The man's eyes looked cloudy. “That's a musical term. Do you perchance play an instrument?”

Small Jay had no idea what the nice man was talking about, but he wanted to remind him that his dog's name was Allegro. It said so right on the leather collar.

As before, the dog warmed up immediately to Sassy, and bow-tie man must have forgotten what he was talking about, because he got down on his haunches and clapped his hands. “My dog grew up playing with two cats, if I recall correctly. They were quite the trio.” Soon he was laughing at the dog
and cat as Sassy arched her back against the dog's side. She calmed a bit and the familiar purring followed.

“They seem mighty friendly, ain't?” Small Jay observed aloud.

“Love at first sight, I presume.”

“But . . .” Small Jay stopped himself. As confused as he was himself sometimes, he knew this man was thoroughly mixed-up today, when yesterday the things he'd said made fairly good sense—or so Small Jay had thought. “Where's your family?” he asked.

The man pointed toward the dog. “Right there.”

“No one else?”

“None that I recall.”

Small Jay pondered the sad reply. “What 'bout that ring you're wearin'?” He'd only seen similar gold bands on
Englischers
, and Mamma said it meant they were wed.

“I don't know.” The man stared at his hand and turned the band. “But I do know one thing.”

“
Jah?
” Small Jay felt his heart speed up some. Maybe a clue was coming.

“The ring is impossible to remove.”

Small Jay pondered this. Then, concerned about the man's welfare, he asked, “What have ya eaten today?”

“Crackers and cheese, primarily.” The man pulled out one of the oatmeal raisin cookies from yesterday. “I'm saving this for later.”

That's all he's got,
Small Jay thought. “Say, how about we go over to Joe's and pick up some food tomorrow? I'll bring my pony, Razor, and the cart, so we won't have to walk so far.”

The man's smile was filled with pleasure and expectation. “I'll look forward to that, young man.”

“Would ya like to jot it down?” Small Jay asked, not certain the man would recall otherwise.

“Excellent thought, my boy.” The man reached for his small notepad and removed a pen from his shirt pocket.

Later, as Small Jay walked toward home with Sassy, a notion was forming in his head. When the time was right, and things seemed to fall into place—if they did—he would bring it up to the lonely man with the bright gold ring on his finger. The man who couldn't even remember his own name!

M
arlena purposely awakened early the next morning to write to Nat while Angela Rose was still sleeping.She and Mammi had talked yesterday, sharing their shock and sadness at Luella's sudden death, but Marlena needed to jot down her thoughts to mourn properly. And too, it was important for him to receive her letter tomorrow, so he would know about Monday's funeral.

Dear Nat,

Remember how we talked quietly last summer, sitting under that big maple tree near the old schoolhouse? Well, if I were there, I'd tell you what my heart is saying this morning.

It seems like decades since I talked to Luella, and now she's gone. And gone where? I wish I knew. Mammi says we must leave that in God's hands. Yet, while I work, cooking and cleaning and caring for Luella's baby, I noodle on the fact that she left the church of her youth and abandoned the Plain life. What does all of that mean to our heavenly Father? Is my sister's soul lost for eternity?

I won't deny that I fret over it. I also wonder if I'm the best person to care for Angela Rose, even temporarily. I can't help but think of her growing up and never knowing the mother who gave birth to her . . . and loved her so. Did you know that her father hasn't even laid eyes on her yet? I wonder how long it will be before Gordon can come home and meet his little girl. She needs him—she is as fragile as a rose petal.

Luella's funeral will be held at the Beachy church in Mifflinburg this Monday morning, and my grandmother and I are going to pay our respects, as well as to offer our support to Dat and Mamma, who, as you can imagine, are beside themselves with grief.

Oh, Nat, it's such a difficult time for our family.

It crossed her mind to ask if he might be going to the funeral, too, perhaps with his family. But she knew better—even so, she wished he would support her in her sorrow, despite his Old Order convictions.

She continued writing, trying to hold back the tears to prevent any stains on her colorful pansy-adorned stationery.

Luella's in-laws are out of the country traveling and unable to take care of their grandbaby just now. From what Mamma says, I'll have to tend to Angela Rose at least until a decision is made for her care while her father's away in Vietnam. No matter what, I will be coming home around Labor Day. I can hardly wait!

Till then, I'll write you as often as I can.

Your girl,
Marlena Wenger

Later that morning, Marlena helped Mammi label the pint jars of strawberry-rhubarb preserves, pricing them for Saturday market tomorrow. Marlena was glad for the simple task while Angela Rose napped soundly in the playpen. It was hard to focus after a night of quietly weeping in the privacy of her room. Many long hours had passed before she could fall asleep.

Mammi's eyes were swollen, too—perhaps they should both just crawl back into bed and weep the day away. But there was a baby to care for and work to be done. Dawdi Tim had once told her that when a person grieved, solace sometimes came through keeping one's hands and mind occupied.

“I can finish up here,” Mammi said, her words sounding flat. “Go ahead an' pick the fresh crop of berries while the little one's sleepin'. Ya might want some time alone.”

She knows I'm struggling. We both
are.

Marlena agreed and rose quickly. She needed her family, and right now she missed Nat's kind understanding and love . . . and oh, how she longed for both.

How was she supposed to feel with Luella gone from them forever? Oh, so distraught and hopeless, knowing too well her sister's reasons for leaving the People behind against the will of their parents. Marlena tried to calm her thoughts, yet she had never experienced such a loss and wished she and her mother might have talked longer. Still, she had been conscious of the effort it must have taken Mamma to make such a call, as well as the cost of long-distance to her father—and surely Mamma'd had other important calls to make. Poor thing, it had fallen to her to tell Gordon's family, once she located them. And, on top of everything else, Mamma and
Dat were the only ones around to plan the funeral for their firstborn.

Help my parents and younger brothers and sisters today, O Lord God heavenly Father,
she prayed.
They need Thy comfort and wisdom now . . . just as Mammi and
I do.

Small Jay gritted his teeth when his mother removed from her apron pocket the note from his friend at the mill.

“What do you know 'bout this, son?” Her face had its usual softness, even an unexplained timidity, like she really didn't want to ask this but felt compelled. “Who is this doctor?”

He leaned in close to look at the familiar writing. Boston had pledged that the snippets of things he wrote each day were a memory aid . . . nothing more. Why had he given this paper to Small Jay anyway?

“I don't know.” He shook his head.

She went on to say how and where she'd found it. “You didn't go to a doctor without tellin' your father and me, now, did ya?”

“
Nee,
Mamma.”

Her eyes seemed to look right through him.

“Son . . .”

Small Jay shrugged, wanting to keep his secret to himself. It wouldn't matter one iota to anyone else that he had a friend who struggled like he did sometimes. He also sensed the older man wouldn't want to be a bother.

“Your father has warned us not to speak to outsiders,” Mamma reminded him. “Don't forget he has your best interests at heart.”

Sometimes that's easy to forget,
Small Jay thought forlornly.

“Be more cautious, won't ya, please?”

Her concern registered with him, but Boston didn't seem like an outsider to him, just a man in need. And Small Jay had something more pressing on his mind. “Can I take the pony cart over to Joe's store?” he asked.

“Today?” Mamma looked surprised. Then at his nod, she added, “Say it correctly, son.”

Ach,
what does she mean?
He puckered his brow and looked toward the ceiling.
What did I say wrong?

“It's important to say
May I
when you're askin' permission.
Can I
stands for whether or not you are able to do something, son. Can you remember the difference?”

He held her gaze and tried to follow her request. “
May
I take Razor and the pony cart over to Joe's?” He purposely emphasized the appropriate word.

“
Jah
, of course you may.”

Whew.
Was he ever glad she'd noticed his bad grammar and forgotten about Boston Calvert's reminder note, still folded in her hand.

When Small Jay arrived at the mill, he left Sassy in the big pony cart while he tied Razor to a sturdy nearby tree. When he glanced back at his cat, he grinned at the sight of her peeking out of the cart like that. “You silly.”

Small Jay went to the mill's side door, where he'd first seen the man and his dog enter a few days before. He couldn't help but wonder if Boston remembered today's outing. Pausing, he looked up to see the historic marker plate high above, reading to himself:
Built by Jacob and Lavina Wolf, A.D. 1856.

He whistled. “That's gotta be before even Dawdi Bitner was born.” In all truth, he couldn't begin to calculate how
many years ago this old mill had been built. He even had a hard time remembering how old his younger sisters were. Sometimes the numbers that connected to his life got all tangled up in his brain.

He raised his hand to knock on the door and was startled when it flew open. “
Ach
, you remembered!” Small Jay declared.

“I certainly did—and with some help from this reminder.” Boston pulled a scrunched-up note from his pocket.

Small Jay smiled. “Are ya ready, then?”

“Is there room for my dog?” the man asked, stepping out the door with a glance at the pony cart.

“Might be a tight squeeze.”

“In that case, the captain will stay with the ship.” With that, Boston closed the door soundly behind him, and the border collie began to bark inside.

Small Jay hoped Boston's pet wouldn't be too lonely while they were gone. “Do ya need dog food for Allegro?”

“Grand idea,” the man said, not questioning the dog's name.

“And you're Boston,
jah
?” Since things were going so well, Small Jay wanted to clear up the confusion over the name right now.

“Yes, of course. Shall we go?”

Feeling better, Small Jay introduced his black pony to Boston. “Razor likes his sugar cubes.”

“Then I want very much to treat him . . . if the store carries such things.”

“Joe'll know.” Small Jay went to untie Razor and waited for Boston to get into the cart. He handed Sassy over to him till Small Jay was also seated, then reached for the driving lines, and they were off.

When they made the turn onto the two-lane country road,
Small Jay didn't see the soiled letter he'd stuck back in the bushes
. Must've blown away.