“No need to worry.”
Samuel shook his head thoughtfully. “A body could get right sick in a cold snap like this.”
Rebecca forced a chuckle. It caught in her throat, and she began to cough—as if in fulfillment of his prophecy.
Samuel Lapp was a dear and caring husband. A good provider of the basic needs—an abundance of food from their own land, a solid roof over their heads. . . . Gas furnaces, electricity, telephones, and such luxuries were for the English. Amish folk relied on horses and buggies for transportation, propane gas to run their camper-sized refrigerators, and a battery-operated well pump in the cellar for the household water. In fact, the Lapp family held tenaciously to all the Old Order traditions without complaint, just as generations before them.
“How can ya miss whatcha never had?” Samuel often asked his English friends at Central Market in downtown Lancaster.
Rebecca watched her husband, expecting him to slip out of the room without further comment. She was a bit surprised when he hesitated at the door, then returned to her bedside.
“Are you in poor health, then? Shall I be fetchin’ a doctor?” His concern was genuine. “Wouldn’t take but a minute to hitch up ol’ Molasses and run him over to the Millers’ place.”
Peter and Lydia Miller—Mennonites who indulged in the “English” lifestyle—lived about a mile down Hickory Lane and had offered their telephone in case of emergency. On several occasions, Samuel had taken them up on it. After all, they were kin—second cousins on Rebecca’s side—and modern as the day was long.
“Won’t be needing any doctor. I’m wore out, that’s all,” she said softly, to put his mind at ease. “And it’d be a shame if Cousin Lydia had to worry over me for nothing.”
“Jah, right ya be.”
Shadows flickered on the wall opposite the simple wood-framed bed. Rebecca stared at the elongated silhouettes as she sipped her tea. She sighed, then whispered the thought that tormented her soul night and day. “Our Katie . . . she’s been asking questions.”
A muscle twitched in Samuel’s jaw. “Jah? What questions?”
Rebecca pulled a pillow from behind her back and hugged it to her. “I have to get up to the attic. Tonight.”
“You’re not goin’ up there tonight. Just put it out of your mind. Rest now, you hear?”
Rebecca shook her head. “You’re forgetting about the little rose-colored dress,” she said, her words barely audible. “A right fine baby dress . . . made of satin. Katie must’ve found it.”
“Well, it’ll just have to wait. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“We daresn’t wait,” Rebecca insisted, still speaking in hushed tones, reluctant to argue with her husband. “Our daughter mustn’t know . . . she’s better off
never
knowing.”
Samuel leaned down and gave her a peck on her forehead. “Katie is and always will be our daughter. Now just you try ’n rest.”
“But the dress . . .”
“The girl can’t tell nothin’ from one little dress,” Samuel insisted. He took the pillow Rebecca had been clutching and placed it beside her, where he would lay his head later. “I best be seein’ to the children.”
He carried the lamp out into the hallway, then closed the door, leaving Rebecca in the thick darkness . . . to think and dream.
The children . . .
There had been a time when Rebecca had longed for more children.
Many
more. But after Benjamin was born, two miscarriages and a stillbirth had taken a toll on her body. Although her family was complete enough now, she wondered what life would’ve been like with more than three . . . or four children growing up here. All her relatives and nearly every family in the church district had at least eight children. Some had more—as many as fifteen.
It was a good thing to nurture young lives into the fold. Didn’t the Good Book say, “Children are an heritage of the Lord; and the fruit of the womb is his reward”? Children brought joy and laughter into the home and helped turn work into play.
And there was plenty of work in an Amish household, she thought with a low chuckle. Cutting hay, planting potatoes, sowing alfalfa or clover. Families in Hickory Hollow always worked together. They
had
to. Without the convenience of tractors and other modern farm equipment, everything took longer. But it was the accepted way of parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents before them.
In the early 1700s, William Penn had made all this possible for Samuel and Rebecca Lapp’s ancestors. Close-knit Amish communities were promised good land and began to form settlements in Pennsylvania. She thought again of Samuel’s great-great-grandfather who had built the very house where Rebecca lay shivering in the dark, cold bedroom.
After a time, she felt the warmth rising through the floorboards, from the woodburning stove directly below. Samuel’s doing, most likely. Ever kind and thoughtful Samuel. He’d been a good husband all these years. A bit outspoken at times, but solid and hardworking. A godly man, who held to the teachings of the Amish church, who loved his neighbor as himself . . . and who had long ago agreed to keep her secret for the rest of his life.
“How’s Mamma?” Katie asked as Samuel emerged from the bedroom, holding the oil lamp aloft. Evidently, she’d been hovering there at the landing, waiting for some word of her mother’s condition.
“Go on about your duties.” Samuel gave no hint of a smile, but his words were intended to reassure. “Nothin’ to worry over. Nothin’ at all.”
He headed for his straight-backed rocking chair, pulled it up nearer the woodstove, and dropped into it with a mutter. Pretending to be scanning a column in the weekly Amish newspaper, Samuel allowed his thoughts to roam.
What had Rebecca said upstairs—something about Katie finding the infant dress? He’d always wanted to get rid of that fancy thing. No sense having the evidence in the house. ’Twasn’t wise—too risky— especially with that English name sewed into it the way it was.
But he’d never been able to bring himself to force Rebecca to part with it—not with her feeling the way she did. As for himself, the grand memory of that day was enough, though he hadn’t laid eyes on the infant gown even once since their daughter had worn it home from the Lancaster hospital.
Minutes ago, it had come to his attention that Katie had stumbled onto the tiny garment—had found it in the attic. How, on God’s earth, after all these years? Had Rebecca ignored his bidding? She was a good and faithful wife, his Rebecca, but when it came to Katie, there was no reasoning with the woman. She had a soft place holed up in her heart for the girl. Surely Rebecca had obeyed him and at least done her best to hide the dress away. Surely she had.
Now that Katie had discovered the dress, though, he would remind Rebecca to find another hiding place. First thing tomorrow. Jah, that’s what he’d do.
Eli and Benjamin weren’t too worried over their mother, Katie observed as she wandered into the kitchen. They’d started a rousing game of checkers on the toasty floor near the woodstove and had barely glanced up at her approach.
She went to the cupboard where the German
Biewel
and other books were kept. Reverently, she carried the old, worn Bible to Dat and set it down in front of him, then seated herself on the wooden bench beside the table. She picked up her sewing needle and some dark thread.
Would Mam mind having company?
Katie wondered as she threaded the needle. She’d feel better if she saw with her own eyes how her mamma was doing after the fainting spell a few minutes ago.
With threaded needle poised near the hemline of her wedding dress, Katie gazed at her brothers, unseeing. She’d always insisted on knowing things firsthand. And that stubborn streak in her had caused more grief than she dared admit.
For a good five minutes she sat there, sewing the fine stitches, hearing the steady purr of the gas lantern while a forbidden melody droned in her head. She suppressed the urge to hum.
Looking up from her work, she got up the courage to speak to Dat. “I want to go up and see Mamma, jah?”
Samuel lifted his eyes from his reading corner. “Not just now.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Jah, tomorrow.” With an audible sigh, he picked up the Bible for the evening Scripture reading and prayer.
Without having to be told, Eli and Benjamin put aside their game and faced their father as he leafed through the pages. He knew the Good Book like the back of his hand, and from the firm set of his jaw, Katie suspected he had something definite in mind for tonight’s reading.
He read first in High German, then translated into English out of habit—and, probably, for emphasis. Katie put down her sewing needle and tried to concentrate on the verses being read. But with Mam upstairs recovering from who knows what, it was mighty difficult.
“Romans, chapter twelve, verses one and two.” Dat’s voice held the ring of authority they had all come to respect. He began reading: “‘I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.
“‘And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”’
The perfect will of God
. The words pricked Katie’s conscience. How could God’s good and perfect will be at work in her? She was harboring sin—continual sin—and with little regret at that, even dragging her feet about the required repenting.
After the incident in the attic, she knew without a doubt that she was spiritually unfit to nurture John Beiler’s innocent children . . . or, for that matter, to bear him future offspring. What had she been thinking? How could she stand beside him on their wedding day and for all the years to come as a godly, submissive wife, an example of obedience to the People?
The questions vexed her, and when Dat finished his short prayer, Katie lit a second lamp, headed for her room, and undressed for the night. Before pulling down the bedcovers, she resolved to pay Mary Stoltzfus a visit instead of Bishop John. First thing tomorrow after the milking, she’d talk things over with her dearest and best friend. Mary would know what was right.
That settled, Katie congratulated herself on this decision as she slipped between the cold cotton sheets and blew out the lantern.
————
Around midnight, muffled sounds were heard in the attic. At first, Katie thought she must be dreaming. But at five o’clock, when Dat’s summons to get up and help with chores resounded through the hallway, she remembered the thumping noises overhead. Her heart leaped up at the prospect of investigating the attic—an unexpected opportunity to hold the beautiful satin fabric, the feel of it against her fingertips like forbidden candy. Perhaps one more delicious taste would satisfy her cravings.
Just once more
, she thought while brushing her long, thick hair by lantern light. From sheer habit, she twisted the hair near her temples into a tight row on both sides, then drew the mass of it back into a smooth bun.
Dress modestly, with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or
gold or pearls or expensive clothes. . . .
She set the white mesh kapp on top of her head, its ties dangling. Over thick woolen longjohns, she pulled on a solid brown choring dress and black apron.
Perhaps today she, Katie Lapp—soon to be the bishop’s wife— might make a fresh start of things. Maybe today would be different. Maybe today she could be the right kind of woman in God’s eyes. With all her heart, mind, and soul, she would try.
Katie heard the sound of Dat’s voice downstairs; Mam’s, too, as she leaned into the stairwell, listening. She was comforted by the thought that her mother was up, hopefully feeling well and preparing to cook a hearty breakfast.
If she did not delay, she might have time to visit the attic before morning prayer. She rushed back to her bedroom, reached for the oil lamp, and tiptoed to the ladder leading to the attic.
She climbed the rungs as quickly as she dared and, reaching the top, pushed the heavy attic door open. Then, scrambling up into the rectangular-shaped opening, she paused for breath before stepping over to the old trunk.
Silently, Katie set the lantern on the floor and opened the lid. With heart pounding and ears straining to hear her name in case Dat called, she searched the top layers of clothing in the trunk, exploring the area where she’d first discovered the satin baby dress. Finding no sign of the garment, she dug a bit deeper, careful not to muss things.
When she located Mam’s wedding dress, she found that the spot next to it was vacant—obviously so. It was as though someone had deliberately removed the treasured item.
More determined than ever, Katie continued her search, pulling out lightweight blankets, solid white crocheted bedspreads and tablecloths, and faded cotton quilts, passed down from great-great-grandmothers.
There were the faceless cloth dolls Rebecca had made for her as a toddler, too, but not the satin baby dress. It simply was not there. The fancy infant gown was gone.
But where? And who had moved it?
She felt a deep sadness weighting her spirit.
Maybe it’s as it should
be
, she thought, reeling under the impact of the emotions warring within.
Attempting to shrug away her dark thoughts, Katie set to work reassembling the linens and things in the trunk before leaving the attic and joining the family in the living room. Her brothers and Dat—and Mam—were already on their knees, waiting for her.
“Thank you, O God, for all your help to us,” Samuel prayed as soon as Katie’s knees touched the hard floor. “Forgive us our sins and help us today with the land . . .
your
land. Amen.”
Less than a two-minute ritual both at morning and at night, the prayers were an important pattern underlying the intricate stitchery of their family life.
When she stood up, Katie rejoiced at the light in her mamma’s eyes; and her cheeks were no longer chalky white. But the splashes of rose in Mam’s face reminded Katie of the frustrating attic search. Almost instantly, her happiness dissipated into thin air—like blowing out a match. She’d been deceitful by returning to the attic, hoping to indulge in one more moment of sinful pleasure. She had broken God’s laws—the Ordnung, too.