Part 9 (1/2)
Here we go again, she thought, hoping Mattie wouldn't cause a scene. Especially not now.
”You've seen the kitties this morning already,” she said gently, taking her daughter by the hand and moving toward the stairs. When she got to Rose's room, she closed the door behind them. ”Listen to me, Mattie Sue ... you will not argue when I ask you to do something. Do you understand?”
Mattie backed away and went to sit on the floor - her typical response. At least she did not thrash her arms and throw a fit, but she was already starting to cry. ”I want to go home!”
”We're leaving right now.” Hen began to pack their belongings. She put Mattie's two dolls in her daughter's arms and asked her to carry them. Thankfully she obeyed without complaint. Hen was glad to have the ch.o.r.e of loading up the car to occupy them, in spite of the embarra.s.sment of having to haul their suitcases past Arie and her mother. The pair was still sitting at the kitchen table as Hen and Mattie went through the kitchen and out the back door.
Rose came running after them. ”I don't know how they knew yous were here visitin',” she said breathlessly.
”Well, maybe they didn't. Maybe it was just a coincidence.”
Rose shrugged. ”The grapevine's a fast communicator, though. Someone might've spotted your car.”
”That's all right.” Hen got Mattie Sue settled in the backseat, then closed the door. ”It really doesn't matter.”
Rose hugged her. ”Did ya say good-bye to Dat yet?”
”No ... should l?”
”Might be a gut idea.” Rose hung her head. ”I mean, the way he seemed all out of sorts at breakfast.”
”I figured you noticed.” Hen glanced at the back porch. ”Stay here with Mattie for a sec, all right?” And Hen trudged off to talk to her father, sidestepping the chucking rooster.
Solomon had walked up and down the backyard in his bathrobe and oldest slippers for more than an hour in the middle of the night. Now here was Hen coming toward the porch, looking like she might burst into tears. ”Weeping, comin' and goin',” he muttered to himself, rising and putting down his paper, Die Botschaft.
She gave a slight wave as she neared. ”I wanted to say good-bye. Mattie Sue and I are leaving now.” Her voice cracked.
”You take gut care,” he said, his heart in his throat.
She lowered her eyes, nodding slowly. ”I never meant to upset you and Mom ... by coming.”
Something welled up in him, and he moved quickly to her side. ”You visit us anytime, ya hear? You're always welcome, daughter. Brandon and Mattie Sue, too.”
Hen's eyes glistened in the corners as she blinked away tears. ”Oh, Dad ...” She reached for him and embraced him. ”For the longest time, I've wanted to say how sorry I am for pus.h.i.+ng you and Mom aside ... out of my life.” She paused, clearly struggling to speak. ”I wish now I'd invited you to my wedding.”
He could not speak but squeezed her hand. He nodded his head thoughtfully.
”Will you keep me in your prayers, Dad?” Her voice was as delicate as a child's.
”I never quit,” Sol managed to say.
”Thank you,” Hen said before she turned and left the porch.
By the time Ruth and Arie said farewell, Rose was nearly too full of pie to even think of going over to Mammi Sylvia's for some cold cuts and Jell-O, as they sometimes did on no-Preaching Sundays. Still, it was the appointed time to eat, so Dat wheeled Mamm across the back porch to the Dawdi Haus's separate entrance. Rose pondered Ruth Miller's thoughtful comment about how nice it was to see Hen again - the woman had genuinely seemed to mean it - and if Rose wasn't mistaken, Arie had given a slight bob of her head in agreement.
But no one said a word about Hen and Mattie Sue's visit during the meal at Mammi and Dawdi's. The closest anyone came to it was Dawdi Jeremiah. ”Might be you gave the furniture in that one empty bedroom upstairs to Mose and his wife a bit too soon.”
Rose caught her breath, wondering if Dawdi thought Hen might be fixing to come back home to live. Oh, she could not imagine such a thing. Much as her sister's marriage had broken her heart, the last thing she'd ever want was to think Hen and Brandon's love story might come to an abrupt end.
She watched her mother reach for another slice of Swiss cheese, Mamm's hand trembling as she did so. If she knew what I was thinking, Mamm would say I've been reading too many romance novels.
Later, before Mammi served up some delicious whoopie pies, Dawdi leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and told a story about their lippy ancestor, Yost Kauffman. Not only had Yost courted a girl who'd chopped her hair in front, making fancy bangs, but he'd run around with some fellows who had worked some sort of ”get rich quick” scheme in Big Valley. ”It appears that of mustache we've all heard about wasn't the only thing that got Yost in trouble with the brethren,” Dawdi said, smacking his lips and reaching for another whoopie pie.
Mamm's lips spread wide, and Rose's father chuckled. ”There's some real fire in our genes, jah?” said Dat. Then, just as quickly, his face turned solemn, as if he'd suddenly thought of Hen. He changed the subject. ”Where would yous like to go visitin' this afternoon?”
Mamm looked at Dat, as did Mammi Sylvia. Soon they were all looking to him for his opinion. ”Since when's it up to me?” He glanced at Rose. ”Why don't you pick this time, daughter?”
”Well, how about the bishop's family?” she said, thinking that perhaps some of the grandchildren might be there.
Dat's face paled. He shook his head. ”Ought to be kin, ain't?”
Mammi Sylvia spoke up right quick. ”They're our neighbors; we can go 'n' see them most anytime.”
Dawdi quickly suggested Rose's brother josh and his wife. ”It's been some weeks since we dropped in over there.”
They all agreed it would be nice to see the girls again - fouryear-old Linda, three-year-old Katie, and the baby, Annie Mae. Rose washed Mammi's plates and silverware while her grandmother cleaned off the table, then came and wiped the dishes. Meanwhile, Dat wheeled Mamm over to the front room window, and they sat there for a time together, looking in the direction of the road and the fields across the way.
When Rose glanced over at her again, Mamm's head had drooped, and she was fast asleep. She couldn't help but think her parents both looked tired enough to simply go back to the main house and rest. Hen's surprise overnight visit had surely caused them a loss of sleep.
Rose finished up in her grandmother's kitchen, hoping they still might go and see josh and Kate. But thinking about her father's decided disinterest today in visiting with the Petersheims made her ever so curious.
Early Monday, Hen thanked her sister-in-law Kate repeatedly, then kissed Mattie Sue good-bye. While driving her car to Rachel's Fabrics, she felt as carefree as a schoolgirl. Brandon's silence about her job - and her defiant att.i.tude - at breakfast this morning had her stumped. Yet her nagging guilt disappeared when she pulled into the parking lot in front of the homey-looking store with window boxes on either side of its painted door.
”Come in, come in!” Rachel Glick called to her, all rosy-faced and bright-eyed. The friendly shopkeeper was probably only a little older than Hen.
Hen greeted her happily and followed her to the back room, where a quilting frame was set up, and hung up her coat and purse. She'd worn her long skirt with tiny blue and green print flowers and a ruffled cream-colored long-sleeved blouse. Her hair was pinned up in a French twist, but she thought she might roll it into the bun she'd worn before she was married. She could even pick up a Kapp at her father's house, if she had time to stop by later.
”Don't you look nice!” Rachel said.
”Next time you see me, I plan to look much more Amish,” Hen told her, following her to the battery-run cash register on the counter.
”Oh?”
”I want to dress Plain again ... from now on.” She needed to say it into the air, to hear the words for herself.
Rachel squinted her eyes slightly, as if she wasn't exactly sure what Hen meant. But the People, and Brandon, too, would soon know just how serious Hen was about reclaiming parts of her former life.
The two of them moved about the shop, Rachel pointing out the shelves of quilting fabrics especially, before moving on to the shelves stacked with fabrics for dresses, ap.r.o.ns, and men's broadfall trousers and s.h.i.+rts.
”I'd like you to reorganize the quilting fabrics, beginning with the darkest hues of color on the top shelves, working down to the lighter shades below,” Rachel said, her soft green eyes almost blue as she talked about her store.
”Sounds like fun.” How Hen had missed this world!
The first few customers entered and appeared astonished to see her employed there at Rachel's. As they chattered together, Hen found herself enjoying the attention, though she wouldn't admit it to a soul.
Later, when there was a lull, Rachel showed her a picture of the Bars quilt she was working on at home. It was a replica of one her grandmother had made years ago and featured bright red, pastel blue, and black prints. ”It's just beautiful, ain't?”
Hen wholeheartedly agreed, and she immediately imagined making a similar quilt of her own. She set to work arranging the bolts of fabric by color, picturing herself working on the quilt in her mother's front room. Somehow she couldn't see herself quilting in the modern living room in her home with Brandon.
During her short lunch break, Hen listened to a talkative Rachel, who spoke glowingly of her English cousin, Donna Becker. ”She lives neighbors to Gilbert Browning, ya know.”