Fourteen
When Abby returned to her cell, Rachelle hadn’t come back yet. Blessedly, this gave her some time alone to mull over her sister’s visit. As happy as she was that her kinner were thriving, her heart ached. She was missing so much of their precious young lives. Learning to swim, riding a horse for the first time, picking berries on warm summer afternoons—these were memories every mother cherished. How many milestone events would she miss while locked up in here? The sour taste of bile filled her mouth as she realized she might spend years separated from them. How they will suffer due to the sins of their mother.
And was something happening between Catherine and Isaiah? Or were boredom and her weariness making her see things not really there? And what about Isaiah? Catherine’s questions convicted her of neglecting the young man over the years. When they had moved him to their farm, they had certainly seen to his physical needs. She made sure he ate three balanced meals a day and even baked his favorite banana nut bread on occasion. She had sewn his clothing and provided him with warm winter gloves, boots, and the head coverings he needed—even though he refused to wear hats even on the coldest January days. Daniel had taught him farming—to milk cows, train horses to pull equipment, and how to bring in the harvest. He’d taught him to hunt, fish, and use building tools. Daniel had taken the boy ice skating on frozen winter ponds, swam for hours during the summer, and helped him build a home that would shelter Isaiah all his life.
Abby had felt satisfied, almost smug, that they had provided him with a loving, supportive family when his own family couldn’t be bothered. But what had she done for his spiritual health? It had not even occurred to her that Isaiah didn’t know God.
What good is it if a man gains great riches if he loses his very soul? Isaiah might not find the salvation promised to believers upon their deaths. And in the meantime, he didn’t know the one true Helper, our Guide and Teacher, the One who promised to remain at our side all our lives. Shame rose up her throat, adding to the already bad taste in her mouth.
Catherine had been right. Isaiah went through the motions but didn’t know how to pray. He had never read nor heard Scripture—the only solace for a troubled heart. People in their district assumed Isaiah had been born too slow-witted for religious instruction, but Abby had known the truth and done nothing about it. Sitting in jail, she could no more help Isaiah than she could the rest of her family.
She picked up her Bible, but for several minutes she just clutched it to her chest. Tears streamed down her face, unstoppable, relentless. They soaked her shirt and closed off her throat. Her head pounded, her stomach churned, and her lungs burned from staccato breathing. Her hysterical crying might have soaked through the mattress if her cellmate hadn’t returned and intervened.
“Abby, what is it? What has happened?”
Abby tried to speak but her vocal cords refused to cooperate. She gasped and coughed with a ragged wheezing sound.
“Oh my.” Rachelle pulled hard on her forearm. “Sit up. You can’t lie there like that. You might choke to death.” When Abby didn’t budge, Rachelle pried the Bible from her fingers, set it on the window ledge, and dragged Abby into a sitting position.
Abby bumped her head on the upper bunk, adding to her woes. “Thanks, I’m okay now.” She couldn’t look at her friend.
“Tell me what’s wrong. What are you crying about?” Rachelle handed her a Kleenex and sat down beside her.
Abby dabbed her eyes and blew her nose, feeling a modicum better. “I was thinking about everything I’m missing in my children’s lives. What if they keep me locked up for years? Laura and Jake will forget about me by the time I get out.” She held the balled tissue under her nose to stem the tide.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Kids never forget their mothers.” Rachelle handed Abby a box of Kleenex and then moved the wastebasket next to her legs.
“But they change so much within a few months. What will they be like in several years? The best times of their childhood will pass by while I’m locked up.” Abby pulled out several more tissues.
Rachelle pondered this and frowned. “That really does stink, so you can’t think about the future. Stay focused on the moment. Isn’t that what Dr. Phil always says?”
Abby didn’t know a Dr. Phil. She sighed and glanced around the tiny room. “Stay focused on this moment?”
Rachelle’s gaze traveled the same path. “I meant you should concentrate on remembering the details from their last visit. And wasn’t that your sister today? Think about the stories she told you about home. Picture it all in your mind. Don’t let yourself think too far ahead.” She gave Abby’s shoulders a shake and smiled. “Okay?”
Abby nodded. “Good advice. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I believe you were going to read until dinner.” Rachelle retrieved Abby’s Bible from the ledge. “I’ll watch TV in the common room to give you peace and quiet until it’s time to eat.” She flashed a toothy smile and sauntered out, closing the door behind her.
Abby watched the doorway long after she’d gone, composing herself. Then she wiped her face and opened the Good Book. The photo of Laura and Jake fluttered out. She stared at their faces until love replaced her sorrow and then tucked the picture away. No Old Testament wars or tribulations today. She needed some of the advice Jesus gave His apostles and they, in turn, imparted to the early Christians. She turned to the book of Ephesians and started to read. Before long, her eyes fell on chapter 5:22-23: “Wives, this means submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For a husband is the head of his wife as Christ is the head of the church…”
She stopped reading. There it was—specific instructions that she should listen to Daniel and take his advice. Yet she had refused to do so. Her reasons were valid. Her motivations to protect another person seemed sound, but maybe every sinner trotted out excuses for his or her behavior. Daniel had the responsibility to follow Scripture and their Ordnung. She only had the responsibility to follow him. But could it be that simple? In this day and age, could a wife, even an Amish wife, blindly do whatever her spouse instructed? Rachelle would laugh at such an old-fashioned notion, but would her mamm? Abby thought about how her mamm enjoyed far more serenity compared to her own turbulent life. Her mamm trusted her daed, and trusted that God wouldn’t allow a Christian husband to stray too far from the path.
Once again Abby stretched out on her bunk and clutched her Bible to her chest. But instead of weeping uncontrollably, racked with physical pain besides emotional turmoil, she closed her eyes and stilled her brain, forcing thoughts of any kind away. Quiet suffused her soul.
All Scripture is inspired by God, she remembered. Make it your goal to live a quiet life.
Bits and pieces of Bible verses she’d learned over the years flitted into her mind and out again as she silently prayed for direction. She asked for God’s grace to fill her heart.
Her headache diminished and then vanished altogether. Moments later, she drifted into blissful, dreamless sleep.
“Abby, wake up.” Someone’s voice pierced the calm place where Abby dwelled. She clamped her eyes tightly shut to block out the intrusion.
“Please get up. You have to see this!” The insistent voice grew louder while somebody worked her arm like a hand pump.
She opened one eye to peer up at Rachelle. “What is it that can’t wait until morning?” she asked softly.
“Morning is a long way off. I let you sleep through dinner and brought you back a sandwich. I know you are exhausted, but I can’t let you miss this.” She pulled again on Abby’s hand. “Come take a look.”
Abby swung her legs off the bunk, licking her lips and swallowing to try to moisten her parched throat. She rose to her feet to follow her roommate. Rachelle was already at the window, looking down on the street below. Abby heard the faint sound of hymns before she reached the tinted glass.
Lining the sidewalk, two and three people deep, Amish men and women stood shoulder to shoulder, their voices raised in song. Each person held a candle, and the flickering light along with the yellow streetlight cast shadows across their faces. Yet, even poorly illuminated, the crowd seemed to be focused on their window. Abby stared, unable to make sense of what she saw. Her chest lifted and fell with each breath as she mutely watched.
“Don’t you get it?” asked Rachelle. “Those people have come to Wooster to support you.” Her grin filled her face. “It’s a candlelight vigil in your honor.” She hooked her arm around Abby’s waist.
Abby leaned closer, her nose nearly pressing against the windowpane. “Can they see me?”
“I don’t think so. This tinted glass makes it tough to see in even though we can see out.”
“Then how do they know I’m in here?” The idea that these people had come to town on her account was baffling.
“Some guard probably told them your cell number. Then it’s not hard to count the windows. This isn’t exactly the state pen.” Rachelle leaned on the glass and appeared to be counting. “Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven…looks like almost fifty people are down there.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as the throng began another hymn, this one louder and more upbeat.
Abby recognized “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” and felt a surge of joy. It was one of her favorites. “But why have they come? I’m nothing more than a common criminal. I did exactly what the judge accused me of.”
“You had your reasons and they must know that. I heard that you Amish stick together—helping out and supporting each other. So that’s what they’re doing. You seem surprised.”
Abby met her roommate’s gaze. “I am surprised. I’ve received no Amish visitors other than my husband and sister. My father is our district’s bishop, but he hasn’t come to see me. I took that to mean the members of my district had turned their backs on me.”
Rachelle rubbed her sleeve against the glass, clearing away some condensation. “Looks like you figured it wrong. The crowd is growing. A bunch of English women have joined them now.”
“My daed,” whispered Abby, thinking aloud. “I wonder if my daed is down there?” With only candles and the thin streetlight, it was hard to recognize anyone. Abby stared, holding her breath. She focused on several taller figures in the back row who were drifting in and out of the light. Then suddenly she spotted the long, snowy beard of her father and the distinctive broad shoulders and long neck of her ehemann. His floppy hat brim gave him away. “It’s them—Daniel and my father. They have come to the vigil.” A lump the size of a boulder formed in her throat.
“See, it’s always darkest before the dawn…or something like that.” Rachelle pulled something from her pocket. “You need to eat while you watch to keep your strength up. You must be hungry.”
“Thank you, Rachelle. You’ve been a good friend. I’m in your debt.” Abby unwrapped the ham-and-cheese sandwich.
“It’s not much, but when this is all over with, maybe you can teach me how to knit someday. I always wanted to learn that.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Abby took a bite and then ate ravenously, her appetite returning.
The two women kept their own vigil by the window for almost an hour. Abby’s spirits soared hearing the voices lifted in song and prayer. When the assembly finally blew out the candles and began to disperse, she waved her hand frantically, despite Rachelle’s comment that no one could see inside.
Folks came from Shreve to Wooster…for me.
She felt unworthy of their support and yet so grateful. The tall man with floppy hat brim had been in the last group to leave. He didn’t extinguish his candle while on the sidewalk, but had walked away with it still burning. Abby stared at the small yellow glow until it disappeared around the corner.
That night after lights-out, she lay in bed with a sense of peace and sent prayers of thanks to the Great Physician, who knows our needs even before we do. She had a lot to be grateful for and much to contemplate. Before she drifted back to sleep, her path at last became clear.
Of all the days for Daniel to finish work in the fields early, this had to be the worst. Catherine couldn’t believe it when she spotted him walking toward the porch from the pump house. He had rolled up his sleeves, and his arms, face, and hair were dripping wet. That could only mean he’d finished for the day. She was elbow-deep in cornmeal, battering chicken to fry. The green beans still needed to be cleaned and potatoes boiled for potato salad. At least she’d washed fresh greens and chopped garden vegetables for a tossed salad. She sighed while moving the coffeepot onto the burner to reheat.
“Guder nachmittag,” he said upon entering the kitchen. Daniel grabbed the towel to dry his face and hands.
“Good afternoon to you. I saw you in Abby’s flower garden earlier. What were you doing out there? I thought you once said that flowers were women’s business.” She glanced up while pouring oil into her skillet.
“I wanted to cut back her rhododendrons and azaleas. It needed to be done before they set buds for next year. My fraa sets great store by those flowers.” He tossed the towel down on the counter.
“If there’s still more work in the garden, we have plenty of time before dinner. It won’t be ready for another hour.”
“No, I’m done for the day. I’ll just relax for a while, maybe read to my kinner in the front room.” He offered her a pleasant smile.
She pondered the best way to approach a delicate subject. “Were you still moving hay bales today?”
“Jah. Isaiah and I stored what we could fit in the barn loft. The rest we lined up close to the pasture gate and covered with plastic.”
Catherine arranged breaded chicken pieces in the frying pan and then turned up the burner. “Isaiah works hard for you? He has no problems understanding the chores?”
Daniel poured coffee into a mug. “He does just fine. You only have to show him a task once and he remembers. People don’t give that boy enough credit.” He added a splash of milk and sipped with appreciation.
“He’s not really a boy anymore, is he?”
“I s’pose not. He must be twenty-four or thereabouts.” Daniel pulled sagely on his beard. Plenty of gray peppered his shade of dark brown.
“But I’m sure there are some chores you don’t dare allow him to do alone, like feeding cornstalks into the grinder for silage, for instance. That could be dangerous. A person could lose a hand if they didn’t understand the machinery.” She continued coating pieces of chicken without meeting his gaze.
“Isaiah comprehends as well as anybody else. Accidents can happen to anybody, but there’s nothing slow-witted about that man’s mind. Offhand, I can’t think of any job I wouldn’t trust him with. Some just require two people.”
She looked him in the eye. “So Isaiah has learned everything he needs to about farming?”
“He knows enough to get by.”
“And he obviously understands construction.”
“His cabin isn’t exactly a five-bedroom house with attached dawdi haus, but jah, he knows how to put…and fix…the roof over his head.” Daniel rubbed his chin. “What’s on your mind, Catherine? If you have something to say, I wish you would spit it out.”
“Well, because, other than his deafness, Isaiah is just as bright as any average person. I don’t see why he should be ostracized from his kin.” She deftly flipped the browned chicken in the skillet.
“He’s not being ostracized.” Daniel’s face scrunched into a frown. “Nobody keeps him apart from his kin.”
“That’s good to hear, because I invited him to share supper with us in the kitchen.” She pointed at the oak table so there would be no confusion.
Daniel walked back to the stove for a refill. “He won’t come, sister. You can leave his plate on the picnic table, same as usual. Isaiah prefers solitude at day’s end, surrounded by only trees and hoot owls. I’ll take my second cup into the living room.”
“He’s already agreed to join us. In fact, he looked quite pleased about the invitation.”
Daniel halted in the doorway. “How in the world did you get that ridiculous notion?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I spoke to him at breakfast this morning. I watched for him to come for his plate. We have a way of communicating with hand gestures and pantomimes. Plus he somewhat reads lips of the words he knows.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You and Isaiah have found a way to talk?”
“In a manner of speaking.” She grinned at her word choice. “It is all right then that he comes inside for supper?”
“Jah, Catherine. I wouldn’t dream of telling you no.” He walked out, leaving her an hour to cook a delicious meal that would make Isaiah disavow cold leftovers forever. She began to consider how best to deal with Daniel and Isaiah in the same room.
Will my feelings be written across my forehead like an old-fashioned barn advertisement? Will Isaiah’s? How will Daniel react to a real friendship between us?
Catherine peeled, cooked, and diced potatoes and eggs faster than ever before and then chopped celery and onion. With the salad chilling in the refrigerator, she snapped and steamed the beans. She glanced at the two loaves of banana nut bread she’d baked that morning. They were Isaiah’s favorite—one for dessert tonight and one for him to take home. She lifted the last batch of fried chicken from the grease with tongs. With enough food to feed a small village, Isaiah could eat the leftovers tomorrow for lunch.
Stop it, before you sew up a last-minute shirt and make a complete fool of yourself.
But Catherine couldn’t help herself. After setting the table, she hurried into the bathroom for a sponge bath and then she changed into a fresh dress. Let Daniel think whatever he pleases. She emerged half an hour later, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. Daniel sat nibbling pickles and olives from the relish tray. “Are we ready to eat yet? We’re mighty hungry.”
Jake and Laura nodded their heads in agreement. They too were waiting at the table with fists full of carrot sticks.
“Of course. I’ll get the chicken from the oven.” She placed the brimming roaster pan on the table.
“Good grief. We’ll be eating chicken all week. I thought you said you invited Isaiah, not Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox.”
The kinner laughed, even though she felt certain they didn’t know who Paul Bunyan was. “Hardworking men need to eat.” Catherine divided the salad into five bowls and placed the potato salad on the table. She dawdled while pouring glasses of milk because she didn’t want the meal to begin yet.
“Sit down for prayers, Catherine,” ordered Daniel. “Looks like Isaiah didn’t quite catch your drift. You can leave his food on the table as usual.”
She tugged her apron over her head, tossing it onto the counter. “I don’t know why we can’t be patient for—”
At that moment, Isaiah opened the screen door and strode into the kitchen. He grinned as he hooked his straw hat on a peg. He’d worn a hat to dinner. Catherine and Daniel stared, wide eyed.
“Hello, Isaiah,” she mouthed, pointing to the empty chair. “We’re ready to eat.”
Isaiah pulled Laura’s kapp ribbon, chucked Jake under the chin, and nodded to his cousin. Daniel reached across his son to shake Isaiah’s hand. “Long time no see,” he said, amused.
Isaiah reached for a chicken leg while the other four bowed their head in silent prayer. “No, Isaiah,” said Laura, gently patting his arm. “First we must pray.”
He glanced up at Catherine instead of at the youngster.
She smiled and then bowed her chin to her chest and folded her hands. For a few moments the ticking of the battery clock was the only sound heard. Catherine whispered her words of gratitude for the food, and then she discretely opened one eye to see what Isaiah was doing. At first, she thought he was praying, same as everyone else. Upon further perusal, she noticed his eyelashes flutter as his head turned left and right, almost imperceptivity. When Daniel murmured a quiet “amen” and lifted his head, Isaiah did the same, although his sounded more like a grunt.
She had been right! He was only mimicking behavior he’d witnessed. He didn’t know to pray. As she passed the bowls and platters around the table, Catherine silently pledged to teach him. But in order to pray, a person first needs to know God.
“Please pass the salad dressings,” said Daniel, studying her.
“Sorry. I was daydreaming.” She handed him three bottles of store-bought dressing, regretting not making her own from buttermilk, herbs, and minced vegetables.
Isaiah watched Daniel add ranch dressing to his and Nate’s salads, while Laura added French and Catherine topped hers with Italian. When the bottles reached Isaiah, he poured a drop of each onto his finger to taste, and then he selected the Italian. Isaiah winked at Catherine as he poured on a liberal amount.
His gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Daniel cleared his throat and speared a cherry tomato with sufficient force to spatter his shirt with seeds and juice. Isaiah and the kinner laughed. Catherine merely smiled, but Daniel aimed his peevish glower in her direction just the same. “Eat your dinner, Laura,” he then said to his daughter. “Let’s not dawdle tonight.” The child complied, but she continued to giggle each time she looked at the array of seeds on her daed’s shirt.
Catherine rapped on the tabletop. The vibration attracted the attention of the guest of honor. Isaiah glanced up from his enjoyment of the chicken breast.
“More green beans?” She mouthed the words with exaggeration, while the verbal sounds were only whispers for the hearing folk at the table.
“Jah, thanks,” he replied with an ear-to-ear grin. He accepted the bowl and scraped the remaining beans onto his plate. The size of the heap warmed a gardener’s heart.
Laura knocked on the table next, offering the potato salad in the manner she’d observed. Isaiah pulled her other kapp string and took a large spoonful of spuds.
Daniel squinted his eyes. “Enough of that, or the boy will eat until he explodes just to be polite.” He bit into a chicken leg with a frown.
“Perhaps he simply loves my cooking,” Catherine said, not hiding her wry tone.
“Your cooking might be better than average, but I would bet he simply loves all the newfound attention.” He met her gaze and held it, broadcasting his meaning without words or table raps.
“He’s been eating alone for years. Everyone deserves some attention and to feel consideration and compassion from their family members.” Catherine sliced her tomato, popping half into her mouth without breaking eye contact. The two in-laws circled around each other like wary dogs.
Isaiah, oblivious to the contention he was causing, enjoyed his supper with finger-licking appreciation.
“All well and good, but no one should be led down a dead-end road.” Daniel dropped his chicken bone on the plate with a thud.
“I don’t see how this road could be considered a dead end. Isaiah enjoys eating with the family and he’s done just fine. He doesn’t have poor table manners despite his years of seclusion.” She regretted her words as soon as she said them. Wait…this is Daniel’s house, not mine. He sets the rules in his home. And even worse, she’d spoken about a person sitting at the table. Although he may not have heard their exchange, somehow he’d sensed the discomfort of the situation at last. He looked between Daniel and her with a bewildered expression.
Catherine blushed to her hairline. “Who’s ready for banana nut bread?” she asked.
“I am,” chimed Laura and Jake in unison.
“None for me. I’ll eat my dessert later.” Daniel concentrated on his remaining dinner.
Catherine sliced one large and three small pieces of banana nut bread. When she delivered Isaiah’s to the table, his nervousness had vanished. He looked joyous as he broke off a corner and popped it in his mouth.
Daniel mumbled something about water troughs and left the kitchen while the others enjoyed dessert. She exhaled slowly and leaned against the back of her chair when he was gone, overall happy with how the meal had turned out. When Isaiah finished his dessert, he nodded to her, mouthed his thanks, and walked to the wall peg for his hat. Before the screen door slammed behind him, their eyes met and held for a long moment. The look that passed between them made her stomach turn cartwheels.
But Catherine’s joy lasted only midway through washing the dishes and kitchen cleanup. It faded as she mulled over something Daniel had said. No one should be led down a dead-end road. With a shiver, she realized he hadn’t been referring to tonight’s dinner or any meal at all. But it didn’t matter. Catherine’s road was to help Isaiah find God. And to do that, she needed to keep communicating with him. He needed to learn to talk and to read lips a whole lot better before anyone could teach him to read.