A Simple Spring: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 14

  “Well. Would you look at that?” Sadie said, squinting into the sunlight.

  Ruthie shook her head. “What are those brown spots?”

  “Dirt.” Sadie climbed down from the buggy. “Looks like some critters have been digging.”

  Ruthie ran ahead, light-footed and curious.

  As Sadie drew closer, her heart sank. Her parents’ grave sites were mottled with patches of brown. Holes in the dirt.

  “Esther King. Levi King.” Ruthie read the gravestones quietly. “This is it.”

  “But the nice bed of green grass is ruined.” Sadie stopped a few feet away, hands on her hips. “Who did this?”

  The chattering sound overhead drew Sadie’s attention to a nearby tree.

  “Is this your doing, Mr. Squirrel?” She pointed up to the tree, where a squirrel perched, holding an acorn as it watched them.

  “Squirrels!” Ruthie’s grim expression softened. “Maybe. But more likely it’s moles.” She poked at the holes in the ground with the toe of one sneaker. “See how it’s caving in? They love to build tunnels.”

  Sadie laughed at the sight of her sister gently pressing her toes into the ground.

  “At least Dat would be glad to know that his grave is home for a little animal,” Sadie said. “Let’s fetch the seeds and tools from the buggy.”

  “Good thing we brought along grass seed.”

  Sadie slipped an arm over her sister’s shoulders as they headed back to the buggy. “You’d better give that Mr. Mole a good talking-to before we go,” she said affectionately. “Tell him to dig his tunnels on the other side of the fence.”

  They brought the spade, weed whacker, and grass seed to the graveside and knelt down in the dappled sunlight. With the soil loosened by the digging critters, it was easy to smooth it out and pour on handfuls of seed.

  Ruthie took extra care, tamping down the soil gently over the tiny flecks of seed. “There you go. Time to grow where you’re planted,” she said with a note of contentment.

  Sadie wasn’t sure whether her sister was talking to the grass seed or to her, but she decided to keep silent. For Sadie, there was something soothing about being here, no matter what the season, and it seemed that Ruthie felt it, too. A certain peace. Maybe it was the quiet here, away from the busy life at the farm, that opened the gate to memories.

  Sadie tapped the spade against a rock to get the remaining soil off. The steady beat reminded her of Red playing the drums, and she wondered what Mamm and Dat would think of her singing with the band. Mamm had taught her how to turn her work to joy by singing, and Dat had often asked her for a song as they rode into town on the buggy. “Sing me another one, Sadie girl,” he would say. Did they look down from heaven and watch her singing in dark clubs in the city, singing for strangers in her blue jeans and T-shirt?

  They wouldn’t like that.

  Sadie didn’t like the bars herself. It wasn’t the way she had dreamed of sharing her music with the world. When she closed her eyes and tried to imagine using her gift, she pictured herself singing songs that glorified the Heavenly Father. But it was a fuzzy dream she had, one that didn’t make much sense in either the Englisher or Amish world. The song leader at church was always a man and the Amish didn’t have much call for music in any other way. And Englishers wouldn’t want to hear a girl singing hymns when they could turn on a radio to hear countless songs that were far more exciting.

  No, it was a verhuddelt dream of hers, this music from the heart. She kept thinking the Heavenly Father would show her a clear path, a way to use her voice, but maybe that was verhuddelt, too.

  Sadie was so caught up in her worries that she lost track of her sister beside her until the silence was broken by a tiny whimper, sad as the cry of a forlorn puppy.

  Her head turned to Ruthie, whose bottom lip protruded, her face crumpling in a sob.

  “Come here, Liewe.” Sadie opened her arms, using the word for “darling,” which Mamm used to call them.

  Ruthie nearly fell against her, tears streaming down her face. “I miss them so. I surely do. But when I close my eyes, it’s getting harder and harder to see their faces, and that’s a terrible thing. I don’t want to lose them in my mind.”

  “I know.” Sadie hugged her sister, wishing she could squeeze the sorrow right out of her. “Time makes everything fade a bit—the good and the bad, too. But sometimes I see Mamm and Dat in things at home. Every time I see Simon training Shadow or talking to the horses, it reminds me of Dat’s easy way with the animals. And Gabe with the cows; he knows just what to do to keep them healthy and happy. The way Mary runs the kitchen, feeding us all, reminds me of Mamm. And when Leah helps the rest of you with reading and writing. And you, Ruthie, I see Mamm’s love in your golden eyes when you make folks smile and feel at ease. You’ve got Mamm’s optimism. She always saw the silver lining in the storm clouds.”

  Ruthie sniffed. “She did. Do you remember that little smile that lit her eyes? Even when she scolded us, you could see the love in her eyes.”

  “So you do remember.”

  “Some things.” She swiped away the tears, leaving a smudge of dirt on her face.

  Sadie’s heart swelled with sympathy for her sister. Twelve is such an important year, she thought. No longer a child, but far from a woman. It wouldn’t be easy for Ruthie, but Sadie vowed to keep an eye on her little sister, and she knew Remy and Mary would be there for her, too.

  “We’ll talk about Mamm and Dat anytime you want,” Sadie said. “Sometimes talking brings out the memories.”

  Ruthie nodded. “And can I come back here with you again?”

  “Sure. We’re going to need to tidy up their graves from time to time.”

  Wiping her hands together, Ruthie looked down at the simple headstones. “A long time ago I forgave the man who killed them, but I’ll never forget our mamm and dat.” She squatted down, her skirt bunching around her as she patted down the soil once more. “I’ll never forget.”

  FIFTEEN

  Here it is.…” Remy turned the key in the lock, pushed the door, and stepped into her apartment. “Exactly as I left it … except maybe for a few dust bunnies.”

  The apartment looked the same, though she remembered the unshakable cold of winter the last time she’d been here. And now it was May, and she’d found a home many miles west of here in Amish country.

  Back in February when she’d gone to Lancaster County to investigate a news story, she had gotten snowed in at the King farm for nearly two weeks. When she’d returned here in late February, the apartment had seemed cold and sterile, a dismal place after days of love and laughter with the Kings. Besides that, she had fallen in love with Adam and the Amish way of life, though she’d been convinced that there was no way she and Adam could be together. The last time she was here, her heart was heavy with loss and confusion.

  But now it was very different. Remy crossed the parquet floor and placed her big box of garbage bags on the counter. Sadie followed, gawking at the cathedral ceiling and tall windows.

  “It’s wonderful good.” Sadie’s fingers toyed with her kapp strings as she stepped around the leather sofa to check out the view from the windows. “So modern … like a museum of your own. And you can even see the real museum from here!”

  “Two of them, actually.” Remy went to the window and pointed out the small Rodin Museum across the parkway, as well as the majestic Philadelphia Museum of Art. “I used to love this view. It was one of the few things I liked about living here.”

  “What are you saying?” Sadie held her arms wide, taking in the expansive room. “This is a wonderful apartment. From here you can look out over all of Philadelphia! For me, it would be a dream come true to live in a place like this.”

  Remy smiled as she perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. This was exactly the reaction Adam had predicted his sister would have. He worried about her attraction to the English world, and his concerns were well-founded. But Remy didn’t think that pressure fr
om Adam would sway his sister to commit to the Amish faith, and so she frequently pointed out to the man she loved that baptism was a personal decision. Wasn’t it a matter between Sadie and God? She was convinced that they had to trust the Heavenly Father to guide Sadie’s choice.

  “You know, Sadie, when I picked it out I thought it was a beautiful apartment. But I was never really happy here, and that can color how you feel about a place.”

  “But … leather sofas?” Sadie sat down and sighed. “Heavenly.”

  “But they’re cold in the winter,” Remy said, remembering the chill she hadn’t been able to shake when the specter of her life without Adam had hung over her. “And they can be slippery, too.” She sat on the edge of one and pretended to slide right off. She landed on the floor, her emerald-green Amish dress bunched over her knees.

  Sadie laughed. “But sliding is not a problem,” she said, slipping down beside Remy. “Because there’s this fluffy white rug to land on.” She patted the rug curiously. “Is it the hide of a polar bear?”

  Remy snorted. “No. It’s acrylic. A polar bear, really?”

  Both girls laughed.

  “Did you think I went hunting in the North Pole?” Remy asked, doubled over with laughter.

  “Knowing you, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Sadie giggled again, then sprang to her feet and swayed to the window dramatically. “Show me the rest of your apartment. I like it very much, though I can’t think what you’d do to pass the time here, and it does take a while to get outside with the elevator and those long hallways.”

  Remy showed her the bedroom, where Sadie announced that she would never be able to sleep with the world waiting there beneath her window. All the cars and museums and people walking around.

  In the bathroom, Sadie admired the little flowers in the tiles, the light fixture bright as the sun, and mirrors covering an entire wall. “How could you even think of leaving such a place?”

  “It’s easy to walk away when you’re lonely,” Remy said, stepping into the bathroom beside Sadie, who was frowning into the mirror.

  Sadie pointed at Remy’s face. “How did you do that?”

  Facing the mirror, Remy lifted a hand to her face. “What?”

  “Your eyebrows? They curve, like a sliver of moon. Mine are like a big furry caterpillar crossing my forehead.”

  “Oh, yours aren’t so bad. Mine are shaped this way because I had laser hair removal.”

  Sadie pressed the ridge above her eyes, as if trying to wipe her brows off. “How do I get this lay-sir hair thing?”

  “It’s very expensive,” Remy said. “And it’s electric. I don’t think it would be allowed by the Ordnung.”

  With a touch of defiance, Sadie put her hands on her hips. “I’m in rumspringa and my you-knee brow is ruining everything.”

  “Really? I don’t think people even notice.”

  “Plain people don’t notice, but the others do.” Sadie turned away from the mirror and leaned against the granite counter. “I’ve heard girls make fun of me when they didn’t know I was listening.” She touched her brows self-consciously. “Now I’m beginning to wonder if Frank notices, too.”

  Remy’s lower lip jutted out sympathetically. She wanted to tell Sadie that friends who were judging her based strictly on appearance were no friends at all, but she didn’t think Sadie would believe her. When you were eighteen, that sort of lesson was something you needed to learn on your own.

  “God made you a beautiful girl.” Remy touched Sadie’s shoulder. “I wish you didn’t feel bad about how you look.”

  Sadie dropped her eyes. “It’s just what other people are saying.”

  “Okay.” Remy slid open a drawer in the vanity, fished around amid the plastic cases and tubs of makeup, and found a pair of tweezers. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this, but you can have these. It’s what most people use to shape their brows. They pluck them.”

  “Plucking?” Sadie squinted. “Like a chicken.”

  “Something like that, but instead of taking all the hairs out you want to shape them, sort of like a crescent moon. There’s really an art to it, but I can help get you started. Here.”

  Together they leaned into the mirror, and Remy showed Sadie how to use the pointed edge of the tweezers to grab the hair.

  “You want to pull in the direction that the hair grows,” Remy said. “And it hurts at first. Ready?”

  “Ya.”

  “Okay, face me.” Armed with tweezers, Remy pulled, and Sadie bravely kept mum.

  “Like being pecked by a chicken, right between the eyes,” Sadie said.

  “An apt description. Do you want me to keep going?” When Sadie nodded, Remy honed in on the tiny hairs at the center of Sadie’s forehead. Gritting her teeth, she plucked rapidly.

  A minute later she had made a smooth space between Sadie’s brows.

  “Ach!” Sadie blinked back tears. “It’s mighty painful!”

  “I know, but we have a little space now. No one can say you have a unibrow anymore.”

  Sadie brushed at it, leaning into the mirror. “It looks good.”

  “We don’t have time to shape now, but you can keep the tweezers. We need to be ready when the truck comes to pick the furniture up this afternoon.”

  “Denki, Remy.”

  “You’re welcome.” Remy was glad to help Sadie feel better about herself, though Adam was going to be upset if he noticed a visible change in his sister. Well … she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Sadie asked.

  “I guess we should start bagging all the clothes. I just want to be sure that the two dressers are empty when the mission truck gets here.”

  Sadie ripped open the box of garbage bags and got to work, singing an old song that Remy recognized as Cole Porter’s “My Romance.”

  “I’ve always loved that song,” Remy said as she tucked a bundle of sweaters into a bag. “But it’s quite an evolution from ‘How Great Thou Art.’ ”

  “Frank has taught me many songs,” Sadie said. “I don’t like some of them. But that’s a good one.”

  “Sing another one,” Remy said as she loaded up another plastic bag, and then moved on to the walk-in closet.

  This morning as they had driven into Philly, Remy had worried that she might have trouble parting with her belongings. Although her time here in Philadelphia had been laced with sadness, she was saying good-bye to possessions accumulated over all twenty-four years of her life. But Remy felt good about “recycling” her former life. Maybe a teenaged girl would make good use of her leather jacket and many pairs of jeans. Someone would benefit from the money made on her laptop, which she’d wiped clean of data. And before she had closed up the laptop, she had found a local charity that would come to the apartment and pick up all her furniture. She and Sadie would make a few trips to Goodwill to donate everything else, from her designer suits to her pots and pans—a task that would have taken her days without Sadie’s help. She had canceled her credit cards and would transfer her savings to the bank in Halfway. Things were coming together nicely.

  The closet was halfway empty and Sadie was singing a song about riding on a railroad when Remy pulled down the box of photos.

  “Oh.” This was going to be her downfall.

  She gathered the skirt of her dress, sat cross-legged on the closet floor, and opened the box, which was nearly overflowing with packs of photos shoved haphazardly inside. There were shots of her summers at camp. High school proms. Halloween parties with her friends.

  This was her life: so precious to her, and yet the box of old photos would be meaningless to anyone else. She couldn’t throw them away.

  I’ll give them to Herb, she thought. I’ll make him promise to hold on to these, even if he stashes them up in the attic.

  But as she sifted through the photographs, Remy thought of something that brought her to her feet. She grabbed the box of photos and flew out of the closet, through the bedroom to the living roo
m.

  “What’s wrong?” Sadie called after her.

  And there it was, on the built-in bookshelves: the photo of her mother in an old-fashioned frame of marbled dark green stone set in sculpted wire. Hugging the box and the framed photo, Remy crumpled to the floor. How many hours had she spent staring at this picture of her mom? In the photo her mother’s head was cocked to one side, the subtle curve of her lips saying that she was listening but was ready to make light of whatever problem was in the air.

  That was how Remy remembered her mom … making games of things. She’d been a woman who delighted in catching fireflies, dressing up for tea parties with real china cups, and playing barefoot flashlight-tag on a summer night. Remy had been eight when her mother died, and though the pain of loss had eased over the years, the ache of missing her remained.

  “Was ist letz?” Sadie’s eyes flooded with concern as she gathered her dress and knelt beside Remy. “What’s the matter, Remy?”

  “I don’t know what to do with this picture of my mother.” She showed it to Sadie. “It’s really all I have left of her.” She sighed. “Oh, Sadie, it makes my heart ache to think of destroying it.”

  Sadie considered the photograph. “She looks like a nice woman. She must have loved you very much.”

  Remy nodded. “I guess I could give it to my father, but his wife probably won’t be too happy about storing it.” How could she describe her relationship with her stepmother to kind, free-spirited Sadie? “My stepmother, Loretta—I don’t think she ever liked me too much. When she married Herb, I think she wanted him to make a clean break from the past.”

  “But that’s verhuddelt. You’re his daughter.”

  “It’s verhuddelt, all right,” Remy said, enjoying the kinder word for crazy. “But I never was able to win Loretta over.”

  “What will you do with the picture of your mamm?”

  “I don’t know.” Remy ran her finger over the scrollwork of the frame. “I always thought that one day, I’d share this with a daughter.”

  “That would be a nice thing if it weren’t forbidden by the Ordnung.”