Lena did not dare reread Mammi’s letter before going to bed. As it was, certain phrases had been going through her mind for hours. Instead, she tried to do what Solomon had said—to simply trust.
“I can’t be there with Chris to keep him safe,” she whispered into the darkness. She thought then of Emma’s letter yesterday. “And I can’t keep Hans faithful to me, either.” She knew that was not her place or in her ability to control. What Hans did was up to him, and if it meant they had grown apart, then there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
The more she pondered this, the more she realized that she, too, had been feeling uncertain about the ongoing plan to court through letters. But how could there be a courtship if both weren’t doing their part to write?
Lying there, her weary head on the pillow, Lena prayed for the kind of wisdom Harley’s uncle seemed to possess . . . and for Chris, safe tonight in his own warm bed. O Lord, I must entrust my brothers and sisters—and my anxiety about Hans—to Thee. Help me learn how to do that, she prayed. Worrying like this is more than I can bear.
While Lena worked with Mimi in the sewing room the next day, she lifted her loved ones’ names to heaven. I will trust and not be afraid, she thought each time she was tempted to fear. It helped knowing that Mimi, too, was faithfully praying for her family.
Lydia Smucker was a welcome sight to behold when she stopped by after the noon meal, bringing a freshly made shoofly pie. “Just had a feelin’ ya might need a little pick-me-up,” Lydia said as Lena invited her in.
“Ya did?”
“I missed ya at the last Singing,” Lydia said. “Hope you’re doin’ all right.”
Lena told her that she’d kept Solomon company. She motioned her friend into the front room, where she told about her youngest brother—and Hans. “I’m doin’ my best to give over my worries to the Lord . . . but my mind just wants to keep workin’ on them, no matter how much I try.” Lena inhaled sharply. “All of this at once seems like a test, to tell the truth.”
Lydia reached to give her a hug. “You poor thing! No wonder you looked surprised when I brought the pie.”
“You’re a godsend—that’s for sure.”
“Maybe I should have brought you something to read, as well. A good story or poem always soothes me,” Lydia suggested. “The only thing better than reading them is writing them, I think.”
“You’re a writer?” Lena had known a woman back home who was a scribe for The Budget, but the reporting of everyday news was quite a different thing.
“Mostly poetry,” said Lydia.
“Have ya ever had anything published?” Lena asked.
Lydia nodded. “Last year in Family Life magazine.”
Despite her lingering concerns, Lena enjoyed hearing this. “I’d really like to read it sometime.”
Lena had a hard time keeping her mind on Rebekah’s lesson that afternoon. But in the middle of it, while they took a short break and Lena poured coffee for them, Rebekah began to talk about her husband once again. This time, she mentioned that Michael had, one desperate day, gone to the deacon’s home to get help for his drinking. Later, while going through the painful process of drying out, he’d made peace with God.
“It turned out he was on his deathbed. I was so shocked when word came that he’d passed away,” Rebekah admitted. “But oh, the relief in knowin’ he was not alone—the deacon stayed right with him, and Michael knew the Lord had forgiven his sins. The deacon told me this in a letter.”
Lena breathed deeply, thankful for this update. No wonder Rebekah had reason for peace. “God was with your husband to the very end, drawing him . . . bringin’ him back to the fold, jah?”
Rebekah nodded, smiling now. “Hard as it was to hear he was gone, there’s no doubt in my mind he was ready to go when it was time. So sudden it was.”
“I’m real glad ya told me,” Lena said, having wondered about it and prayed whenever she had thought of Rebekah that past week.
After the lesson was over, Lena heard the postal truck. Lena offered to go and get the mail, ready for some fresh air and not caring how cold it was outside. She hoped with every heartbeat for a note from home.
Quickly combing through the letters, she was pleased to spot one from Wilbur. She carried the mail inside to Mimi in the sewing room, then excused herself to read Wilbur’s letter in the kitchen, wondering what he’d written.
Dear Lena Rose,
Mammi told me she wrote to you about Chris. I was so glad when I found him carrying Tabby only a couple hours after he disappeared. He was walking toward Dawdi’s and Mammi’s, looking tired and cold. Turns out Tubby Tabby was trapped in an outhouse nearly a mile up the road, meowing noisily, all battle-scarred and ruffled up.
“What on earth?” Lena shook her head. Since when had that old cat become such a rascal?
Tabby looks like she’s been in a fight for her life, but Chris couldn’t be happier to have her back, though he gave everyone a scare. Dawdi warned him never, ever to leave the house without telling them.
Lena read through the rest of the letter, which was filled with updates on their siblings, as well as the news that Wilbur had found himself a job at the RV factory. Dat and I had talked about my working there, too, someday, so I’m thinking he’d be happy that I’ve managed to get my foot in the door.
“Ach, Dat and Mamma would be so pleased,” Lena murmured. Indeed, despite the disquiet of the past few days, there was much to be thankful for at this moment.
A sense of gratefulness lingered into the next day and Lena’s morning cleaning for James Zook. As before, she did some
