But on that Sunday two years ago, sitting on the women’s side of the neighbor’s living room, I’d promised God I would turn my life around forever. Yet last night temptation had arrived to lure me back into its clutches.
With the morning light seeping through the cracks around the shade, I renewed my vow to submit to the teachings of the Bible and to the Ordnung, and I asked the Lord for forgiveness. Beatrice had requested I not allow a man in my cabin, and I’d agreed. Yet I’d been disobedient.
Once I showered and dressed, I made my way to the café. I could hear and smell spring in the air. Pairs of singing birds flittered past me, choosing future nesting locations, I assumed. I noticed a variety of unusual birdhouses in the nursery and surmised Rose had fabricated them. I’d heard she constructed them and was in the mail-order business when she and Glenn met.
I wondered what it would be like to have the freedom to create your own enterprise. In the districts in our area, a single woman could own a business, but the moment she married, it would be considered her husband’s. I knew that idea was scriptural, as the married man was the head of the household. Still, it irked me that men made all the decisions. Ach, I wasn’t ready to be baptized until I came to terms with the Ordnung. Maybe staying single was my best option. No, I wanted children.
As Sadie and I prepared to open the café, Beatrice breezed in. “Everything ready for opening?” she asked me.
“Yah. Olivia’s brother delivered her baked goods, the bread arrived, Sadie has been slicing meat, and I made corn chowder.”
Beatrice sampled the soup without enthusiasm. “What ingredients are in here?”
“Corn, chopped onion and celery, and chicken bouillon.”
“No real chicken?” She rummaged through the refrigerator and extracted a couple of chicken breasts. “I’ll dice some up right now.” She put a pan on the stove top, turned on the burner, and drizzled in olive oil. “So much better with chicken.” She cut into the poultry like a pro. “And next time use genuine chicken stock instead of bouillon. But this will be fine once I put in the chicken.”
She scanned the dining area. “Don’t forget to write the name of the soup on the chalkboard.”
“I was just about to do that.” Her suggestion was a good one, but it irritated me. I assured myself that once the Yoders got home with their baby, Beatrice would be too busy to come into the café. And it wouldn’t hurt me to show gratitude for her suggestions.
“I appreciate your help,” I said, but she didn’t acknowledge my thanks.
An hour later I was delighted when Mamm arrived. She embraced me as only my mother could.
“How did you get here?” I asked.
“I caught a ride with a friend who’s buying roses, so I only have twenty minutes.” She looked tired—her skin chalky and her cheeks sleep creased. “I’ve missed you so.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mamm. Didn’t you get my phone message? I’m coming by to pay you a visit on Sunday.”
“Yah, I got your message.” She hesitated. “Of course, you know we always want to see you, but I think we should entertain you in the daadi haus, so please come to our little door.”
“Seriously? I shouldn’t use the back door to the kitchen like I usually do?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“You can’t eat in your own kitchen anymore?”
“We could, and we do sometimes.” She worked her lower lip. “When invited.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She sniffed. “Everything’s as perfect as can be expected.”
“So why the long face, Mamm?” I took her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
“Then why are you so sad? You look drauerich.”
“Your dat had looked forward to retiring, but things aren’t working out as expected. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.”
I knew Mamm would reveal her thoughts in time. No use prodding her. Still, why hadn’t she just called me?
Mamm scanned the room. “Is there a spot where we can speak in private?”
“Right over there.” I directed her to a square table by the koi pond. The trickling waterfall would camouflage our conversation.
Mamm seated herself at a two-top. “You must have heard about Amos Miller, Jake’s father.”
I planted myself next to her. “Yah, I did. A terrible tragedy.”
“I took Amos and Ruth a casserole yesterday.” She shook her head in a way that told me she was holding back tears. “There’s a bed set up in the living room. All the other furniture’s shoved against the walls. There’s hardly space to walk, but Ruth said that’s how she wants it.”
“Is he going to recover?”
“I don’t know. Amos looked to be asleep—dead, really, the way his jaw was unhinged—but Ruth said he could hear us and encouraged me to speak to him. I said, ‘Hello, Amos. It’s Anna Lapp. I’ve come for a visit.’ His lids cracked open, and he stared blankly.” She let out a lengthy sigh. “I wonder if he’ll ever wake up completely. Poor Ruth.”
Now was my chance to be honest. “Mamm, Jake stopped by last night.”
“I saw him, and I had a feeling he’d track you down. What did he want?”
“He asked me to visit his dat. Apparently, Amos’s brain has gone haywire.”
Mamm polished the table with her palm and nodded. “I’d better tell you right now if Jake didn’t. The only word Amos has muttered is your name. I can’t imagine why.”
“That makes two of us. Unless he still bears resentment toward me and blames me
