I think my trips to Indiana did Mammi almost as much good as they did me. Most Amish widows remarried soon after a spouse passed away, but Mammi didn’t seem to have any interest in that. I know managing the farm, keeping the house in good repair, helping those in need, and quilting took up most of her time, but she said her favorite weeks of the year were when I was with her.
Still in my coat, I finally crawled out of bed and slipped into my boots. Then I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, which was just as cold as my bedroom, and then downstairs to the kitchen. Mammi was right. It was, by far, the warmest place in the house.
She looked so small in her layers of clothes and bulky sweater. “There’s coffee,” she said. “And biscuits and gravy.”
My mouth watered. I hadn’t had biscuits and gravy in years.
She had the table all set, and while I poured myself a cup of coffee, she placed the biscuits in a basket and the skillet of gravy on a trivet. In the middle of the table was the same sugar bowl my father had used to secure his farewell note.
Mammi led us in a silent prayer, and then we ate. Suddenly, after hardly eating all week, I was famished. Mammi ate a half biscuit with gravy, while I ate three. When I was finally full, she led us in a closing silent prayer.
As we cleared the table, I asked what she had planned for the day. “I was going to quilt at Jane’s shop,” she said. “But I think I’ll stay home.”
“Because of me?” I didn’t want her to change her plans.
She smiled. “Well, I’d stay if you needed me to. But the truth is I don’t want to take the horse and buggy out. With this storm, it’s a good day to stay home.”
“Could Seth take you?”
“It’s not necessary.” She gestured toward the living room. “I have a quilt to work on here.”
That wasn’t surprising. She always had a quilt she was working on.
“And I can go Monday for the quilting circle. Would you go with me then?”
“Sure.” She’d taught me how to quilt when I was a girl, but I hadn’t done it in years.
The day seemed to stretch ahead of me, as endless as the snowy landscape. I should have been getting my hair done for the wedding. We would have been leaving for Saint Lucia tomorrow. Instead, I was trapped in a cold farmhouse with a dying phone and no car.
But at least I was with Mammi.
I TOOK TWO naps, one before dinner, as Mammi called it, even though it was the noon meal, and then another one after. I felt restless. I needed to charge my phone and go to a coffee shop where I could get internet on my laptop. I needed to call Dad and let him know where I was. I needed to make sure Ryan really was paying for the wedding he’d canceled.
Later, as dusk fell, my mood grew even darker as I looked out the bedroom window into the dreary afternoon. Had I thought I’d come to Mammi’s at the end of December and it would be sunny and bright, like it was in the summer?
I needed to come up with a plan to get on with my life.
I checked my phone by the fading light. No missed calls. No voicemails. No texts. Had everyone forgotten me on what should have been my wedding day? I clomped down the stairs and then wandered into the living room, where Mammi was quilting and humming quietly to herself.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“A little.” Actually, I was starving again.
“I have ham and corn bread. And canned green beans and applesauce.”
“That sounds lovely,” I answered, thinking of the cucumber salad with lemon vinaigrette, the grilled salmon, the sliced flat iron steak, and the garlic mashed potatoes we’d chosen for our wedding dinner.
Where was Ryan now? Most likely with Amber.
“Savannah, are you all right?”
I focused on my grandmother. “Mostly,” I answered.
“I’m sorry for your hatz ache.”
“Denki,” I replied.
After supper, before we cleared the table, Mammi read from the Bible, reading Matthew chapter 18 by the light of the propane lamp hanging above the table. I barely listened as she read Jesus’ words about becoming like a little child to enter the kingdom of heaven.
Mom and Dad had gone to a little community church with a congregation of around a hundred, taking me with them. I also attended Sunday school and a Wednesday night kids’ club, where we memorized Bible verses. I’d already had a faith tradition when I first started visiting Mammi, but her lifestyle was so simple and her faith so visible that it really impacted me.
But after my mother died, I resented God. Why had He allowed it? Dad seemed so lost and hurt that I didn’t feel as if I could talk through it with him. And when I talked with Mammi on the phone, I never admitted my spiritual despair.
Distantly, I heard Mammi read Matthew 18:20. “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”
In my pain and grief, I had found myself praying less and less. I also stopped seeking out the fellowship of other believers. But when Ryan and I started dating, he was the one who led me back to church. He’d gone with his mother as a child, and although he’d quit going during college, he’d missed it. So we found a community church to attend.
Ryan’s spiritual seeking was one of the things that had truly endeared him to me. We didn’t have time to get involved much more than Sunday mornings, but we figured we’d do that after we were married.
When Mammi reached the end of the chapter, she closed her Bible and then, without saying anything more, began collecting the plates. I stood up to help, eager
