Harvest of Blessings Page 10

  Millie spent the next few moments of silence peering through the slits of her eyelids at Nora, who sat across the room from her. Once again she had the impression that the stranger in their midst knew the right look, all the right Amish attitudes and postures, while deep down she was still English to the core.

  Bishop Tom cleared his throat. “I’m pleased to see all of ya here, hopin’ to reacquaint yourselves with Nora. And we should help Millie figure out where she fits into the picture, now that she’s dealin’ with several unexpected pieces of the puzzle,” he began as he looked around the room. “We all come to this situation with different perspectives, and we all have different emotions. I’m gonna ask that we respect each other’s opinions and feelings. Flyin’ off the handle—or leavin’ in a snit—will only delay the resolutions we seek. And such behavior dishonors God.”

  Millie felt a glimmer of smug satisfaction when Bishop Tom gazed directly at Atlee and her grandfather as he gave these warnings. Beside her, Lizzie fished a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket.

  “I brought along the note that was pinned to Millie’s little gown, the morning Atlee and I found her in a basket on our porch,” she murmured. She smiled at Millie, looking as though she might cry. “It says, Since nobody loves my mamma and she can’t raise me alone, I’m yours. Millie.”

  When Lizzie handed her the yellowed note, Millie accepted it rather than risk hurting Lizzie’s feelings again. The handwriting was loose and loopy, appearing rather immature—especially considering how sleek and pulled-together Nora was now. It seemed ironic to Millie that when she was a wee babe in a basket, her mother had signed Millie’s name to notes an infant couldn’t have written—and had expected other folks to deal with problems she didn’t want to take responsibility for.

  “I lived at your mammi’s sister’s house in Bowling Green while I was carrying you, Millie,” Nora explained. “It was the common thing to send a girl away to have a baby out of wedlock. Aunt Elva and I got along all right during my pregnancy, while she could hide me away in her little house, but she was a middle-aged maidel and she didn’t like babies much. Once you were born, she made it clear that you and I were upsetting her routine, and that she’d fulfilled her duty as my caretaker.”

  Nora sighed as she looked at Lizzie and Atlee. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said in a faraway voice. “I had no way to pay rent or to buy what you needed, Millie, so I left you with a couple I believed would take care of you . . . who could raise you as their own. With your mop of carrot-colored hair, you looked like a Glick from the beginning.”

  “I had no idea Elva turned ya out that way,” Mammi fretted. “Her letter just said ya were gone.”

  “You were such a sweet baby,” Lizzie reminisced as she gazed fondly at Millie.

  “You cried like a fire siren,” Atlee piped up. “And with us being newlyweds, we had no idea how to settle you down or—”

  “But ya did the right thing,” Bishop Tom interrupted earnestly. “Ya took on the sleepless nights and the tough decisions every set of parents faces, to do right by a helpless child.”

  “And you did a wonderful job of raising her,” Nora said in a voice that didn’t sound quite so confident anymore. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, no matter what you must think. Millie has had a stable life—a home and a family I couldn’t have given her.”

  “And that was because your own family cast ya out when ya needed us most.” Mammi shifted in her chair, shaking her head sadly. “From the moment your dat ordered ya to leave, Nora, I believed we’d done somethin’ that God surely wouldn’t have wanted. But he was a preacher and he said he was obeyin’ the rules of the Ordnung. And as his wife, I had to submit to his will.”

  “Jah, I knew that, Mamma,” Nora murmured. She reached for Mammi’s hand and the two of them held on to each other so hard their knuckles turned white.

  “Nothin’ll come of gettin’ all teary-eyed about the past,” Dawdi remarked sternly. “Girls who get themselves in trouble need to experience their family’s disapproval—the wages of their sin—so they can repent and return to the path of salvation—”

  “But you told me I couldn’t come back,” Nora insisted. “You said the door was closed, and that I wasn’t to darken it ever again. I had no home, no family. No place to go when Aunt Elva shut me and Millie out.”

  Millie crossed her arms, uncomfortable with the turn this talk had taken. She knew of a couple girls in other towns who’d gotten in the family way, and they’d both returned to their homes after putting their babies up for adoption. She didn’t want to think about what might’ve happened to her if Nora had done that. Millie was trying very hard not to sympathize with Nora, but Dawdi had shut her out . . .

  Dawdi let out a humorless laugh. “Seems ya made a pretty gut life for yourself in spite of that,” he retorted. “Ya didn’t let your Amish upbringin’ stand in your way when it came to acquirin’ a fancy car and that big house on the hill!”

  “So how’d ya manage that, little sister?” Atlee demanded. “You’ve obviously jumped the fence to live an English life—”

  “I didn’t see that there was a fence to jump,” Nora said softly. “I couldn’t be so much concerned with religion when my day-to-day survival was at stake.”

  Nora looked at Lizzie and Mammi then, entreating them with her eyes. “I found work cleaning at a motel. It was an honest job and the family that owned the place let me have a room there as part of my pay. When the eldest son took an interest in me, we started dating . . . eventually got married,” Nora summarized. She let out a long sigh, looking at Dawdi. “I’d have probably joined the Amish church, had you allowed me to come home. So yes, I’ve lived English because that was the path that opened to me.”

  “Huh,” Dawdi said. “The path of least resistance.”

  “Isn’t that the way a lot of Amish gals meet the men they marry? Workin’ for their families?” Nazareth asked in a purposeful voice. “When I came to Willow Ridge I’d been a maidel schoolteacher all my life—and Tom’s wife had left him, so we figured a permanent relationship wasn’t meant to be. But circumstances changed, and God’s will was done. Sounds like God’s will has worked out for Nora, as well—just not the way you’d rather have it, Gabe.”

  Atlee let out an exasperated sigh. “That has nothing to do with Nora latchin’ on to a rich English fella who—”

  “Who found himself another woman he felt was more sophisticated and interesting,” Nora blurted as she held her brother’s gaze. “So Tanner divorced me. Had I not hired a competent lawyer, I would’ve been left without a home again.”

  When little Ella began to pat Millie’s leg and chatter, Millie was glad for the distraction of lifting the baby into her lap. She was tired of Atlee and Dawdi speaking in such critical tones. Nora was replying to their objections matter-of-factly—not making a play for anyone’s sympathy by sniffling or blinking back tears.

  “Well then, Nora,” Dawdi said in a rising voice, “it seems that you’ve not only turned your back on the faith you were raised in, but you married an English fella and then you divorced him—”

  “No, he left her,” Lizzie pointed out.

  “—so you’ve committed a number of major sins,” Dawdi went on doggedly. “And what with ya buyin’ a high-and-mighty house and drivin’ a fancy car, it seems ya have no intention of repentin’ or changin’ your ways, either.”

  “Which brings me to the fact that Nora asked for your forgiveness at the Sweet Seasons, Gabe,” Bishop Tom pointed out as he sat forward on his chair. “She asked ya in all humility—I witnessed the whole thing. And what was your response?”

  Dawdi crossed his arms, muttering something. When his rimless glasses caught the light from the picture window, the reflection hid his eyes.

  Mammi, however, sat up much straighter in her chair. “I’ve not heard about this,” she said as she glared at Dawdi. “How did Gabe respond, Tom? He’s not gonna tell us the whole story, it seems.”
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br />   “He said ‘Get behind me, Satan,’ and then he shoved me out of his way as he left.” Nora pressed her lips into a tight line, looking into her lap.

  “Jah, that’s how it went,” the bishop said ruefully. “I felt mighty bad for Nora, and I was appalled that a fella who’d been one of our preachers for most of his life showed such disregard for his own flesh and blood—and for the most basic tenet of our faith.”

  The room got quiet, except for the whirring of the fans. It seemed obvious that her grandfather wasn’t going to offer up any excuse for his behavior, so the bishop went on.

  “In the prayer our Lord taught us, He tells us to ask for our daily bread and to not be led into temptation, and to be spared the evils of this world,” Tom recounted in a quiet but firm voice. “And when it comes to askin’ the Lord’s forgiveness, we agree to do likewise—to forgive the folks who’ve done us wrong. It’s the only thing we’re expected to do in return for God givin’ us the rest of the benefits outlined in His prayer.”

  Dawdi’s face was growing ruddy, but he appeared more contrary than contrite. “Let’s hear the rest of the story, so we can place the blame where it belongs,” he said gruffly. He leaned forward to look around Mammi, focusing on Nora. “Back when I asked who got ya in the family way, ya refused to tell me—which was the main reason I sent ya packin’. Ya defied me, Nora, and ya gave me no way to demand that the boy take any responsibility.”

  Nora’s expression turned grim. “I haven’t told a soul to this day—mainly because the man in question informed me that I’d go straight to hell if I revealed his identity,” she said in very small voice. “I was naive enough—terrified enough—to believe him at the time. But he’s dead now, so it does me no good to keep his secret any longer. It was . . . the bishop of Morning Star.”

  “What?” Dawdi blurted. “Don’t think for a minute I’ll believe that Jeremiah Shetler—”

  “No, back then Tobias Borntreger was the bishop,” Tom pointed out with a frown. “Jeremiah was a preacher, just like you and I were.”

  “And ya expect me to go along with that ?” Dawdi retorted. “ Tobias was a gut friend of mine, and a devout man of the faith! He would no more have touched Nora than—”

  “See there?” Nora blurted, throwing up her hands. “You don’t believe me now, and you certainly wouldn’t have believed me when I was sixteen—which was exactly what Tobias was counting on.”

  Everyone in the front room sat wide-eyed, as though the air had been sucked out of them. Nora slumped in her chair, shaken from the strain of her revelation. Lizzie’s hand fluttered to her mouth, while Mammi’s face fell and she fished a handkerchief from her apron pocket.

  “Did this happen while ya were helpin’ at the Borntreger place?” Mammi asked in a voice they could barely hear. “That was the summer Tobias’s wife was laid up with a broken leg, and in the family way, too, as I recall.”

  “It did, Mamma,” Nora whispered. “More than once. I—I didn’t know what to do. Tobias insisted that God had brought me there to be helpful, and that I wasn’t to say anything to you or Dat, because if I did, he’d deny it. He said I’d go to hell for disobeyin’ him, too.”

  “Oh, you poor dear girl.” Mammi rose from her chair to stand behind Nora, hugging her shoulders. “I am so sorry. All these years wasted.”

  “Tobias made some inappropriate remarks to me a time or two.” Lizzie grimaced as though the bishop’s name tasted bad when she said it. “But I was married, and old enough to brush him off—”

  “You were imaginin’ things,” Atlee interrupted with a roll of his eyes. “And it was me who drove Nora over to work at the Borntreger place, and I picked her up at the end of the day. I never noticed anything was goin’ on—”

  “You were clueless,” Nora replied with a sigh. She patted Mammi’s skinny arms, wrapped around her shoulders, as Mammi remained behind her chair. “You were so engrossed in your auctioneering work, proving yourself to Lizzie’s dat, it was only an annoyance to you when I cried all the way home.”

  “You’re still clueless,” Lizzie muttered. “And at that age, Nora was innocent and sheltered and had no idea what to do when a man in authority—a man she was supposed to trust and obey—took advantage of her. I’m sorry, Nora,” she added as she shook her head sorrowfully. “I had no idea. This changes the way we all see—”

  “No,” Dawdi insisted. “It’s Nora’s word against a dead man’s. She’s been tryin’ for your sympathy, and she’s got it.” He rose unsteadily, grasping the arm of the loveseat to boost himself up. “I’ve had all of this nonsense I can stomach. We’re headin’ home, Wilma.”

  “Run along,” came Mammi’s reply.

  Millie’s mouth dropped open. Once again the room got very quiet, and the fans seemed useless against the stifling heat of this confrontation. Mammi’s tone wasn’t sarcastic or defiant, but Dawdi wasn’t accustomed to his wife disobeying him. Her grandfather began to shuffle the length of Bishop Tom’s front room, muttering under his breath as he put a hand to the curve of his back.

  It was startling, the way Dawdi’s posture and attitude had declined nearly as much as Mammi’s had improved these past few days. Millie didn’t feel compelled to assist him. It seemed clear that he’d brought this whole situation on himself before she was even born. Millie sensed Nora had a few more secrets up her sleeve—revelations that might affect her future. So she sat tight.

  “Well, it’s obvious Dat’s not gonna make it home by himself,” Atlee snapped as he stood up. Glaring at Millie and Lizzie and then at Mammi, who still clung to Nora, he strode across the room and took his father’s arm. Everyone remained silent until the two men had gone out the door and were clumping down the wooden porch stairs.

  “Is it my imagination, or did a black Cadillac just pull away from the Riehl’s lane next door?” Nazareth murmured.

  Lifting a sleepy-eyed Ella to her shoulder, Millie stood up to gaze out the picture window behind Nora and Mammi. “Jah, there he goes,” she confirmed. “Do ya suppose Hiram was eavesdroppin’ at one of the windows and then slipped away when he knew Dawdi was leavin’?”

  Nora let out an exasperated sigh. “Why wouldn’t that surprise me? From what I’ve seen of Hiram since I bought his house, he’s an even sneakier snake than Tobias was,” she muttered. “That pointed black goatee just fits him—but here I go, passing judgment.” She paused, shaking her head. “I’m sure folks here in Willow Ridge have had similar thoughts about the way I was dressed when I arrived, not to mention about the car I drive.”

  Bishop Tom’s expression remained solemn as he considered what had just happened. “We’ll ask the Lord to oversee our dealings with Hiram,” he said as Nazareth poured refills of lemonade. “And I’m trustin’ Him to guide my words as I keep talkin’ to Gabe and Atlee. I’m truly concerned that Gabe might still have this burden on his soul when he goes to meet his Maker. It’s hardened his heart for far too long.”

  “But in spite of his orders, Nora’s come home,” Mammi declared. She squeezed Nora’s shoulders one more time before she sat down on the loveseat. “Seems to me we should be countin’ our blessings today, rather than allowin’ Gabe’s stubbornness to diminish our joy. In learnin’ the truth about the past, we’ve seen how God’s been with Nora all along, guidin’ her back to Willow Ridge. Praise His holy name!”

  “Amen to that,” Nazareth murmured as she started the cookie plate around.

  Millie resumed her seat, amazed at how her grandmother was speaking out. Wilma Glick was known for being the reserved wife of a preacher, not physically well, yet she was glowing as she gazed at everyone around her. When Lizzie held the treats in front of her, Millie chose a frosted sugar cookie to share with Ella.

  After she’d passed the tray back to Nazareth, Lizzie reached for Millie’s shoulder. “These past few days have been hard for ya, Millie. But do ya recall how, through the years, I’ve said ya were such a blessing to me?” Lizzie’s eyes shone with tears. “With each time I
miscarried, and with both stillborn wee ones we laid to rest, you were the reason I gathered myself together again and found the strength to go on. I considered ya a gift from God even more than ya were a gift from Nora.”

  Millie blinked rapidly, glad she had Ella in her lap as a distraction. “Jah, you’ve always said that.”

  Lizzie let out a shuddery breath. “Without you in my life, my days would’ve been sad and empty. I know you’re upset because I kept the truth about Nora from ya, but I wanted ya to be my daughter, Millie. I always will.”

  The breath rushed from Millie’s lungs. She hugged Ella fiercely, trying not to cry—trying not to let Lizzie’s heartfelt words penetrate the emotional defenses she’d put up. But her heart could no longer shut out the love this quiet, caring woman had always shown her. Millie blotted her wet cheeks on her sleeve. “Jah, I know that, too,” she murmured.

  “It’s not my intention to come between the two of you, either,” Nora spoke up. “I know you’ll never love me the way you do Lizzie, because in every way that matters, she’s your mamm, Millie.”

  When Nora crossed the room to stand before her, Millie looked up at her. She saw the face of the woman she would someday become . . . the trembling chin and wide hazel eyes of the girl who had given birth to her and then given her to Atlee and Lizzie Glick—not as a careless, trifling act, but as the sacrifice that would allow both of them to live stronger lives.

  “I’m sorry my return has caused so much upheaval,” Nora went on. She stroked Ella’s cheek, gazing at each of them in the room. “I knew it would be tough for all of us at first, but I had faith that once the initial pain passed, we could make our peace and figure out how we fit into each other’s lives. I’ve come to realize that I need this family every bit as much as you do, Millie. I’m so glad I got back to Willow Ridge to make amends before your mammi was no longer with us.”