Harvest of Blessings Read online

  “Who cares?” Ira spouted. “That red BMW convertible parked around the side pretty much says it all.”

  Once again Ira’s conversation left Millie feeling clueless and inept. “Careful, Ira. She’s another one of those redheads, ya know.”

  “Yeah, but rich chicks go to salons to get their hair colored. That shade of red comes from a bottle, most likely. Not that I mind.”

  Millie frowned. Ira was already adrift in his imaginings, to the point he’d forgotten all about her. How did he know that lady got her hair colored? Her bouncy ponytail was the same shade as Millie’s own hair—but of course, Plain girls wore buns with kapps covering most of their heads, so hair color wasn’t a big deal. Millie smoothed her white apron over the royal-blue dress that fell mid-calf, over black stockings that ended in simple black shoes. Even dressed in her very best, she felt mousy compared to the woman Ira was ogling.

  “Maybe ya should take me back now,” she murmured.

  Ira blinked as though coming out of a trance. “Oh. Yeah, if that’s what ya want,” he said as he got the horse going again.

  Millie pressed her mouth into a tight line. She’d hoped to stay out all afternoon and then return to Annie Mae’s wedding celebration for cake and ice cream, but she’d lost her appetite. If Ira dropped her off at her grandparents’ place, it seemed likely that Mamm—and maybe Dat—would still be there. And once Mamm asked why Millie had returned so soon, her father would resume his tirade about the company she was keeping.

  Past tense. Ira’s history now. I’m invisible to him.

  Chapter Three

  As Miriam stacked takeout boxes and foil-wrapped packets of wedding food in the Glicks’ old refrigerator, the conversation from the front room made her stiffen.

  “I’m telling ya, sure as you’re starin’ at me, Gabe, Nora was here !” Wilma Glick rasped. “She was standin’ over my bed, lookin’ right at me.”

  “That’s crazy talk and you know it!” Preacher Gabe replied gruffly. “And I’ll remind you that in this house, we don’t speak that name. I have no daughter named Nora. She’s been dead to me for more than sixteen years.”

  Miriam gripped the top of the refrigerator door, her heart thudding. When she and Ben had driven Gabe, Lizzie, and the baby over here with food for Wilma, she’d had no idea what they were walking into. Poor Wilma had been at death’s door for months, barely existing and bedridden, yet they’d found her sitting in the front room, wildly excited. What if Wilma had gone over the edge, mentally?

  But what if she hasn’t? What if Nora was peering at her—and where in the world did she come from ? And why? Oh, but this is a big can of worms to be opening—

  “Are you sure, Wilma?” her daughter-in-law asked in a tight voice. “It’s a hot day, and when you’re dehydrated you get confused—”

  “I’m not confused!” the old woman insisted. “Do ya think I don’t know my own child?”

  Miriam’s hand went to her belly, where a new baby grew. Her maternal heart sympathized deeply with Wilma Glick’s predicament. She, too, had lost a daughter—had watched her toddler Rebecca get washed downriver in a flood, more than nineteen years ago—so she knew the gut-wrenching pain of such a loss in a way Preacher Gabe would never understand. Every day she thanked God that Rebecca had miraculously returned to her last fall, after being rescued and raised by English parents.

  Was there a way to save this situation, as well? Gabe, in his Old Order male insistence on having his way, might never change his mind about having sent Nora away in her shame. But didn’t Wilma deserve to know the truth about her long-lost daughter?

  “Maybe it was Millie you saw checking on you,” Lizzie suggested gently. “She left the wedding a little bit ago—”

  “Why does no one believe me?” Wilma said, sounding close to tears. “This woman was older than Millie. It—it was like looking in a mirror, seeing myself at that age, I tell you. Except she was wearing a blue baseball cap.”

  Miriam closed the refrigerator and went to the doorway of the front room. Preacher Gabe sat in a straight-backed chair, his arms crossed tightly as he scowled into space. Lizzie stood beside her mother-in-law, rocking little Ella from side to side to keep her from getting fussy. She looked very worried. Scared, even. Ben sat with his elbows on his knees, trying to sort out the details that hadn’t been mentioned, because the scandal that had rocked Willow Ridge and the Glick family years ago predated his coming here.

  And then there was Wilma. The poor old soul looked a hundred years old, so thin and frail she resembled a skeleton wearing clothes a couple of sizes too big as she sat in an old sewing rocker. But her eyes were alight with a fire Miriam hadn’t seen there for years. She was rocking so fast that the sound of the wooden rockers on the hardwood floor filled the front room with her nervous energy.

  As Miriam joined her husband and the Glicks, the tension in the front room seemed as thick as sausage gravy with too much pepper. It was pointless to talk with Preacher Gabe, whose face remained stony as he glared through his rimless glasses, so Miriam leaned over Wilma to stop her frantic rocking. “This is a matter for you Glicks to figure out—and Ben and I need to return to the wedding,” she said as she rubbed the woman’s bony shoulders. She glanced at Lizzie. “Have you and Atlee ever mentioned Nora to Millie?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “Atlee went along with his dat’s insistence on silence, tryin’ to minimize the damage and the tongue-waggin’.”

  “Jah, my husband Jesse was the deacon then. I recall how all the church leaders agreed it was best to put Nora out of our thoughts,” Miriam replied with a sigh. “But the same sort of secret came to light when my Rebecca turned up last summer, after she’d discovered that the English woman who’d raised her wasn’t her birth mamm. I will never forget the pain on that poor child’s face,” she added emphatically.

  “I suggest ya deal with this sooner rather than later,” Ben remarked as he rose from his chair. “If our faith and our families are truly foremost in our lives, we need to fix what’s broken so we can keep rollin’ on, livin’ out God’s will for us.”

  Miriam straightened, nodding her agreement. “Not my place to tell ya what to do, but you three and Atlee need to be prepared. This is a skillet full of hot grease that’ll splatter on all of ya. But meanwhile, Wilma,” she added as she grasped the woman’s skeletal hand, “it’s real gut to see ya up and around again. I hope you’ll enjoy that food we brought ya from Annie Mae and Adam’s wedding feast.”

  Wilma’s eyes shone like tawny marbles in her withered face. “Denki for all ya do, Miriam,” she murmured. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “If ya need anything, I can be here in two shakes of a tail.” Miriam sent up a prayer that the Glicks would rely on God’s love and comfort and direction to—

  “What’s goin’ on?” came a shrill voice from the kitchen. “And who is Nora?”

  Miriam turned to see Millie standing in the doorway. As she crossed the front room ahead of Ben, wondering how much of their conversation the girl had heard, her heart rose into her throat. Millie’s freckled face, hazel eyes, and deep red hair marked her as Wilma and Atlee’s kin, as surely as Miriam’s own triplet daughters resembled their blue-eyed dat. Bless your heart, Millie, you’re the picture of your mother, last time any of us saw her, she thought.

  But she couldn’t say that out loud.

  Miriam gazed into Millie’s sweet face, which was taut with a sense that something immensely important had been discussed, and that she had been purposely left out. “Never forget that God loves ya—we all love ya—and that you’re not alone,” she murmured. “If ya need to talk, come see me. My Rebecca could help ya, too.”

  Millie’s eyes widened as she looked from Miriam to Ben. She was trembling like a frightened rabbit. “What’s goin’ on—really?” she rasped.

  “Ya need to hear about it from your family. It’ll all work out, if ya give it a chance, honey-bug.” Miriam hugged the girl and then headed for the kitchen door. H
er pulse raced as she wondered how this situation might end. The outcome all depended upon how Lizzie, Atlee, Wilma, Gabe—and Nora—handled it.

  Once outside, Ben reached for her hand. “Okay, so who is Nora?” her husband asked quietly.

  Miriam gazed across the road, past her Sweet Seasons Café and Ben’s blacksmith shop, to where dozens of buggies were still parked at Bishop Tom’s place. Dressed-up folks chatted in the shade around the Brennemans’ cabinetry shop, where they’d eaten their dinner. The people of Willow Ridge had banded together in support of Annie Mae and Adam, who had no parents to help with their wedding—and who’d come through some tough crises in their young lives to stand together in love and faith. Miriam believed her friends and neighbors would also rally around Millie and the Glicks when their story came to light, but some bumpy roads and stormy weather loomed ahead.

  “Nora is Millie’s mother. Wilma and Gabe’s daughter,” Miriam replied, gripping her husband’s hand. “She was about Millie’s age when she got pregnant. Gabe sent her out of town to Wilma’s sister’s house to have the baby—”

  “As often happens when an Amish girl’s not married,” Ben remarked.

  “Jah, and I suspect words got said and feelings got hurt before she left home. Nora had a stubborn streak every bit as deep as Gabe’s,” Miriam continued as they walked down the driveway. “He and Hiram agreed that no more was to be said about Nora in her shamed state—but about nine months later, a redheaded baby showed up on Atlee and Lizzie’s porch, in a basket. No doubt in anyone’s mind whose baby she was, and that Nora had no intention of raising her.”

  Ben’s brow furrowed as he followed these details. “So Atlee is Nora’s brother, and Millie’s uncle. And he and Lizzie have raised the girl as their own child.”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Miriam said with a sigh. “But it’s a tangled web they’ve been weavin’, goin’ along with Gabe’s demand for silence and not tellin’ Millie the truth as she got older.”

  “It’s a shame Atlee’s distanced himself from his dat and mamm, too,” Ben said. “When ya mentioned his name—back when we were votin’ on new preachers after Tom became the bishop and Gabe retired—I hardly knew who ya were talkin’ about.”

  Miriam smiled ruefully. “Atlee’s got the Glick stubborn streak, too. When he graduated from eighth grade, he started workin’ at Zeb Schrock’s auction barn, like he couldn’t get away from Preacher Gabe or the farmin’ life fast enough. Went to auctioneer school so he could take on a partnership with Zeb,” she explained. “And with the Schrocks bein’ Mennonites, Gabe considered Atlee’s career choice a slap in the face.”

  Ben thought about all these details as they crossed the county blacktop. “So who was Millie’s dat? I get the feelin’ he either had nothing to say about these events, or that he ducked his responsibility.”

  “That was another subject Gabe refused to discuss.” Miriam shrugged. “Could be that Nora wouldn’t tell who he was, to protect the boy from her dat’s anger. But truth be told, I was surprised when Nora got—She made gut grades. Got a little lippy as a teenager—like a lot of us did—but far as I know, she wasn’t datin’ anybody steady. It was a mystery. A sad chapter in the lives of the Glicks.”

  “A mystery,” Ben echoed in a lighter tone. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “God works in mysterious ways, pretty girl.”

  “We know all about that, ain’t so?” Miriam asked as she grinned up at him. “Last year at this time, who would’ve believed I’d be married to the likes of you, Bennie, much less carryin’ your baby?”

  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Miriam. Have I told ya lately that I love ya?” Ben bussed her temple and then stopped on the shoulder of the road to kiss her full on the lips.

  Miriam felt color spreading across her face. Her younger husband’s expressions of affection still made her feel as giddy as a girl, and more blessed than she could ever have imagined. “Not since, oh, maybe noon,” she teased.

  “I can’t say it too often, how you’ve turned my life around,” he murmured as he gazed into her eyes. “We can only hope that if we two love each other so much, so that all the world can see it, maybe other folks will catch on and be just as open about their feelings. Hidin’ our light—or our love—under a bushel wasn’t what God intended.”

  “Maybe it’ll be you who helps Gabe and his family accept that idea, Preacher Ben. You’re a gut man and I’m proud of ya.”

  As they approached the Brennemans’ yard, Miriam listened to their friends’ laughter drifting on the breeze. She delighted in the smiles of so many folks who’d been a part of her life nearly forever. “If Nora’s really back, we’re gonna need all the love we can muster. A big pot’s about to boil over, and a lot of folks might get scalded—and I see the fella who needs to know what’s goin’ on.”

  Miriam waved her hand high above her head to catch Tom Hostetler’s attention. He was coming up the road from his farm with a pull cart, bringing bins of his homemade ice cream to serve with the wedding cake outside the Brennemans’ shop.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two lovebirds were slippin’ away for some spoonin’,” Bishop Tom teased as he met up with them.

  “We could say the same about you and Aunt Naz, the way ya gawk at each other,” Ben countered with a chuckle. “But we drove Gabe home just now—”

  “Along with Lizzie and little Ella,” Miriam continued urgently, “and we found Wilma out of bed and in quite a state. She was carryin’ on about how Nora had leaned over her bed and gazed into her face—”

  “Nora? Why would Nora come back after all these years?” The bishop scratched his silver-shot beard. “Do ya think Wilma was in her right mind?”

  Miriam let out a little laugh. “We haven’t seen Wilma so perky in a long time. She was so excited, thinkin’ her girl had come to see her—but of course Gabe reminded her and Lizzie that they were still not discussin’ that subject. And about that time Millie was at the kitchen door, askin’ who Nora was.”

  “Uh-oh. Atlee and Lizzie have some talkin’ to do. No matter how ya slice it, Millie’s the one who’s gonna get cut.” Tom gazed out over the farmsteads around them, as if the peaceful, rolling landscape held the answers he was seeking. “If Nora wasn’t at the house when ya got there, where do ya suppose she is?”

  Chapter Four

  The hisss-POOF! of the burner on her new gas stove made Nora jump back with a startled cry. You’re going to blow this place sky-high before you even get unpacked! What were you thinking, buying a house without electricity ?

  As she put a small pan of soup on the burner, Nora shook her head. She was surrounded by her microwave, her electric can opener, her blender—all of them useless now. And why had she bought a house with such a huge kitchen? Tanner had entertained his clients in upscale restaurants, so she’d done little cooking since she’d lived in Willow Ridge as a girl. Thank goodness the real estate agent had suggested that she get a gas fridge and stove, along with some battery lamps. He hadn’t questioned her insistence on moving back to this little Amish speck in the road—because he’d been laughing all the way to the bank with his hefty commission.

  Just like Hiram’s laughing. Waiting for this situation to explode in your face.

  “Get a grip,” Nora muttered. Then she realized she’d been talking to herself ever since the moving van had pulled away an hour ago. Maybe, along with plunking down all her money on this big, impractical piece of property, she was also losing her mind.

  She stirred her soup, reminding herself that she’d handled far worse crises than a hissing gas stove and living alone. Tanner had traveled more than he’d stayed home—before he’d announced he was divorcing her to hook up with someone else. Someone more sophisticated and interesting, he’d said.

  Nora swiped at her eyes, stirring faster as the soup bubbled in the pan. It was the stress of moving—the overwhelming prospect of unpacking all these boxes—that was upsetting her. Not to mentio
n how dead her mother had looked in that bed, in that dreary house with all the windows shut tight.

  Toughen up. This is nothing compared to living at Aunt Elva’s and giving birth at sixteen, when you were clueless and scared to death. If you’re to ask forgiveness for dropping Millie on Atlee’s doorstep, you’ve got to face them all. Are you ready for that?

  Not a day had gone by that Nora hadn’t regretted abandoning her baby, but she’d been too young and upset to foresee the consequences—afraid she’d spend the rest of her miserable life without any way to support a child, beholden to her mother’s maidel sister. She’d also been too terrified to name the man who’d taken advantage of her, because he’d promised she’d go straight to hell if she did.

  You came back for Millie. To make amends . . . to tell her you love her. She’s the reason you’ll endure whatever flak they throw at you.

  What sort of a girl had Millie grown up to be? Had she done well in school? Was she happy, with lots of friends? How had she handled the chip on Atlee’s shoulder—and what if Dat never claimed her as his granddaughter? What if they all poisoned Millie’s mind against you, so she’ll never want to—

  Nora stiffened as male voices drifted through the kitchen window.

  “. . . better keep your paws off her, Ira, because I saw her first.”

  When she caught sight of her too-friendly neighbor Luke approaching with a shorter fellow, who was dressed in black-and-white church clothes, Nora groaned. Wolves coming to the door, ready to paw at her, indeed.

  Note to self: get real curtains. The narrow pulled-back panels at the edges of each window were so Amish, because they bespoke total openness and allowed no secrets—yet another irony in her life. But if she closed the windows and kept full-size curtains drawn against Luke’s curiosity, she’d get claustrophobic and die of the heat. And why, again, did you buy a house without central air?