sensible young lady."
"I honestly don't know how sensible I am anymore," Katherine remarked. "Sometimes I wonder if I oughtn't to just call up that number again, ya know?"
Lydia nodded, looking a bit worried. "I certainly hope your Laura hasn't..." Her voice trailed off.
"I've been thinking the same thing," Katherine admitted. "If she's dying, like Mamma said she was ... well,
60
there's no tellin' how long she has to live." She rose and dished up seconds for herself and her relatives. "Seems to me I oughta think about getting up some courage. I'd hate to miss seem' her alive. Really I would."
Katherine paused, glancing out the window for a moment. "I guess I'm thinkin' that if someone as powerful- close to you as your own birth mother dies before you can ever make peace with her, well.., fer die Katz. It's no good. No good at all."
Lydia sighed. "Far be it from me to disagree." She adjusted her glasses. "So are you saying you might be leaving
US?"
Before Katherine could answer, Peter spoke up. "Don't you think somebody--a relative or someone--oughta ride along with you, if you go?" His blue eyes were wide with near-parental concern. "Seem' as how the rest of your family-" He stopped short of uttering the dismal word.
Still, Katherine knew exactly what the tall, blond man was about to say. He was right, of course. She was a shunned woman with no moral support whatsoever. Except for Mary's Christmas card and that sweet but awkward note, Katherine had heard nothing from the Amish community.
She wasn't surprised. This was the way shunnings were. The transgressor went into a tailspin, fretting over his or her loss of family--and the ability to buy and sell from anyone in the community, too. Lots of times, the frustration alone was effective enough to bring a sinner back.
Katherine noticed Lydia's head covering was slightly askew. "There's no rush, really," said Lydia. "You could stay here over Christmas . . . and be thinkin' about what to do after that."
"There is a rush, ya know," Katherine reminded her, settling down at the table with her second plate of scrambled eggs. "But thanks for your kindness."
61
"I'll drive you into town whenever," Peter volunteered. "You just say the word."
"Monday." The word spilled out almost before Katherine realized what she was doing. "I'll call tonight and see about bus fare."
"At least, you'll have Sunday with us," Lydia said, smiling.
Katherine was genuinely glad for that. The Millers' church meeting and Sunday school was like no other. What singing! And, oh, how the people got up and testified. It was like going to heaven before you died.
When Peter offered to help purchase her ticket, she declined. "I still owe you money for all the telephone calls." She paused, looking at one, then the other of her relatives- turned-friends seated across the table. "I owe you both so much," she whispered. "Denki for everything."
"You know you're always welcome here," Lydia said, and Katherine saw that the corners of her eyes glistened.
"I know that, and it means ever so much." She stared at the black coffee in Lydia's cup and struggled to control her own tears. The Millers' kindness and that of her Amish friend--the secret card and note from Mary--were almost more than she could bear.
Quietly, she excused herself and left the table.
While her baby slept in his cradle nearby, Annie Lapp thumbed through a pile of Christmas cards. The one from her husband's parents stood out as the loveliest of them all, but when she opened to the greeting, she realized how very odd the signatures looked to her. Ach, there wasn't one thing wrong with the way Rebecca Lapp had signed her and Samuel's names, and the boys--Eli and Benjamin.
It was Katie's name that was so obviously missing, and
62
that fact alone made Annie remember the events of her sister-in-law's excommunication from the church and the shunning, too--all over again.
She arranged the cards on a string she'd put up across one side of the
"I honestly don't know how sensible I am anymore," Katherine remarked. "Sometimes I wonder if I oughtn't to just call up that number again, ya know?"
Lydia nodded, looking a bit worried. "I certainly hope your Laura hasn't..." Her voice trailed off.
"I've been thinking the same thing," Katherine admitted. "If she's dying, like Mamma said she was ... well,
60
there's no tellin' how long she has to live." She rose and dished up seconds for herself and her relatives. "Seems to me I oughta think about getting up some courage. I'd hate to miss seem' her alive. Really I would."
Katherine paused, glancing out the window for a moment. "I guess I'm thinkin' that if someone as powerful- close to you as your own birth mother dies before you can ever make peace with her, well.., fer die Katz. It's no good. No good at all."
Lydia sighed. "Far be it from me to disagree." She adjusted her glasses. "So are you saying you might be leaving
US?"
Before Katherine could answer, Peter spoke up. "Don't you think somebody--a relative or someone--oughta ride along with you, if you go?" His blue eyes were wide with near-parental concern. "Seem' as how the rest of your family-" He stopped short of uttering the dismal word.
Still, Katherine knew exactly what the tall, blond man was about to say. He was right, of course. She was a shunned woman with no moral support whatsoever. Except for Mary's Christmas card and that sweet but awkward note, Katherine had heard nothing from the Amish community.
She wasn't surprised. This was the way shunnings were. The transgressor went into a tailspin, fretting over his or her loss of family--and the ability to buy and sell from anyone in the community, too. Lots of times, the frustration alone was effective enough to bring a sinner back.
Katherine noticed Lydia's head covering was slightly askew. "There's no rush, really," said Lydia. "You could stay here over Christmas . . . and be thinkin' about what to do after that."
"There is a rush, ya know," Katherine reminded her, settling down at the table with her second plate of scrambled eggs. "But thanks for your kindness."
61
"I'll drive you into town whenever," Peter volunteered. "You just say the word."
"Monday." The word spilled out almost before Katherine realized what she was doing. "I'll call tonight and see about bus fare."
"At least, you'll have Sunday with us," Lydia said, smiling.
Katherine was genuinely glad for that. The Millers' church meeting and Sunday school was like no other. What singing! And, oh, how the people got up and testified. It was like going to heaven before you died.
When Peter offered to help purchase her ticket, she declined. "I still owe you money for all the telephone calls." She paused, looking at one, then the other of her relatives- turned-friends seated across the table. "I owe you both so much," she whispered. "Denki for everything."
"You know you're always welcome here," Lydia said, and Katherine saw that the corners of her eyes glistened.
"I know that, and it means ever so much." She stared at the black coffee in Lydia's cup and struggled to control her own tears. The Millers' kindness and that of her Amish friend--the secret card and note from Mary--were almost more than she could bear.
Quietly, she excused herself and left the table.
While her baby slept in his cradle nearby, Annie Lapp thumbed through a pile of Christmas cards. The one from her husband's parents stood out as the loveliest of them all, but when she opened to the greeting, she realized how very odd the signatures looked to her. Ach, there wasn't one thing wrong with the way Rebecca Lapp had signed her and Samuel's names, and the boys--Eli and Benjamin.
It was Katie's name that was so obviously missing, and
62
that fact alone made Annie remember the events of her sister-in-law's excommunication from the church and the shunning, too--all over again.
She arranged the cards on a string she'd put up across one side of the
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