gone.
Rebecca stepped forward quickly. Self-consciousness creeping over her, she hoped she hadn’t attracted too much attention by pausing too long. She really wasn’t family. Outside Leona and she waited in the line of women for Stephen to pull up with the buggy. The wait took some time as the family still needed to pass through first, leading the way to the Amish cemetery.
When the line of buggies started, Stephen took his place in line, and they climbed in with Leona’s girls in tow. The procession moved slowly down the county roads and then at a faster clip on the state road. Here they left spaces between their buggies, so cars could pass in sections.
At the gravesite a Scripture was read, Bishop Mose led another prayer, and then the coffin was lowered by ropes into the ground. Rebecca moved closer. The men and boys took turns shoveling dirt into the hole. They stopped when the mound had become rounded and left a simple wooden stake as a marker. Rebecca knew the family would place a more permanent stone later.
The crowd broke up, and the people made their way back to their buggies. Conversations were whispered. Leona and Stephen consulted with each other in the buggy and decided to go back for the prepared lunch. Rebecca had the feeling they would have gone home if she hadn’t been along. Their duties at home, no doubt, called. When Rebecca mentioned they didn’t need to return, Leona would hear nothing of it.
Back at Emma’s place, the house had been cleared of the benches, and tables were set up. Women filled the kitchen, busy with food preparation. Lunch was soon served, dished out by servers to those waiting in line.
Rebecca got her plate and for the first time looked around for familiar faces. The house was full of people. Her eyes slowly surveyed the room, as she tried not to attract attention. Although she noticed a few English faces, most of the crowd was Amish. A lot of them she knew—some were unfamiliar. The two preachers she didn’t know from the morning were over in the corner with their wives, and children gathered around them, plates of food in front of them.
Ready to sit by herself, Rebecca was startled by a touch on her elbow. In the tightness of the room, a touch was not a surprise, but this one was done with intention.
She turned toward the person and found the familiar face of Mary Coblentz, the Mennonite van driver she met last year.
“I’ve been watching you all day,” Mary whispered, her hand empty of a plate. “Never had a chance to get close enough. I hoped you would be here.”
“Hi,” was all Rebecca managed, caught up in the memory of the conversations she had with Mary and of Mary’s connections with Atlee.
“Let me get some food,” Mary said. “Hold a spot for me beside you.”
Rebecca nodded and found her way to an empty bench. The girl behind her fully intended to fill the bench, until Rebecca smiled and said, “There’s someone coming.”
The girl nodded and left a space. On the other side of the table, the bench was full of older women, some of whom she knew and smiled in her direction.
Mary, her plate full of food, easily slipped in a moment later. The women across the table gave her glances. Mary’s age, Rebecca knew, caused questions, and so she supplied the women with the information they obviously needed.
“You driving a load?” Rebecca asked Mary, loudly enough to be heard across the table.
“Holmes County,” Mary said with equal volume, as if she knew the purpose of the question. “Had a bishop and his wife along, a couple of young people, and a deacon too, I think. Quite a load. Going back in the morning first thing.”
Mary chuckled at her own joke, and the women lost immediate interest, just as Rebecca had hoped. A van driver had a perfectly legitimate reason to be here even if she was young. The murmur of the conversation on the other side of the table picked up, and Rebecca and Mary were left alone to visit.
“You staying around
Rebecca stepped forward quickly. Self-consciousness creeping over her, she hoped she hadn’t attracted too much attention by pausing too long. She really wasn’t family. Outside Leona and she waited in the line of women for Stephen to pull up with the buggy. The wait took some time as the family still needed to pass through first, leading the way to the Amish cemetery.
When the line of buggies started, Stephen took his place in line, and they climbed in with Leona’s girls in tow. The procession moved slowly down the county roads and then at a faster clip on the state road. Here they left spaces between their buggies, so cars could pass in sections.
At the gravesite a Scripture was read, Bishop Mose led another prayer, and then the coffin was lowered by ropes into the ground. Rebecca moved closer. The men and boys took turns shoveling dirt into the hole. They stopped when the mound had become rounded and left a simple wooden stake as a marker. Rebecca knew the family would place a more permanent stone later.
The crowd broke up, and the people made their way back to their buggies. Conversations were whispered. Leona and Stephen consulted with each other in the buggy and decided to go back for the prepared lunch. Rebecca had the feeling they would have gone home if she hadn’t been along. Their duties at home, no doubt, called. When Rebecca mentioned they didn’t need to return, Leona would hear nothing of it.
Back at Emma’s place, the house had been cleared of the benches, and tables were set up. Women filled the kitchen, busy with food preparation. Lunch was soon served, dished out by servers to those waiting in line.
Rebecca got her plate and for the first time looked around for familiar faces. The house was full of people. Her eyes slowly surveyed the room, as she tried not to attract attention. Although she noticed a few English faces, most of the crowd was Amish. A lot of them she knew—some were unfamiliar. The two preachers she didn’t know from the morning were over in the corner with their wives, and children gathered around them, plates of food in front of them.
Ready to sit by herself, Rebecca was startled by a touch on her elbow. In the tightness of the room, a touch was not a surprise, but this one was done with intention.
She turned toward the person and found the familiar face of Mary Coblentz, the Mennonite van driver she met last year.
“I’ve been watching you all day,” Mary whispered, her hand empty of a plate. “Never had a chance to get close enough. I hoped you would be here.”
“Hi,” was all Rebecca managed, caught up in the memory of the conversations she had with Mary and of Mary’s connections with Atlee.
“Let me get some food,” Mary said. “Hold a spot for me beside you.”
Rebecca nodded and found her way to an empty bench. The girl behind her fully intended to fill the bench, until Rebecca smiled and said, “There’s someone coming.”
The girl nodded and left a space. On the other side of the table, the bench was full of older women, some of whom she knew and smiled in her direction.
Mary, her plate full of food, easily slipped in a moment later. The women across the table gave her glances. Mary’s age, Rebecca knew, caused questions, and so she supplied the women with the information they obviously needed.
“You driving a load?” Rebecca asked Mary, loudly enough to be heard across the table.
“Holmes County,” Mary said with equal volume, as if she knew the purpose of the question. “Had a bishop and his wife along, a couple of young people, and a deacon too, I think. Quite a load. Going back in the morning first thing.”
Mary chuckled at her own joke, and the women lost immediate interest, just as Rebecca had hoped. A van driver had a perfectly legitimate reason to be here even if she was young. The murmur of the conversation on the other side of the table picked up, and Rebecca and Mary were left alone to visit.
“You staying around
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