you can’t seem to abide by my house rules, Rhoda?”
She should’ve known he’d ask.
“You knew from the start I expected church attendance when you asked to stay here. That and your comin’ in before midnight . . . on weekdays, yet.” He stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I’m in Rumschpringe.”
“That’s the old-time ordinance.” He inhaled slowly. “The Beachys are more strict with their young people, and honestly, I think it’s mighty gut.”
“You’re askin’ to know where I go and who I’m with?” Such a strange, new way.
“I never said that, but dating’s best left to the weekends . . . there’s sleep to be had and work to be done during the week, ya know.”
She knew, all right; the late nights were catching up with her. “It’s not up to me how late I get in. Not really.” She was thinking of Ken, who wouldn’t be any too pleased at an imposed curfew. He didn’t care much for her tying up her Sundays at Preaching service for hours, either. “And I’ve changed my mind about goin’ to church.”
“Oh? Returning to Preacher Manny’s?”
She paused, feeling almost embarrassed. “I’m goin’ nowhere. For now.” Once she and Ken were married and didn’t have to see each other so late at night, she might start attending again. Maybe.
He frowned. “So this is how you got yourself kicked out at home, jah?”
Rhoda felt her face flush. “I’m twenty-two,” she said. “Shouldn’t I be able to live as I see fit?”
“Why, sure, as long as you find someplace else to do it. And I’ll give you a couple weeks to look.” He shook his head and turned to leave, muttering about not standing for rebellion under his roof.
Rhoda felt chagrined, even sad. But moments later, as she contemplated the new adventure before her, she secretly felt glad to soon be free of James’s expectations.
A small apartment is all I need, she thought, both excited and terrified.
Nellie made her way out to the road for the mail Wednesday afternoon, carrying a letter for Cousin Treva to invite her and her sisters to Rosanna King’s upcoming Sister’s Day. She’d also taken the opportunity to ask about her grandparents, Dawdi Noah and Mammi Hannah. Nellie had been tempted to write, Do they seem to miss us? But it was best not to open that all up again since her parents’ last face-to-face attempt to convince them to move back home to Honey Brook. So long ago that January visit seemed—one Nellie had missed out on altogether, having stayed too long after the common meal to dote on baby Sadie, her brother Ephram’s infant daughter. The babe was already ten weeks old now.
Perhaps she should write to Mammi Hannah herself. She could begin by asking for a few of her best-loved recipes. There had been no need back when she saw her dear grandmother every week and could simply ask if she used butter crackers or biscuits in her cracker pudding, or pecans or walnuts in her morning glory muffins. But now that Mammi was clear over in Bird-in-Hand . . . Nellie sighed at the thought.
She was sure her mother especially missed seeing Dawdi and Mammi Fisher once a week, as was their typical pattern prior to the church split. They’d always sat together following Preaching, during the common meal of cold cuts, bread, and pies. She recalled sometimes slipping over to the table where Mammi Hannah and Mamma chatted with aunts and older cousins. Often Mammi Hannah talked of the “olden days,” when boards were put in bundling beds and girls never so much as raised their eyes to a fellow at Singings. Mammi Hannah told stories at quilting bees and canning frolics, too. Once, when she was in Rumschpringe, she sneaked off with a pony cart into town to visit an antique shop, where she’d bought an old, glittering brooch. She’d secretly worn it to bed on her cotton nightgown, taking it off when the sunlight peeked under the window shades, only to hide it beneath her mattress.
Nellie longed to hear Mammi’s
She should’ve known he’d ask.
“You knew from the start I expected church attendance when you asked to stay here. That and your comin’ in before midnight . . . on weekdays, yet.” He stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I’m in Rumschpringe.”
“That’s the old-time ordinance.” He inhaled slowly. “The Beachys are more strict with their young people, and honestly, I think it’s mighty gut.”
“You’re askin’ to know where I go and who I’m with?” Such a strange, new way.
“I never said that, but dating’s best left to the weekends . . . there’s sleep to be had and work to be done during the week, ya know.”
She knew, all right; the late nights were catching up with her. “It’s not up to me how late I get in. Not really.” She was thinking of Ken, who wouldn’t be any too pleased at an imposed curfew. He didn’t care much for her tying up her Sundays at Preaching service for hours, either. “And I’ve changed my mind about goin’ to church.”
“Oh? Returning to Preacher Manny’s?”
She paused, feeling almost embarrassed. “I’m goin’ nowhere. For now.” Once she and Ken were married and didn’t have to see each other so late at night, she might start attending again. Maybe.
He frowned. “So this is how you got yourself kicked out at home, jah?”
Rhoda felt her face flush. “I’m twenty-two,” she said. “Shouldn’t I be able to live as I see fit?”
“Why, sure, as long as you find someplace else to do it. And I’ll give you a couple weeks to look.” He shook his head and turned to leave, muttering about not standing for rebellion under his roof.
Rhoda felt chagrined, even sad. But moments later, as she contemplated the new adventure before her, she secretly felt glad to soon be free of James’s expectations.
A small apartment is all I need, she thought, both excited and terrified.
Nellie made her way out to the road for the mail Wednesday afternoon, carrying a letter for Cousin Treva to invite her and her sisters to Rosanna King’s upcoming Sister’s Day. She’d also taken the opportunity to ask about her grandparents, Dawdi Noah and Mammi Hannah. Nellie had been tempted to write, Do they seem to miss us? But it was best not to open that all up again since her parents’ last face-to-face attempt to convince them to move back home to Honey Brook. So long ago that January visit seemed—one Nellie had missed out on altogether, having stayed too long after the common meal to dote on baby Sadie, her brother Ephram’s infant daughter. The babe was already ten weeks old now.
Perhaps she should write to Mammi Hannah herself. She could begin by asking for a few of her best-loved recipes. There had been no need back when she saw her dear grandmother every week and could simply ask if she used butter crackers or biscuits in her cracker pudding, or pecans or walnuts in her morning glory muffins. But now that Mammi was clear over in Bird-in-Hand . . . Nellie sighed at the thought.
She was sure her mother especially missed seeing Dawdi and Mammi Fisher once a week, as was their typical pattern prior to the church split. They’d always sat together following Preaching, during the common meal of cold cuts, bread, and pies. She recalled sometimes slipping over to the table where Mammi Hannah and Mamma chatted with aunts and older cousins. Often Mammi Hannah talked of the “olden days,” when boards were put in bundling beds and girls never so much as raised their eyes to a fellow at Singings. Mammi Hannah told stories at quilting bees and canning frolics, too. Once, when she was in Rumschpringe, she sneaked off with a pony cart into town to visit an antique shop, where she’d bought an old, glittering brooch. She’d secretly worn it to bed on her cotton nightgown, taking it off when the sunlight peeked under the window shades, only to hide it beneath her mattress.
Nellie longed to hear Mammi’s
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