The River by Beverly Lewis

received at Uncle Abner’s, but there wasn’t an edge to her voice, either.
    “Not too bad, really, but I guess I shouldn’t say, since Tilly was the one driving,” Ruth said, opening her arms for a quick hug. “Nice to see you, Mamm.”
    Their mother stepped back, looking them over. Then she stretched her hand out to gently cup Tilly’s chin. She smiled almost shyly at both of them as she slipped her arm around Ruth and led her inside, Tilly following behind.
    The house smelled of pot roast and carrots. And if Tilly wasn’t mistaken, she detected a cake in the enticing meld of aromas, too. Her father was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief. She thought of simply going up the back stairs with Ruthie to help her get nicely settled. Then she could slip outdoors again and sit in the car. Or take a walk.
    Yet even as she planned to do that, she saw the place where she’d always sat at the far end of the table, over on her mother’s side. This table where Tilly had felt like a duck in a flock of chickens as Daed went around the table, interacting with all of her siblings. Rarely me, she thought. Memories I’d rather forget.
    “Hope yous haven’t eaten supper,” Mamm said to Ruth, who beckoned Tilly toward the stairs with them, her eyes questioning when Tilly remained in the kitchen.
    Tilly wondered if Ruth would reveal they’d spoiled their appetite with first cheeseburgers and then the pumpkin pie and coffee Ruth had enjoyed earlier at Aunt Naomi’s table. But Ruth said nothing of the sort as she and Mamm ascended the staircase together.
    Will some of our brothers come for tonight’s meal? Tilly wondered, hoping so. While she’d yearned to be singled out by Daed as a youngster, she simply could not bear the thought of it now, having to answer one question after another—if he were to even acknowledge her presence. In fact, the anxiety over that possibility made her feel downright nauseous.
    ———
    After a few minutes standing out on the back steps, breathing in the cool autumn air, Tilly decided against waiting around for Ruth and Mamm. So she made herself scarce and hurried to the car.
    Shielding her eyes, she looked toward the nearby pastureland, where a phone shanty stood not far away. She’d used it occasionally during her teen years to call for their neighbors, or to get a ride somewhere too far to take their horse and carriage. Eager now to phone her husband, Tilly started the car and backed out of the lane, hoping Ruth would forgive her forleaving without a word. After all, Kris would surely wonder if Tilly had arrived safely, and now was an ideal time to talk.
    It didn’t take long to reach the shanty by car. When she had somewhat regained her bearings, Tilly parked on the dirt shoulder and got out to pick her way across the newly plowed field toward the familiar phone shack. Sheltered by a thicket of trees and brush, it was concealed just the way the bishop preferred—over the years, the undergrowth had nearly consumed the rustic little shed.
    She pushed open the wooden door and heard it scrape, remembering how, one summer night, she’d startled her older twin brothers, Jacob and Joseph, while they’d fussed inside, hollering at each other. Not knowing what to make of it, she’d guessed they were squabbling over the same girl. “You didn’t see us here, jah ?” Jacob had hissed in Deitsch , and she’d been good and never told on them.
    Making her way into the cramped, stuffy space, Tilly looked about her. She blinked to see Ruth’s initials etched into the wood near the receiver. Ruthie was determined to carve out her place in the world. . . . Tilly recalled how certain her sister had once been that Will Kauffman was a part of that world, until Will chose a buddy group clear out on the fringes.
    Die Youngie in the Jamborees seemed to go out of their way to emulate the English life by pushing all the boundaries of the Amish church—owning cars, wearing stylish clothing, attending