The River by Beverly Lewis Page B

farewell.
    “Would you like a lift, wherever you’re headed?”
    Josie glanced down at the dog. “That’s all right. Denki. This one needs some gut exercise, I’m thinkin’.” With that, Josie turned and headed up the road, the dog’s leash wound around her right hand.
    She ’s holding me at a distance . . . and with good reason .
    “What else can I expect?” Tilly muttered as she moved back toward her car.

    Ruth was astonished to see her former room kept precisely the way she’d left it. Never had she dreamed her mother would leave the bed positioned the same, with the headboard facing north and the matching quilt and decorative pillows set just so against the pillow shams Ruth had embroidered. Even her Amish clothing still hung where she’d left it—the for-good dresses on the wooden pegs in the far corner just across from the modest dresser. Will they still fit? she wondered.
    Ruth didn’t dare to look in the drawers, didn’t want to see the remainder of her clothing neatly folded there . . . or the shoes under the bed. Surely, they were still on the far side.
    But she tried not to reveal her astonishment as her motheroffered to help her hang up her clothes just now, not saying much.
    Later, when Ruth’s suitcase was emptied and put away for the time being, Mamm sat on the bed, seeming to want Ruth to sit with her.
    “If you’d like to take some of the items from your hope chest back with you, that’d be all right.” Mamm motioned toward the gleaming chest at the foot of the bed.
    Ruth hadn’t expected this. “Are you sure, Mamm?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “It’s just that . . .” Ruth couldn’t say, I feel unworthy.
    “You made most of what’s in there. I want you to have it.”
    “Thanks, Mamm . . . er, Denki . I appreciate it.”
    Mamm turned and remarked on the exceptionally pretty quilt’s Sunshine and Shadow pattern, and the small yet distinct flaw sewn in for good measure, as was their custom. To avoid pride.
    “We made one like this for Anna, too,” Ruth mentioned without thinking, then glanced across the hall at the closed door. “Remember?”
    “Daed and I still keep Anna’s room locked,” Mamm was quick to say. “It’s best that way.”
    Ruth was surprised. So, even that hadn’t changed. Suddenly she yearned to step inside Anna’s small room, to touch her things. “Do you ever visit her grave?” asked Ruth quietly.
    “I go.” Mamm bowed her head. “Every month on the date of Anna’s accident.”
    “So often . . .”
    “Well, someone must tend to—”
    Ruth shivered involuntarily. “But Anna’s not buried there. She was never found.”
    “Even so,” Mamm said sadly. “’Tis a mother’s duty of love.”
    It wasn’t just strange hearing her mother talk like this; it was downright crushing. Mamm’s hold on the past seemed as tight as ever. Maybe more so , Ruth thought, gritting her teeth.

Chapter 9
    O n her way back down Eden Road, Tilly noticed the lack of scarecrows and jack-o’-lanterns on the Amish and English neighbors’ porches. Given her restless and discouraged state after only a couple hours back in her original neck of the woods, she was beginning to believe she was on a futile mission. And it wasn’t as though Mamm would be keen to talk about Anna.
    No one else will be, either. . . .
    Taking her time, she drove around the area, passing several bank barns and a small sawmill, two greenhouses, and resplendent pastures dotted with brown-and-white Jersey cows. Most Amish farmers agreed that Jerseys produced milk with higher butterfat, making for creamier milk and especially rich ice cream. Her mouth watered at these thoughts.
    Later, to the familiar strains of “You Light Up My Life,” Tilly turned south onto Groff Road down near her brother Chester’s redbrick house. Two men she did not recognize stood out talking near the large bench wagon parked in the lane. So, there is church this Sunday, Tilly thought at the sight of