light. Spying people rushing in and out to mail their letters and packages, Katherine's thoughts wandered back to the letter she and Rosie had concocted for Mary, and wondered whether or not it had been delivered to the Hickory Hollow address.
She could only hope that her friend might receive it with all the love that was intended, and that it might not pose a problem for one so dear.
104
105
Mary's bedroom--with only a bed, a small table next to it, an upright cane chair, and a narrow dresser with a medium- sized mirror attached--was nearly bare. She wasn't bothered by the room's simple furnishings. Rather, she liked the openness, preferred the expanse of the hardwood floor to fancy rugs and coverings.
She wrapped herself in a quilt and sat on the edge of her small bed, kischblich--silly--with delight. Tomorrow, here, in this house, she would come face-to-face with John Beiler again. Oh, she could hardly stand the thought of wasting the night by sleeping through it, not with the moon coming in through the window like a spotlight on her soul!
The quilt dragged behind her as she went to the window and stared out at the barnyard and on past the tobacco shed and beyond, where the land lay open in wide, sweeping patches. Snow lay heavy on the ground and in the distance, against the evening sky, two bright stars grinned down at her.
It was cold in the room, yet she shivered with joy, remembering the obnoxious way her muscles had tensed up on the ride back from the bank with Bishop John last Saturday afternoon, already one week ago. Seemed like just
106
yesterday, and she held her breath in anticipation of the People coming for preaching tomorrow. More than that, she hoped to hear for certain that the bishop was actually going over to Schaefferstown, to attend the funeral of an old preacher friend. She'd overheard such talk at the General Store two days ago when young Levi Beiler, while chatting with Preacher Yoder, had said that his father was off to a funeral come Monday.
Her ears perked up right good as she crouched down behind a row of sacked sugar, eavesdropping on Levi and the preacher.
"I s'pose your pop'll be needin' someone to watch over you younguns while he's gone," said Preacher Yoder.
Levi nodded absentmindedly, reaching over to lift the glass lid off the peppermint sticks. "Daed's got someone in mind for us, all right."
Mary's heart leaped up at the boy's words. Who was the bishop thinking of asking? Did John have her in mind to stay with his brood?
She turned from the window and scurried across the floor, removing the quilt she'd wrapped herself in and placing it on top of the pile of quilts that draped over the single bed. Then, because the floor was ice-cold, she slipped under the sheets to say her prayers. The Good Lord would surely understand. This night, this moonbeam-filled night, she would pray under the warmth of her mamma's and Mammi Ruth's quilts, thanking the Lord God heavenly Father for His watchcare over her life. And... over John's.
Around midnigtat, Mary was still lying awake, wide-eyed in the scant light of a fading moon. She had devised various ways lately to occupy her mind when she suffered from insomnia. One way was to think of the days when she and Katie were little girls. Her favorite memory, among many, was the summer night they'd sneaked away from a picnic at the Lapps' place. Making sure no one noticed, she and Katie
107
had run down the mule road that led to the cornfield, past the clearing, and toward the deep, wide pond with its cloistered island.
Under a fingernail of a moon, they'd rowed out on the slow water in the old boat, whispering and giggling to each other. When they reached the middle, Katie decided they wouldn't row all the way to the island but should stop and just drift along, lying back, staring up at hundreds of light points in the silvery sky.
Neither of them spoke for a time, then Katie sneezed, and the sound echoed across the water like ripples. Mary got
She could only hope that her friend might receive it with all the love that was intended, and that it might not pose a problem for one so dear.
104
105
Mary's bedroom--with only a bed, a small table next to it, an upright cane chair, and a narrow dresser with a medium- sized mirror attached--was nearly bare. She wasn't bothered by the room's simple furnishings. Rather, she liked the openness, preferred the expanse of the hardwood floor to fancy rugs and coverings.
She wrapped herself in a quilt and sat on the edge of her small bed, kischblich--silly--with delight. Tomorrow, here, in this house, she would come face-to-face with John Beiler again. Oh, she could hardly stand the thought of wasting the night by sleeping through it, not with the moon coming in through the window like a spotlight on her soul!
The quilt dragged behind her as she went to the window and stared out at the barnyard and on past the tobacco shed and beyond, where the land lay open in wide, sweeping patches. Snow lay heavy on the ground and in the distance, against the evening sky, two bright stars grinned down at her.
It was cold in the room, yet she shivered with joy, remembering the obnoxious way her muscles had tensed up on the ride back from the bank with Bishop John last Saturday afternoon, already one week ago. Seemed like just
106
yesterday, and she held her breath in anticipation of the People coming for preaching tomorrow. More than that, she hoped to hear for certain that the bishop was actually going over to Schaefferstown, to attend the funeral of an old preacher friend. She'd overheard such talk at the General Store two days ago when young Levi Beiler, while chatting with Preacher Yoder, had said that his father was off to a funeral come Monday.
Her ears perked up right good as she crouched down behind a row of sacked sugar, eavesdropping on Levi and the preacher.
"I s'pose your pop'll be needin' someone to watch over you younguns while he's gone," said Preacher Yoder.
Levi nodded absentmindedly, reaching over to lift the glass lid off the peppermint sticks. "Daed's got someone in mind for us, all right."
Mary's heart leaped up at the boy's words. Who was the bishop thinking of asking? Did John have her in mind to stay with his brood?
She turned from the window and scurried across the floor, removing the quilt she'd wrapped herself in and placing it on top of the pile of quilts that draped over the single bed. Then, because the floor was ice-cold, she slipped under the sheets to say her prayers. The Good Lord would surely understand. This night, this moonbeam-filled night, she would pray under the warmth of her mamma's and Mammi Ruth's quilts, thanking the Lord God heavenly Father for His watchcare over her life. And... over John's.
Around midnigtat, Mary was still lying awake, wide-eyed in the scant light of a fading moon. She had devised various ways lately to occupy her mind when she suffered from insomnia. One way was to think of the days when she and Katie were little girls. Her favorite memory, among many, was the summer night they'd sneaked away from a picnic at the Lapps' place. Making sure no one noticed, she and Katie
107
had run down the mule road that led to the cornfield, past the clearing, and toward the deep, wide pond with its cloistered island.
Under a fingernail of a moon, they'd rowed out on the slow water in the old boat, whispering and giggling to each other. When they reached the middle, Katie decided they wouldn't row all the way to the island but should stop and just drift along, lying back, staring up at hundreds of light points in the silvery sky.
Neither of them spoke for a time, then Katie sneezed, and the sound echoed across the water like ripples. Mary got
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