hadnât been opened since the day she had died.
Until today. He rubbed one hand over his face, but the memory of his daughtersâ tearful faces remained. Opening this chest had been like opening a Pandoraâs box, releasing grief and sadness into the house all over again.
Was it wrong to save Salomeâs dresses and the few things he had found in her dresser drawers? He couldnât bear to just dispose of them as if she had never lived, had never been his wife, had never been the mother to his children.
He smoothed the top of the chest before lifting it. Salomeâs Sunday dress, kapp and apron lay on top. Underneath were her everyday dresses, and beneath them were her diary, letters from the round robin she had belonged to from the time she was Nancy and Nellieâs age and a little faded dressâthe first she had sewn for her doll when she was a child.
The sum of a womanâs life in a little box.
All his anger evaporated and he closed the chest. Salome was gone and he missed her, but it was time to go on. It was what she had wanted, and what he intended to do. His children needed him.
He rose and walked to the window. Gray clouds met the horizon in an indistinct line of blowing snow. Through the fencerow he could see Salomeâs childhood home, sold now to Englischers since her parents were gone and her brothers had all moved west to Kansas. He had spent so many hours there as a child, playing with Salomeâs brothers, and then later while he and Salome were courting. Until she passed away last year, there hadnât been a day of his life that she hadnât been a part of.
He missed her. He missed her companionship, her laugh and her love for their children, but he wouldnât want to call her back from the blessed place where she was now. He hadnât realized how sick she had been. Since before Sam was born she had been wasting away, but he had blamed it on a difficult pregnancy, and then she had trouble recovering, until he finally had to admit her illness was more than a passing weakness. She faded away gradually, slowly, without realizing he was losing her until it was too late. She had suffered greatly in those last months while rounds of doctor visits and medicines had been useless. He would never wish that time back again.
Levi took in the room around him. He had kept his clothes on one peg, in one half of the dresser. He slept on one side of the bed. The room was waiting for another wife, another mother for his children. Would he ever find someone who could step into Salomeâs place?
* * *
The girls stood in the kitchen, their faces white and drawn.
âIs Dat all right?â Waneta asked as Ruthy came into the room.
Was he all right? She had never seen a man look as wretched as Levi Zook when he slammed the door in her face.
âHe will be.â Ruthy tried to smile to reassure the girls, but they only exchanged glances with each other.
Ruthy looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. âItâs nearly noon. The chili soup is done, so why donât you girls set the table. Waneta, we can have bread with the soup, and Martha, if you would please bring up a jar of prune plums from down cellar, we can have a nice hot dinner.â
Her face burned as the girls started their tasks and Ruthy hurried through the kitchen to the Dawdi Haus . Her rooms were cold, but silent and empty. She threw herself onto her bed and let the tears flow.
Why had she let the girls go into his room? They had intruded into Levi Zookâs bedroom, pried into his belongings and disturbed his peace. He had every right to be angry with her, didnât he? But she had never seen a man act as Levi Zook had. Was this what grief brought a man to?
Ruthyâs tears slowed as she considered his point of view. She was still a stranger, and yet she was watching his girls pry into his dead wifeâs things. She should have stopped them, she should have taken them away as soon as she
Until today. He rubbed one hand over his face, but the memory of his daughtersâ tearful faces remained. Opening this chest had been like opening a Pandoraâs box, releasing grief and sadness into the house all over again.
Was it wrong to save Salomeâs dresses and the few things he had found in her dresser drawers? He couldnât bear to just dispose of them as if she had never lived, had never been his wife, had never been the mother to his children.
He smoothed the top of the chest before lifting it. Salomeâs Sunday dress, kapp and apron lay on top. Underneath were her everyday dresses, and beneath them were her diary, letters from the round robin she had belonged to from the time she was Nancy and Nellieâs age and a little faded dressâthe first she had sewn for her doll when she was a child.
The sum of a womanâs life in a little box.
All his anger evaporated and he closed the chest. Salome was gone and he missed her, but it was time to go on. It was what she had wanted, and what he intended to do. His children needed him.
He rose and walked to the window. Gray clouds met the horizon in an indistinct line of blowing snow. Through the fencerow he could see Salomeâs childhood home, sold now to Englischers since her parents were gone and her brothers had all moved west to Kansas. He had spent so many hours there as a child, playing with Salomeâs brothers, and then later while he and Salome were courting. Until she passed away last year, there hadnât been a day of his life that she hadnât been a part of.
He missed her. He missed her companionship, her laugh and her love for their children, but he wouldnât want to call her back from the blessed place where she was now. He hadnât realized how sick she had been. Since before Sam was born she had been wasting away, but he had blamed it on a difficult pregnancy, and then she had trouble recovering, until he finally had to admit her illness was more than a passing weakness. She faded away gradually, slowly, without realizing he was losing her until it was too late. She had suffered greatly in those last months while rounds of doctor visits and medicines had been useless. He would never wish that time back again.
Levi took in the room around him. He had kept his clothes on one peg, in one half of the dresser. He slept on one side of the bed. The room was waiting for another wife, another mother for his children. Would he ever find someone who could step into Salomeâs place?
* * *
The girls stood in the kitchen, their faces white and drawn.
âIs Dat all right?â Waneta asked as Ruthy came into the room.
Was he all right? She had never seen a man look as wretched as Levi Zook when he slammed the door in her face.
âHe will be.â Ruthy tried to smile to reassure the girls, but they only exchanged glances with each other.
Ruthy looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. âItâs nearly noon. The chili soup is done, so why donât you girls set the table. Waneta, we can have bread with the soup, and Martha, if you would please bring up a jar of prune plums from down cellar, we can have a nice hot dinner.â
Her face burned as the girls started their tasks and Ruthy hurried through the kitchen to the Dawdi Haus . Her rooms were cold, but silent and empty. She threw herself onto her bed and let the tears flow.
Why had she let the girls go into his room? They had intruded into Levi Zookâs bedroom, pried into his belongings and disturbed his peace. He had every right to be angry with her, didnât he? But she had never seen a man act as Levi Zook had. Was this what grief brought a man to?
Ruthyâs tears slowed as she considered his point of view. She was still a stranger, and yet she was watching his girls pry into his dead wifeâs things. She should have stopped them, she should have taken them away as soon as she
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