A Promise for Miriam Read online

  All of it was God’s handiwork. Closing her eyes, she whispered a short prayer for her parents, her students, and even for herself.

  Miriam didn’t claim to fully understand why her life was different than other women her age, but at times like this it didn’t seem to matter. She could trust that God had a plan, and that He would let her in on it eventually.

  A light wind pulled at her robe, and she laughed at herself, standing in the cold when a hot breakfast was on the table.

  Abigail turned from the stove and tossed her daughter the same smile she’d been giving the past twenty-six years, or at least it seemed Miriam could remember it from birth. Slight like Miriam, her light -brown hair was tucked under a white prayer kapp, and she wore a dark-gray dress with a black apron.

  Today they would cook, clean, and prepare for tomorrow’s church services.

  “Gudemariye,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I thought you might sleep a bit later after your hard week of teaching.”

  “You know I can’t sleep late once I smell your cooking.” Miriam poured kaffi from the pot sitting on the stove and then kissed her mother’s cheek before peeking in the oven. Biscuits golden and risen to perfection winked back at her.

  “As tired as you looked when you arrived last night, perhaps I should have done my best to see that you did sleep in a bit.” Abigail nudged her out of the way and retrieved the pan of biscuits. “If it’s the cooking that woke you, I could have served your father porridge and cold biscuits.”

  “What would I have done to deserve such a thing, Abigail Ruth?” Joshua asked as he banged into the kitchen. He barely managed to hang his hat on its peg before Miriam engulfed him in a hug.

  She paused at the back door only long enough to glance out and see that Pepper had followed her father to the house and remained at the back step, ever vigilant and faithful to her family. The German shorthaired pointer had been the smallest of a litter born one spring when Miriam was sixteen. The dog had grown into a beauty and won the entire family’s heart.

  “You deserve sausage, biscuits, and more,” Miriam said to her father, walking him to the table and pouring him a hot mug of kaffi. “I was complaining to Mother that the smells from the kitchen woke me.”

  “Doesn’t sound like my girl to be grumbling about anything, much less a hot meal,” Joshua said, smiling. He ran his fingers through his coal-black beard, which had begun to show streaks of gray the last few years.

  Miriam received her size and skill with knitting needles from her mother. From her father she’d inherited her black hair and a rarely seen but volatile temper.

  Joshua reached for the sugar bowl and added a single, level teaspoon to his mug. She’d never thought of her father as old, but a recent visit to the Englisch doctor had revealed he suffered from borderline diabetes. He’d taken the doctor’s advice seriously and cut back on all of his refined sugars, though apparently he was still eating everything else he was used to.

  “Your bruders will be here in another hour,” Abigail said to Miriam as she placed platters of sausage, scrambled eggs, and the hot biscuits on the table. “They’re going to help prepare the house for the church service tomorrow. Your dat especially needs extra hands clearing out the barn for the luncheon.”

  “Simon’s coming later today?” Miriam asked, trying to stuff a biscuit into her mouth, take a swallow of kaffi, and reach for her napkin at the same time.

  “Ya.” Abigail pulled the syrup across the table to add a dab on the corner of her plate before passing it on to Miriam. “He asked for time off at the store and worked extra all week so the owner wouldn’t mind him being gone today.”

  “It’s hard to believe he’ll be married in the spring.” Miriam scooped eggs on her plate and added a single piece of sausage. Sinking back in her chair and pulling her mug of kaffi toward her, she thought of Simon marrying and having children. For reasons she couldn’t explain, the idea brought to mind Gabriel Miller.

  “Your brother has turned twenty-two. He’s plenty old enough to marry.” Joshua’s gaze traveled from her to the plate of biscuits and then back to her again. “You tumbled into bed as soon as you arrived last night. Was school more difficult than usual last week?”

  Miriam stared down into her kaffi. She had wanted to talk to her parents about Gabe, but now that she had the perfect opportunity, she wasn’t sure exactly what to say.

  His parting words to “focus on her job” rang in her ears, and she once again felt the anger she’d struggled with as she’d driven to her parents’ home.

  “Do you know Gabriel Miller? The man who bought Mr. Kline’s farm?”

  Joshua studied her, and then he returned to eating his meal in silence. Miriam decided that perhaps he wasn’t going to answer her question. With her father, it was often that way. Sometimes he merely moved on to another subject.

  This morning, though, after he had finished his breakfast, he looked out the window, out over the fields covered with snow, and said, “I went by and met the man. He didn’t have much to say.”

  “That farm is a near total loss,” Abigail added. “Everyone around these parts knows that—Amish or Englisch. Your father offered to help him, but apparently he wasn’t interested.”

  Joshua shrugged, stood, and set his dishes in the sink. “The man has a right to do things his own way.”

  He paused long enough to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I wasn’t aware Miller had a child in the school. Is that what this is about?”

  “Yes. He has a girl, eight years old. Her name is Grace.” Miriam thought of adding that there had been no sign of a Mrs. Miller. She considered telling her parents that Grace didn’t speak. And she wanted to admit she wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, especially after last night’s visit at the Miller home.

  As the morning light bathed the kitchen, her father said, “We’ll be the best neighbors we can be to them.” Then he turned, retrieved his hat, and walked back out into the cold morning.

  Her mother began clearing the dishes, humming to herself as she worked.

  That was the way things were with her parents. They had the ability to accept things as they were—something Miriam hadn’t quite mastered yet.

  But her father’s words echoed in her mind as she cleaned the floors, scrubbed the counters, and then helped prepare lunch for her three brothers. Later that afternoon she went out to the barn and spent twenty minutes with Pepper—brushing him, playing fetch, and enjoying the feel of him flopped across her feet. Even while she was resting, her mind went back and dwelled on what her father had said. Being good neighbors was the most they could do at this point—and being a good teacher should be her main goal at work.

  At least until Gabe was willing to let them do more.

  Perhaps tomorrow’s service would reveal additional information about the mystery of Grace and Gabe and the missing Mrs. Miller. Would it be useful in helping Grace?

  That was something she’d have to wait to find out, and Miriam was learning a truth about herself—besides not wanting to accept things as they were, she was also not good at waiting.

  Gabe would have preferred to stay home on Sunday morning.

  Saturday he had worked from before sunrise until late into the evening, as he did every day, pausing long enough to feed Gracie, compliment her drawings, and peer into the small wooden box she was hovering over. It held a mouse. He’d suggested she add some straw and a bit of cheese and water if she was sure she wanted to keep the tiny gray thing.

  Her smile was all the answer he needed.

  He knew there was no avoiding church Sunday morning. The bishop had been by earlier in the week and all but exacted a promise from him.

  The promise he’d given to Bishop Zeke back in Indiana was something he considered a serious matter. More important even than that, though, was the vow he’d given to both his mother and Hope’s mother. That memory weighed on him heavier than the work that waited to be done. He’d given his word that Grace would be brought up
properly and raised correctly in the faith, and he’d see to it that she was. The fact that he’d have to endure the looks of strangers and the sympathy of yet another community was a small thing.

  He’d endured worse.

  Running his finger under the collar of his best shirt, the same shirt he’d worn to take Gracie to school the first day, he went through a mental checklist before they left the house.

  The fire was banked in the stove.

  He’d taken care of the animals for the day.

  Gracie wore her best clothes and waited patiently by the front door, studying him curiously.

  Gracie.

  He’d meant to talk to her before they set off for the service. Walking across the sitting room, he stopped in front of her and crouched down so that they were eye to eye. As usual, when he looked at her like this, when he stopped to slow down and consider how quickly she was growing before his very eyes, she reminded him of her mother. Gracie had Hope’s warm brown eyes and beautiful features—a petite nose, small chin, and even the same smattering of freckles across her cheeks.

  The single difference was the color of her hair. Hope’s brown hair had been quite light, almost blonde, where Gracie’s was dark-brown like his. The morning she was born, when the midwife had placed their new infant in Hope’s arms, his wife had gazed up at him and whispered, “Isn’t she a little angel, Gabe? Her hair is like the chestnut pony’s, and like yours.”

  Looking into his daughter’s expectant eyes now, it seemed as though Gabe could feel his wife’s hand on his arm and hear her voice in his ear.

  He drew in a deep breath and focused on what needed to be said.

  “You know we’re going to church this morning?”

  Gracie nodded.

  “And you remember the way church services are done from our time in Indiana?”

  This time Gracie smiled and held up the Bible she carried. It had been a parting gift from his mother.

  “Ya, that’s gut, but what I mean to say is that you’ll be sitting with the women and children, and I’ll be sitting with the men.” When concern wiped the smile off her face, he hurried on. “Today’s service is at Mr. King’s place. He is your teacher’s dat, so maybe you’ll be able to sit with her or with some of her family.”

  Gracie stood completely still now, almost as if she were playing frozen angels out in the snow, except Gabe couldn’t remember a time he’d actually seen her playing outdoors with other kinner. He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on preparing her for the morning.

  “The bishop will introduce us. When he does, I want you to come down and stand with me. I’ve asked him…” Gabe stared out the window, out at the farm that was to hold such promise. “I’ve asked him to tell no more than he feels he has to about…about your mamm, but I didn’t want you to be surprised when you heard him speak her name. I know it’s not something we mention often.” This last part he added in almost a whisper.

  Quiet enveloped them.

  He thought for a moment Gracie might speak—a hope that was always in his heart—but she didn’t. They stood there, watching each other, mirroring each other’s loss. Gabe slowly became aware of the soft crackling of the fire he’d banked inside the iron stove, a light breeze stirring a branch against the roof of the house, one of the horses neighing in the barn.

  Gracie surprised him when she set her Bible on the floor, placed both of her hands against his cheeks and pressed her forehead against his. They remained that way for another moment, until they both seemed to sense that it was time to go.

  She combed her fingers through his beard once, the way she often had as a small child, and then she retrieved her Bible and walked ahead of him out into the bright winter morning.

  Gabe wished with all that was within him that he knew what was going on within the child’s mind.

  As he drove the buggy toward the Kings’ home, his mind went back over his conversation with Miriam on Friday evening. Was he wrong? Would it be better to take the child to an Englisch doctor? But his heart told him there was nothing physically wrong with Gracie. And as for the emotional things—well, they were both wounded, and wounds took time to heal.

  Pulling into the lane that led up to the Kings’ house, he resolved to hold his stance against the schoolteacher. No doubt she meant well, but he’d spent the last three years suffering through the attentions of people who meant well, both Amish and Englisch. He and Grace had come to Wisconsin to escape that, and he wasn’t going to let one snippet of a girl, even if she was a teacher, stir up that particular nightmare all over again.

  Chapter 4

  Grace listened to the words of the Loblied, the second hymn of praise sung in every church service she’d ever attended. Though the service was conducted entirely in German, she had no trouble following along. Her grossmammis had taught her well in the old language.

  All of that had been before she’d attended her old school.

  Before she’d learned to stand against the looks of other children—the looks and harsh words.

  Before her family had decided to teach her at home. Years before they had moved to this new place, with its colder winter and different ways. Here in Wisconsin, even the sounds were different in her ears.

  But the words to the hymn—the old language—she recognized and knew.

  Hearing them was like being wrapped in one of her grossmammi’s familiar worn quilts. Not the new ones packed and waiting in a chest for the next wedding. No, Grace preferred the old ones, with the occasional stain or worn spot. When she was covered with them, she was surrounded by the smells of people she loved—people who loved her.

  That’s what the words of the Loblied meant to her, and though she knew her dad would rather have stayed home and worked in the sad old barn, she preferred being here.

  The voices around her rose in a chorus of sound, and it seemed to Grace as if she were singing with them.

  She didn’t.

  At moments like this, she had to make sure she pushed her teeth together, lest some noise escape that would embarrass her father. The last thing she wanted to do on this day was cause him more hurt. She’d seen by the way he spoke to her that the morning would be difficult enough.

  For her part, Grace liked new things and new people. She even liked the sad barn and the droopy house.

  She had looked forward to church since they had arrived in Pebble Creek eleven days ago.

  But this morning there had been no time to draw a picture and tell him that, so she’d done the next best thing—she’d put her hands on his face and tried to tell him with her eyes.

  He’d seemed to understand, for he’d smiled at her and his eyes had grown crinkly the way they did when the crops grew tall or the rain came down in proper amounts.

  As the song ended and they sat on the long wooden benches brought into the house for the service, Miriam’s mother smiled at her. Grace liked sitting near Abigail. That was the name she was supposed to say—though of course there was no way for her to say it. Abigail smelled nice, like pies and soap and quilts all at the same time. Grace wondered what it would be like to crawl onto her lap, but she didn’t wonder about it for long. Best to push such thoughts away or they would come back to keep her awake late at night.

  Instead, she stared at the tops of her black shoes and thought of her mouse, whom she’d named Stanley. Miriam was reading them a story at school, and it had a boy named Stanley in it. That Stanley was always getting into trouble, but Grace’s mouse seemed to behave well, other than the time he escaped from his box and ran into the kitchen. Her dad had nearly stepped on Stanley then.

  He’d hopped and hollered and Stanley had run for his life.

  Grace smiled at the memory.

  Stanley wasn’t quite as nice as Pepper. Grace had spent a few moments with the dog when she’d first arrived. Her father had looked at her and shook his head no. She didn’t need a voice to tell him what was in her heart—he’d known! A dog would be an amazing thing to own, even if you had
to go to the barn to see it. For now, though, she would be happy with Stanley in his box.

  At that very moment Abigail looked down at her. She patted Grace on the knee and smiled.

  Grace could tell that her teacher hadn’t told Abigail about how her voice had gone missing. That’s the way she always thought of it—as if it had disappeared like the tabby cat they had in Indiana. Muffin just walked out into the fields one evening. He didn’t even say goodbye. Grace would sit out on the stoop and watch for him until dark, but her dad said that old cat wasn’t coming back until he was ready—that it might be days or years.

  She figured her voice was the same way. It wasn’t coming back until it was ready.

  One time she had tried to force it back, to make a sound come out. She had been frustrated with her dad that day because he didn’t understand what she was trying to tell him. She’d become cross and tried to make him see. What they’d argued about wasn’t even important.

  It was just about clothes she didn’t want to wear because they didn’t fit anymore. He had wanted her to hurry and dress, but when she’d tried to find something to write on and tell him why she couldn’t, he’d only hollered–and he never hollered. So she’d tried to holler back. What came out sounded like the old squeaky hinge on the barn, only worse and louder.

  She still remembered the look on his face. He’d seemed more afraid at that moment than he had when her mother had died.

  Grace could remember that day too. The day the angels took her mamm with them.

  It was the same day her voice walked away.

  Abigail reached over and squeezed her hand. “Bishop Beiler wants you to join your dat,” she whispered. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

  Grace shook her head, hopped off her bench, and started toward the front of the room. Then she remembered her Bible. Turning around, she hurried back for it. The Bible was the last thing her grossmammi Sarah had given her. She’d told her to take good care of it.