Lizzie couldn’t count the number of times she had been forced to hold her tongue when he shamed her in front of others for her laziness and ingratitude. Her uncle claimed to be a devout member of the Amish faith, but in her eyes, he was no better than the Pharisees in the Bible stories the bishop preached about during the church services.
She rose and paced the small room in frustration. There had to be a way out of this. “We can all move away and get a house together. Greta and Betsy, too.”
“If we left without our uncle’s permission, we would be shunned by everyone in our church. I could not bear that.” Clara’s voice fell to a whisper. “Besides, if I won’t wed Rufus...Betsy is his second choice.”
Lizzie gasped. “She’s barely seventeen.”
“You see now why I have to go through with it. Promise me you won’t tell her she’s the reason I’m doing this.”
“I promise.”
“I know you’ve been thinking about leaving us, Lizzie. I’m not as strong as you are. I can’t do it, but you should go. Go now while you have the chance. I can bear anything if I know you are safe.”
Lizzie didn’t deny it. She had been thinking about leaving for years. She had even squirreled away a small amount of money for the day. Only the thought of never seeing her sisters again kept her from taking such a drastic step. She loved them dearly.
The bedroom door opened and the two younger Barkman girls came in. Greta was limping. Clara immediately went to her. “What happened?”
“She got kicked by that bad-tempered cow we all hate,” Betsy said.
“She’s not bad-tempered. She doesn’t hear well. I startled her. It was my own fault. It’s going to leave a bruise, but nothing is broken.” Greta sat on the edge of the bed she shared with Betsy.
Clara insisted on inspecting her leg. It was already swollen and purple just above the knee. “Oh, that must hurt. I’ll get some witch hazel for it.”
As Clara left, Lizzie turned to her sisters. “Onkel is making Clara marry Rufus Kuhns.”
“Are you joking? He’s ancient.” Greta looked as shocked as Lizzie was.
“It’s better than being an old maedel,” Betsy said. “We’re never going to find husbands if we aren’t allowed to attend singings and barn parties in other Amish communities.”
Would she feel the same if she knew how easily she could trade places with Clara? Lizzie kept silent. She had given Clara her word. Betsy began to get ready for the night.
Greta did the same. “Rufus is a mean fellow.”
Lizzie turned her back to give her sisters some privacy. “He’s cruel to his horses and his cattle. I can’t bear to think of Clara living with him.”
“His last wife came to church with a bruised face more than once. She claimed she was accident-prone, but it makes a person wonder.” Greta pulled on her nightgown.
“Shame on you, Greta. It’s a sin to think evil thoughts about the man.” Betsy climbed into bed, took off her black kapp and started to unwind her long brown hair.
Greta and Lizzie shared a speaking glance but kept silent. Neither of them wanted their oldest sister to find out if their suspicions were true. They remembered only too well the bruises their mother bore in silence when their father’s temper flared.
Clara returned with a bottle of witch hazel and a cloth. “This will help with the pain.”
Greta took the bottle from her. They had all used the remedy on bruises inflicted by their uncle over the years. He wouldn’t stand up to Rufus, but he didn’t have any qualms about taking his anger and frustration out on someone weaker. “You can’t do it, Clara. You should go away.”
“And never see you again? How could I do that? Besides, where would I go? We have no family besides each other.”
Lizzie met Greta’s eyes. Greta gave a slight nod. After all, they were desperate. Lizzie said, “We have a grandfather.”
“We do?” It was Betsy’s turn to look shocked as she sat up in bed.
Clara shook her head. “Nee. He is dead to us.”
“He is dead to Uncle Morris, not to me.” Lizzie’s mind began to whirl. Would their daadi help? They hadn’t heard from him in years. Not since the death of their parents.
Greta rubbed the witch hazel on her knee. “We were told never to mention him.”
“Mention who?” Betsy almost shouted.
They all hushed her. None of the sisters wished to stir their uncle’s wrath. “Our mother’s father lives in Hope Springs, Ohio.”
Clara began getting ready for bed, too. “You think he does. He could be dead for all we know.”
“We really have a grandfather? Why haven’t I met him?” Betsy looked as if she might burst into tears.
Lizzie removed the straight pins that held her faded green dress closed down the front. “We moved away from Hope Springs when you were just a baby.”
Clara slipped under the covers. “Papa and Grandfather Shetler had a terrible falling out when I was ten. Mama, Papa, Uncle Morris and his wife all moved away and eventually settled here.”
“Grandfather raised sheep.” Lizzie smiled at the memory of white lambs leaping for the sheer joy of it in green spring pastures. She hated it when her father made them move to this dreary place. She hung her dress beside her sisters’ on the pegs that lined the wall and slipped into her nightgown.
“Do we have a grandmother, too?” Betsy asked.
Lizzie shook her head. “She died when our mother was a baby. I’m ready to put out the lamp. You know how Onkel hates it when we waste kerosene.
“Grandfather had a big white dog named Joker,” Greta added wistfully. “I’m sure he’s gone by now. Dogs don’t live that long.”
“But men do. I will write to him first thing in the morning and beg him to take you in, Clara.” Lizzie sat down on her side of the bed and blew out the kerosene lamp, plunging the small bedroom into darkness.
Clara sighed. “This is crazy talk. Our uncle will forbid such a letter, Lizzie. You know that. Besides, I’m not going anywhere without my sisters.”
Lizzie waited until Clara was settled under the covers with her. Quietly, she said, “You will go to Rufus Kuhns’s home without us.”
“I...know. I miss Mama so much at times like this.”
Lizzie heard the painful catch in her sister’s voice. She reached across to pull Clara close. “I do, too. I refuse to believe she made your beautiful star quilt for this sham of a marriage. She made your quilt to be her gift to you on a happy wedding day.”
Their mother had lovingly stitched wedding quilts for each of her daughters. They lay packed away in the cedar chest in the corner. The quilts were different colors and personalized for each one of them. They were cherished by the girls as reminders of their mother’s love.
Lizzie hardened her resolve. “We’ll think of something. It’s only the middle of March. We have until the wedding time in autumn. You’ll see. We’ll think of something before then.”
“Nee. My wedding will take place the first week of May so I may help with spring planting.”
Greta slipped into bed behind Lizzie. “That’s not right. We can’t prepare for a wedding in such a short time.”
“Rufus doesn’t want a big wedding. It will be only the bishop, Uncle Morris, you girls and Rufus.”
Such a tiny, uncelebrated affair wasn’t the wedding dream of any young woman. Lizzie