Note to Readers
Bethany Esch looked at her husband’s black jackets, hanging from the wooden pegs on the bedroom wall, and her heart failed her. She took a hasty step backward, bumping into the large box her cousin Lydia was carrying, and fought the panic that filled her.
Lydia dropped the box onto the double bed, catching Bethany’s arm when she would have fled from the room, her lively face sobering when she saw Bethany’s expression.
“Beth?” Lydia shook her arm lightly. “Komm now. It’s time we got busy.”
“No, I can’t. It’s too soon.”
Lydia knew her so well. Why didn’t she see that Bethany couldn’t get rid of James’s clothes? Not yet.
“It’s been over a month.” Lydia hugged her as if to soften the words, but nothing could really ease them. James was gone.
“I know it’s hard, but you’ll feel better once it’s done, and James’s things will be a blessing to someone else.”
The tears that came so easily filled Beth’s eyes. “It doesn’t feel like a month. It feels like yesterday.”
She lived it again—the township police officer coming to the door late in the evening, his face somber, his voice halting as he described the accident: the Englisch driver going too fast on the narrow road, young and careless, unable to stop when he saw the buggy light.
“I know.” Lydia’s hand stroked her back in a comforting gesture. “The accident was such a shock. That makes it much worse. But...”
Beth wiped tears away with her fingers. Lydia was right, she supposed. James’s death would be easier to face once she didn’t have constant reminders. Easier for Benjy, too, and that was the force that strengthened her spine. At four, Benjy didn’t understand, but he was beginning to accept the fact that Daadi wouldn’t be coming home anymore.
She could hear him now, giggling at something her niece Janie had said. Fourteen and the child of Beth’s oldest brother, Janie had been a treasure over the past month, showing up often to watch Benjy or take him to play with her little brothers and sister.
“Yah, okay.” She straightened, trying to find a smile. “You’re right. I certain sure can’t let Benjamin see me falling apart.”
“Gut.” Lydia gave a brisk nod of approval. “The sooner we start, the sooner we’re done. You hand things to me, and I’ll fold and pack.”
Taking the first jacket from its hook was the hardest. This was the jacket James wore for worship, and she’d always thought he looked so handsome in it, his fair hair even lighter against the black wool. She forced herself to hand it on quickly, resisting the urge to press it against her face.
Somehow, once she’d done the first one, the action became easier. She was helped along by Lydia’s constant flow of chatter, talking about the latest news running through the Amish grapevine of Lost Creek—who was harvesting a big crop of celery, hinting at a wedding soon, how her daad’s vegetable stand was doing now that fall was coming on, who had missed worship last Sunday and why. Lydia, with her lively personality and ready laugh, was a good antidote to pain.
“Did I tell you I have a letter from Miriam?” she said now. “She actually got it out quickly this time. I’ve already added my share, so you can do yours and put it in the mail.”
“I’ll try,” she said, although writing a newsy letter felt like an impossible chore just now.
Miriam Stoltzfus, the third of their trio of cousins, had moved out to Ohio to stay with an aunt and uncle several months ago, and they both missed her. Their round-robin letters weren’t a good substitute for seeing her.
The three of them had been closer than sisters since they were babies sleeping on their mammis’ laps during worship, born within weeks of each other. Better than sisters, maybe, because they didn’t have the rivalry some sisters did: Lydia, lively and mischievous; Miriam, quick and daring; and her, always trying to keep the other two out of trouble.
“You know what Grossmammi would say,” Lydia said. “Don’t try, just do it.”
Beth actually did smile over that—Lydia had caught their grandmother’s attitude perfectly. Grossmammi never shrank from any task, no matter how difficult. She had shrunk with age, and her memory might be a little misty, but nothing could quench her spirit. Would Beth ever reach that calm acceptance of what came?
With the hanging clothes packed