The Parting Read Online Free PDF Page A

soft yet distinct blue of a robin’s egg.
    She found herself glad for the lack of rain this day—the weather made traveling pleasant, and Ephram had already come to drop off some preserves from Maryann, offering to take Nellie Mae over to see her when he was headed home again. It was awful nice how that worked out, seeing as how Nellie scarcely got a chance to visit with Maryann.
    Betsy realized anew that she disliked having Nellie Mae farther away than the bakery shop. Since Suzy’s death, Nellie was the daughter who had watched over her most closely, as if more aware of the depth of her mother’s loss. When Nellie left a room, she took something along with her. Something I sorely need, Betsy thought.
    There had been times lately when she felt sure Nellie Mae was stronger than she herself, even as a grown woman. Betsy had known it in her bones from her daughter’s earliest days just how confident Nellie was—at least since Nellie’s first determined baby steps at only nine-and-a-half months. It was no surprise that such a determined child had grown into the kind of young woman capable of running a shop almost single-handedly. Few girls could handle such responsibility, let alone thrive under its weight.
    Jah, Nellie’s a strong one. Ever so steady on her feet . . . and otherwise, thought Betsy. Till recently .
    She wiped her hands on her long black apron and hurried down the center hall of the farmhouse, heading for the back door. She had been awake since before sunup, glad for the few tender moments of Reuben’s usual morning natter and nuzzling before he arose for a long day of work.
    Sighing once more as she opened the door, Betsy breathed deeply of the crisp air. Just yesterday she’d noticed moths had clustered in the dark trees like tiny umbrellas, foretelling the cold snap. She looked out over their vast spread of land, a gem of a place nestled in a green hollow—“away from it all,” as Reuben liked to say. His grandfather had bestowed this land upon them when they’d decided to up and marry nearly the second they’d started courting. Their youth had stunned the bishop, but he was happy enough when the babies started coming a full year later.
    Betsy smiled. Such a long time ago, but, oh, the good days of hard work and raising youngsters . The familiar lump in her throat threatened to return, but she willed herself not to cry. One step at a time, someone had told her. You didn’t get over the loss of a child in a mere three months. It could take years and even longer.
    Whatever might come, Betsy must not let this crush her heart as she’d seen happen to others. Grief-ridden mothers, some who’d lost little ones at the hands of Englischers who drove recklessly around the buggies, speeding up on purpose, or so it seemed.
    Does this pain the Lord God, too?
    She was squinting hard, knowing she ought not to give place to anger. Even so-called accidents were the will of the Sovereign One, Jehovah God, whose ways were lofty—higher than her own. Trials made one stronger, didn’t they?
    The Good Book itself spoke of such profound sadness—weeping only lasting so long, then joy coming in the morning. Even for her, the time for the singing of the birds and spring would come eventually, if the Lord God saw fit to turn her sorrow into gladness. When dear Reuben read Scriptures like these, she often felt comforted, and she took refuge in the fact.
    Betsy whispered to the air, “Are there others who fret like me?” She expected there were, even though they, too, had been taught to adhere to the Ordnung; many of its rules had been handed down for generations. They embraced whatever life brought, knowing that in God’s providence, it was meant to be.
    Forcing her mind on to the task now at hand, Betsy headed toward the chicken house. The old frame structure had recently been made sturdier by her husband’s frugal ingenuity. She recalled her days as a young bride, gladdened by Reuben’s natural skill in