Free The Shunning by Beverly Lewis Page A

one of her best stories. She’d told them all—the same tales over and over—so often that the women knew them by heart. But still they called for more. Did they believe the stories . . . that they were absolutely true?
    She glanced again at dear Ella Mae, the Wise Woman. Through the years, the slight woman had been found to be trustworthy with shared confidences, as well as wise in counsel. Rebecca noticed that her wispy white hair nearly matched the kapp perched on her head till a body couldn’t tell where one left off and the other began. The woman looked downright angelic—the way the light streamed in from the window. And today, for some reason, she looked more like Rebecca’s own mother, Essie King, than she’d remembered. Being her mother’s twin, Ella Mae had every right to look like Essie, of course, but Rebecca had forgotten how closely they resembled each other until now. Maybe it was the way the brightness shone through the curtainless windows, highlighting her aunt’s pleasant, dimpled face and high forehead. Maybe it was the way Ella Mae sat with back erect, defying her eighty years.
    Rebecca had always been interested in searching out the physical characteristics in families—especially the similarities between mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers. She hadn’t meant to stare, but evidently she was staring now, because Ella Mae’s wide hazel-gold eyes met hers.
    “Something on your mind?” The hoarse voice penetrated Rebecca’s thoughts.
    “Oh, nothing . . . nothing a’tall. You just look . . . well, so lovely.”
    Rebecca’s words surprised even herself. She wasn’t given to complimenting folk; it was not the way of the People.
    Ella Mae was silent. To acknowledge such a remark would be to imitate the ways of the English.
    “In fact, you’re looking near like an angel today,” Rebecca blurted out, blushing furiously.
    Ten other heads jerked up at the mention of a heavenly messenger. Ella Mae chuckled demurely but said nothing.
    If they could have read Rebecca’s mind, they would know that she yearned for a resemblance between herself and her auburn-haired daughter—the same as others in this room. These family traits were like the very threads the women stitched into the fabric of Katie’s quilt—joining, attaching . . . linking them one to another.
    “The Samuel Lapp family is expanding by six more come next week,” Mary Stoltzfus said, changing the subject.
    “A gut thing, jah?” There was a twinge of doubt in Ella Mae’s whispery voice, as though she suspected something amiss.
    “Ach, we all know how ferhoodled Katie gets before time to do something awful important,” Mattie Beiler cut in. “But my brother-in-law, the bishop, is a patient, kind man—no question about it. He’ll be gut for her.”
    Hearing Bishop John referred to as a patient man was not surprising to Rebecca. As long as she’d known him, she had felt at ease around him. He ran his farm well—working long hours every day—as well as handling much of the blacksmithing in and around Hickory Hollow. And he managed his children soundly, with help from young John—nicknamed “Hickory John” to distinguish him from his father—and Nancy, the oldest daughter, always admonishing the youngsters in the fear of the Lord.
    But what had Rachel just said about Katie—that she got herself ferhoodled sometimes? “My daughter does no such a thing,” Rebecca spoke up.
    “But she does, and you know it,” Mattie retorted.
    Rebecca’s eyes shot blazing darts across the quilt frame. “I’d be obliged if you’d not speak about my Katie that way.”
    A familiar look of disgust, accompanied by a snort, was Mattie’s answer. The rift between the two women remained strong. Twenty-two years strong.
    Rebecca was certain she knew what her cousin was thinking. Mattie figured she’d been deliberately snubbed on the day of Katie’s birth. Instead of calling for the local midwife, Rebecca had gone to Lancaster