by Amy Clipston
As always, he was right on time. She smiled as she saw him pull into the gravel parking lot. As much as she enjoyed teaching and the students, this was the best time of the day, when she could spend some alone time with Micah. He pulled Billy to a stop, and she climbed in.
“How was your day?” he asked, turning the buggy around and heading to her house.
“Gut.” She told him about Artie and he laughed, then complimented her on letting him choose his own consequences. Then he told her about the progress he and Christopher had made on the buggy they were building for a family in a nearby district.
“We got three more orders in today,” he said. “Any more and we’ll have to put people on a waiting list.”
Priscilla smiled and sat back in the buggy seat, enjoying the cool fall air filled with the scent of wood-burning fireplaces and stoves. “Oh,” she said. “I almost forgot. Leah stopped by today to let me know how Suetta is doing.” Leah had explained that Suetta and her father left Marigold to go to New York and stay with family. “There’s a treatment center near my great-aunt’s district,” Leah had said when she visited Priscilla the week after Suetta verbally attacked her. “We’ve known for a while that Suetta needed help we couldn’t give her. Sunday was the last straw. She was such a sweet maedel growing up, but after her mamm died, she changed. Understandable, but mei onkel indulged her too much. I think seeing someone will help her.”
“How is she?” he asked, genuinely interested.
“She’s doing better. She likes living in New York, and counseling seems to have a positive effect on her.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I hope she continues to get better.”
“Me too.” Priscilla leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
“Sing for me,” Micah said.
She obliged, expecting his request since he often asked her to sing for him when they were together. First she sang “How Great Thou Art” and then broke into a country song she had frequently performed when she was pursuing her music career. By the time he pulled into her driveway, she was finishing up another hymn. When he halted the buggy, she got out and retrieved her mail. Then she climbed back in and he drove up to her house.
She scanned through the letters in her hand. “Do you want to stay for supper?” she asked.
“Nee.”
She glanced at him. “Is anything wrong?”
He shook his head, but his gaze darted back and forth.
Billy snorted as Priscilla grew alarmed. She was used to Micah’s easygoing, calm manner and had come to appreciate that quality in him, along with everything else. The fact that he was so tense alarmed her. “It looks like there is.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Priscilla, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Will you—”
Billy lurched, jerking the buggy forward, and the letters flew out of Priscilla’s hands. Micah grabbed the reins and settled him down while she picked up her mail. When the horse was still again, Micah glanced down at the letter near his feet. “You missed one,” he said, picking up the envelope and handing it to her.
“Danki—” She froze, her eyes focused on the return address. Preston Fulbright. Her agent.
“Priscilla, I wanted to talk to you about something—”
“Can it wait a second?” She ripped open the envelope and read the contents.
Dear Priscilla,
I hope this letter finds you well. It’s been a long time since we last talked, but I have a surprise for you. Somehow the demo you cut eight years ago landed on the desk of the head of RC Records, and he’s been trying to get in touch with you. His secretary contacted me two weeks ago and I’ve been trying to hunt you down ever since. One of your former music students said you returned back to Indiana, and after some detective work I found you moved to Ohio.
This is an excellent opportunity for you, Priscilla. He’s eager to sign you as soon as possible. Get ready to dust off your stage name. Heather Love is about to break into the big time.
Contact me as soon as you get this, and we will hash out the details.
Best,
Preston
The letter fell into Priscilla’s lap. She couldn’t believe it. After all these years, after she had been so sure she wasn’t meant to be a star and that God wanted her to be a simple Amish schoolteacher. Now her dream was only a signature away from coming true.
“Priscilla? Is everything okay?”
She turned to Micah, still numb. She couldn’t speak, so she handed him the letter.
He scanned the page, then asked, “Who’s Heather Love?”
“Me,” she managed to say. “That is mei stage name.” Suddenly what Preston had said sank in. She turned to Micah and clasped her hands together. “Can you believe it? A record label wants to sign me!”
“What does that mean?”
“It means recording an album, going on tour, doing interviews . . .” She sat back in her seat, still dumbfounded. “Mei dream isn’t dead after all.”
* * *
Micah’s heart shattered.
When he picked up Priscilla, he had planned to propose. He’d been thinking about it for the last few weeks but didn’t want to put any pressure on her while she was still adjusting to teaching school. It wasn’t a secret that they were courting, and as it turned out, the community didn’t question their relationship, at least not openly. He was falling more deeply in love with her every passing day. Still, it had been difficult to bring up the subject, and he’d been so close to asking her when Billy decided to rile up. Now his dream of marrying Priscilla was in pieces.
He looked at her, saw the happiness in her eyes, the way she looked at the letter when he handed it back to her. And he couldn’t blame her. She had worked fifteen years to have this opportunity. Of course she would be excited. He thought about how she had said she was never going back to Nashville or the English life. But there had never been anything to draw her back there before. Now there was.
She turned to him, her excitement palpable. “You were going to ask me something?”
Marry me. But he couldn’t speak those words. Not now. And he loved her too much to stand in the way of her getting something she’d wanted more than anything else. I just wish she wanted me more.
He dug deep and gathered his emotions. “Nah, it can wait.” He swallowed. “So, that’s gut news, ya?”
“Very gut news.” She sighed. “A record label wants me. I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words. Oh, I better answer Preston. He’s expecting to hear from me.” She picked up her teacher’s bag, filled with student homework, books, and other tools of her trade. “Can we have supper together another night?”
“Sure.” The stone in his throat felt like a boulder now. “Anytime.”
She touched his shoulder. “Danki for the ride.” Then she got out of his buggy and hurried to the house.
He watched her disappear through the front door, and the ache in his heart grew. I love her so much. Enough to let her go.
Chapter 9
For the rest of the work week, Micah kept his distance from Priscilla. He had picked her up the next morning and took her to school but begged off giving her any more rides in the near future, using work as an excuse. She seemed a million miles away that morning, giving him one-word answers when he tried to make small talk. He could see that her mind was already in Nashville, and it wouldn’t be long before she was physically there too. Soon she would become Heather Love, and she would leave him and her Amish life behind.
On Saturday afternoon, he put a pot of stew on the stove to simmer and went back to his workshop. He had plenty of work, but not enough for Christopher, who was now officially his apprentice, to have to work the weekend. Micah could close shop right now, but he never knew when a customer would show up. Like Priscilla. But no one could ever compare to her. The sooner he got over her, the better, but he knew that wouldn’t happen for a long, long time.
By four o’clock he gave up and locked up the shop. He chec
ked his stew and found it was ready, so he took down a bowl from the cabinet. But he only filled it halfway. Lately his appetite wasn’t what it used to be. He set the bowl of steaming stew on the table, then sat in the chair and stared at it. Another lonely meal.
He had just closed his eyes to pray when he heard a knock on the door. Frowning, he got up. Every once in while someone would ignore the sign and try to do business with him since it wasn’t five o’clock yet. He always humored the customer, but today he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. “I’m closed!” he yelled as he walked toward the door.
“Even to me?”
Priscilla. His heart leapt then sank to his knees. He stared at the door, knowing why she was here. She was going to tell him she was leaving. She wasn’t the type of woman to skip town without letting him know . . . and without letting him down. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the inevitable heartache, and opened the door.
“Hi,” she said. She didn’t come inside like she usually did when she visited.
“Hi.” He didn’t invite her in.
“Can we talk?”
He paused. If he sent her away, he wouldn’t have to deal with hearing her reject him to his face. But that wouldn’t be right. He needed to focus on her happiness, not his sorrow. Mustering a smile, he said, “Come on in.”
She walked inside. He shut the door behind her, but she didn’t walk farther into his house. Instead she put her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“Huh?”
“You’re pushing me away.” Fire sparked in her eyes. “And I want to know the reason.”
Bewildered, he said, “I wanted to give you time to get everything in order.”
“In order for what?”
Did she really not know what he was talking about? “For when you geh to Nashville. Resigning your job, getting your house ready for sale, selling Calypso and . . . your buggy.”
“For goodness’ sake, where did you get the idea that I was leaving?”
“Your letter? The record deal? Your dream finally coming true after all these years?” Was she being obtuse on purpose? That wasn’t like Priscilla at all.
“Micah.” She walked over to him and cradled his face in her hands. “You big goof. I’m not going anywhere.”
“What?”
She dropped her hands and stepped away from him. “This is all mei fault. I can see how I left you with the impression I was going to tell Preston that I wanted the contract.” She smiled, her gaze meeting his. “Nix could be further from the truth.”
“Did you write him back?”
“I did, that night. I told him thanks, but I’m staying here.”
“But what about your dream?”
“I have new dreams. Better ones that are coming true. At least most of them are.” She put her arms around his neck. “I’m staying here in Marigold. I belong here with mei students . . . and hopefully with you.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her, relief flooding through him. When he pulled away, he said, “I’m sorry, Priscilla. You’re right. I was pushing you away.”
“To protect yourself.”
Micah nodded. “Ya. But I want you to know, if you had decided to become Heather Love again, I wouldn’t have stopped you. I want you to be happy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I definitely wouldn’t be happy as Heather Love. What a dumb name.”
“Why did you choose it?”
“I didn’t. Preston gave it to me. He didn’t think Priscilla Helmuth was a name for a star.”
“I think it’s perfect.” He rested his chin on her head, his pain forgotten. “I love you, Priscilla.”
“I love you too.” She paused. “You were going to tell me something the last time we were together. What was it?”
He held her away from him enough that he could meet her eyes, but he continued to hold her tight. “Will you marry me?”
“Ya.” She beamed, her smile lighting up her face. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
Micah kissed her again. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
After a few more kisses, which neither of them rushed, Priscilla said, “Something smells gut.”
“Stew,” he said. The bowl on the kitchen table had grown cold by now.
“Do you have enough to share?”
He laughed and nodded. “Let’s eat. I’m starving!”
Epilogue
November
Priscilla giggled as Micah carried her over the threshold of his house, which was now their home. She still owned the small house where she had lived for the past several months until her and Micah’s wedding. Both she and Micah worked on the house together, and it was almost ready to go on the market for sale. But their wedding had interrupted the final touches.
Micah carried her as if she weighed nothing—which for sure wasn’t the truth—over to the couch and gently set her down. On the coffee table in front of them was a fruit, cheese, and cookie tray, courtesy of Leah and Ben. They had spent the last week after the wedding visiting family, including hers in Shipshe and his in Lancaster. Now they were home, and she couldn’t be happier.
He looked at the food in front of them, then turned to her. “Are you hungry?”
She gazed into his eyes. “Nee.”
“Me neither.”
That surprised her, since his appetite was so huge. “You’re not?”
“Maybe a little.” He settled her in his lap and kissed her. “But this is the first time we’ve been alone. I can eat later.”
She looked at him and smiled. “So can I.” She started to kiss him when a knock sounded on the door.
Micah groaned. “Can we tell them to geh away?” he muttered.
“That would be rude.” She climbed out of his lap and opened the door. A large brown delivery truck was backing out of the driveway. She was surprised she hadn’t heard the driver pull in. Then again, she was preoccupied. She glanced at the porch and saw a box at her feet. Picking it up, she saw that it was addressed to her. She went inside and shut the door.
“Oh, gut, it came.” Micah sat up and gestured to the package. “I thought it would arrive tomorrow.”
“You know what this is?”
“Ya.”
The excitement on his face was so cute she couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Hmm. Maybe I should wait until later to open it.”
He patted the empty space next to him. “It will only take a second.” He pulled out a pocketknife and handed it to her when she sat down.
She slid the knife through the tape and opened the box, then picked up something covered in layers of bubble wrap. Inside the bubble wrap she found a piece of sheet music framed in a simple, pale wooden frame. “What is it?” she asked.
“Our song.”
“I can see that.” She pointed to the title at the top of the page. Then she looked at the notes. Two bars in and she put her hand over her heart. “It’s our song,” she whispered.
He laughed. “That’s what I said.”
“But how? When?”
“I talked to one of the local churches here, and they have an organist. I played the notes, and he wrote them down. Then I found a company to print out the sheet music.” His eyes sparkled. “What do you think?”
She hugged the frame against her chest. “I think it’s perfect, just like you.” She set their song down on the table, then climbed into his lap again. Dreams do come true.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the editors who helped me with this story—Becky Monds, Karli Jackson, and Laura Wheeler. Another thank you to my agent, Natasha Kern, who always cheers me on. And as always, my appreciation to you, dear reader. I hope you enjoyed Micah and Priscilla’s journey.
Discussion Questions
Micah tells himself to “watch his pride.” Why is it important to not be prideful?
Micah tells Priscilla that “age is just a number.” What do you think this popular saying means?
As I was writing this story, I thought back to the times when I was a teacher and a student. What was your favorite school memory?
Epigraph
Joyful is the person who finds wisdom,
the one who gains understanding.
Proverbs 3:13
We make our decisions, and then our decisions turn around and make us.
Amish proverb
Dedication
For that first group of students I taught back in Mesa, Arizona. Even after all this time, I still remember all the lessons y’all taught me about life.
Chapter 1
At first glance, Wendy Schwartz figured it wasn’t much to look at. Roughly five hundred square feet, the building had four walls and a wooden floor built from reclaimed white oak, walnut, and maple. In the corner stood a small enclosed bathroom. There were no lights.
Being an Amish schoolhouse, there was, of course, no electricity. The only heat source was a kerosene oil stove that she was more scared than appreciative of. At least it was March and not November. Before long, all she’d need to do was open a few of the windows that lined one of the walls. The fresh breeze would be familiar and welcome as the days turned warmer.
It wasn’t the building itself that mattered, though. At least not all that much. Neither the heat nor the windows were why Wendy had jumped at this opportunity. Even the twenty desks, the coat racks, and the print and cursive alphabets that had been painstakingly painted at the top of one of the walls by Mrs. Wagoner, the former teacher, hadn’t been what claimed her heart.