by Sarah Price
“We don’t have no shoes on!”
Mary lifted her head, her dark eyes looking in their direction. Indeed, neither boy had shoes upon their feet, for they had left them at the door as Anna had taught them to do during their mother’s absence. Rather than praise them, Mary sank back into the pillows and groaned. “My head is throbbing. Cris, be a good boy and fetch your maem a cool cloth.”
Gesturing that she would do it, Anna hurried to the sink. As she ran the water, letting it run so that it was cold before she soaked a washcloth beneath it, she waited for Mary to begin updating her on the events from Lancaster. The two boys took advantage of their mother’s indisposed nature and slipped back through the door. Within seconds Anna caught sight of them running past the window toward their grandparents’ house.
“Those Lancaster Amish,” Mary sighed. “Quite different in nature.”
“How so?” Anna handed her the washcloth and sat in the chair beside her sister.
Mary waved the washcloth in the air, its purpose forgotten. “So much commercialism out there. Even at this time of the year, the tourists are everywhere and quite brazen with their cameras and questions.”
Not wanting to get into a debate with Mary, Anna remained silent. She did, however, feel differently about Lancaster County. Granted that they had only stayed a short while, she had enjoyed the different scenery and felt that the people she met were warm and welcoming. She hadn’t noticed an excess of tourists, although they hadn’t ventured into the main town.
“I simply cannot believe that Leah would move there!” The washcloth slipped from Mary’s fingers, but Mary made no moved to collect it from the floor.
Anna frowned. “You mean she’s moving to Indiana, ja?”
A harsh laugh escaped Mary’s throat and she sat up, just enough to lean on one elbow so that she could stare at her sister. “Indiana? Whatever for?” She reached down for the washcloth and handed it, absentmindedly, to Anna, indicating that she wanted it refreshed. “Although I do envy that house, I do not envy the work she will have ahead of her.” Glancing at her sister, who took the washcloth, a confused look upon her face, Mary quickly added, “Envy with a small ‘e,’ of course.”
But Anna wasn’t focused on Mary’s admission of jealousy. She was, instead, focused on the fact that Leah was to move to Pennsylvania, not Indiana. “Is Freman to move his business there, then?”
Snatching the washcloth back, Mary lowered her head once again and dropped the cloth on her forehead. “Freman? Why do you bring him up?”
None of this was making any sense. “I thought that he . . . ” She paused. Dare she state what she had presumed? “ That he and Leah . . . ”
“Oh, heavens, no!” This time, when Mary laughed, there was great mirth in the sound. “Freman Whittmore?”
Time seemed to stand still as Anna processed this information. Wasn’t it just a few days ago when the letter arrived that so upset Salome? Hadn’t Salome told her that Leah was to wed? “I’m afraid that I don’t understand any of this,” Anna confided. “Salome said that Leah wrote of an upcoming wedding. I presumed that she meant with Freman, especially since he left right away to return to Pennsylvania.”
Still laughing, Mary finally sat up. She shook her head, smiling at her sister as if she were completely daft. “Freman didn’t return to Pennsylvania. He was called back to Indiana, Anna,” she said. “And Leah is to marry Benjamin.” A slight pause helped Anna comprehend what she had just learned. “Benjamin Esh,” she added, as if that might help clarify.
“Oh, my!” The two words slipped out in a whispery tone. She lifted her hand to her mouth as she turned away from Mary, not wanting her to see the shocked expression upon her face. How could she have gotten this so wrong? The sleepless nights, the tear-stained pillows, and the heaviness that clung to her like a weight around her neck had been for naught.
“We were all shocked, frankly,” Mary continued. “But he was so attentive to her care, I rarely had to sit with her. I don’t think he left her side more than an hour at a time.” A sigh escaped her lips as if the memory was a dear one. But, just as suddenly, her wistful look changed to a frown. “Although I’m not certain I approve of such a short courtship. They just met, after all—not to mention that he was still in mourning.”
Anna remained speechless.
As usual, Mary did not seem to notice. She continued talking, oblivious that her sister had not responded to anything she said. “And both Cris and I did wonder, though, at how Freman would take the news. We were all so certain that Freman was going to ask Leah to marry him! Poor man, to have been jilted not once, but twice.”
Anna spun around. Mary’s words seemed to echo in Anna’s head. She could scarcely believe that she had heard her sister properly. “What did you say?”
“Apparently, this is not the first time that his attention to a woman has been rebuffed.”
Horrified, Anna stood there, her mouth agape and the color draining from her cheeks. Had people known? Was it possible that she had not heard other members of the Amish community whispering about his rapid departure from Charm eight years ago? How could she have been oblivious to the Amish grapevine? And, with Mary having most likely learned this in Pennsylvania, was it possible that such gossip had spread throughout the different Amish communities? The only saving grace was Mary’s casual discussion of the matter. Clearly, the object of Freman’s professed affection (and cause of his emotional devastation!) had been kept secret. For that Anna would be eternally grateful.
And, just as quickly as she said a prayer of gratitude, another thought struck Anna. Perhaps it was humiliation, and not rejection, that had driven Freman away from Holmes County so many years ago. If that was truly the case, the only reasonable question to ask next was what could possibly have brought him back?
Stunned, Anna felt as if the room spun around her, and she reached for the back of a chair to steady herself.
“As for Leah,” Mary continued, oblivious to her sister’s racing thoughts, “certainly you noticed that Freman had developed an attachment to her. Why, he practically visited here every day since his arrival! And arranging for her to travel to Lancaster. It’s any wonder that Raymond agreed to it! It could have been quite the scandal if the bishop hadn’t traveled with us. Of course, with Cris and me chaperoning, no one would have reason to speculate either, I suppose.” She said this last part in a condescending tone. “And surely you saw how Freman was so concerned for Leah’s well-being . . . ” As if disapproving, Mary shook her head and clicked her tongue: tsk, tsk, tsk. “I was convinced that his warm feelings toward her were returned in kind. Makes me wonder at how fickle the young love of a woman can be.”
In a moment of rare courage, Anna lifted her chin and stared at Mary, a look of defiance in her eyes. “Or that of a man,” Anna retorted, surprised at the force with which she spoke. “Why, only six months ago, Benjamin was committed to another.”
Mary shooed away Anna’s comment by waving her hand.
“I will not be dismissed so easily,” Anna said. “I’m not certain which is worse: Leah’s apparent fondness for Freman, or Benjamin’s acclaimed tenderness for his beloved. If both could find a replacement so easily, perhaps they never loved at all! A woman who truly loves a man cannot simply turn off her feelings, replacing the one with another! As for a man, Benjamin’s mourning, while admittedly drawn out, ended quick enough and demonstrated that, given even a short amount of time, even a man can recover from the wounds of emotional loss . . . unless he too was not truly in love!”
Mary was not impressed. “What would you know, anyway, of love?”
Her comment cut through Anna and she felt a tightness in her chest. “I know that once found it would not be easily replaced!” She paused before adding, “At least for a woman.”
“But not so for a man?” With a smug look upon her face, Mary lifted an eyebrow as she asked, “And what of Daed? He has remained true to our maem’s memory.”
“I’m not
certain if he is the exception to the rule . . . or if he simply could not afford a replacement!”
“Anna!”
Anna herself was dismayed at her comment about her father, but in her confusion over Freman, some of her deepest thoughts had spilled out. In these weeks apart from her father, older sister, and then her younger sister, she had had the leisure to reflect on their characters and to realize, to her growing dismay, that she could never truly love and deeply respect her own family. She could do right by them and feel some small affection to them as those she was tied to by blood and circumstance, but as for the deeper emotions of earnest trust, open and friendly compatibility, and a most loyal love—those emotions would remain locked away, perhaps never to be experienced again.
“I think I’ll excuse myself,” Anna said, a strained tone to her voice. “Get some fresh air and check on the boys while you rest.” She took a step toward the door and paused, her back facing her sister. “And Mary?”
Her sister made a noise, indicating that she was listening.
Anna looked over her shoulder at her sister, stretched out on the sofa with the cloth draped over her forehead. “I know plenty about love, a love that never wavers and is always strong. The love of our heavenly Father for His children.” Without saying another word, Anna pushed open the kitchen door and stepped outside, grateful that, finally, she had found the resolve to stand up to Mary—and to teach her a much-needed lesson too.
Chapter Eighteen
THE SHOCK FROM learning that Leah was not engaged to Freman as she had thought—a thought that had occupied her every waking moment since she had first suspected their mutual attraction—gave way to a new emotion: despair. Her heart ached for Freman, knowing that he must truly be distraught over the turn of events. However, she also realized that, once again, Freman had removed himself from Holmes County, the humiliation of rejection chasing him back to Indiana.
When she resigned herself to the fact that, most likely, she would never see him again, her heart felt heavy and her throat constricted with grief.
Would she ever again have a night’s sleep without tears staining her pillow?
In the morning she went through the motions of dressing for church and helping to prepare breakfast. Mary fussed over the two boys, always insistent that they be dressed before breakfast in their white shirts with black bow ties already fastened at their necks. As for their shoes, she inspected them closely, mindful that there was not one speck of dirt upon them. When Walter’s shoes appeared scuffed, Mary hastily removed them and insisted that Cris polish them one more time.
Anna paid no attention. Seemingly overnight, she built a wall around herself and retreated inside her own fortress. It was not the first time that she had done such a thing, taking comfort in her own distress and blocking out the world around her. Had she insisted on staying in Lancaster, had she forced Mary to behave like a proper mother, Anna might have been able to save Freman from a second round of heartbreak. Once again she realized with a perfect blend of remorse and shame, her inability to stand firm and her tendency to permit family members to persuade her had impacted the future of the man she loved. She remained pensive and withdrawn as she placed the sliced bread and cup of butter onto the table, her own appetite vanished and her eyes dull with sorrow.
No one seemed to notice, anyway.
It was a dreary day, with gray clouds hiding the sun, and a moistness in the air. The two buggies departed together, Cris with his family in one and Raymond with his in another. Anna sat in the back seat, holding little Cris and Walter as the buggy headed down the road toward the bishop’s house. Had it been a sunny day, they might have walked, even though the distance was a bit far, since Bishop Troyer’s residence was at the edge of the church district.
Between the overcast skies and her own dark mood, Anna remained lost in her thoughts, paying little attention to the conversation in the buggy. She was only vaguely aware that Mary was speaking, most likely complaining about a headache or morning nausea. Sitting in the back of the buggy, holding the boys on her lap, Anna stared out the back opening, watching the road behind them. It was long and winding, empty of traffic and lined with trees that were shedding their leaves. The bleak gray mirrored her mood and she shut her eyes, leaning her cheek against the back of Walter’s head.
When they pulled up to the Troyers’ farm, Anna barely saw the line of black buggies that had arrived before them. Young boys ran toward their horse, one grabbing the horse’s bridle while another pointed toward an empty spot on the grass, indicating that the buggy should be parked in that spot. After the Musser family and Anna climbed through the door and stood in the driveway, the boys led the horse away. Absentmindedly, Anna watched as they backed the buggy into the indicated spot and, with expert precision, unharnessed the horse.
“Anna? Are you coming, then?”
Her empty thoughts interrupted, Anna looked at her sister, so anxious and impatient, and nodded her head, willing her feet to move in the direction of the Troyers’ house.
The usual line of other women stood waiting to greet the newcomers, each newly arrived woman expected to pass through the line to shake hands and exchange a quick kiss on the lips from each one, until she assumed her role at the end of the line. The practice had been passed down for generations, a way of following the apostle Paul’s command to greet each other with a holy kiss.
Mary often offered her cheek, claiming that she was sickly or not feeling well. The older women found her actions snobbish, but no one ever complained to the bishop.
Today, with downcast eyes, Anna obediently shook hands with everyone and greeted them as expected, but as she received Lydia’s kiss, she remained silent. She couldn’t look up from the floor, her eyes avoiding the older woman’s as they shook hands.
Unaccustomed to such a response from Anna, Lydia did not release the young woman’s hand and leaned forward. “Are you unwell?”
“In spirit only,” was her simple response.
She felt a hand on her elbow and looked up as Lydia gently guided her away from the other women so that they might talk in private.
Standing to the side of the kitchen, partially inside a large food pantry that was stocked with rows of canned food, Lydia forced Anna to meet her gaze. “What’s wrong, Anna? I haven’t seen you so forlorn in years.”
“Eight years,” she replied softly. “To be exact.”
This statement startled Lydia. “Eight years?” She frowned as she looked at Anna. “How curious that you should say such a thing! Whatever do you mean?”
Anna shut her eyes and exhaled, the effort a telling sign of the distress that she felt. Was it possible that Lydia didn’t remember? How could something of such importance that altered the entire course of Anna’s life be so insignificant and easily forgotten by another who professed to care so much for her well-being? “Oh, Lydia,” she whispered. “I’m so terribly confused.”
The older woman patted her arm. “Let me assure you that your father and sister will come to see reason.” She smiled softly. “Willis Eicher is a right gut man, even given his past history with your daed and Elizabeth.” She glanced up as if to ensure that no one could overhear her next words. “The fact that he is more partial to you does not surprise me. You always were the most godly and righteous of the three dochders. A man like Willis would certainly find you a wunderbarr partner.”
For the second time in less than two days, Anna remained speechless. Was it possible that Lydia thought Anna was referencing feeling forlorn over Willis Eicher’s past desertion of Elizabeth? That Anna might possibly be contemplating marriage to him and worried about Elizabeth’s feelings? Such an idea seemed preposterous to Anna. While he seemed pleasant enough and the thought of restoring her family to their home was appealing, a marriage to Willis was not. And while it was one thing to have Lydia caution her from marrying someone, she bristled at the idea of Lydia pushing her into marrying a man she did not even love. So she said, stiffly but firmly, “I think m
ost highly of Willis Eicher; we are, after all, family. But I can assure you that we would not suit as husband and wife.”
Lydia ignored her words. “You are so like your maem,” she said, a wistful expression on her face. “She would be so pleased to see you assume her place at the farm. She did so love that garden and house.”
Anna gasped at what Lydia insinuated. “Oh ja, I do so love our house and garden, but I would not marry a man I do not love simply to secure maintaining them.”
“True love comes after marriage,” Lydia reassured her.
Oh! Anna wished with all of her being that could respond, that she had the courage to speak her mind in regard to that common cliché that the older Amish women told the younger ones. Anna wanted to voice her thoughts, to admit that her heart could be held by no man, save one. That she knew she could not be like Benjamin Esh and, after professing such deep feelings of love, suddenly turn to another for comfort. While Benjamin suffered for only six months, Anna was content to suffer for sixty years if that was what it took to prove the injustice of her decision to listen to others when she, and she alone, knew that Freman’s place in her heart could never be replaced.
Furthermore, Anna couldn’t help wonder how Lydia had learned of any interest held for her on Willis’s part. After all, Elizabeth’s letters to Salome indicated that Willis’s intentions were elsewhere: with Elizabeth! If he had been deceiving her yet again, that alone spoke volumes of his character. “He has only returned to my daed’s good graces just recently. What do we truly know of him, beyond the pain that he caused both Daed and Elizabeth so long ago?”
Lydia laughed softly. “Ah, that is in the distant past. And Willis assures me their cordial relationship has been restored.”
So Willis himself had gone to Lydia, hoping to secure her tacit approval of his plan to court Anna. How Anna recoiled at the thought! But thankfully, a stirring at the doorway interrupted their talk, and Anna could turn away without saying anything she might have regretted.