A Faithful Gathering

by Leslie Gould

  “Don’t you dare,” Marie said. “How can you and Nick get married if you do?”

  I stopped and her arm fell away from me. “I’m not marrying Nick,” I said. “I already told you we broke up.”

  Marie put her hand on her hip while I started walking again. “Come back here!” she called out. “This minute!”

  “Goodness,” Aenti Suz said. “I thought you all had gotten past the bickering stage. . . .”

  I thought we had too. I kept walking.

  On Saturday, Marie, Gordon, and Caden were just leaving to return to their apartment when Stephen arrived to pick me up. I’d hoped they would be long gone by then, but Gordon had ended up working that day. Because I had thought they’d be back at their apartment, I hadn’t told Marie I was going on a date with her surgeon. Of course, she figured it out as soon he arrived.

  “You’re pathetic,” she whispered as I brushed past her toward Stephen’s car, which he’d parked between mine and Gordon’s.

  I wore a skirt, blouse, and sandals. Thankfully, he was dressed casually in black jeans and a white button-up shirt.

  He called out a hello to me as he climbed out of his car and then one to Marie and Gordon too. It was the first time he’d seen Caden. We all ended up gathered around our cars, with Mamm peeking out of the living room window. Stephen was so charming, so attentive to Marie and her family, that I couldn’t understand why Marie wouldn’t be thrilled for me to date him.

  We spent the ride into town talking about how Marie was doing with her chemo. I told him she was tired and weak but determined to stay as positive as possible.

  He pulled up to an Italian café not far from Marie and Gordon’s apartment. He was all manners—opening my car door and the restaurant door, pulling out my chair. The place was nice but not too nice. The perfect spot for a first date.

  He asked how my studying was going and then where I planned to live after I passed my test.

  “Wherever I can find a job,” I answered.

  “So, around here then?” He smiled.

  I smiled back. There really was no reason for me to go back to Pittsburgh. I had no apartment. No job. No Nick. My heart lurched.

  Stephen ordered Caprese salat for both of us as an appetizer, and then I ordered linguine and he ordered ravioli. Neither of us ordered wine.

  I had to admit, even though he grew up in a fairly liberal Mennonite community, he felt familiar to me. And comfortable.

  After dinner, we walked along Prince Street, by the old Fulton Opera House. “I really love Lancaster,” he said. “I’ve been at the hospital for four years now and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  We strolled around the downtown area for a half hour and then he took me home, which was now Mamm’s house. I’d moved my bag and backpack that morning. Aenti Suz would soon be living there too because the Dawdi Haus was rented out for the weekend.

  As he walked me up the steps to the front door, he said he had a good time and would like to have dinner again, if I’d be willing.

  “I would,” I said, adding that I enjoyed our time together too. We said a quick good-bye as he patted me on the shoulder.

  I stepped inside the house as he returned to his car. But I stood at the living room window and watched the taillights of his Honda Accord disappear down Oak Road as he headed back to the highway.

  I wasn’t one to fall for a guy right away, obviously. It had taken me a couple of years to realize I had feelings for Nick. And I certainly didn’t think of Stephen in a romantic way. I barely knew him. But there were definitely things I liked about him. He worked in medicine. He grew up Anabaptist. He was kind and caring.

  Nick hadn’t grown up Anabaptist, but, then again, he was raised in a good home. And had found a church to attend as soon as he moved to Pittsburgh.

  The truth was, Nick and Stephen had a lot in common. Except that one was now at officer training school while the other hoped to stay in Lancaster County forever.

  The next two weeks passed by with me taking Marie to chemo, studying as much as I could, and having dinner with Stephen four more times.

  I had more texts from Paisley and Autumn. Finally, one came from Autumn that read, What is going on? You haven’t texted back in weeks and weeks. And I just heard that you and Nick broke up. Are you all right? Asking for a friend. Literally. And myself. Is your sister doing okay? Text me or Paisley back or we’re going to come hunt you down.

  I fessed up to them in a group text that I’d failed my boards and that, yes, Nick and I broke up, but I was okay with that. I’m retaking my boards the first of July. I think I’m better prepared this time. Then I asked how they were doing and if they’d both passed.

  Why did you break up with Nick? Is this for real? We heard you broke his heart. You two were perfect for each other, Autumn texted.

  So good to hear from you, Paisley texted. Don’t listen to Autumn about Nick. I’m sure you had a good reason . . . although I CAN’T imagine what it might be. As far as the test, I failed mine too. But Autumn passed. Go figure!

  That made me laugh. Honestly, Autumn was the least likely to pass out of all of us—or so I thought. At one time. Hopefully, I was done with those sorts of assumptions.

  Yeah, go figure! Autumn texted and then, Please come see us. We miss you! Praying for a quick pass when you retake your test. Same for you, Paisley!

  I laughed again at that last sentence because Paisley and Autumn were roommates and were most likely texting as they sat in the same room together.

  I texted back that it was great to hear from both of them, and I hoped to see them sometime soon. I didn’t know when I’d be back in Pittsburgh, but I didn’t want to lose touch. They’d been good friends to me. The camaraderie I had with them was probably what Dawdi Joe experienced with Lt. Shaw, Captain Russell, and Lt. Madison. Although, minus a war going on, of course.

  I went back to the Mennonite church. The dresses and Kappa began to appeal to me, as did the services. I sat with Stephen, and he seemed to be heading back to his roots too.

  Soon, I found myself bargaining with God. If I passed the test, I’d join the Mennonite church and begin dressing more conservatively again.

  If I passed the test, I’d take any job He wanted me to. I didn’t need to work in an emergency department. Or an ICU. Or go on to school to become a nurse practitioner or nurse anesthetist. I could stay in Lancaster County, close to my family. And Stephen.

  I began to thank Him that I failed the test the first time. Obviously, He’d needed to catch my attention, I thought. He wanted me to make my way back home.

  When July rolled around, I took my boards in Lancaster, just north of downtown in an office complex. Stephen texted me first thing that morning to cheer me on.

  I texted him back quickly, thanking him. As it turned out, I finished the test in seventy-five questions. Either I’d done very well or horribly. Either way, I’d trust God. If I failed, that would be it. I wouldn’t take it again. I’d get a job as a CNA and put everything I could toward my student debt. I could get jobs at two different facilities if I needed to. I could easily work sixty or more hours per week.

  If I did pass, I’d look for a nursing job close by. Hopefully, Mamm would be all right with me living with her for a couple more months until I could get a place of my own.

  Because my test ended so early and Aenti Suz was in charge of Caden for the day, I decided to drive out the Lititz Pike, past the Lancaster Airport, and on to the village of Lititz. I parked and decided to walk around with the thousands of tourists who had the same idea.

  The first time I’d spent any time in Lititz was with Nick, after we’d finished our CNA class. I hadn’t joined the church, so technically I was on my Rumspringeh then, although I didn’t run around—except with Nick. Which didn’t count. It wasn’t as if we snuck around after dark and went to parties or anything.

  Marie, of course, towed the line completely. She spent all of her teen and young adult years, until she left the church
, worried about what Bishop Jacobs thought of her. Such ideas never entered my head. And I had no qualms about leaving the Amish either.

  But perhaps I should have.

  One of the places Nick took me in Lititz was the Wilbur Chocolate Company. I stepped into Wilbur’s and purchased a bag of the sweet-and-salty bark, for old times’ sake. As I walked back to my car, my phone dinged. It was a text from Nick. I’m thinking this is the day of your test. I’m praying for you. Hope all goes well!

  Tears stung my eyes, surprising me. I missed him! More than I realized. I tucked my phone back into my pocket without responding. The sooner I forgot Nick Jordan the better.

  Two days later, I checked the licensing exam site on my phone. I’d passed with flying colors. But instead of texting Nick, I texted Stephen. He took me out to dinner that night to celebrate. As we ate, he told me about a clinic east of Lancaster that served a lot of Old Order Amish. “I know you had an emergency or intensive care job in mind, but they’d love to have a nurse who can speak Pennsylvania Dutch,” he said. “I spoke with one of the doctors this morning, and they’d like to interview you.”

  I did want to work in a hospital . . . but then I remembered my promise to God. No doubt this was where He wanted me.

  After our dinner ended, we drove out of town and through country roads until we reached the Safe Harbor Park on the Conestoga River. Stephen parked his car, and we walked down to the river’s edge and watched the sun set over the treetops. Just as it disappeared, Stephen reached for my hand.

  For a second it all felt so wrong. Nick was gone. Another man held my hand. But then the feeling passed, and my hand felt safe in Stephen’s, and we walked back to the car, together.

  The next morning, I texted Paisley and Autumn to let them know I’d passed. They were both ecstatic. And then I interviewed at the clinic in the afternoon and was offered the job on the spot.

  Mamm said I could continue to live with her until I had saved enough to get my own apartment. I called Marie to let her know, and she said Gordon or his mom, if it worked between her music lessons, would take her to the rest of her chemo appointments and her upcoming radiation, or she could take an Uber, if needed. She then thanked me profusely for my help. “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Marie said. “You’ve served all of us with such love and care.”

  I knew she was sincere, and yet I felt a rift between us. She’d said I wasn’t empathetic toward Nick. She felt I’d dumped him without reason. Weren’t sisters supposed to stick up for each other?

  I accepted the job and started the next week. The first day went well. Several of the older Amish patients had diabetes. One of the teenage boys had strep. A little girl had fallen off a hay wagon and broken her arm. I explained everything to her in Pennsylvania Dutch, which seemed to help.

  When office hours were over, both doctors thanked me. Then the older one asked if I would consider wearing a dress and bonnet to work.

  “A Kapp?” I asked.

  He blushed. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure what they were called.”

  I looked down at my navy blue scrubs.

  “Those are fine,” he said, “but it seems our Amish patients would feel better if you dressed more like they do.”

  I said I’d consider dressing in a Mennonite dress, but not Amish.

  “That’d be great!” The doctor grinned from ear to ear.

  On the way home, I debated what to do. Stephen had told me recently that his mother and grandmother both wore dresses and Kappa. I certainly wasn’t opposed to it.

  But for a moment, I wondered how long I’d have the job. I could tell, even on day one, that it wasn’t going to be exactly challenging. Well, trying to get overweight Amish men to alter their diets would be, but there wasn’t going to be any trauma at this job, which, of course, I’d known from the beginning.

  The farm seemed so quiet with Marie, Gordon, and Caden gone. After Mamm, Aenti Suz, and I ate and I cleaned up the dishes, I ventured out to the front porch while Aenti Suz ran some clean towels out to the Dawdi Haus. We had a family from Virginia staying there tonight.

  It was hot on the porch too, and there wasn’t much of a breeze.

  Aenti Suz soon joined me. “Goodness,” she said, “with so much going on we haven’t had a chance to sit in weeks.”

  “Jah,” I said. “I’ve been wondering about the rest of the story. Do you have time to finish it now?”

  “I do.” Aenti Suz leaned back in the rocker. “Martha and Joe had just married, correct?”

  “That’s right. They were both on R&R in the village of Longwy in France. You hadn’t even gotten to the part where the chaplain said, ‘You may kiss the bride.’”

  Aenti Suz smiled. “Jah, that was a surprise for Joe. No one does that in an Amish wedding.” She laughed and then launched back into the story.

  16

  Joe

  After the chaplain pronounced them man and wife and told Joe he could kiss his bride, he gave Martha a confused look. She nodded and then smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her. The Englisch had such funny ways.

  The hotel put on a wedding dinner in the dining hall, illuminated by candles. Besides making beef stroganoff that was mostly noodles and not much beef, but delicious nonetheless, the chef managed to procure a bottle of champagne—an unnecessary touch for two Anabaptists, but they weren’t going to offend the man by refusing it. Instead, they both drank a glass and then managed to dance with the others to a Glenn Miller album on an old phonograph. Joe held Martha close, having no idea what to do.

  She must have had a little experience with dancing, even though she’d told him back in Chicago that she didn’t dance, because she seemed to at least know how to sway to the music. No one seemed to pay any attention to them after a while, and as soon as they could, they slipped upstairs to their third-story room.

  Neither one of them had a moment of regret. But they didn’t talk about what their future would hold either. They said their good-byes that next morning just before Joe left in the jeep with the two doctors. Both put on a brave face, but when Joe climbed into the jeep and looked back, Martha was crying.

  He couldn’t talk for most of the return trip to the field hospital where the doctors were stationed, but it was too loud and cold to speak anyway. It took him an hour to find a truck going toward his headquarters, but eventually he found a ride.

  None of the other AFS ambulance drivers believed him when he said he’d gotten married until he showed the marriage certificate, signed by Martha, himself, and Chaplain Higdon.

  “Well, congratulations!” Wallace said. “Will there be a baby soon?”

  Joe’s face grew warm at the thought. He doubted it. And hoped not. That would be too much for Martha. Taking care of soldiers and herself was more than enough. Embarrassed, he simply grinned and didn’t answer the question.

  He folded the marriage certificate and slipped it back inside the pocket of his wool coat, where he kept all of his important documents.

  If he thought his mind was on Martha before, she was on his heart every second of the day—and night—now. He prayed for her continually. For her safety. For strength. For enough food and warmth and sleep.

  He wrote to his father and each of his sisters, sending individual letters. He explained that he’d fallen in love with a wonderful woman and that they’d married. He said he couldn’t wait for them to meet her. He didn’t mention that he didn’t know when that would be or that they had no idea where they’d settle once they were reunited. There was no reason to alarm them.

  Since 1752, the Bachmann family had owned their Lancaster County land. But God could have different plans for him. And for the land too. Perhaps a cousin would want to farm it. Or a man one of his sisters would eventually marry. The land could continue in the family yet. As much as he would like to stay on the farm, he knew his decision to marry Martha most likely meant he wouldn’t. A year ago, he never would have believed such a thing was possible.

  Every ch
ance he got, Joe asked soldiers, officers, doctors, and nurses about Martha’s unit and if they’d moved east. The Allies were pushing the Germans farther and farther. He had no idea where Martha might be.

  Finally, a doc he quizzed said he’d heard the Eightieth Division had crossed into Germany. Joe prayed harder.

  A letter arrived from Charity, obviously written before she’d received his about marrying Martha. She said they’d had winter storm after winter storm. Dat’s been feeling poorly. He’s had a cold and a bad cough that’s lingered for several weeks. That didn’t sound good. Several branches broke on the oak tree. Abe Yoder helped with the cleanup.

  It was odd that Charity wrote more about Abe than Faith did. Although, to be accurate, Faith had only written one letter. A short one. With no mention of Abe. No doubt, Faith would write soon enough and claim he’d fulfilled all of the predictions she’d ever made about him.

  Charity’s letter continued. The pond is frozen, of course, and Abe came over to skate with us just last night. Hope thinks Abe and Faith will marry, but I don’t think so. Joe could hardly comprehend that he’d married before any of his sisters and breathed another prayer for their reaction to his letters. He expected four letters of admonishment any day.

  The first week of February, all of Martha’s letters caught up with him, including one written just a couple of days after their wedding. He read that one over and over. He was a married man. He’d never been happier in his life, even in a war zone. But his heart ached for his wife. He wanted to protect her. He wanted her to go home. He wished he could take her place and send her to the farm to stay with his father and sisters. He’d join the army if he could, if it meant Martha would be safe.

  That same week, the temperatures dropped well below freezing and more snow fell. Locals said it was the worst winter in memory. The conditions of the roads grew even worse, and an AFS ambulance driver was killed when his ambulance collided with a truck in northeastern France. A French officer and a stretcher-bearer were badly injured. Joe mourned the man and vowed to drive as carefully as he could.