Summer Promise

by Marianne Ellis

  “I hope that Eli is behaving himself.”

  “He’s doing more than that,” Miriam replied, grateful that it was Eli who was the topic of conversation. She held the door for Rebecca as the two left the Kings’ kitchen to head for the food tables set outside near the barn. It had been Victor and Rebecca’s turn to host worship services.

  “Eli is a hard worker. I am happy to have him,” Miriam went on.

  Rebecca stopped walking. “You really mean it?” she asked, turning so she could look Miriam right in the eye.

  Miriam nodded. “Of course. I had reservations at first. I admit it. But I was wrong to worry. Eli has worked out very well. And his leg seems to be healing nicely. He favors it much less, I think.”

  “Yes.” Rebecca nodded. “He does. He walks almost all the way home now, which is a help to Victor. It was difficult, always having to pick Eli up. The days are already so long. But Eli cannot drive again until Bishop John and the elders give their permission.”

  “I see,” Miriam said.

  The two women continued walking toward where the food tables were set up near the barn.

  “I am relieved to hear you speak well of Eli,” Rebecca continued after a moment. “It matches what I feel myself. I was very uncertain when Victor first proposed he come to live with us. I know Victor hoped his influence would be a help to Eli, but I worried what Eli’s influence would be on our own little ones.”

  “But it’s turned out better than you hoped,” Miriam filled in.

  “It has.” Rebecca nodded. “He’s very good with the little ones, in fact, and I think he’s even more stern with the older ones than Victor is sometimes. It’s as if Eli doesn’t want them to repeat his mistakes.”

  “That certainly doesn’t sound wild,” Miriam said.

  “It doesn’t, does it?” Rebecca agreed, her voice thoughtful.

  “Mamm!” a high-pitched voice suddenly cried. A young girl in a dark dress and sky blue apron came hurtling toward them.

  “Oh, my,” Rebecca said, and Miriam could hear both humor and exasperation running through the other woman’s voice. “I wonder what the crisis is this time.”

  “Give me the cookies,” Miriam suggested. She shifted the larger plate she held so that she could balance a second, lighter one. “I can manage.”

  “If you’re sure,” Rebecca said.

  “Positive.” Miriam nodded. She took the plate, then watched Rebecca hurry toward her young daughter. The girl seized her mother by the hand, talking a mile a minute, and began to tug her back the way she had come. They disappeared around the side of the house. Smiling to herself, Miriam continued on toward the barn.

  I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice Eli’s hard work, she thought as she walked along. Perhaps she and Rebecca could put in a good word with Bishop John. Though the day when she would close the farm stand for the winter was still far off, Miriam wondered suddenly what would happen to Eli at the end of the harvest. Would he stay in his brother’s house or go back to Ohio?

  “You notice she didn’t come today,” a voice suddenly said, slicing across her thoughts.

  Miriam stopped short. Not a half dozen steps in front of her was the corner of the barn. Turn that corner, and she would be at the food tables, where many of the other women were already gathered, setting out the food that was always a part of the social time after the worship service was over.

  I know that voice, Miriam thought. She was almost certain it was Berthe Meyer, the woman Sarah had once been so afraid Daed would marry that her fear had kept her up at night.

  “Of course she didn’t,” a second voice said. “She hasn’t come once all summer, I notice. But then, why would she? She left the community, after all. She was never baptized.”

  And that’s Erma, Miriam thought. Erma, Berthe’s oldest daughter, was not much older than Miriam. She had married Stephen Fisher the year before Daniel and Miriam were married. Miriam had never really liked Erma Meyer when they were growing up, though she had never admitted this to anyone, not even Sarah.

  “I still think it’s funny that Jacob would just let her go off like that,” Erma went on. “I heard he even gave her his blessing! Can you believe that? He didn’t even try to change her mind!”

  “Things would have been much different if those girls had had a mother,” Berthe Meyer huffed. “A man on his own raising two girls like that. Anyone could see nothing good would come of it.”

  “But surely something did,” a new voice put in, one Miriam did not recognize. “Miriam and Daniel are a fine couple. Anyone can see that.”

  “A fine couple with no children,” Berthe Meyer came back at once. “Anyone can see that as well. Though I will say this much: Much as I pity her, Miriam has backbone. Imagine, just the three of them in that house together, with everybody knowing the truth.”

  “What truth?” Miriam still couldn’t identify the speaker, but she no longer cared.

  “Why, that Daniel would have married the younger sister, Sarah, if he could.” Erma spoke before even her mother could get a word in edgewise. “She was always making eyes at him when we were growing up. Then she up and left and Daniel married Miriam instead before the year was out. But she was never the one he really wanted. You mark my words. And still no children after all these years. That tells you something right there, doesn’t it?”

  “Poor Miriam,” the unknown woman said. “I had no idea.”

  “Well, it’s not really the sort of thing you talk about,” Berthe Meyer said.

  Miriam would have laughed aloud if only she could have caught her breath. But it seemed to her suddenly as if there was not enough air in all the world. Her lips parted. She panted for breath, but still she could not fill her lungs. Her whole body flushed. She trembled. Spots danced before her eyes. From fury or lack of oxygen she genuinely could not tell.

  Away. I’ve got to get away, she thought. Away from the sniping and the false pity. Away before anyone knew what she had overheard. That she had overheard.

  She turned, only vaguely aware that she was still clutching the plates of food in her hands. Her feet felt like lead as she lifted them to walk back across the yard. Finally, she sank down on the Kings’ front steps, cradling the plates of food in her lap.

  “Miriam?” As if from a great distance, she heard a voice speak her name. “Miriam!” A hand touched her shoulder, shaking gently, then with more insistence. “Miriam, are you all right?”

  Slowly Miriam turned her head, focused her eyes. Leah Gingerich’s concerned face swam into view.

  “Leah,” Miriam croaked out.

  “Miriam, what is it?” Leah asked, and even through her strange haze Miriam could hear the fear and worry in the young woman’s voice. “You’re so white. Don’t you feel well?”

  “That’s it. Yes, that’s it,” Miriam said, suddenly seizing on the possibility that Leah offered. “I don’t feel well. I wonder, would you see if you can find Daniel for me? I think that I would like to go home.”

  “Of course I will,” Leah said. After a moment’s hesitation, Leah took the plates that Miriam had forgotten about from her lap and set them on the step beside her. “Do you want anything—some water, maybe—before I go?”

  “No, danki, Leah,” Miriam replied. “If you would just . . . please, Leah.”

  “I’m going,” Leah said. Pivoting on one heel, she dashed off.

  Miriam sat on the steps, hands folded tightly in her lap, and gazed straight ahead at nothing. If only, she thought, she could feel nothing as well.

  * * *

  Leah sped across the yard, skirting around the back side of the barn so that she’d attract less attention. She wasn’t quite sure where Daniel was, but she was sure that the last thing Miriam needed was for Leah to go charging around calling attention to herself by searching for him. Then everyone would know that something bad had happened. />
  How dare those old biddies? Leah thought. She had been too far away to hear most of what had been said, but Leah had been at the perfect angle to see what had happened. The group of women clustered around the food tables, leaning in to listen as Berthe Meyer and her daughter spoke. And Miriam was about to come around the edge of the barn. Leah heard only a few words but it was clear that they were talking about Miriam and her marriage. Leah didn’t want to hear any more; she had stopped short, then staggered away. Just the thought of the wounded expression in Miriam’s eyes made Leah’s own eyes fill with angry tears.

  Oomph!

  With a suddenness that left her gasping, Leah collided with another body. She staggered back and felt strong hands close around her arms, steadying her, holding her upright.

  “Leah, what is it?” a voice asked urgently. “What’s wrong?”

  Leah looked up into Eli’s forest green eyes.

  “Eli,” she sobbed out. “Oh, Eli.”

  “You’re crying!” Eli exclaimed. He took a quick step back, studying her intently. “Leah, are you injured? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Not me,” Leah gasped out. She reached to dash the angry tears from her cheeks. “It isn’t me. It’s—”

  “Miriam,” Eli said.

  Leah’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

  “Leah.” Unexpectedly, her name came out on a sigh. “I’m not stupid, you know, and I’m certainly not blind. I know how much you look up to Miriam. If you’re this upset, it has to be about somebody you really care about. I’ve just seen your aenti and onkel, so I know that they are well. That leaves Miriam, or you yourself, and you tell me you’re fine. So, once again, we’re back to Miriam.”

  “It was awful,” Leah whispered. “Oh, Eli.” To Leah’s dismay and annoyance, she began to weep once more, huge tears that welled up and rolled down her cheeks. Eli released her to fish in his back pocket for a handkerchief. Then, before Leah realized what he intended, he tilted up her chin and wiped the tears from her face, precisely as Aenti Rachel had always done when she was small. Then he tucked the handkerchief into Leah’s hand.

  “What was so awful?” he asked. “Tell me.”

  “The women at the food table,” Leah blurted out. “I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying. But I could see who was speaking. It was that horrible Berthe Meyer and her daughter Erma, who’s just as bad. So I knew what it meant. They were gossiping.”

  “Gossiping about Miriam?” Eli asked.

  Leah nodded. “I think so, yes, because I could see Miriam, too. She was carrying some plates of food for the table. She was about to come around the side of the barn. But when she heard the women speaking, she stopped, and then she turned around. They must have been saying something terrible. I could tell by the way she was walking that something was wrong. It was like she couldn’t see what was right in front of her. For a minute, I was afraid she might fall down. And the look on her face . . . She says she wants to go home. She wants me to find Daniel. Have you seen him?”

  “No,” Eli said, turning quickly to look behind him. “Come, let’s look for him.”

  They set off at a quick walk, moving through the crowd of people gathering for the meal.

  “I don’t see him by the food tables,” Eli said. “But there are still more people coming out of the barn. Let’s head that way.”

  “I don’t understand it,” Leah said, still furious on Miriam’s behalf. “Why do people do things like that? Don’t they stop to think about how it might make other people feel?”

  “No,” Eli said. “They do not. People who gossip think only of themselves.”

  Leah opened her mouth to ask how on earth he would know such a thing, then closed it with a snap. Of course he knows, she realized. She now understood why Eli assumed she had heard the gossip about him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It must be terrible to know that people are talking about you behind your back, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  Some quick emotion flashed across Eli’s face, there and gone so swiftly Leah had no chance of identifying it.

  “It is, in fact,” he said. “But you get used to it.”

  “I don’t think that can be right,” Leah said. She pulled in a deep breath. “I want you to know that I never told anyone what you told me when we were driving back from town the other day. I never talked about you behind your back. And I know that I have faults, lots and lots of them. But I would not do that—not to you or anyone. And I understand now what you were trying to say about that Englischer boy in that red car. You were trying to tell me to be careful or people might be gossiping about me. I guess I should say thank you for that.”

  “You say the most amazing things sometimes,” Eli said. “Though I think the most amazing thing of all is that I followed all of that. I—”

  “Eli! Where have you got to? I need your help.” Victor’s voice rang out.

  Eli’s head whipped in the direction of his brother’s voice.

  “I’m here,” he called back. “I’ll be right there.” He turned to Leah once more. “It looks as if the men are still in the barn. I bet I can find Daniel there. I am sure Victor has seen him.”

  “Danki, Eli,” Leah said. “I will go back to Miriam.”

  But as Leah headed back toward the house, Leah saw that things were not as she’d left them. Miriam was no longer on the steps of the King house but sitting on a bench on one end of the porch. And her aenti was climbing the steps of the porch, heading straight for Miriam.

  Thank goodness! Aenti Rachel could make anyone feel better, Leah thought as she turned back around and continued her search for Daniel.

  Thirteen

  Oh, Miriam,” Rachel said. “There you are.”

  Miriam started. She was feeling a little better, well enough that she realized the surest way to head off any additional gossip about her was to stop sitting out in plain sight on the front steps of Victor and Rebecca’s porch. She had pushed herself up, collecting the plates of food as she stood. For one brief moment, Miriam had considered turning around. Marching down the steps and around the side of the barn to confront Berthe Meyer and the others. To see their faces when they realized she knew what they had said.

  It’s what Sarah would have done, she thought. But Miriam was not Sarah. She could never be Sarah, and wasn’t that the problem? In the end, she had simply walked to a bench at the far end of the porch, sinking down upon it and setting the plates of food at her side. Then she’d sat perfectly still, her mind as blank as a new sheet of paper, until she’d heard the sound of someone saying her name.

  Miriam looked up. Slowly, as if she had to regain the use of her eyes, a familiar face came into focus.

  “Rachel?” Miriam asked, her voice coming out in a croak.

  “I saw you sitting here on your own,” Rachel said in a calm, straightforward tone. “I thought you might like some company.”

  “Danke,” Miriam said. She hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. But Rachel was the exception. Rachel’s company was always welcome. “I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home early,” Miriam explained. “I’m just waiting here for Daniel.”

  Rachel made a face. “He’s involved in a spirited discussion about the upcoming horse auction, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, well, in that case,” Miriam said. She cleared her throat, striving to match Rachel’s easy manner. “We might as well get comfortable. We’ll be here a while.”

  Rachel’s kind eyes sharpened in concern. “But are you all right?”

  “It’s nothing serious. My stomach is upset.” This was not far from the truth, Miriam told herself. “I just came to sit here, because I don’t think I can eat the meal. Don’t worry. Leah said she would look for Daniel for me.”

  “I’m sure Daniel will come once he knows you need him,” Rachel said.

  Miriam m
ade an inarticulate sound. She lifted a hand to her mouth, pressing hard against it to keep from sobbing aloud. Rachel sat beside her in silence, eyes straight ahead, hands folded quietly in her lap. Never had Miriam appreciated the other woman more. One touch, one word, even a single syllable of support, and Miriam was sure she would have lost control. She pulled in deep breaths, focusing on the air moving in and out of her lungs. After a few moments, she dropped her hand down into her lap. She swallowed hard.

  “Did I ever tell you,” Rachel said after several minutes had passed, her tone conversational, as if she were discussing the weather or the garden, “that, at one time in my life, I thought I might become your mother?”

  Miriam’s head turned toward Rachel as if jerked by a string, all thoughts of her present upset forgotten.

  “What?”

  Rachel smiled. And now she did reach for Miriam’s hands, giving them a quick squeeze before releasing them to fold her own in her lap once more.

  “Of course, it was many years ago, about a year after Edna died. Jacob’s first year of mourning had come to an end and everybody just assumed he would begin looking for another wife. It wasn’t so unreasonable. That would have been the sensible, Plain thing to do, after all. He had two young girls to raise, and he was just a little over thirty, still a vital man. Surely he would want more children; he would want a more traditional family life.

  “I’m still not quite sure how it happened,” Rachel continued quietly, “but the day came when I suddenly realized that everyone around me seemed to be of the opinion that I would be Jacob’s choice.”

  The two women sat in silence for several moments, Miriam waiting for Rachel to continue. How many more surprises could the day hold?

  “Did they say why?” she finally managed to inquire.

  At this, Rachel gave a quick laugh. “Oh, yes. Over and over,” she replied. “Though never to my face, of course. But I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how effective gossip can be.”