Summer Promise

by Marianne Ellis

  “No, I don’t,” Miriam agreed.

  “I was considered old to still be unmarried,” Rachel went on. “Just a little over twenty. Apparently, a marriage between Jacob and me would be the perfect solution to both our ‘problems.’ He would get a mother for his children, and I would be spared becoming an old maid.

  “Everyone around me seemed so sure of what would happen that, eventually, I became sure of it myself. I even became convinced that this was what I wanted: I wanted to become Jacob Lapp’s wife.”

  “Daed never spoke about any of this,” Miriam said.

  “I don’t imagine that he did,” Rachel answered with a smile. “But then he had no reason to, did he? He had made his choice, and I’m sure he never regretted it.”

  “The choice not to marry you, you mean?” Miriam asked.

  “The choice not to marry anyone,” Rachel corrected her softly. She fell silent for a moment. Her eyes looked straight ahead, but it seemed to Miriam that Rachel was no longer seeing what was right in front of her, the Kings’ front porch. Instead, she was seeing something that had happened many years ago.

  Rachel finally spoke once more. “I still remember the Sunday Jacob asked if he could speak with me after worship service. I was so excited! So sure that this was the day he would ask me to become his wife. I had butterflies in my stomach all during the service. I don’t think I heard a word the bishop spoke. All I could do was try to picture the moment when Jacob would ask me to be his wife.

  “After the service, we went for a ride in his buggy. We drove to the top of Stoneridge Hill. Do you know the place I mean?”

  “I do.” Miriam nodded. It was a popular courting spot. “It’s beautiful there. You can see in every direction.”

  “In every direction,” Rachel echoed. “As if the whole world could be yours.” She paused yet again, as if she could see the view before her, right at that very moment. “We got out of the buggy,” Rachel continued. “Jacob even held my hand. His touch was strong and steady. I remember that so well! Just as I remember the quiet, steady way his eyes held mine when he told me how sorry he was that he could not ask me to be his wife. It wasn’t me, he said. I shouldn’t think that it was. But he would never marry anyone.”

  “But why?” Miriam said. “Why would he be so opposed to taking another wife?”

  “For the simplest reason imaginable,” Rachel answered. “Because in his heart, he still had one. Your father was, and always would be, married to your mother. Nothing was ever going to change that, he said. Not even the fact that Edna wasn’t alive anymore, that now she walked with God. Believing that, knowing that, the way he did, he could never ask another woman to become his wife.”

  Rachel gave a long, deep sigh. Looking into the other woman’s face, Miriam discovered there were tears in Rachel’s eyes.

  “Your father loved your mother, Miriam. I have never seen a love quite like it, not in all my life. Another man might have done what everyone expected of him, and it certainly would have made life easier. He would have had a helpmate, someone to help him raise you and Sarah, to run the house, the farm stand, and the farm.

  “But Jacob Lapp was not that man. He knew his own heart and mind. Even more, he believed that he could not feel as strongly, see as clearly, as he did, if the path he was choosing to walk was not also the will of God. And this faith gave him the strength to choose a path that many people would not understand, might even criticize him for.”

  “Sarah,” Miriam whispered. Sarah had sounded so much like Daed that day in the blackberry patch. Sarah, too, had followed a rocky path, but it was the one she believed God had paved for her inside her heart.

  “I have always thought that Sarah and your father were much alike,” Rachel said. “But you are like him, also. You have his steadiness and his quiet determination. You have the same devotion to those you love.”

  “But what if they don’t love you back?” Miriam whispered, and she felt a fine trembling seize all her limbs. This was as close as she had ever come to speaking of her innermost fears to anyone.

  “What I think,” Rachel answered slowly, “what I learned from Jacob that day, is that we can never know what is in another person’s heart. Not until they decide to share it with us. Until that moment, we have only our own hopes and perhaps our fears.”

  Unexpectedly, she smiled once more. “We certainly have our own expectations, which may or may not be met! As long as I’m telling you the truth, I must also say that I didn’t take what your father had to say particularly well. I was upset. I was very upset. I felt that I’d been made to look like a fool, and that it was all Jacob’s fault.

  “But as the days passed and I had the chance to think about all he said to me that day, I changed my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I could see how courageous Jacob was. How honorable, even, to explain to me why he could not marry me, rather than to simply leave me dangling, never knowing the truth. Or marrying me, knowing I would speak the vows in good faith, but for him, they would have been false.

  “And, slowly but surely, I realized something else: Jacob’s actions had created in me the desire to look beyond what others thought I should do. His courage gave me the courage to look into, and to know, what was in my own heart.

  “John Miller and I were married that winter. He’s younger than I am by several years, you know. People flapped their lips about that, too, but I never let it bother me. I knew, just as Jacob did, that I had made the right choice.”

  Miriam was silent, taking in Rachel’s words, taking in all the unspoken things she thought the older woman was trying to tell her.

  “I cannot be sorry that Daed made the choice he did,” she said at last. “Because then, I think, I would have to be sorry that he was who he was. But I think having you for a mother would have been a fine thing, for Sarah and for me.”

  “I will tell you a secret,” Rachel said. “In my heart, I have always thought of you as my daughters. And I have always been proud of you both.”

  “Oh, Rachel,” Miriam sobbed.

  “There, now!” Rachel said. She put an arm around Miriam’s shoulders. “I tried to make you feel better, but still you are crying after all.”

  “You have made me feel better,” Miriam said. “More than you know. And I don’t know what’s come over me lately.” She scrubbed away the tears with the backs of her hands. “It seems I’m crying all the time.”

  “You have had many changes in the last few months, Miriam,” Rachel said. “Sometimes, getting used to them takes time. It is hard to be patient, particularly with ourselves. Ah! And here is Daniel, just in time.”

  Rachel gave Miriam’s shoulder one final pat, and then stood up. “Here we are, Daniel,” she called out.

  “Miriam,” Daniel said. He strode toward them. Even from a distance, Miriam could hear the worry in her husband’s voice. “Is everything all right? Eli said you were feeling unwell.”

  “Eli!” Miriam exclaimed.

  “Leah must have asked him to speak to Daniel,” Rachel said. “So that she would not call attention to herself, and him, by asking to speak to him when there were so many menfolk around.” She took a step away from the bench where Miriam still sat. “Well, I will leave you two alone. But I will call on you tomorrow to see how you get on, Miriam. Good day to you, Daniel.”

  “Good day, Rachel,” Daniel said. The second she was past him, he knelt at Miriam’s feet, gazing intently into her face. “You look pale,” he said. “Let me take you home.”

  “I would like to go home,” Miriam admitted. “But I hate to have you leave, Daniel. This will be your last chance to talk with all the other men before the horse auction.”

  “I’ll take my chances with the auction,” Daniel said. “If you are unwell—”

  “It’s nothing really,” Miriam assured him, “and it will not be a problem for me to take the buggy on my own.
That is, if you don’t mind walking.”

  “Of course I don’t,” Daniel said at once. “Or, if there is room, I can ride home with my mother and father.” He looked at her again, concern in his blue eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure,” Miriam told him.

  “Very well. Then I’ll just go get the horse hitched up. Do you want to wait here, or will you come?”

  “I’ll wait here,” Miriam said.

  She expected Daniel to get up at once, but, to her surprise, he stayed right where he was. With gentle fingers, he reached out and touched Miriam’s cheek. “I think, perhaps, you look a little better.”

  “Anything would be an improvement, don’t you think?” Miriam said, striving to keep her tone light. Her skin tingled everywhere Daniel’s fingers had touched her.

  Daniel smiled. “A sensible man would refuse to answer that,” he said. “And I am sensible. Even my mother says so. Wait right there. I’ll be right back.”

  He rose, turned, and sprinted down the porch steps, heading for the barn. Abruptly Miriam realized that, against all odds, she was smiling.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later she brought the horse and buggy to a halt just outside the graveyard. She looped the reins around the stock, and then climbed down from the buggy, giving the horse a pat on the nose as she walked by him. “I’ll only be a moment,” she promised in a quiet voice. Then she was threading her way among the graves, making for the place where her mother and father were buried side by side.

  Miriam had not visited this place since the day her father was buried, only a month earlier. The earth above her father’s resting place was now smooth and green, though the grass was not yet as long as on her mother’s grave. Miriam hesitated for a moment, suddenly uncertain, and then sat down at the place where the two graves met.

  “Oh, Daed,” she whispered. “I wish that I had known.”

  Known how great, how extraordinary, was her father’s love for her mother. So great that not even death could erase it from his heart. How had Rachel described Jacob Lapp? Quiet, steady, determined. And she had said Miriam was just like that.

  A late afternoon breeze ruffled the grass on top of the graves. Miriam felt it frisking about her face, lifting the strings of her kapp. Miriam felt her heart lift along with the breeze.

  I did know, she realized. She had felt her father’s love for her mother every day of her life. Jacob’s love for Edna Lapp had been inseparable from who he was. He had said as much to Rachel. Because he was courageous, Miriam thought. Brave enough to understand, and to embrace, the innermost workings of his own heart.

  Help me, Daed, she thought. Help me to be more than simply quiet and steady. Help me to be as brave as you were, all the days of my life.

  Brave enough to acknowledge her hopes and fears. And brave enough to live with whatever might come when she finally found the courage to speak them aloud.

  Fourteen

  Miriam came awake slowly. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, spilling across the honey-colored floors, filling the room with a warm, luxurious glow. Miriam lay still, her head on her own pillow, one hand, palm upward, resting on the pillow where Daniel’s head would be when he lay down beside her.

  Even in sleep, she thought, I reach for Daniel, my love, my husband.

  She waited for the familiar pang of pain and uncertainty that thinking about how much she loved Daniel usually brought her. But it didn’t come. Miriam wiggled her fingers, just to make sure she was really awake. Perhaps she was still dreaming, she thought. But her sleep had been without dreams. Her sleep had been quiet and calm, exactly as she felt right this moment. Peaceful, like a ship that had been battling a storm at sea for a very long time but had now, finally, made its way safely home to port.

  What has happened? she wondered.

  It wasn’t as if she had done anything momentous. She’d just taken a nap. That was all. It hadn’t been until Miriam had put the horse and buggy away, giving the horse some oats to munch on before coming into the house, that she had realized just how tired she was. She had climbed the stairs to the bedroom, intending merely to change out of her good dress and apron before going back down. Supper would be a cold one and was already prepared, as was always the case on Sunday.

  But the bed looked so inviting! Miriam’s whole body felt heavy, as if every cell were crying out for her to lie down. Giving in to impulse, she had changed into her everyday dress, but left off her apron and removed her kapp, setting it on her dressing table. Then, finally, she had simply given in and curled up on top of the quilt. She’d pulled the knitted afghan that was always draped over the end of the bed up over her legs and feet, closed her eyes, and remembered nothing more.

  Miriam pushed herself upright slowly, sitting propped up against the headboard. She could see out the window now and look out across the fields, shorn of their hay, the great, round bales curing in the sun. Miriam inhaled deeply. The rich, green smell, which seemed to be the smell of the very earth itself, filled her nostrils.

  I have so much to be thankful for, she thought. She loved this farm that was, and had always been, her home. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave it, as Sarah had done.

  Again, Miriam waited for the pang that so often followed swiftly upon any thought of her sister, and again, there was none. Miriam sat very still. Then, again obeying an impulse she could not explain but that would not be denied, she reached out and slid the Bible that always rested on the nightstand into her lap. She held it for a moment, then, abruptly, she released it, letting the pages fall open of their own accord. Only then did Miriam look down.

  “‘Clothe yourselves with humility toward one another,’” she read, “‘for God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you . . . After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.’”

  Miriam leaned her head back and closed her eyes. I do feel stronger, she thought. And I have Daed to thank for it. It was her father who had helped her to see what must be done, the path that she must follow, just as he had done when he was alive.

  I have not been humble, Miriam thought as she opened her eyes. Instead, she had been proud, insisting that the only position for her in Daniel’s heart must be the first one, because that was the place Daniel held in Miriam’s own heart.

  But how fortunate she was! Daniel was her husband. Every day, Miriam could awaken to the fact that Daniel had chosen her, not any of the other women in their community. He had asked Miriam to be his wife. His face was the first thing she saw each morning, the last thing she saw at night. Each and every day, Miriam could see and touch the man she loved. She could listen for the tread of his feet upon the stairs and the sound of his voice.

  Daed loved Mamm in the same way that I love Daniel, Miriam thought. But her parents had not been so fortunate. Edna had died when they were both so young. But her father’s love had never wavered. It had not died. It had stayed alive and strong. In all the years from the day of his wife’s death to the day of his own, Jacob’s love had burned, quiet and steady, inside his heart, a heart made courageous by the grace of God.

  Miriam closed the Bible gently and returned it to the nightstand. Then she slid from the bed to kneel by its side.

  Great and merciful God, she prayed as she bowed her head, I thank You for Your guidance. I thank You for opening my eyes. Help my heart find the courage to walk the path You have prepared for me. Let me walk it with humility, being truly grateful for the gifts that You bestow.

  For several moments after the words of her prayer had ended, Miriam continued to kneel beside the bed. But it seemed to her in those moments that she was still p
raying, a prayer without conscious thought, her mind, her soul reaching up and out, reaching in every direction for the clear and glorious presence of God.

  She got to her feet filled with the same sense of calm with which she had awoken. She was moving toward her dressing table to retrieve her kapp when a movement outside the window caught her eye. Miriam stepped to the window and looked out, and in that moment, it seemed to her as if she were transported back in time to that day six years earlier.

  She could see Daniel and Sarah coming across the fields together. Daniel was speaking, gesturing with his arms for emphasis, as he had on that day so long ago. And just like on that day, Sarah stopped him with a touch, the simple gesture of laying a hand upon his arm. For what seemed to Miriam like endless moments, her sister and husband faced each other. Then, Sarah reached up and threw her arms around Daniel’s neck. Daniel pulled Sarah to him, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.

  Miriam never knew how long they stood that way. She turned her back on the window and walked to her dressing table. She lifted her kapp and settled it over her hair. Then she tied on her favorite everyday apron, the one whose color always reminded her of the roses in the garden.

  Then she paused and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. A young woman, her expression serious and her gaze steady, looked back.

  This is who I am, she thought. It was time to prove she was her father’s daughter. Time to prove that she had the courage and conviction of what lay in her own heart.

  On silent feet, Miriam walked down the stairs to do what her heart knew must be done.

  Fifteen

  Miriam, you should have waited for me to do that,” Sarah exclaimed as she came into the kitchen. Not even ten minutes had passed since Miriam watched Sarah throw her arms around Daniel’s neck.