“I hear there’s a local Amish farmer who’s raisin’ camels for their milk,” Rebecca Lapp said presently, catching Tessie’s attention.
“Jah, Miller’s Organic Farm is shipping it all over the country,” Rhoda Kurtz answered. “Ten dollars a pint.”
“Guess it tastes like skim milk, only a little saltier,” Rebecca said. “S’posed to be mighty gut for folks with diabetes and other illnesses.”
“Word has it, it’s even helped some of the autistic children round Bird-in-Hand,” Lillianne Hostetler chimed in.
“Well, not so quick,” Rebecca said. “No one’s stating outright that camel’s milk will cure anything. Let’s just be real clear on that.”
Tessie smiled, wondering about all this camel talk as she, Mamma, and Mandy set out three dozen snitz pies. By midafternoon, the new barn would be pretty much closed in, if all went as usual. A good number of folk would stay on till closer to supper, making vents to place in the eaves, and taking time to build grain bins, too. She envisioned sledgehammers and long ropes, chalk lines and measuring tapes, and pry bars. A head carpenter had been appointed days before. The eight-by-eight timbers had already arrived, and sill planks were laid out on the vast foundation. The older men would build the animal stalls inside the towering barn walls, amidst what might seem to an outsider like mass disorder, yet was anything but.
With everything Tessie Ann had to do to help with the meals for the male workers, she didn’t know exactly when she might whisper her startling discovery to Marcus. How might he respond? Still, it was only fair that she told him the probable source of the lingering tension between him and Dat, even though it would add a new burden to their young marriage.
Perhaps they could take a short walk after the noon meal, right before Marcus returned to his high perch on the barn’s roof. She prayed the Lord might make it possible to do so privately.
———
Marcus paused to wipe his brow with the back of his arm, there high on the rafters. He squinted into the sunlight, thankful for this near-perfect weather. A number of men had commented earlier on it, saying the Lord God had seen fit to give them a fine day to raise this barn. As was usual at such gatherings, the atmosphere was abuzz with the camaraderie of all the workers—men and womenfolk alike.
He scanned the area below, searching for sweet Tessie. And then he spotted her, clear over near the large tent erected off to the left of the field, no doubt helping to spread out the food.
Even at this distance, she was mighty pretty. And more than that, helpful and kind, possessing all the worthy character traits a man would ever desire in a wife. At the thought, he glanced over at Ammon Miller, working several tiers below him. Marcus had high hopes for the Lord’s intervention for a conversation with Tessie’s father, possibly even today.
I trust in Thy will, O Lord, he prayed, watching Ammon hammer nails with the force of a young man. A man with strength in many areas, Marcus thought. A man who surely has his daughter’s best interest at heart.
———
One of Tessie’s Amish neighbors, Maryanna Esh, who owned a greenhouse, was chattering about an old upright piano her elderly aunt had seen at a German Brethren meetinghouse. The young man who’d played it had explained to her that such instruments needed exceptional care. “A gut piano like that reminded my aunt of some people, I guess.” Maryanna continued, “You just can’t let them be for too long without tending to them. They’ll break down and weaken . . . and, in the case of a piano, lose their ability to stay in tune.” Maryanna glanced up from cutting squares of strawberry Jell-O in a large pan.
“Lookin’ after each other is important,” Tessie agreed softly, saying the words more to herself than to anyone.
Other women had interesting anecdotes, too, including Rebecca Lapp, known all over the hollow as a storyteller. Oh, could she ever grab your interest, particularly with hilarious childhood tales, which soon had the women cutting up and laughing.
Tessie looked over at the already raised wooden walls of the barn, trying her best to locate Marcus. There were so many men, most wearing their black work jackets because the day was chilly, although some of the younger fellows had shed theirs.
She sighed. There was no way to pick out which of the menfolk might be Marcus. And in that moment, she felt farther from him than ever.
———
Tessie was counting out plastic utensils with Mandy in the large dinner tent when she heard a collective gasp. She looked up to see men scrambling down from their locations on the beamed barn walls.
“What’s happened?” Mandy glanced toward the rush of men.
Tessie held her breath. The atmosphere was hushed . . . too still.
O Lord, don’t let any of the men be hurt, she prayed, recalling other times when injuries had occurred.
Cousin Emmalyn rushed to them suddenly. “It’s Marcus King. He’s fallen!”
Tessie’s legs locked, and she felt she might faint. Oh, but she couldn’t let herself do that when she wanted to dash across the field to go to him. But no one knew of their intimate relationship. “Is he hurt?” she whispered as fear gripped her heart, but Emmalyn didn’t know.
Mandy turned to wrap her arms around Tessie Ann, holding on to her or holding her together—Tessie wasn’t sure which. She saw two young boys race toward the phone shed.
I should be with Marcus. . . .
Terror overwhelmed her, yet she could not turn and weep in Mandy’s arms—could not, would not cause a scene. Marcus himself had refused to allow their marriage to be known till the time was right, so she must try to honor him even now.
The knot of men in black suspenders and work trousers crowded in closer, the swarm ever increasing as more workers rushed to gather near fallen Marcus. As she watched, incapable of breath, every muscle in Tessie’s body felt stiff . . . hard as the nails Marcus had used this day.
Then, one by one, the men respectfully removed their straw hats. A siren wailed in the distance.
No, no, no! Tessie screamed silently. And she broke free of her sister and dashed across the wide green field, running and crying, not caring who saw her as she burst through the throng of men, hurrying to her husband’s side.
Chapter 9
Mandy gasped as Tessie dashed off in the direction of Marcus and the workmen.
Emmalyn and her mother stood near Mandy, watching . . . waiting. Mamm wrung her hands as she stepped closer to Mandy. Her sweet face had turned bright pink, and though Mandy offered soothing words, she was unable to settle her mother down. “What’s Tessie doin’ over yonder?” Mamm asked, then babbled something in Deitsch about Tessie Ann and Marcus’s recent breakup. None of it made sense.
“There, there,” Mandy said, unable to grasp her mother’s concern over that at such a fragile time. Yet, as beside herself as Mamm seemed to be, it wasn’t Mandy’s place to explain that Tessie did indeed love Marcus King. She’d seen the evidence weeks ago, and her sister’s bold action now reconfirmed it.
“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Mamm craned her neck to see.
Mandy touched her mother’s back. “Let’s be in prayer . . . not say more.”
“Jah.” Mamm’s frown was etched on her brow, and her chin quivered as the ambulance pulled up and paramedics emerged with a long stretcher. The Amishmen parted to make room.
In a few short moments, Marcus was carried off the field to the waiting emergency vehicle, covered with a stark white sheet. Tessie’s head bowed low as she walked next to the stretcher.
Mandy clenched her jaw, trying not to cry as she watched her poor, dear sister place a hand on Marcus’s heart for a moment, then step back as he was carried into the ambulance and the doors were closed. The vehicle pulled out onto the road, but the siren was as still as the young Amishman inside.
By the time Tessie arrived home with her sister and mother, she felt not only stunned but sick. Neither Mandy nor Mamma had posed a single question about her behavior on the hushed ride back from the
barn raising, and for this she was thankful, not knowing what she would have said anyway.
When they pulled up to the stable, Mandy kindly offered to unhitch the horse for Mamma and urged Tessie inside. Tessie went into the house and up the stairs, going to her room to lie facedown on her bed, inconsolable. Oh, she wished her tears might come now that she was alone! But they remained locked away inside her as she helplessly replayed her last precious, loving hours with Marcus. She had to cling to those memories, for they were all she had.
Eventually, Mandy came into her room, closed the door, and lay down on the bed. When she felt her sister’s arm slip around her, Tessie’s tears finally began to flow, mingling with Mandy’s own.
“How can I ever live through this?” Tessie whispered, sobbing. “How?”
“You must have cared for him very much.” Mandy’s voice was soft and soothing.
“More than anyone knows.” More than anyone will ever know, Tessie thought.
Mandy stroked her back until, sometime later, Tessie gave in to deep and numbing sleep.
“After supper, let’s talk a bit,” Sylvan said to Mandy when he came into the house to change out of his work clothes soon after her return from her parents’. He stood in the doorway of the downstairs washroom and indicated he’d heard some surprising things at the barn raising today prior to Marcus King’s fatal fall. “I wouldn’t have said anything, considering, but it seems like everyone but your husband knows ’bout your boldness,” he said before closing the door. “How can that be, love?”
I worried it might come to this, Mandy thought, her conscience pricked.
“Honestly, I tried to tell ya,” she whispered. “I don’t want to turn back now.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. It had been enough today to witness the aftermath of Marcus’s shocking fall from the pinnacle of the barn rafters . . . and Tessie’s devastation. And now this.
When Tessie awakened to a knock, she called out sleepily. “Come in, Mamma,” she said, seeing Mandy was gone. Her whole body ached as she attempted to rise from her snug spot on the bed.
“Sorry to bother ya, but this just came in the mail . . . for you,” Mamma said, looking at her apprehensively.
“Denki.”
Her mother was quiet as she paused at the door. She stood there, eyeing Tessie, as if she wanted to say something more.
Tessie Ann wished for a consoling embrace that would not come, because her mother did not know the terrible truth that Tessie had just lost her husband. “I’ll be down to help with supper soon,” she finally offered, wishing she could lie down for the rest of the day. Or month.
“All right, then.” Mamma closed the door.
Tessie looked down at the envelope. “From Marcus,” she murmured, tears springing to her eyes again. Her hands shook as she quickly opened it. She savored his final words to her, then was suddenly befuddled. Had he intended for her to retrieve the journal someday?
Did my darling think he was about to die?
Moving to the window, she raised the letter to her lips and stared out, looking up the long road toward the house, just out of view, where they’d planned to live together. The thought ripped her heart anew.
“Mandy knows I love him,” she said softly, then considered the crowd of men surrounding Marcus as he lay dead on the ground. All of them knew she loved him now, too.
If she felt up to going, she wanted to run over to the rental house later tonight and look for Marcus’s journal, once her parents were asleep. What a treasure that would be! After that, she must pack up her beloved memories and store them in her mind and heart, sealing them away for the rest of her life. Especially now, given the alarming information she possessed, something her husband would never come to know this side of heaven. It would take everything she had to do this, but she must. How else could she survive, knowing what she did?
No one needed to know what she and Marcus had truly been to each other. Not even Mandy. The secret of their brief marriage could simply go to his grave.
First thing tomorrow, Tessie would start sewing her black dress for the funeral. Even though she would not reveal that she was, in fact, his widow, the dark color would stand for something.
Mandy considered Sylvan’s earlier remark as she raked the side yard, waiting for supper to bake. Couldn’t she have some say about what she did during her daylight hours? How frustrated she felt just now, with all the many emotions scrambling inside of her. I should have tried harder to talk to him about it.
Refusing to be put out at Sylvan, she used her energy to gather up the scattered gold, red, and orange leaves that were falling even now, showering her head and shoulders. The linden leaves had turned a soft yellow, and the oaks an inviting bronze, yet as much as she loved the changing palette of color, Mandy also relished how warm the air still felt—warm enough to keep the windows in the house wide open.
All the happy autumn days, raking and piling up leaves with my sisters. At times like this, she missed her siblings terribly, missed being absorbed in their shared work and play. And, oh, the pleasant chatter.
She saw two school-age girls out on the road, riding their bikes like scooters, pushing with their right foot as she and her sisters always had. As required by the bishop, there were no pedals, so they couldn’t go too fast.
Thinking again of Sylvan, Mandy realized that he was her family now. He was a good and decent man, after all, and Mamm had once suggested that, if respect came first, sometimes love would flower in time. But without children, where does that leave us? She sighed, knowing full well that a marriage without Kinner was a blight on any Amish home.
She finished her raking chore and headed for the house, making her way into the back door. Supper would be later than usual because of the barn raising and Marcus King’s horrific accident. Ach, poor Tessie Ann. Her heart ached yet again.
She personally could not imagine losing a beloved to death—it pained her to ponder such a thing. Although she’d felt something similar to that when her first beau left Hickory Hollow so unexpectedly.
Glancing outside, she saw her father and Bishop John Beiler pulling into the lane. Dat hopped out and went calling to Sylvan, hurrying toward him near the barn while the bishop tied the horse to the hitching post.
Men talk, she thought, hoping that her father didn’t know about the shop . . . or that she’d kept it from Sylvan. Mandy felt embarrassed. What would things be like once supper was over and Sylvan was ready to voice his full displeasure? Despite their rocky start, Mandy hoped against hope that Sylvan might be okay with her plans even now.
A strong breeze rustled the leaves outside below the window, which slammed shut. Mandy startled and pressed her hand to her heart, willing it to slow.
Tessie stepped away from helping Mamma make supper to answer the knock at the back porch door. There stood Marcus’s golden-haired fourteen-year-old nephew, Enos, evidently one of the several young men—leicht-ah-sager—going house to house to invite the relatives and friends of the deceased to the funeral. Haltingly, the freckle-faced lad stated, “Marcus King’s funeral will take place this Friday at Lloyd and Hannah King’s . . . at eight-thirty in the morning.”
“Denki” was all Tessie could manage to say at the sight of his youthful, tear-stained face.
“Viewing starts first thing Thursday mornin’,” added Enos before he turned to run down the driveway toward the road.
Overcome once more with the cruel reality of her loss, she suddenly felt anxious to run to his house and get Marcus’s journal. Had he written private words there for her eyes only? She longed to grasp everything—anything—related to him, needing to hold on to even the smallest shreds. Her life with dear Marcus was gone like wildflower blossoms in the wind.
She poked her head into the kitchen and told her mother, “I’ll be back in time to set the table.”
“Can’t it wait, Tessie?” asked Mamma, her expression worried.
“I’m sorry. I won’t be long.” She didn’t wait for her mother to
comment further as she reached for her short black coat and hurried out the door.
When Tessie arrived at Marcus’s, she was relieved to see no one around. She rushed to the back door and let herself in, avoiding the inclination to look too closely at the trappings of this precious place, to memorize them.
But time was short, so she moved on to the bedroom where Marcus slept. There, she pulled open the top middle bureau drawer and felt all around, even in the back, as the letter had described. But she found nothing. Trying again, she could not locate the space Marcus had written about in his note.
Discouraged now, and wanting to retrieve his journal nearly more than anything on earth, Tessie made the mistake of turning to look about the room. Our room . . . our refuge.
Her strength sapped, she went to sit on the bed, her lip quivering.
Suddenly, there were voices at the back door—relatives must be coming, as was their way. Puh, I’ve waited too long!
The last thing she wanted was to be discovered there, so she quickly slipped into the smaller adjoining room. She and Marcus had decided one evening that it would be the perfect little sewing room or nursery someday. There was a good-sized empty closet there, and Tessie opened the door and stepped inside.
She held her breath and left the door parted just enough to overhear what might be said, there in her hiding place. But the sounds she heard were mournful—his parents’ soft murmurings, snippets of conversation here and there. Too distressed, no doubt, to speak in full sentences.
Soon, there were additional male voices, measured and low, and the thuds of the bed frame being dismantled and the movement of other furniture.
Tessie groaned inwardly and racked her brain—had she left any of her possessions in the occasionally shared room? The thought that they had wed before a justice of the peace seemed strange now, even impulsive, yet given Marcus’s death, she was glad they had done so. Besides, no one would ever have to know of their reckless decision now.
Last Bride, The (Home to Hickory Hollow Book #5) Page 6