An Amish Husband for Tillie

by Amy Lillard

  “Did Peter take it hard?” Tillie asked. If he had, the loss seemed not to have set him back any. Which, as far as everyone was concerned, was a good thing.

  “Hard enough. But he’s had time to grieve. Jamie thinks it’s a good time for another pet.”

  “You’re not doing the whole Santa thing with him, are you?” Hannah asked.

  Since Leah was a Mennonite, she celebrated Christmas a little differently than the rest of them, something Tillie hadn’t thought about until now.

  “Do you have a Christmas tree?” she added before Leah could answer. She might be Amish, but she thought Christmas trees were about the prettiest thing she had ever seen. When she went into town as a child, she always had to be careful not to stare. If she lingered too long in front of some of the windows boasting the trees, she got a sharp reprimand from her father.

  “No to Santa. Yes to a Christmas tree, though I’m not sure Jamie quite approves.”

  “How does Peter feel about it?” Hannah asked.

  Leah smiled. “He loves it.”

  “You’re staying, right?” Gracie asked.

  Tillie whipped her attention around to her cousin. “Staying?”

  “At least through Christmas,” Hannah clarified.

  “Jah,” Tillie said, doing her best not to sigh with relief. “Through Christmas.”

  Chapter Four

  Levi trudged back into the house from the barn, food bowl in one hand and Puddles at his heels. Judging from her size, she was going to whelp those pups any day now, and he would rather she be outside than in. But tonight it was going to be a little colder, and he couldn’t have them all freezing to death.

  He let her into the house and led her to the kitchen. There was an old pillow there covered in an even older towel where she had been sleeping these last few cold nights. With any luck she would stay right there and have those pups if she happened to do so during the night . . . while she was inside the house. If luck was on his side . . .

  Yet when had luck ever been with him?

  “Dinner, then bed,” he told the dog. It was much easier to blame everything on luck—or the lack of it—than to try and figure out God’s plan.

  He placed the filled food bowl next to her bed, then went back out to fetch her water. He had already filled the bowl and it was waiting by the outside spigot. Back in the house, he set it next to her food.

  Puddles looked from the bowl to his face. She whined and thumped her tail against the floor.

  “I’ll get something to eat later,” he promised her. Heaven knew he had enough in his icebox to last through the new year, but that was Mims and the rest of the church ladies at work. Someone was always coming in and out, though he knew he was not fit for company. All he really wished for was to be left alone. On top of all that, Mims came over every other day or so and fussed at him for what he hadn’t eaten, made more, and gave him strict directions on when and how to eat it—along with glaring looks that clearly conveyed what would happen if he didn’t. He barely got through one container before she was shoving in three more. And he ate plenty.

  Well, enough to keep him alive. That’s all that mattered right now. That and making it through Christmas.

  He sighed. Christmas. Everyone said this was the hardest time of year and the first one was the worst by far. He sure hoped so. He couldn’t go through this year after year.

  In fact, if he had his way, he’d pull the shades and lock the door and not come out until January.

  Puddles whined a little but continued to eat as Levi made his way down the hall. He slowed at the first door. The room that Mary had said would be the nursery.

  He stopped, touched the doorknob. He hadn’t been in the room since the funeral. Right afterward he had shut the door and vowed that he would, one day, go through all the things that remained, baby things that he no longer needed. But Christmas was not the time to execute such a chore.

  His heart beat a little faster as he turned the knob and stepped inside, reaching for the chain on the propane-powered lamp. Not many folks in their district had them. This was their only one, but Mary had insisted. She wanted a quick light in the middle of the night when the baby needed attending.

  Levi pulled the string, and a golden circle of light cascaded across the wall and part of the floor. The room itself was still dim, but he could make out shapes. The crib was pushed against the far window. Mary had debated on the sun bothering the baby but had decided that, since the window faced north, the baby wouldn’t be too hot from the position in the sun or too cold in the winter. Even then, the day before she died, she had asked him if he thought she should move it. He had smiled indulgently and told her to do what she wanted.

  He should have given her a real answer. He had no idea what that answer would have been. Would the close proximity to the window be an issue? He had no idea. But he still should have given her an answer instead of brushing off her question since he had heard it so many times.

  There was still a lot of work that needed to be done to the room. But Mary’s family had been bringing things over since the day she told them that she was having a baby. Some of it was hand-me-downs and bags of diapers, both cloth and disposable, along with a few toys, blankets, and tiny little clothes that were impossibly small.

  Mary hadn’t wanted to do too much to the room, but she had to have a place to store the items. She hadn’t wanted to appear arrogant about the baby. It was always a worry, that balance between excited and haughty.

  He really should take some of the things to church and give them to the people he thought could use them. Or maybe even into town to the shop on Main that had secondhand Amish and Mennonite clothing.

  But he couldn’t. Not yet.

  Mims had been talking about making a shadow box to hang on the wall, a memorial to Mary and the baby. Something to remember them by, always remember them.

  He knew when he did that he would be conceding that Mary and the baby she carried were really and truly gone. He wasn’t ready for that just yet.

  He cut off the light and shut the door on the memories, but they followed him back into the kitchen. He had been headed to his room for something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was.

  Puddles had finished her meal and had laid down on the large pillow bed he had made for her. Her tail thumped against the floor when she saw him return.

  She whined. The cow dog had been Mary’s idea. She had wanted a dog to signal when someone came onto their property. Since he did most of the leatherwork in the district, the community, even, it was good to know if someone was around.

  “I’m getting something,” he told the dog. He opened the icebox and pulled out a container. Chili. Easy enough. Though he wished he had a pan of Mary’s corn bread to go with it. Mary always made the best corn bread, and for the duration of their marriage he had carried an extra five pounds around his middle as testament to that.

  But Mary was gone. There was no corn bread. Crackers would have to suffice.

  He got out a pan and lit the stove. Even that reminded him of his wife. Of just after they had just gotten married and she had singed her eyebrows off because she had turned the gas up too high before lighting the match. It had scared him half to death at the time, but when they had looked back on the incident, they had laughed about it. He would give anything to be able to laugh with her about it just once more. Or to spend this last Christmas with her.

  A sigh escaped him as he dumped some chili into the pan and set it on the burner. Puddles whined once more. She laid her chin on her paws and looked up at him with those innocent brown eyes. Her brows were wrinkled in doggy worry.

  “I know, girl,” he said. He needed to get himself together—if not for his own sake, then for that of his dog. Mary’s dog.

  He scratched the pooch on the top of her head, and once again her tail thumped against the floor.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he told her. Though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Christ
mas would come and Christmas would pass. Then the new year. February, then March. Time would move on, and folks sassured him that with each passing day it would get easier. He wouldn’t miss Mary quite so much. Wouldn’t think about the things that could have been. How old the baby might be.

  He even had people telling him that before long he would start thinking about getting married again. His eyes closed at the thought. He couldn’t imagine. He and Mary had been a couple from the very first time he had seen her. He couldn’t say it was love at first sight, but he had known even then that she was the one he would marry. They had immediately been best friends. Inseparable.

  Until death do you part.

  From that first moment on, she had been a part of him. He had felt it in his bones, his heart, his very skin. She was the one God had intended for him.

  He wasn’t sure he would ever feel that way about anyone ever again. But before he could even entertain the idea, he had to make it through Christmas.

  And the new year.

  February, then March.

  * * *

  Was she staying?

  She wanted to, how she wanted to, but she never dreamed that coming home would be this hard. Or that Melvin really wouldn’t follow her back.

  Tillie stared up at the darkened ceiling. She had forgotten just how dark it was here in Pontotoc. In the city there were lights. Always lights. Even in a town the size of Columbus. It wasn’t like they had gone to New York City, or even Jackson, but there always seemed to be some sort of light or another. Streetlights, car lights, porch lights, and the ever-present lights of the signs that tried their best to lure a person in to taste what they offered. Low prices, pizza, roast beef, cheap gasoline.

  Tonight she found the darkness both comforting and disarming. She was comforted knowing that she was home, but a little shaken in thinking about staying. How long are you staying? they asked, as if they expected her to leave, and soon. She knew that without Melvin, she wouldn’t be allowed to stay, but she had hoped . . . hoped that he would follow. Hoped that her family would toss the rules out the window. But she knew. It was only a matter of time before they were forced to adhere to the Ordnung or be shunned in the way they should be shunning her.

  They couldn’t keep it up for long. Perhaps they were biding their time until she left again. It was a ridiculous thought. They were her family. Of course they wanted her to stay. Even in her present state. But in the darkness the doubts still crept in.

  Tomorrow was Sunday, and from all the talk at supper she knew that it was a church Sunday for their district. In the morning everyone would be stirring around and getting ready for the service. But tonight no one had asked her if she was going.

  Leah had her own Mennonite church to attend with Jamie and Peter, but everyone else save Brandon and Shelly would be attending the Amish service. Did they expect her to go?

  If she stayed—and part of her really wanted to—she would have to get back into the habit of Amish church. Well, it wasn’t like she had been gone that long. She still knew what was expected of her. But she didn’t want to go tomorrow.

  Chicken.

  Even in the darkness the word echoed inside her head. She was a chicken, no two ways about it. But she didn’t want to face the entire district. Wasn’t ready for it.

  A quick check told her that the next church Sunday would be on Christmas Day. That didn’t happen very often and was surely something she didn’t want to miss, spending Christmas morning with all her family and friends celebrating Christ’s birth. But tomorrow? That was too soon. She just needed a couple more days to come to terms with all that was her life now.

  Was that too much to ask?

  A soft knock sounded on her door. Before she could answer, light from a lantern filled the now open doorway.

  “Who is it?” Tillie whispered into the darkness. She couldn’t see who was behind the light, though she figured it was her mamm.

  “Me,” a hesitant voice said. “Libby.”

  Tillie awkwardly pushed herself up into a sitting position. It was perhaps the thing she hated most about being pregnant. Everything took so much effort. Then she remembered Gracie’s serene face over supper. It seemed her cousin didn’t suffer from such thoughts.

  “I thought you went back to your house at night,” she said.

  Libby shrugged. “Not always. Dat thought it would be good for me to spend more time with Mammi.” She gave a little cough. “My mammi, not your mammi.”

  Tillie smiled and patted the bed in front of her. “I understand.”

  Libby smiled gratefully and eased onto the bed near Tillie’s feet. She was dressed in a nightgown, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, just the same as Tillie’s was at that very moment. She may have gone to live English for a while, but she hadn’t adopted all of their practices.

  Once Tillie’s eyes had adjusted to the light, she could see Libby’s face much clearer. “Secretly, I think they just have their hands full with Joshua right now and they don’t want me to know so much about it.”

  “What’s wrong with Joshua?”

  “Nothing. Just running around.”

  “But I thought—”

  Tillie wasn’t allowed to finish that sentence. Not that she had been certain what she was going to say. That she thought Joshua was a good son? If she said that, did it make her a bad daughter? Maybe I thought Joshua was happy being Amish. But hadn’t she been before Melvin convinced her to go with him out into the world so he could repair English motors?

  “Do you remember Benuel King?”

  Tillie nodded. “Leah’s old boyfriend.”

  “Right. Well, he married Abby.”

  “Our cousin, jah.”

  “Silas’s father.” She couldn’t be certain in the darkness but she thought she saw Libby color. She did toss her ponytail over her shoulder.

  “Jah,” Tillie said, using the one word to urge her niece on.

  “Bethie Ann’s father.”

  “And Joshua likes Bethie Ann,” Tillie asked, catching the connection between it all.

  “Joshua likes Bethie Ann, but she likes Sam Yoder.”

  It didn’t happen like that often in their district. They were small enough that there wasn’t always a big choice in who a person might date. Yet it seemed Bethie Ann King wasn’t plagued with such limitations. And she was using that to its full advantage.

  “Acting the fool, is he?”

  Libby sniffed. “I told him to just leave it be. If she wants to be with Sam, then what can he do about it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then he told me that with thinking like that I’d never land Silas, and . . . that hurt my feelings.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Joshua,” Tillie said.

  “He’s changed a lot since you’ve been gone.”

  “I guess so,” was all Tillie could say. As if Jim and Anna didn’t have enough on them with six kids still all living at home.

  “Anyway,” Libby said, bouncing back from her melancholy like a rubber ball against the pavement. “I came to ask if you’ll help me make Christmas candy this week.”

  Tillie blinked at the change in subject. “Jah. Sure.”

  “I’m not the best in the kitchen, and I don’t want to ask Mammi.”

  “Why not? She’s about the best cook around.”

  “Jah, but then she’ll want to know why I want to make the candies and then—” She abruptly stopped.

  “And then you’ll have to tell her what?” Tillie urged.

  “That I want to give them to Silas King as a Christmas present.”

  “You don’t want to give him something at the singing tomorrow night?” The youth always held a singing on Sunday nights after the church service. Once a boy or a girl turned sixteen, they could attend. Tillie had gone to many in her teenage years. It was where Melvin had first captured her attention.

  Libby shook her head. “There’s a card exchange next week. I thought I would give them t
o him then.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, if he leaves the card exchange with more than cards . . .”

  “Everyone leaves the card exchange with more than cards. At least they did last year. Sarah Yoder gave him homemade Christmas cookies.” She made a face.

  “But they’re not dating?”

  “She’s not a very good baker.”

  Tillie bit back a laugh. “Okay, then. Christmas candies next week. Maybe Thursday?”

  Libby beamed. “Danki, Tillie. You’re the best auntie in the whole world.”

  Tillie returned her smile. “I’ll be sure to tell Leah and Hannah.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Libby looked playfully horrified.

  Tillie just shrugged.

  Libby stood and gave Tillie a one-armed hug. “Thanks.” She placed a kiss somewhere to the side of Tillie’s ear, then she released her and started for the door.

  “One more thing,” she said once she got there. “Will you help me with my hair tomorrow? I want it to look extra good for the singing.”

  Tillie smiled and eased back down into the bed. “Of course.”

  “Really the best,” Libby said.

  “You know it,” Tillie replied, then Libby was gone.

  Tillie sighed into her pillow. She had needed that. She needed the distraction. She needed to know with everything going sideways in her life that there were other people with other problems. Those might not seem as big to her as her own. But they were important to the people they affected. Joshua, Libby, even Anna and Jim.

  And somehow knowing this made her own problems seem a little more manageable.

  Now if she only knew what she was going to do once Christmas passed.