Amish Romance BOOK BUNDLE: Marian's Story: Amish Romance Boxed Set (Hollybrook Amish Romance)

by Brenda Maxfield

  Amy gave Marian’s knee a gentle pat. “Oh, I’m sorry! It’s none of my business. My mom tells me all the time that I’m too nosey, and I talk too much. So, how have you been?”

  “I’m fine,” Marian answered. “Busy. We had a work frolic this morning.”

  “A work frolic?” Amy shook her head. “I love the way you phrase things, and the way you guys help each other.”

  Marian smiled.

  “I saw Roger yesterday,” Amy said. “He asked if I’d seen you. Actually, it was seeing him that put me in the mind to come over. To be honest, I think he likes you.”

  Marian took a long slow breath. Hearing Roger’s name made her thoughts return again to Thomas and his father and the whole ordeal. She braced herself for any leftover emotion, any remaining yearning, but instead all she felt was a hollow sadness about Roger, as if she were thinking about someone who had passed.

  “What is it?” Amy asked. “Don’t you like him?”

  Marian sighed. “I liked him fine. But that door is closed. I’ll never see him again.”

  “Never?”

  “Why would I? It’s not like we travel in the same circles.”

  Amy nodded. “I suppose you’re right on that count.” She looked around again. “Can you show me the rest of the house and your farm? Will your mom get mad if you do?”

  Marian was relieved to have the subject change. She laughed. “She might. But I’ll show you anyway.”

  ****

  Amy left after staying more than an hour. Saying good-bye was bittersweet as Marian had no idea if they would meet again. After waving her off, she went back inside the house to help Mamm prepare a light supper.

  “I hope you had a good time,” Mamm said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

  Marian stiffened. “I did.”

  “The Englisch don’t fit in here.”

  “She wasn’t trying to fit in. She’s my friend and only came to visit.”

  Mamm threw down the potato masher. “I told you before, I don’t like you having an Englisch friend! She’s not welcome here.”

  Mamm strode across the kitchen, her face red and her eyes flashing. “Don’t let her come again. You think I want her stealing you away? You think I want to be down to one child?”

  Marian stepped back from her mother’s onslaught. “She isn’t stealing me away!”

  Mamm squinted at her. “She could. Children come and go. You ought to know that!”

  Marian bit her lip and watched her mother’s jerky movements as she went back to grab up the masher again. Her breathing went shallow and Marian saw a wild look come into her mother’s eyes.

  Mamm glared at her. “You’ll learn soon enough. Just wait and see.”

  “Learn what, Mamm?” Marian forced her voice into a calm, patient tone.

  Mamm waved the masher, splattering small blobs of potato over the counter. “About life. About death.”

  Marian took a step toward her mother. “Is there something you want to tell me?” She spoke softly, as if her mother was a hurt child.

  Mamm raked the masher through the pot. “I have nothing to tell you. Nothing.”

  “All right.” Marian sighed her disappointment. She picked up a loaf of bread and got out the bread knife. She began sawing through the bread, cutting thick slices and stacking them on a red glass plate.

  Mamm sucked in air and dropped the masher into the wide pan. It splashed hot potatoes on Mamm’s face, and she let out a cry.

  Marian quickly wet a dish cloth with cold water. She pressed it on her mamm’s cheek. “Are you all right?”

  Mamm squeezed her hand over Marian’s like a claw. “You’ll see,” she hissed in Marian’s ear. “It’s nothing but pain.”

  Marian knew she wasn’t talking about the burn on her face.

  “Nee, Mamm. It isn’t. There’s plenty of good in life.”

  “You stupid girl. You know nothing.” Mamm’s words sliced the air.

  Marian gasped, stepped back, and pulled her hand from Mamm’s face. Never had her mother given her such an insult.

  Mamm covered her face with her hands and began to cry. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry, daughter.”

  Marian blew out her breath. Ignoring her own hurt and shock, she put her arms around her mother. “It’s all right. Don’t worry,” she crooned. “Come. Sit down for a minute and rest.”

  She led her mother to the dining table and sat her down. She mustered her courage and spoke. “Maybe we should go see a doctor.”

  Mamm’s head jerked around and she stared at Marian. “Why? Who’s sick? And we don’t need any Englisch doctor poking his nose into our business!”

  “Then how about seeing Mae? She does wonders with her herbs.”

  “Who’s sick?”

  “Mamm, please, don’t be this way. You need to see someone. Get some help.” Marian worked to keep the tears from running down her cheeks.

  Mamm slapped her hand on the table and stood. “I’m perfectly fine. Perhaps you’re the one who needs to see Mae. You’re becoming addled in the brain.”

  She marched back to the kitchen.

  Marian stared after her, her heart sinking. Her legs began to tremble, but she straightened her shoulders and went back into the kitchen.

  She wouldn’t mention doctoring to Mamm again.

  ****

  Thomas slapped the reins on the horse, and his courting carriage moved with ease down the side of the road. It was fully dark, as the youth singing had gone long into the night. Marian sat next to him, deeply aware of every move he made. His shoulder rubbed against hers as he drove the horse, and she reveled in its warmth, not moving away.

  “Thank you for letting me take you home,” he said.

  She looked at him in the shadows and smiled. “Thank you for taking me,” she replied. She felt an ease sitting beside him and found Thomas’s calm presence comforting. She was so grateful that she was there, with him, and that the tension of yesterday was a thing of the past. She closed her eyes and listened to the horse’s steady clip-clop as they continued down the road. The night air brushed her cheeks, and the very stillness of the evening gave her a welcome sense of normalcy.

  He pulled up on the reins and the horse stopped. Marian opened her eyes and gazed at him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head, and she saw how his eyes shone in the faint light of the moon. “Nothing. Can we take the long way home? Would that be all right with you?”

  She knew what he was asking. If she said yes, it would mean she wanted him to court her, that she wasn’t interested in anyone else.

  She put her hand on his arm and felt a tremor pass between them. “I think we should take the long way home. The long, long way.”

  “Truly?”

  She grinned. “Truly.”

  With that, he cracked the reins and the carriage started again down the road. She felt his mood soar and even heard him chuckle under his breath. Her spirits rose along with his, and she felt better than she had for weeks.

  They passed through a grove a trees, and Thomas reached over and took her hand in his. She felt his rough warm skin on hers and gave his hand a returning squeeze. She leaned back and watched the shadows play out across the road, moving stealthily as a gentle breeze stirred the trees. To her left, she saw something move.

  She sat upright. “Over there,” she said, pointing.

  Thomas turned to follow her gesture.

  The shadow was running, and it looked to be a woman. Dread seized Marian’s heart, and she strained her eyes to get a better look.

  “Stop!” she cried.

  Thomas pulled the horse to a halt.

  Marian scrambled out of the carriage and ran toward the moving shadow.

  “Mamm!” she called. “Mamm! Is it you?”

  But she knew it was. She increased her speed, following the darting path of her mother. She was closing in, and she could hear Mamm panting as she tore through the trees. M
arian reached out and grabbed at her, catching the back of her gown, and they both toppled to the ground.

  “Get off me!” Mamm cried. “What are you doing?”

  Marian sat back on the dirt, gasping. “Mamm, are you all right?”

  “I was!” Mamm scrambled to her feet. “I’m chasing your brother. He’s getting away!” She shifted her weight from one side to the other and pulled on the seam of her gown, twisting it into knots.

  “My brother?”

  “Jah, your brother. He keeps getting away from me.”

  Thomas caught up with them. “Marian! What’s happening?”

  “Who are you?” Mamm asked. “You’re not my son.”

  In the darkness, Marian saw him flinch. He looked quickly at her then back at Mamm. She could almost see his mind working.

  “Nee, I’m not your son.” He said quietly, walking to her side. His movements were slow and fluid. “Are you looking for him? I imagine he’s around here somewhere. I will help you look for him.”

  “Thomas—” Marian started. Surely, he knew there was no son.

  He held up his hand to her then turned back to Mamm. “Come, I’ll take you in my carriage. We can go faster that way.”

  “All right,” Mamm said with hesitation. She stood rooted to the ground for a moment longer, and then she glared at Marian and let Thomas lead her back through the fallen leaves and over the uneven ground to the carriage.

  Marian scurried to catch up, watching in awe at how Thomas handled her mother. All of them climbed into the carriage, and Thomas turned the horse toward home. Mamm leaned on Thomas’s shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily over the road. When they pulled into their lane and right up to the porch, Dat was there, pacing back and forth, holding a gas lamp. He looked at them, his face covered with both relief and surprise.

  Mamm clambered over Marian and jumped down, running up the steps to him. “I didn’t find him. But this young man is helping me.”

  “Find who?”

  “Our son of course.”

  Dat went stiff, and his eyes grew wide. He looked from Mamm to Marian and back to Mamm. Mamm stood in the circle of light, a sad hopeful expression on her face. She tipped her head to the side and rubbed her hand over her mouth.

  Dat set the lamp on the porch railing and took Mamm into his arms. “All right,” he said. “All right. All right.”

  Marian’s stomach cramped with anxiety as she and Thomas climbed out and stood at the bottom step of the porch. Dat gazed at her again, a look of resignation on his face.

  Mamm pulled away from Dat and went to the door. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “I’ll be up.” Dat’s arms hung loosely at his sides.

  Mamm went inside, leaving the three of them, standing awkwardly, behind.

  Dat shook his head and stared at his daughter. “You were right. Things are bad. She’s not getting any better. In fact, she’s worse.” He shook his head again and let out a heavy sigh. “I have no choice. It can’t go on. I’ll speak to Bishop in the morning.”

  He turned and went inside, his shoulders slumped and his body bent like an old man. The screen door slammed closed behind him.

  Marian couldn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on the door as if she expected them both to reappear and laugh and ask her if she had enjoyed their performance.

  But they didn’t reappear, and it hadn’t been a performance.

  Thomas shuffled his feet and took a small step back. Marian flinched and tore her gaze from the door.

  “You were wonderful with her,” she whispered. “How did you know what to do?”

  Thomas took a moment before answering. “I had a great-aunt. She was ill, too.”

  “Did she get better?” Marian’s voice broke, and she nearly choked on the words. “Did she?”

  Thomas exhaled. “In time. Not completely. But, jah, she got better.”

  The air left Marian’s lungs, and she felt unsteady on her feet. Thomas moved to her and put his arm around her. She leaned against him, feeling unable to stand alone.

  He led her up the steps, and they sat on the porch swing in the dark.

  “Gott will help her,” he said quietly. “And Bishop will know what to do.”

  The porch swing moved gently to and fro. Marian’s thoughts jerked through her mind in jumbled disarray. She thought of little Izzie, and she grabbed Thomas’s arm.

  “Will they send Mamm away? The bishop and the deacons?” she asked. How would Izzie manage without her mama? Would Marian be enough for her little sister? Would Marian be enough for the entire household?

  Thomas paused. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps they will. There’s a place not too far from here for people who need that kind of help. I’ve heard good things. The Mennonites run it.”

  “I know about it,” Marian said. “Last year, Ezra Crabill went there. Remember?”

  Thomas nodded.

  They continued rocking, and Marian felt so weary she wanted to lay over on Thomas’s shoulder and sleep for a year.

  But someone needed to check on the baby. And Dat and Mamm.

  She stood. “I have to go in,” she said.

  He nodded and rose. “Jah.” He squeezed her arm, and she felt the power of his touch.

  Tears came to her eyes as she regarded him.

  “You don’t have to strap yourself with me, you know. I have no idea what I might be facing, what I might have to do now. If Mamm leaves.” She drew a shaky breath, dreading her next words, although she knew she had to say them. “It might be better if we parted ways.”

  He gazed into her eyes, and even though he wasn’t tall, he loomed over her right then, strong and sure.

  “Nee,” he said. He bent and brushed his lips over her cheek. And this time, his touch was like a ray of hope, an assurance that things might not always be as bleak as they seemed right then. Marian put her hand to her cheek where he’d kissed her, still feeling the warmth of his lips.

  He turned and slowly went down the stairs, each footstep echoing through the quiet night. At the base of the stairs, he gazed up at her. “Nee. We won’t be parting ways, Marian Yoder. Not now, not ever.”

  He nodded at her then, and she saw the glimmer of his smile in the starlight.

  The End

  Amish Days

  Missing Mama

  An Amish Romance Short Story

  by Brenda Maxfield

  Copyright © 2015 Tica House Publishing All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  One

  For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

  2 Timothy 1:7 (King James Version)

  Dat peeled Izzie from Marian’s arms. The baby clutched at her sister as if the world were coming to an end.

  “I’ll be back soon.” Marian told her firmly, trying to reassure the baby. But Izzie would have none of it; she screwed up her face and wailed.

  “Just go!” Dat said. “Get in the van!”

  She climbed into the van and felt as if her heart was being ripped from her chest. She dropped the worn-out suitcase she’d borrowed from her aenti onto the floor by her feet and perched on the vinyl seat, pressing her face against the window.

  Izzie was fighting Dat, flailing her legs and throwing her arms about in a frenzy.

  Marian rolled down the window. “Izzie! Stop it, little one! Please, stop it! I’ll be back! Just like last time, I’ll be back!”

  Marian’s eyes flowed with tears as she watched the spectacle. The Mennonite driver looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you ready, miss?”

  She nodded, a dull numbness moving through her chest. How did a person explain to a one-year-old that she would return? Especially to a one-year-old whose mama had disappeared from her life months before?

  The wind blowing through the van window caught at Mar
ian’s kapp strings and whipped them behind her back. She squinted her eyes into the cold air, willing herself to stop crying. Tears would do no good.

  She leaned back against the seat and tried to prepare herself for her second visit. Would her mother want to see her again? Would she act like a normal person? Or would she still be delusional?

  It had been Dat’s turn to visit Mamm a month ago, and he’d returned from the trip a broken man. His shoulders had drooped to the ground as Marian welcomed him home. His steps had dragged up the stairs and into the house. When she’d asked him for an update, he’d looked at her as if he didn’t recognize her.

  In that nightmare moment, terror had filled Marian. She’d feared that Dat’s mind was going, too, like Mamm’s. Maybe it was contagious. Maybe whatever mental illness her mother suffered had been transferred to him.

  But after a cup of strong black coffee, he’d begun to talk. He told her that Mamm was not better, and that she wouldn’t be coming home as quickly as they’d hoped.

  Marian had turned from him and moved back to the kitchen like a sleepwalker, shocked and robotic. Mechanically, she’d washed out the coffee pot, filled it with clean water, and set it back on the cook stove in preparation for breakfast. Feeling as if she was moving through thin mud, she’d mashed up a banana and mixed it with rice cereal for the baby’s evening snack.

  And then she sank into the kitchen rocker and sat unmoving until Izzie’s cries jolted her back to life.

  But this time, it was her turn to visit her mother.

  She sat in the same white van they often hired for trips too long for the horse and buggy. The driver, a soft-spoken man named Douglas, didn’t put on the radio when he served Amish passengers. At least not when she had ever been on board. Nor did he talk much. He simply drove to whatever destination requested.

  Marian would be in the van for a while. It was a good seventy-five miles to the sanitarium.

  The Peaceful Haven it was called.

  The Peaceful Haven? It sounded like an Englisch funeral home. Marian hated the name. Just like she hated the fact that her mother was a patient there—and had been for two months and sixteen days. Severe anxiety and depression—that was her mother’s diagnosis.