A Simple Singing

by Leslie Gould

  Kate nodded. “Let’s give it a try. The sooner we leave the better.”

  Thankfully, Dr. Carson wasn’t at his house, and Annie guessed he hadn’t returned from the cemetery with his other guests yet. They grabbed their bags and told Meg thank you and farewell. By the time they reached the depot, the platform was packed, but Ira was able to secure tickets. Additional trains had been added to the schedule to accommodate the masses of people, and thankfully it seemed the majority of them weren’t as eager to leave Gettysburg as Kate, Ira, and Annie.

  Before the train stopped at York, Kate had her bag in her lap and was telling Ira good-bye. “Write to me and let me know when you’ve settled in Philadelphia.”

  He nodded. “I will.” He took her hand as the train came to a stop. “What are your plans?”

  On the platform stood Woody, appearing to search the windows of the car.

  He broke out in a grin when he saw the trio and called out, “Miss Kate!”

  She pulled away from Ira and stood quickly. “Once I have your address, I’ll write and let you know.” She gave Annie a hug. “Come back and help me if you can,” she said. “I’ll always have a place for you.”

  Annie hugged her back, and then both she and Ira watched as Kate hurried down the aisle and then disappeared. They turned their attention to the platform, but Woody was walking away from them, toward the door. Ira stood and opened the window, letting in a rush of icy air. He stuck his head out.

  Annie nudged him to make room for her, and he did.

  Kate hurried down the steps of the train to the platform and rushed toward Woody. He swept her up in a hug. Ira jerked back into the car, bumping Annie’s head.

  “Ouch.” Her hand went to her bonnet.

  As she rubbed her skull, he muttered, “Sorry.”

  They both sat down, facing each other.

  “I totally misread that,” he said. “I thought, I guess because my father was a doctor, that Ma and Doc would make a good couple. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  “Me too,” Annie said.

  “Do you think she and Woody, you know . . .” Ira met Annie’s eyes.

  “Care for each other?”

  He nodded.

  Annie thought of Sophia and Richert and their devotion to each other. She saw that in Woody and Kate too. “I believe so.”

  “Do you think they have for a while?”

  It was Annie’s turn to nod.

  Ira continued to stare into her eyes until she looked away, back to the platform. Woody and Kate were now in view. He carried her bag, and they strolled along, arm in arm. Annie imagined them traveling back to Peach Bottom together, talking or not talking. It wouldn’t matter. She’d seen them be perfectly comfortable in their silence before. That was something she’d never experienced with Samuel, but she had with Ira.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She met his eyes again, her face growing warm. “Nothing.”

  He smiled. “I don’t believe you.”

  She laughed. “No, I don’t expect you would.”

  “Annie . . .”

  Her heart lurched.

  “Could we talk?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He opened his mouth.

  She shook her head again. “Stop.”

  They rode in silence, both staring out the window as the afternoon light faded. After a while, Annie asked where he’d be living in Philadelphia, and he began talking again, telling her first about the barracks he’d stay in and then about the hospital. “Training to be a surgeon has been a dream for me since I was a boy.”

  As Annie listened, bittersweetness filled her heart. She was thrilled for Ira and the opportunities ahead of him. But she’d no longer have any sort of relationship with him.

  “After the war, I’ll open a practice,” he said.

  “Where?” she asked.

  He leaned forward. “That depends.”

  “On?”

  He shook his head. “You told me to stop, so I can’t say anything more. Is that correct?”

  She nodded as the whistle blew and the train began to slow. They’d reached the river, and it was time to disembark and take the ferry. Then it wouldn’t be long until they reached Lancaster. She had only a few hours left until her time with Ira would be over—forever.

  Sunset fell as they crossed the river, and an icy wind blew over the water. “May I put my arm around you?” Ira asked. “To shield the wind?”

  She agreed. He gripped her shoulder and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. As the sun disappeared beyond the western hills, Annie leaned against him. She’d never been so close to a man, not even Samuel. It wasn’t proper, not at all, but at the moment she didn’t care.

  She breathed the cold, mixed with his spicy scent, savoring his closeness. Both longing and loss welled up in her. She closed her eyes, no longer able to deny the affection she felt for him, until the ferry bumped against the dock, landing them back in Lancaster County.

  By the time they boarded the next train, it was completely dark. Once they’d settled in their seats, Annie longed for Ira to put his arm around her again, but of course he didn’t.

  They traveled on. Annie tried not to count down the time, but she couldn’t help herself. Anxiety filled her more and more with each passing minute. Ira sat with his hands clasped together, a pained expression on his face.

  When the train pulled into the station, she told Ira good-bye.

  “I’m not leaving you here,” he said. “I’ll get off and find a reliable driver to take you the rest of the way home.”

  “But that will delay your arrival in Philadelphia.”

  He shrugged. “A few hours won’t make a difference.”

  Relieved, she followed Ira off the train. As they entered the station, someone called out her name.

  Samuel.

  “George sent a message to your parents that you were headed home. I told them I’d look for you here.” He crossed his arms. “But he didn’t say Ira would be with you.”

  Ira quickly explained that he was headed to Philadelphia.

  “And Kate just left us at York.” Annie did her best to keep her voice calm. “Ira was a gentleman to see me off the train.”

  Samuel seemed to calm down some. “Well, thank you, Ira. You can get back on the train now.” He held up the box in his hands. “I just need to deliver this to Mr. Stevens. Stay here,” he said to Annie. “I’ll be back to take you home shortly.”

  Annie shook her head.

  Samuel’s face grew red, and she realized she’d humiliated him. But she didn’t want him to take her home. “I’ll find a ride,” she said. She couldn’t ride home with him. She couldn’t court him. And she certainly couldn’t marry him. She felt so small around him. So unseen. Sophia had been right—he wasn’t the right man for her.

  He clenched his fists. “Annie.”

  His behavior wasn’t the result of too much alcohol, but still he scared her. She thought of the broken mirror in Gettysburg. Samuel might not be violent, but she feared he would break her just the same. No doubt he did well in his work for Representative Stevens, but he did no good when it came to his interactions with her. He didn’t want to know about her life, about both her hurts and accomplishments. And he didn’t want her to care for others. He only wanted her for himself.

  But God had called her to serve others.

  Samuel didn’t share that vision.

  Ira stepped closer to her.

  “I’m staying here with Ira for the time being,” Annie said. She could send a message to her father to fetch her, if needed. If Ira had to leave before Dat arrived, she’d be safe at the station.

  Samuel frowned and grabbed her arm.

  She jerked it away, and Ira quickly stepped in front of her.

  Samuel shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.

  “I’m not going with you. Ever,” Annie said.

  His face reddened. “Then I’ll leave it to God
to deal with you.” He marched away without looking back.

  Annie put her hand over her mouth.

  Ira exhaled and then asked, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Denki.”

  This time he did put his arm around her and led her to a bench. “Can we talk now?”

  As they sat, she put her head against his shoulder for a moment and whispered, “Jah.”

  “What’s to become of us, Annie Bachmann?” he asked.

  She sat up straight. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see an Amish girl propped up against a soldier. “I don’t know, Ira King.”

  “Am I wrong in caring for you?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered, but she wasn’t ready to both admit that Samuel was the wrong man for her and that Ira was the right one. “Though I need some time.”

  As they sat on the bench, Annie did her best to collect herself as Ira said he’d ride with her to the farm. “I’ll come back and catch the train to Philly in the morning,” he said.

  She didn’t want him to have to do that, but he insisted. However, he had a hard time finding a driver. Once he located a man with a cart who said he’d rent it to Ira for the night, they stashed their bags in the back, and after lighting the lantern the man provided, climbed up onto the bench of the cart.

  They traveled on in silence as they headed east and out of town. Finally Ira asked, “May I write to you once I’m in Philadelphia?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your parents won’t care?”

  She pulled her cloak tighter. “Jah, they will,” she answered. “But write anyway.”

  He was silent again.

  Then, at a crossroads, he pulled the horse to a stop and turned toward her. “Annie, I must bring this up because we don’t have much time.” He hurried on with his words. “Once I’ve set up a practice of my own, hopefully near here, will you consider me? Once this war is over?” Ira’s voice caught for a moment. Then he added, “Will you consider me as your husband?”

  She didn’t answer for a long moment. She was at a crossroads too, but she was realizing it wasn’t as complicated as she’d feared. In fact, the direction she needed to take was becoming quite clear. It is for us the living . . .

  He repeated, “When the war is over—”

  “No,” Annie answered.

  “I was afraid so.” His face fell in the shadow cast by the lantern. “Is it me? Or the differences in our churches?”

  She shook her head. “Neither. I’ve already considered you, Ira King. And I said I needed time, but I’ve already changed my mind. Jah, if you’ll have me as your wife, I’ll have you as my husband.” There was no reason to put off telling him—not when she knew for certain.

  Their hands met and Ira pulled her close, kissing the top of her bonnet. Then the horse lurched forward and the cart rolled through the crossroads as they continued their journey on to the Bachmann farm.

  22

  Marie

  I sat on the edge of my chair. “Why did you stop?”

  “That’s the end of the story,” Aenti Suz answered.

  “It can’t be. What did Annie’s parents say? How long until the war ended? Did she leave the Amish and join the Brethren Church? When did they marry? What about George and Harriet and their boys? And what about Kate and Woody?”

  “Oh my, what a lot of questions.” Aenti Suz rubbed the back of her neck. “Let’s see, Kate continued on with her midwifery business.”

  “She and Woody didn’t marry?”

  Aenti Suz smiled. “No, they did. In fact, by Christmastime of 1863 they were wed. They stayed in Peach Bottom and bought a little farm.”

  She went on to say that Ira finished his training in Philadelphia and was back on the front line by the end of the war, saving the lives of soldiers. “Altogether, around 620,000 soldiers died from disease, wounds, and accidents during the Civil War. At Gettysburg alone, 51,000 soldiers were killed, wounded, or captured. It was the largest and bloodiest battle ever fought on U.S. soil.”

  I paused for a moment, trying to comprehend such massive numbers. I couldn’t, so I changed the subject. “When did Ira and Annie marry?”

  “The summer after the war ended, June of 1865. There was so much to mourn—all who died, the death of Sophia, the assassination of President Lincoln, the deep wounds in the nation. But there was also much to celebrate for the young couple.”

  I jumped to my next question. “How about the Underground Railroad? Who all was helping with that?”

  “Well, that’s hard to know because no one talked about it much. After the war some groups did, such as the Quakers, but the Anabaptists were silent about their part in it for years. Surely, Samuel was involved. There’s now evidence that makes it seem probable that Thaddeus Stevens had a hiding place in the back of his pub that was a stop on the Underground Railroad. It’s also likely that the Fishers were active, and we know that there were several stops around Peach Bottom too. Many Union soldiers, including Ira, did everything they could to protect runaway slaves once they reached the Union Army. And Woody also helped transport fleeing slaves.”

  “They were all heroes, weren’t they?”

  Aenti Suz nodded. “But they would have hated to be seen as heroes. They were simply doing what was right, what God compelled them to do.”

  I nodded. I saw that in Gordon. He didn’t think the volunteer work he did was anything special, even though it changed lives—Josh’s, for example. It was simply what Gordon felt led to do. I thought of the verse in James that Paula had quoted back in Florida. I’d looked it up since then. It was James 4:17 and read, Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin. The Fishers, Woody, Kate, Ira, and Annie all did the good that God required of them.

  I jumped ahead in time. “So did Josiah end up with the Bachmann farm?”

  Aenti Suz shook her head.

  “What? How was it passed on down to Dat then?”

  “George and Harriet returned to Leacock. Noah ended up with the farm. He was your great-great-grandfather.”

  “Wow,” I said, taking it all in. Immediately, however, my thoughts returned to Annie.

  “How did Annie’s parents react to her leaving the church?”

  “They were disturbed, as you can imagine. They begged her to stay and then tried to guilt her into staying, but ultimately they resigned themselves to her marrying Ira. He did set up a practice in Lancaster, and Annie helped him, learning more about medicine than she ever thought possible. Ira and Annie both became active members of the Brethren Church, but they still visited her parents from time to time. Annie and Ira had seven children, and they all grew to know their Bachmann grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins.”

  “But surely it wasn’t that easy for Annie to leave the Amish, even for the Brethren Church. Even though she lived in Lancaster, close to her parents and the Bachmann farm, she was actually a world away.”

  “She wasn’t exactly a world away.”

  “But she left the Amish. Wasn’t she horribly lonely?”

  “She had Ira. And, like I said, she still saw her family some.”

  “But weren’t they terribly disappointed in her? Didn’t she feel guilty for what she did to them? She could have married Samuel and lived near her mother. Sure, Samuel was controlling, but he most likely would have changed.”

  Aenti Suz looked at me questioningly, but I ignored it, continuing on with my rant. “Her poor Mamm had already lost Sophia. How tragic for her to lose Annie too.”

  Now Aenti Suz gave me a sad look. “Marie, parents can’t control their children forever. Jah, I’m sure it was hard on Annie’s parents to have her leave the Amish, but they survived. Each person must make decisions about his or her own future.”

  I shook my head. “No, we’re part of a family. Each of our decisions affects everyone—our parents, our siblings, future generations.” I crossed my arms. “You should have told Leisel this story, not me. She’s the one who left—the one who is
never coming back, the one going into medicine. I’ve always known I’d stay, that I would never leave.”

  Aenti Suz just shrugged, stood, and took her teacup to the sink. As I was still mulling over the story, Leisel came out of Aenti Suz’s bedroom, yawning and stretching. She said she’d get a shower and then rejoin the living. Then Jessica stirred on the couch.

  Jah, my sisters had both left the Amish. Jessica had come to her senses and returned, but still, at one time she abandoned her church and family. Everyone knew I would never do such a thing. So much so that I thought it time I write a letter to Elijah.

  I told Jessica and Aenti Suz that I would be right back, that I was just going to check in with Edith to see how Mamm and Silas were doing.

  Edith was in the kitchen, and she reported that Silas hadn’t had a fever since the morning before. “If it doesn’t start up again by this evening, I think he could see Jessica. That would do them both good.”

  I agreed.

  She said Mamm was still running a fever. “So don’t go up there.”

  I promised her I wouldn’t, saying I just needed to get something from Dat’s study. I slipped into the room. I walked around Mamm’s quilting frame to Dat’s desk and found paper, a pen, an envelope, and a stamp. I sat down in Dat’s old chair and twirled the pen.

  After I wrote that I was sorry I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye, the details about the bus accident, and how Jessica was doing, not much more came to mind. I thought about writing to him about Annie and Ira, but quashed that idea right away. First of all, the story would bore him. And second of all, it would be odd to tell him, considering Annie had left the Amish and married a Brethren, when she had the chance to marry Samuel, the eligible Amish bachelor.

  I twirled the pen some more and then finally wrote how much I missed him. Then I bundled up and headed out to our mailbox, even though the mailman wouldn’t pick it up until Monday.

  I considered going out to the barn and calling Elijah, but he’d still be at the bakery. And besides, if Gordon was on our property—say, in the barn—I didn’t want him to overhear our conversation.

  But as I reached the mailbox, Gordon drove up in his car. He waved and rolled down the window.