by Leslie Gould
As I headed out to the clothesline to take down the sheets I’d washed that morning, Aenti Suz stepped out onto the porch of her house and then started toward me. “I’ll help you fold,” she said.
“Denki,” I answered.
I expected her to ask me what Bishop Jacobs wanted, but we worked in silence until I said, “Jessica told me once that you were in love with a Mennonite boy. That you would have married him if he hadn’t died in Vietnam.”
She nodded, but then said, “I think I would have married him. I guess I don’t know that for sure.”
“And left the church?”
“Jah,” she answered. “I would have left the church. I do know that.”
I walked toward her with my end of the sheet. “Did you consider leaving anyway, after he died?”
She smiled. “Jah, I did. More at first, and then less as I grew older.”
“Do you ever regret not leaving?”
She shook her head. “But I’m guessing if my sweetheart hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have regretted not staying either.”
“But doesn’t it seem disingenuous to leave or stay based on a relationship with a man? Shouldn’t we leave or stay based on our relationship with God?”
“Many people do decide to leave or stay based on their relationship with God. But don’t judge the ones who decide based on a relationship with someone else. Who you marry has a big effect on your relationship with God. Don’t minimize that. I heard an Amish woman say once she could marry any Amish man and make it work. I don’t believe that for a second. Each couple finds their own way as far as roles in the relationship, but if a man doesn’t encourage you to have a closer relationship with the Lord, then you have no business marrying him.”
I wrinkled my nose. Elijah hadn’t encouraged me to do anything except have fun.
As we folded the last sheet, Gordon yelled my name from the barn door. “You have a phone call.”
I dropped the sheet into the basket.
“I’ll take these in,” Aenti Suz said.
I wondered if the call could be from Elijah as I headed toward the barn. My heart grew cold at the thought.
It wasn’t. It was Paula.
After greeting each other and catching up, she said, “Hey, I have a question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you hear Elijah is headed back down here?”
“Jah,” I answered. “His Dat stopped by today and told me.”
She groaned. “You two didn’t break up, did you?”
“Jah . . .”
“Well, the reason I called is . . . because he left me a message, and said he was coming back, and that he hoped to see me, a lot.”
“Paula,” I said. “It’s okay. Elijah and I weren’t really even courting. I’m fine if you go out with him.”
She groaned. “But I don’t want to. I like him as a friend and someone to tease, but he’s not the kind of guy I want to date.”
I smiled. I knew opposites attracted, but I really couldn’t see them together either. After she gave her reasons—he was untrustworthy, too clownish, and too quick to dismiss the needs of others—I brought up what Billy said about her not joining the church.
“What?”
“Jah, he said you’re going to college.”
“That’s right, but I’m going to join the Mennonites. Probably by next year. I can go to college and drive. Why would he say that?”
I didn’t know. Maybe it was to make himself feel better about her breaking up with him. I twirled the phone cord. “So do you think Elijah will stick around Sarasota?”
“No,” Paula answered. “In fact, he said if I wouldn’t go out with him he thought he’d go to Orlando and find a job up there.”
“Wow.” That would take Elijah even farther away from an Amish community.
“Hey,” Paula said, “I still want to come up and see you sometime. Seriously.”
“Anytime,” I answered.
“How about this summer? After I’m done with classes.”
“Perfect!”
She told me more about her courses, and then I found myself telling her about my conversation with Gordon and what I learned about myself.
“I love that,” she said. “And you know what? I’m really looking forward to seeing you this summer. I promise I’ll make it happen.”
After we said good-bye, I thought about Paula being so bold with Elijah while I’d been so careful with him. I didn’t feel that way with Gordon though. I could say what was on my mind without being afraid of being teased or not taken seriously. The truth was, Elijah and I never really talked about anything important. And I’d never inspired him in any way, not the way Gordon inspired me.
I stepped out of the office into the barn, sure I’d never inspired Gordon in that way either.
Lost in my thoughts, I finally realized that Gordon was waving at me from the milk vat. I approached him. “That was Paula.”
He nodded. “We chatted for a few minutes. She asked me how my volunteer work at the shelter was going and told me some about what she’s been up to.”
“She knew you didn’t take the job?”
He nodded. “We’ve talked a few times since I got back home.”
My face warmed even in the cold air. “Oh” was all I could manage to say.
Elijah had been right. Gordon and Paula did make a good couple.
“It’s not like we’re interested in each other or anything,” he said quickly. “She got my number from the director at the shelter in Florida. She had some questions about different Mennonite missions.”
“Oh.” My heart raced. I’d been jealous. Out and out jealous.
He smiled down at me, his deep brown eyes as kind and caring as always.
“When do you volunteer at the shelter again?” I managed to ask.
“Tonight,” he answered.
“Would you like to join us for supper before you go?” I knew it would save him time.
He nodded. “Very much. Thank you.” His eyes met mine. “Would you like to go with me to the shelter tonight?”
I paused for a long moment, sensing that my answer might determine my destiny—or the realizations of the desires of my heart. Then I nodded. “I would like to go with you tonight. Absolutely. Maybe we can . . . talk . . . on the way there.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
We did talk that evening, about us. We both decided to spend time together, to get to know each other better, to pray and ask for God’s guidance. We both made it clear that we cared for each other, but I was Amish and he was Mennonite. There was no easy solution.
More important, I began working to change more on the inside, in ways that were the opposite of measuring hem lengths and hat brim widths. I’d felt so insecure that I’d looked at the supposed faults of others to make myself feel better. By pointing out their failures, I hoped to increase my own worth, in some twisted way.
Now I knew it had never worked. My judging others had only made me feel worse about myself.
And I began to understand why Dat served others. Why he’d gone to Vietnam as a Youngie. Why he went to Haiti to serve after the earthquake. It was Gottes-deenst—service to God. It was part of our faith. For so long, I thought it could be done through baking pies and making quilts. Which was all beneficial and very important, but apparently God calls some people to more than that.
In mid-April, I hired a driver to take me to Jessica’s for the day. She’d recovered from her surgery and had mostly gained her strength back. We sat at her kitchen table, and over coffee and muffins I apologized to her for how critical I’d been of her through the years and confessed that I’d pulled the bishop into a dispute that was entirely between her and Arden, that Dat was fully capable of moderating. “I was so focused on the behavior of others, including you,” I said, “that I failed to see the work of the Spirit.”
She said she’d forgiven me long ago. “But thank you,” she said. “I want nothing more, after my ma
rriage, than to have a good relationship with you. And with Leisel.”
I nodded. That was my hope too. Then I went on to confess that I never felt as if I’d measured up to her or Leisel. “You were so capable and strong. Leisel was so smart and caring. I felt invisible. I wasn’t conscious of what I was doing, but now I see that by being critical, I was trying to make myself look better. By being self-righteous, I was trying to make you look bad.”
“Wow,” Jessica said. “You’ve been doing some soul-searching.”
I nodded.
“I’m impressed.” She reached over and took my hand. “Denki for telling me,” she said. “But now put it behind you.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “I know I wasn’t always kind to you either.”
“No,” I said. “You were frustrated with me before you left and then again when you came back for Dat’s service. But I deserved it. Besides those two times, you were always kind to me. You were the best big sister, honestly.”
Her eyes filled with tears, which made me cry too.
“I’m praying you’ll get pregnant again soon. And that you’ll be blessed with many children.”
She squeezed my hand but didn’t say anything more about that. Instead, she told me Mildred Stoltz was doing a little better, and that it was so good for Silas to work with John. “They’re like father and son,” she said. “God has been so good to us.”
I nodded in agreement. If Jessica could recognize God’s goodness after losing her baby, I could too. No matter what He had for my future.
Before I left, she said, “Marie, you really are gifted musically. I think your lack of opportunity to practice your gift, because of Mamm’s rules, probably made you more self-righteous. You were frustrated. Maybe that’s something to consider.”
I assured her I would.
I wrote to Gail right after Elijah left and explained to her everything that had happened. Then I asked her to forgive me for how I’d drawn her into my world of judgment and shame.
She wrote back right away and said that of course she forgave me. Then she included, God has been working in my heart too and convicting me of my own shortcomings. I’m praying for both of us as we grow in our relationships with the Lord. Her words only confirmed that everyone was capable of changing, including me.
I started volunteering every Monday night at the shelter with Gordon. Then I began attending his church with him on our off Sundays. Each time I attended, my soul expanded more and more. It was through serving that I understood Christ’s gift to me. It was through giving that I truly comprehended grace.
Mamm and Arden turned a blind eye to what I was doing. I think they thought I, of all people, would come to my senses. But it wasn’t long until Bishop Jacobs expressed his alarm. He insisted that I stop attending the Mennonite services.
I was at an intersection as complicated as the crossroads at Peach Bottom.
But finally I had to admit that I couldn’t continue living the way I was and not be shunned. Again I thought of Annie and the crossroads in her life.
On a warm June evening, after Paula had visited and then returned to Pinecraft, I asked Gordon for a favor. Would he drive me to Peach Bottom? I knew the farm that George and Harriet had owned was now underwater due to the Conowingo Dam, along with the entire original town. It had been moved to the east side of the Susquehanna River, to Lancaster County. But I wanted to see the area. I wanted to see if I could gain clarity in my own life from seeing where Annie had spent a pivotal part of hers.
It didn’t take long to reach Peach Bottom from our farm, not more than half an hour. I told Gordon the short version of Annie’s story as he drove.
I lowered my window as we began the descent down to the Susquehanna. I could smell the river as it came into view, and in no time, we were parked alongside it, near the train tracks, gazing toward the western side.
It was impossible for me to imagine how the river and the land had appeared to Annie. But I could imagine Felicity in the woods, trying to save her baby. And Annie hearing Ira’s song. And the courage it took for her to travel to Gettysburg with Kate and care for the wounded soldiers.
Aenti Suz had made Annie’s decision to leave the Amish and marry Ira sound so easy. But I doubted it was. I imagined she struggled with leaving her church and her family.
Gordon stepped closer to me. I remembered Miriam’s words on the beach in Florida back in January. “God doesn’t call us to do what is easy.”
But maybe I thought it harder than it actually was. Leaving the Amish wouldn’t be easy—but if I took it a step at a time, it would be manageable. Maybe it was just step by step, day by day, following His calling. There was one thing I did know for sure: loving Gordon was easy. That didn’t mean our relationship always would be, but the love and commitment I felt toward him couldn’t be stopped.
Miriam had also said everyone deserved to be loved. I felt with all my heart that God wanted Gordon and me to love each other.
He reached for my hand.
It was the first time he’d done that, and I couldn’t believe how natural it felt. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That God’s ways aren’t my ways.”
He didn’t say anything for a long while until I leaned against him.
He pulled me close. “Care to give me an explanation?”
“I’ve decided to leave the Amish,” I said. “And I’m going to go live with Leisel for a while, in her apartment.” My family would be required to shun me, and I couldn’t bear to be in Lancaster County while it happened. Arden and Vi would write me letters. And Mamm. “I’ll find a job and a Mennonite church.”
His hold tightened. “And then what?”
“I’ll trust God as I wait and see what’s next for me.”
I enjoyed living with Leisel in Pittsburgh. It was a good transition into the Englisch lifestyle, and I enjoyed getting to know Nick too. She continued to claim they were just friends—but I wasn’t so sure. They reminded me of Annie and Ira in their dedication to learning medicine and in the way they supported each other. They didn’t show any affection, at least not in front of me, but I could tell there was a commitment between them and guessed they may have a future together, perhaps after Leisel graduated.
After I’d been in Pittsburgh just a few weeks, I came to the realization that Gordon was my spiritual anchor. Because of him, I’d finally learned to love others as myself. Being shunned wasn’t the worst thing in the world, as I’d feared. Being away from Gordon was.
I moved back to Lancaster after that, rented a room from a couple who attended the Mennonite church downtown, and took a job at the shelter, where Gordon was working now too. Bishop Jacobs had convinced Arden to fire him after I left home.
Working at the shelter taught me to trust God in a deeper way, and to live out my singing in a way I first learned in Pinecraft. I sang to the babies I had the privilege of helping with, taught the children songs after school, sang with the cooking crew, and led the singing after supper sometimes too. With each song, my faith grew deeper, as did my determination to serve. Aenti Suz had been right. God had given me the chance to minister to the souls of others.
I also played an old piano, tucked away in a room upstairs, during every break I had. Soon Tony, Gordon, and some other men moved it into the dining hall, where I played it for the singings, accompanying Gordon on his guitar.
The first time Gordon kissed me was on the sidewalk outside of the shelter. It was spontaneous, on both of our parts. It was late August and ninety-five degrees. Tony was on vacation, and we’d had one emergency after another, but we’d made it through and cared for those who needed it. As we told each other good-bye, Gordon leaned down as I turned my face toward him and our lips met.
Here I was, the girl who wanted nothing more than to be an Amish farmer’s wife, kissing a poor Mennonite boy. I’d never dreamt I could be so happy.
Here I was, living in the city and loving it. Just like Annie, I’d found my place in Lancaster, away from the B
achmann farm. And just like Annie, I had a new life ahead of me.
Gordon and I married in early November. My wedding was in Gordon’s Mennonite church instead of on the Bachmann farm with the backdrop of the old barn and the changing leaves in the woods, as I’d dreamt for so many years.
Leisel and Nick came to the wedding and so did Aenti Suz, Silas, and Jessica, who was six months pregnant at the time. However, Mamm and Arden and his family chose to stay away. I expected as much and didn’t let it affect my day. I was shocked, however, when Amos and Becca traipsed in just as I was about to walk down the aisle. Jah, I’d invited them, but I hadn’t expected them to come.
Leisel and Paula, who’d turned out to be just the friend I needed once I joined the Mennonites, stood up with me, and several times during the service, I caught Jessica, who sat in the front row with Silas, Amos, and Becca, wiping her eyes.
After Gordon and I pledged our lives to each other, we had an old-fashioned singing with our guests. And through a couple of our favorite hymns, Gordon played Dat’s harmonica. My eyes filled with tears as I led those songs, with those we loved joining in.
My heart soared in gratitude. God had given me the desires of my heart—what He desired for me. Gordon took my hand and we sang from the depths of our hearts, as a sense of harmony deeper and wider than I’d ever experienced before filled me completely.
Acknowledgments
I’m grateful to my husband, Peter, for his medical expertise, Civil War knowledge, and love of adventure. Traveling with you and learning about the history of our world is one of my favorite things to do.
I’m also grateful to our four children—Kaleb, Taylor, Hana, and Lily Thao—who put up with my deadlines and constantly help me see the world in new ways.
I’m deeply appreciative of my dear friend Marietta Couch, who shares her knowledge of the Amish with me and helps me brainstorm my stories.
I’m also grateful to Deidre Moss for her insights into music, singing, and perfect pitch.