by Amy Clipston
Pebbles, sensing her distress, whimpered and snuggled closer in her lap.
“Ah, now. Don’t cry. You know I have no idea what to do around crying females.”
Faith laughed and swiped at her cheeks. “Sorry.”
“So what happened next? After he found you curled in a ball in the corner of a fun house.”
“He helped me to the buggy. He practically had to carry me because I couldn’t make my legs work. Then he took me home. He had no idea what was wrong, though I think someone has clued him in since.”
“And after that?”
“He moved. His bruder invited him down to Virginia.”
“I remember him mentioning that. He learned how to do cabinetry work there.”
“He lived there a long time. He’s only been back since last fall.” Faith pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then slipped them back on. “Now when we’re around each other, he treats me as if I might break.”
Micah didn’t speak again until they were nearly home. As they pulled into the lane, he grinned and tipped his hat back. “You two certainly have an interesting background, but it doesn’t mean you can’t go forward. After all, think what a funny story it would be to tell your grandkinner someday.”
The thought of having grandchildren with David made her laugh. She was beginning to fear she was too old to have children, so grandchildren seemed like a distant dream.
“You’ll be having grandkinner years before me.”
“Stop trying to marry me off. I’m just a guy who likes a girl and hopes to have a nice evening with her.”
Micah helped her remember to enjoy life. And his girlfriend Naomi? Well, she would be a gut addition to the family if her bruder did ask her to marry him.
“Let me off at the barn.”
“I happen to be going there myself.”
As he unhitched Patches and set about caring for the horse, Faith took Pebbles into the stall she’d outfitted with a blanket in a crate, a food bowl, and a water bowl. She scooped some of the food she’d bought on Saturday into one bowl and stayed long enough to make sure Pebbles ate the entire thing. She was underweight, which could make a dog susceptible to all sorts of things. After Pebbles lapped up a good bit of water, she walked to Faith, sat, and cocked her head.
“I have to go.”
Pebbles dropped into a crouch and growled, then sat up and yipped.
“You’re a hoot.”
Spying her tail, the dog proceeded to chase it in circles until she fell over.
“Wear yourself out. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
She thought Pebbles might protest her leaving, but upon seeing Faith walk to the stall door, she tumbled over to her bed and sank onto the blanket.
“There’s no place like home,” Faith whispered.
Walking back into the main part of the barn, she realized she wasn’t ready to go into the house yet. She needed time to process the day’s events, so she looked around for something else to do. Micah had finished unharnessing and stabling the horse and had already gone to the house. Faith wasn’t ready to go inside. She wasn’t ready to face her mother. Her mind darted back to the argument they had the week before about her work. Mamm did not understand that circumstances were different for Amish women now than they were during her time.
She also didn’t understand that Faith’s anxiety practically disappeared when she was around animals. She’d learned to control it when surrounded by friends, but in the back of her mind she always worried she might have another attack. She couldn’t remember when her anxiety and claustrophobia had first presented itself. She’d discussed that at length with her counselor, but they’d never managed to pinpoint one traumatic event that might have caused it. Perhaps her condition had developed over time—the first symptoms had probably appeared when she was a young teen.
With animals, she never had to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. She never felt awkward around a horse. She never wondered what to say to a dog, and cats—well, cats only required a quick scratch behind the ears.
Animals were easy.
People on the other hand, confounded her.
Dating had been especially difficult. She didn’t know whether to talk about her condition or not, and she always worried about what they were going to do for the date—if it would trigger another attack. Eventually, she found it easier to just say no, and after a while the young men in their community stopped asking. Which probably explained why she’d stopped dating, which in turn led to her working more hours at the clinic.
That’s what the argument with her mamm the week before had been about. Her mother thought she should work less and focus on her future—her future as a wife and mother. But she had no future as a wife and mother as far as she could see. Who would want to be married to someone like her?
She’d made the mistake of saying that to her mamm, who quickly reminded her that she was fearfully and wonderfully made.
And now she was stepping out with David Lapp.
Oh, her mamm would be thrilled. The problem would be explaining that they were simply two friends going out together. Mamm would never believe it wasn’t a blossoming romance.
Then again, maybe she should let her mother believe what she wanted.
Maybe it was okay if Mamm misconstrued the nature of the relationship. Perhaps it would take the pressure off for a little while. And it wasn’t lying—not exactly.
“We’ll just let her draw her own conclusions,” Faith said to Patches, whom she’d stopped to brush. Her dat purchased the mare three years ago. She was a lovely black with white patches on her front knees. “It’s not our fault if she concludes incorrectly.”
Patches actually nodded in agreement, or at least it seemed like she did.
Faith loved her mother dearly. She loved all of her family. It was just that since her twenty-fifth birthday the pressure had increased, and she wasn’t responding to it well. With any luck, one of her schweschders would announce another pregnancy soon. That always sent her mother into a knitting craze and distracted her from worrying over her youngest daughter.
Faith decided not to fret over her parents’ expectations. Instead, she thought of Mary and Peter and wondered if they could be people she knew.
Chapter 4
David picked up Faith at six o’clock on the dot Friday evening.
Her mamm waved from a rocker on the front porch.
David had hopped out of the buggy to open the door for her. “Your parents seem nice.”
“Uh-huh.”
He waited until she’d settled in the buggy and he’d climbed back in on the driver’s side, to tease her. “Is there a particular reason for that uh-huh?”
“Nothing I want to talk about.”
“Fair enough.”
When she looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I know how family can be. I’m not married either, remember, and I’m twenty-seven.”
“Oh man. That’s nearly thirty. Are you sure you can see well enough to drive?”
“Watch it.”
“I’m surprised no one has bought you a cane yet.”
“They’ll probably give me one for Christmas.” He chuckled. At least in Faith, he had a friend who understood his dilemma. “Apparently I’m shirking my male duties.”
“Ewww. Someone said that to you?”
David scrunched his eyes. “Let’s see—my dat, my bruder, even my bishop down in Virginia when I lived with my other bruder.”
“Wow. That is a lot of people with their nose in your business.”
“Don’t I know it.” If David had been nervous about this date, which he wasn’t willing to admit, the nerves had fled. Riding next to him today was a different Faith—one who acted as if she was enjoying a buggy ride and the prospect of a frozen treat.
“So where would you like to go?” he asked. “There’s Blue Gate or . . .”
“Howie’s. I love Howie’s.”
“Same here. Less crowded.”
“And we can take our time and go over the letters.”
“Ah, yes. The letters.” He focused on the road, thinking about putting off what he needed to do. But what was the sense in that? So, he cleared his throat and plunged forward. “You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, but it seems we’re never alone.”
Faith looked at him with such wide eyes, that he nearly laughed . . . but wasn’t that what landed him in trouble to begin with? He took her silence as a good sign.
“I want to apologize for what happened when we went to the fall festival.”
“The fall festival?”
“I know it was a long time ago.”
“Over four years ago.”
“You might not even remember—it’s not as if I expect our single date to have been so important that you would still be dwelling on it.”
“I remember.”
“The thing is, I didn’t know about your . . . condition.”
She pulled in a deep breath, let it out, and then lifted her chin just a tad. “I’m claustrophobic.”
“Ya. Mei bruder explained it to me when I finally confessed what a disaster our date had been.”
“David, that wasn’t your fault.”
“ It kind of was though. I mean, even if I didn’t understand why you were so frightened, I shouldn’t have laughed. That must have seemed so . . . callous.”
Faith stared out the side window. Looking at her profile, he could just make out that she’d pulled in her bottom lip and was worrying it. He was surprised when she turned back toward him with a smile.
“Why now? As you pointed out, it’s been a long time.”
“Fair question. First of all, I’m reminded of it every time I’m with you, and I feel bad. That guy who laughed at you, well, that’s not who I am.”
“Okay.”
“Look.” He shifted in his seat, stared out over the horse and then looked back at her. “I should have done this right after it happened, right after I found out about your condition. I told myself it didn’t matter, and then I moved to Virginia. I’ve tried a couple times since then, but you always seem to hurry away if we’re alone together.”
“I suppose I was embarrassed about it—even after all this time.”
“Really?”
“Mortified, actually.”
“It was that bad?”
“I’d had a few panic attacks before then, but never in such a public setting. I didn’t . . . I didn’t really understand what was wrong with me, what triggered it, or what to do about it.”
“But you do now?”
She nodded so hard that a wayward curl popped out of the side of her kapp. “I’ve been seeing a counselor.”
“That’s gut. I guess.”
“It is gut. I’m aware that it’s unusual for an Amish person to see an Englisch counselor, but it’s helped me.”
“Your parents are supportive?”
“They are, and so is Alton. He’s a gut bishop.”
Silence enveloped the buggy, and David realized he needed to hear her say it. He’d come this far with his apology and confession, he might as well step out a little further. “So, you accept my apology?”
“Ya. Of course I do.”
He picked up his hat and resettled it on his head. “Somehow I thought it would be more difficult.”
“You apologized, and I accept your apology. Let’s forget about it.”
“All right.” He ran a thumb under his suspenders. Why hadn’t he tried that years ago? “But if you ever want to talk about it or something—anything really, I promise not to laugh.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
“Perhaps a little.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, which didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it might have before he apologized.
Once they arrived and purchased their ice cream—one scoop of vanilla and one of strawberry for her, double chocolate for him—they sat at a table and talked about work.
She hadn’t known he was working full-time now in his own business.
He hadn’t realized that Dr. England had been loaning her veterinary books to read and study.
They spoke of who was marrying, the new people who had moved in and those who’d left, and their expanding families. When their ice cream was gone and he’d thrown away their napkins and fetched two cups of water, David could tell Faith was ready to get down to business.
“You look like a child at Christmas,” he teased.
“It was hard to wait.”
“Ha. I knew it. You’re like a dog who has caught a scent.”
“I’d be offended by that description if I hadn’t just acquired a beagle.”
She pulled the box from her purse and removed the bundle of letters.
“Ready?” Her eyes were bright, and when she smiled broadly, small dimples formed at the corner of her mouth. Faith Troyer was a pretty young woman, and more importantly she smiled easily and often.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
June 8, 1970
Dear Mary,
Today is Friday. If I were back home in Shipshe I would be glad that the work week was over. I’d probably be thinking about taking you out for dinner or a treat. Do you remember that time we went for hamburgers and you turned away from the picnic table for a moment? Luke’s dog swallowed your entire burger before I knew what had happened. You were mad as a red hornet, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
Memories like that help me through the hard times.
That and my faith. It warmed my heart when you wrote that you were praying for me.
Yours,
Peter
June 9, 1970
Dear Mary,
Do you understand what this war is about? I don’t. I’ve tried—believe me I have. I know we’re pacifists. When I joined the church, I took a vow to follow the Bible and live by our Ordnung, and that means we always turn the other cheek.
Today I went to town because one of the other Amish men working here needed personal supplies. We’ve been told it’s best to go places in pairs rather than alone.
After we purchased what he needed and were walking back to the buggy, a young disabled man, no doubt freshly back in the country, was wheeling down the sidewalk toward us. His mother was pushing his wheelchair, and his father was walking beside him. The father was carrying a world of hurt in his heart. His grief and anger were clear from the second I noticed him.
When he saw me and Joshua, his anger erupted like a long-simmering volcano. I won’t write the words he threw at us. They’re too vile to commit to paper. Suffice to say he blamed us for his son’s injury. If we hadn’t shirked our duty, if we had served like men instead of cowards . . . He went on and on as Joshua and I stood there, eyes cast down, waiting and praying for it to end. Finally, he spat at us and moved on.
We’d drawn quite a crowd, but not one person in that group of onlookers spoke a kind word to us. Perhaps they were as shocked as we were. Or perhaps they agreed with the man. I’ll never know. When we reached our buggy, we saw that someone had spray-painted the word COWARD across the side. The horse was fine and unperturbed by the ruckus.
I’ll admit to feeling angry and sad at the same time. Mostly I just felt as if I didn’t belong here—like a stranger in a foreign land. I keep wondering when I’ll be able to come home.
Peter
June 10, 1970
Dear Mary,
Our Sunday service was real gut. How was yours? The weather was nice and we were able to hold the worship service in a member’s barn. It is quite large and has big bay doors, which were left open, and we could see out across the rolling hills. Ohio is a beautiful place. I would like to see it with you one day—in the future when this war is behind us.
The bishop reminded us today that Gotte is always in control, even when we don’t understand what is happening. He quoted from Job, which I will confess to enjoying. Job always seemed like a nice g
uy to me. Though possibly he had no clue what was happening to him. When he finally confronts Gotte, and Gotte tells him to brace himself, that always makes me laugh and wonder and appreciate Gotte’s patience with us.
After service, we were standing with a group of men, and they wanted to know about what happened in town yesterday. We’re not the only ones who have been harassed. The bishop reminded us again only to go to town when necessary and to remember to pray for the Englisch as well as the Vietnamese people.
How are your sheep? Do you still have that lazy canine you call a guard dog?
Affectionately,
Peter
June 11, 1970
Dear Mary,
Today I’m so homesick I can barely write. I know my suffering is nothing compared to what others face, but when you’re the one going through it . . . Well, it feels bigger than any single thing you can imagine.
Pray for me?
Peter
June 12, 1970
Dearest Mary,
Apologies for my morose mood yesterday. The weather was gloomy and I was missing my family as well as you, but that’s no excuse.
I’ll tell you something funny to prove that all is not gloom. The farmer’s wife keeps a bassett hound. The old dog mostly lies in the sun waiting for someone to drop a scrap of food close to its mouth. His name is Skipper, but I’ve never seen him skip. He sleeps more than my onkle Atlee.
But I digress. Today Mrs. Nicholson was working in her vegetable garden and old Skipper was lying in the sun beside her when a rabbit hopped out from behind a row of lettuce. Skipper howled as if his hind leg was caught in a bear trap. Mrs. Nicholson jumped to her feet and began waving her arms, trying to scare the rabbit away. The rabbit dodged over to where Mrs. Nicholson had left some plastic pots and managed to burrow down underneath one.
By the time Joshua and I ran over to see what all the commotion was about, the pot was moving back and forth on the ground as if of its own accord. Mrs. Nicholson was trying to catch Skipper, and Skipper was lunging back and forth and howling for all he was worth. I suppose he was actually baying, which is such a lonesome sound. Mrs. Nicholson said she’d never heard him do it before and hopes to never hear it again.