by Mary Davis
In the late afternoon, Amos tinkered with the tractor, making sure it was in gut working order to plow soon. The kittens climbed all over the tractor and him, investigating his work.
Deborah lingered in the barn with him so she would know as soon as her parents and twin sisters returned. Several clip-clopping false alarms had sent her rushing outside. Still no sign of them. “Sooo...you haven’t said anything to my vater about my modeling. Does that mean you’ve decided not to?” Her fear of pushing him into an action that would have repercussions for her still coiled inside her, ready to strike. Why had she asked now? Because the tension between them needed something to defuse it. That something could be nothing other than his decision. Also, his not speaking to her bunched up her insides even more. Besides, not knowing what he would do weighed on her.
“And here I thought you liked my winning company.”
Well, she did, but she couldn’t tell him that. His words had held a hint of hurt and bitterness. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He stared at her a moment as though he wanted to say something, then turned back to the tractor, and then back to her. “I’m still having a hard time believing you modeled. You aren’t the person I thought you were. I thought I knew you, but I was wrong.”
That stabbed her heart. She was disappointed in herself, as well. Should she let the topic drop? Or explain herself? She hated having Amos think poorly of her. “I didn’t know who I was. I thought I was an Amish girl waiting for the rest of her life to begin. I thought my family didn’t understand me or care. I thought I needed someone to tell me nice things to feel worthy.” Was she only making it worse with her self-centered selfish words?
“And now?”
“You don’t want to hear me ramble on.”
“I actually do. You thought you needed someone to make you feel worthy. And now?”
“I’m not sure, but I know modeling will never make me feel worthy. That’s not the kind of worth I need or want. I was an Amish girl living outside my own life. Instead of including myself as a part of my family, I waited for my family to include me. I excluded myself and blamed them. That probably sounds foolish to you.”
“Needing to feel like you matter is important.”
The quality in his voice made her wonder. “You understand needing to feel like you matter, don’t you?”
“I’ve had my share of disappointments.”
Was that why he was going to turn his back on his whole way of life? Dare she ask him? “Disappointments? Here or back in Pennsylvania?”
“Both.”
So he was including her.
He pointed with a wrench he’d been using on the tractor toward the large open doorway.
“What disappointments?”
“I think I hear them coming back.”
She listened and heard the faint clomping of a horse’s hooves. How had he heard that so much sooner than her? She dashed out as the buggy turned into the driveway.
Lydia, at the reins, drove the buggy to the front of the house and stopped.
Hannah jumped out with her finger to her lips. “Shhh. Mutter and Vater fell asleep on the ride home.”
Deborah peered through the window into the back.
Vater’s arm encircled Mutter’s shoulders. Her head lay on his shoulder, and his head rested on hers. He loved Mutter so much, regardless of what was happening and all that had happened with her.
Would Deborah ever find an unconditional love like that? Not with Amos. She’d disappointed him. Her parents had something rare. ’Twas true that Amish always took care of their own, but sometimes grudgingly. Not so with Vater. He happily cared for Mutter.
Miriam came out of the house.
Lydia stepped down from the buggy. “Hannah, I’ll make sure the others stay inside while you tell Miriam and Deborah what we learned.”
Hannah kept her voice low and pointed toward the horse. “I’ll talk while we unhitch Floyd.”
Amos helped Deborah on one side while Hannah and Miriam worked the harness on the other side.
Deborah rose up on tiptoe and peered over Floyd’s back at Hannah. “What did you find out?”
“First, danki for finding those remedies. They helped Mutter a lot. She remained calm most of the time. She had a few nervous episodes, but Vater was able to assuage her fears. She’s indeed pregnant. We spoke to many, many doctors, including a psychiatrist. They confirmed that she has Graves’ disease. They all believe that her pregnancy is aggravating it. They also discovered scar tissue on her brain, likely from the buggy accident when she was three. It traumatized her, and that, compounded by multiple surgeries when she was young, is causing some of her memory issues and other problems.”
“Poor Mutter.”
“The psychiatrist thinks that some of her memory issues are actually her regressing to a younger age as a way of coping. He would like to see her weekly.”
“Is she going to go?”
“I don’t know. No one in our community has ever gone to a psychiatrist. Vater would need to get permission from the bishop. I doubt he would give it. Plus, I don’t think Vater wants to have her going to an Englisher doctor every week.”
“Why doesn’t she just go to Dr. Kathleen? Bishop Bontrager would approve that.”
“Dr. Kathleen is a different kind of doctor.”
“Did they give her medications to help her symptoms?” Deborah asked.
“Mutter and Vater agreed that they didn’t want to expose the baby to medications if they didn’t have to. Dr. Kathleen is going to monitor Mutter closely.”
“Is the baby all right? Does it have Down syndrome like Sarah?”
“We don’t know. When Mutter found out that the amniocentesis test had any risk at all, she refused. She became very agitated, and we had a hard time calming her back down. Whatever we found out wouldn’t matter. The baby is already who she’s going to be with a strong heartbeat. We’ll love her no matter what.”
“She? Is it a girl?”
“We don’t know for sure, but chances are it will be. We all got to see the new little one on an ultrasound.”
“When’s the baby due?”
“August. From the ultrasound, they think she’s around sixteen weeks.”
If Deborah and her sisters could manage Mutter for the next five months, through her pregnancy, then once the baby was born, she would naturally improve. In the meantime, Deborah would hire an Englisher to do more research on the computer. She would find whatever natural treatments would help Mutter best, and use her modeling money for that.
That evening, Deborah sat at the kitchen table with her vater and three older sisters. Vater devised a rotating schedule among the five of them to keep an eye on Mutter. Vater would take charge of her in the evenings and through the night. Hannah would oversee Mutter first in the morning, then Lydia, then Miriam and then finally Deborah up to and through supper.
Deborah pointed to her twin sisters. “But what about in the fall when Hannah and Lydia marry?”
Lydia piped up. “I won’t marry. I’ll always stay here and take care of Mutter.”
Mutter would likely need close supervision the rest of her life.
“I’ll stay, too,” Hannah said.
Then Miriam spoke. “No need for the two of you to give up on marrying. You both have gut men who want to marry you. I’ll stay with Mutter.”
“Don’t you want to marry?” Hannah asked.
“Knowing Mutter needed supervision, I’ve never truly believed I could. I’ve tried to keep boys from being interested in me so I could remain single.”
Deborah’s spirit lifted, then fell. “Ne, Miriam. I’ll take care of Mutter. You—as well as Hannah and Lydia—have already done your fair shares. It’s my turn to care for her.”
“It would be gut if you all marry. Your mutter is going
to need a lot of medical care in the next few months. It’s going to be expensive. I may need to sell the farm. My mind will rest easier knowing you each have a home.”
Deborah gasped in unison with her sisters. “Ne, Vater. Say it isn’t so.”
Vater let out a dejected sigh. “I will speak to the bishop, but I don’t have much hope.”
Before anything more could be said, Mutter entered the kitchen, and the conversation stopped.
Mutter looked around the table. “Bartholomew, you didn’t tell me we had company. You ladies must think me a terrible hostess.”
Deborah and her sisters exchanged glances with each other, then with Vater.
Vater spoke up. “We’re all fine. No need to fuss. Sit.”
Mutter sat. “I don’t normally take a nap.” She’d fallen asleep in the living room rocking chair right after supper. “But...” She leaned forward with a twinkle in her eyes. “We’re expecting our first child.”
Deborah’s jaw went limp. First?
“If it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Hannah, and Micah for a boy.”
Deborah glanced at her oldest twin as tears stung her eyes. Poor Hannah. It was so hard watching Mutter like this. Deborah preferred it when she had been blissfully ignorant. But there was no going back. She couldn’t unlearn everything she knew now.
Vater gave Mutter a sad, weary smile. “These ladies already know. They came to see how they could help you. They are each going to take turns coming over and doing what they can.”
Mutter smiled. “Danki. You are all so kind.”
Each of her sisters said that they were glad to help, but there must be something more that Deborah could do. But what?
Chapter Fifteen
In the Millers’ living room sat a pile of books. The one on the top caught Amos’s attention. An Amish romance novel. Such silly books. Why did women like to read that nonsense? Especially practical Amish women. Didn’t the Amish pride themselves on being separate from the world? Not to be just like them but without conveniences?
He picked it up and read the back cover. He still couldn’t see the appeal. He turned it over and studied the profile image of an Amish woman looking down at a yellow flower with a dark center. He scrutinized the cover. Not just an Amish woman—Deborah! He wouldn’t have believed it to be her if not for her confession to him.
Multiple footsteps thunked on the kitchen floor. The women had returned from visiting a neighbor.
He tucked the book under his arm and slipped out the front door. He took charge of the horse and buggy and walked the pair to the barn. Leaving Floyd hitched, he hurried to the safety of his room and stared at the cover again. Definitely Deborah. What should he do with this?
He knew Deborah had been modeling, but she said she’d quit. She could get in trouble for this. He hadn’t told Bartholomew or anyone else about her modeling and had no plans to at this point. To do so would be duplicitous, considering his own plans, as well as hurt Deborah. She would be angry with him. That bothered him more than her breaking the rules of the Ordnung.
He had work to get done before it was time to eat.
At supper that night, Amos ate with a guilty conscience. He knew he should give the book to Bartholomew and tell him what he knew about Deborah’s modeling. But what about himself? He, too, harbored a secret. Guilt on top of guilt. Even after the hurt she’d caused him with her subterfuge, he still wanted to protect her. He was attempting to get away from duplicity in others, so he wouldn’t stoop to it himself.
Miriam took a drink of milk. “Has anyone seen the novel I was reading? I left it in the living room, but it’s gone.”
“What’s your book about?” Mutter asked.
“It’s an Amish romance. Amish Identity. It’s not really mine.” Miriam turned to Deborah. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed it.”
Deborah’s face turned ashen, and a slight tremor laced her words. “Um...I actually haven’t finished with it myself.”
Amos should probably say something, but he wanted to talk to Deborah first.
Vater swallowed his bite and pointed with his table knife. “I’m not so sure I like you girls reading those. They give you false ideals. Then you expect this romance nonsense that isn’t practical in everyday life.”
Mutter giggled. “Ne. They don’t. The stories are all made-up. They’re just gut fun. It’s nice to take a break once in a while. Let the girls have their little escapes. They always get their work done. Our girls are too smart to be swayed by stories.”
Amos imagined that Deborah wished that her vater would forbid romance novels.
Bartholomew nodded. “Very well. Just be sure to get your work done.”
All the girls around the table smiled except Deborah. Her ashen complexion had paled even more.
After supper, Amos came up beside Deborah and whispered, “May I talk to you?”
“I can’t. I need to find my book Miriam borrowed.”
“It’s in the barn.” He walked away, knowing she would come.
She snagged her coat and followed him out. “You have my book?”
“I saw it in the living room. I took it out to the barn.”
She fell into step with him. “I can’t picture you reading Amish romances.”
He stopped. “Ne. I took it because you are on the cover.”
Her eyes widened. “You recognized me?”
He proceeded to walk again. “It wasn’t hard.”
She trotted to catch up. “Do you think Miriam recognized me?”
“She didn’t act as though she did.” He went into his room and reached underneath his cot. He grabbed the novel but could feel the cell phone on top of it. He tried to shake the device off as he pulled the book out, but they both came. He dumped the phone onto the floor. In a single motion, he stood, kicked the phone back under the cot, turned and thrust out the paperback. “Here it is.” Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed the phone.
She stared at the floor near the cot for a moment longer before looking up at him. “Danki. I appreciate you not telling anyone about this.”
If he exposed her secret, he would need to confess his own. “I thought you said you didn’t have any more secrets.”
“This isn’t a different secret. It’s part of the same one. I said I had modeled for catalogs and book covers.” She tapped the front. “Book cover.”
True. It had just been such a shock to see her like that. “You know that there are more copies of this out there? What happens when one of your sisters or someone else in the community picks one up and realizes that’s you on the cover?”
“I don’t know. Hudson took these shots on the very first photo shoot I did. I never imagined seeing myself on the cover of a book. It’s so strange.” She tilted her head. “You look as though you’re the one who should feel guilty. I really have quit.”
Keeping her secret wasn’t the root of his guilt—keeping his own was. He couldn’t risk anyone trying to talk him out of his decision.
Now that Bartholomew’s cast was off, Amos wouldn’t be needed for much longer. He would stay on until Bartholomew regained the strength in his injured leg. The young man, Jesse, who was supposed to have left by now had lost the place he was to move to. Whether he was gone or not, when it was time to leave the Millers’, Amos wouldn’t be returning to his parents’ farm. It would be too hard to leave if he did.
Having spent the previous week making sure the fields were properly planted had given Amos a sense of great accomplishment. Not being around to reap the harvest of his labor caused sorrow and disappointment to roll through him. He would be leaving soon, but surprisingly, a part of him didn’t want to anymore. He didn’t want to leave the Millers’ farm or Deborah. He felt at home here and wanted to stay.
Surprising revelation.
“Since you haven’t said anything yet, does t
hat mean you’ve decided not to tell anyone my secret?”
Ja, but it might be best not to let her know that yet. “I’m not sure.” Once he was gone, she would know her secret was safe.
“My resolve to not model is solid. I won’t ever do it again.”
He believed her, but was it because he truly did or only because he wanted to. If he could, he would wrap her in his arms and protect her.
* * *
Alone in the room she shared with Miriam, Deborah tucked the book between the mattress and box springs and sat on her bed. She wished Miriam hadn’t discovered her book. She would no doubt ask about it again. Deborah had almost forgotten about the damaging evidence, having tucked it away under her bed. Obviously, not a gut place. She should have set it afire in the burn barrel, then Miriam wouldn’t have discovered it. She and her sisters often borrowed things from each other, many times without asking. Deborah would figure out a time when she could dispose of this copy.
Amos had been right. Numerous copies of this novel undoubtedly floated around out in the Englisher world, and likely, a few in their community. Who else held a copy? Then there were the other books that could potentially have a picture of her, as well. It would be only a matter of time before someone else discovered her secret. Should she ask Hudson to not sell any more of her pictures for covers? To destroy all the pictures he took of her? The thought of talking to him again gave her shivers. That he thought she would go with him to New York had been preposterous. Ne. Talking to Hudson would be a bad idea. A clean break was best.
Then what could she do? How long before someone else recognized her?
She would sleep on it.
But sleep evaded her, so she lifted her troubling situation to the Lord.
Gott, what should I do? I could confess to my family, but that would hurt everyone, and they would be disappointed in me. There’s a gut chance no one will ever find out, and then no one would get hurt. But the not knowing if someone will discover my secret is agitating. Tell me what to do.
* * *
Vater had told the bishop and church leaders about Mutter’s conditions. They in turn brought the concern before the congregation. Several families had recently experienced hardships, some with crops, others with medical expenses, and one family’s house and barn had burned to the ground. There wasn’t extra money in the community right now to cover so many needs. Maybe in a year or two things would be different, but Mutter and her family needed help now. The women did offer to take turns sitting with Teresa for a few hours each day to ease the burdens on her daughters.