by Sarah Price
Friends, he had said. It was an unusual concept in her world. Men and women were not friends. Not like that. A man and his wife shared many things, friendship being one of them. But that was the only friendship that existed among the sexes, that between man and wife. Other men might be family or neighbors but they were never friends. Even courting couples were not true friends. That was something that would take years to develop…years that involved hard work, children, good times and bad.
Sylvia hung her head down as she hurried down the driveway and into her parents’ house, more confused than ever. It was a feeling she wasn’t used to and one that she didn’t like very much at all.
Chapter Eight
The weekend went by too quickly. She knew the routine of a typical Saturday at her parents’ farm. She’d help in the yard as much as she could before working inside with her mother. Cooking and cleaning never seemed to end and, when it did, it was time to catch up on mending and sewing. Sometimes her mother would talk, sharing stories of her own childhood. Other times, they worked in silence, deep in their own thoughts.
This Saturday was one of those quiet days. Sylvia glanced up at her mother, watching her with her head bent over a tear in her father’s pants. She wondered what her mother thought about, what she reflected on when she was so absorbed at times like these. In many ways, she wished that she could talk to her mother. She had questions that needed answers but few resources to turn for assistance.
Sunday was a worship day. Sylvia always enjoyed worship Sundays. It was time to gather with friends, family, and neighbors. Since she had finished school four years back, she rarely saw her good friends, Leah and Millie. Worship Sundays were always a good time for catching up with them during the fellowship meals that followed the three-hour service.
However, on this Sunday, she was particularly pleased to see her brother Emanuel and his wife Shana arrive with their two children, Noah and Hannah. Despite being with her friends, Sylvia quickly excused herself and made her way over to Shana’s side. With a third baby due in early September, Shana was always most appreciative for any help with her young children. She had always welcomed Sylvia’s help at their farm, especially after Noah had been born three years ago. Yet, now it was Sylvia who sought Shana’s help, hoping that her brother’s wife could provide her with answers to the many questions floating in her head and heart.
They were sitting at a table alone, a delightful rarity after Sunday worship. Everyone else had eaten and the other women were busy cleaning up the dishes while the men gathered outside and the children played. Usually there were always people around, talking and laughing. But today, they sat at the table under the shade of a tree without anyone else. Sylvia held young Noah while he slept in her arms. Hannah nursed at Shana’s breast. No one disturbed them and it gave Sylvia the opening that she sought.
“I have a question, Shana, about your past life,” Sylvia began slowly, making certain that no one could overhear her.
Shana looked up from her nursing baby and frowned. “You mean when I was an Englischer? You’ve never asked me anything about that before.”
Sylvia took a deep breath. “Was it hard to leave it behind for Emanuel?”
At that question, Shana smiled. “Ah, I see what you want to know.” Her eyes skimmed the crowds of Amish people until she spotted her husband. With the exception of the beard that he had grown, he looked exactly the same as when she had met him so long ago. As if he knew, he looked up and noticed Shana watching him. He smiled back, his eyes bright and shining at her before he quickly looked away so that no one else would notice. That one simple moment, missed by all except Shana and Sylvia, said words about the relationship he shared with his wife.
“No, it wasn’t, Sylvia. I wouldn’t do anything different in the world. I am very happy to be your brother’s wife.” She looked at Sylvia. “He was my friend before my husband, you know. And that is very important, Sylvia.”
Friend. There was that word again. The same word that Jake had said. “What does that mean, this ‘friendship’?” Sylvia forced herself to ask. She wanted to know what it meant to the Englischers to be friends amongst the sexes.
But Shana had caught the undercurrent of Sylvia’s question. “What do you mean by ‘this’ friendship?” She frowned, looking around to make certain no one could overhear them.
Sylvia stammered. “I…well, I was just curious, I reckon.”
Shana wasn’t fooled. She started at her young sister-in-law, trying to get a solid reading on the young woman sitting before her. “Does your question have to do with that widower? The Englischer?”
Sylvia started to protest but her words failed her. Instead, the tears came to her eyes and she fought hard to blink them away. “Oh Shana,” she began, her voice sounding desperate and sad. “I just don’t understand.”
Shana held up her hand and quieted her gently, her eyes quickly darting around the room to make certain no one was approaching them. It would do no good for anyone to overhear such a conversation. “This is not the time nor place, my dear Sylvia.” She spoke quietly, rocking her baby Hannah as she stopped nursing and began to sleep. “Be careful, however. It sounds like you are courting more than danger. A young Amish woman’s reputation, once torn, is not easily mended. Your situation is quite different than mine,” she whispered.
There were too many people nearby so Sylvia couldn’t answer. But, if she could, she would have yelled “Yes! It is very different and I don’t know why it is happening to me!” Instead, she maintained her silence, rocking the sleeping Noah and keeping her eyes on the floor so that no one could see the expression of distress that she wore.
The following day, Sylvia trudged across the field, not caring that her shoes were wet from the morning dew or that the hem of her skirt became soaked. Her mind was in too many places, trying to juggle this concept of Englischer friendship among sexes with Shana’s admission about how important it was that she was a friend with Emanuel before they wed. In the Amish world, true friendship developed afterwards. But it seemed that the Englischers’ developed it before committing to life together. If the latter were true, Jake’s admission about their “friendship” meant more than met the eye.
He wasn’t in the house when she arrived, for which she was grateful. She wanted to be alone, to not deal with the conflicts inside of her. If she focused on tending to his house and garden, she wouldn’t need to consider the other issues that knocked her off balance. She made certain to water the garden before the sun rose too high in the sky. She was surprised at the number of weeds that had sprung up in just three short days.
The house was in near perfect shape; it didn’t appear as though Jake spent much time in the house. But she found herself lingering, yet again, in his bedroom. After making the bed, she had paused by that photograph, staring at the blank face of a woman long gone. It was eerie to see the photograph every time she was there. Even worse, it tore at Sylvia’s heart to know that, at one point, Jake had loved that woman and now, despite youth, she was gone and he had moved on.
It was shortly after twelve-thirty when he came into the kitchen to eat his noon meal. Sylvia tried to pretend that he wasn’t there. He ate quietly at the table while she silently cleaned up the few dishes and pots that she had used to prepare his meal. She followed her mother’s pattern of cooking, making larger meals for noon than what they typically ate at suppertime. It felt odd working while he ate. She was used to groups of people at the table, talking and sharing with each other.
It dawned on her that, indeed, Jake was probably lonely. He had told her as much a few weeks prior. She wished that she could be more social with him but, as she had already pointed out, it just wasn’t proper. She set the towel down on the counter and stared into the clean sink. Perhaps she had more in common with Jake than she had realized, she thought. After all, in many ways, she was lonely, too.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said quietly.
She turned around, startled to realize that
he had been watching her. His blue eyes stared at her as she stood at the counter. Color flooded her cheeks and she looked away. “It’s quiet here,” she managed to reply.
“Ah,” he said as he stood, carrying his plates over to where she stood. “Yes, it is quiet. But it’s nice, isn’t it?”
“I…” She couldn’t finish the thought out loud. She wanted to say that she didn’t like the quiet. She was used to noises and people, even if it was a dog barking from the barnyard or cows mooing from the fields.
“You what, Sylvia?” He stood close to her, too close. The invasion of her personal space made her uncomfortable and she leaned back, away from him. “You have a lot to say, don’t you?” His voice was low and soft. “But you are afraid to speak. I wonder why?”
“It’s not…”
He shook his head and stopped her in midsentence. “I know. It’s not proper.” He smiled but there was a sadness about it. “I don’t know why everything is not proper with you, Sylvia. You are a woman and women have a right to speak their mind. Maybe not on your father’s farm but you can speak your mind here.”
In a moment of brazen clarity, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. Before she knew it, the words formed on her lips and she could hear herself speak but didn’t recognize her own voice. “You make me nervous.” As soon as she said it, she wished that she could take the words back.
“I make you nervous?” he asked incredulously. He leaned closer to her. “Is that because I frighten you? Have I threatened you in anyway?” There was a teasing tone to his voice and his blue eyes seemed to dance at her.
“It’s not that,” she stammered.
“It’s what then?”
“I…” She hesitated. “I don’t want to presume anything…”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t move away from her. “By all means. Go ahead, Sylvia.” He lowered his voice and bent down toward her. His breath felt warm on her face. “What exactly do you think that you presume…if anything at all?”
She paused, the hesitation giving rise to her courage. “You’re not Amish, Jake,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she stated the obvious. The color continued to flood her cheeks and she felt her heart throbbing from inside of her chest. She wished she could take the words back as soon as she said them. He would think her forward for certain now.
“Ah,” he said again. This time, he did back away. “I see.” But his eyes never left hers. “I’m not Amish. This is true. And that makes you uncomfortable because…?”
He waited for her to explain but she didn’t. She wanted to tell him how she felt…how he made her suffer with such conflicting emotion. She didn’t understand how she could feel so excited and uncomfortable at the same time. She wanted to ask him to tell her if she was imaging these things, if she had a right to feel so exhilarated in his presence. Certainly he would know if these things were natural and he could enlighten her on what, exactly, she was feeling. But such things were not to be spoken and the silence lingered between them.
He reached out and touched her cheek. It was as if an electric shock ran through her. “You weren’t uncomfortable last Friday, were you? I saw the flowers. You left them on purpose. In fact, I see your touch everywhere. You aren’t that uncomfortable, are you?” He took a deep breath and continued to caress her cheek with his thumb. “Would it make you more comfortable if I was Amish?” he finally said.
His question bewildered her. This wasn’t how it happened for Amish couples. There was never a discussion; it just happened. Only it had never happened for her. She wasn’t certain how to respond. “It’s not my place to say something,” she managed. “You can’t change what you are. That isn’t how it works.”
“Let’s pretend for a moment, yes? If I were Amish, would it be my place to make the first move then? Is that how it works?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer before he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft and light, non-threatening but full of promise. For a moment, the tension between them lifted and he pulled back, just briefly. He stared into her eyes, seeing the conflicting emotions that she felt.
“I don’t know you,” she whispered.
He put her hand on the back of her neck and pulled her closer. “We can fix that, Sylvia. I want to fix that indeed…”
This time when he kissed her, there was a passion between them. She had never kissed a man before and had never imagined that this was how it would feel. She closed her eyes, his lips pressed gently but firmly against hers. The kiss was stronger than the first one and she could feel the closeness of his body against hers as he held her close. His arms wrapped around her and she relaxed in his embrace, feeling alive and on fire. A warm feeling spread throughout her body and she felt tears spring to her eyes. She wasn’t certain why. Was it joy or fear?
When he pulled back, he noticed the tears and, with his thumb, gently brushed them away. “You have nothing to be afraid of, Sylvia.”
She shut her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to flow down her cheeks. “I have everything to be afraid of, Jake.”
“You feel something. I know you do,” he murmured. The softness in his voice made her feel weak and she was glad that he was holding her for fear that her knees would give way beneath her. “I know that I feel something, Sylvia. I have for weeks…perhaps from the moment that I saw you in the field.” His lips pressed against her forehead, soft and warm with a tenderness that she had never even imagined. “It’s meant to be…” he mumbled.
Those words triggered a spark inside of her and, for just a moment, she felt as though she were awaking from a dream. Nothing that had just happened seemed real. And, his words echoed in her mind. Meant to be? Amish girls didn’t kiss Englische men. There was certainly no good that could come out of this and a wave of shame washed over her.
“This isn’t happening,” she whispered and backed away, despite wanting to do the opposite.
It was surreal, sinful and shameful. It would destroy her parents, her family, her future. She opened her eyes and found her voice. “This can’t happen.” She pushed him away. How could he take her purity away? How could she have let him? His sweet words, his gentle voice, his overbearing presence had forced her to take leave of her senses. “This simply cannot happen,” she repeated.
Without waiting for Jake to respond, she grabbed her basket and ran for the door. She heard him calling for her but she ran as fast as she could. The tears blinded her as her feet carried her through the pastures and far away from the lingering memory of his kiss.
When she was a safe distance and was certain that he had not followed her, she sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands. The tears flowed freely now and she cried, her back aching with each heavy sob. She knew that she had no choice but to confess to her parents and explain why she could never return to Jake Edwards’ farm.
Chapter Nine
On Tuesday, she complained of a headache and spent the day in bed, miserable in the knowledge that she had to tell her parents but too aware that she couldn’t. Too much time had passed and too much information would be sought by the eventual confession. The previous day, she had returned home but her mother was visiting one of her sisters and her father was nowhere to be found. Sylvia was alone in the house and, with her heart still pounding and her head completely befuddled, she took to her bed.
When her mother finally returned home, Sylvia was sleeping, finding it the only safe haven from the guilt that overwhelmed her. Later that night, her parents had been in such a good mood, her mother sharing the news from her sister, Ana’s farm and Jonas eager to talk about the auction in New Holland. She couldn’t bring herself to divulge the upsetting news that the Englischer widower had taken advantage of the family when he had kissed her in his kitchen.
By Tuesday afternoon, having spent so much time upstairs, she was hesitant to emerge downstairs. Sylvia’s nerve had further vanished. She didn’t know what to say to her parents. How could she tell them that
Jake had kissed her? What would they think of her for having waited so long to tell them? Surely they would think she had encouraged it. Tomorrow was Wednesday and she was supposed to return to Jake Edwards’ farm. She knew that she couldn’t be alone with him again. To show up at the farm would be to encourage his behavior, to acknowledge that, indeed, she felt something. To refuse to go to work would be to raise unwanted questions from her parents. There was no graceful way out of the situation.
By late afternoon, she knew that she had to get up and move around. To linger in bed any longer would only prolong the inevitable. She needed fresh air to help clear her head and find answers. Laying in bed only made it worse. Her mind wandered and her heart pounded. When she closed her eyes, she felt his lips on hers. She could feel his arm around her, the strength of his embrace. It was too much to think about and she had to escape the memory of such an intimate moment. She understood now why such intimacy was reserved for after marriage.
“Sylvia, are you feeling better now?” her mother asked when she walked down the stairs. “I can fix you a nice cold lemonade.”