by Beth Wiseman
“She is eighteen. Of proper marrying age.” He sat tall again and twisted to face Marian. “And what kind of fraa will Leah make?”
Marian shared her husband’s concerns about Leah and thought about it often.
“She cannot cook. She does not sew well.” James brought both hands to his forehead. “Leah has no hand for gardening, nor does she do a gut job cleaning haus. These are all things a fine Amish fraa must do. Instead, she writes fanciful stories that have no place in our world.”
“Now, James. You know that there are several people in our community who are writers. A few of them have even sold stories to people who print such tales. And it is allowed by the bishop, as long as the stories are wholesome and in line with our beliefs.”
“It is a waste of time and will not help Leah to find a gut husband.”
Marian heard the clippity-clop of horse hooves. She stood up and walked to the window. Abner was pulling onto the dirt driveway leading up to the house, and Aaron was with him. “Maybe she and Aaron will come upon a friendship,” Marian said. She twisted around and smiled at her husband.
James joined her at the window, and they both watched as Edna met the boys at the buggy. “Edna will be a fine fraa,” James said. “And Mary Carol too. Even young Kathleen will make a gut wife.”
Marian patted James on the arm. “Leah will make a home with someone when she’s ready.”
“Where is Leah?” James pressed his face close to the window and peered against the sun’s bright rays.
“Hmm. I don’t see her.”
James grunted. “Probably writing in that notebook she takes everywhere. Maybe you best go tell her that company is here.”
“There she is.” Marian was relieved to see Leah slowly making her way across the yard toward Edna and the boys. “Everything will be fine, James.”
James twisted his mouth to one side. “I hope so.”
Aaron stepped out of the buggy, waved at Edna, and then fixed his eyes on the lovely Leah. She was taller than most of the women he knew, but Aaron still towered over her by several inches. Her soft brown eyes, always brimming with curiosity, met briefly with his. He loved the way her two tiny dimples were visible even when she wasn’t smiling, a detail that softened her expression even when she was deep in thought.
He remembered when he saw her walk into the small schoolhouse on their first day of class, her eyes twinkling with wonder and awe. She asked more questions than any of the other students, and everyone wanted to be her friend. It stayed that way until their graduation from the eighth grade, but Aaron never seemed to be in her circle of friends, nor did she seem to notice him at the Sunday singings when they got older. But he wasn’t the shy boy of his youth anymore.
If he took into account everything that he knew about Leah, he should not be considering a courtship, no matter how much she intrigued him. From what he’d heard from his sisters, the girl was flighty and irresponsible, couldn’t cook, couldn’t garden, couldn’t even use a needle and thread successfully. Yet his heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of her name.
“I brewed a fresh batch of meadow tea,” Edna said as she batted her eyes in Abner’s direction. “Let’s sit on the porch.” She swung her arm in that direction.
“Hello, Leah.” Aaron got into pace alongside her. “Danki for inviting me.” He smiled with enough hopefulness for both of them, but Leah’s eyes widened with surprise. She twisted her head in Edna’s direction, and Aaron knew he wasn’t supposed to see the scowl on her face. Too late.
“Sure,” Leah said when she turned her face back to his. Her lips curled upward, but it was a sorry attempt to rectify her initial response.
Aaron glowered in his brother’s direction. A guilty expression flashed across Abner’s face as he moved his shoulders in a shrug of innocence. Aaron had wondered why Leah invited him over, since he’d been trying unsuccessfully to get her attention. Twice he’d offered to take her home after a Sunday singing, and she’d politely declined. During worship service, he was guilty of letting his mind drift and trying to make eye contact with her. Nothing.
He’d get hold of Abner later, but for now he’d have to make the best of things and try to convince Leah that he was worth her time.
Aaron was the last one to walk up the steps and onto the porch. Four high-back rockers were lined up across the wooden planks, a small table between each pair of chairs. Four glasses of tea were waiting for them.
“Help yourselves,” Edna said. She slid into the rocker at the far end of the porch, and Abner sat down in the chair closest to her. Aaron waited until Leah eased her way into one of the seats before he got comfortable in the rocker next to hers. He removed his straw hat, placed it in his lap, and reached for a glass of tea. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead as he gulped the cool beverage, and he could feel moisture on his shirt, particularly where his suspenders met with the blue cotton fabric.
He raised his eyes above the glass. The others were swigging their tea as well. This was the hottest summer Aaron could recall. Or maybe he just thought that every year when the scorching August heat settled in. Leah was gazing above the rim of her glass toward the pasture. A dozen cows grazed in the meadow as the sun began to set behind one of the crimson barns.
The Petersheim farm was one of the oldest homesteads in their district. Five generations had grown up in the two-hundred-year-old house with its two stories and wraparound porch. The tin roof was painted the same color as the red barns, and a fresh coat of white paint on the clapboard masked the structure’s true age. Over six hundred acres surrounded the house; James Petersheim was one of the few farmers who didn’t have to supplement his income by working as a carpenter or in another trade outside of the community.
Aaron set his glass down and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Leah, did you know that Aaron works with Abner at their father’s furniture store?” Edna leaned forward in the chair.
This is a pitiful attempt at small talk, Aaron thought as he waited for Leah to respond. Of course she knows.
“Ya, I did know that.” She glanced briefly at Aaron, forced a half smile, then pushed her bare feet against the porch, sending the rocker into motion and her dark purple dress flowing at her shins.
“Abner said you like to write stories,” he said cautiously. The subject had come up at supper one night when Edna was a guest in their home. Both Edna and Abner seemed to think such a hobby was a waste of time, as did everyone else at the table, including Aaron. But when Leah’s eyes began to twinkle, Aaron was glad he had brought it up.
“Ya, I do.” She twisted slightly in her chair to face him and seemed to come alive as her whole face spread into a smile. “Do you write? Stories, books, or maybe poems?”
She looked so hopeful, but Aaron didn’t have time for such silliness. “No, I don’t.” As soon as her expression went grim, he added, “But I like to read—whenever I have time.”
Her response came quickly. “What do you read?”
“I, uh—I read the Bible, mostly.”
She gave a nod of approval, then shifted her weight back to an upright position, as she’d been before he sparked her interest.
“We’re going to take a walk,” Edna said. She stood up from her chair and waited for Abner to do the same.
Aaron waited until they were out of earshot. “What do you write about?”
Her eyes narrowed skeptically, as if she didn’t believe he was really interested. He was interested in anything that would help him get to know Leah better.
After a moment, she said, “The Englisch.”
“Huh?” Surely that isn’t allowed. “You write stories about outsiders? Why?” He stared at her.
“Why do you find this so odd? They write about us all the time.” She shook her head and sighed. “And most of the time, they don’t get it right.”
Aaron folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to one side. “Then why do you think you can get it right about them? You don’t know
nothin’ about living in the Englisch world.”
“I know that many of them don’t know God.” Her voice was sad as she spoke. “I write about Englisch people who are trying to have a relationship with God. Maybe it will make a difference to someone someday, help them find their way to the Lord.” She got a hint of mischief in her eyes. “And there’s always a happy ending!”
Aaron had to admit, he was fascinated by her effort to help others find a way to the Lord through her tales, but it wasn’t something they were taught to do. “The Ordnung doesn’t teach us to minister to those outside of our community, Leah, if that’s what you’re trying to do with these books.” He liked the way her name slid off his tongue. “I reckon it’s not our place—Leah.”
“Why?”
“It just ain’t.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, but Aaron still had questions. “Where do these stories of yours take place? In an Amish district or in the Englisch world?”
“In the Englisch world and in Amish communities. You don’t have to be Amish to have a strong faith and a relationship with God.” Her eyes glowed with a sense of strength and purpose, and while her efforts were misdirected, he’d never been more attracted to her. But had she forgotten the one thing that almost always divided them from outsiders?
“Leah, we believe that all things are of God’s will. I don’t think most of the Englisch share our faith, dedication, and interpretation of the Bible.”
“They do in my stories when I’m done with them,” she said smoothly. Then she winked at him and set his heart to fluttering.
“How many have you penned?”
“I’m working on my third. They aren’t as long as full-sized books. I mostly write at night after Edna goes to sleep, by the light of a small flashlight. It takes a long time to write longhand. I know that some of the writers in our district have typewriters. Not electric, but I suspect it’s still faster than using an ink pen and paper. Someday I hope to have one.”
“It seems like it would be hatt to write about the Englisch ways.”
“I’m still in my rumschpringe, so the rules are relaxed enough to allow me time in the city, just like you. I have two Englisch girlfriends that I meet for lunch, and they help me with things about their world that I don’t understand.”
“It’s interesting. Your writing.” Aaron rubbed his chin for a moment. He wanted to ask her if she’d be better off learning to cook, garden, and sew, but instead he said, “Who will read these books?”
She took a sip of her tea, then placed the glass back on the table and shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her eyes lost their sparkle for a moment. “Maybe my two friends. Clare and Donna. That’s their names. I hope they’ll read my stories someday. They are such dear friends, but they seem to struggle with their faith.” She paused, and her eyes became hopeful. “Do you want to read one?”
His body became rigid as he straightened in the chair. I reckon not. Aaron could barely fit his chores and devotions into his day in time to get a decent night’s sleep. Of course he didn’t have time to read her ramblings. “I’d be honored to read one of your stories,” he said.
Leah was instantly on her feet. “I’ll give you the shortest one to start off with.”
Thank You, Lord.
Wait. Start off with? Did she expect him to read all of them?
“This is wonderful.” Her eyes gleamed as she spoke, and her tiny dimples expanded as her face spread into a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Aaron watched her dart into the house and wondered what he’d gotten himself into.
When she returned barely a minute later, he stifled a gasp as she handed him a stack of lined white paper bound by two rubber bands. It was almost two inches thick.
“No one has ever read anything I’ve written. This is my shortest story. About a hundred and twenty pages.” She lifted her shoulders, dropped them, and grinned. “How long do you think it will take you to read it?”
What? Probably forever. “Ach, I reckon I could finish it by—”
“By the Sunday singing at the Grabers’ this weekend?” Her voice bubbled with hope, but Aaron knew he’d have to disappoint her. It was already Wednesday.
“Maybe . . .” She drew out the word, and her eyes batted with mischief. “You could pick me up and we could go together, if you’d like. We could talk about the story on the way to the singing.”
Aaron reminded himself that he wasn’t the shy, bashful boy who’d watched Leah from afar during the school years. He’d just tell her that he was much too busy to fit her ramblings into his schedule. He had his work at the furniture store and his chores at home.
She flashed a smile in his direction.
“I—I think that sounds great, Leah,” he said, then sighed.
It would be a long week. He hoped she was worth it.
Chapter Three
LEAH WAITED UNTIL SHE COULD HEAR EDNA SNORING in the other bed before she carefully opened the drawer to the nightstand in between them. She pulled out her notebook, pen, and flashlight, then propped her pillows behind her. Once she was comfortable, she pulled her legs toward her and rested the pad against her knees.
Edna would deny, up until her last dying breath, that she snored, but this time of year it seemed to be the worst. The natural doctor said she had allergies, and Edna took an herbal mixture to help with her condition, but it sure didn’t help with her snoring.
She was glad Edna was sleeping. If she were awake, she’d just lecture Leah about how nonproductive her writing was, how she was never going to find a husband, and on and on. It wasn’t that Leah didn’t want a husband . . . she just didn’t see what the rush was. She enjoyed her time to herself, and once she was married, there wouldn’t be time for her writing. There was barely time now. Once she was married, she would have not only a husband but an entire household to take care of, and babies would follow. Leah looked forward to all those things. Just not quite yet.
She tried to ignore Edna’s unsteady wheezing and focus on her story. She reread the last page she had written the night before, but she couldn’t concentrate. Aaron Lantz’s face kept popping into her head. He wasn’t the quiet, timid boy she remembered from school, and even though she saw him at social gatherings these days, she’d never paid much attention to him before now. He seemed . . . nice. And not bad looking either. Leah knew she should be ashamed for taking advantage of him the way she had, blackmailing him into reading her story in exchange for a date to the Sunday singing.
Her heart thumped in her chest all of a sudden, and she began to feel a little panicked. What if he didn’t like her story? And told her so. Or what if he lost it? It was the only copy she had. What if he mistook their date to the singing as more than just a casual get-together? She’d need to straighten this out with him tomorrow, make sure he understood that friendship was all she was interested in. And someone to read her stories. Screen them, so to speak.
She shook her head. Aaron would tell her that he liked what she wrote, whether he did or not, just because he was smitten with her. She should have picked someone else to test her work on. Aaron couldn’t be objective if he liked her—in that way.
Leah had to admit, if she were in the market for courtship, she’d be flattered by the way he looked at her, the way his big blue eyes seemed to call out for her to notice him, give him a chance. His build was a pleasing attribute. Tall and muscular. His light brown hair was sun-streaked with sandy-red highlights, as if he didn’t wear his hat a lot of the time. And it was cute the way his mouth had twitched on one side when he’d seemed to be nervous around her earlier.
Why all the thoughts about Aaron? She’d always thought he was handsome. Just rather . . . insignificant. She silently reprimanded herself for having such a thought, especially after he’d been so polite earlier.
Leah blew out a breath of frustration. Her thoughts about Aaron were keeping her from her writing, and her heroine in her story was starting to put her faith in God, and Leah wanted to ela
borate on that. It was her favorite part of storytelling, when things started to lead up to a happy ending.
She put the pen to the paper and let her thoughts about Abigail Bennett flow.
Abby listened to the inner voice this time, a voice she’d heard before but never paid attention to, a whispering in her conscience that beckoned her to follow the path to salvation through Jesus Christ.
Leah stopped writing when Edna started to cough. She sure wished the doctor could give her sister something better to help her. It sounded like the air in Edna’s lungs was mixed with tiny rocks that she was trying to clear from her airway by taking deep breaths and then forcing the mess out. Leah didn’t understand how Edna could sleep through it, but she always did.
When Edna’s snoring resumed, Leah was able to reconnect with Abigail. By the time she finished telling Abby’s story, it was almost midnight. Four o’clock would come early in the morning, but it was worth it.
She smiled as she wrote out the words The End.
Midnight? Aaron shook his head as he turned off the lantern on his bedside table.
He hadn’t meant to read Leah’s story until that late, but as it turned out, he couldn’t stop turning the pages. He was fascinated by the main characters, two girls, one Englisch and one Amish. Lauren and Rose had nothing in common but the friendship they shared, and Leah’s storytelling was tender and compassionate as the girls struggled to be friends, even though their families were less than approving.
Rose was tall, like Leah. She had brown eyes, like Leah, and if Aaron didn’t know better, he would have thought that Leah was writing about herself. Rose was strong in her faith and ministered to her friend, but she didn’t seem interested in learning the skills necessary in an Old Order Amish community. There was one particular scene where Rose was skipping through a field on a cool spring day, her arms stretched out to her sides like she was flying. Cool blades of grass tickled her toes, and wispy wildflowers brushed her shins as she sang.
Running over. Running over. My cup is full and running over. Since the Lord saved me, I’m as happy as can be. My cup is full and running over.