by Tricia Goyer
She raised her eyebrows. In all her days she'd never seen her aunt act in such a cool manner. Levi was returning to the Amish. Why did Aunt Ida treat him so?
The older woman's long dress swished against her legs as she busied herself around the kitchen. "I hope the trip wasn't too hard on you, Marianna. Was surprised that you were comin'. Told yer friend Rebecca I'd believe it when I saw it."
Marianna slipped off her coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door. "Ja, well, after I received Levi's letter I didn't want to stay away. There's nothing more exciting than a wedding."
"And how is Aaron's leg now? Did the train bring much trouble?"
She paused at her aunt's words, and the message became clear. Not only was Aunt Ida ignoring Levi's presence, she wasn't even going to let Marianna say her piece about his marriage to Naomi.
Marianna glanced to her brother. He occupied himself straightening the matches in the matchbox. An ache filled her chest. What other snubs had he gotten from the community?
She was sure Naomi and Levi had kept news of her pregnancy to those closest to them. A pregnancy outside of marriage wasn't something to rejoice over, yet it wasn't uncommon either. Most couples got married before too many months passed and one didn't know the truth until later, after they counted back. So if Aunt Ida didn't know about the baby, why was she acting this way? At least Levi had done the right thing—had returned to being Amish. An ache moved from her chest to her gut. Her brother had done the right thing, hadn't he? Returning was the only way . . . wasn't it?
She wished she had someone to talk to about it. Someone who could see things different than the Amish did with their narrow thinking. Someone like . . . Ben.
Aunt Ida neared with the tea, offering it. "I hear there is a singing this Sunday at the Yoders' place. When it's too cold out the youth have been gathering in that new barn. Might you go Sunday?"
Marianna took the cup into her hands, relishing its warmth. Instead of answering her aunt's question she turned to Levi. "Would you like some tea too? To warm yerself?"
"Nah." He rose. "I need to head back to Naomi's place. Gonna help with the chores." His eyes fixed on hers, and though she could tell her brother was pleased she was here, it was as though he was mere a shadow of the young man he'd been before. She thought of their last face-to-face conversation before she'd left for Montana. He'd been telling her the reasons he'd left the Amish. The reasons hadn't made sense to her, but at least he'd been passionate. At least there seemed to be light—a fire—in his eyes.
"I'll see you tomorrow then?" Marianna walked him to the door. "Perhaps I can meet you for chores—"
Levi waved a hand. "No need to get out in the cold. I'll come over in the mornin'. We'll get a chance to talk—I'll catch you up."
"Ja, gut." She bit her lip and looked to her aunt. They'd have to find someplace to go lest Aunt Ida insert herself into their conversation. At this moment, her mind and body were too weary to worry about it. As if sensing they wanted a minute alone for a good-bye, Aunt Ida hurried to the kitchen, mumbling to no one in particular about pouring her own cup of tea.
Levi leaned close, lowering his voice. "Don't be so hard on her, Mari. She'll come around. She's an old woman, set in her ways. She's had no husband or children to smooth her rough edges. She'll come around."
Was the repetition to convince her . . . or himself?
Marianna nodded, then reached up and fastened the top button on Levi's jacket, just as she'd do with her younger siblings. For some reason he didn't mind.
Levi placed his hand on the doorknob. His eyes fixed on her and narrowed. "You going to be all right? The last few months haven't been easy for you—with the move, working, caring for so many folks, and now the long trip back."
She shrugged. "I've come from a line of hardy women. I'll be back to baking bread and tilling the field by sunset tomorrow."
They both laughed, glancing to the frozen ground. She offered another hug, hanging on a moment extra. Funny how she appreciated her brother more after their time apart.
Levi left, and no sooner had Marianna slipped off her shoes and set her stocking feet to warm by the fire then Aunt Ida filled her in on the comings and goings she'd missed. Marianna covered a yawn as her aunt went on about the new school teacher and the robbery of an Amish home close to Shipshewana.
"Then there is Bishop Troyer's daughter, Nancy. She married an Amish-Mennonite boy and broke her dat's heart. To consider one of the bishop's own daughters to be Beachy Amish now—that's what they call those Amish-Mennonites, you know. What a shame."
Marianna fidgeted and bit her lower lip. Her whole life her aunt's home had been a favorite place to visit. She'd come to cook and to can. She'd come to do crafts and borrow books from her aunt's library. She remembered her aunt had always been up-to-date with everything happening in their community, and she used to find that interesting, but now . . . Aunt Ida's words were like bags of feed pressing on her chest. Marianna's breaths were hard to take in. The words weighed heavy on her mind.
Marianna considered those who her aunt spread the "news" about. How was the young woman, just married, dealing with being shunned? Months ago, Marianna would have listened to her aunt and would have agreed in horror, but now? The Beachy Amish were still plain—just a bit more liberal. She'd heard the Beachy Amish read the Pennsylvania Dutch version of the Bible. This was unacceptable for those in their own community who only allowed scriptures in High German to be read in their church and their homes.
Marianna wiggled in her seat. She shifted from side to side as if sitting on tacks. How would her aunt feel knowing an English Bible sat in her suitcase? Would she be asked to stay somewhere else, or even worse, treated as if she weren't worthy of her aunt's attention?
Aunt Ida clamored on, and Marianna's mind drifted back to the events since she'd been in Indiana—first the Englisch driver who seemed to know her. Then the way her aunt treated her brother. Now this.
Please, let tomorrow hold no more unpleasant surprises.
"Did you hear me, child?" Aunt Ida leaned closer in her chair until her knees almost touched Marianna's.
Marianna refocused her thoughts. "No, I'm sorry. I think the lack of sleep on the train is getting to me."
"I said that if you hear any rumors about Aaron Zook you needn't let them worry you. Just people talking."
Marianna straightened in her seat. "Rumors?" What did Aunt Ida mean? He'd been with Marianna in Montana for the last six weeks. Whatever could have carried so far or lasted so long?
"Like what?"
"Do you think I'm gonna throw kindling on the fire of their words?" Her aunt clucked her tongue. "I'm not one to spread vicious talk like that. It's talk—that's all it is. Jest enjoy seeing that house Aaron's built for you. He's a good man he is . . . no matter what people are saying."
And just what were they saying?
A shaft of dread bore through her, and for a moment she considered walking out that door and catching the first train back to Montana. But she knew, all too well, that running away from her problems was never the answer.
If only she knew what, exactly, the problems were.
Ben sat on the leather sofa in Roy's media room and pressed his back deeper into the cushion. He'd been enjoying dinner at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery when he'd gotten a call from Roy on his cell. Roy had asked him to come over right away. Ben had finished off his roast beef and potatoes then denied a piece of peanut butter pie.
After driving the hour down to Kalispell, Ben wasn't disappointed. The news was big.
A smile lit Roy's face. "Your song hit the charts. You've got interview requests from Entertainment Tonight and Country Music Magazine. The record label wants you to go on tour. They're talking the biggest cities, L.A., New York, Chicago. Twenty-six venues to start. Then back to L.A. to cut another record. A million musicians would dream of such a thing."
Ben waited for the surge of excitement, but it didn't come. So why wasn't he happier? This,
of all things, should defrost the numbness inside after Marianna's leaving.
Or Marianna's running. Away from him. From his feelings for her.
And hers for him.
Ben nodded and smiled. He tried to act happy for Roy's sake, but his excitement was dampened by the fact that the song's success wasn't appreciated by the one person who mattered. He'd written it for Marianna. Had she even heard the song? He doubted it. The Amish didn't listen to music, and she tried her best to follow the rules. Of course, she shouldn't need to hear the song to know his heart.
Roy rose from the sofa and strode to the bar to pour himself a drink. "So what do you think?"
Ben covered his face with his hands. His cheeks grew hot. His mind raced. The room seemed to spin. Like most musicians, he loved being in front of the crowd, feeling the pulse of a live event and the energy in the room. Yet . . .
He knew the temptations he would face while on the road. They'd gotten to him the last time, taken him to dark places, painful places. He lowered his hands and looked at Roy.
Roy laughed. "Speechless, I know. The money you'll make will set you up for years to come—minus my cut."
Ben pictured a cabin, a house. He could build his own place. Create a home, just like in his song. Yet he tried to picture the man he used to be on stage and shook his head.
That was then, this is now. I'll make different decisions. Better ones. I care about, and for, different things. I'm a different person.
God had allowed this to happen. Maybe there was a greater plan for Ben's life than he imagined. He sat a little straighter. "You know, this song hit it big for a reason. And that is what I want . . . to impact lives. If the venues are big, and if I can share what God has done—"
"Great. Yeah, there's always that." Roy rose and slapped his hands on the front of his thighs. "We have a lot to do. Don't start counting your converts before they kneel." He smirked. "We need to get to L.A. as soon as possible. Think you can pack tonight?"
Ben scratched the back of his head. "Sure. It shouldn't take too long." He wilted back into the sofa. Was this really happening?
Roy tossed an envelope onto Ben's lap. "Great."
Ben opened it. Two printed Internet confirmations slid out. One was a one-way ticket to L.A. for 7:30 a.m. the next day, leaving out of Glacier International Airport. The other a two-week reservation for the Sunset Tower, Hollywood.
"We'll be assembling a band, planning the tour, and rehearsing. Plan for long days and little sleep."
Ben swallowed and stood. "I've done this before."
Roy rose and extended his hand.
Ben took it, and Roy pumped it with a squeeze. "Congratulations. It's what we've been waiting for. I suppose you living like a hermit up in those mountains worked. Keep doing what you're doing. Keep those songs coming."
"Easier said than done." Ben's head felt like lead. "I'm afraid to say, Roy, I've lost my muse."
Dear Annie, Sarah, Edgar, and Jenny (and all the dozens of customers I'm sure you'll share my words with),
I've made it to Indiana. Seemed strange at first seeing so bare a horizon. The hills I used to love seem so small now. Nothing, I suppose, compares with Montana's grandeur. There's less snow here, so that's different too. It might take me some time to adjust. And I'll have to consider another means of exercise rather than stomping through tall snow drifts walking to work.
I know you all were concerned, but Aaron did well on the trip, considering. I had to convince him to take a pain pill once or twice. Stubborn men, they never like to let on a thing bothers them.
We've yet to set a date for our wedding. The typical month for Amish weddings is November, after the harvest is in. But I'd hate to wait a year. Whether we wait that long or choose a closer time I'll let you know. Unlike what I saw done in the West Kootenai with the Englisch, Amish do not plan weddings months in advance. When both parents agree the time is right we choose a day a few weeks prior. We also don't design formal invitations. Rather, we call on our friends and let them know of the event—we even call on those who we'll count on to help with the preparations and the food.
I know Annie mentioned hosting a reception in Montana after the fact. That is mighty kind. I'll have to confer with Aaron, but I have to say the minutes could not pass faster until I return. I miss the customers yet and all of you, and even though Aunt Ida prepared a hearty meal tonight, at the end I craved a piece of Sarah's peanut butter pie.
Heavens! You don't want to read a letter filled of my wishes and wants, but I'm afraid that's what I've done. I'll write again soon and tell you more exciting happenings. Tomorrow Aaron's taking me to see the house he's built. I'm anxious to see his home, or rather our home.
Say good night to the pines and stars for me.
Marianna
Chapter Three
Marianna sank onto the double bed, her eyes moving to the bedroom window, which overlooked an idyllic farm scene. She'd finished the promised letter to her Montana friends and then slipped between the covers.
This was the bed Aunt Ida had slept in as a child with two of her sisters. Marianna pulled off her stockings and sighed. An unfamiliar uneasiness came over her again—she just hoped her friends couldn't tell from her letter.
She'd only been here a few hours and already her aunt had talked about nearly everyone in town—everyone but Aaron. Why of all things did her aunt have to consider that bit of news "a rumor"? How would she ever be able to sleep tonight not knowing what people were saying about him? Because the truth was if they were talking about Aaron, she no doubt was part of their conversation, too.
A small smile touched her lips. Levi had been so gracious—a stark contrast to the way Aunt Ida had treated him. He was right. She'd had no one to smooth the rough edges. Thank goodness her brother reminded her of that, for that kept anger and frustration from building. Growing up, Ida had no doubt dreamed of a husband, kids, and a home of her own, yet here she was living alone in her parents' place. Near enough to enjoy her family members—and to be reminded what she was missing. Though Ida got out often and was a part of more quilting circles than anyone else in their county, none of that changed the fact that she lived alone, spent most of her days alone.
Even this room seemed lonely.
Marianna took her English Bible from her suitcase and opened it on her lap. She closed her eyes, picturing the pond in Montana. So many warm days she'd spent reading there, imagining Jesus sitting beside her near the still waters. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room. Yer with me here, too, aren't You?
She glanced at the closet, where homemade dresses hung, and at her simple shoes on a simple rag rug near the foot of the bed. Not one decoration hung on the walls, and even the curtains were plain. She imagined Jesus finding comfort here. Not because of the manner of living . . . but because of her. He cared more about her heart than her plain ways. That thought pushed her lips into a smile and she prayed for Aunt Ida's lonely heart that tried to occupy itself with so many things. And she gave thanks that she didn't have to worry about being alone like that.
Thanks for Aaron.
Surely the rumors are nothing serious. What could he have done? He's been in our home for months . . .
She released a sigh. She offered those worries up to God, too, yet even as she prayed she didn't feel the same connection with God as she had near the pond. Marianna set her Bible to the side and moved to the window.
The fading sunset filtering through the bedroom window seemed brighter than the sunsets in Montana. Maybe because there were no majestic mountains for the rays of sunlight to stretch over, or tall pines to filter through. Marianna rose and moved to the window, placing her fingertips on the panes of cool glass. Her aunt's house sat on a small ridge, giving her a view of the farmland to the north.
The land her father used to tend.
In the distance, the roof of her childhood home peeked over a small cluster of trees. Not far beyond that was Naomi's house, right next to the house of one of her
married aunts. Even though Marianna could not see the country road from here, her mind's eye continued down that road. All of her father's siblings lived along that road—all except Ike. That's the way things had always been, and she hadn't thought life would ever be any different until her father uprooted their family. Now their family home was occupied by another.
Marianna set her Bible to the side, recalling the verse she'd chosen to memorize after deciding to leave: '"For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD," she whispered. "'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."'
She readied herself for bed and slid into sheets that smelled of Aunt Ida's homemade soap. She closed her eyes, but her mind wouldn't settle. It was easy to memorize the verse, but for some reason it wasn't sinking into her heart like she hoped it would. How were Mem, Dat? Was Joy scooting around more? Did Ellie ask about her? What about the boys? Did they watch out for Charlie on their walk to and from schul?
Marianna yawned and closed her eyes, pretending she was back in Montana. Pretending that Joy slept in the crib across the room and the boys were snoring. Pretending she had to get up early to work at the store. Even though she was tired, that was the only thing that could make her peaceful enough to sleep—
Pretending she was back in the place she'd thought she wanted to leave for good.
Abe Sommer glanced at the clock one more time before blowing out the lantern and climbing in bed next to his wife. Ruth climbed into bed early. Said her head was aching. Abe should have gone to bed hours ago, but he couldn't get his mind to stop all its thinking. He worried about Marianna. Why he hadn't taken more time to talk to her about everything—about returning, about marrying Aaron, about the growing faith that he knew she shared. He'd seen the difference in her. Was hard to miss.