by Tricia Goyer
He could tell she'd been sneaking his Bible. The peace in her eyes was evident. He'd heard her whispered prayers through the wall in the next bedroom more than once. There'd been many times he'd felt ill-prepared as a father of grown children, but now more than ever. How could he lead his daughter when his own steps were unsure?
Ruth's body was warm under the covers, and he snuggled up next to her. He kissed the top of her head, his lips pressing against her sleeping kerchief.
"You awake?"
From the softness of her breath he knew she was. He most likely woke her when he entered. He should let her go back to sleep . . . but he had too much on his mind. He wouldn't be able to drift off until he found out Ruth's thoughts on returning to Indiana soon like.
She turned toward him. "Hmmm?"
"If you're sleeping we can talk tomorrow, but I've been thinking . . ."
"About Marianna?" Her whispered words carried through the dark room. "I keep wondering how it's going." Her tone was softer than it had been earlier tonight. He didn't know what had been bothering her, but he hoped his helping with the dishes and the children had put her in a better mood.
"Ja. Me too, but about something else. We'll be expected to return for our children's weddings . . ."
Ruth's body stiffened. "I know." She swallowed hard, and if he wasn't mistaken she scooted away from him, putting more space between their bodies and the warm breath of their words. "I'm not sure of Marianna's plans, but I imagine Levi and Naomi's wedding will happen quick like, before her pregnancy becomes evident."
Ruth reached a hand toward him, stroking his chin with cold fingers. If only he hadn't turned out the lantern. Then he could read the expression on her face. Something was wrong. Something other than Marianna.
"We can go, but we don't have to stay long. We'll see our family, of course, but . . ." She blew out a breath. "But we hadn't have the boys miss too much schul. Maybe a five-day trip, that should be sufficient."
Could this be the woman who argued about coming to Montana in the first place? Though Abe was thankful Ruth had adjusted to Montana, he knew it would take more than five days just to visit their brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, not to mention travel time and wedding preparations.
"We'll be needed for the wedding for more days than that, and I was considering while we're there packing our things, bringing them back . . ." He whispered the words, and when silence met him Abe almost questioned if he'd said them aloud.
"Ja. We should pack up." She scooted closer, tucking her head under his chin. "There's nothing for us there now . . ."
He was surprised she didn't argue. She's agreed too easily. It caused him to pause. It was a big decision to make. Were they making it in haste?
"Yer right, there's nothing for us . . . except for our children. Levi will be married. Our first grandchild is coming. And soon Marianna will be marrying Aaron. I can't guess her to make to next Christmas without a wedding. Are you sure, Ruth? Can you live so far away from them?"
"I—I think we need to be here, uh, in Montana. It's the best for the boys and us. Haven't we been doing better here, Abe?"
Her voice sounded like she was about to cry, and he didn't understand. There was more going on inside his wife. Something she wasn't saying.
She sighed. "But our things . . . How will we ever get them here?"
"It's late, we don't need to figure all that out now."
"No. But tomorrow. Maybe you can talk to Ike. He did say he knew someone who moved the Amish, didn't he?"
Abe nodded. "Tomorrow I'll see what Ike says."
Ruth pressed tighter to him, but even then her soft body stiffened. Despite how close she was to him, her mind seemed far away, in another place.
What could be bothering her so? What would make moving to Montana for good so urgent in her mind?
If anything, Marianna returning and a grandchild coming should make her want to return to their Indiana home. Nothing mattered more to Ruth than her family.
Unless . . .
Something must have changed things. This morning she'd been cheerful and content. Tonight anything but.
The only thing he could think of was her sister's letter. Betsy hadn't written more than two or three times since their move. They'd been short notes, and Ruth had shared Betsy's words over dinner.
But today, after receiving the letter Ruth had been solemn. She hadn't said a word of the letter at dinner. Was there something in the letter that was bothering his wife?
Tomorrow. Abe allowed his body to sink deeper into the bed and his eyes to flutter closed. I'll read the letter for myself tomorrow.
Dear Marianna,
The long journey has me weary. The miles have taken their toll, but even in its heaviness my mind can't stop thinking of you. It's strange how I often find myself turning to letters to express myself. I suppose it's become my means of communicating. Strange how I now filter my thoughts through the written word. Pen to paper seems to calm me somehow.
There's an Amish proverb I've been thinking about. You know it, too, no doubt. The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor the man perfected without trials. It's an easy one to quote when the warm spring breeze is upon you and the air smells of fields and trees, but the truth is I'd rather have the friction gone for now. The trials aren't from outside. If anything I should be happy that the dream I've held for so long is finally coming true. Tomorrow is a big day.
Instead, the trials are within. In a perfect world I'd be able to share this letter with you. No, let me say that differently. In a perfect world I'd be able to share what's really going on with my words—by looking into your face and speaking my heart.
I picture you at this moment sleeping under a handmade quilt and dreaming of me. I hope that's the case. Tomorrow I'll put on a smile and no one will be the wiser, but tonight I'll still think about you—think about the truth of what I hold inside. A truth that, more than anything, I wish I could confess.
Written by the man who dreams of your smile.
Chapter Four
Marianna entered the Stolls' barn. It was so like Dat's old barn. The scents of the hay and animals, the moist warmth inside despite the crisp air outside . . . it all reminded her of times spent with her father. A twinge traveled through her.
From the time she could sit balanced on a five-gallon bucket, she'd hung out with Dat. Gazing up at him and watching him work had been part of her earliest childhood memories. Even though her brother insisted she didn't need to help him with the chores—that she should stay in where it was warm—she hadn't been able to sleep. She'd woken up before dawn, missing the pines outside the window and Trapper whining to be let out. Unsuccessful at keeping her longing for her family at bay, she dressed, bundled up, and headed down the road to the Stolls' farm where Levi now worked. Even though her day would include going over with Aaron to see the cabin, she wanted to talk to her brother first.
She made her way to the milich room with soft steps. The twenty black-and-white spotted Holsteins all looked identical, but she guessed Levi knew them all by name—just like Aaron most likely had when he held this job. All of the cows wore hobbles—clamps that drew the cows' hind legs together just above the knee to keep them still during milking.
She studied her brother for a moment. Levi emptied a small hand tank of milk into a larger, refrigerated tank. He wore the Amish shirt Mem had made him years ago, and it was rolled up to his elbows. The muscles in his arms bulged as he worked. His shoulders were broader than she remembered. He seemed taller too. He'd lost some of the boyishness in his face and looked more like a man—more like Dat. It was strange to think he'd be a father soon too, and would be caring for a place and a family of his own.
"Naomi waited three months before she told me she was pregnant." Levi turned to her. He'd seen her come in after all.
"Why's that, Levi?" Aunt Ida knew so much about all her Amish neighbors, how was it she didn't know about Naomi's pregnancy. Or did she? Was that the true reason her
aunt had acted as she had toward Levi?
"She was afraid of what I would say. What I'd do. She was hoping I'd have everything together for her to leave the Amish. When that didn't happen, she resigned to the fact we'd just have to make things work here." He glanced down at his feet, scuffing his shoe on the concrete. "Heck, maybe she didn't think I'd come back. That I'd return to the old grind."
Marianna nodded and realized that even though he wore the clothes of an Amishman, he'd picked up a lot of the Englisch talk during his time away.
Marianna picked up a piece of straw and twirled it between her fingers. "I have to admit I was surprised, ja. For when I left you'd told me you wouldn't be asking her to leave and that you'd be going yer separate ways . . ."
Levi finished emptying the small buckets of milich. His slow movements told her his mind was more on Naomi's pregnancy than his work. He finished up milking the last cow and walked over to Marianna. "I suppose the time apart made me realize I loved her. I dated a few Englisch girls, but their minds were busy with foolish things like clothes and makeup and movies. They knew nothing of caring for a home or family. They didn't give God a passing thought."
She sank down on a hay bale. "So it made you miss her?"
Levi nodded as he moved to retrieve more buckets. "I told a friend I wanted to find someone just like her, and my friend laughed. He told me the only way I'd get someone just like her was to go back. To tell Naomi how I felt."
"I'm glad you did. Did Naomi's parents say anything about you returning to the Amish?"
"They welcomed me and"—he shrugged—"I made mistakes, she made mistakes, but the more time I spent without her made me realize my friend was right. She is the one I want to spend my life with." Levi approached and crossed his arms, looking down at Marianna. Was that a glimmer of tears in his eyes? The questions, worries, fears she saw in her brother's face caused her own emotions to swell like a balloon being inflated.
"I just wonder if I'm going to be able to do this . . ." His hand covered his face.
"You can." She rose, touching his arm. For some reason she couldn't bear the thought of him crying—and feeling so weak. He'd written to her. He'd asked her to come. This was the main reason she was here. She'd have time later for her own happiness. Levi needed her.
"Maybe you should talk to Dat—see if he'll let you live in the house. You know, until they plan on moving back. You can start spring planting for him."
"You think I should ask?"
"Ja, of course. I'm sure the dawdi haus is nice, but how will you farm? Naomi's father makes just enough on his land to provide for his own family, I suppose. Didn't you think of it?"
"Of course I thought of moving back into our home. I didn't think it would be possible."
If only their parents were here. Marianna missed them so! Her heart had been aching since she'd awoken. More than anything she wanted to take a breath of fresh mountain air and look up to the jagged mountain peaks. She wanted to hear Mem's voice reading a story to the kids by the wood fire.
Maybe that's what she was really longing for, her family. In the last few months her parents had said little about their return to Indiana. Their plan had been to go to Montana for a year, but neither had said a word about returning, traveling back, farming their place. Maybe she should have brought that up before she left.
She exhaled a long, slow breath. Something deep in her gut told her that she knew the true answer—they wouldn't be moving back this year—but she didn't want to believe it. It had only been three days since she'd left, and her aching for them had already flared up something fierce.
"If you don't live in their house, how is Dat going to get seed in the ground this year?" She continued as if her words would make her parents' decision for them.
Levi paused and studied her. He cocked his head and his mouth dropped open. Then his mouth closed and he turned back to his work.
Cold crept over her, as if the winter wind outside had snuck through the door and wrapped around her. She took a step closer to him. "You want to tell me something, don't you?" She placed a hand on his forearm. "Dat and Mem are coming back this spring, aren't they?"
He let out a sigh. "Your guess is as good as mine, Mari."
"But you will ask them about our place, won't you?"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to write a letter—now that I'm back on their good side. After working in the mill for a while, I am eager to get back to the farm . . . but it's more than that. It's . . . well . . ."
Marianna waited for him to continue, but part of her didn't want to hear. The hair on the back of her neck stood. Did he have something to tell her about Aaron? Aunt Ida knew something . . . did Levi too?
She stood up and brushed straw off her skirt. She should ask Levi—just get it over with—but she couldn't make herself do it. Instead, she smiled, pretending it wasn't evident that important words lay on the tip of his tongue.
"Remember what Grandpa used to say?" Marianna squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin. '"On a farm you can see God in all things alive and growing.' Seeing that, experiencing that, will be good for you. You're stuck between two worlds, Levi. You need to plunge your whole heart, whole mind in this community again. You can't live halfway between heaven and earth. Your feet need to be planted deep somewhere."
As Marianna spoke, she knew was talking to herself just as much as him.
You can't keep thinking about Montana and all you've left behind. This is a good place, with good people, and the man you love . . .
So why did her heart ring as empty as a milk bucket that her brother tipped over and drained? How could I have everything I've ever wanted and suddenly it's not enough? If anything, a good Amish woman needed to learn to be content—to be grateful. She needed to turn that over to God in prayer.
A barn cat hopped down from one of the rafters overhead and curled around Levi's feet, hoping for a drink. Levi ignored the cat and ignored her words too.
"I'm going to see the house Aaron made, today," she said, trying to brighten her spirits and get some type of response out of him. "And after that maybe I'll come by and see you and Naomi. I do have a question. In your letter a few weeks ago you said Naomi was moving into the dawdi haus, but yesterday you said she's fixing it up and you're living there. Why did things change?"
"They changed because Naomi's parents didn't want her staying out there by herself for so long."
"For so long? I'm not sure I know what you mean."
He paused his work and turned to her. "That's one of the things I've been wanting to tell you. We're not going to be getting married any time soon. Naomi's parents insist we wait to wed until the baby's born."
"They do?" Marianna's jaw dropped. Most couples married before the pregnancy was known, but this? "Do—do they have a reason?"
"They say they don't want us to marry because we have to. They wish for us to marry because we want to. I tried to explain . . . but . . ." He shrugged.
Marianna stared closer. His face softened and he released a sigh. A sigh of relief perhaps?
He reached down and stroked the top of the cat's head. "I've known since last week, but I didn't want to tell you. I was worried you wouldn't come." He looked like a small boy during a thunderstorm. Like six-year-old Josiah feigning bravery when he wished to hide under the covers.
She took her brother's hands between hers and squeezed. "What can I do?"
"Jest be there for us. You saw how Aunt Ida treated me. It's taking a while for me to gain the trust of the community. It's not gonna get easier when they discover Naomi's pregnancy."
"For you or for her."
Suddenly Marianna's own concerns melted from her mind like icicles under the sun's rays. Her brother had a long road ahead of him. Maybe over time he and Naomi would be accepted by the community again, but it wouldn't happen overnight.
At least she had Aaron by her side. She could be strong for her brother and Naomi as long as she could turn to him.
Abe had looked in t
he top drawer of Ruth's dresser where she kept the letters from home. He'd looked through the pile of papers on the kitchen counter. He'd even checked the pockets of Ruth's coat, but he didn't come across the letter from Betsy. Ruth had started acting like herself again, but she hadn't said much about their trip back to Indiana.
It made no sense. Ruth liked to plan and organize. With as large of a family as theirs it was a must. Still, she kept silent.
After breakfast, the boys practiced for their Christmas recital in the living room, and Ruth browsed through a seed catalog they'd gotten in the mail. Abe's coworker had stopped by to give him a ride to work at Kootenai Log Homes, but he told his friend he'd hitch up the buggy and drive himself in a few hours. His excuse was he wanted to enjoy the sunny day, and they were ahead of schedule on their project anyway, but the truth was he needed to talk to Ruth.
He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down across from her. The noise of the children's laughter and voices filled the space. Trapper's barking added to the commotion. That usually brought a smile to his face, but not today.
"Ruth?" Abe fixed his eyes on her. Marianna looked so much like her mother, with her pretty face and thin form. Ruth's gray hair mixed in with the brown. She was just as beautiful as the day they met. Maybe he hadn't told her enough how much he loved her. How much he appreciated her. "Ruth, I was wondering if we could talk, I—"
"Gut." She glanced up and stretched her hand forward, placing it over his. "I want to talk to you too."
He cocked an eyebrow. A bit of tension he'd been storing in his chest released. "Really?"
"Ja, I've been thinking about it fer some time. I've said some prayers. Last night I agreed we should pack up our things, but I believe we should do more than that. We need to sell the house in Indiana too."