by Tricia Goyer
"Sell the house?" Abe's fingers drummed the tabletop and his mind raced, thinking of all that meant. Yes, he'd been the one to want to come to Montana in the first place. He'd been the first to mention they should pack up their things, but in this own mind he'd thought of just renting the house. He felt secure knowing that if ever they needed it—if he lost his job or if one of them became ill—they would have that place, that community, to return to.
He ran a finger under the collar of his shirt. "You really want to make the move that final? I mean . . . things are different now. Levi's returned to the Amish. If we did have to go back someday I wouldna be so concerned about his influence over the young." His voice caught.
"Abe Sommer." Ruth rose and placed a hand on her hip. "Wasn't it you that talked me into coming? And now that I like it here, you're the one who wants to hold on to what we left? Montana's a good place. I can see that it's best."
"Really, you do?" He stood and faced her. She lowered her head and he studied the top of her kapp. "And what do you like about it, Ruth?"
"Like I told you before, not everyone's eyes are on me. I can breathe here, live. I don't have to be 'that woman' who lost her girls. I don't have to be 'that woman' who . . ." Tears touched the corners of her eyes, and two concrete bricks fell on Abe's shoulders.
The Amish woman who almost left her husband for an Englischman? Is that what she was going to say? From her downturned lips and the way she refused to look at him, Abe guessed that's what it was. He tried to shrug, pushing the weight of the past off of him. The burden was heavy, even after all these years. He imagined she felt the same.
"Ruth, you know I don't see you as that woman. Most people don't remember, much lest care, about that anymore. But I understand, and I want to support you." His hand stroked her chin and tilted it up until her eyes met his. He hoped she could see the love in his gaze, but worried it was distorted through her own pain.
"If you believe selling the farm is our best decision, then I do too. My home is where you are, Ruth. I want you to always remember that."
Jest tell Abe about the letter.
Ruth argued with herself as she peeled a bag of apples that Annie from the store had dropped by. She turned over the green apple in her hand and worked the sharp knife to extract the peel in one long strand. The love she'd seen in Abe's eyes as they'd talked this morning brought tears to her own.
"Don't go getting all misty. You're gonna cut yerself," she mumbled under her breath.
"Owie?" Ellie asked from her place on the chair next to Ruth. Ellie washed the peeled apples in a bowl of cool water—not because Ruth needed help, but because young Amish girls need to learn how to work. How to be useful.
"No owie yet . . . and I have to remember you're a smart one. I've got to watch that. You most likely know more English words than I realize."
Ellie lifted her head, nodded, and wrinkled her nose. Laughter spilled from Ruth's lips, and Ellie joined in. How much the young girl reminded her of Marianna—always watching, always so willing to help and give and serve. If Ellie grew to be as industrious and kind-hearted as her old sister, Ruth would have no complaints.
She glanced at the clock, counting the hours until Abe returned. She hoped he'd have a letter from Marianna with him. She wondered what Marianna thought about being back in Indiana. Unlike Ruth, Marianna had always been highly respected there.
Ruth handed the peeled apple to Ellie, who dunked it into the water, and then Ruth picked up another. She'd been jest a newly married woman when Mark had caught her attention. When Abe was out in the fields it was Mark who came by to check on her parents. One cup of coffee would turn into two, and they'd get lost talking about the people he'd met and places he'd visited. He opened a world to her she hadn't known much about. More than that, he'd asked her about her dreams.
Where would you like to travel to some day, Ruth? What's your favorite book? What do you do for yourself? Shouldn't you think about what makes you happy instead of just caring for everyone else?
Looking back now, Mark's words had a certain hiss to them. Like the sweet, tempting words the serpent had spoken in the garden to Eve, they had stirred dissatisfaction. She and Abe had read that Bible story just last week in their English Bible, and the story caused her to look at her past in a new light. Made her see Mark in a new light. Maybe it was God preparing her—preparing them—for what was to come when they returned to Indiana.
Still, she had to admit the way he'd wooed her caused heat to fill her chest even now. Although she'd made the right choice in focusing her heart on Abe, and living life as his wife, her sister's letter—and even her memories—stirred emotions in Ruth she hadn't felt in a while. Like a campfire she'd thought had grown cold, the letter had been a stick stirring the ash. And she was surprised that sparks had kindled underneath.
She finished peeling the last apple and handed it to Ellie.
Ellie washed the apple and then set it on the clean kitchen towel. "All done?"
Ruth set down the knife. "All done." She smiled and wished she could speak so confidently about what was inside. She wished her feelings for Mark were all done. Then again it didn't surprise her that she'd been drawn to him in the first place. She'd always been drawn to fancy words, fancy things.
"Ellie, can you go and see if Joy's still sleeping for me, ja? Be a big girl and hold the handrail as you go upstairs."
"Yes, sir!" Ellie turned and stomped off.
Laughter spilled from Ruth's lips. Now that was something Ellie never would have heard in their Amish community in Indiana. She no doubt picked up that phrase from the Carash boys down the road.
Ruth turned to the cupboard and pulled out the oatmeal, deciding to make an apple crisp for dessert. A memory stirred of when she was Ellie's age. She reached for the sugar and smiled, thinking about the day at the flea market and her purchase.
She'd gone with her grandparents to Shipshewana. It was one of the few times she remembered being with them without her other siblings. Her grandmother had given her some dollar bills—how many she couldn't remember now—and told her to pick out anything she'd like.
Heat rose in her face even now to realize she'd picked out the fanciest thing possible—a delicate china cup with intricately painted flowers! She'd been used to drinking from tin cups, and for the rest of the week she drank from that cup with her mother looking on with a disapproving gaze.
Her younger sisters, of course, thought it was beautiful too and tried to sneak it when they could. It was then Ruth had realized what she had to do—she packed it away in her hope chest. Even as a young girl she knew that's what Amish women did to prepare for their future.
After getting married she considered pulling it out, just to look at it, but her first baby came nearly nine months later and more children after that. Not wanting it broken, she left the china cup where it was. Where it was still packed away.
"Baby wake!" Ellie called from upstairs.
"Coming!" Ruth started for the stairs. When she was in Indiana she'd have to go through her things and get that china tea cup out. Maybe she'd even get rid of it. Heaven knew she needed to start purging old things.
Most especially old feelings and thoughts.
Chapter Five
Marianna had just finished her last bit of toast with blackberry jam when she heard the clomping of a horse's hoofs coming down the gravel roadway. Looking out the window her heart leapt to see Aaron. She'd missed him.
Though the air was cold outside, the sun shone brightly. How many days had she imagined this—Aaron arriving to take her on a date? She'd bathed and dressed after returning to Aunt Ida's house from talking with Levi, and she'd also determined not to let her brother's challenges disrupt her day. She'd do what she could to help her brother tomorrow. Today was Aaron's day.
Marianna stood and walked to the door, smiling.
Aunt Ida hurried into the room with quilting needle in hand. "Is that Aar—"
"It's Aaron, ja, we're going to see the
cabin." Marianna moved back to the table where her plate sat.
Aunt Ida waved a hand. "Leave it . . . I'll wash that up yet. You git now, you hear. You've waited a long time for this."
Marianna didn't argue. She hurried to the coat rack and put on her coat. Pulling her mittens from her pocket, she slipped them on as she hurried out the front door. She reminded herself again not to worry about Levi or Naomi today.
Aaron parked and looked as if he were preparing to climb down when she rushed up to him.
"No need to get down, I'll just climb in. I don't want to dawdle. We have our house to look at."
Aaron settled back down, holding the reins with one hand and rubbing his leg with the other. "I like the sound of that. I've been waiting"—he turned to her and she saw sadness in his smile—"I've been waiting a long time for this."
She nodded, not wanting to get their conversation bogged down with what could have happened or what should have been if she never would have moved to Montana. Instead, she climbed up and scooted next to him, tucking a lap blanket over her.
She placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder. "Do you know this is our first official date?" Laughter slipped through her lips.
Aaron removed his hat from his head and scratched his blond hair. "I guess that would be right. Had to find out if you'd be willing to marry me before I spent any time courting you . . ."
"Aaron Zook!" She punched his shoulder with a soft fist.
He returned his hat and then turned toward her, running a finger down her cheek. His hand was cold, but she didn't mind. The gaze in his eyes warmed her even as the wind picked up.
"You're worth it, Marianna. Worth everything. Now, let's get going so you can see what I got for you." He winked and then turned his attention back to the horse. "I've been waiting for this day fer quite a while," he said with a flick of the reins.
They rode to the Zooks' place in near silence. As the buggy passed the small Amish schul where she'd first met Aaron, a verse they'd memorized filtered through her mind.
I must be a Christian child,
Gentle, patient, meek and mild,
Must be honest, simple, true.
I must cheerfully obey,
Giving up my will and way.
Uffgevva. The word played through her mind. It was a Pennsylvania German word that had been as natural to her as the farm, fields, and community. Giving up was its literal meaning, and she'd done it in daily tasks, putting down her quilting to tend to her siblings. Putting down her book to make dinner. Anything she desired mattered little when it came to submitting to parents, teachers, church leaders. And soon to her husband.
She thought even about the sermons she heard while growing up. Every minister started his sermon with a confession of his unworthiness and ended it by asking the other ordained men to correct any of his mistakes. It was giving up your day to raise a barn or your time to help finish another's quilt. She hadn't thought much of it until her father's step of boldness. He'd traveled to Montana to protect his family. He'd stepped out on his own, going against the good of the community to consider the good of his children. Her father's "adventure" was tolerated, as long as he had plans to return, but what if he stayed?
Leaving for good wasn't an option. Those in the community would make it clear he wasn't yielding. To yield would be to stay and continue life as he always had, no matter what Dat's heart desired.
She glanced over at Aaron, and her own heart was conflicted. He'd always followed the way of the community, that she knew—but what if protecting their family called for something different? She had a feeling the community would still win. And up until the last year she was fine with that. But now?
She'd returned to Indiana with Aaron . . . but there was so much more that she hadn't expected in Montana. She'd learned to appreciate a new place and a different type of lifestyle. She'd worked in an Englisch store and had made new friends. She'd grown closer to God too, thanks to Ben.
Even as his name filtered in her mind, her stomach twisted into a knot. Is this how Mem feels, even after all these years?
Mem's tears had been real as she'd confessed her love for an Englisch man. Marianna had never actually confessed she loved Ben, but she did care for him more than she should. A cloud passed over the sun, dimming the light around them, and she wished with one breath she could blow away her dark thoughts as well as the clouds.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into the Zooks' property and parked. The last time she'd been there was the night of the youth sing. That night she'd just started getting used to the idea that they might be leaving Indiana. Now she'd left and returned. And they'd survived the parting. Aaron had come to her to win her heart, and it had worked. Here she was. Here they were. Their future presented itself in wood and glass, and Marianna sucked in a breath.
It was a small cabin with wood siding and a green metal roof. It sat in a peaceful alcove between the pasture and the woods. Marianna glanced around. The woods blocked the view of the Zooks' main house and the road. They had their own slice of earth where no one would bother them.
Aaron cleared his throat. She turned to him. Pride gave his face a warm glow.
"What do you think?"
"It's beautiful . . . I . . . I don't know what to say." She turned back, taking in the porch that ran the length of the front and the tall windows that flooded the house with light.
She placed her small hand in his larger one, squeezing. "I can imagine a swing hung on the porch, and curtains in those windows. I'm sure around back there's the perfect place for a garden, and is that an apple tree over there?" She pointed, and laughter bubbled from Aaron's chest.
"Ja, it's an apple tree, and I can see the house does suit you."
"Can we go inside?" Marianna curled her lips in a smile. She wouldn't let thoughts of Ben ruin this moment.
She climbed down from the buggy and extended her hand. "Do you need help down?"
He smiled sheepishly and then placed his hands on her shoulders, lowering himself, stepping down onto his good leg first.
Honest, simple, true. She couldn't think of three better words to describe Aaron.
Even as he stood, Aaron's hands stayed on her shoulders—a lingering excuse to touch. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she lifted her chin. A deep longing for his kiss surprised her.
He studied her eyes, smiled, and then leaned forward, offering the kiss she waited for. His lips were warm and the kiss was gentle, but the tightening of his fingers around her shoulders told her he desired more.
A rustling sounded behind them, and Marianna pulled back, looking over her shoulder.
"It's only the wind in the brush." His voice was husky.
He leaned forward again for another kiss, but she pulled back. She knew better than to let the desires of their flesh lead them where it ought not. "I'm ready to see the house now."
"Don't you want to kiss me, Mari?" His Adam's apple lifted and fell. His blue eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened, doubling its beat. Something inside urged her to step forward, to wrap her arms around him, to absorb his warmth and allow him to kiss her—to hold her. To discover each other in ways they never had. But even as her body longed for that, warning bells chimed in her head.
She released the breath she'd been holding and stepped back. "Of course I want to kiss you, but we can't let ourselves get carried away . . . it'll only make the months until our wedding more difficult."
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
"Someday there will be no waiting." Her voice escaped as a whisper.
"Ja." He stepped back and cleared this throat. "That's something to look forward to."
She approached the front door, and anticipation pushed against her throat. A sluice of joy struck her. She was really here. This place would soon enough be her home.
"You better step inside now, Miss Sommers, before I pick you up and carry you in myself."
She stepped through the door behind Aaron. He hurried to the center of t
he living room and lit a lantern, although that wasn't necessary. Bright mid-morning light shone through the windows.
She stood in the living room archway and glanced into the kitchen. Though simple, the rich wood that Aaron used for the cabinets and the stone countertops made the house look far from plain. She walked through the large, empty living room into the kitchen with slow steps, taking it all in. Her fingertips trailed over the countertops, and she considered all the wonderful meals she could make here. Food to sustain them, cooked with love.
"Granite," he said. "The man at the lumber yard recommended it. You can put a hot cookie sheet right on top of it without hurting it."
"Already thinking of cookies, are you?"
Aaron patted his stomach. "Of course." He winked. "It keeps my mind off other things."
She noticed small squares of fabric on the kitchen counter. Picking them up, they were some of her favorite colors—blue, red, pink. "What's this?"
"I know the curtains must be white, plain, but this place needs some color, ja? If you pick out your favorites I'll get the fabric for a quilt on my next trip into town."
She returned the fabric to the counter and then clapped her hands together. "Really?"
He chuckled as he removed his hat and then hung it on a hook by the door. "Didna think you'd get that excited. I cannot wait to show you the rest of the house and the bed the quilt will cover."
She followed him to a large bedroom just off the living room. A simple bed frame had been set up with a new box spring and mattress.
"I figured you had sheets and things in your hope chest at home."
"Ja. I've been preparing for some time now." After a pause she added, "It's what all young Amish women do, you know, plan for their future. Although I never imagined anything like this." She walked to the window and placed her fingertips on the cool glass. "Has your ma been here?"
"No, not yet. I wanted you to see it before her."