by Tricia Goyer
"Can you imagine?" She looked around the room. "Us sitting here, enjoying the fire and reading."
"That's what I was thinking." He walked into the room and carried out a small bookcase, placing it by the woodstove. "I want this to feel like your home, Mari. I want you to enjoy our life."
Marianna smiled and then pulled the decorated package from the satchel she'd been carrying. Her gift seemed too simple compared to his thoughtfulness. Then again, the words in this one book were even greater than all those he'd offered her.
Aaron opened the package. He set the wrapping on top of the bookshelf and then his blond eyebrows folded into a scowl. "It's . . ."
"A Bible."
"I know." He glanced up at her. A hint of anger in his eyes caused her breath to catch in her throat. He tucked it under his arm. "I have a Bible already."
"Yes, but yours is in German and . . . well, you've told me before that you don't read it often."
"Ja, well, if I were to read any Bible it wouldn't be this one. It's English, Marianna." He lifted it into the air. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
A creak sounded, followed by a breeze of cool air. Marianna turned with a start, and Aaron tucked the Bible back under his arm, but not before Mr. Zook spotted it.
"Sorry to interrupt. I shoulda knocked." He stroked his beard as he entered, closing the door behind him. "You mother jest asked that I come for ya. Everyone arrived early and the children are eager to open their gifts." He spoke to Aaron, but his eyes stayed on Marianna. She saw no light in his eyes. No smile on his lips.
"I see that some presents have already been opened."
Marianna nodded and swallowed hard. Would Mr. Zook confront her, or would he wait to talk to Aaron after she left? He turned and exited the way he'd come. She lifted trembling fingers to her lips, uncertain of what to say. What to do. What had she been thinking? This is not the type of entrance she wanted to make into a family. What did Mr. Zook think of her now? What type of good, Amish girl would give such a gift? They had their rules. They had their Bible . . . she could imagine Mr. Zook's thoughts even as he stalked back toward the house.
"Well, you heard him, we best get back." Aaron tossed the Bible on the top of the stack of books.
Marianna followed, her eyes on her feet, ignoring the way Aaron's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you. I thought—"
"You thought—!" Aaron spun and pointed a finger toward her chest. She glanced up to his eyes. His angry eyes.
"You thought you can change me? That you could persuade me to follow the Englisch ways?"
"It's not the Englisch ways, it's God's way." Her voice was no more than a squeak. "God tells us—"
"God tells us to obey our elders. That's what He tells us. And here you are thinking you know better?" He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.
Marianna kept her gaze fixed on his, not knowing how to explain. If he would read God's Word for himself he'd understand . . .
The tears came without her expecting them. She paused and covered her face with her hands. Her lip quivered despite her best efforts to keep it still. This was supposed to be a special day—their first Christmas together and here she'd gone and ruined everything.
"Oh, Mari." Aaron rushed back to her. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. "I am so sorry. I didna mean . . ." His large hand stroked up and down her back. "I know you heard about new things concerning God . . . and I don't want to say they're all wrong, but can you give me time? I want to be a good husband to you, and someday I'd like to talk more about this. But not right now. I'm still trying to figure it all out."
She nodded but she didn't speak. More tears came, but not from Aaron's outburst. Rather because of her own foolishness. She should be more patient. She should be more understanding. Dat did not push anything on her. Ben or Annie or Sarah didn't try to make her change all her beliefs at once.
"I'm sorry." Her voice emerged as a simple whisper. "I . . . I don't know what I was thinking. Today is a special day. Your whole family is waiting."
Aaron used a finger to lift the tip of her chin. She took a deep, shuddering breath and dared to look into his gaze. Surprise struck her heart when instead of anger or frustration she was met with his smile. "I'm sorry, too, I didn't mean to raise my voice. I appreciate the gift." He kissed the top of her nose. "I appreciate it because it came from you, understand?"
Marianna nodded, and then Aaron's lips met hers. She grasped the fabric of his shirt and didn't want to let go. She clung to him, attempting to draw from his strength. She clung to him, reminding herself she was loved—deeply loved.
It wasn't until their lips parted that she realized that she needed this—someone who would help her remember that being married wasn't always about agreeing.
It was about coming together as two people and finding middle ground as one.
No fewer than seventy people gathered in the Zooks' living room and dining room area. Lucky for them, church service was going to be at their house Sunday next, and Mrs. Zook had the foresight to ask for the bench wagon to be brought early. The benches had been set up around the edges of the room and a pile of brown paper-wrapped gifts sat in the middle of them all. There was no tree, no blinking lights, and no Santa decorations as seen in Shipshewana. Instead the prettiest decorations were the bright eyes of the children—Aaron's siblings and cousins—eager to open their gifts.
But before they could open presents, Marianna knew Mr. Zook would read the Christmas story. He opened up the large Bible, written in High German, and read from the Book of Luke. Growing up in church, Marianna understood most of the words, but as she looked at the faces of the children she notice their eyes glazing over. More than anything she wished she could hurry back to Aaron's cabin for the English Bible and ask Mr. Zook to read from that instead. It was not tradition—that was for certain—but at least the children would understand the story and revel in the joy of their Savior's birth.
After the story was read, the children of Mrs. Zook's sister rose and sang a familiar Amish hymn. Marianna smiled at their bright-cheeked faces and was inspired by their voices that surely were as beautiful as the angels' highly heavenly songs around God's throne. She couldn't help but consider how many others in the community would love to hear such singing—of course that would never be. To perform in such a way would be prideful. It didn't matter that God imparted their talent, to display it wasn't the Amish way.
Ben's face filled her mind. Oh how his music had moved her. She said a silent prayer, thanking God for not only giving them life and families, but special gifts like these children singing that pointed to a Creator who didn't just create what was necessary, but what was extraordinary too.
When the song finished, Aaron handed out the presents, calling each child by name and playfully teasing them before relinquishing the brown packages. As the children opened their gifts of handmade dolls, wooden tops, books, and colored pencils, Marianna couldn't help consider what a good a father Aaron would be some day. Again she told herself to look at the goodness of Aaron and not focus on his weaknesses. No one was perfect, after all.
Marianna glanced around. This will soon be my family. The thought had barely finished its journey through her mind when she noticed Mr. Zook's eyes studying her. Her back straightened, and she pretended not to notice both his stare and the displeasure that was clear on his face.
Suddenly, she knew she had to set to work doing something; otherwise, she'd burst at the seams with anxiety. Standing, she hurried to the kitchen where some of the women busily prepared Christmas lunch. The wonderful aroma of pot roast, potatoes, rolls, and creamed corn made her stomach growl.
Without waiting to be asked, she started folding a pile of napkins into a bell design. It was something simple her mother did every Christmas, and Marianna noticed the women's curious eyes on her as she worked.
"You wouldn't believe what happened at schul just last week," Aaron's twelve-year-old sister, Glenda, said as she
whipped the potatoes. "Our teacher had to ask Eleanor three times to pay attention to the math lesson. Her mind was on another place . . . or on someone else." She sniffed as she tattled on her best friend. "You should have seen her stare at Barney Yoder. I was sorely embarrassed for her."
"I believe I've heard their mothers talk about how gut it would be to have them marry someday. I'm sure they've heard plenty about it too," Mrs. Zook added.
Marianna heard footsteps behind her and noticed Aaron approach. "I remember days like that." Aaron looked at Marianna out of the corner of his eye. "There were times I was concentrating on my math facts and I'd feel eyes bearing down on me. I'd glance over, and sure enough, Marianna Sommer would be staring as if I had a mouse sitting on the end of my nose."
A gasp escaped Marianna's lips as all the women turned her direction. "I did not! Aaron, how could you say such a thing?"
Aaron's laughter filled the air. "Ja, you're right. She was much more sly about her looks. I'd turn her direction just in time to see her look away."
"You've had an eye on each other for a time. I couldn't imagine it any other way." Mrs. Zook smiled as she said those words, but her voice held little hint of happiness.
Breathing in, Marianna released her breath. The Zooks seemed pleasant enough, but there was something strange about the way they interacted with her. It was as if they knew something she didn't . . .
And she wasn't at all sure she wanted to find out what it was.
Dear Marianna,
The cold of Montana is just a memory, but I cannot help but think of you when I consider that place. The cold here reminds me of the moments we walked alongside each other on well-worn paths, more aware of each other's presence than the world around us.
Today as I thought of you I considered what it would be like for you to get to know my family—really know them. Though there is much the same, I think you would find the differences appealing. There is a quiet humor that most outside our family don't understand. You'd pick up on it in time. My father might scare you. I'll have to remind you often he's not as intense as he seems. Since I was a child I could read a story in his every gaze. Some stories I did not like, but if you learn to ask he's quick to tell you what he really thinks.
I've written more letters to you. I have a small pile. I've been thinking more realistically about giving these to you. Maybe in the spring. Spring is a time of new life. Maybe it can be a time of a fresh start for us. I'm tired of hiding the truth.
I hope you are enjoying time being back in Indiana. I imagine your laughter as you share in the dailiness of life in you aunt's home. In my dreams the "dailiness of life" includes us laughing together. I can't imagine anything better.
Written with the pen of the man who dreams of a future by your side.
Chapter Ten
M arianna smiled at the first sprigs of green grass as she strode from the barn to Aunt Ida's house after choring. She paused, bent down, and plucked it up. Was it possible? Had three months already passed since Christmas? Her life had settled into an easy routine, doing Aunt Ida's morning chores, heading over to spend the day with Naomi—cleaning the house, sewing baby items, or reading the books Aaron gave her for Christmas. Her friend seemed thankful for her company, and they chatted and laughed about silly things while they always made a nice lunch for Levi. Her brother's relationship with his wife-to-be hinted of a deeper closeness as Naomi's stomach grew. From the way he tended to her, Marianna would have never guessed the baby Naomi carried wasn't Levi's child.
Her eyes wandered to the orchard west of Aunt Ida's house, with windbreaks on the north and west side of it. She could picture Levi's and Naomi's child climbing those trees just as she and Levi had done. This was a wonderful place to nurture a child.
Her steps slowed, and Marianna turned toward the orchard. The ground was soft from spring melt, and water pooled in low spots. Marianna stepped around the puddles. Her shoes squished deeper into the ground as she moved toward the nearest apple tree. Gray branches stretched into the sky like gnarled fingers. The tree wasn't much to look at. Yet somehow that only drew her to it even more. It was easy to love a tree full of green leaves and apple blossoms. It was delightful to approach such a tree, with branches weighed down with fresh fruit. The offering and the display might change but the tree was still the same.
She neared the trunk and leaned her back against it, looking through the branches to the sky dotted with clouds.
"Is that how You've seen me at times?" She lifted her face to God. "I useta be so dead, with nothing to offer. I thought I was doing fine in my life. I followed the teachings I'd been taught, but it was the truth that changed everything . . ."
The truth of God's Word had brought new life, like fresh green leaves. And the more she soaked in the Word, the more the living water fed her. And with the presence of the Son, Jesus, she'd begun to bear fruit. Begun to help and serve others in ways that truly mattered.
She considered her time with Naomi. Her friend had never minded Marianna reading her Bible in the dawdi haus, and recently she'd begun asking questions. Marianna couldn't live with Naomi—help her—for the rest of her days, but perhaps Naomi would fall in love with God as she had. A closer relationship with Jesus would change her life. Make what she had to face in the community easier.
Marianna leaned her head back . . . so much to think about. So many prayers to offer for friends and family. It wasn't the same as the pond behind their home in Montana—there was only one place on earth as special as that—but then God He met her here too. Maybe she could bring the baby out here some day, to hold him and tell him about God.
As she headed back to Aunt Ida's house, Marianna couldn't help wonder again about the baby's real father. Was he Englisch? Amish? Would he ever try to butt into their lives? Would the child know? Would he or she be told?
Those weren't things for her to worry about now, she supposed. Or any time in the near future. Since Naomi had a doctor's appointment, today meant going to a sewing circle with her aunt, followed by a stop by the Farm and Garden store to pick up baby chicks. Every spring they always put baby chicks in the brooder house, with kerosene brooder stoves to keep them warm. Since she was a child, it was always a day to look forward to, and with the quilt circle it was two good things in one day.
"You have to make an effort to make new friends," she mumbled to herself as she climbed the porch steps. Since returning she and Rebecca had only seen each other a few times—her friend often found more joy in spending time with her Englisch friends. And other than Naomi and Aunt Ida, Marianna spent little time with other women in the community. And yet, they were no longer just Mem's friends. She was soon to be married, so she needed to make them her friends too.
It was just a short buggy ride to Lynn Over's place. The older woman with almond-shaped brown eyes welcomed them in.
"Marianna, it is gut you joined us. Please have a seat while I beg of yer aunt to help me with the last of the snacks." Lynn hurried to the kitchen, Aunt Ida on her heels.
Marianna moved that direction too. "I'd be glad to help."
"Oh no, dear. No need. Jest have a seat in there. Guests do not need to lift a finger in my home." Lynn pointed to the living room where a large quilt was already set up in a frame.
Marianna nodded and did as she asked, sitting gently on the pristine sofa, not wanting to rumple the throw pillows Lynn had set up there.
The house looked like a museum, everything neat and in place. She could hear the two women in the kitchen, but the living area was silent, lifeless. Why did Aunt Ida have to be the one that was always early?
Marianna thought back to Lynn's welcome. She was used to being welcomed into the sewing circle in Montana with open arms and hugs. With smiles. She'd never been called a guest before—especially not in this community.
The women arrived one by one. As more filled up the living room, Marianna moved to the wooden chair to the side, taking in the sight of the other women at the sewing circle. Two of Rebec
ca's sisters were there, wearing identical dark blue dresses, white aprons, and pressed white kapps. Last year about this time Marianna had invited them to Mem's sewing circle, but both had confessed they'd rather spend their day in the fields than inside.
Marianna smiled. As young women grew, the young men in the community often caught their attention . . . and unlike the Englisch who often though of romance first, Amish young women knew their ability to care for a home and family would make them attractive to a suitor. Even the toughest tomboys often settled down to work on their sewing and cooking as they neared marrying age.
Each woman brought over a dish for lunch and set it in the kitchen. They all knew their places around the quilt frame, and after they set up, Rebecca's sister, Christy, motioned to Marianna. "There's a spot here next to me if you'd like."
"Denke, that's kind." She pulled her needle and thimble from the small satchel of her things. "I have not quilted for months and I'm jest a bit out of practice. The one thing that is good though, whether in Montana or here, quilting varies little."
The women didn't respond, and Mrs. Troyer pushed her glasses up on her nose, a slight frown evident. "I hear things are different in Montana. Liberal."
Amazing the woman could speak through such pursed lips. Marianna threaded her needle. "They're not much different. Maybe a bit more relaxed in their dress—many work at Englisch businesses too, which means they sometimes have Englisch friends."
"Englisch friends?" Lynn Over clucked her tongue and scanned the faces of the dozen other women, who seemed equally shocked.
Marianna looked to Aunt Ida. She, too, sported lowered eyebrows and squinty eyes. The other women glanced at her aunt, as if gauging her response. Aunt Ida closed her eyes, opened them, and let out a longsuffering sigh. "No comment."