by Linda Byler
Mam informed her tersely that a few more than four hundred were invited, but they wouldn’t all show up.
Emma turned her back and stirred her cornstarch pudding. She thought that Malinda was as crazy as ever when she planned a wedding, but she’d better keep her mouth shut. Well, three sixteen-quart kettles of tzellrich (celery) was too much. She didn’t care if four hundred people showed up or not. She’d be canning celery till January.
Two of Malinda’s brothers came in to cut celery, since the grandmothers weren’t doing the job fast enough. The roasht leit needed celery out in the shop. They promptly sat down and cut in double quick time, and Aunt Barbara joined them. The brothers began a heated discussion about politics, voicing their conservative Republican views. They predicted doom and gloom, citing the ineptitude of the president, and the two grandmothers nodded in agreement.
Barbara, however, became stone silent, her lips compressed, listening to her brothers. They thought she’d brought outright sin into her life, arguing with them before and leaning much too far towards the Democratic view of things. She only upset other members of the family when she voiced the left wing’s opinion. Her own husband had shunned her for a few days for being the rebel she was. She was politically incorrect, everyone thought.
So she’d learned to be quiet, being a woman and Amish and therefore subject to her husband and men in general. It was all, in her opinion, a lot like in Iraq, or wherever it was that they wore those burqas, the long, loose coverings with just little screens to see out. The only difference was Henner never beat her, the way those men did—some of them, anyway.
When Grandma Beiler became tired of the political blather, she quoted Scripture, saying all rulers were ordained by God, even if we don’t understand it. Barbara began to smile again, even if it was only halfheartedly.
Anna Mae and Ruthie, along with two of their brothers’ wives, were eck leit (corner people), meaning they would serve the bride’s table. It was a high honor, one with prestige on a day when they were trying to achieve perfection.
One corner of the shop was partitioned off and filled with tables and chairs. It was decorated with Sarah’s colors—mostly white with little accents of blue—and the fabulous china, silverware, and stemware were brought out. Everything was fancy and elegant, for this was a wedding, even though there were no candles or flowers on the bridal table as neither were allowed in the ordnung.
Sarah was not allowed to see anything the eck leit prepared. It was all a surprise for her after the ceremony.
Carpet was unrolled across the cement floor of the shop and duct taped at the edges, ensuring a smooth floor for the many guests and servers. Propane heaters purred from corners, doing their best to heat the chilly shop, as doors continually opened and closed. The bench wagons were emptied of their contents, as the men set up tables along every wall and a long one through the middle. They marked them with pieces of freezer tape and placed corners of duct tape on the carpet, ensuring they would be arranged in the same way after the ceremony on the following day.
There was lots of banter and well wishing as the whole shop transformed into a place lit with warmth and high anticipation. This was the risht dag, as exciting as the wedding day itself.
The tables remained until after lunch was eaten. It was a sort of trial run for the wedding day. The lunch was provided by two helpful ladies from Davey’s church district. At precisely 11:30, they delivered lasagna, creamed peas, and a lettuce salad with cake and fruit salad for dessert.
Lee and Sarah sat at the head of the long table, as tradition required, flanked on either side by their parents.
After lunch was eaten, the tables were taken down and the benches set for the actual service. Hymnbooks were distributed, and a last polish given to the windows by anxious women. The yard had been raked to perfection, the driveway cleaned with the leaf blower, and the cow barn was immaculate.
Upstairs in the house, Sarah and Priscilla dusted and swept. They put the new quilt on Sarah’s bed, the one Mam had bound only a few weeks before. It was a solid off white and quilted with thousands of tiny stitches with two pillow shams to match. It was absolutely breathtaking, the pattern so fine and intricate.
Mam told Sarah if she thought that was a lot of work, she should see how they used to embroider and crochet the edges of the pillowcases to put in their hope chests. Then, when the couples visited every wedding guest as newlyweds, the women would make pillow tops out of yarn, pulling it through latticed plastic to create pillows with colorful designs. These pillows often went on the seat of a rocking chair in their formal living rooms, die gute schtup.
Mam shook her head, keenly feeling the sadness of lost tradition and telling Sarah the Amish homes appeared more and more vee die Englishy leit (like English people). No one had a gute schtup anymore, a closed room that would only be opened for important company on Sunday.
But Sarah did cherish her quilts. All four of them. She just did not want to embroider pillowcases. Or make those yarn cushions. They were stodgy and old fashioned, but maybe someday—who knew?—they would be more important to her again.
She was happy to have all her packaged sheet sets from Walmart or Kohl’s or JCPenney, wherever Mam found them on sale. She even had a stack of Ralph Lauren towels that Mam bought on clearance at Park City. A kindly neighbor lady had alerted her to the sale.
Life and times move on, tastes change, and styles come and go for the Amish or English or whatever culture. Traditions are precious, indeed, but some things just didn’t make a whole lot of sense in this day and age.
CHAPTER 23
TRUE TO THE FORECAST IN THE INTELLIGENCER JOURNAL, the next day dawned perfectly with a sunrise of gold, yellow, lavender, and deep blue heralding the arrival of Sarah’s wedding day. The Davey Beiler farm was bathed in a glow of blessed light.
Even Levi’s throat had improved quickly, aided by Mam’s adrenaline-fueled ministrations. She had heaped his chest with steamed onions and spread copious amounts of Unker’s salve on a clean white cloth, pressing it to his throat and kneading the salve into the bottoms of his swollen feet. She gave him cup after cup of tea laced with whiskey, as well as vitamin C, echinacea, and goldenseal tablets. The poor man was overwhelmed with home remedies, complaining loud and long to anyone who would listen.
On the morning of the wedding, this had all paid off, and Levi sat dressed in his new suit, his shirt collar big enough, finally, that it felt comfortable. His hair was washed and combed, his teeth brushed, and he smiled eagerly as he greeted guests from where he was seated in a comfortable chair just inside the door. He had breakfasted well on rolled oats and the breakfast casserole Aunt Emma had brought.
Sarah’s hair behaved better than usual, as if it somehow knew that this was not the time to be out of control. Priscilla said she’d never seen anyone spray so much hairspray. She claimed Sarah would get lung cancer from the fumes, but Sarah only smiled tightly and told her to watch what she said.
The blue dresses were worn by Sarah, Priscilla, and Rose. They were covered with immaculate white capes and aprons, pinned to perfection. Their white coverings were placed carefully on the much-sprayed heads.
Rose was as blonde and beautiful as ever, giggly and nervous, elaborate in her praise of the good-looking Marvin. He acted like a typical guy where Rose was concerned, completely enamored, appearing extremely pleased to be nava sitzing with her on his cousin’s wedding day.
Omar was groomed to perfection as well, his dark hair cut nicely in the ordnung, as was required on a wedding day. He had eyes only for the radiant Priscilla. His heart was worn on his sleeve all day, the hope of having her for his bride some day carried within and shining from his eyes.
Lee appeared relaxed, but Sarah noticed a certain tightening of his jaw, a twitch in his cheek, as he shrugged on his new mutza and ran a comb through his thick, blond hair one final time. Sarah adjusted his black bowtie and stepped back to admire him, her eyes conveying all the love she felt on this perfect, beautiful mornin
g of her wedding.
Anna wore blue as well, choosing to dress for Lee and Sarah, instead of the usual black worn long after a close relative or spouse passes away. She looked radiant, her pretty face wreathed in smiles of congratulations, but Sarah knew there was a shadow behind the happiness, a cloud of grief and loneliness that was ever present.
“I can’t hug either of you,” she remarked as a greeting, indicating the easily wrinkled organdy fabric used for Sarah’s bridal cape and apron.
Mam appeared to have settled down after the risht dag, but she didn’t waste very many smiles on anyone. She spoke in short sentences, giving orders she expected to be carried out immediately. Sarah knew she had swallowed every herbal concoction meant to calm the nerves—vitamins B12 and 6 and something called Nature’s Calm, which was likely supposed to provide exactly what its name implied. She squirted a vile-smelling tincture called Ladies’ Formula, a blend of herbs from Dr. Schultz’s, into a glass with a bit of water and swallowed it. She rinsed the glass, banged it back into the cupboard, and went briskly on her way. She always ate a few pretzels or crackers soon after, so Sarah knew it must have tasted absolutely horrendous.
When guests began arriving at 7:15, there was no doubt about it. Mam’s management skills had paid off. She had missed nothing. The two large meals planned for 400 people were both taken care of to the last fork and pie.
Out in the shop in the room sectioned off for die shoff leit (work people), potatoes were being peeled by helpful church ladies. The roasht leit were finishing the preparation of the forty fat roasting chickens with the cubed bread, celery, eggs, and seasonings. Cabbage was being grated for huge dishes of cole slaw. Dat had made sure—his own management skills also apparent—that there were five gas stoves with working ovens set up at different places throughout the work area. One was for potatoes, one for coffee, another for gravy, celery, or whatever.
Aunt Emma and her sister Barbara were the ones with “the paper,” the important piece of tablet paper stating each person’s job. As the helpers arrived, Emma and Barbara told each one who would make gravy, who would cook the celery. That lowly piece of tablet paper was what kept the whole work area going, with every last job assigned to someone by Mam’s sisters.
Lee and Sarah sat on a bench, side by side, flanked by their attendants, greeting guests as they arrived. They smiled, shook hands, and acknowledged the beauty of the day.
Through the shop windows, Sarah could see the brilliance of the December sun, the yellow glow it cast across the prepared shop. The fore gayer (managers) scurried about, ensuring last minute details were taken care of.
Then they began seating people in earnest—ministers, parents, grandparents, other family members, workers or co-workers, and on down the line, the way people had been seated for many generations at Amish weddings. The men were on one side of the room, and the women on the other. The last ones to be seated were the single youth, all dressed in their very best, for this was a wedding day.
The announcement of the opening song was swallowed by the vast number of people, but everyone knew the hymn sung first at a wedding, so after the first line was sung, a crescendo followed with the second and third lines.
Sarah’s heartbeat accelerated when the first minister stood up, followed by ten others. They watched them file out, then Lee stood, reached for her hand, and led her after them into a small area set aside as a conference room.
After they were admonished, blessed, and given spiritual advice, they were free to rejoin their attendants. They filed slowly into the middle of the large shop, where six additional folding chairs now stood, three facing three, waiting for them to be seated in the row of ministers as the singing went on.
Sarah took a deep breath, concentrated on relaxing, and kept her eyes downcast as a demure bride should. There were no smiles, only slightly bent heads, signs of true humility and obedience. Around them, the singing rose and fell, a comfort Sarah had been used to all her life. It was now especially beautiful, this well recognized wedding hymn.
Someone coughed. A throat was cleared. A baby set up an earnest howling. A frustrated mother got up and edged her way carefully past the bent knees of others, as her tiny infant continued to wail. Color appeared in the mother’s cheeks, embarrassment setting in from having to get up and move among all these people. She wondered if her baby truly had colic, as little sleep as she got every night.
When the ministers returned, the singing stopped. David Beiler stood, rubbed his hands together, and cleared his throat. He lifted his eyes to the large shop filled with his daughter’s wedding guests—his guests and Malinda’s.
A great swell of emotion took away his ability to speak. He stood quietly, lifted his eyes to the shop ceiling.
When Sarah realized Dat was unable to speak, she felt the sting of emotion in her eyes and nose. She knew her tears would spill over, so she reached as delicately as possible for the folded white handkerchief in her pocket and lifted it discreetly to her face.
Finally, Dat spoke in the deep baritone she was accustomed to hearing, with the roughness of emotion changing it only slightly.
He spoke from the heart on his daughter’s wedding day. He recalled the barn fires and Sarah’s deliverance from death by God’s hand. He spoke of the men who had done this and the insignificance of the jail term. The only necessary thing was the genuine forgiveness in each individual heart.
He spoke of past trials and the mighty hand of deliverance that allowed Lee and Sarah to be together and to live in a land that was blessed with religious freedom, allowing them to have their horses and buggies, their Amish lifestyle. Sarah bent her head and held her handkerchief to her nose. She sniffled as tears plopped on the white organdy of her apron. She felt Lee shift in his chair and heard him pull out his own handkerchief, blowing his nose quietly, not wanting to draw attention.
Lee’s bishop, Amos Esh, was the one who would “give them together.” After the short prayer and the reading of the Scripture, he stood, a small man with a mighty voice, and rattled off every story in sequence. He told all the required stories for wedding sermons—Naomi and Ruth, Samson, and many others. They were all Old Testament tales that were filled with good advice and precious lessons of love and marriage.
How many young brides had the love for their mothers-in-law that Ruth did, wanting to dwell with her and worship the same God she did? Sarah thought of Mam’s pumpkin pies and doubted if she ever felt like Ruth. She had to stifle a smile that threatened to surface.
Indeed, how many women were guilty of cajoling and seducing their husbands by their own foolish whims, thereby robbing their husbands of their power, the way Delilah did to Samson? Women could be devious creatures, propelled by their own wills, depleting strong men of their strength.
Sarah shivered and covered her forearms with the palms of her hands. She loved the Old Testament stories; she always had. She had usually been the preacher when they played church. She loved to get up and wave her arms and tell Priscilla and Suzie and Mervin about Moses in the basket and Pharaoh drowning in the Red Sea and manna falling from heaven. She had even stolen a few slices of white bread from the drawer in the kitchen, broken it into pieces, and said they were the children of Israel eating their manna.
Her heartbeat thudded against her ribs when Amos Esh launched into the story about Tobias, a revered story from the Apocrypha and the one used at every Amish wedding to unite two people as husband and wife.
The bishop wasted no time, and when Sarah thought she just might faint from her rapid heartbeat, she heard him say their names, Levi Glick and Sarah Beiler. Then Lee stood, reached for her hand, and walked with her to stand in front of the bishop, who was dwarfed by Lee’s height.
Obviously undaunted, his mighty voice continued, asking them the required holy questions. They each pledged their commitment in the age-old union of marriage with a soft ya (yes).
They received the bishop’s blessing and turned to go back to their seats. Lee maneuvered the c
orrect turn flawlessly, though Sarah would not have noticed if he did it all wrong.
She kept her eyes properly downcast through the remainder of the sermon, but when the rousing swells of the last hymn rose to the confines of the ceiling, she dared one furtive glance at Lee. Her eyes connected with the blueness of his, and she wondered if she had ever known that love was a color.
The remainder of that day was as close to perfection as possible. The corner table was every girl’s dream. The china dishes Lee had given her were so gorgeous that Sarah was hesitant to put food on the plates, let alone eat from them.
The cakes and dishes set all over the table, given as gifts in the traditional way, were enough to inspire awe. The array of gifts and food was endless, and Lee stayed by her side as they opened and recorded each one.
In the afternoon, Priscilla led the old German hymn “Wohlauf” about the church being Christ’s bride. Her voice was rich and steady as the remainder of the people seated around them chimed in. Omar sat beside Priscilla, his heart in his eyes, his gaze never leaving her downturned face as her eyes followed the German words of the hymn.
On the other side of the newlyweds, Rose kept up a string of witty conversation topics, and Marvin was obviously enamored, but no one could tell if anything would come of it. Rose later gushed about Marvin continuously, but who knew? She had also just asked Matthew to be the short order cook at the restaurant where she worked, giving Matthew hope that she would take him back. But would he come back to the Amish for her sake? That was obviously a huge question, carrying a doubtful answer.
And there was Sarah, Mrs. Lee Glick, with her manly husband of approximately four hours by her side. All the doubts and fears, all that senseless heartache, erased, gone. Or had it been senseless? Did everything, including mistakes, all add up to a richer, more enduring maturity in the end?
Suddenly, she noticed Matthew, tall, handsome, his dark good looks accentuated by his smartly cut gray suit. He was watching Rose, a confused look in his brown eyes, a sort of embarrassed bewilderment, as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.