by Pamela Bauer
“This is a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope.” He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she ran out of breath, but she was dressed like Esther Miller, Ebram’s daughter.
Then she smiled at him and she was his Faith again. “A very pleasant one,” she echoed. “I could use a break.” She nodded toward the mound of weeds she’d pulled from the flower garden. “And I bet you could use a stretch after that long drive. Want to take a walk?”
“Sure.” He glanced down and saw her feet were bare. “Don’t you want to get some shoes?”
She shook her head. “Not for where we’re going. Come.”
She led him across the gravel road and into a thicket of small trees, never flinching as her feet traveled the rough ground. If it hadn’t been for the worn footpath he would have thought she was getting them lost. She chatted nervously, much of what she said being the same things Megan had told him last night.
Finally he heard a gurgling sound at about the same time she said, “This is it.” When she pushed aside an elderberry branch he saw why her face glowed with delight. Tumbling over a small cascade of rocks was a waterfall that emptied into a small creek. Wildflowers grew on either side of its banks, creating a small haven of peace and quiet. Faith removed her apron and kappe, then gave him an impish grin and said, “Help me out of this, will you?”
This was her dress and she didn’t need to ask him twice. The hooks and eyes on her dress were something he hadn’t ever encountered in undressing a woman. He was up to the challenge, however, and before he knew it she was lifting the dress over her head.
He wasn’t sure what he expected she’d be wearing underneath it, but it wasn’t a pair of shorts and a tank top. “I’ve been doing this ever since I was a teenager,” she said as she waded into the creek. “It’s against the rules but I don’t care.”
“You have your memory back?” he asked as he watched her splash about in the water.
“Some. I now know I’m a nanny and a midwife.”
“That’s why you knew what to do for Lori.”
“Yes.” She raised her face toward the sky, her eyes closed. “Doesn’t it smell heavenly here? You ought to take off your shoes and socks and come in. Or don’t engineers like to get their feet wet?” She glanced at him with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
He removed his casual loafers and socks and rolled up his pant legs, then waded into the water. “It’s cold!”
“That’s what makes it special. It makes you feel all tingly.”
“I don’t need water for that. All I have to do is look at you,” he told her.
She gazed up at him then, as if she was remembering the times he’d held her in his arms. Her eyes darkened and she looked away, but not before he’d seen the desire there. It was too great of a temptation for him to resist. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She tasted warm and sweet and exactly as he remembered.
When the kiss finally ended, he said, “I’ve been going crazy—” but she stopped him, placing her fingers on his lips.
“Please don’t say anything. Just hold me.”
So they stood in the middle of the creek with his arms wrapped around her while the water trickled past their ankles. Only the sounds of nature broke the silence. When her body began to tremble he thought it was because she was cold, but then he realized she was crying.
He tried to comfort her, planting kisses on her cheek and murmuring softly, “Don’t cry, Faith. It’s going to be all right.”
She pushed him away and waded back to the bank where she reached for the long dark dress.
“Don’t put that on,” he told her.
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m Plain,” she said, then pulled it over her head and down over her body until none of her delicious skin showed. “It’s what Plain women wear.” There was a challenge in her voice, as if daring him to question the decision she’d made to live by Amish standards.
“How many Plain women sneak around with shorts and tank tops under their dresses?”
That had her cracking a smile.
“I like this place,” he said as sunshine filtered through the canopy of trees. “I’ve missed you, Faith.” He hadn’t realized just how much until he’d seen her splashing about in the creek.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said quietly, but when he would have taken her in his arms again, she stepped away.
“I’ve been trying to give you the time you need with your family, but I want you back in my life, Faith. I want to cool off in a creek with you on a hot summer day and not have to worry about anybody seeing us.”
“I am Amish, Adam. Most of those memories I’ve recovered are from my childhood. And they’re good memories. Do you know what rumspringa is?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a time when Amish teens experiment with what it’s like to be English. They can do whatever they want and their parents turn a blind eye. The parents figure it’s better for them to see the English world and all it has to offer and then to choose to come back and be Amish.”
“And you did this?” He held his breath while he waited for her answer.
“Levi said I did.”
“But you don’t remember?”
“Not yet, but whether I do or do not remember all of my past does not change the fact that this is the foundation upon which my life has been built, the eyes through which I’ve see the world.”
“I would never ask you to turn your back on your family,” he told her.
She looked at him then, her eyes filled with pain. “But don’t you see? I can’t be with my family and be with you. Our worlds are too different.”
“Don’t you mean that your world will not allow you to be a part of mine? Faith, do you really want to give up everything you’ve known in my world to live the kind of life you have here?”
She looked away. “This life isn’t what you think it is. If you look around at the people in this community, you will see contentment on their faces. People help each other. Children love and respect their parents. When someone is suffering, everyone drops what they’re doing and goes to help. It is a strong community of caring, loving people. There are no homeless Amish,” she finished quietly.
“I’m not saying there aren’t good people here and that this way of life doesn’t fulfill some people’s needs. I’m asking you if you honestly believe that you can be happy living in this world after living in my world.” Silence stretched between them as he waited for her answer.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. She wrapped her arms across her middle and turned away from him.
He wanted to embrace her and convince her that she did know the answer, that she belonged in his world, but ever since they’d met there had been an undeniably strong physical attraction between them. At one time that would have been enough for him to justify having a relationship with her. But ever since she’d left him to go back to the Amish he’d come to the realization that he wanted more than passion. He wanted to share every aspect of his life with her.
“I’m in love with you, Faith,” he told her because for the first time in his life it was true.
He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say, but he didn’t think that she’d start to cry. She turned away from him and said, “I can’t be the woman you want—at least not yet.”
He walked up behind her and pressed his front to her back, wrapping his hands across her stomach. She didn’t resist, but leaned against him, quietly crying. He didn’t try to kiss her, but simply held her close.
“I should go,” he finally said.
She nodded and moved away from him. “I’ll show you the way back.”
Adam followed her back to the house, neither one of them uttering a single word. When they’d reached his car, she faced him, her cheeks blotchy from crying. When he would have touched her, she backed away, her eyes darting to the house. She couldn’t risk kissing or even touching him in vie
w of her family.
“Please don’t give up on us, Faith,” he said, then got in the car and drove away.
FAITH KNEW SHE WAS in trouble when she saw the look on her father’s face when he walked into the house with Levi. He sat down on the bench on the opposite side of the table from where she was shelling peas. Levi stood several feet behind.
“Do you know what you’ve done, Esther?”
No doubt her father had heard that Adam had been to see her that morning and that she’d been in the creek in her English clothes. Faith glanced at Sarah who stood with her back to her at the stove. She was disappointed in her sister-in-law. She thought she was her friend yet it hadn’t taken her long to get word to Levi that she’d been in the woods with Adam.
Before she could utter a single word of explanation, her father said, “Doing business on a Sunday, the Lord’s day, is not our way. You should have been with Levi and Sarah visiting family.”
It was then she realized that he wasn’t referring to her visit from Adam, but her going into town with Lori and the children. Not only had she gone in an automobile, but she’d gone into the ice-cream parlor, a place of business on a Sunday.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that the little girl I used to care for wanted an ice cream and…” She trailed off when her father raised his hand indicating he wanted no more words.
“I will arrange for you to talk to the bishop,” he said, and rose to his feet.
“Because I had an ice-cream cone?” She jumped up. “Dat, that’s not reasonable.”
“Save your words for the bishop,” he bellowed at her before stomping away.
Faith looked at her brother, pleading for understanding. “Levi, you must know I wouldn’t deliberately hurt the family.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to town with the English woman, Es,” he said, his eyes expressing his own feeling of disappointment. “Don’t worry. It’s not a major offense. You can make right with the bishop.”
“But why should I have to make right?” she demanded, which had Sarah leaving the room, obviously not willing to be a part of the discussion taking place between brother and sister.
“You’re starting to sound English yourself,” he commented.
“Why, because I ask questions? And why can’t I be both English and Amish?”
“Because you can’t live in both worlds, Es,” he said with a sigh of frustration. “Stop trying to defend yourself. All you have to do is go to the bishop and tell him you were wrong. Stop thinking like the English and take your punishment. “
Frustration rose inside her. He didn’t understand. No one did. She ran out of the house and back to the creek where only a short while ago Adam had told her he loved her. Had she been wrong to let him go? Life with the Amish was a struggle. As much as she wanted to be a part of a family, she didn’t want to live a life of separation from the rest of society. She didn’t want to be separated from Adam.
After a brief respite at the creek, Faith went back to the house. She found Sarah outside hanging the wash on the line. Faith didn’t speak to her but went into the kitchen where she discovered that someone had finished shelling the peas. She suspected it was Sarah and decided to make them a cup of tea.
She lifted the lid over the firebox to check to make sure the coals were still hot from when Sarah had made coffee earlier. After stirring them with an iron poker, she added several sticks of wood, trying not to think of how easy it would have been to zap a cup of water in Adam’s microwave. She filled a teapot with water from the hand pump and set it at the front of the stove.
She tried not to think about the scene she’d had with her father, but it bothered her that she’d brought disrespect to him because of something of so little consequence. She looked about the empty kitchen that had nothing but the basic necessities. It was Sarah’s home, yet there were none of her personal touches other than a cross-stitched Biblical verse and a small wooden sign engraved with a saying her mother had often repeated. Work Hard, Rest Well.
There were no pictures in the house. No works of art, no photographs. She closed her eyes and tried to see her mother’s face. She’d known the gentle touch of her heart and hands, yet she had trouble seeing her loving smile. Suddenly the memory of the last time she’d seen her flashed in her head. Her mother was in bed, her long hair flowing loose at her sides. She’d said many things to her, all of them wise and comforting at a time when Faith needed to be comforted. But it was her last words that Faith remembered best. “Follow your heart and let God do the judging.”
Let God do the judging. Not her father. Not her brothers. Not the bishop.
Faith pulled the teapot off the stove and raced out the door past Sarah, past the barn, past the chicken house and past the grossdawdy house. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the fenced area that was the cemetery. She searched the cement markers until she found the one that read Lydia Miller, Sixty-Seven Years, Eleven Months, Four Days. She lovingly fingered the engraved letters, tears welling in her eyes.
“I have to leave, Mam. I don’t belong here.” She slumped over on the ground, sobbing.
How long she was there she didn’t know. When she felt a man’s hand on her shoulder, she looked up and saw her father.
“You remember her?”
She nodded, biting down on her lip. “She was a good mother.”
“Ja. She worked hard.”
Faith nodded. “It’s right that a wildflower should grow so close,” she said, fingering the tiny pink flower next to the marker. “She used to tell me that every plot of soil, no matter how small, should give life to some useful plant.”
“You have her gift for gardening,” her father told her.
“It seems to be the only thing I have of hers,” she said. “She knew her place.”
“And you always seemed to be looking for yours,” he said quietly.
“What did you want my place to be, Dat?”
“Here, on the farm, in a good marriage leading a useful life.”
“And if I chose not to have that place, would I no longer be your daughter?” Her voice wobbled as she asked the question.
His shoulders sagged and he looked at her with sadness in his eyes. “Are you telling me you are going to leave?”
The pain she saw in his face tugged at Faith’s heart. “I can’t be Plain anymore.”
“You have recovered all of your memory?”
She shook her head. “No. What will I discover when I do? Did I leave on my own? Did I choose not to be Amish? Do you know what happened the night I left?”
He didn’t answer any of the questions she fired at him, but got to his feet and started back toward the farm. She started after him, calling out, “Dat, tell me, please.”
He didn’t stop but kept going. She knew it was useless to follow him. No matter how she pleaded with him, he wouldn’t talk to her. In the short time she’d been back she’d learned that.
When he didn’t come to lunch Levi asked about his absence. Faith told him that she’d seen him at the cemetery and what they’d talked about.
“So you’re going to leave again?”
“Again?” Frustrated, she said, “I wish someone would tell me what happened that night I disappeared.” Seeing Sarah and Levi exchanging glances, she pulled on her brother’s shirtsleeve. “Levi, you know, don’t you?”
She could see he was reluctant to talk in front of the children. He nodded toward the door, then got up and left. She followed him outside onto the porch.
“Tell me. Did I leave of my own free will?” she demanded.
He nodded. “You had a fight with Dat.”
“On the night of Mam’s funeral?” She found it hard to believe she’d argue on such a day.
“Most of the relatives had gone. We were putting the house back together when Dat said something you didn’t agree with.”
“What did he say?”
“You couldn’t stop crying and he said you should feel
worse at a birth than at a death. Being in Heaven is better than the struggles of life.”
“And what did I say?”
“You screamed at him that there didn’t need to be so many struggles, that if we weren’t Plain, Mam would be alive.’
She gasped. “Why did Mam die?”
“I told you. She had the illness that left her with a weak heart, but you told Dat it was all the hard work on the farm that killed her. Then you left.”
She left. She’d made the decision to leave. “Where would I have been going when I left here?”
He shrugged. “You stormed out of here saying that you had English friends you could stay with. We figured that you went to stay with someone you met through Mrs. Tucker.”
“Mrs. Tucker?”
“She was the English woman you worked for as a part-time nanny. She’s the one who got you interested in all the books and encouraged you to leave.”
Trembling, Faith sat down on the rocker. She willed her mind to remember that night, but as usual, it was a dark void. “Was it the first time I left?”
He shook his head. “You left one other time, but then Mam got sick so you came home to nurse her.”
So she had already made the decision she didn’t want to be Amish long before that night of the accident. Suddenly the flashbacks of memory made sense—her mother telling her she needed to confess to the bishop, the man’s voice that had screamed at her to get out. “I don’t belong here,” she said quietly.
Levi sat down beside her. “That’s not true, Es. This is your home. It’s a good place.”
She didn’t say anything, but stared out at the field of alfalfa gently blowing in the wind. “Why didn’t you tell me when I came back? You and Dat and Sarah and everyone else led me to believe that I was happy here. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Because I was hoping that rebellious streak inside you was gone and that you’d come back to us. It’s good to be Plain, Es.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me,” she said sadly. “I can’t stay, Levi.”
He slowly nodded his head in understanding. “You’ll keep in touch?”