by Beth Wiseman
“Why?”
She chuckled. “Because English is a strange language. It helps not to think about it too much. Just try to remember what the words look and sound like.”
“Okay.” He reached over and touched the word. “Autumn.”
“The is the word in front of it.”
“The Autumn.”
“Right.”
He grinned. “It’s almost autumn now.”
They worked through the first stanza of the poem. Dinah thought Amos did rather well, even though he was slow and she had to remind him about certain words when he repeated reading the stanza. By the time they went through it a third time, he read almost every word.
“Sehr gut, Amos!” Dinah’s heart swelled at the happy excitement in his eyes. “Now I’ll explain what the verse is about.”
“I already know. It’s about autumn.” When Dinah was about to interrupt him, he continued. “It’s about taking time to notice the change in nature. Like when the color of the grass fades to a light green and the oak tree leaves look like they’re on fire.”
Dinah’s mouth dropped open. “Ya. That’s what the whole poem is about.” Well, some of it. She didn’t want to get into the other verses, which were a metaphor for the changing seasons of life.
“Reading was a lot harder when I was in school.”
“Sometimes things become easier when we get older,” Dinah said. “And sometimes things just click.”
“Click?”
The man understood poetry but not an idiom. Amos, you are full of surprises. “Like when you hitch the horses to the hay mower. When you hear the clicking sound, you know it’s in place and working.”
“So my brain is working now?”
“Yer brain is always working.” She was out of her depth. She wasn’t a teacher. Maybe she should have started with something simpler. Like roses are red, violets are blue. But she didn’t want to insult him. Amos was anything but a simple man.
He took the notebook from her and looked through it. She didn’t mind. “You wrote all these words?” he asked.
“I copied them from other books.”
Amos continued to turn pages. “Is it wrong to do that?”
“Only if I sell them.” At his frown she said, “It’s okay since I’m the only one who reads this notebook.”
“I’m reading it.” He barely glanced at the words as he went through the notebook. He stopped at one page. Studied it for a minute. Then handed the notebook back to her. “Will you read this one to me?”
She read the title. Oh nee. “Are you sure?”
“Ya.” He stretched out his long legs and clasped his hands loosely together. “I want to hear that one.”
Dinah took a deep breath and began to read.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
She cleared her throat. “Do you want me to keep reading?”
He was staring down at his lap as he nodded.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
She swallowed and finished the rest of the poem.
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Dinah closed the notebook and shut her eyes. Amos had chosen her favorite poem and she hadn’t fumbled a single word. She remembered the day her brother Job had caught her reading this poem out loud in her room. She had been fourteen and had been reading to her pillow, which was embarrassing enough. She had also been reading with as much earnest emotion as a young teenage girl could muster. She couldn’t remember if she’d even stuttered.
Just as she’d finished reading the third line, Job burst into her room, laughing hysterically. She threw the poetry book at him—this was before she had started writing them down—but he ducked and said, “Yer fault for not closing yer door.” He put his hand over his chest. “ ‘How do I love thee?’ ” he said in a falsetto. “ ‘Let me count the ways.’ ”
At that point she’d jumped off the bed and slammed the door in his seventeen-year-old face. The experience had been mortifying and she hadn’t read a poem out loud since.
“That was nice.” Amos turned to her. “The words are pretty.”
“They are.” She pressed the notebook against her chest, and neither of them said anything for a while. She looked around at the drawings again, softly lit in the low lantern light. Anna Mae had said Amos was gifted, and now Dinah knew what his most precious gift was. He had the gift of seeing beauty in everything. Not only with his eyes, but also with his heart.
She turned to him. He was so close to her, his handsome face inches from hers. When it came to Amos, she couldn’t think straight. That’s why she leaned forward and kissed him.
His lips didn’t move. They stayed on hers like they were frozen. She’d never kissed anyone before, and she wasn’t sure what to do. But this didn’t seem normal. Her eyes opened, and she saw him staring at her with surprise.
He lifted his mouth from hers, and her heart sank. He hadn’t understood her feelings after all. This was her first kiss and it was awkward and emotionless.
Then his gaze darkened. His hair, tamed for church that morning, was now back to an unruly, thick mass. “Was that a kiss, Dinah?”
“Ya.” She could barely get the word out.
“I . . . liked it.” A smile spread across his face. “Can we do it again?”
She laughed, her doubts dispelled once and for all. They would figure this out together. She nodded and lifted her face to his.
This time his lips lightly touched hers, pulled away, then touched hers again with such sweetness she thought her heart would burst.
The next morning after breakfast Dinah went to the phone shanty and called her mother.
“Dinah?” Mamm said, a note of concern in her voice. “Is everything all right?”
“Ya.” Dinah smiled and touched the dial of the rotary phone.
She heard her mamm sigh with relief. “I thought you were calling to tell me you were coming home early.”
“Actually . . . I-I’m c-calling to t-tell you I-I’m s-staying a l-little longer.”
“That’s wonderful news. Then you’re having a gut time with yer aenti?”
“I am.” She went on to explain about David’s accident and how she was helping with the harvest. “So I thought I-I’d s-stay a f-few more weeks, if that’s o-okay.”
“Weeks?” Her mother paused. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure, Mamm.”
“Then stay as long as you need to. I’ll miss you, of course.”
“I’ll miss y-you too.”
“Dinah . . . you sound happy.”
“I am,” she said. “I’m very happy.”
Chapter Ten
For the next month Dinah helped the Mullets with the harvest. She and Amos spent their evenings together reading, and Amos even showed her how to draw. But she was terrible at it. She and Aenti Judith had canned enough vegetables to fill three pantries, and her aunt had shared the bounty with several families at church. Dinah had become more comfortable at church services, and had even gone to Bekah Mullet’s house a few times to visit.
When October rolled over into November and the harvest was finished, Dinah realized she didn’t want to leave Middlefield, her aunt and uncle—and especially Amos. She had fallen in love with him. For the past week they had worked on his handwriting so he wouldn’t have difficulty writing her letters when she returned to New York. But what would happen to their relationship
then? She could come visit more often, of course, but it wasn’t the same as being here with the family she had grown so close to.
One evening she and Amos were in the barn. They were supposed to be working on more letter writing, but Amos had something else in mind. They were sitting close to each other on the hay bale. The weather had turned cold at night, and even though the barn was warmer than the outside air, Dinah was still a little chilly in her light jacket. She hadn’t packed a coat. She hadn’t planned to be here this long.
Amos put his arm around her and drew her next to him. “Better?”
“Better.” She snuggled against his shirt, which smelled of firewood smoke, hay, and Amos. He rubbed his hand over her shoulder and she glanced up at him. He was staring straight ahead, as if deep in thought. He did this sometimes, and usually when he turned his attention back to her he didn’t seem to realize he had mentally left. This time when he looked down at her, he appeared fully present. And when he kissed her, she knew something had changed. His kiss was deep, loving, and full of promise.
When they stopped kissing, he touched her cheek. “I had a dream last night, Dinah. I had a dream that we were married.”
Her breath caught.
“Do you think we could be married? Like Jeremiah and Anna Mae?”
Dinah put her hand over her pounding heart. Then she settled her pulse. “Amos, do you know what it means to be m-married?”
“I know you live together. Like Jeremiah and Anna Mae. Like mei daed and yer aenti.”
“And what about . . .” She swallowed. Oh, this was hard. She tried not to blush, but she couldn’t help herself. “What about kinner?”
He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “We should have some.”
She laughed and realized that she didn’t want to live her life without this man. She’d have to explain some things to him—okay, a lot of things—but that didn’t matter. All the important things did. Their faith, their ease with each other, how right things felt between them. That’s what mattered. “Amos, I need to know one thing.”
“Ya?”
“Do you l-love me?”
Without hesitation he took her hand in his. “Ya. I love you, Dinah. I think mei dream was a promise from God. A promise that we will be together forever.”
“Then ya, Amos. I will marry you.”
He grinned. “Okay.”
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
Dinah took Amos’s hand as they stood in the backyard.
“I’m worried,” he said, looking at Dinah.
She looked up at her husband-to-be. “Don’t be worried,” she said.
“What if mei daed gets mad? What if he doesn’t think I’ll be a gut husband?”
Dinah squeezed Amos’s hand. “I know what your father thinks is important to you, and it should be. But I think you will be the perfect husband. That’s all that matters.”
That brought a smile to Amos’s face and he let out a deep breath. “Okay.”
Although on the outside she sounded confident, inside butterflies were crashing together in her stomach. Not because she doubted what she felt for Amos, but she did have the same fear he had. What if his father didn’t accept her? What if Aenti Judith disapproved? She was almost positive her parents and brothers would think this was a terrible idea. But hadn’t her mamm been eager for Dinah to find someone? She’d said herself that this trip would be good for Dinah. She was right.
And Dinah knew what she felt for Amos was right. It didn’t matter that they’d only known each other for a couple of months. They knew their hearts. There would be obstacles ahead, but she was prepared to face them. Amos was worth it.
They walked inside to the kitchen where David was sitting at the table with Judith. They were both sipping hot cups of tea, as if they had been waiting for Dinah and Amos to appear.
“Where have you two been?” David asked. “It’s late, Amos.”
Dinah could already feel her hackles rise, but Amos didn’t seem bothered. “Ya, Daed. I know.”
David looked up at Amos, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry. Of course you do. Sometimes I forget that you don’t need much reminding anymore.”
Dinah couldn’t believe it. David was apologizing? She remembered what her aunt said about David loving his family. Loving someone means admitting when you’re wrong. Her mother had told her that. Dinah had been ten and Samson eleven. Samson had poured glue into her shoes when she was asleep. When she stuck her bare feet inside the shoes, her feet got covered in the sticky, thick glue. Instead of telling her mother, she had retaliated by cutting the hems off all Samson’s pants legs. Neither of them had thought about the cost of replacing the clothes. Both of them were grounded. And both of them had to apologize.
Loving someone means apologizing when you need to. She hadn’t loved Samson that day. Not even close. But she had apologized. She’d also worked extra chores to pay for her brother’s new pants, and he had bought her a new pair of shoes.
She swallowed, missing home again. Suddenly she wished her parents were here and her brothers and their wives. That she could announce to everyone that she was getting married, and so they could celebrate with her. Instead she’d have to call her mamm and break the news over the phone. Right now they needed to share the news with David and Aenti Judith. “W-we . . .” She felt Amos squeeze her hand. “We have something to t-tell you.”
“We’re getting married,” Amos blurted.
Dinah would have preferred to ease into the conversation, but she couldn’t help but smile. That was so like Amos to get to the point. She would always know where she stood with him.
Aenti Judith’s brows shot up while David’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he said, his teacup rattling against the table.
“David,” Aenti Judith said with calm sternness.
“Did you hear what he just said?” David’s brows knit together.
“I heard.” Aenti Judith looked at Amos and Dinah.
So much for good news. She should have known it would be like this. There would be no celebrating. Even her aunt, who she had thought would be the one person who would unconditionally understand, looked baffled.
“Amos, what have you done?” David gripped the teacup so tightly Dinah thought it would shatter in his hand.
Dinah felt Amos shrink into himself. This time she took his hand and squeezed. She also asked God to put her stammer on hold for a little while. “He hasn’t done anything. We have decided to get married.”
“You’ve only known each other for a few weeks,” Aenti Judith said. “You can’t possibly be in love in that short period of time.”
“Why not?” Amos asked.
The question was asked so earnestly and with such seriousness that it left everyone in the room speechless.
“Because you don’t know what love is!” David exclaimed after the long pause. Then he hesitated, looking apologetic again. Dinah gave him credit for at least knowing he hurt his son’s feelings. “Amos, I know you know what love is,” David said. “You know you love Jeremiah, and me, and Anna Mae, and Judith. But you don’t know what romantic love means.”
“Dinah’s been teaching me.” Amos lifted his chin.
Aenti Judith’s brow nearly lifted to her scalp. “I thought you were teaching him how to read.”
Oh, this was going badly. She wished she could converse easily enough to speak clearly. Lord, help me—help us—make them understand.
Her aunt let out a breath. “Why don’t we all sit down and discuss this calmly.”
Leave it to her aunt to be the voice of reason. Dinah sat down, Amos joining her. They were both opposite Judith and David, the large wood table between them. But it might as well have been a chasm separating them.
Aenti Judith folded her hands together, her brow still creased, but at least she seemed willing to listen. “Now, exactly what plans have you two made?”
“Plans to get married.” Amos rubbed his large palms on his thighs. �
�And after we get married we are going to have lots of kinner.”
David’s face fell into his hands. “This can’t be happening,” he muttered.
“David.” Aenti Judith touched his arm. “Let’s hear them out.”
Dinah said another quick prayer for her stutter to settle. “Amos is very special to me. He understands me, and I understand him. We have had some talks, and I did tell him what marriage was about. That’s how we knew we loved each other.”
“Like a husband and wife,” Amos added.
“And exactly how are you going to handle a household and kinner?” David’s gaze pinned both of them. “How will you raise them?”
“Like any other husband and daed,” Amos said.
Didn’t David see that Amos was so much more capable than he gave his son credit for?
“I don’t think you two need to be hasty about this,” Aenti Judith said. “Why don’t you take some time and get to know each other better? Then you can revisit this subject at a later date.”
“Or never,” David grumbled.
Dinah tried not to lose hope. If she couldn’t convince her aunt that she and Amos belonged together, how was she going to convince her family?
Amos stood. “We don’t have to revisit anything, whatever that means.” His square jaw was set with determination. “Daed, you’re married. Jeremiah is married.” He didn’t sound like Amos usually did. He sounded sure of himself. Like he completely understood everything. “Why can’t I do the same? Why can’t I have a wife?” He looked at Dinah. “Why can’t I marry the woman I love?”
Judith and David exchanged a look. The kitchen grew silent. Dinah had never been more impressed with Amos than at this moment. If he hadn’t shown the kind of man he was with this small speech, she didn’t think his father would ever understand.