Mary's Home

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “Can I do anything for you?” he asked.

  “I…we…I…” Mary gave up. Let him think her an idiot. If she turned and bolted down the street, the picture would be complete.

  “Who is it?” Mrs. Gabert called from inside the house.

  The handsome Englisha man raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he was asking for her name.

  “I’m…” Mary tried, but nothing worked at the moment. The man had turned her into a trembling mess.

  “You are?” He obviously thought she didn’t understand ordinary human communication.

  “I’m Mary,” she finally managed.

  “Mary. Of course.” He called louder over his shoulder, “Mary’s here, Grandma.”

  “Mary,” Mrs. Gabert cooed.

  There was a rustling of feet and a flurry of motion.

  “She knows you,” he said with a grin.

  Mary tried to calm herself. “Of course she does. I come here often to check on her.”

  “I see,” he said. “That’s kind of you.”

  “Mary!” Mrs. Gabert exclaimed, pushing him aside. “Why have you kept Mary waiting on the front porch, Willard?”

  “I thought she might be an assassin,” he deadpanned.

  “Willard!” Mrs. Gabert scolded. “What an awful thing to say. This is Mary, the marvelous Amish girl who checks on me from time to time. And Mary, this is Willard, my grandson. He’s here for a few months on furlough from his mission in Kenya.”

  “Hi, Mary,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Mrs. Gabert patted her grandson on the arm. “Don’t mind him. He’s such a dear, and so precious to me. He’s been overseas for more than a year, and I haven’t seen much of him.” She smiled up at him. “But I have him for a while until he has to go back. You can’t imagine a more loving and doting grandson.”

  “I should be going, then,” Mary said. “I wanted to see if you needed anything, but I see you are in goot hands.”

  “She is,” Willard agreed.

  “Is that all you have to say, Willard? Invite Mary in. She surely has time for a cup of tea.”

  “Certainly!” Willard held the door wide open. “Sorry about my manners.”

  “It’s…I…”

  Mrs. Gabert had no such inhibitions. “Come, Mary. Willard has nothing going this morning, and a little civilized company would be just the ticket. The man has a difficult time in Kenya. It would be great for Willard to see the gentle side of life while he is here.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m just me,” Mary hastened to say. “I really should go, or I will be late.”

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Gabert declared. “The kettle is on, and I know you love my tea.”

  “Yah, I do, but—”

  “No protesting, Mary. Willard can drive you down to the co-op in my car, and then you won’t have lost any time.” Mrs. Gabert turned toward her grandson. “Won’t you, Willard?”

  “I’m yours to command,” he said. Mirth danced in his eyes.

  Mary forced herself to breathe. What could she say? Spending time with Mrs. Gabert was one thing, but drinking tea with a handsome and charming Englisha man in the house was another. Her rumspringa was past. But in a few months this grandson would leave for Kenya again, and that would be that. She would make a point not to stop in until Willard was gone.

  “Are you coming?” he asked. Mrs. Gabert had already hurried off, as if there was no question on the matter.

  Mary followed him and seated herself at the kitchen table. This would be over in a moment—except for the ride with Willard down to the co-op. Well, she would have to turn it down. She had to. If someone saw her driving to work with a handsome young Englisha man, that would demand explaining.

  Mrs. Gabert smiled and poured the tea. She waved her hand at Willard. “He doesn’t drink tea, but sit down, Willard. I want to tell you about Mary.”

  “Please,” Mary begged. “I’m sure Willard has more important things to occupy his mind.”

  “Now you have me curious.” He grinned and pulled out a chair. “It’s not like I’m scurrying about putting out fires in this sleepy town.”

  “This is a nice town to live in, sleepy or not,” Mrs. Gabert scolded. “You grew up here, and you turned out okay. I know the place isn’t populated with thieves and cutthroats like you’re used to in Kenya. Mary loves the town. Don’t you, dear?”

  “Yah, I do.”

  Willard grinned. “So do I, Grandma. You know that, and Kenya’s a nice place too. It’s filled with palm trees and kindhearted people—”

  “Tell Mary what happened down the street last month,” Mrs. Gabert interrupted.

  Willard sobered. “I thought you were going to tell me about Mary.”

  “That’s coming.”

  “I have to leave soon,” Mary got in edgewise, but the muffled protest was lost on both of them. She gulped down her tea while Willard gathered his thoughts.

  “The tale is a sad one,” he began, “even for a sad neighborhood. It’s why we’re there, trying to help people who have lived in darkness for many generations. We live in a well-guarded part of town, but the risks to mission workers still exist. Four men posing as policemen entered the area and forced an entrance into a home. When they couldn’t find much of value, they tried to produce more by threatening the man and his wife. When this didn’t work, they shot the man in front of his wife. By that time someone had heard the ruckus and called the police. Before they arrived, one of the thieves managed to escape by hopping over the back fence. The other three were apprehended, and with the man’s body as evidence, they were beaten and executed on the spot. A passerby saw the other thief jumping over a fence, and because anyone vaulting a perimeter in Kenya is considered a suspect, the man was arrested by the citizens and handed over to the police. By the time all was said and done, four dead thieves were added to the body count.”

  “That is awful!” Mary exclaimed. “And you live next door.”

  “Nearby,” he corrected. “We pray, and we trust in the Lord.”

  “But you minister in this city?” She had not intended to become drawn into the conversation.

  “I do, along with others on the team, as the Lord gives us courage and grace,” Willard demurred. “But not all of life in Kenya is like that. Usually that kind of thing is not happening.”

  “You are still a brave man,” Mrs. Gabert said. Then she gave Mary a worried glance. “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked Willard to tell you that story.”

  “I’m okay. I’m sure Willard is doing a goot work. I guess we live sheltered lives in the community.” She stood. “But I really must go.”

  Willard jumped up. “Where are your keys, Grandma?”

  “I…I can…” The objection died on Mary’s lips. What was the use? They wouldn’t listen to her anyway.

  Mrs. Gabert produced the keys with a jingle, and Willard led Mary outside.

  “You have a great day now,” Mrs. Gabert called after her. “Don’t forget to stop in on your way home.”

  “Thank you for the tea, and have a goot day,” Mary hollered over her shoulder.

  Willard opened the car door for her, and she hesitated. “I don’t bite,” he said, “even if I work in Kenya.”

  That was not the problem, but how could she explain this to him? Silence was better and easier. Willard would expect strangeness from an Amish woman anyway.

  Mary climbed inside, and Willard walked around the car and settled onto the car seat. He turned the key and gave her a kind smile. “Where are we going?”

  “That way.” She pointed toward downtown and gave him basic directions.

  “I know the place,” he said as he pulled out of the driveway. “So tell me about yourself. I’ve dominated the discussion so far.”

  She kept her eyes on the road. “I’m Amish, and I work at the Plain Food Co-op.”

  “Interesting life. Like Grandma said, I grew up around here, but I never paid the Amish that much attention. I think I’d like
to know more about your people. There is little drama, I suppose, and obviously no incidents like the story I just told you.”

  “That’s true,” Mary agreed, “but there is still…”

  “Drama?” He grinned.

  “Yah!”

  His eyes twinkled. “Can you enlighten me? Amish life with drama?”

  Mary’s cheeks flamed.

  “I’m sorry if I’m intruding,” he said. “I don’t understand your customs, so accept my apologies if I have been too bold.”

  Mary shook her head. “I guess you might as well know. Your grandmother does, so…well, last Thursday was a little dramatic for me. That was the day my ex-boyfriend and I had planned to wed, but he had the indecency to marry his new girlfriend on the same date—some six months after he broke up with me.”

  “Ah, that is awful.” His brow creased with concern. “Had you dated long?”

  “Long enough to give him my heart.” Mary looked away. Tears threatened again. Why was she telling him this?

  “How are you doing?”

  Mary tried to smile. “I’m here.”

  “And in decent spirits,” he added. “Do you have some coping mechanism unavailable to people outside the community?”

  Mary managed to laugh. “I’m afraid we hurt like everyone else, but the Lord is helping me.”

  “As He helps all who cry out to Him.” He nodded soberly. “So where are you going from here?”

  “I…what do you mean?”

  “Coping,” he said with a smile. “Continuing to heal.”

  “Ah. Well, I don’t know.”

  “Could I make a suggestion?” He tilted his head apologetically. “Sometimes getting away helps. Travel, that type of thing. I could use an extra hand in Kenya. There are other people who work at the mission, and I have a woman named Tambala who serves as my cook and nurse. Her husband, Ashon, does handyman work. We could find something for you to do.”

  “I couldn’t do that!” she gasped.

  “You might be surprised! Sometimes we have more in us than we think. You might even enjoy a short excursion into a foreign culture. Kenya is much safer than the mishap next door makes it sound.”

  “I can’t…I mean, my people…” Mary knew she couldn’t explain this in a way that would make sense.

  “Surely the Amish believe in mission work,” he said as he parked near the front door of the co-op.

  Mary clutched the door handle. “We support missions, and what you’re doing in Kenya sounds like a goot work, but going there myself…I…we…our place is in the community, and I am single. But thanks for the offer.”

  “You are welcome. And I understand. I wasn’t trying to push an agenda. I speak from experience, I guess. I know how to overcome disappointments in life because I’ve had them myself.”

  “We all do.” Mary smiled politely and opened the car door. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Are you stopping by this evening?” he called after her.

  “Your grandmother seems to be in good hands for the time you are here,” she hollered back.

  “Come over anyway,” he insisted. “I can tell she enjoys your company. I wouldn’t want to deprive her of that during my visit.”

  Mary hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”

  There was no decent way to say no.

  “Take care, and thanks for stopping by. It’s not every morning that I open the front door to such a pleasant surprise.”

  Mary hurried away. Willard would have to think her ill mannered. What was wrong with her? Being impressed with a handsome Englisha man and his passion for mission work was not a crime! This was her wounded heart talking. She opened the co-op door, determined to never think of Willard Gabert again.

  ELEVEN

  A few minutes later, Willard Gabert parked his grandmother’s car in front of her garage and stepped out, jingling the keys in his hand.

  “Well!” he exclaimed to no one in particular. Willard gave the keys another shake. “Interesting girl, though!”

  He jerked his head up when his grandmother called from the front porch. “Talking to yourself isn’t going to help.”

  He grinned sheepishly.

  Mrs. Gabert’s smile filled her whole face. “You were impressed, weren’t you? I knew you would be. That young woman is exactly what you need, Willard.”

  Willard forced a laugh. “I’m not going to discuss this, and Mary comes from—”

  “The second time is never the same,” Mrs. Gabert interrupted. “She was impressed with you too. I could tell.”

  Willard chuckled. “I love you, Grandma, but Mary is Amish. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Prayer overcomes any obstacle, Willard. Don’t make a terrible mistake. The chance of your lifetime could be at your fingertips.”

  “So I’m supposed to exploit the poor girl’s heartache?”

  His grandmother’s face brightened. “Mary told you about her ex-boyfriend’s marriage? That’s bonding, Willard. Open your eyes! You are interested in her.”

  “Well…” Willard allowed. “Mary Yoder seems like a decent woman. She has a depth and mystery to her. She’s mature and coping well with her heartache. Most girls would be a mess after being treated like that.”

  “Your judgment is sound, at least.” Mrs. Gabert gave him a direct look. “Now, how about your courage?”

  “Grandmother! That’s the wrong approach. Mary deserves my respect, not my intrusion into her world.”

  “So you were tempted, Willard?”

  He sputtered his denial.

  “Mary could love you and fill that empty hole in your heart.”

  His face hardened. “That’s what is wrong about this, Grandma. Nothing good comes out of rebounds. That’s the state we’re both in, and I doubt if either of us can afford another disaster.”

  “The road home is not always straight, Willard. Don’t you tell your suffering people in Kenya that all the time?”

  “That’s different!”

  She tilted her head to one side.

  “This is about love!” he exclaimed. “And what about Mary’s community? I’m not joining, and I doubt she’d consider leaving.”

  “With the Lord all things are possible.”

  “I’m not becoming Amish.”

  “I didn’t say you would, but Mary would leave for a handsome fellow like you.”

  Willard laughed. “Your subterfuge is charming.”

  She moved back toward the front door. “At my age there is not a lot of time. But come inside. I’m getting chilled talking on the front porch.”

  He followed her and seated himself at the kitchen table. “I know I don’t normally drink tea, but can I have a cup? I need nourishment.”

  His grandmother contemplated him for a moment. “I know I’m right, Willard. At my age, I know.” She poured him a cup and handed it to him.

  He took a sip and then glanced up at her. “I don’t want to argue with you, Grandma. I just can’t pursue another girl, especially someone like Mary. It would not be fair to her or to me.”

  “Then you know it’s possible?”

  “What is possible?”

  “Let’s not go in circles!”

  He thought for a second. “How can love happen again? After what Mary and I both have been through?”

  She comforted him with a hand on his shoulder. “I know. Your heart needs healing. That’s why you’re here for these months. It’s been two years since Carlene left you, and your wound is still festering. You think you’re here to raise money for your mission, but this is the Lord’s doing.”

  “It’s a coincidence,” he retorted. “Ean and Daisy arrived a month early to man the station, and I needed a break.”

  “Take a good look at the situation. This has the Lord’s fingerprints on it. You should make contact with the girl, Willard. Mary can love you.”

  He took a long sip of tea. “So let’s say you are right. Where do I begin? The Amish community is like a medieval castle with m
oats and no bridges. She walked away from me this morning just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  Mrs. Gabert patted his shoulder again. “The Lord’s already at work, Willard. I know He is. You just let Him minister His grace for a while and allow healing to begin.”

  “I have no idea how even if I wanted to.”

  “You want to, which is what matters,” she assured him. “Now get busy with your church schedule and speeches, and I will pray.”

  He took a deep breath. “Don’t you think this is reading a lot into the situation? I’m just a guy running a little mission in Kenya, and Mary is a simple Amish girl with a broken heart.”

  “I’m not even going to respond to that,” she told him. She moved the teakettle back to the stove. “You already know the answer. It’s time you believed again. In the meantime, I have wood that needs splitting in the backyard. That will keep you busy while the Lord talks to your heart.”

  Willard left the teacup on the table to step outside. As he opened the door, he thought about his grandmother’s stinging words. He did need healing—but approaching a brown-eyed Amish girl about a relationship? Mary would reject him and that would be that…but what if she didn’t? Maybe that possibility troubled him the most.

  Willard found the ax in the small woodshed behind the house. He grabbed a log from the woodpile and propped it up to whack it down with his ax. When the blade stuck, he wiggled the ax loose to try again. This time the log split, and he repeated the maneuver until six small slivers remained of the round log. He straightened his shoulders. He was no stranger to hard labor, but he should have begun this project with more care. A pulled shoulder socket would benefit no one. Such haste was another indication of his injured heart.

  For more than a year he had immersed himself in his work and kept up his relationship with the Lord. His heart should have been healed by now, but his grandmother was right. Tonight he was scheduled to speak at her small church in Fort Plain, but the injury remained.

  Willard propped up another piece of log and brought down the ax. This time the split was clean on the first try. He thought about how Carlene had been the perfect fit for him—a preacher’s beautiful daughter. He had charmed her, or so she had claimed. That he had a calling to Kenya had seemed to impress her further. He had believed their love was growing, but maybe her doubts had always been there. Seemingly out of nowhere, she had sent him a text as a way of goodbye: