As Mary headed down the hill, the wind whipped dead leaves around the ditches. The chill crept through the thick shawl she wore and chafed her face. Maybe walking instead of driving the buggy hadn’t been a wise idea. Gerald would have hitched up Danny Boy if she had asked. Mary increased her pace at the bottom of the hill. Mrs. Gabert’s home was ahead on the right. She could stop to catch her breath on the front porch, but that might mean meeting Willard again. What if he made assumptions from her actions the way Gerald and Betsy had?
Mary looked sideways as she passed Mrs. Gabert’s driveway. The front porch was empty, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She could stop in tonight on the way home for a chat with the elderly lady.
At the corner of the next side street, a car pulled up beside her and rolled down its window.
“Willard!” Mary gasped.
“What is wrong with you? Europe’s warm this winter, but this is cold. Get in.”
I will not! Mary wanted to protest. Instead she gave in, and the warmth of the car enveloped her.
“Do all Amish women walk in freezing weather?”
“Just me,” she chirped, but he didn’t laugh.
“You shouldn’t,” he chided. “Do you not have a buggy available this morning?”
“Of course I do. My brother would have hitched it up for me, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”
“A storm is approaching. The weather report was all over Grandma’s TV.” He paused. “But you don’t have a TV.”
Mary managed to laugh. “That is true.”
“Don’t the Amish have built-in weather forecasters?” he quipped.
His chuckle was cheerful, and Mary joined in.
“So what do you have on tap for the day? Am I driving you to work?” he asked as he turned right on Reid Street.
“Yes, thank you. Just another day at the bulk food store, serving customers.” She gathered her courage. “My sister and I were very impressed with your talk last night.”
“I thought from the way you bolted that I must have offended you.”
“Oh, no. Of course not. We had to…I don’t know. It was late, and we were at a strange place, and—”
“I understand.” He smiled warmly. “I was very pleased that you came, and I was honored. It’s not every day that I have two beautiful Amish women in my audience.”
Mary gave him a teasing glare. “You have quite a flowery tongue!”
“That’s what it takes, I guess.” He grinned broadly.
“Do you have someone waiting for you back in Kenya or in some other town?”
His grin faded. “I guess you have a right to ask that since you told me about your woes. No girlfriend. Just Kenya.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine why not.”
His grin returned. “Now look who has the flowery tongue.”
Mary settled back in her seat and ignored the comment. What was wrong with her? She pasted the best smile she could on her thawing face. “Is there any way Betsy and I can help with your project? I know we are just two Amish women, and we can’t do much. I write poems and letters, but that probably wouldn’t mean much to starving glue boys.”
She noticed interest written on his face. “You write poetry?”
“Forget I said that,” Mary hastened to say. “Words seem empty in the face of the stories you told us last night. But back to the point. Amish women can sew, quilt, and make things. Would that help?”
“I had never thought of that angle.” He smiled. “Let me think on that a bit, but I’m not finished with the poetry. Could I see what you write sometime?”
Mary blushed. “You would read my poems?”
“Of course. I’m sure they would be interesting.”
Mary tried to breathe as they pulled up in front of the co-op. “I know nothing about poetry.”
The words she had written on the back of Josiah’s letters raced through her mind. My dearest, my dearest, Josiah, my dear. Willard would think her insane for such nonsense.
“Perhaps I should be the judge of that,” he said. “But here we are.”
“Thanks so much for the ride.” Mary reached for the door handle. “You didn’t have to.”
“I can pick you up this evening too.”
“No. I mean, I can’t…you can’t…” She sputtered her objections.
He raised his hand. “No protest, please. And if you want to pay me, you can recite one of your poems.”
Mary bolted from the car and raced for the front door of the co-op store without a backward glance.
SIXTEEN
Mary pushed open the back door of the co-op and peeked out. The late afternoon sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, the view of the Adirondack foothills blocked by townhouses. She didn’t need to see them to know that Willard had been correct. A winter storm was brewing. A few flakes of snow already twirled about, but at least the wind would be at her back for the walk home. If she left now, she could avoid Willard and his offered ride. She already felt rude for dashing into the store this morning without a goodbye, but she hoped Willard would understand or chalk up her behavior to Amish traditions or strangeness. Hadn’t Betsy and she left the church meeting early last night?
Mary caught her breath as a fresh blast of wind hit her face. Then she closed the door and steadied herself on the doorjamb. Willard wants to see my poems. No man, not even Daett, had ever asked to read them. Josiah had known that she wrote poems, but his interest had never gone beyond a shallow “that’s neat” comment. She had never dared to show him anything she had written. Now Willard had asked to see one, even though she didn’t know him well at all. And he was an Englisha man! Her heart pounded. She should set out for home this very moment and never see Willard again.
Mary took several deep breaths. She was a sensible woman. Of course the thought of a man reading her poems unnerved her. That was what this was. If she let him read one, the flush of emotion would pass. An educated Englisha man could give her pointers on how poems should be written. That was the right way to look at this. Willard must find her a curiosity, but she could use the interest to her benefit. This went both ways.
Willard was not interested in her romantically. Hadn’t her experience with Josiah made things clear? Men found her intriguing until a pretty face came along. Then—whoosh!—they were gone faster than the cars rushing past on Interstate 90.
The front door of the store opened and closed with a bang. Mary collected herself and brushed off her apron, pasting on a smile and forcing her feet forward. Customers were more important than daydreams. Mary’s smile faded when she saw Stephen’s face around the corner.
He cleared his throat. “I guess you’re open. I mean, the door was unlocked.”
“Of course we are. What can I get for you?” She held out her hand for his list.
“Ah…” He cleared his throat. “I…I mean, I came in…the storm is picking up.”
“You’re offering to drive me home?”
Stephen looked at her strangely. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess, I mean, it is snowing. Do you need a ride home?”
“Oh, no. I can walk.” Mary clasped and unclasped her hands. “Can I have your list now?”
“There is…” Stephen struggled toward the right words. “This is, if I can say it right, not my usual visit, Mary. I was just here not that long ago. Do you remember? You should. It was the day—and I am sorry to remind you—of your planned wedding.” He peered at her.
“Of course, Stephen. I am so sorry. I should not have forgotten that you recently came in.” Mary steadied herself on the edge of a shelf. This day was very strange.
“There is nothing, not really, to apologize for.” Stephen nodded, the problem apparently solved to his satisfaction. “I want to, if I may, ask something of you, Mary. If you would let me, if you would think about it, perhaps, if you would consider, after much prayer and thought, of course, and after consulting with your mamm and daett…” He stroked his beardless chin. “I have not done this
in a long time, and never with such a lovely woman as yourself. My courage, what there is of it, fails me. You are a very godly woman indeed. I am humbled, as I should be, in your presence. But I feel as if I have seen, as best I can, the Lord’s will in this matter.”
“What do you want, Stephen?”
“It is not about what I want, Mary.” He paused. “It is what the Lord wants, and His face is often hidden in the clouds, as the preachers say, and His ways are beyond the understanding of lowly and corrupt creatures such as myself.”
“I suppose so,” Mary allowed.
“Do you know, and understand, and see the full depths of the will of the Lord?” He studied her for a moment.
“Ah, I don’t know. Probably not! I once thought I was marrying Josiah Beiler.”
“That’s…see there, that’s exactly right. I say, with my spirit bowed low, that we are on the same page.” He nodded again. “That is why I have dared to gather my courage, Mary, and even suppose that a woman such as yourself would consider a man like me, and see the Lord’s will. Would you, even for a moment, since you can see that I have not the charms about me that your Josiah possessed—”
“Josiah is now married to the former Susie Wengerd!” Mary interrupted.
He stared at her. “Your heart is bitter about this matter?”
“It is. I hope you are not too astonished that I slip and fall in my weakness. I am praying the Lord will help me fully heal.”
He collected himself. “We are all, every one of us, from the smallest to the greatest, bitter with life at times. Only the grace of the Lord, His strong and mighty hand, carries us along, and seeing His will.”
“I have forgiven Josiah. I really have,” Mary assured him.
“I would not—in my own great weakness and failure—argue with you,” he allowed. “Which brings me back to my point—one I must get to before some else comes inside. I would have asked you, if I had dared, properly after the Sunday night hymn singing, but I am not a young man anymore.”
Mary tried avoiding the subject. “You would come to the hymn singings again?”
“I could bring myself, for your sake, to go again,” he managed. “Let me say, though—right up front like I did the other day—that Josiah Beiler is not a wise man. I will say no more on the subject. The Lord’s will is clear to me. Would you maybe allow me to drive you home some Sunday evening? Not this Sunday evening, of course, but sometime in the future, after you have thought on the matter, and prayed—”
“I don’t know.” Mary hesitated. “I really don’t. This is not in my plans at all.”
He studied her again, and Mary hurried on. “But I guess I know what you are going to say. Josiah Beiler was in my plans, and look how that turned out. Maybe I should submit to the Lord’s will, if this is the Lord’s will.”
“You say it, and how well you do say it!” He nodded for emphasis. “You see my thinking as plain as day.”
“I don’t know, Stephen,” Mary repeated. “This is—”
“The Lord’s will,” he said. “I have seen this plainly, as if the sun came up in the morning while I was looking at the sky.”
His choice of words was always odd. The man needed help, but Mary couldn’t say that. Maybe she should help him, though. That was the least she could offer, since there wasn’t anything better going on in her life at the moment when it came to Amish men.
“I don’t love you, Stephen,” she began. “I doubt if I ever will, not in the way you mean—but if you want, we can talk about this…some Sunday evening. I would be willing.”
Astonishment filled his face. “You don’t need a moment to pray about this?”
Mary’s smile was thin. “Perhaps this is the Lord’s doing, as you say. His grace on both of us? I can help you, and you can give me something to do.”
“You are sure, you really are, about this?”
“I am not sure about anything, Stephen, and I don’t think you fully understand me, but I will let you drive me home on Sunday evening, and we can talk. Is that goot enough?”
“Thank you. I do not understand, as you say, but I do at times see the Lord’s ways when He is working. This is one of those times, I am sure, Mary. As the wise Solomon said, who can know the ways of a man with a maid, like a serpent on a rock—”
“I know the verse,” Mary interrupted.
He seemed not to hear. “The words, those great and mighty words, touched my soul deeply when I read them the other day. I watched a serpent, a great long one, climb a rock once, and I understood a little of the wonder of it, and the Lord’s work—but not much. I am not Josiah Beiler, Mary.”
“Maybe that is something for which I can give thanks.”
He appeared puzzled. “You have a fast tongue, not unlike your sister. But I do not criticize. I wouldn’t dare. Who could complain when the Lord is in the matter? I really can’t. Not me. I am a man of slow words. But thank you. You are a woman who sees the Lord’s ways.” A tear tricked down his cheek, and he glanced heavenward. “May the will of the Lord, His great and mighty will, be done.”
Stephen retreated, and she followed him to open the door. He stepped out into the falling snow without a backward glance. Mary leaned against the door frame and trembled. Had she just agreed to a date with Stephen Overholt? Betsy would be furious.
Mary didn’t love the man. She had made that clear, but Stephen had not understood. What boldness had possessed her to think she could help him? Maybe this was the Lord’s way to open a door into a different kind of love—one without pounding hearts and swooning—but she doubted that.
Could she fall in love with Stephen? Betsy would say her sister was running away from Willard Gabert, but Mary was not going there. She was interested in Willard’s mission in Kenya, but he was still an Englisha man, and she was still an Amish woman. Both of them were fully dedicated to their own causes. Willard’s handsome face drifted into her mind. Mary found a piece of paper and began to write furiously.
He faces out into the storm with fearless eye.
He touches hurting hearts with tender hand.
Brave he is, and bold of soul,
This man who stands and snatches from the street,
The bruised and broken, tossed aside,
The rough, the weary, lost from heaven’s light.
He casts on earth the shine of stars,
The breath of heaven from the skies.
He is a man so loved by God.
So near, so close, so precious in His sight.
Like a ship that makes her way toward land.
Like an eagle searching in the sky.
His face is set against the wind.
But he will triumph. He will win.
He is a man, clothed in might.
A man in love with right.
Mary stared at the paper and almost crumpled it. What foolishness. What dumb words. Willard, with his Englisha education, would think her mad, but he had asked to see her poems. So why not share them? Maybe if some man like Willard laughed at her poems, she would want to stop writing them.
Mary paced the empty store and began to wrap things up for the night. The clock still read fifteen minutes till closing time, but she was ready to leave. She could start out, and Willard would cross her path on the way down from his grandmother’s place—if he came. Maybe the man had already forgotten about her. He must have a thousand better things to do besides driving an Amish woman around.
Mary stuck the piece of paper in her pocket and hurried out the door. She was turning the lock when Willard drove into the parking lot.
“Leaving early?” he teased from the rolled down car window.
“It’s storming,” she retorted.
He hopped out to open the car door. “I warned you.”
“I can walk home.”
“Or I can drive you.” His grin filled his face.
Mary sighed. She climbed in, and he raced around to the other side. He settled on the seat and glanced at her. “I didn’t want to mi
ss any poems.”
“You must be very bored sitting around your grandmother’s house.”
His smile grew. “Actually, I have another talk tonight in Little Falls that needed preparation, and there were emails to answer from Kenya.”
“Trouble while you’ve been gone?” Concern flickered on her face.
“Just the usual, but nothing that Ean and Daisy can’t handle. They’re very capable people.”
“Your staff?”
“They are filling in for me,” he said. “And they might stay awhile after I return if everything works out.”
“I see,” she said. She didn’t see, but this was none of her business. “I still would like to help with Kenya somehow. Have you thought of anything I could do?”
His eyes twinkled. “I did run the idea past Ean and Daisy. We can’t really hand out gifts to the boys on the streets because they might trade them for glue, but we could use items at our mission center. Blankets and quilts maybe?” He wrinkled his face. “Amish quilts are expensive, though, and these are street boys. We certainly can’t afford them on our budget, and they would seem a little overdone for the place they would be going. Even simple, plain blankets would be luxuries to these boys.”
“They deserve the best!” Mary declared. “I’ll see what I can do. Can we make contact through your grandmother once I have some items?”
“Or me if I’m still around.”
“Okay then.” She didn’t look at him as they navigated the streets out of town.
“Back to your poems,” he said. “I don’t want to wait in suspense until tomorrow.”
Who said anything about seeing you again tomorrow? she almost said. Mary bowed her head. “I don’t know. I have never shown one of my poems to a man.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Not even the mystery man who married your friend?”
Her silence was answer enough.
He winced. “I’m sorry, but I’m also honored.”
“Susie wasn’t my best friend,” she muttered, but it didn’t matter from the look on his face.
“I really do want to hear one of your poems.”
“Okay.” She gave in with a pounding heart. She could barely breathe. She took the poem from her pocket, and the words swum in front of her eyes. She began to read, “He faces out into the storm with fearless eye…”
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