She read a line from Jane Austen’s book: Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable than he was. She wanted to be amiable for Ephraim’s sake, to make him respected again in the community. To make him happier with her than he would have been with Anna Mary or any other woman.
As she skimmed some of the pages, she knew that everything that drew her to music, or to anything else not allowed by her future husband’s people, could be found inside books. And she sensed that she might be able to let go of longing for non-Amish things. “I … I want to be able to commit to the Amish faith by springtime. I do.”
Deborah smiled and embraced her. “My Daed always says that wanting to make the needed sacrifices and actually doing it is the main difference between those who have peace later in life and those who die in their regrets.”
After she’d opened the book yesterday, she’d been unable to look at Ephraim without tears welling in her eyes. When she’d first thought about joining the faith, she had no idea that giving up music would be so hard. But in ways she hadn’t realized, music had comforted her throughout her loneliest years in foster care. At fifteen, when she became a dancer at a bar, it’d been her first taste of having power over her circumstances. Her very pulse seemed to carry the beat of music, and it pulled on her so much more than the addiction she’d had for cigarettes. And yet her future husband had stumbled onto something that eased her craving.
Didn’t books carry the many rhythms heard in music? Didn’t the words inside a story stir the soul like a song? Books were not forbidden, and Ephraim had given her a way to be herself and yet live inside the boundaries placed around the faith.
He hadn’t known what his gift would do for her, but now she wished to give him a gift that touched his heart just as much. She’d given him a few gifts yesterday—two new shirts she’d sewn for him, his favorite meal for Christmas lunch, and a card listing why she loved him. He’d seemed really touched by those gifts, but what else could she give that would do for him what he’d done for her?
Deborah pulled on her boots. “Ephraim will be here soon. If you want to get that special breakfast made, you’d better get moving.”
Cara gently closed her book and set it back on the dresser. “Will Jonathan be here for breakfast?”
Lacing her boots, Deborah grimaced. “He’s spending today with his family.”
“The whole day?”
“Ya.”
“Did you two ever talk things out?”
She tied a knot in the shoelaces. “No. I’ve decided he’s right. Why force a talk about who we are and what I want from our relationship if I don’t know how I feel or what I want? It’s like backing myself into a corner to make a decision when I don’t have to do that right now.”
“Sounds wise to me.”
“Ya, that’s sort of what Ephraim did with you, isn’t it?”
“Very much, only he had the added pressure of not knowing if I’d ever come to believe in God or be willing to join the Amish faith.”
“He knew what he wanted, but he gave you room until you knew what you wanted. I really admired that. Mahlon never did that on any topic. He always encouraged me to believe about him what he wanted me to believe.”
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever admitted a flaw in Mahlon.”
“It feels wrong to compare him with anyone.”
“But doesn’t comparing mean we’re thinking? Otherwise aren’t we just accepting whatever others want us to believe?”
“So you think I need to assess the differences between Jonathan and Mahlon?”
“It’s healthy, Deb. If we’re not free to figure out the differences between men, aren’t we judging them to all be alike?”
“One thing I’ve learned this year: men are not all alike.”
Cara chuckled. “They are as different as fool’s gold and twenty-four-karat gold. That’s a valuable lesson to learn before you choose someone to marry.”
“Mom!” The sounds of Lori stomping up the steps vibrated the antique doorknob.
Cara opened the door. “In here.”
“Mom!” Lori hollered, sounding really miffed. Cara moved to the landing.
Lori’s hands were on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“You know what, Mom!” Lori’s eyes filled with tears. Whatever Cara had done wrong this time had her daughter really angry.
The sounds of the front door opening caught her attention. Ephraim walked in. He smiled at Cara before glancing at Lori, who stood on the stairway with her back to him. “I shoulda been told!” Lori screamed. “I don’t want that stupid old bike if it’s not allowed.”
“Oh.” Cara’s heart sank. “Okay.”
Lori folded her arms, staring at Cara with huge tears in her eyes.
Ada stood at the bottom of the stairs. “I … I didn’t mean to mention anything about bicycles. We were talking about the types of toys other Amish children got for Christmas, and when she asked why no one got a bike, I answered without thinking. I’m really sorry, Cara.”
“It’s okay, Ada.”
“You ruined everything, Mom! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Lori.” Ephraim’s quiet tone caught Lori’s attention. “You’ll say your piece with respect or not at all.”
Lori burst into tears, ran up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door.
Trying to hide her embarrassment, Cara rolled her eyes. “I’m a horrible mother, I guess.” She shrugged. “Merry Second Christmas, Ephraim.”
“Ada. Deborah.” He nodded at each one. Looking a little unsure of what he’d walked into, he climbed the steps. “Frehlich Zwedde Grischtdaag, Cara.” He moved in closer, and Cara’s heart pounded.
Deborah cleared her throat and hurried downstairs.
Ephraim studied Cara. “Hi.”
“I guess I really messed up again.”
Ephraim’s eyes moved over her. “Blue is a good color on you.”
“I should have told her about the bike.”
He caressed her cheek. “Do you know how much I enjoyed yesterday?”
It’d been the best Christmas that Cara had ever had. It made it perfect to know it’d been memorable for him too. The warmth of his hand didn’t compare to what he did to her heart. When he kissed her, she’d never felt so secure or loved.
He rested his forehead on hers. “That’s a much better greeting.”
She liked that he didn’t let Lori’s outburst rattle him. “She’ll make a better Amish member than I will.”
“If that’s supposed to be a fair warning, I’ll tell you again—I don’t care that you’re not Amish through and through. Our way of life comes easier for her. My guess is, when she’s a teen and in her rumschpringe, she’ll never waver in wanting to live Amish.”
Propping one hand on her hip, Cara pulled back. “And you think I do?”
Ephraim’s gorgeous gray-blue eyes revealed little emotion. “The thought has crossed my mind.”
The door to Lori’s bedroom creaked.
Cara looked around Ephraim to see her daughter peeking through the crack. “You want to talk?”
Keeping the door open just a little, Lori put her lips on the crack. “You shoulda told me.”
“I didn’t know, not until after we’d brought home the bike.”
She opened the door a little more. “I don’t want to fight.”
Cara motioned for her. Lori ran to her and wrapped her arms around Cara’s waist. “You mad at me?”
“No, Lorabean, I’m not.”
“I like my bike, Mom.”
Cara knelt. “I know. Me too.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know, kiddo. What do you want to do?”
Lori looked at Ephraim and back to her mom and shrugged. “I guess I want to do the right thing.”
Cara held her daughter, enjoying the feel of her little arms wrapped around her neck. “Okay. We will. But f
or now you go on down and give Ada a hug.”
Lori nodded. She went to Ephraim. He picked her up and hugged her.
Lori pointed downstairs. “I made you something on the sewing machine you gave me for Christmas. Mom helped me learn how to work the foot pedal by myself.”
He kissed her cheek. “You two can do anything you set your minds to. But you can’t keep getting mad at your mom when she’s doing her best. You don’t want her getting mad at you when you’re trying but you don’t get it right, do you?”
While still in Ephraim’s arms, Lori studied her mom. “Nee.”
“Gut. Bischt hungerich?”
“Ya.”
“Geh, ess.” He set Lori’s feet on the floor, and she scurried down the steps.
Cara straightened her dress. She didn’t know exactly what they’d said, but it was something about eating. She went into Lori’s room and made her bed. Ephraim leaned against the doorframe.
“Four of my siblings got new scooters for Christmas. I bought one for Lori a few weeks ago. If you’d like to give that to her for Second Christmas, you can.”
Cara placed Lori’s favorite book on the nightstand. Shoo-Fly Girl.
She should be grateful Ephraim had bought a scooter to make up for her blunder, but she wasn’t. She wanted to be the one to give Lori a really special riding toy. Instead she’d done something out of ignorance and needed her daughter’s forgiveness. She’d hoped to make a lasting memory together—and she had, but not at all the one she’d planned.
Ephraim slid one hand into his pants pocket. “Your aunt Emma came by last night after I arrived home. She wanted me to let you know they were saving a place for the three of us at dinner. I got the impression she’d invited us earlier.”
Startled, Cara tried to piece together the last conversation she’d had with Emma. “I remember her talking to me one night during Elsie’s viewing. We were washing dishes at Grey’s. But between her tossing in a few Pennsylvania Dutch words and all the commotion, I didn’t catch enough words to know what she was talking about.” She started out of the room.
Ephraim stood his ground, blocking the doorway. He studied her. “Does Lori know she has relatives in Dry Lake?”
She clicked her tongue and huffed.
“What?” Ephraim stood up straight.
“Nothing.” She whisked past him and started down the stairs.
He put his hand on her arm. “There is too something. I know it. You know it. I just don’t know what it is.”
She didn’t like standing two steps below him, so she pulled free of his hand and moved back to the landing. “You’re patient and kind, and, God is my witness, I never knew good men like you existed, so I should probably keep my mouth shut and behave like a sweet Amish fiancée.”
“Do us both a favor and don’t.”
“Okay, fine. No matter how much I change, it’s never enough. Just this morning I began feeling like I could give up music. There is no way you could ever know how huge that is. And now you want me to care about people as if they’re real family.”
“They are real family, Cara.”
“No, they are strangers that I’ve met—ones who left me stranded as a child in a bus station. It took years to give up believing in the people I kept hoping would show up for me, so don’t be surprised if it takes years to learn how to let them into my life. I’ve told you before that I stopped accepting crumbs from tables long, long ago.”
“They aren’t offering crumbs.”
She bit her tongue to keep curse words from slipping out. “Yes, they are. Their own children are grown, meaning time is easier to come by these days. Then I showed up in their driveway months ago and challenged them concerning their decisions. Now they want me to visit and hang out? And you’re pushing me for them.”
“I just asked if Lori knew she had relatives.”
“Ephraim.” She elongated his name with deep frustration. “Give me a break. Man alive, you don’t bully, but you let your will be known.”
“And so do you, Cara.” His raised voice rattled through the old homestead. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Look, I understand you—where you’re coming from, how and why you feel the way you do—but that doesn’t keep me from having opinions of what I think you should do next. If I’m wanting too much to happen too soon, I have no doubt you’ll say so.” He angled his head, a touch of humor reflecting in his eyes. “And sometimes, like today, you can even tell me without cursing.”
Cara shook her head, wondering how she could start an argument with someone she loved so completely. “I haven’t told her.”
“I figured.”
“Yeah, but you just had to ask anyway, didn’t you?”
“Okay, so you’re right. It was more than just a question, but I’m trying, Cara.”
She rested against the wall, wondering if she’d ever be all that he deserved. “Me too.”
“I know.” He moved in close, placing one hand on the wall beside her.
“Why is it so stinking important that I connect with my so-called family?”
He shrugged. “It’s not important.”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Ephraim Mast. It’s very important to you. I just don’t know what it is.”
His gentle smile warmed her. “You won’t like it.”
“I’ll survive. Say it, rich boy.”
“Uprooting is in your blood. You began running at fifteen, and sometimes I … I’m concerned you haven’t really stopped yet, only paused.”
“And you think aunts and uncles that I barely know the names of and cousins I don’t know at all have the power to change me?”
“Family has a way of causing roots to grow.”
“That can be true, but we also know family can cause a person to put on her running shoes. Look at it that way, and you’ll be fine.”
He lifted her chin and kissed her. “If you stay, we stay. If you leave, we leave.”
Her heart turned a flip. He wasn’t talking about whether they’d stay at Ada’s today or visit her relatives. He meant her joining the faith … or not.
The confidence in his eyes and mannerisms didn’t fade. “Right?”
“I told you that I’ll join the faith.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and stepped back before motioning for her to go downstairs ahead of him.
His insinuation of doubt had her heart pounding. Was she just having a reasonable amount of trouble adjusting to the Amish ways or was she wavering?
Twenty-Two
Lena wrote the date on the chalkboard, her steady hand drawing long loops out of Monday, January 8. A decade ago, on this same date, Allen had fallen from the barn loft and broken his ankle. The image of looking out the window and seeing Grey fight snowdrifts as he carried her brother to the Kauffman house still remained vivid. He seemed so strong that day.
She shouldn’t be thinking of him, not like this. He stirred her, and she dared to wonder if one day, maybe a year or two from now, he might consider her. She’d witnessed a lot of single men in her days, and not one of them compared to Grey’s quality. And so handsome. He didn’t seem to mind her birthmark, and clearly she had the power to make him smile again. So maybe.
She faced her students in first through fourth grades. “Who can tell me what number could replace the word January and means the same thing?”
Elmer held up his hand. Lena pointed to him.
“The number one.”
“Good.” She began writing the different months of the year on the board in random order. With her peripheral view, she could see Peter studying the board. She’d given the older students a different assignment, but he learned best when simply observing the younger ones. She’d used this method a lot without him having a clue. “If we can use the number one in place of the word January, what number would we use for the month of June?”
No one answered, but Peter appeared to be thinking.
“If January is number one …,” Lena said.
“Jun
e is the sixth month,” Peter scoffed.
“Exactly.” Lena smiled at him briefly. His mocking tone didn’t bother her. He used it as a cover. But his lethargic ways did trouble her. He seemed tired all the time and rarely ate. “Scholars, when you’ve written the name of the month and its corresponding number beside it, please take it to my desk. Peter, would you sit at my desk and check the papers?”
Without even rolling his eyes, Peter moved to her desk. She went to him. Glad for a moment to talk to him quietly where no one else could hear them, she gave him a red pencil. “Lots of smiley faces. Focus on what they get right, and gently correct what they’ve gotten wrong.”
Peter took the pencil from her. “If I have everyone getting this right by the end of today, can I have five points added to my last math test?”
The young man confused her. On one hand he cared about nothing. On the other a few points added to a test actually mattered. “That’s too much unfair pressure for you and them. You’re working with first graders also. Some of them have yet to fully grasp the concept of the twelve months of the year. But if you have the second, third, and fourth graders able to accomplish the goal by Friday, I’ll absolutely give you those points.”
His stone face reflected little, but he nodded.
Lena hesitated. “If you need anything, you can talk to me, or I can contact my friend Samantha for you.”
Peter stared at the pencil in his hand. “Not everyone gives smiley faces or cares what a person got right, only what they got wrong.”
“We can’t live based on naysayers, Peter. We all have value and the right to find as much peace with ourselves and our flaws and weaknesses as possible. Why would forgiveness be so important to God if we didn’t need it all the time? He knew we would need it from Him, but also from us for ourselves and for others. When we get peace with our weakest areas, we’ll find new ways to build on our strongest areas.”
Peter shrugged, but he seemed to like what she’d said.
The day flew by, and soon Lena stood outside the schoolhouse saying good-bye to her students. With freezing temperatures and high winds, she hadn’t been a bit surprised when a parent, neighbor, or relative came to pick up every scholar. Once they were gone, she went back into the classroom and began grading papers. On nice days she took the work with her, but on days like today when she had a roaring fire in the potbelly stove, she liked to hang around until she could bank the embers. Not only did that make leaving less of a fire hazard, but it also made the room warmer in the morning and starting a fire much easier.
The Bridge of Peace Page 18