Andrew

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  “Like what?”

  “Ach, vell. When you say things like Jesus died for your sins and that we are all sinners, it makes me rethink justice and mercy. I tend to want justice.”

  “We all want justice for everyone else and mercy for ourselves.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Andrew said, eyeing her in mock annoyance. “Now you’re trying to change how I feel about mercy. It’s wonderful irritating.”

  “I’m glad your comfort zone is teetering.”

  “Teetering? It’s toppled over.” He glanced down. “You’re limping. Does your toe still hurt?”

  “Everything hurts. My feet are killing me.”

  He motioned to a small rise of ground next to the stream. “Do you want to sit?”

  She wanted to sit more than anything and not just because her feet throbbed with every step she took. She feared it would feel very nice to sit next to Andrew. “I won’t be able to get back up.”

  “I can help you.”

  “Okay, but I’m getting heavier by the minute.”

  “I have muscles.”

  “I can see that,” she said. He took her arm and helped her lower herself to the ground. This was a bad idea. Her hinnerdale was going to fall asleep.

  Andrew sat next to her, maybe a little too close, but she wasn’t planning on ever falling in love with anyone again, so what could it hurt? “What did I do wrong? With Treva,” he said.

  She leaned back on her hands and unfolded her legs out in front of her. “You did everything wrong, Andrew, but it isn’t your fault. It isn’t Treva’s fault either. We can’t expect her to behave in a way she doesn’t understand.”

  “She should understand Christian charity.”

  “All she feels is Christian indignation.” Mary stared at her toes. “Treva is one of the reasons I jumped the fence. Vell, Treva and the others like her.”

  “She was mean to you?”

  “Nae. I was turning into her.”

  “I don’t think that would have happened. You’re nothing like Treva.”

  Mary sat up straight and clasped her hands together. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you had a choice. We all choose how we’re going to behave.”

  “Nae, Andrew, I left because I didn’t have a choice.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You were kidnapped?”

  She giggled even though he hadn’t meant it to be funny. Sometimes she longed to go back to that innocence. “They teach us in gmay that we must choose baptism or we will go to hell. But if there is no choice to say no, it’s not really a choice.”

  “Of course you had a choice. You chose not to be baptized.”

  “Can you listen without arguing?”

  The irritation crept back onto his face. “If I don’t argue, you’re going to try to knock me out of my comfort zone again.”

  “I’m not going to try to convince you of anything. That’s what you did to Treva, and it didn’t go well.”

  “Okay then.” He rested his hands on his knees and studied her face as if he really wanted to hear what she had to say, without arguing.

  She paused to make sure he wasn’t going to interrupt her again. “What choices does a seventeen-year-old Amish girl have? She lives at home with no money of her own. She can choose to find a job, a tedious one, but if she wants to work for an Englischer, her parents discourage it. If she doesn’t listen to her parents, she’s naughty and rebellious and gets a stern talking-to from her fater, warning her that hell awaits troublesome daughters. She goes to gmay and gatherings, and she’s expected to behave well so that one of those boring boys will ask if he can drive her home one night. She feels trapped and small and desperate because choosing to leave will only take her to hell. What kind of a choice is that?”

  “I don’t want to argue, but I can’t believe that every Amish girl feels this way.”

  “Of course they don’t. Most Amish girls look forward to this life, and they’re very happy. Bitsy’s nieces are so happy, I’m surprised they don’t float everywhere they go. Your mamm is happy, isn’t she?”

  “Jah. Of course. Frustrated but happy.”

  “Most girls are pleased to let their parents map out their lives for them. Many girls never long for a life outside the community. But I did. That’s why I felt so out of place, so disobedient. I prayed over and over again that Gotte would root this evil spirit from my breast, but He never did. I thought it was because I was too wicked for Him to take notice of me. But now I think it was His will that I leave.”

  “Leaving is never Gotte’s will,” Andrew said, before remembering himself and clamping his mouth shut.

  Mary smiled. He was trying so very hard. “Never is a very long time and a very harsh sentence to pronounce on a seventeen-year-old girl.” She sighed. “Sin is not Gotte’s will, but leaving was not a sin.”

  He thought about that for a minute. “You are right.”

  “Gotte knew what was in my heart. With no real choices, I was in prison. I couldn’t do it. I had to get out. If there is no choice to say no, it isn’t really a choice. Saying no to the Plain life was the first real decision I ever made, my first real choice. And Gotte wanted me to make it so He could teach me that I truly did have a choice and He loved me no matter what choice I made.”

  “But think of all the people you hurt.”

  “Choices have consequences. Good and bad choices. Good and bad consequences. Gotte wanted me to learn that too. But fear of consequences should never keep you from making a hard choice.” Should she mention that little chair at the auction? What had Alfie said? He doesn’t want Mamm and Dat to know about it. Rebecca was passionate about peanut butter. Andrew was grappling with some choices of his own.

  “How did you meet Josh?” he said, stiffening at the very mention of the boyfriend.

  Mary gave Andrew a reassuring smile. It probably took a lot of nerve to ask about Josh. “Josh lived in Shawano, and he came to our produce stand every week one summer. The next summer, he came two or three times a week and then in August every day. Mamm and Dat didn’t know, and maybe they wouldn’t have cared. I was a wonderful obedient daughter. They didn’t think they had a reason to worry. One day Josh bought all our produce just so I could get away early and he could take me to the lake.” It had been a very romantic gesture. Mary had lapped up his attention like a hungry cat licked spilled milk from the floor.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Did you love him?”

  Mary frowned. “I think it was love. Josh was handsome and exciting and Englisch, and to a girl like me, he was the freedom I longed for. It’s hard to say whether I loved Josh or the possibilities I saw when I looked at him.”

  “So you ran away with him.”

  “Maybe I should have insisted he marry me. I don’t know. I would have had fewer sins to repent of, but now I can only thank Derr Herr that I didn’t marry him. What a mess that would have been, at least that’s what Bitsy says.”

  “You went to Green Bay,” Andrew said.

  She nodded. “Josh’s stepmother and his dad are divorced, but his stepmother adores him.”

  “You said you were happy. Why did you come back?”

  She bit her upper lip. She wasn’t going to tell him the whole, horrible truth. He wasn’t ready for it. “I wanted to come home to have my buplie, surrounded by family and people who love me.” She looked down at her hands. “It didn’t quite work out the way I planned.”

  “But Bitsy loves you,” he said, twining his warm fingers with hers. Her heart thumped against her chest like the bass drum in a rock band. “You know she’ll cherish that buplie like one of her own.” He traced the veins on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I thank Derr Herr every day for Bitsy Weaver.”

  “You do?” she said, a little too breathlessly.

  “Because she took you in when no one else would. I’m sorry for that.”

  She pulled her hand from his. No good would come of holding hands with Andrew Petersheim. But she smile
d at him so maybe his feelings wouldn’t be hurt. “Ach, vell, I wouldn’t have come to your house. I hardly know you.”

  “But I wouldn’t have welcomed you if you had, and that is my shame.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t wonder that your mamm might have let me stay yet. Benji says she takes in all kinds of strays.”

  Andrew chuckled. “I don’t know whose mamm Benji is talking about, but my mamm would sooner shoot a stray than feed it. But you’re right. My mamm would have welcomed you. She takes care of Mammi and Dawdi even though Mammi drives her crazy. But she might make you sleep in the cellar with the twins.”

  Mary shaped her lips into a sympathetic O. “The poor things. They must hate it.”

  “Nae, they think it’s an adventure, like camping out every night.”

  “Camping doesn’t sound fun to me, but I’m not an eight-year-old boy.” Mary tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let the fading sun warm her face. “Denki for defending me back there.”

  “Even if I made things worse?”

  “Even then. I was ungracious before. What you did was wonderful kind.”

  “I made Treva cry, Ada gave me a dirty look, and now Treva hates both of us. Was it kind or stupid?”

  Mary laughed. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  * * *

  Andrew wished Mary hadn’t made him sorry about what he’d said to Treva. Now he’d have to apologize, and the thought of telling Treva Nelson he was sorry was almost more than he could bear.

  He had been standing in line with his family when he saw Treva and Ada hovering behind Mary as if readying for an attack. He’d cut in line just so he could overhear what Treva was saying to Mary. He hadn’t heard everything, but he had heard enough to get his blood boiling. Every nerve seemed to catch fire at the thought of Treva mistreating Mary. He wouldn’t stand for it.

  At the gathering he had worried what his friends would think of him when they saw him talking to Mary. He thought he was being so courageous, so benevolent when he followed Mary into the house and got her a glass of water, but if he had truly been brave and truly a follower of Jesus, he would have shown a good example and helped Mary into the house, not caring what other people thought of him—only caring that he was behaving like a Christian.

  And he’d just messed up again. How would Treva learn to treat Mary kindly when Andrew showed Treva nothing but disdain?

  He didn’t know what to do. The thought of people treating Mary poorly was unbearable, but he shouldn’t have made Treva cry. Like Mary said, he’d only made it worse. The only reason he didn’t jump up immediately and seek Treva out to offer an apology was because he was sitting next to Mary. A team of horses couldn’t have pulled him away.

  Mary kicked off her flip-flops and curled her toes around the short grass beneath her feet, favoring her right foot and her injured toe. Her ankles were swollen and her face carried the puffiness of a woman who was going to have a baby, but Andrew couldn’t imagine that Mary could get more beautiful. She glowed as if lit from within by her own propane lantern. Was it this way with all women about to give birth? Was there anything closer to Gotte than bringing a child into the world? No wonder she looked like an angel.

  The urge to kiss her seized him like a trap with razor-sharp teeth. He clamped his fingers around a clump of grass and held his breath.

  Kiss her? He couldn’t kiss her. Couples weren’t supposed to kiss until they got married. The bishop made that clear with die youngie. Of course, everybody knew that everybody broke the rule, and if there was no choice to say yes, was it really a choice? He ripped the grass from the ground with all the force of his restraint. Her lips were so full, and she was so sweet. He was pretty sure kissing her would feel like heaven. Especially since Mary was an angel.

  Andrew leaned closer to see if he could tell if Mary might be thinking the same thing. She had pulled her hand away from him earlier, but maybe that was just to steady herself on the grass. She was a little unsteady in general.

  Before he got too close, a terrifying thought made him lean back. Mary had already been kissed by Josh, probably a thousand times. She’d be disappointed. Maybe she’d be repulsed. Maybe she’d be irritated.

  He wouldn’t measure up.

  Ach. He didn’t know anything, and she was a girl who already knew how to make a baby. Ach, du lieva. Heat traveled up his neck, over his face, and clear to his scalp.

  Mary smiled at him as if she didn’t notice that his cheeks were about to catch fire. “I should get back. And you should apologize to Treva.”

  Jah, he should apologize, but he was looking forward to it like a trip to the dentist. “Do you have to go? Treva seemed eager to serve the rice for you.”

  “That’s why I have to go back. I can’t let any of them think they’ve humiliated me. They’ll think they have power over me that they don’t.”

  “You know,” Andrew said, daring to wink at her, “I could refuse to help you up and then you wouldn’t be able to go back.”

  Mary puckered her lips and raised an eyebrow, giving him a pretty good idea of what she thought of that suggestion. Her face made him chuckle. “I can always roll onto my hands and knees and crawl to the canopy. That wouldn’t be humiliating at all.”

  “Andrew, Andrew!” someone screamed from behind them. Andrew turned, then stood when he saw who was calling him. Benji ran toward him at full speed with a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck and a . . . cell phone? . . . in his hand. Before Andrew could react, Benji crashed into him as if he were a football player trying to stop the entire opposing team. “Alfie is stuck in the shed.”

  Andrew braced Benji by the shoulders and gave him a severe frown. “What’s he doing in the shed?” Those boys could find trouble without a map.

  Benji scrunched up his face as if he was going to cry. “He was supposed to come out but the door got stuck. He’s knocking and knocking and can’t get out.”

  Andrew glanced at Mary, who seemed more amused than concerned. She loved his little brothers. Andrew was ready to give them the spatula. “Okay, show me where this shed is.”

  Benji erupted into a sob, raw and definitely real. “He already lit the smoke bomb.”

  Andrew’s heart jumped twenty feet into the air. “He lit a smoke bomb?”

  “It’s orange.”

  Andrew swiftly pulled Mary to her feet, hoping he hadn’t injured her in his haste. “Show me, Benji. Hurry.”

  Benji took off like a bullet from a rifle, and Andrew followed, easily keeping up with his long strides. He didn’t wait for Mary, didn’t even stop to explain why. She understood. He saw the smoke before he saw the shed, though at first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. The billows rising into the air were bright orange, like a burning pumpkin.

  Benji led him to an old gray shed standing against the wall of the equally gray barn, and there was definitely a smoke bomb. Thick orange smoke poured from under the door like a river of boiling apricot jam. Andrew thought he might be sick when he heard Alfie pounding on the door trying to get out. Alfie and Benji had already shaved a decade off his life, and Alfie was stuck in that shed.

  Andrew didn’t stop running until he reached the door of the shed and tried to yank it open. It was stuck tight. “Alfie,” he yelled, “did you lock it from the inside?”

  Alfie coughed and sputtered, the sound muted behind the door. “That’s stupid. Nobody puts a lock on the inside of a shed.”

  Well, at least he didn’t seem to care that he was in big trouble. Andrew growled as he yanked the door again. “Is there something blocking the door?” He realized that was also a stupid question the minute he asked it. The shed door was the kind that swung out instead of in.

  The orange smoke scampered around Andrew’s ankles and curled up his legs. He could taste a hint of it on his tongue, and the sharp smell stung his nose and eyes. Once again Andrew didn’t know whether to be ferociously angry or hopelessly panicked. He couldn’t give in to either emotion if he was
going to keep his head.

  “How did it get stuck, Benji?”

  “I don’t know. He shut it real hard.”

  The shed door might have slammed tight when Alfie went inside, but it was unlikely there was a lock on the other side. It must have been wedged shut, nothing more. Andrew clamped both hands around the door handle, braced his feet, and pulled with all his might. The door snapped open like a flag caught in the wind. A wall of orange smoke met Andrew along with Alfie, who threw his arms around Andrew and squeezed tight.

  Andrew half led, half carried Alfie away from the smoke, which had almost already completely evaporated into the sky. With nothing to confine it, it was gone like a bad dream. Alfie coughed and squinted into the bright sun. “Well, that was stupid,” he said.

  Yes, it was.

  Andrew wanted to spank him.

  Something was still smoking. Grayish white smoke slowly curled out of the doorway. Andrew stepped into the shed. On the dirt floor next to the smoke bomb canister, a piece of newspaper was on fire. The smoke bomb must have gotten just hot enough to spark the paper. Andrew put the fire out with two stamps of his shoe and kicked the canister out of the shed.

  A smoke bomb was one thing, but a real fire? Alfie could have gotten badly burned. He deserved any punishment Mamm could mete out. “Alfie,” Andrew growled, holding up the half-charred piece of newspaper. “Look what you did.”

  Alfie frowned in puzzlement. “It’s just a little piece of paper.”

  Benji hooked his arm around Alfie’s shoulder. “Are you okay? It made really gute smoke.”

  Alfie’s face was covered with a fine layer of orange dust and his already filthy shirt looked as if he’d been rolling in orange mud with the pigs. It was what a carrot would have looked like if it were an eight-year-old boy.

  After making sure that Alfie could breathe and walk and see straight, Andrew squeezed Alfie’s shoulder just tight enough so Alfie would know he meant business but didn’t necessarily want to kill him. “What were you doing with a smoke bomb?”

  Alfie brushed off his sleeve, which didn’t remove one speck of dust, and grinned at Andrew. His teeth looked extra white against his orange skin. “Did you see the orange? Wasn’t that cool?”