Amish Faith: An Amish Christian Romance

by Sarah Price

  If the outside of the house looked the same, the inside, however, appeared completely different. For a moment, Faith could only stand in the kitchen doorway and look around at the disaster that greeted her. Dirty dishes in the sink. Toys scattered on the floor. A table covered with papers and plates. There were clothes on the sofa. Faith couldn’t tell if these were dirty or clean. The floor needed to be swept. No, Faith corrected herself. Washed and scrubbed and washed again. Gone was the pristine kitchen from Rebecca’s days with freshly waxed linoleum floors and shiny cherry cabinets. In its place was what Faith could only describe as a pigsty.

  “What happened here?” Faith heard herself ask.

  Anna exhaled and lifted up her hands, a gesture of defeat. “Can’t do it all, I reckon.”

  No, indeed, Faith thought.

  “Well,” Faith finally said when she collected herself from the shock of seeing the house in such disarray. “Then I guess we best catch up with each other while tending to this kitchen. What do you say, Anna?”

  It took almost three hours to clean up the mess that had greeted her. However, working alongside Anna had been the right thing to do. It gave them something to talk about as well as a purpose. It also created an opportunity to bond, to share thoughts and stories. When there was a lull in the conversation, Faith could ask her questions about where plates were stored or where the broom and cleaning supplies were kept. During that time, no one else came into the kitchen and the house remained silent. No noise. No laughter. No voices.

  “Where is everyone?” Faith finally asked. “Where’s the baby?”

  Anna frowned as if trying to think of the correct answer. “Mary, Gideon, Sadie and Benjamin are helping daed with the mowing. Ruthie’s still sleeping.” She paused. “She sleeps a lot.”

  That didn’t sound good. Faith dried her hands on a dishtowel and headed toward the stairs. “She’s upstairs, I suppose? I want to check on her.”

  Slowly, she crept up the stairs, knowing that the baby would most likely be in Anna’s room. Amish children shared rooms and if Anna was designated the primary caregiver to the infant that would be where she slept. On the second floor, everything was quiet. Too quiet. And dark. The shades were drawn, Faith suspected more so because no one bothered to open them rather than for the purpose of keeping the upstairs cool.

  If the kitchen had been bad, the upstairs was worse. Beds were not made. Clothes were not hung up. The second floor bathroom was filthy, a dark ring lining the bathtub. Shuddering, Faith opened doors until she found what she was looking for: the crib.

  A small hand moved, waving in the air in a jerky motion. A noise, soft and sweet. Something in Faith’s heart softened, forgetting her repulsion at the disarray of Rebecca’s house, as she approached the side of the crib and peeked inside. Ruthie was laying on her blankets, her arms in the air and her eyes wide open. It was clear that she had not been sleeping. Yet, she had never cried for attention.

  Reaching down to pick up the small baby, Faith felt overcome with grief at the way Ruthie responded to her touch. For a moment, the baby seemed surprised. Then, she cooed as Faith gently pressed the small body against her shoulder.

  It was clear that Ruthie did not have a lot of attention. Just enough to survive. She wore fresh clothes and her diaper wasn’t wet. But Faith suspected that most of her days were spent in the darkness of Anna’s room while the twelve-year-old struggled to tend to the house chores.

  “Come here, baby girl,” Faith whispered softly, her hand rubbing the infant’s back as she turned to leave the room. “Let’s get you downstairs so you can enjoy the day.”

  Anna looked up when Faith entered the room, the baby Ruthie still pressed against her shoulder. She seemed surprised to see the baby, but she said nothing. “Best be getting the evening meal ready for the others,” she mumbled, looking away.

  The girl’s reaction surprised Faith. Guilt? Resignation? Frowning, Faith carried the baby to the sofa, pushed the now folded clothing to the side and sat down. She stared down at Ruthie, amazed at how pleasant the baby was. Her large blue eyes stared up at Faith and the hint of a smile played on her cherubic lips.

  “She’s grown so much,” Faith said, trying to elicit a response from Anna.

  “I reckon.”

  Faith examined the baby, seeing that the weaker leg, while not as crooked as the day she had been born, was still not as developed as the other one. “Has someone seen her about her leg?”

  Anna shrugged, clearly not interested. “A doctor came to examine her and said it was twisted during birth. He reset it and she was in a cast for a while.”

  That was news. “Will she be able to walk? Did he say?”

  Again, an uninterested shrug followed by a nod. “I reckon. Most likely with a limp, though. It’s shorter than the other one.”

  Disappointed with the lack of interest that Anna had in her baby sister, Faith turned her attention to fussing over Ruthie. Clearly, the resentment was still lingering in the air. After all, it was Rebecca’s love for Ruthie that had changed everyone’s life. Rebecca had chosen Ruthie over the rest of them. “Well, I think she’s beautiful,” Faith gushed and took the infant’s hands in her own, pleased to feel the baby grab them. “Looks like your mamm, don’t you think?”

  “I got to go downstairs,” Anna said, avoiding Faith’s question. “Be right back.”

  Faith watched as the girl disappeared down a doorway that led to the basement. She could hear Anna’s footsteps on the wooden stairs as she descended. Standing alone in the kitchen, Faith looked down at the baby in her arms. Rebecca’s last gift, she thought. Only it appeared that the gift was unappreciated.

  When Anna emerged, she was carrying a jar of chow-chow and a jar of pickled beets. She walked over to the kitchen counter, making a broad sweep past Faith and Ruthie. With a bent head, she set about the task of preparing the evening meal. Faith watched, admiring how Anna moved about her chores with not one complaint, even though she was clearly weary.

  “Is any of your mamm’s family around to help?” Faith heard herself ask. Why would such a close-knit family not be there for the grandchildren? Why would they leave Anna to take on so much responsibility at such a tender age, she thought?

  “Weekends, sometimes,” Anna admitted, setting the plates at different spots on the table. She paused at the place where her mother used to sit and looked up at Faith. “You’ll be staying for supper then?”

  She didn’t want to stay, didn’t want to be around when the family would gather at that table to eat a meal without Rebecca to serve them. It didn’t feel right to be in the house and to share supper with the family without Rebecca. “I don’t want to intrude,” Faith finally said.

  “Nee,” Anna insisted. “Daed will want to see you.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, Faith relented. It was the desperate look in Anna’s eyes. Even if Faith could help with the baby while Anna prepared the meal, it was the least that she could do.

  Shifting the baby in her arm, Faith sat down on the sofa and watched as Anna moved about the kitchen. She resembled Rebecca in her quick, short and precise movements, a solid purpose to each step. It dawned on Faith that, without much help in the house, Anna had taken on the role of mother to the others, quite a burden indeed at only twelve-years of age.

  “How are you managing, Anna?” When Anna paused and looked over her shoulder at Faith, Faith tilted her head and peered back at the young girl. “I mean really managing, not the let’s pretend everything is alright type of managing.”

  The girl exhaled loudly and leaned against the counter. “Oh Faith,” she said, a sob escaping her lips. “I miss Mamm so much and no one will talk about her, no one speaks of her! It’s almost as if she never existed and I just can’t understand that.”

  Faith nodded. She had noticed that trend over the years. Those who died were rarely talked about among the Amish. When Rebecca’s grandparents had died, life continued and the grossdaadihaus was cleaned out, neatly awaiting the years wh
en new occupants would live there. “I miss her, too,” Faith admitted, realizing for the first time how much that was true.

  “What do you mean you’re going away for two weeks?”

  Faith stood in the creek, the cool water gently rushing over her toes. She didn’t like the idea any more than Rebecca did. “I have to go,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “My mother wants me to attend this sleep away Bible camp.”

  Rebecca’s brow wrinkled as she frowned. “I never heard of such a thing! Sending your child away for two weeks!”

  Faith was certain that Rebecca was telling the truth. After all, the Yoder family did everything together. It was very rare for any of them to be apart for more than one day. On a few very special occasions, Rebecca had slept over at Faith’s house. More likely to happen, however, was Faith staying at Rebecca’s. That was what weekends and summer vacations were for, after all.

  “What am I supposed to do for two whole weeks?” Rebecca was pouting. At twelve years old, she was feisty and sassy, still a tomboy in many ways. “That seems like a lousy summer vacation for you.”

  At this comment, Faith laughed. “Oh Rebecca,” she said lightly. “At least I’ll be studying the Bible!”

  Clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes, Rebecca shook her head. “You can study the Bible at home or church. Don’t need to go away for that.”

  Faith smiled, trying to lighten the mood. She hadn’t wanted to tell Rebecca but she knew that she had to share the not-very-good news with her friend. Still, knowing that there was nothing to be done about it, Faith had decided to look on the bright side and try to be positive. “Mother says it will be fun. There will be lots of other Mennonite children there.”

  This comment did even less to appease Rebecca. Her eyes shot open, staring at Faith in horror. “You’ll make new friends!” she gasped. “You might even find a new, bestest friend!”

  And there it was, in all its glory. The truth. Not only would Rebecca miss Faith, but she was worried that Faith would come back with new friends, worldly friends, friends that would replace a simple Amish girl who couldn’t compete with that world.

  Standing before Rebecca, the water from the creek splashing on her ankles, Faith placed her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “No one could ever replace you as my bestest friend,” she said. “Never.”

  Something in Rebecca’s expression softened. Her eyes, which had looked so fearful just seconds before, changed to something different…the look of hope. “Never?”

  “Never ever, ever, Rebecca.” And, in a rare moment of emotion, Rebecca let Faith reach out and hug her, a friendly hug that spoke of the bond between the young Amish girl and her Mennonite friend.

  “Wie gehts?”

  Faith looked up as she heard Manuel’s voice. He walked into the kitchen, peering around the corner to see who was visiting. He must have noticed her car and, most likely, didn’t recognize it as belonging to Faith. When he recognized the young woman sitting on the sofa and holding his infant daughter, Manuel stopped in his tracks, his eyes growing wide.

  “Hello Manuel,” Faith said, suddenly feeling awkward, as if she were invading his privacy. “I promised to stop by and visit with the children,” she said quietly before quickly adding, “And you, of course.”

  “Ja, ja,” he said, his eyes drifting around the kitchen. That, too, gave him a moment of pause as he noticed that, for the first time in a long while, there was cleanliness and order to his home. His hesitation was just long enough to display his discomfort. Clearly, without having to ask, he knew that Faith had seen the mess and been the one who helped Anna clean up. The color drained from his cheeks and he averted his eyes. “Right gut of you to do that,” he said softly. But his reaction told her that he felt otherwise.

  Taking a deep breath, Faith spoke her mind. “Manuel, it’s going to take time to adjust. Everyone knows that.”

  He looked up at her, his blue eyes studying her face. As he did so, she had the opportunity to see that he looked tired and worn down. Two months must have felt like an eternity to him. “Ja vell,” he said, reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “Best be calling those kinner in for supper, then.” He started to walk back to the door but, as he did, his eyes glanced over the table. Seven. Seven place settings were there. Just like when Rebecca was alive.

  “Anna invited me to supper,” Faith explained quickly. “I said no, I didn’t want to impose. But she insisted and, that way, I can visit with the other children too.”

  He didn’t respond, merely nodded his head, and walked back into the large washroom off to the side of the kitchen. Faith heard him open the screen door and call out in Pennsylvania Dutch for the other children to hurry into the house. A few moments later, they ran inside, as eager to greet Faith as Anna had been. Their enthusiasm for her visit did not go unnoticed by Manuel, too. He seemed to shrink away from them, watching his children clamor about the Englische woman, the smaller ones even climbing onto her lap, careful to not bump the baby.

  They are starving, Faith thought. Starving for the attention of an adult. The thought made her feel even guiltier for having stayed away so long.

  “Sadie!” Faith exclaimed. “I think you’ve grown two inches taller since I last saw you!”

  Sadie grinned.

  “What about me?” Benjamin demanded, puffing out his chest and trying to increase his height, a gleam in his eyes.

  “Oh yes,” Faith answered earnestly. “At least two inches! Maybe more.”

  Mary peered at Faith, her big brown eyes large and round. She was the most soft spoken amongst the children, the one that reminded Faith the most of Rebecca during her first years after becoming a baptized member of the Amish church, the serious years as Faith had called them, often teasing Rebecca after the fact. “We haven’t seen much of you,” Mary said, not unkindly. “It sure is right gut that you came.”

  Something pierced Faith’s heart. Guilt. Why did I stay away? Seeing the children stand before her was a wonderful feeling, especially given their excitement at having Faith visit. And, in each child, she caught tiny glimpses of Rebecca. She wondered if Manuel saw that too and if those moments brought him joy or pain. Probably a combination of both, she pondered.

  “Faith is staying for supper,” Anna said. “So you two go wash up and sit down now.”

  Obediently, the children hurried to the sink and followed her instructions. There was no fighting, no pushing, no shoving. Faith smiled to herself, comparing their behavior to the children that she taught at school. Despite being cousins in religion, Mennonite children were certainly not as well behaved as Manuel and Rebecca’s. That spoke well of how Rebecca and her husband had raised them. But it gave Faith reason to pause as she looked down at the baby in her arms. Without Rebecca, how would Ruthie fare?

  Once everyone was seated at the table, Manuel bent his head and the children did the same. During the silent prayer, Faith couldn’t help but steal glances at each of the children. It felt awkward sitting at the supper table without Rebecca seated opposite Manuel. Instead, that spot was openly vacant, a visual reminder of their mother’s permanent absence.

  Manuel gently cleared his throat and lifted his head. His eyes traveled around the table, pausing briefly at Anna and he tried to smile. “A right gut job you have done, dochder,” he said. “Again.”

  His praise pleased the young girl. “Faith wanted to help but I insisted that she was here to visit, not help with kitchen work,” Anna said gaily.

  “I wouldn’t have minded,” Faith replied, taking the bowl of pickled beets that Sadie passed to her. “But you certainly seem to have inherited your mamm’s love of the kitchen.”

  Silence.

  Faith wasn’t surprised. She knew that, within the Amish community, deceased members of the family weren’t discussed, not openly. She hadn’t expected a reaction from the kinner or Manuel. Still, Faith wasn’t going to ignore the large white elephant in the room. “I was surprised, Manuel,” she started, staring directl
y at him. “At how much responsibility Anna has taken on, although I must say that she’s doing a wonderful job, handling it all.”

  His blue eyes seemed to grow distant, as if a cloud passed over them.

  Faith took his continued silence as permission to continue. “I’m surprised Rebecca’s mamm isn’t here,” she ventured, wondering at what point she would be crossing that unspoken line in the sand.

  To her surprise, it was Anna who responded. “Grossmammi hasn’t been well, Faith.”

  This was news indeed. Vaguely, Faith recalled Anna mentioning something about Rebecca’s mamm at the funeral. But Rebecca’s mamm had looked healthy enough. At the time, Faith had interpreted Anna’s comment to reference her emotional state at the loss of her daughter, not her physical well-being. “Is she alright, what is wrong?” Faith asked, alarmed at the news. Another wave of guilt washed over her. She had yet to visit the Yoder’s since Rebecca’s death.

  “They think it’s the cancer,” Manuel stated, his voice emotionless. “But she won’t get treatment. Not from doctors anyway.”

  Faith frowned. “They think it’s cancer?” In her world, it either was or wasn’t cancer. There wasn’t any thinking about it.

  “In the spine,” he said. “She’s in a lot of pain, losing weight, and always tired. But won’t go to the doctors.”

  Like mother, like daughter, Faith thought to herself. Growing up, she knew that some Amish scorned modern medicine, preferring a more holistic approach to managing health issues. Clearly the Yoder’s were on that side of the fence.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” was all Faith could think of as a reply.

  But the news about Rebecca’s mamm certainly explained a lot. The rest of the Yoder daughters were married with their own small children, some of them living faraway, and the men working the farms, there wasn’t anyone else on the Yoder side of the family to assist during this time of need.