by Sarah Price
“Ja,” he said softly. “One day.” And with that, he leaned down and gently, oh so very gently, pressed his lips against hers, the gesture startling her so much that she didn’t know how to react. When he pulled back, his eyes still staring into hers, she saw the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “But not today,” he whispered, his breath just barely caressing her face, and then backed away.
She was breathless from the kiss and could only watch as he reached inside the door for his straw hat, smiling to himself as he walked past her on his way to the barn. She leaned against the wall of the house and stared after him, noticing a more confident swagger to his walk. He had left her stunned, completely speechless, and more than a little shocked with what had been their first kiss, something she hadn’t expected and, frankly, found her yearning for more. Something had sparked within her, an attraction that she hadn’t even known existed; or perhaps an attraction that simply had been buried very deep in her consciousness, repressed because of the fact that he was Amish and that she was not. Until now, she thought.
You have to save her, Manuel! Save her!
Rebecca’s words rang in Faith’s ears as if Rebecca were standing right beside her. Immediately, the image of him hovering over her, his hand under her neck and his face so close to hers suddenly flashed before her eyes, rekindled by his kiss. The memory of how, way back when, he had leaned down to press his lips against her cold, practically lifeless ones as she had laid near-death on the embankment, drenched in her dress with Rebecca standing nearby, her hands clasped together and tears streaming down her face.
And then, all at once, she realized that the spark was nothing new at all. It had been there all along. But even more startling was the fact that she understood that she was not the first to know it. From the look in his eyes and the way he had kissed her, she realized that he had known that all along as well.
She stood there, stunned and moved. Her first kiss from her husband had taken away her breath and left her weak in the knees but the first time his lips had touched hers, so many, many years ago, Manuel had given her the kiss of life. And Faith understood at this moment that there must have been a higher purpose in what had transpired on that day than just to spare her own life: His divine will.
Manuel disappeared into the barn and she took the time to catch her breath. She felt a warmth flow throughout her veins as she replayed those few seconds in her memory. Manuel had kissed her. Manuel had reached for her and held her, his lips pressed against hers as a true husband should kiss a wife. She lifted her hands to touch her mouth, surprised to realize that she was trembling. She hadn’t expected such affection, not from Manuel, not now…perhaps not ever. Her eyes fluttered back toward the barn, the direction in which he had disappeared.
Her husband.
From inside, she heard the baby cry, fussing from the high chair where she had been left. The noise brought Faith back to the present and, pushing the memory of that kiss, that surprisingly wonderful kiss, out of her mind, Faith hurried back inside, gushing as she collected Ruthie in her arms, smothering the baby with kisses to make up for having left her alone during those past few minutes.
For the rest of the morning, Faith found herself constantly pausing and staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Manuel. When she realized what she was doing, she would lower her head and blush, forcing herself to refocus on the task at hand, whether it was sorting the laundry, dusting the wooden furniture, or washing the dishes. Yet, she couldn’t get that feeling of butterflies out of her stomach whenever she thought about that kiss. It had been so unexpected, so gentle, so passionate. More than anything, she wondered what he had meant. Not today, he had said.
Not today what?
She had fed the baby and set her down for a nap when she heard the door open. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost one o’clock, well past the dinner hour. She leaned back and peeked toward the door, waiting to see if Manuel was coming into the kitchen. She could hear him moving about in the washroom, setting something heavy down on the floor and pushing aside what sounded like wood. Curious, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked toward the door into the outer room.
He was kneeling before the brick cook stove, putting wood in the opening. He didn’t realize that she was watching him as he began to crumple up old newspaper and shove it under the wood. He reached into his pocket as if looking for something that he couldn’t find.
“A match?” she asked softly.
He looked over his shoulder at her, startled to see her there but his expression immediately softened. “Ja,” he said. “Would you mind? There’s a strike pad…” He started to point but she was already moving toward the metal box on the wall where the matches were kept. She lit it and carried it carefully over to him. “Danke,” he said as he took the match, his fingers brushing against hers during the pass off.
She stood back and watched as he lit the fire, still kneeling before the cook stove. When the paper caught fire, he blew gently on it, pleased with the way the kindling began to spark and flame. Tossing the match into the opening, he leaned his hand on the edge of the cook stove and stood up, towering over her. “For you,” he said, his eyes twinkling as if he had a big secret that he was keeping from her.
“For me?”
He nodded and pointed toward a tall bucket on the counter. “Ja, for you, Faith. Today you will learn how to make cheese.”
For a second, she stared at him, wondering whether or not he was teasing her again. Cheese? Not even her own mother had ever made cheese.“Whatever for?”
He laughed at her and she realized that it was one of the first times in a long time that she had heard him genuinely laugh. There was something so relaxed about him, a transformation that had occurred in just one day. She found herself drawn toward him, this new Manuel, hoping that he would continue to stay in the house so she could be near him. “Why, I can think of several things to do with cheese…I happen to like some well-made Colby cheese,” he said. “But with all this milk, it sure is nice to sell it, too.”
Faith stared at the cook stove then over at the container of milk. “Why…” she started before looking back at him, stunned at his expectation that she would know how to make cheese, “I would have no idea how to do that!”
She saw him purse his lips as if suppressing a smile and he raised one eyebrow, tilting his head as he looked at her. “Mayhaps I could show you, then?”
Oh. She caught her breath and felt her pulse quicken. At that very moment, she realized that she would like nothing more than for Manuel to spend that time with her, to show her how to do something, to be near her for some alone time without children nearby. Nodding her head, she took a step backward, allowing him to walk past her toward the pantry that was located off the side of the washroom. He pushed a few things aside on the shelves before he found what he was looking for: a large, metal pot.
He gave her a quick smile as he set the pot on the counter by the sink. “I reckon everything would be here,” he said, leaving the rest of what he meant unspoken. Certainly no one had made cheese in the house since Rebecca had passed away. The realization that they were touching something that had last been used by Rebecca gave them both reason to pause, but only for a moment.
Faith wanted to ask the question, to learn what he was thinking. But she had quickly remembered that the Amish didn’t speak too often of those that had passed on to walk with Jesus. Questions were often met with silence so she knew better than speak what was on her mind. Instead, she placed her hand on the rim of the large pot, letting her fingers brush against his once again. When he looked at her, she smiled and met his gaze. “How do we get started, Manuel?”
His thoughts broken, he nodded his head and turned his attention back to the pot. “Right, we need to get started.” He took a deep breath and began to explain to her how the process worked. The milk needed to be heated to 84 degrees. He lifted a long thermometer from inside the pan and showed her how it clipped onto the side
. “It shouldn’t get much hotter than that, Faith,” he said. “Certainly not boil. Then you put in the culture and the rennet.” He glanced into the pot and, not finding what he was looking for, hurried back into the pantry and moved aside several jars. “Here it is,” he announced as he walked back to the counter, carrying a plastic bag with small, white packages in it.
“What’s that?”
He showed her the different packages that were labeled. “This is the culture. You will use two of these for one large pot of milk. And these,” he said as he pulled out a white box with red writing on it. “These are the rennet tablets. I recommend diluting them in warm milk before you put them into the pot. Again, use two.”
“Two,” she repeated softly, trying to commit his instructions to memory.
“Keep it at 86 degrees for about an hour or so, I reckon. Whatever you do, do not stir it, ja? Eventually, you’ll see the curds form. When that happens, you come get me and I’ll show you what to do next.” He leaned his hip against the counter and watched her, his arms crossed lightly across his chest and a smile on his lips. “You think you can remember all that, then?”
“Well, I can try,” she said. “Doesn’t sound too hard for a former school teacher”
He laughed and reached out, lightly touching her chin in a teasing gesture. “We shall see about that.” He was still chuckling as he reached for his hat and placed it on his head before walking back outside. She stared after him, smiling to herself at this new, relaxed Manuel. She couldn’t quite understand what had changed since the night before. He had seemed so tense and distant during the wedding service and ceremony. Back at the house afterwards, he had all but avoided her. Yet, this morning he had woken up as though he was a new man.
And, indeed, she liked the new Manuel. There was a charm to him, a manner of carrying himself that was exactly as Lydia had said: kind and gentle. And, of course, there had been that surprising kiss earlier that morning on the porch, a kiss of hope and a promise for a future, a real future, as husband and wife.
For the next hour, she hovered near the wood burning cook stove, loving the smell of the fire that crackled beneath the heavy metal grate sitting on top of it. The room was warm and she didn’t mind. She knew that it was cold outside. She had poured the milk into the large pot and set it upon the grate, watching the thermometer carefully as the liquid heated up. When it reached 84 degrees, she did as Manuel had instructed: removed some milk to dissolve the rennet tables before pouring that with the culture back into the liquid.
She stirred it gently and checked the thermometer again. 86 degrees. Frowning, she tried to think about how to get the liquid to cool back down. She couldn’t stop the fire and, as she watched, the thermometer began to increase steadily: 87 degrees, 88 degrees.
She reached for two towels and, carefully, lifted the pot above the grate for a few seconds. It was heavy but she waited until the temperature decreased. Yet, when she put the pot back on the grate, the thermometer started to rapidly rise again. “Oh help,” she muttered and looked around the room for something, anything, to give her an idea. She couldn’t stand there indefinitely holding that heavy pot filled with five gallons of milk.
Her eyes caught on a set of bricks in the corner of the room. Immediately, an idea formed in her mind and she hurried over to get the bricks. Then she moved the pot off the grate, layered the bricks on top of it, and put the pot back onto the oven, only this time lifted above and resting on two layers of bricks. The temperature of the milk remained steady at 87 degrees. Good enough, she thought, pleased with her ingenuity. Yet, within minutes, the temperature began to rise again. For a moment, she contemplated seeking out Manuel to ask for his advice but she didn’t want to bother him while he was working. If only she could call her mother, she thought, but, without a phone in the house, that was impossible.
Determined, Faith leaned down and poked at the wood that burned under the grate. She spread the smoldering logs apart and peeked at the thermometer to see if that helped. The temperature seemed to hold steady at 85 degrees so Faith covered the pot and returned to the kitchen to finish preparations for the evening meal. She was going to make a nice meal: fried chicken and mashed potatoes, a hearty meal for the children after a long day at school and a long walk home
It was almost three o’clock when the baby began to cry. She quickly washed the flour from her hands and hurried upstairs to retrieve Ruthie. The children would be home from school soon, just in time to help her with the baby and the evening chores. She knew that the two boys would join their father outside, cleaning stalls and feeding the cows while he began the evening milking.
She realized that she was looking forward to the return of the children. She’d be glad for the company.
“Baby’s up then?”
She turned around, surprised to see Manuel walking into the kitchen. He set his hat on the counter and moved to the sink to wash his hands. Drying them on a towel, he approached Faith and reached out for Ruthie. The gesture surprised Faith for she had rarely seen him hold the baby, at least not when she had been around. Of course, she realized that she had rarely seen him at all during the day and she hadn’t been there at night.
“You must be hungry,” she said, watching as he held Ruthie in his arms, tickling her chin with his beard. “Shall I make you something?”
He lifted his eyes and, peering over Ruthie’s head, he met her gaze. “That would be right gut,” he said. “Perhaps just some buttered bread to hold me over until supper.” He returned his attention to Ruthie but kept talking to Faith. “Was too wrapped up in my chores. Forgot about dinner today.”
She hurried about the kitchen, getting the table set so that he could eat properly. Besides setting out some sliced bread, she made certain to include some fresh fruit, jam, and butter next to his plate so that he could pick and choose what he wanted to eat.
She sat next to him on the bench, holding Ruthie while he bent his head in silent prayer before he reached for the bread and began to butter it.
“Curds are looking good,” he said. “Need a bit of time to cool though. I had to put some more wood on the fire.”
She had forgotten about the cheese.
“Tomorrow,” he began. “We’ll be visiting family in the afternoon.” He took a bite of the bread. “Anna will watch the children while we go,” he added when he had swallowed the food in his mouth. “We don’t have to stay long and I need to get back in time for the evening chores. But we have to pay our respects to the family, let them congratulate us proper, ja?”
Inwardly, she dreaded that. It was bad enough that she felt awkward and uncomfortable at the fellowship meal after church on Sundays, but to have to visit with his family, engage in conversation? She was still feeling her way through the routine of her new lifestyle. Lydia had, indeed, been a great help. But Faith felt shy around the others, too concerned about what they might think of her and her decision to join the Amish church and marry Manuel.
But she said nothing of this. She knew that Manuel was the head of the household and she wasn’t meant to argue with him. She had learned that wives were to respect the husband and his guidance for the family. She had committed to do just that when she stood before the congregation and married him.
When Manuel had finished eating, he glanced at the clock and pushed his plate back. “Mayhaps we should see about those curds, ja? Kinner will be home soon and Anna can help with the pressing.” He stood up and motioned for Faith to come with him.
She carried Ruthie with her and stood beside Manuel as he took the cover from the pot. She peered inside, noticing that there was both a liquid and a solid inside of it. “Why, look at that!” she exclaimed.
He laughed at her enthusiasm. “The liquid is the whey. We cut the curds and cook for another 15 minutes before we pour off the whey.” She watched as he took a long, thin blade and began to cut the curds in one direction before rotating the pot and doing the same thing in the other direction. He covered the pot once agai
n and bent down to put in another log. “Needs to get to 102 degrees for about an hour.”
She watched as he poked at the logs. Satisfied, he stood back up. “Now we wait,” he said.
“We wait,” she repeated, shifting Ruthie in her arms.
He studied her face for a minute. He looked serious as he stared at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, just enough so that they looked crescent shaped. She rubbed Ruthie’s back, feeling the baby pulling at the strings of her prayer kapp. Smiling, she reached up and loosened Ruthie’s grip before the baby could pull the kapp off her head. At the same moment, Manuel reached out and took the baby from her again. He leaned down to set his daughter on the floor, his body blocking Ruthie from being able to get too close to the fire. Then, he took Faith’s hand in his, caressing her skin with his thumb.
“Faith,” he said, his eyes still studying hers. His voice was low and soft, something tender in it that made the color flood to her cheeks. He pulled her into his embrace, his one arm wrapped around her waist and the other holding her hand which he pressed against his heart.
“I…I…” She wasn’t certain what she wanted to say. She wished she felt comfortable enough to tell him that she was nervous and frightened, yet excited at the same time. She wished she could tell him that she appreciated his patience with her but she wasn’t ready yet. She wished she could tell him that, despite her apprehension, she was quickly realizing that she wanted to be ready to be a true wife. But none of those words came from her lips.
“We can wait,” he whispered, as if reading her mind.
The door to the kitchen slammed open. Both Faith and Manuel turned in the direction of the kitchen, listening as the children stomped into the room. They had used the other kitchen door, not the one by the washroom. For that, Faith was thankful. Otherwise, she realized, they would have interrupted that moment with Manuel even more than they just had by returning home in such a noisy fashion.