by Sarah Price
“Everything all right?” she asked, approaching him slowly so that she wouldn’t startle him.
“Hmm?” He glanced over his shoulder and, as she neared, he reached out his hand. “Oh ja, ja,” he said, waiting for her to place her hand in his. The gesture delighted her and she did as he expected. “I want you to know,” he started, his head bowed down in a sign of humility. “I heard what you said earlier, Faith. What you said about needing to know that I care.” He paused, pulling her closer, his eyes drifting just momentarily toward the stairs to ensure that they were, indeed, alone. Once he was reassured of their privacy, he stared down into her face, his eyes flickering back and forth as they traveled from her own eyes to her nose to her lips and then back to her eyes. “And I do.”
“Manuel?”
Faith could tell that there was something on his mind, something that he wanted to say to her. But the words never passed his lips. There was a new energy between them and she felt her heart begin to flutter inside of her chest, a mixture of excitement and nervousness for what it might mean. Yet, rather than pursue the hint of intimacy that might close that gap between them, Manuel merely smiled a soft and tender smile. “We have a busy day tomorrow, Faith,” he said. “I’ll just go check on the barn, make certain the boys did everything proper and all. But we best be saying good night now. Have to get up extra early to get chores done before church.” He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against her forehead, his hand lingering on her arm. “You go on and I’ll join you a bit later.”
This time, she was already asleep before he joined her. Almost an hour had passed since he had wandered outside, to where and for what, she didn’t know. What she did know was that, two hours later, something disturbed her and she awoke. Manuel was next to her in the bed, his arm casually tossed over her waist, his soft breath caressing her neck as he slept. She shut her eyes, still half asleep, but content in the knowledge that he was there, with her, and comfortable enough to sleep with her in his arms.
Chapter Thirteen
After the church service, Faith held Ruthie in her arms as she stood among the other women. Most of them were conversing in Pennsylvania Dutch and Faith didn’t understand what they were saying. Occasionally, when they realized that Faith was nearby, they would switch to English in order to include her in the conversation.
“So how you getting on then?”
Faith smiled at the older woman who had addressed her. “Just fine, danke,” she replied. She shifted the baby in her arms and peered down at her. “The children have been wonderful.”
“It’s a right gut thing that you’ve done,” the woman said, nodding her head. “I’m sure everyone is appreciative.”
Scanning the room, Faith found Manuel. He was talking with some of the other men, listening intently to their conversation. Yet, he must have felt her eyes on him for, at the same moment, he looked up and met her gaze. For a brief second, no one else seemed to be in the room. She watched him, thinking back to the previous evening and how he had held her throughout the night, her back pressed against his chest. The color rose to her cheeks and she thought she saw him hiding a smile. Surely he had sensed what she was thinking about.
It was a half hour later when Manuel approached her. Gently, he touched her arm and leaned over to her ear. “You ready to go home?” She felt his warm breath on her bare neck and shivered before she nodded her head. “I’ll harness the horse if you get the kinner then,” he said, his hand still on her arm. Before he removed it, his thumb brushed gently against her skin. When he moved away, she felt a flutter in her chest and her eyes followed him.
Something had changed in him, something stoic and noble. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she knew that Manuel was different. Gone was the mourning and sorrow. Instead, he had an aura of peace and contentment lingering over him, a happiness that filled him. The difference was more than apparent, especially if she reflected back to the previous spring.
They were quiet on the ride home, the four younger children in the back of the buggy and Anna situated at Faith’s feet. Ruthie slept in Mary’s arms, the gentle rocking of the buggy making everyone feel a bit sleepy. The sky was grey, overcast with low clouds and the air was crisp. It almost smelled as if it might snow.
“Might it snow?” she asked softly, her eyes on Manuel’s face.
He glanced up at the sky through the buggy window. “Reckon it might. Sure feels like it.”
“Good weather for sleeping,” she replied then blushed at the unspoken insinuation. He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. But he didn’t respond.
At home, Gideon and Benjamin helped their father with the horse and buggy while Faith and the girls hurried inside. For the rest of the day, they would sit and play board games, spending time together, their first Sunday as a family. With the chill in the air, it was the perfect day for playing games.
“I wish we could crochet or quilt on Sunday,” Anna said as she pulled out the Scrabble board and carried it to the table.
Manuel had just emerged from the washroom and hung his hat on the peg by the door. He slapped his arms against his chest. “You might be right, Faith. There sure is a bite to the air. Might just be our first snowfall!”
“Daed, why can’t we quilt on Sundays?” Anna asked, kneeling on the bench and setting up the Scrabble board.
He walked into the room and headed for the sink to wash his hands. “Reckon the bishop feels Sundays should be spent resting and visiting, not working unless it’s necessary.”
“Quilting isn’t work,” she replied.
“Ja vell,” he said, shaking the water from his hands. “Not our place to question the bishop, is it? Besides I am not so sure about your brothers and me crocheting or quilting,” he added teasingly, to which Sadie and Mary simultaneously burst into laughter. Even Faith had to cover her mouth, hiding her amusement at Manuel’s statement. “Dochder” he went on, “Scrabble may be more appropriate as something we can all do together as a family on a Sunday afternoon, don’t you reckon?” He looked over at Faith, silent for a brief second before he tilted his head. “Mayhaps you might take to quilting and have a quilting bee this winter. You’ll be wanting your own wedding quilt,” he said softly. He paused. “Did I ever show you where Rebecca signed our quilt?”
The question took her by surprise. He rarely mentioned Rebecca and the reference to their wedding quilt startled her. Yet, she was even more surprised when he led her upstairs to the room where he had stayed when he was ill. She hadn’t noticed that he had moved the wedding quilt from the downstairs bedroom to the upstairs room. When she realized that he had, she was conflicted. Part of her was struck by the symbolism of his action. Surely he had felt torn removing the quilt from the room downstairs. Yet, part of her was touched. He hadn’t wanted to share the bed with his new bride sleeping under his first wife’s quilt.
“Oh Manny,” she whispered, her hand rising to her chest.
For a moment, he hesitated, taken aback by her two simple words. Oh Manny. His childhood nickname. The nickname that Rebecca despised and continually reprimanded Faith when she used it.
Manuel reached for her hand and held it for a moment. His fingers caressed her skin and he looked down into her face. “It’s over here,” he finally said, walking toward the bed and lifting the corner. Taking her hand, he placed it on the initials, stitched in small white thread: R.P. “You’ll have to sign your own quilt, Faith,” he said, his voice soft and soothing.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I hadn’t noticed…”
He smiled, a soft and kind smile. But he didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled her closer, glancing once over his shoulder to make certain none of the children had come upstairs after them. He put an arm around her, holding her against his chest, her fingers still entwined with his. “You called me Manny,” he said. “You haven’t called me Manny in years.”
Lowering her eyes, she felt the color flood to her cheeks. “I did, didn’t I?”
&nbs
p; She felt his finger touch her chin, tilting her head up so that he could look into her eyes. “You did, ja,” he whispered before leaning down to gently press his lips against hers. The kiss was soft and sweet yet hinted at a longing on both of their parts. When he pulled away, he smiled and squeezed her hand. “Best get back downstairs, then,” he said.
It took her a moment to catch her breath. She felt as if she had fire in her veins. When he released her hand and started toward the door, she could barely move. Her knees felt weak and she took a moment to compose herself. She looked back at the quilt, studying it as she breathed deeply. Rebecca’s quilt, she thought. He moved it upstairs…How could she not have noticed that?
“Look Faith! I’m using the material from our dresses for my wedding quilt!” Rebecca grabbed Faith by the hand and led her into the back room of her mamm’s house. She had told Faith that she was going to start her quilt when she turned sixteen. For her birthday, her parents had given her a cedar hope chest and Rebecca wasn’t about to let it stay empty for long.
The quilting frame was set up near the window. It was empty at the moment for Rebecca hadn’t finished piecing the quilt top. However, fabric was strewn atop it and Rebecca picked up pieces to show Faith. “Remember this dress? It’s the floral one that you were wearing when we met!”
“Where did you get that?” Faith asked, laughing as she fingered the soft material.
“I asked your mamm!”
Clever girl, Faith thought but knew better than to praise Rebecca directly. She didn’t like being praised.
“And this one…” She touched a pale pink fabric. “Remember that?”
Faith frowned. “It’s Amish. That’s not mine.”
Laughing, Rebecca nodded her head. “Oh ja! It’s my dress that you wore when I made you dress up Amish! We both wore that one!”
It amazed Faith that Rebecca had incorporated that dress into the wedding quilt. She was touched by the gesture, so typical of Rebecca who included her friend in everything that she did. “I don’t know what to say,” Faith managed. “It will be beautiful, that’s for certain.”
Rebecca glanced at the fabric again. “I think so, ja,” she replied, the closest thing to pride that had ever crossed her lips. “Just think,” she added turning to Faith. “Part of you will be on my marriage bed, too!”
It was the following morning when Manuel surprised her by bringing in the quilting frame from where he had stored it in the barn. He smiled at her, a sheepish smile, as he carried it through the kitchen and into the large, empty gathering room that would be used for church worship when it would be hosted at their home. She set Ruthie down on the floor and followed him into the room.
“What on earth!”
“It’s your quilting frame,” he replied.
She laughed. “I know what it is! What I’d like to know is why you are setting it up in here!”
“Vell,” he said, lifting his hat off of his head and using the back of his wrist to wipe his brow. “You can’t get started on our wedding quilt if it’s not set up, ain’t so?”
Faith frowned, eyeballing the wooden frame. “I don’t know how to quilt!”
“Ja, I figured you’d say that so I invited Lydia to come over this week to get you started.” The mischievous gleam in his eyes made it impossible to be upset with him.
“Manny!” she said, pretending to be upset but, when he laughed at her, she found herself smiling.
She helped him set up the frame, thankful that there was a window in the room. It looked strange, set up in the large, empty room with nothing in it. There were a few folding chairs in the corner but, besides that, the room was barren. She couldn’t imagine all of the church benches lined up and the people of the church district gathered for worship in their home.
When they returned to the kitchen, Ruthie was trying to crawl up the stairs. Faith hurried over to pick her up and carried her back toward the sofa. Setting her back on the floor, Faith redirected the baby’s attention to the pots she had put down for the six month old to play with.
“How long will it take to make a quilt, Manny?”
He shrugged, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching her as she began washing the dishes. “Depends, I guess, on the pattern and how many women come to help you.”
“Women?”
He nodded, reaching out to brush back a piece of her hair that had snuck free from her bun. “That’s what a quilting bee is,” he explained. “Surely you know that.”
“I have to invite women here?” The thought terrified her. She had never entertained anyone, never had a reason to do so. She had always lived at home with her parents and any entertaining had been orchestrated by her mother.
His finger brushed along her neck and he moved closer to her. “You can do that, Faith,” he said, lowering his voice. “You need to get to know the women in the g’may,” he explained. He let his hand linger on her shoulder and smiled, too aware of how uncomfortable she felt. “They are part of our family, too.” He paused before adding. “Your family…now that you are my wife.”
“Manuel,” she whispered.
There was a look in his eye, a look that spoke of what he was feeling inside. She felt her chest rise and fall as her breath quickened in his presence. There was something about him, something about how he touched her, his skin on hers, that caught her off guard.
The children were at school and Ruthie was busy with her toys. With the exception of the baby, they were alone. Yet, Faith felt conflicted, nervous about being with Manuel when he had that look in his eye and she felt her blood racing through her veins.
“I…I can’t,” she said and looked away, ashamed that she would deny him this.
“Ssssh.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I know, Faith. We aren’t ready yet.”
She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, shutting her eyes and just taking in the moment. His arms felt warm and strong, comforting and safe. She breathed deeply, smelling the musky scent of his skin through the fabric. “I…” She stumbled over her words, unable to say what she was feeling.
“You what, Faith?”
She pulled back and lifted her eyes to look at him. “I…I want to be your wife, Manny,” she said, feeling the heat in her cheeks. “But I just can’t. Not yet.”
He nodded. “I understand. One day,” he started. “One day we will both feel comfortable.”
“I just feel like it would be a betrayal,” she whispered. “Is that wrong?”
He touched her cheek, his fingers light and soft against her skin. “I don’t think anything you feel is wrong, Faith.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead. “We just have to have faith in God that He will lead us to be together when it is right.”
She nodded her head. “I do believe that, Manuel,” she said solemnly. “I feel it in my heart and soul.” But that wasn’t it. No, it was Rebecca, she wanted to say. It was the memory of Rebecca that haunted her. To truly become Manuel’s wife felt like being disloyal to Rebecca. She glanced at Ruthie who was sitting on the floor, a plastic spoon in her hand. “I know that Rebecca wanted this for her children. The question that still lingers,” she said, returning her gaze to Manuel’s face. “Is whether Rebecca wanted this for her husband.”
He nodded, empathetic to her concern. “I understand. But you must remember that she walks with God while you are now my wife. I am your husband now.” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing her skin gently with a soft kiss. “It’s going to be fine, Faith. We will give it time,” he said, finally taking a step backward. “And we have plenty of that, Faith.”
Time. She nodded her head, appreciative of his understanding. Just the night before, she had fought back tears and he had held her, comforting her until she fell asleep in his arms. She felt such a conflict of emotions, the weight of them far too heavy on her heart.
Chapter Fourteen
It was two days later when Lydia stopped into the Petersheim’s farm, a brown bag unde
r her arm and a smile on her face. “I must say,” she announced when she walked into the kitchen. “I’ve missed your company, Faith!”
Faith laughed. “Me, too,” she admitted.
“And your help in the evening with those kinner,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how I did it before, without you!”
They visited over a cup of coffee for the next thirty minutes, Lydia sharing family news with her despite Faith not knowing all of the names that were mentioned. One thing that Faith had learned long ago, while visiting at Rebecca’s house as a child, was that a social visit from any Amish person always turned into an amazingly elaborate lesson in genealogy.
Before long, Lydia glanced at the clock on the wall and reached for the bag that she had brought with her. “Best get started picking out a pattern, ja?” She reached into the bag and pulled out a stack of papers, each one a different size and with a photograph of a quilt on it. “You look through these and see if you find something that strikes your fancy,” Lydia said, pushing the papers toward Faith. “I think it’s wunderbaar that you want to make a quilt for you and Manuel. And quilting bees in the winter are always a right gut time.”
Faith looked through the different photos of quilts, her mind in a whirl at the monstrous task ahead of her. “I don’t know why Manuel thinks I can do this,” she mumbled. “How on earth am I to piece the quilt top?”
Lydia laughed. “You send it out to have someone do it, Faith!” She shook her head and said, “Did he tell you that you were to piece it, then? He’s such a teaser, that one.”
Even Faith had to smile.
She was halfway through the pile when her eyes fell on a pattern that jumped at her. It was simple and sweet yet beautiful at the same time. “This one,” she said, sliding the card across the table toward Lydia. “This is the one that I’d like.”