Amish Faith: An Amish Christian Romance

by Sarah Price

  Lydia nodded her approval. “The double wedding ring,” she said. “How appropriate.”

  “I think in blues, don’t you?”

  “That would be quite lovely, I’m sure. You’ll have to go pick out some fabrics before we take it to the Lapp sisters to piece it.” Lydia glanced again at the clock. “Oh help,” she said. “Good thing you found a pattern you like right quick! We visited so long that we best get going to the store if we’re to return in time for making dinner.” She started to get up but hesitated. “Do you have any quilting supplies? We’ll need thread for certain but what about pins and needles?”

  Faith nodded. “I think I saw a sewing box near the Singer machine in the grossdaadihaus. Let me go check,” she said and hurried through a doorway into the smaller house that was attached by a breezeway.

  With no one living there, Rebecca must have done her sewing in the grossdaadihaus, liking the different views of the farm from the back windows. Faith paused, looking outside and seeing Manuel spreading manure on the fields behind the house. The large Belgian mules were pulling the spreader as he guided them down the field. His straw hat fell from his head and, as Faith watched, Manuel stopped the mules to retrieve it. He glanced down at the house, just for a brief moment, before he returned to his chores.

  Smiling to herself, Faith reached down for the sewing box that was, indeed, beside the sewing machine. She set it atop the small table and opened the lid to see what was inside in order to report back to Lydia. As the lid fell backward, a long white envelope fell to the floor. Faith frowned as she bent down to pick it up. An envelope? She turned it over and, as her eyes fell upon the single word written on the front, she gasped.

  Faith.

  Her hands began to tremble and her eyes darted back to the window, seeking out Manuel in the field. She didn’t have to open the envelope to know who had written her name on the front. The handwriting was unmistakable: Rebecca’s handwriting. Her heart pounded inside of her chest and she felt dizzy as she stared at her name.

  Why would Rebecca have written a letter for her? Why would she have put it in her quilting box? She tried to open the envelope but her hands were shaking too hard. Stunned, she quickly sat down in the nearest chair. A letter from the grave, she thought, her eyes immediately tearing. Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes and said a silent prayer, which took the edge off of her nerves, allowing her to slip her finger under the envelope’s lip in order to slide it open.

  My dearest friend, Faith,

  If you are reading this letter, I imagine you are standing in the grossdaadihaus, having gone to retrieve my sewing kit. It’s a thought that pleases me for I can only presume that you are tending to my kinner.

  I can picture you in my mind, wearing a green or burgundy dress and a white heart-shaped prayer cover. I like to think of you that way, just like when we were children.

  The doctors told me after that last miscarriage that I have something known as endometriosis. I think you are familiar with that condition for your own mamm had it.

  The doctors warned me to not have more children but, as you can see, I did. How could I deny Manuel the family that he so deserves? Every man lives for a large family, for passing on his faith and love to grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

  I made the decision to let God decide what was best for my family.

  You see, if you are reading this letter, I am walking with Jesus and you are tending to my family. And I know this because you made me a promise to do just that. I haven’t forgotten that promise and I know that you wouldn’t either. That’s the type of friendship we have.

  I feel so blessed to be able to share my family with you, Faith. You were always one that needed a family. You just didn’t know it. Love my family, Faith. All of them. It’s my dying wish to know that, not only my kinner will have the next best thing to their mamm, but that my husband will have his large family. Even a larger one that the one I gave him.

  Danke, Faith. No matter what has happened, just know that I love you and will forever be grateful for what you have given to me…peace of mind as I go to walk with God.

  With love and many blessings,

  Rebecca

  Faith sat there, shocked as her eyes scanned over the neatly spaced, handwritten words. Endometriosis? Rebecca had known that she shouldn’t have children, rather than couldn’t have them? She had known that, while the condition itself was painful but not death threatening, if she were to carry a child to term there could be complications during delivery and she might very well die? She knew this yet she had chosen to hide her medical condition from everyone out of love for her husband. Her eyes lifted to the window, gazing at the field one last time and watching as Manuel turned the mules and the spreader to continue on the next row.

  Her mind reeled and she lifted her hand to her forehead, feeling a surreal feeling of confusion overcome her. The promise. The request for Faith at the bedside during labor. The final words. Rebecca had orchestrated everything, hand-selecting a new wife for her husband and a mamm for her kinner. Certainly, she hadn’t known that the baby would live…it was a chance that she had taken when she had refused to have a hysterectomy and proceeded to become pregnant once again.

  “Oh Rebecca,” she whispered, tears falling from her eyes. “What have you done?”

  “Faith?”

  She glanced over her shoulder as Lydia peeked through the door.

  “Did you find it, then?”

  Faith wiped at her eyes and nodded her head. “I did, Lydia. And something more.” She lifted the piece of paper in her hand, trying to stop the flow of tears. “A letter.”

  Lydia frowned and walked into the room. “A letter? To whom?”

  “Me.”

  “To you?” Lydia looked confused. “From whom?”

  “Rebecca.”

  Lydia gasped, the color draining from her cheeks.

  Faith glanced at the letter that she still held in her hands. “I…I have to go talk to Manuel,” she said. “This needs to be shared with him.”

  “Of course, of course.” If Lydia was curious about the contents of the letter, she never asked. Instead, she quietly excused herself, leaving Faith to re-read the letter one more time in the quiet of the grossdaadihaus. Five minutes later, she heard the buggy heading out the driveway as Lydia was leaving the farm.

  Faith shut her eyes and tried to picture Rebecca writing this letter. Had she written it while seated at the kitchen table, her belly swollen with her unborn child? Why had she placed the letter in the sewing box? How had she known that Faith would, indeed, find it?

  She waited until Ruthie went down for her late morning nap before she grabbed her black shawl from the hook on the wall. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she glanced in the mirror by the front door, pausing for just a moment to pinch her cheeks and smooth back her hair. She had spent the past hour trying to make sense of the letter and what Rebecca had done. While Ruthie fussed and played, Faith had paced the floor, unable to comprehend the sacrifice that Rebecca had made for her husband. She toyed with the idea of not sharing it with him, wondered whether he truly needed to know. Yet, she knew that a good marriage was one that kept no secrets.

  Once outside, she caught her breath against the cold air. It stuck to her lungs and left her breathless as she hurried to the barn. It was warm inside the barn and she sat on a hay bale, waiting for almost twenty minutes before she heard the familiar plodding of the mules’ large hooves on the driveway and the rattle of the spreader’s wheels. She could see him pass the doorway as he led the mules to their stalls, located on the other side of the barn. She waited for another five minutes, her heart pounding and her hands still shaking.

  “Faith!”

  She looked up and stared at him when he said her name. He had already unhitched the mules and had been walking through the barn to go to the house for dinner. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see her sitting in the barn.

  “I thought you were going out with Lydia,” he said, wa
lking toward her. “Is everything OK?”

  She nodded but couldn’t speak.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She reached for his hand and, when he took her hand, she stood before him, her eyes searching his face. She could see confusion in his blue eyes, the edges wrinkling just a touch as he tried to elicit an answer from her. But she couldn’t say a word. Instead, she reached out her other hand and touched his cheek, her eyes wide and bright.

  “Faith?”

  She shut her eyes for a moment, swallowed hard and whispered. “I’m scared, Manny.”

  He tilted her chin so that she was forced to look at him. His blue eyes searched her face, trying to understand what was bothering her. Yet, he could find no indication of its source. “What is it, Faith? What has happened?”

  “I’m scared,” she said, her words barely audible. She didn’t know how to say what she was feeling, how Rebecca’s letter had created an urgency in her. The desire to complete what was started on the day that she had agreed to marry him. “I’m so scared.”

  He frowned, concerned. “Scared of what, Faith?”

  “I’m scared to take that step and become your wife,” she admitted, praying that he didn’t think of her as being too brazen and forward. But she knew that she needed to speak her mind, to let him know what she was feeling. “Scared to be your real wife in all ways.” She paused, biting her lower lip as she held his gaze. His beautiful blue eyes stared into hers, confused by her admission but quietly waiting for her to continue. “But I’m ready, Manuel. It’s time.”

  For a moment, he looked stunned by her words. She worried that he would take her admission the wrong way, think she was too forward and brazen. He took a sharp intake of breath and studied her expression. “What is this about, Faith?”

  She felt weak and knew that if he didn’t put his arms around her, if he didn’t hold her, she risked falling as her knees felt weak. “Please, Manny,” she pleaded softly, begging him with her eyes. She reached for his hand and pressed her cheek against it. “I…I need to be your wife. In all ways. I need this. Need to do this.” She continued to stare up at him. “No, not need. Want. I want to be your wife.”

  Stroking her cheek, he kept staring into her face. His eyes softened and she saw him swallow, the only indication that he was as nervous as she felt. Surely he was curious as to what had happened, what had brought this about so suddenly. But he didn’t ask. Instead, he nodded his head.

  “I want you to be my wife, too,” he replied softly.

  He lowered his hand from her cheek and reached out for her to take his hand, entwining his fingers within hers. Without another word, they walked back to the house together. When he stood before the door, he paused and looked at her, a tenderness in his face as he proceeded to lift her hand to his lips and kiss the back of her fingers. When she lowered her eyes, ignoring the pounding of her heart inside of her chest, he slowly opened the door and stepped back as he waited for her to walk inside before him.

  It was later that evening, after the children had gone upstairs to bed, that Faith finally had the courage to approach Manuel. When he looked up at her, he smiled and reached out his hand. Timidly, she placed her small hand in his and blushed when he kissed her palm. His lips against her skin sent delicious shivers up her spine and she smiled to herself. How different she felt, she realized. One letter, one afternoon, one moment…it changed everything.

  “Manny,” she said softly, hating to break the moment but knowing that she had to tell him about the letter. “I…I need to show you something.”

  He pulled on her hand so that she slipped over the arm of the chair and onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled at her neck. “What could that be, Faith?”

  Shutting her eyes, she couldn’t help herself from enjoying his affection. She shuddered, a wave of tingles traveling up her spine and a warm feeling washing all over her. Earlier, after she had approached him in the barn, he had led her through the kitchen, pausing one last time outside of their bedroom door. He had looked at her, as if making certain that this was what she had wanted: to become his wife in all aspects. Her heart had pounded inside of her chest, her blood pulsating through her veins. Despite her fears and trepidation, she had nodded and, still holding his hand, quietly followed him through the doorway.

  It was much later, when Ruthie awoke, that she noticed a new sense of intimacy between them. They had been standing by the kitchen window, his body leaning toward her as they simply stared at each other. His blue eyes sparkled and he smiled when she blushed. As her cheeks reddened, he had leaned forward to brush his lips against hers, a soft and tender communication that defied the need for any words.

  That was when the baby began to cry. Manuel smiled and reached for her hand, lifting it to press his lips against her skin. “Let’s get her together, ja?” he had asked and, not waiting for an answer, started walking toward the stairs. Indeed, for the rest of the afternoon, Manuel had lingered around the house, never more than a few feet from Faith who took special comfort in his presence.

  Yet the letter had lingered in her mind and she knew she had to share it with Manuel. She needed him to know the truth about Rebecca’s death and their subsequent marriage.

  So now, as she sat on his lap, his arms wrapped around her, she took a deep breath and began. “Manny,” she started. “Something happened today.”

  “Ja,” he murmured. “Something wunderbaar happened today, indeed.”

  She tried not to smile at the hidden meaning in his response. “I’m being serious.”

  “And I hope it happens again later tonight…”

  “Manuel!”

  Sensing the change in her tone, Manuel leaned back, quickly assessing her expression. “What is it, Faith? Does this have to do with your change of heart?”

  She nodded. “I found something in the grossdaadihaus. Something that I think you should look at.” She wiggled off of his lap and walked over to the cabinet where she had placed the letter, safe from curious eyes. It felt heavy in her hands as she crossed back to where he sat, watching her. “I found this next door in Rebecca’s quilting box. Lydia had wanted me to see what quilting supplies I would need before we left for the store. After I read it…” She paused. How could she explain this? How could she explain that the message from his deceased wife, her best friend, had removed the last barrier to their marriage? “Well, I think when you read it, you’ll understand.”

  And then she handed him the letter.

  It took a moment for him to comprehend what he was holding in his hands. He looked up at Faith, their eyes meeting for a long second, before he turned his attention back to the piece of paper in his hands. She watched as he opened the folded paper and his eyes darted over each word, so neatly written. Faith caught her breath when she saw him cringe and shut his eyes, the color draining from his face. At one point, he rubbed at his face and shook his head. More than anything, Faith wished she knew what he was thinking as he digested Rebecca’s message from the grave.

  “Mein Gott,” he murmured when he had finally finished reading it. He looked up at Faith, the hint of tears in his eyes. “I had no idea.”

  Faith took a deep breath, a wave of relief flooding over her. “I didn’t think you knew.” The idea that Manuel had known about Rebecca’s condition had lingered over her mind. Indeed, she hadn’t been certain of how she would have handled that information should he have admitted that he knew and proceeded to support Rebecca trying to have more children. Now that she knew the truth, that Rebecca had kept that information from Manuel and traveled that path alone, she could breathe again. “But it explains so much to me.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Ja, it does.” His eyes scanned the letter once again and Faith watched quietly. She could see that it began to dawn on him, the extent of what Rebecca had done. A frown creased his forehead and he glanced away, his eyes clouding over as he reached back into his memory. Something dawned on him and Manuel slowly turned his head to
look at Faith. “She knew.”

  “She knew,” Faith repeated.

  He glanced at her, realizing that she had misunderstood him. Frustrated, Manuel shook his head. “Nee, I don’t mean about the pregnancy but about me.”

  Now it was Faith’s turn to frown. She had thought he meant that Rebecca knew that she would die and had willingly given her life in exchange for Ruthie’s. With Manuel’s words, Faith realized that he was focusing on something else “What about you?”

  He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair, struggling to find the right words. “Do you remember the pond? The day when you almost drowned?” When he paused, she nodded. “She knew how I felt about you after that happened.”

  How he felt about her? His words shocked Faith. “What are you saying, Manuel?”

  He looked at the wall for a minute, his mind in a whirlwind. She could tell from his expression that he was experiencing an inner struggle, while formulating a response. Patiently, she waited, giving him that time to clear his head. Finally, he stood up and began to pace the floor, the contents of the letter still in his thoughts. Mumbling some words in Pennsylvania Dutch, he shook his head before he stopped and turned toward Faith.

  “It was after the pond incident,” he said, lowering his voice. “I was always inquiring about you, asking how you were. It wasn’t that I was interested in you, being Englische and all, but I felt…” He glanced in the air as if the words were lingering, there over his head. “Protective of you. Concerned about you.” Lifting his hands to his head, he rubbed his temples. “I’ll never forget that day, the day that I breathed life into you, Faith. It was both the scariest and the most exhilarating day of my life. I was so scared that you would drown, this pretty little soaking wet Mennonite girl. And when you came back, returned from near death, I wanted to cry with joy. Don’t you see? I felt connected with you, Faith, even then.”