Marrying Jonah

by Amy Lillard

  Jonah ducked his head over his pie and picked at the crust as if his life depended on it. He had been in denial too long. It was time to grow up and acknowledge what they had done and acknowledge that like it or not, their baby would arrive soon, and the little Miller needed them both.

  * * *

  Hilde watched Sarah and Jonah exchange an intimate look. Except for church, this was the first time she had seen them together. Her daughter seemed happy, and Hilde wanted to ask but refrained. Marriages weren’t always about happiness and love, though she wanted both for her daughter. Both her daughters.

  Then Jonah looked away and the moment between them was broken.

  Hilde turned back to her dessert. She was so thankful to have Annie, Sarah, and Jonah here with them today. Tonight Melvin and Wayne, Sarah’s brothers, would bring their families by and they would celebrate with them. So much to be thankful for.

  She looked to Otto and smiled. And a grandchild on the way. The baby might not have come about in a traditional manner, but as she had told Sarah, there were so many women who had problems conceiving that they had to look at this as a blessing. They might not understand it now, but they would. One day. There would be a time when they would be able to say, this is what happened. She didn’t know when or where that would happen. Only that it would. That God would reveal His plan to them all and the mystery would be cleared.

  Until then, it was best just to praise His name and accept His will. And thank Him for all that they had.

  * * *

  Just after three, Jonah and Sarah piled back onto the tractor and headed for his parents’ house. He was looking forward to seeing Buddy and Prudy. And Jonathan too, though Jonathan was different. His age and mental state made him more independent. Jonah was ready to see his siblings.

  That was the worst part of being married. He didn’t get to see Prudy and Buddy nearly as much as he wanted to, even if he saw them a little each day as he went over to the farm to work with his dat.

  He pulled the tractor down the drive at his parents’ house, for the first time noticing the subtle differences between Sarah’s parents’ house and his. Both had mums on the porch and wind chimes to catch the Oklahoma breeze, but there was definitely something different about the Yoder house. He knew his mother would have called it fancy Amish, but for the first time he was beginning to really understand what she meant.

  What still perplexed him was why it bothered her so. His only explanation was pride. Gertie Miller had her own measure of pride, and everything that was associated with the fancier houses had to do with envy. The haves and the have-nots.

  But he knew it was a little more than that. A house didn’t need solid oak trim or high-grade linoleum floors to raise good Amish children. They didn’t need a modern, propane-powered washer or a battery-powered sewing machine to keep clothes nice. Those things were extra. But was it a sin to have them?

  He hopped down from the tractor and helped Sarah to the ground beside him. “Want me to take the pie?”

  “I’ve got it.” She reached into the wooden crate and retrieved the covered dish.

  Side by side they walked to the porch and into the house.

  Unlike the Yoders’, the Miller house was a bevy of activity and noise. Since they had eaten at Hannah’s there was no mess on the kitchen table, which was perhaps the only unusual thing about this Thanksgiving.

  His father was asleep in the recliner, though how he could nap while Prudy read books aloud, one doll tucked beneath her arm, Jonah couldn’t imagine. Buddy and Jonathan were playing checkers, with Buddy loudly complaining that Jonathan was taking all his men.

  His father let out a raucous snore, then settled a little deeper into the chair.

  “Jonah?” his mother called from the kitchen.

  “Jah, Mamm?”

  She came bustling out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her face was slightly flushed and her eyes sparkled like she hadn’t seen him in months instead of just yesterday. “Jonah.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  She took a step back and glanced at Sarah. “How are you, Sarah?”

  His wife smiled prettily, though Jonah noticed that it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, danki.”

  She had told him that his mother held animosity toward her, but he hadn’t believed it until now. What made today different? What was he seeing today that he hadn’t noticed before?

  His mother turned away and headed back into the kitchen. “I’ll get the coffee,” she threw over her shoulder.

  “I brought a pie,” Sarah said. “Peanut butter.”

  Mamm stopped, then turned around slowly. “I made a peanut butter pie. It’s Jonah’s favorite.”

  Oh, no.

  “I, uh . . .” Sarah stammered. “I guess we can just take ours back home.”

  His mother cast her a sly smile. “That would be gut, dear.”

  Jonah blinked. “Mamm, Sarah worked hard on her pie. I think we should eat it.”

  The look on her face was pure betrayal. He had picked Sarah over his mother, and she wasn’t about to forget it. She sniffed. “If that’s what you want.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded. “It is.”

  But he knew the line had been drawn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I almost died when I was little. Did you know that?”

  Sarah blinked, trying to decipher the words Jonah had just said. “You did?”

  He nodded.

  They were halfway back to their house and Sarah couldn’t figure out why he wanted to talk about this now. The weather had remained steady, a first for Oklahoma. It was still sunny and cold, but somehow it seemed to fit the day. Jonah had taken up for her against his mother. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it warmed her more than her thick woolen coat.

  “What happened?”

  “We were living in a different house, one on the other side of town.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Three or four.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember much about it. I was playing outside, I think it was about this time of year, and I fell in an abandoned oil well site.”

  “Those are dangerous.”

  “Tell me about it. I don’t remember much. I was too young, but the point is . . . my mother.” He pulled the tractor to a stop in front of the house, but Sarah couldn’t move.

  “Your mother what?”

  “My mother is a little protective of me because of that. At least, that’s what I think it is.”

  Sarah studied him, cold, but unwilling to move until she heard everything he needed to say.

  “So don’t take it personally.”

  “It’s hard not to.” She couldn’t hold back her derisive laugh.

  “You shouldn’t. It wouldn’t matter who I married or for what reason. Today would have happened just the same.”

  “If they had brought a peanut butter pie?”

  “Any kind of pie or cake. But I’m glad you made me a peanut butter pie.”

  The words warmed her from the inside out. “Jah?”

  “It is my favorite, after all.”

  “Whose recipe?” She held up a hand before he could say a word. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

  * * *

  Something had definitely shifted between them, but Sarah was hesitant to give it a name. It was too fragile for that, too new, too vulnerable.

  They ate leftovers that her mother had packed for them for supper. Then they read the Bible together, as had become their routine.

  At ten o’clock, they got up to get to their separate rooms just as they always did.

  But Sarah’s mind was going in so many different directions. The thoughts made her anxious and uneasy, even a bit nauseous. She pressed a hand to her belly and curled up on one side in her bed.

  She woke sometime in the middle of the night, unsure of what disturbe
d her sleep. She lay there in the darkness listening for a noise, the sound of Jonah padding to the kitchen to get a drink, or the neighbor’s dog barking at strange shadows.

  Then the pain struck. It seared across her midsection, doubling her in two. It stole her breath and left her panting, wondering what had happened. What was happening?

  It had to be the baby, but this couldn’t be right. She had never heard of any of her friends talk about crazy pains that woke them up in the middle of the night.

  The pain stopped, but left behind little quakes that didn’t quite subside as the next one hit. Her body was being ripped in half.

  Then the realization hit her as sharp and searing as the pains through her body. She was losing the baby.

  Helplessness washed over her. Her mouth tasted bitter and tears burned at the back of her throat. The baby that no one wanted, the aftereffect of one sinful night.

  But she wanted the baby. In that moment she realized how much the tiny unseen creature meant to her. She wanted that baby with every fiber of her being, yet it was being ripped from her and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  She rolled to the side of her bed and managed to stand. She had to wait until the next pain hit and subsided before she managed to shuffle toward the bathroom.

  She should get Jonah, but she couldn’t. She was embarrassed, devastated. Getting Jonah would change nothing. He couldn’t stop what was happening to her any more than she could. She was alone in this pain, so very alone.

  She finally made it to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and slid onto the floor as another pain overtook her body.

  * * *

  She splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Morning had come. She was numb, but it was better than the pain, both physical and emotional. The baby that had brought her and Jonah together was gone. The reason for their marriage. It was all gone.

  But she looked no different. Maybe just a sadness in her eyes and the downward turn at the corners of her mouth. She surely didn’t look as if her life had been forever altered.

  She had taken a shower late in the night, then wrapped herself in warm pajamas and somehow managed a fitful sleep.

  But now it was morning and she had to face the awful truth. And the terrible task of telling her husband.

  She shuffled to the kitchen and started coffee on the stove. He would be up soon. Might already be. Shouts and laughter followed by the grind of a saw swung her attention to the window overlooking the backyard.

  She sighed. They were building the barn today. She spied Jonah’s dad along with Jonah, Aaron, Jonathan, and Buddy. They were all there, the whole of the Miller men. They would be expecting breakfast soon, she supposed. Her gaze shot to the clock. It was just after ten in the morning. How had she slept so long? And why did it feel like she had barely slept at all?

  Why didn’t he wake her?

  She knew, but didn’t want to face the answer to that. He didn’t wake her because he knew on some level that he couldn’t depend on her to get up and have breakfast ready for him. How could he? She couldn’t even do the most basic of womanly functions. She couldn’t even carry a baby.

  Tears stung her eyes and a lump filled her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. The baby was gone. The numbness had subsided, and now raw pain seeped into every crevice of her being. She lunged for the table and collapsed into one of the chairs. Gone, gone, gone. The baby was gone, and yet she was supposed to pick up and go on. Act like nothing had happened. Like nothing earth-shattering had occurred. How did she do that? How?

  She folded her arms on the table and laid her head on them as heavy sobs tore through her.

  But crying didn’t help. It didn’t take away the pain of her loss. She wiped her eyes and stood. Regardless of how she felt the day would go on, things would move, ebb and flow. She washed her face once again and got dressed.

  She needed to tell Jonah, but she couldn’t find the words with all his family around. What was she supposed to do? March out there and declare the loss in front of everyone? She should have woken him last night. The experience was bad enough, but now she had to live it again by telling him, her mother, her sister . . .

  The back door opened and she spun around, mixed emotions scorching through her. Glad it wasn’t Buddy or Eli, shamed that it was her husband.

  “Are you okay?”

  She could only fight back tears and shake her head.

  “Sarah?” He started toward her, but she held him off with one hand. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him and yet the words fled.

  “I—I think I ate something bad.”

  A concerned frown wrinkled his forehead. “You’ve eaten what I’ve eaten.”

  She shook her head. “Then it must be a stomach virus. You might want to stay away. It could be contagious.” The lies were falling from her lips. She would pray about it later, but for now they were self-preservation.

  For a moment he looked unconvinced, then he gave a quick nod. “Jah. Okay. But I think you should rest. Will you go back to bed?”

  The idea sounded heavenly. But if she allowed herself time to lie around, the thoughts might overcome her and then who would she be? “Maybe.”

  The concern on his face was almost more than she could handle. It seemed to have taken up residence on his face with something that looked a lot like love. She couldn’t call it that. Things between them were too shaky for that. She would label it as caring. Jonah cared for her. That much she could see. But what would he think when she told him the truth?

  “Just rest.” He backed toward the door, his gaze on her. She couldn’t look into his eyes. She couldn’t bear to. She kept her own gaze averted as he left. One minute he was there and the next he was striding back across the yard. He turned back once, looking at the window, concern still such a prominent part of his expression.

  Sarah gave a small wave, then turned toward her bedroom.

  * * *

  “Where’s Sarah?” Buddy asked the question that had been buzzing around in Jonah’s thoughts. Her bedroom door was shut and he figured she had locked herself in there with the excuse she wouldn’t be getting anyone else sick if she stayed away.

  They were taking a break from the barn to have a sandwich before they started back. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his wife since this morning.

  “She’s not feeling gut,” Jonah replied absently. But he had a feeling that there was more to it than what she was saying. He thought back on the day before. Any problems they’d had, he thought they had talked them through. She’d seemed fine when they went to bed. Then this morning everything had changed. Maybe he should have gotten her up when his father came over, but he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Hannah had told him that pregnant women needed lots of rest. There was plenty enough food in the house to grab something quick and then head out to work. He didn’t need to get her up to get his breakfast. Maybe he should have.

  But waking her wouldn’t stop her from getting sick.

  If she really was sick.

  “I’m going to see about her.” Buddy’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood.

  “Sit down,” Dat said, his tone stern.

  Buddy stopped, then slowly eased back into his seat. “But—”

  “If Sarah is sick, she needs her rest,” Dat explained. “And you don’t need to be exposed to her illness.”

  “Jah, Dat.”

  Jonah took another bite of his turkey sandwich and glanced toward the hallway. He’d give her till suppertime and then he was going in, sick or not.

  * * *

  It was dark-thirty when his father and brothers scrambled onto their tractors and headed back home. Jonah waved to them, then made his way back into the house.

  He was tired and hungry, but more than that, he was worried about his wife. He hadn’t seen her at all since this morning. She hadn’t come out of her room even once as far as he knew, but she might have when they were working. One more day and the b
arn would be complete. One more day and he’d go to his parents’ house and get his horse. But until then, he needed to check on Sarah.

  He absently wondered if they had any soup put up anywhere and if she might like some for supper. Stomach virus or not, she needed to eat. For her and the baby.

  “Sarah?” He lightly rapped on the door.

  He thought he heard the rustle of her covers but he couldn’t be sure. He eased the door open and peeked inside the room. He was cautious not to scare her or rush in in case she wasn’t decent. He never thought he would say that about his own wife, but here he was.

  “Go away,” she mumbled. She sounded tired and as if she had been crying. Was her stomach hurting her so bad that she was in tears? Maybe he should call a driver to take them into Pryor to the emergency clinic.

  The room was dark as pitch, with no light filtering in from anywhere. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust. She was lying on the bed, on top of the covers, as if she had flopped there and been unable or unwilling to cover herself. She was still dressed in the frack she had been wearing earlier and the apron as well. Her feet were bare and her prayer kapp smashed on one side.

  The sight of that lopsided linen drew him up short. A woman’s prayer kapp was near sacred. The fact that she had lain down in hers and not bothered to remove it all day spoke volumes. Something was horribly wrong. And he feared it had nothing to do with a stomach virus.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. It was a dumb thing to say. But he was at a loss. He moved closer to her and turned on the lamp next to her bed. Even the soft light seemed harsh in the dark interior of the room.

  “I’m sick, Jonah.” Her voice sounded tired, but not weak.

  “Do we need to go to the doctor?”

  She was quiet for so long he thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, then her shoulders shook. She was crying.