An Amish Christmas Wedding

by Amy Clipston

  Don’t look. Don’t look. Every time she reminded herself not to look, the urge to peek past Mercy at the men’s side grew. Henry sat next to Caleb and the older Yoder brothers.

  Ever since their exchange that day after school, Henry had popped up in Leesa’s brain at the most inopportune moments. When she should be listening to the first graders repeat their alphabet or during the older scholars’ spelling practice. Twice Mother had inquired about her hearing after having to repeat herself multiple times during preparations for supper.

  Henry had such a penetrating way of looking at her. It was as if he saw all her insecurities, her white lies, and her bitterness. If he did have that power, it would have been so much better for him to have seen her pre-Ian. In those days she thought she had the world on a string like the prettiest pink-and-purple balloon floating over green pastures and majestic mountains.

  Not anymore.

  Tommy had been doing better in school—somewhat better. His behavior at home must’ve improved as well. He’d been riding the bike to school—leaving Leesa no reason to walk him home.

  Even if she wanted to. Of course, she didn’t. Did she?

  Mother nudged Leesa with her elbow and glared over the silver-rimmed glasses sitting on her long nose.

  What? Leesa mouthed.

  Mother’s eyebrows rose on their tippy toes.

  The sermon. Lucas droned on about Jesus’s parable of the seeds that fell on the path, the rocky soil, the thorny soil, and the good soil. What were the seeds? What was the soil, thorny or good? Lucas pondered the thought aloud, then paused so everyone in attendance could do the same.

  Was Lucas casting seeds on Tommy? The boy was definitely hard-packed soil on a path from which he might not return.

  A thump and a muffled cry sounded behind Leesa. Her mother jumped. A baby squawked. Leesa swiveled in her seat, as did most everyone in the Yoder front room and dining area combined.

  With a half-stifled giggle, Tommy scrambled up from the floor. In his haste he knocked over the empty bench on which he’d been sitting in the last row. “Sorry. I nodded off.”

  The young boys and girls seated toward the back tittered. Withering stares from their parents put a quick end to that.

  His face a ruddy beet red, Henry rose and strode to where Tommy was struggling to set the bench upright. Henry grabbed the boy’s arm and propelled him out the front door, which he closed behind them with barely a sound.

  Lucas looked nonplussed but recovered quickly by moving on to the mustard seed parable. How could such a tiny seed grow into such an enormous plant? What did Jesus want to teach them with these stories?

  Leesa tried to concentrate, but truth be told, she preferred passages where Jesus laid out his teachings in a more straightforward manner. Allegories seemed open to interpretation, which was not the Plain way, as Deacon Tobias Eicher had hammered into them during baptism classes. The Scriptures spoke for themselves. They did not need interpretation by folks who thought themselves smarter than God.

  Blessedly the one-hour sermon soon wound down, followed by the kneeling prayer and standing for the benediction. The movement helped Leesa fight off sleep, brought on by a night of tossing and turning as her mind revisited the ups and downs of teaching. More ups than downs. The benediction ended. Belatedly, Leesa genuflected and sat only a beat behind everyone else.

  She waited for the vorsinger to start the final hymn, then peeked past her mother. Henry hadn’t returned. Surely he didn’t leave. What kind of lesson would that teach Tommy?

  Another harder elbow from Mother. Chagrined at her own inattentiveness, Leesa opened her mouth and focused on drawing out each syllable the way she had learned from the time she sat on Mother’s lap and played with beads and string.

  Fifteen minutes later the song ended.

  Her forehead furled in deep wrinkles, Mother stood first and turned to Leesa. “Where was your mind this morning, Dochder? It certainly wasn’t on Jesus.”

  “I was listening.” Her protest sounded weak in her own ears. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “I’d suggest more kaffi, but you wiggled like a three-year-old as it was.”

  Heat toasted Leesa’s cheeks. Mother never had to chastise her. Mercy had always been the wiggle worm during church. “I’m sorry, Mudder. We’d better get to the kitchen and bring out the food.”

  Ignoring the grin Mercy didn’t bother to hide, Leesa squeezed past both women and led the way to the kitchen where they helped spread out fixings for sandwiches, pickles, finger foods, cookies, and pies brought by the women of the district. The men would rearrange the benches to make room for tables.

  “So why did you keep looking at Henry?” Mercy snatched a piece of bread from a tray and slathered peanut butter on it. “Maybe this will settle my stomach. Otherwise, I don’t know if I can look at this food long enough to serve it.”

  Leesa waved her sister away from the table. “There are plenty of us to serve. Go sit outside and get some sun.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  So much for redirection. The articles she’d read about teaching children said it sometimes worked to turn a situation around. Maybe not as much with adults. “I didn’t look at him any more than anyone else. Tommy falling off his bench made everyone look.”

  “You were looking before that.” Her arms loaded with baskets of homemade sliced bread, Naomi Miller paused next to Leesa. They’d been best friends all through school, until Naomi skipped her rumspringa, was baptized, and married immediately thereafter in a small, quiet wedding. A few months later little Jennie Lynn made an appearance, but no one openly counted how many months it had been. “Everyone is wondering how he’ll ever pull off taking care of a little boy.”

  “If any single man can, it’s Henry. We’re working on it together.” The words came out of her mouth before Leesa had time to think how they would sound. She had told no one about her discussions with Henry. They were only trying to help Tommy. Yet it seemed like more. What if it only seemed that way to her? “Tommy is a handful at schul too. He’s having a hard time settling in.”

  There had been a moment after she walked Tommy home that first day when they seemed to be on the same page. And again the day he took apart his desk. A mutual agreement—or had it been a mutual challenge? Either way, Tommy’s well-being mattered to them both.

  “Together, eh?” Naomi giggled. “It’s about time you moved on from Ian.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like, then?”

  “Like a teacher and a parent trying to help a child.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Leesa turned and rearranged the cookie tray. Snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, peanut butter almond, and sugar cookies. All her favorites. Everyone else was probably thinking the same thing about Henry and her. She was, too, if she was honest with herself. But figuring out what to do about it was much harder.

  “You’d better get those sandwich fixings out there,” Mercy interceded. “All that pontificating will have them ravenous.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “How you do talk, Mercy. Caleb must have married you for your vocabulary.”

  Maybe he did, Leesa wanted to argue. Would that be so bad? Her sister was a big reader and a big thinker. Caleb thought that was a good thing. They were blessed to have each other.

  Fortunately, Naomi sashayed from the kitchen in time to save herself from Leesa’s pent-up emotions.

  “How is teaching going?” Mercy grimaced and nibbled at the bread. Her pretty face had turned a deeper shade of lime green. “You haven’t said much.”

  What could Leesa say to the former teacher so beloved by her scholars that they still talked about her legendary baseball and volleyball skills? They still recounted how she acted out the stories she read to them on Friday afternoons as a special treat if they’d had a good week.

  Leesa was not good at sports. Nor did she act. She liked to read as much as the next person, but ac
ting out the stories was not one of her talents. “It’s going fine.”

  “I miss it.” Mercy managed a wan smile. “I love being Caleb’s fraa, and I can’t wait for this bopli to get here. But still, teaching was fun.”

  Fun wasn’t the first word that came to Leesa’s mind. Frustrating, maybe. But it could be fulfilling. She saw a glimpse of that now and then when a first grader read an entire page without missing a word, or a fifth grader got all the history answers right. And when the kids giggled and bantered but spelled every word correctly in the spelling bee.

  “We’re settling in. Levi’s little bruder, Charlie, is a handful. So is Tommy, but I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “It’ll get easier.” Mercy’s face softened. “I promise, Schweschder. I know you. Anything you set your mind to do well, you do well. This will be no different.”

  Tears stung Leesa’s eyes. She and Mercy were so different, but it had never kept them from being close. “Danki.”

  “Go serve.” Mercy patted her shoulder. “I’m right behind you.”

  It felt good to know that her sister wasn’t only referring to serving food.

  For the next hour and a half, they served, ate, and visited until nary a sandwich or a cookie remained. Leesa answered the same question repeatedly with the same answer. “How is school?” “Gut, very gut.” Several parents mentioned that they would stop by for a visit soon, and Sally Plank offered to bring a hot meal one day for lunch.

  The kids would like that. Maybe they would do a pizza day. Leesa wiped her hands on her apron and stepped onto the porch for a breath of fresh air. So many women talking at once made more noise than a bunch of chickens in a crowded coop. The October morning sunshine had given way to gray, low-hanging clouds and a blustery north wind.

  Wishing for her sweater, Leesa hugged her arms to her waist and shivered. She loved the change of seasons, but sometimes it came unexpectedly, like a guest who forgot to write ahead. She let her gaze roam across the yard, where several clusters of men lounged at picnic tables, their voices a low rumble compared to the women’s high-pitched chatter. Henry had never reappeared. Nor had Tommy.

  She looked farther afield. There. Henry stood next to his white gelding with his back to the crowd, his hand smoothing the horse’s mane. Tommy was nowhere in sight.

  Glancing around, Leesa slipped down the steps and across the yard. No one paid her any mind. She hoped.

  “Hey, Henry. You never ate.” Food seemed a good enough reason to approach him. Innocent. Leesa slowed, waiting for his response. He didn’t turn. “Are you all right? Where’s Tommy?”

  Henry swiveled. Uncertainty etched lines on his plain face. His eyes burned with an intensity that made Leesa’s heart skip a beat. “I gave him a choice. Return to the service or walk home without eating. He chose to walk home. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a choice.”

  He wanted her to tell him he’d made the right decision. That was obvious. Leesa slipped around to the other side of the horse where she could ground herself by touching the animal’s warm, soft back. She studied Henry’s face, half hopeful, half fearing condemnation. “We hope kinner will make gut choices, but we can’t always be sure they will. They have to live with the consequences of their actions.”

  “I’m not sure he even knows the way home.”

  “He’ll find his way.”

  “He’s lost.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m not talking about physically.”

  “I understand, but you’ll find him. It might take time, but you’ll get through.” Leesa smoothed the horse’s silky mane. He nickered and tossed his head in appreciation. “He’s the same way at school. A time or two I thought I was getting through, but it’s only been a few weeks. We both have to give him time.”

  “He’s still talking about the moose.”

  “That’s a gut sign.”

  “I guess so.”

  “The invitation to supper is still open.” A wave of heat rolled over Leesa. Women didn’t usually invite men to their houses. But this was different—a teacher inviting a parent and her scholar to supper. “It might help.”

  “He hasn’t made any friends at schul?”

  “He talks to Job some.”

  “After his behavior in church, I don’t know if I should—”

  “If you wait for him to be perfect, it will never happen.”

  He rubbed his temple. “I knew this would be hard. I just didn’t realize how hard.”

  Exactly Leesa’s thoughts about teaching. “Just think about—”

  “Are you coming?” Seth, one of Leesa’s younger brothers, approached, his expression curious. “Daed’s waiting.”

  “I have to go, but if you need to talk—about Tommy, I mean—stop by after schul anytime.” Leesa shot Seth a go-away frown. “I’m there grading papers most afternoons after the kinner go home.”

  Now would be a good time to extend that invitation again.

  Except for Seth’s looming presence.

  “Danki. I’ll keep that in mind.” Henry glanced at Seth, then back to Leesa, as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he simply nodded.

  Leesa scurried after Seth, who grunted. “Huh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My schweschder is finally moving on.”

  People kept saying that. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re courting again.”

  “Am not. We were discussing his . . . scholar.”

  “Jah. Uh-huh.”

  Seth could think what he liked, but she and Henry were not courting.

  Not yet, anyway. The three little words fluttered on the breeze like butterflies and then flew away.

  8

  Henry almost made it out of the Yoders’ yard. He could’ve pretended not to hear Noah calling his name, but that would’ve been dishonest. And right after the Sunday service. He tugged on the reins and halted the buggy.

  “I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.” Noah’s earnest delivery of those two sentences didn’t bode well. Nor did his somber expression. “We could grab a seat at a picnic table. I didn’t see you eat.”

  “My stomach is complaining this morning.” This was the truth. So much so Henry had been afraid he might have to miss church. Only his determination to set an example for Tommy had kept him from settling back in bed. “I really need to check on Tommy.”

  No point in getting into the details of the choice he’d given Tommy or the smirk he’d received in return right before Tommy set out for home, kicking up gravel with every step of his new church shoes.

  Noah’s smile tightened. “Exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” To Henry’s surprise, Noah climbed into the buggy and settled on the seat next to him. He turned up the collar on his coat and rubbed his hands together. “They say winter is coming early. This north wind is proof enough. I’ll go with you to talk to Tommy. You can drop me at the house afterward.”

  A spattering of raindrops spit on Henry’s face. A few minutes with Tommy and Noah would know the truth of the child’s spiritual malaise. “It’s not necessary.”

  “Given the stunt he pulled during the service this morning, I must disagree. Especially when you consider what I’ve been hearing.”

  Here we go. Irritation was wrong. Henry silently counted to ten. Accountability from the community was a staple of their faith. He snapped the reins, and the buggy jolted forward. “What did Leesa tell you?”

  “What makes you think Leesa said anything?” Noah paused for a beat. “What has the bu done at schul?”

  Besides birdcalling and destroying his own desk? Those were the least of Henry’s concerns. “He’s rambunctious, that’s all. A high-spirited boy.”

  “Then why do you walk around looking as if the sky has fallen on your head?”

  Henry urged his horse into a canter. The rain came down harder. He scanned both sides of the dirt road that led to his cabin but saw no sign of Tommy. Dealing with the boy’s antics
challenged Henry, but coping with his spiritual mess was quite another larger swarm of gnats. “His presence was unexpected.”

  “I reckon that’s what they call an understatement.”

  “He’s been scarred by loss. He’s been uprooted. He’s lashing out.”

  “A steady, firm hand will rein him in.”

  It would help, but discipline would not fill the hole in Tommy’s heart. Henry picked his words with care. “Or a loving heart.”

  “Of course discipline must be meted out with love and caring.” A gust of wind blew rain into the buggy. The sweet smell of Douglas firs came with it. Chuckling, Noah wiped his face with his wool coat sleeve. “But he doesn’t need a friend. He needs a parent. He needs to be reined in before he’s completely out of hand.”

  “With time, he’ll settle down.”

  “Have you considered placing him with one of our Kootenai families? The Planks, the Yoders, or the Shrocks? They have more experience with raising kinner.”

  The idea hadn’t occurred to Henry. To have this burden disappear from his shoulders had appeal. To have his quiet, orderly home back. No more waterlogged tussles at bath time. No more visits from a certain teacher.

  Nee. What reason would he then have to visit the Yoders for supper?

  He brushed the selfish thought aside. Leesa only wanted to help her wayward scholar. She had no interest in the scholar’s substitute father. For the first time since Vivian’s death, his heart thrummed in a cranky, painful effort to disagree with his head concerning a woman’s interest.

  There was no interest. Would he like there to be interest?

  This was ridiculous. Aware of Noah’s piercing gaze, Henry studied the potholes filling with rain in front of the buggy. He raised his face to the glowering gray clouds. Sweet Vivian’s shadowy figure wavered in the distance. She would’ve been a good mother. She would’ve known what to do.