The Scent of Cherry Blossoms: A Romance from the Heart of Amish Country

by Cindy Woodsmall

  In an instant she forgot all about her surroundings—the porch, her friends, and her date with Leon. Aden’s drawings immediately transported her back to Apple Ridge, to her grandfather’s orchard. To their late-night walks in the moonlight or fog, talking about everything except their future.

  When she’d finished looking at the first book, he urged her to open the next. She moved to the top step and sat. He put the box nearby and sat beside her. To her shock it was filled with sketches of her. In the diner’s kitchen with her hair a mess, sweeping the floor. In the serving area, her arms loaded with plates as she approached a family at a table. Several were from years ago—events she’d forgotten about. Her in Ellen’s garden, kneeling in the dirt, smudges on her cheeks. Roller-skating through the diner. Walking in the rain.

  Several pages showed her in her Daadi’s orchard, standing among the barren trees, wandering among the budding twigs, touching the blossoms, holding her arms out wide amid an expanse of flowering branches. Every picture portrayed her with a smile on her lips and a glow on her face.

  She’d never been that happy unless she was in Apple Ridge with Aden. Not even close. Tears stung her eyes.

  Aden smiled. “The d-decision is yours. But, Annie …” He looked into her eyes, silently telling her everything she needed to hear.

  Every ounce of love she’d felt for him came rushing back all at once in a torrent of emotion. But every logical reason she’d had for keeping her distance from him came back as well. “But if we do this, your family will lose their livelihood.”

  “I t-talked to Moses. He’s r-relented.” He took her hand into his. “But what do you want?”

  Her head swam in confusion. She’d spent the last month and a half convincing herself that she was doing the right thing to stay here and that Aden didn’t love her. That their feelings for each other were simply childhood affection, not something that could sustain a lasting, happy marriage.

  And her relationship with her mother was just starting to mend. Finally, after all these years, they’d actually been able to enjoy each other’s company lately. She couldn’t risk shattering that.

  She stared at the open book in her lap. Only a man who loved her as much as she did him could’ve drawn those sketches with such detail, precision, and passion.

  The door to the carriage house opened, and Leon stepped outside. “Everything okay?”

  “Ya.” Annie pulled her hand free of Aden’s and closed the sketch pad. “I’ll just be another minute.”

  Leon didn’t budge.

  “Leon, I’ll be right in.”

  He clicked his tongue and went inside.

  “I’m sorry, Aden.” She rose. “But I have a date for the evening.”

  “I u-understand.” He stood and started to leave but stopped on the stairs and looked back. “I’ve t-told you what’s on my heart. I want to be with you. I’ll move here and join your church. The decision is up t-to you.”

  She watched as he strode to the vehicle he’d apparently arrived in. Before he got in on the passenger’s side, he paused, looking at her one last time.

  Roman paced the front porch, rolling from one end to the other, waiting on Aden’s driver to return. He even managed a few prayers, hopeful God would hear him more this time than He had after the accident.

  A desperate feeling gnawed at him, as if life could be set right if Annie agreed to marry Aden and nothing would be set right if she refused him. His eyes stung as tears threatened. Did Aden know how much he admired him? loved him? wanted him to be happy?

  Probably not. Roman hadn’t even known until recently. From inside the house, Mamm stepped to the screen door. “In diner lingo, the dishes are done, the food is stored away, and I’m about to put the Closed sign on the kitchen for the night. Since you didn’t eat supper, you want me to fix you something first?”

  Roman shook his head. “What if this doesn’t work out but it would have if I’d been the brother I should’ve been, helping instead of thwarting? That’s who Aden’s always been to me. But not me. No way. I mean, I’m the smooth talker who just has to push for his way and knows how to do it, right?”

  Mamm stepped onto the porch. The screen door slowly squeaked its familiar tune, and when she released it, it banged numerous times against the frame. What was wrong with him that he’d begun noticing the weirdest things and was being moved by them? The sound stirred him, feeling like home, and thankfulness wanted to rise instead of sarcasm.

  “Is that where he’s gone, to see Annie?”

  Roman cleared his throat. “The problem with being a talker is one often doesn’t realize what all he’s sharing until it’s too late.”

  She sat in the porch swing, staring out over the land. “I’m glad for him.”

  “We’ll be okay, Mamm. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, driving myself half crazy. But I’ve finally realized a few things. I’m not as incapable as I make myself out to be. I have limitations, but I became hostile, thinking everyone owed me. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I’ve decided to become determined and find answers … if God will help me.”

  She smiled. “He will. Come what may, He is there helping, strengthening, and guiding.”

  “When I stop railing at Him, I actually catch glimpses of different kinds of healing—like accepting the brokenness in my body and trusting Him anyway.”

  Mamm brushed a stray hair off her forehead and tucked it under her prayer Kapp, and he noticed how much gray hair she had these days. “And, Roman, remember that no one is truly broken whose mind, heart, and soul have been healed by his Creator.”

  He sort of got that. Everything physical was temporal anyway, and the most lasting thing people gave each other was who they were … which was nothing good without God working in them.

  Mamm reached over and patted his shoulder. “I guess something in all this, aside from God’s intervention, has been good for you.”

  “I’d say it’s been Marian.”

  Mamm suppressed a smile as if afraid to look too pleased.

  “Get that gleam out of your eye. It’s not like that. I’m not getting any closer to Marian than an occasional phone call. There is no way I’ll ever ask someone with as promising a future as Marian’s to hitch her life to me with my challenges. Forget it.”

  “You know”—Mamm pressed her hands down the front of her black apron—“if this works out for Annie and Aden, they face a tough road ahead: people frowning, one of them being excommunicated, the other being considered an outsider to the new faith they join. Prejudices will abound for years to come—all of it quite challenging for them. Right?”

  “Aden’s worth it. Annie will be the one to miss out if she doesn’t face that challenge.”

  She leaned toward him. “And I’m here to tell you that the same is true of Marian.” She stood. “Tell me you’ll think about that.”

  He scratched his forehead, a bit rattled by his Mamm’s unwavering belief in him. “I’ll call her … see if she might be willing to have a second date.”

  “Good idea.” She pointed at the road. “But right now, Aden’s home.”

  In the haze between asleep and awake, the scent of cherry blossoms filled Aden’s senses. He’d been dreaming about walking through the orchard with Annie in the moonlight. Though he knew it was time to get up, he resisted leaving that precious dream world in which nothing mattered but the love they shared.

  As he forced himself to open his eyes, he realized that it was daylight and that the aroma he’d thought was part of his dream still hung in the air. It was a between Sunday, which meant a complete day off. A day to sleep until daylight … or until midmorning if his body ever let him, which it never did.

  He got up and dressed, but the aroma of cherry blossoms continued to linger.

  That made no sense. He lived too far from Moses’s orchard to smell the cherry trees even when they were in full bloom, which they weren’t anymore. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

  He tried to slip out of t
he room without waking Roman, but his brother stirred. “Hey, take this with you.” Roman pointed to his nightstand where a box sat, wrapped in forest-green paper with navy-blue ribbon and a small bow. The square of white cardboard taped to the top said, “With love, from Roman and Aden.”

  Suddenly it hit Aden that today was Mother’s Day! He’d been so wrapped up in his feelings about Annie he hadn’t thought to get his Mamm a present.

  “Y-you—”

  “I know.” Roman scrunched his pillow under his head. “You think I should give it to her. But I want to sleep, and she deserves to know first thing that we thought of her.” He snuggled into the pillow. “Or at least the best one of us did.”

  Aden chuckled, so grateful his brother was more like himself again. Carrying the present, he closed the door behind him. While heading for the kitchen, he also smelled coffee and fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. When he entered the room, he nearly dropped his mother’s present.

  Annie sat at the kitchen table with his mom, sipping coffee. Mamm looked peaceful and happy for the first time in weeks, maybe a month or more. Apparently, between when he left her last night and this morning, Annie had hired or bartered with a driver to bring her here.

  “Good morning, Son.” Mamm rose and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Is that for me?”

  Aden tore his attention from Annie and extended the gift. “Ya. Happy Mother’s Day.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “It’s from Roman and me. Mostly Roman.”

  “Then I’ll wait till he gets up to open it.” She set it in the center of the kitchen table.

  “Good morning, Aden.” Annie smiled up at him, looking so beautiful.

  “Annie brought me a gift too.” Mamm took his hand and led him to the living room. “Candles with the scent of cherry blossoms.” The two large candles were lit and filled the room with the fragrance that would always remind Aden of the girl he loved.

  Annie came up behind them. “If you’re not too hungry, maybe we could go for a walk?”

  He studied her face, longing to tell her that he was more hungry for her than for any kind of food. But she still hadn’t told him how she felt—at least not in words. Her presence here, and the sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him, gave him hope.

  “I have a gift for you, Aden.”

  When they stepped out the back door, he saw a root-wrapped sapling in the corner of the porch. Annie picked it up and handed it to him. “I went by a garden center late last night, not expecting them to be open or to have what I wanted. I was wrong on both counts. This little cherry tree is just a sapling. But it comes from good stock, so it should grow big and strong and yield abundant, fragrant blossoms, given the proper care.”

  As he took the young tree from her, his fingers brushed hers, and he let them linger there. “And w-where will we plant it?”

  The look in her eyes told him she heard his underlying question. “I’ve given that a lot of thought, and I have an idea.” She led him across the backyard to a large, relatively flat area. “Seems to me this might be a good place for a cherry tree. There’s lots of room, and it’ll get plenty of sunshine. And it’ll be near our home.”

  Aden looked across the land, hoping he wasn’t about to wake up. He set the cherry tree on the ground.

  Annie knelt and wrote his name in the topsoil. “I spoke to my mother about us.”

  Aden crouched beside her. “H-how did it g-go?”

  She raised her eyes to Aden’s. “She said that love and loyalty are worth sacrificing for and our people know that. In time your people and mine will forgive us for ruffling their feathers.” The dimple in her right cheek grew clear as she smiled. “I want to join your family, Aden. I want to be a part of your life here with Ellen and Roman and the diner.”

  Aden took her by the hand and helped her stand. He tucked a loose strand of her silky blond hair behind her ear and gazed into her bluish-green eyes. “I love you, Annie Martin.”

  Roman sat at the breakfast table with his family and Annie. It was a nice start to Mother’s Day. But he knew that by tomorrow, Annie’s church leaders, both from New York and here in Apple Ridge, would counsel and pressure her not to leave the church, and when she didn’t relent, she’d be shunned. The Mennonite community didn’t call it that. He didn’t know what they called it, but it carried the same shame and sense of isolation, only, unlike the Amish, there would be no set time for when it’d end. Loved ones and church members would turn a cold, disapproving shoulder to her, and she could face that discord from her people for years, and maybe from some for a lifetime.

  Little would change in their household. The Amish church leaders would speak with her, caution her, and once they trusted her decision was based on love, they’d begin the steps of welcoming her.

  But Roman would never let himself forget the sacrifice or the hurt she was going through. He’d be her friend in every way possible, going the extra mile to be kind and supportive.

  The phone rang, and he dropped his fork. He’d called Marian last night. A sibling answered, saying she was out. He said he would call back and asked that no one pick up the phone so he could leave her a voice mail with a very specific message: “If you are willing to give me another chance, another date, please call.”

  He backed up from the table and wheeled through the house, down the ramp, and into the phone shanty as fast as he could. He jerked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Friends may come and go, but enemies tend to accumulate.” Marian’s voice washed over him.

  He laughed. “Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.”

  “So what do you want, Roman?”

  “A chance with you, Marian.”

  She didn’t respond, and he did the one thing that never came easy—kept his mouth shut and waited.

  “Roman,” she finally said, and he noted that seriousness had replaced the humor in her voice. “It was always yours for the asking.”

  Acknowledgments

  To my wonderful big brother Mark—no matter how young or old we are, you always make time for your little sister. Thank you for sharing your expertise about repairing generators! You are endlessly patient with my lack of understanding when it comes to all things mechanical.

  To my dear Old Order Amish friends—you always have more answers than I have questions. (And that’s quite a feat!) Thank you for your friendship and for every invitation to stay in your homes. Time with you, whether on the phone or in person, inspires and encourages me in every way imaginable. Your inside view of Old Order Amish life and “Zook’s Diner” made writing this book a joy. No matter what I needed—answers, recipes, a seamstress to make clothes for the cover model, a place to stay, or firsthand experience of Zook’s Diner—you had a solution. I can’t thank you enough!

  A special thank-you to several new friends—both current and former horse-and-buggy Mennonites—all of whom wish to remain anonymous. You willingly invested in this story and in me. Without that gift to me, the authenticity of this story would be compromised.

  Always close to my heart are the folks at WaterBrook Multnomah. From marketing to sales to production to editorial—thank you! No matter what challenges arise, you meet them with wisdom and grace.

  And to my wonderful family. You are everything I need and more.

  About the Author

  CINDY WOODSMALL is a New York Times best-selling author whose stories touch the heart of Amish living. Her personal connections with the Amish Mennonite and Old Order Amish communities provide an authentic look into the culture and relationships of the Plain people and have been featured on ABC Nightline and on the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Cindy and her family live outside Atlanta.

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