Thursday's Bride

by Patricia Johns

  In love . . . yes, Levi understood just how agonizing that situation could be. A man in love had his heart bared for all to see. Even if he tried to hide it, people saw, and nothing mattered anymore but that object of his affection.

  But marriage—that was a different institution entirely. Not every man in love managed to get his beloved in a wedding apron, or ever would. Because life changed. People changed. Possibilities evaporated. None knew that so well as Levi.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Rosmanda stood at the sink washing up the pans from bread baking. Domed, golden loaves sat on wire racks on the counter, making the whole house fragrant with fresh bread. Her daughters were playing on a worn quilt over by the kitchen chairs, and when she glanced back she noticed Susanna pulling at a chair leg trying to get herself higher. Pudgy hands reached upward, grasping for the back of the chair, and then she plopped back down onto her diapered bottom. Rosmanda watched her for a moment. Hannah didn’t seem inclined to try this new feat herself, but her round brown eyes were fixed on her sister in fascination.

  Was Susanna close to walking already? The babies were only ten months old, and while they were avid crawlers, Rosmanda hadn’t even wrapped her mind around the reality of walking twins. Was it terrible to hope that they’d be crawlers for a good while longer?

  Rosmanda turned back to the sink. She wrung out the cloth and wiped down the counter. The clean pans were all in the dish rack, and she pulled the plug in the sink just as the side door opened and her mother-in-law came into the kitchen with an empty laundry basket perched on one hip. Her graying hair was pulled back perfectly under her crisp white kapp.

  “I went to check the mail, and you have a letter,” Miriam said, dropping the basket onto the tabletop and handing over the envelope. “Is it from your mother?”

  Rosmanda accepted the envelope and looked down at the writing on the front. It wasn’t from her mother or sister back in Indiana—she knew their handwriting. And there was no return address on the envelope, either.

  “No . . .” Rosmanda said slowly. “I’m not sure who it’s from. But thank you.”

  It was strange to get a letter without a return address on it, but she didn’t want to open the letter in front of Miriam. She had little enough privacy these days that a mystery letter felt like a treat.

  “The laundry is all on the line,” Miriam said, changing the subject. “You need a new dress or two, I think. Yours are getting worn along the hems.”

  “I’ll turn them up again,” Rosmanda said.

  “They’ve been turned up enough,” Miriam replied. “I don’t think we have much choice anymore. You’ll need more dresses.”

  Yes, that was the problem. Rosmanda could feel her drain on her in-laws’ home. They’d all been grieving Wayne’s death together, but life plodded on, and so did the expenses.

  “I’ve finished the dishes,” Rosmanda said. “I was going to start on some shoofly pie.”

  “Actually . . .” Miriam paused. “There was something I wanted to ask you about. Levi had an idea and he mentioned it to Daet this morning. We think it’s a good one.”

  “Oh?” Had he talked to his parents already? That was good news.

  “Stephen’s youngest sister, Ketura, has been making quilts and other crafts that she sells in town,” Miriam said. “And she does rather well for herself, all considering. She says that there is quite a market for Amish goods, and a well-made quilt can get a good price. Now, I know that up until now you’ve been helping Stephen with the farm where you could, but now that Levi is here to take over with that, it will free up some time.”

  “And let me make some extra money,” Rosmanda said. “I’d be glad to start giving some money toward the household.”

  “Well, it’s not about something as crass as money. . . .” Miriam said, color coming to her cheeks, but of course, it was. They all knew it. Everything cost—from formula to cloth and thread for clothes, to canning jars and flour.

  “I would really like to make a little bit,” Rosmanda said. “And I would like to contribute.”

  She didn’t want to make her mother-in-law feel cheap for agreeing to this. It had been Rosmanda’s idea, after all. If she was to stay in this house with her twins, she needed to contribute more than her cooking skills.

  “Well, if you’d like to do it, Levi is driving out to Ketura’s place this morning. You might as well go with him. He could talk to Ketura for you, since it was his idea.”

  “That would be very nice,” Rosmanda said, a smile coming to her face. “I’ll take the babies with me—”

  “I could watch my granddaughters for a couple of hours,” Miriam said with a shrug. “You shouldn’t be too long, I don’t think.”

  “Thank you, Miriam. I do appreciate that. When do we leave?”

  “When Levi comes back from chores.”

  Rosmanda nodded. “I’ll go find a clean apron, then.”

  Rosmanda paused beside her daughters to smooth a hand over their curly heads. Hannah reached for her, while Susanna grabbed for the chair again. Scooping Hannah up in her arms, she glanced back at Miriam.

  “Let Susanna be,” Miriam said. “I’ll be down here anyway, starting the pies.”

  Rosmanda smiled her thanks and hoisted Hannah up on her hip. They were getting bigger, chubbier, and so much more active. Hannah leaned her cheek against Rosmanda’s shoulder, and Rosmanda leaned over to kiss her forehead.

  “How’s my girl?” she asked softly, heading up the stairs. Hannah reached for the letter in Rosmanda’s hand, and she tucked it under her apron waist instead. “No, that’s mine. Come. You can play on my bed while I get changed.”

  Hannah liked to roll around with the pillows on Rosmanda’s bed, so when she got upstairs, she deposited the baby in the center and reached back to untie her apron. She had another ironed apron waiting for her in her closet, and she shook it out and put it on, smoothing her hands over her hips as she checked that it was straight and crisp.

  Hannah crawled toward the pillows on the bed, and Rosmanda sank down onto the edge of it and tore open the envelope.

  The writing was a little messy, but legible, and she dropped her gaze to the bottom of the page first to see who had written it, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name.

  Jonathan. She recognized the sweep of his signature. This was Jonathan Yoder—her scandous mistake from Indiana. Her cheeks heated as she remembered her youthful abandon with a much older boy. He’d awoken a part of her that hadn’t been ready yet, but she couldn’t blame him entirely. She’d been a willing participant.

  She’d exchanged a few letters with him after her husband’s death, but she hadn’t written him back in months.

  Dear Rosmanda,

  You’ve told me how deeply you’ve been grieving your husband, and I keep thinking of you alone out there in Pennsylvania—away from the people who love you. It must be lonesome. And I can sympathize with that. I’m lonesome, too.

  Ever since I was manipulated into marrying

  Mary, I have felt the unfairness of my life. She doesn’t understand me, and after five kinner together, whatever affection we used to have seems to have drained away. She is more like a sister in my home than a wife. I married the wrong woman, and it should have been you.

  “Manipulated!” she said aloud. Jonathan hadn’t been manipulated into marriage. If anything, he’d been the one manipulating two women, claiming to love both, and ultimately impregnating the woman he did marry. Granted, the elders made sure that he married his pregnant fiancée, but that wasn’t manipulation—it was the only option.

  He’d claimed that Mary was more like a sister back when he was fooling around with Rosmanda, so those words rang rather false. If he’d gotten Mary pregnant, that wasn’t the case, was it? And five kinner weren’t born from a sibling dynamic.

  She read on:

  I’m not sure you will want to see me after all these years, but I can hope. I’m coming to Abundance to see you—to
make sure you’re okay . . . to ask you in person if you love me still. After your letters, I’ve started to hope that you might. Or that you could love me again. I know that marriage before God is for life, and that you are now free, and I am not . . . but is there no mercy for a man who made a terrible mistake? Is there no second chance at happiness?

  I will be there soon. There must be a way for us. Don’t answer this letter. It will only make Mary suspicious. Wait for me.

  Your own,

  Jonathan

  The blood emptied out of Rosmanda’s head and she felt like the room was tipping for a moment. He was coming here—to Abundance? She sucked in a breath and scanned the words again—she wasn’t to answer him lest his wife get suspicious . . . and he was coming.

  “You idiot . . .” she breathed. She wasn’t sure if she was referring to Jonathan or to herself. She never should have written him back when he wrote to her the first time. She never should have shown him any bit of her grief. She should have seen what he was up to—again!

  This man had already ruined her chances at a marriage in her home community of Morinville, and he was coming to her new home—the place where she’d managed to maintain a reputation of being a good, honorable wife and mother—and he was going to expose her.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and she licked her dry lips, wondering if there was anything she could do to stop him. But she couldn’t think of anything. Mary might think Rosmanda was trying to meddle in their marriage if she wrote to her . . . And did she dare write to her daet and ask him to intervene? Her father was the bishop in Morinville, and he might be able to help. If she wrote him right away, it was possible that he’d get it in time.

  Hold Jonathan back, Lord, she prayed earnestly. Stop him. Don’t let him come and ruin everything I’ve worked for!

  Because if Rosmanda was to find another good, decent husband to help her raise her daughters, to give her more kinner and to give her an honest place in the Amish community, then her secret must stay deeply buried.

  Hannah crawled back over the quilt in Rosmanda’s direction, drool dripping down her chin from her gummy little smile. Rosmanda scooped her daughter up into her arms and held her tight as her mind spun. This didn’t only affect her, it would affect her daughters, too. Their reputations could be sullied by her past sins, if they came to light.

  What exactly did Jonathan Yoder want from her? And what would it take to buy his silence about their history? She’d write to her father today and send it off. May the angels speed its arrival at her parents’ farm. Because from what she could tell, this was her only hope.

  Downstairs, she heard the door bang shut and the murmur of voices came through the floorboards. Levi was back in from chores, and that meant she’d be expected to leave soon. She looked around the room and spotted the matches next to the kerosene lamp on her dresser. She kissed Hannah’s cheek and put her onto the floor, then grabbed a match and struck it.

  The letter caught fire in a whoosh, and it flared up, then crinkled down into an ashy crumple. She dropped it into the empty garbage can and let it burn out.

  Maybe Jonathan wouldn’t come. Maybe God would answer her prayers and keep him at home with Mary and their children. Maybe he’d realize before he left Morinville that Mary was the woman for him, and he’d leave Rosmanda alone.

  But there was no time to write a letter home this minute.

  “Rosmanda?” Miriam’s voice came up the staircase. “Are you ready?”

  Rosmanda rubbed her hands over her face, then pushed the garbage can back into the corner. She’d kept her secret all these years, and she’d continue to keep it until she was forced to do otherwise.

  There was still a chance that God would have mercy on her and would keep Jonathan Yoder far from her. She’d paid the price for her sin. She’d done her penance. She’d changed her ways and found a good, solemn, Amish husband. She was a woman now, no longer a naïve girl. While Jonathan was pining for second chances at happiness, all she wanted was a second chance at respectability.

  “Come now, Hannah,” Rosmanda said, picking up her daughter from where she sat at her feet and pasting a smile onto her face. “Let’s go down to Mammi.”

  * * *

  Levi eyed his mother. “She’s coming with me?”

  His heart sped up, and he glanced toward the stairs. The last time he’d spent some time alone with Rosmanda, he’d flirted with her. He told himself it had been habit, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about her that made him want to prove himself to her—to train that horse to make her look at him with some respect in her eyes.

  Would that even be enough to gain her respect? Probably not. But he wanted to do it, all the same.

  “It only makes sense,” Miriam said. “Doesn’t it? You suggested she work with Ketura, and she seems to like the idea, too. Then Ketura and Rosmanda need to talk.”

  Levi had other things to discuss with Ketura like the fact that Aaron was in love with her. Did his aunt feel the same way, or had she been trying to put the younger man off with a bit of kindness and Aaron hadn’t taken the hint? Levi wasn’t sure, but he needed Ketura’s side of the story before he could do anything on Aaron’s behalf, and he wasn’t ready to bring this up to his parents just yet.

  “Sure, Mamm,” he said.

  Rosmanda had asked for this favor, and he owed her. The tension in his chest came back at the thought of that obligation. He wouldn’t take responsibility for his brother’s death—not when it was an Englisher drunk driver—but he hadn’t been the man he should have been, either, these last years. He’d been drinking and hanging out in Englisher bars when he wasn’t working the Peachy farm. He’d been drowning his own sorrows and caring little about how that made his family look. They certainly hadn’t cared what Wayne’s betrayal had done to him, had they? A wedding didn’t just smooth things over for the guy who got tilled under. But he’d been acting like a rebellious fool, and for that, he hadn’t forgiven himself. He should have hidden things better—covered it over with Amish stoicism.

  So maybe if he could help Rosmanda to move her life forward it would lighten the resentment that stewed in her dark eyes. Facing his own self-recriminations was hard enough. He didn’t need to add hers.

  “Oh, and bring these baked goods, would you?” Mamm said, lifting a cloth-covered basket. It smelled of fresh bread, and when he peeked in the side, he saw an array of buns and cookies, with a plastic-covered shoofly pie balanced on top.

  “Yah, sure,” he said with a nod. Ketura and her late husband’s brother and his wife would enjoy some extra food. Ketura hadn’t been left much upon her husband’s death, and her refusal to remarry so far wasn’t making her life easy.

  Rosmanda came downstairs, one of her daughters in her arms. She looked tired, a little pale, but poised all the same. She kissed the baby’s plump cheek, then handed her over to Levi’s mamm.

  “I’ll be back,” she said, smiling down into the baby’s face, and then she turned and picked up the other baby, who had been playing on a blanket next to the table. “Be good, Susanna. I’ll be back.”

  She kissed Susanna, too, and then reached up to check her kapp with the tips of her fingers. She looked younger with all the weight she’d lost—more fragile. Rosmanda was so proper that it irritated him sometimes. Never a misstep. She was a widow and mother, and there wasn’t a stain upon her apron or a hair out of place. He’d seen a more playful side to her once upon a time—but seeing her like this made the memory seem more like something he’d made up than actual fact. She pulled a woolen shawl around her slender shoulders, then looked back at Mamm.

  “Thank you for watching them,” Rosmanda said. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

  “Never mind that,” Mamm replied with a smile. “They’ll be fine with me.”

  When Rosmanda turned toward the door, Mamm shot Levi a warning look. His mother had told him he was to get along with his sister-in-law, and he knew what Mamm wanted—a harmonious family for all to
see. But Rosmanda wasn’t the only one to resent him. Mamm might not blame him for Wayne’s death, but she did blame him for the family discord of recent years. It had been Levi’s responsibility to step back emotionally and find it in his heart to wish Wayne and Rosmanda well. And he hadn’t been able to do it.

  Levi opened the door and held it while Rosmanda joined him outside. Then he headed over to the buggy barn. Rosmanda kept up with him, but she didn’t say anything. He put the basket of baked goods into the back of the buggy, and when he headed into the stable to get the horses, she stayed outside.

  He paused, looking out at her through the window. She stood with her head down, her gaze locked on something at her feet. She was rigid—her spine straight and her shoulders back. She looked strained, worried, even. But even the chilly wind couldn’t move a tendril of hair free from her kapp.

  “So bloody proper . . .” he muttered.

  The curse was a habit, picked up in bars, but he liked it. It vented his frustration. Just once, he’d like to see her slip up—come out with a colorful curse, or slap someone straight across the face. Just once, he wanted to see her step down to a human level, and maybe that was why he enjoyed fighting with her so much. When she was mad, that careful veneer of hers that she’d polished up these last years slipped aside, and it was satisfying to see.

  But no one else had seen that passionate side to Rosmanda. She was a good woman, a wife who had done well. And he was still the rebellious clod who embarrassed his family.

  When Levi came outside with the horses, Rosmanda stood back, watching him as he got the horses saddled and ready to hitch up to the wagon.

  “You don’t want to bring me along,” she said, breaking the silence between them for the first time.

  “No, I don’t,” he admitted as he pulled the breast strap over the head of the first horse. He secured the strap and reached for the traces. His fingers knew the work.