The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy)

by Beverly Lewis

  "Say `perty please with marshmallows and cream,' " Nick said, scowling. But there was a twinkle in his black eyes.

  "I'll say nothin' of the kind!"

  He chuckled. "Well, then, you'll just have to hope I can be trusted."

  It was her turn to shrug her shoulders and smirk back. Rose knew Nick well enough to be assured that he'd do her bidding. He always did.

  By Saturday, Nick's demeanor had turned as gray as the tattered work coat he liked to wear. Rose greeted him cheerfully all the same before she set to work freshening the bedding straw for the new foals, not bothering to attempt conversation. Back and forth, sunshine and shadows, this was Nick's pattern. On such days, she'd learned to just let him be.

  She fed and watered the half-dozen goats Dat had taken to raising recently. Her father spent most of his afternoons in the shop, where he built all kinds of wagons - market wagons, bench wagons, pony carts, and the like. The bulk of his work was commissioned by neighbors in the church district. For those who were strapped for money, he might either charge a small fee or, occasionally, none at all. His generous nature was well known far and wide. Dat believed the Lord would supply his family's need if he was openhearted to those who were less fortunate.

  Rose wished her father's manner might yet influence Nick. This day, however, Nick worked in close proximity to her without ever making eye contact. Rose's own spirits were high as she worked and talked gently to the beautiful new foals, stroking their silky manes ... her hopes and dreams set on seeing Silas Good again.

  Tonight!

  Once the sun had slipped below the western hills, Rose managed to leave the house unnoticed. Wearing her best blue dress and white apron, both nicely pressed, she draped a long black woolen shawl over her arm and headed down the lane, toward the main road. She'd taken her hair down to brush it thoroughly before pinning it up again, wanting to look extra nice for Silas, who would also be wearing his for-good clothes for their Saturday-night date.

  He'll probably get nominated for deacon or preacher by the time he's thirty, she thought, turning onto Salem Road, her arm brushing against her skirt. Even Dat would say Silas is cut out to draw the divine lot someday.

  In a few minutes, she should see his pretty chestnut mare and open black buggy. And Silas himself, blond, tall, and handsome as any fellow she'd ever known, standing on the shoulder near the carriage, waiting just for her.

  She willed her heart to slow its beat. Fondly, she recalled her first ride home from a Sunday Singing with Silas, just last year. He'd seen her home a few times after that, but she'd been so haphazard about attending the youth activities this year, she was still a little surprised he hadn't found himself a steady girl by now. Am I to be that girl?

  A horse and buggy passed by just then. The carriage was filled with children, some perched on their parents' laps, others loaded into the back. Rose wondered what it would be like to be blessed with so many children. As a young girl, Rose had played with baby dolls until she was altogether certain Mamm would think her too old to do so. Oftentimes Rose would wait till the gas lamps were all blown out before secretly retrieving her dolls from her dresser drawer. Quietly, she tucked them into her bed, whispering to them after her silent bedtime prayers.

  But Rose hadn't been able to hide her fondness for dolls - or young children - from her only sister. So when Mattie Sue was born, it broke Rose's heart to think she wouldn't see her new niece very often. She'd never forgotten how it felt to hold darling Mattie hours after her birth - Rose had gone with Dat and Mamm that once to the hospital. The touch of a baby's grip on her finger was unforgettable.

  Oh, that she might someday be a good and kindhearted mother to her own little ones! Next to being married, this was her dearest hope. Perhaps belonging to a large family accounted for her desire for many babies. She wondered whether Hen and Brandon would have more children, or if Mattie would remain an only child, like Nick had once been. Rose could not imagine being so alone ... nor would she ever wish it on anyone.

  The sight of Silas at that moment caught her almost off guard. The blond bangs that peeked from beneath his straw hat shimmered like gold in the moonlight, and he beamed an enthusiastic smile as he moved toward her, taking her hand as he helped her into the carriage. "Rose Ann," he said, like a special pronouncement. There was something exceptionally nice about the way he said her name.

  When they were settled together in the seat, Silas lifted the reins and clicked his tongue. The horse pulled them slowly forward without the slightest jolt, reminding Rose that Silas was a masterful carriage driver, among other things. He could easily handle a team of eight field mules, too. Although Silas had never spoken with her about the details, she knew from the grapevine that he was set to take over his father's farm. And she thought he would be a good and honest farmer, as well as a wonderful husband and father.

  "I received your letter yesterday," he said. "But I didn't see a postmark."

  "Hand delivered," she replied quickly.

  "It was awful nice." He smiled, tall next to her in the buggy seat. "Denki, Rose."

  She smiled back, careful not to sit too close, so as not to bump him while he held the reins. She wanted to be as ladylike as Silas's own sisters.

  Being proper with a young man while courting - not like the tomboy Rose had been in her younger years - wasn't something Mamm had ever discussed with her. Despite the years of being apart from her sister, she'd gleaned what she could from Hen, who had been attended to by several nice Amish boys before Brandon came along. These days Mamm was more interested in reading the Good Book or having it read to her than she was in the mysteries between a beau and his girl. The pain Mamm endured doubtless occupied the majority of her thoughts, and though she tried, Mamm could not hide from Rose the grimace or sudden catch in her breath as she reacted to it without complaint.

  If only more could be done for her ...

  Rose breathed in the cool night air, thankful Silas had invited her. "Thanks for mentionin' my mother in your letter," she said into the stillness.

  "My sister-in-law Naomi says she heard your mother can't tolerate any type of pain medicine."

  "That's true ... sadly. It unsettles her stomach." She wondered how much she should say. "Poor Mamm just grits her teeth when the worst comes."

  Silas shook his head slowly. "Must be terrible for her. And you, too."

  She wondered if he had responded in that way because of mere sympathy. Or ... was he thinking about their future as a couple, and Rose's concern for her mother's care, perhaps? Oh, she could only hope!

  On the other hand, she didn't want to be foolish and jump to conclusions. There was the real possibility he was simply making polite conversation. After all, Silas was the most well-mannered fellow she'd ever known, with an upbringing that was an example to many. Silas's grandfather, Reuben Good, had become so well integrated into his adopted Plain community that most folks soon forgot he was ever an Englischer. His many children, including Silas's father, Reuben Jr., were devoted to the Lord God and Das alt Gebrauch - the Old Ways. Other than Silas's family, Rose knew of no other Goods who were Amish in all of Lancaster County. There were some who were Plain, but none were Old Order.

  They traveled for another stretch of road before Silas asked, "How would ya like to spend part of the evening at Jonathan and Naomi's place?"

  "Sounds nice."

  His married brother and sister-in-law had invited them for a game of Ping-Pong and homemade ice cream one other time. Rose had so enjoyed that visit, especially because they had the dearest twin boys ever. She had helped Naomi by dressing one of the twins - she wasn't sure whether it was Leroy or Davy - in his homemade sleeper. To think the boys had just turned three last month, and like some twins, they talked in their own made-up language. Rose had gotten a chuckle out of seeing the two of them conspiring together at the common meal following Preaching service. No one, not even their mother, could understand them.

  "I wonder if the twins will still be up," Ro
se said quietly.

  "Wouldn't be surprised." Silas smiled down at her. "Naomi knows how fond you are of them."

  Does she also think I'm fond of Silas?

  Rose blushed and she leaned against the buggy seat, enjoying the sway of the carriage as Silas's horse pulled them forward at a nice clip. The sound of the horse's hooves on the pavement created a relaxing rhythm, and she delighted in this pleasant reprieve from her responsibilities.

  Several of her older brothers thought Rose was a mite too sheltered, spending as much time at home as she did. And, too, they thought she had taken the vow to consecrate her life to God and the church too young. Yet Rose had been sure of her choice - she'd done it for Mamm, wanting to bring some peace to her mother's poor, troubled heart back then.

  There were times now when she wondered if she had done the right thing. But Nick had once told her it was a good thing she joined at fifteen, lest she run herself too wild during her "runningaround years" and fly right out of the church. Like Hen.

  Puh, there's no chance of that happening! After all, a vow was a vow.

  Glancing at Silas, Rose felt so happy to be here with this wonderful-good fellow. While other couples took advantage of the longer evenings to ride up and down the back roads, late into the night, Silas was one to thoughtfully plan their evening together, limiting their time alone in the buggy to the drives to and from their destination. If Mamm ever inquired about this, Rose could say that her beau - if she could consider him such - was indeed honorable. Surely this was a concern for nearly every mother in the church district.

  "Do ya like peppermint in your ice cream?" Silas asked as they neared Jonathan's farmhouse.

  "Oh jah," Rose said. "And I like making it almost as much as eating it." She hoped they might take turns turning the crank on the ice cream maker.

  The barn and other outbuildings came into view, and Silas reached for her hand as they entered his brother's lane. The feel of his leather glove against her own bare hand made her feel safe somehow.

  "What's your favorite flavor?" she asked.

  "Definitely chocolate."

  There was no yard light at Jonathan Good's house as there was next farm over at the Mennonite neighbors', and Rose was grateful for the large flashlight Silas held to light their way. She stepped down from the buggy into his strong arms, but they were around her for only a second.

  "Wouldn't be surprised if Naomi's made your favorite treat," he said as they walked across the yard.

  "Brownies?" She smiled back at him, and he reached for her hand again. Her heart sped up. The thrill of his big, warm hand around hers surprised her no end. Just then, she realized he'd removed his gloves, and she pressed her lips closed to keep from smiling too broadly.

  "We'll have us a gut time tonight," Silas said as they approached the back walkway leading to the porch.

  Jah, because we're together, Rose thought merrily.

  Brandon rattled the newspaper as he read while Hen hung up her jacket in the entryway closet. She and Mattie Sue were late getting home again, and Hen glanced at Brandon, hoping she could somehow make it up to him. She had stayed longer at Diane's than she'd planned, talking girl talk when she had stopped to pick up Mattie Sue from Karen's birthday party. "I'm going to put my dolly to bed," Mattie Sue said, running off to her room.

  Hen nodded absently, realizing she had a challenge on her hands, the way Brandon was snapping the paper around. He was obviously upset and would eventually ask when she was thinking about making supper. Things could rapidly deteriorate from there.

  "Sorry, hon, the day just got away from me." She hurried to the kitchen and took some leftover turkey out of the refrigerator. Then she turned on the radio on the counter, scanning for something other than news.

  She recalled how delighted Rachel Glick had sounded when Hen called her yesterday morning, as promised. Against Brandon's wishes, she'd accepted the job.

  Her husband closed the newspaper and folded it. "There's an interesting article here about attention deficit disorder in adults."

  "Really?"

  He carried the paper into the kitchen and placed it on the bar. "I'd like you to read it."

  "Sure." Hen kept busy, hoping he wouldn't decide to camp out right there. She didn't enjoy having people watch her make meals, not even her husband.

  "I've been thinking," he said more softly. "This job you're dying to take ..."

  She looked up, heart in her throat, and searched his eyes. "You don't mind, then ... if I start working?"

  "Actually, I was thinking that if you're so eager to bring in some extra money, why not find a stay-at-home job? I've circled several options in the paper." He locked eyes with her.

  "I guess you didn't hear me the other night."

  Brandon turned to look out the window. "Hen ... honey, is this some sort of crisis you're having?"

  Tears stung her eyes. "I know, I know ... I don't need to work, at least according to our budget." She paused and leaned down to get a pan out of the cupboard. "But I'd really like to take the job at the store. I want to do this."

  "So much for submission," he shot back.

  "Oh, now, that's not fair. You know I was never the most obedient Amish girl." She sighed, trying to think what she could say that might make sense to him. "But I do miss my Plain life, Brandon. Or parts of it."

  He dug his hands into his pockets and jingled his coins.

  "I love you ... this isn't anything about us, really." She hesitated. "Working at the Amish store really might be the answer for me." It was the best compromise she could think of.

  But a craving for the peace of her former life wasn't the only impetus behind wanting to work at Rachel Glick's shop. Hen felt strongly that Mattie Sue needed more than a mere glimpse of the tranquility of Plain living she got during their infrequent visits to her parents' home.

  Brandon picked up the paper again. "Hen, take a look. There are lots of terrific jobs listed here."

  She held her breath, then said, "I told you what I'd like to do."

  "And I'm not in favor of it." He gave her a sidewise glance. "You left the Amish for a reason."

  She placed the lid gently on the pan and set the burner to medium. Turning to face him, she said as sweetly yet as firmly as she knew how, "Don't you care how I feel, Brandon?"

  He chuckled. "How you feel?" He moved around the counter, coming to her, arms outstretched. "I married a girl who wanted my life. Mine, Hen. How could you have forgotten?"

  She hadn't, but the memory of how easily she had cast aside all she had ever known pained her now. Every enticing aspect of the modern life she'd desired - a comfortable house, a beautiful car, pretty clothes - had come with her marriage to Brandon.

  "I won't let you return to the very thing you despised." He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her near. "We'll have another baby - wouldn't you like that?" He leaned down, head tilted, his breath on her ear. "Wouldn't you?"

  Hen didn't know if he was being tender or baiting her. "I'd love more children - you know that." She let him kiss her cheek. "But right now, I really want to work at Rachel's Fabrics."

  Brandon pulled back, holding her at arm's length. "I've always liked your spunk," he said. "But tonight you're impossible!"

  She cringed.

  "I want you to let this job go, Hen." With that, he gradually released her and then left the kitchen for the downstairs family room.

  Clenching her teeth, she stood next to the sink, her heart pounding in her ears. There were days - and nights, too - when she thought of nothing else but her former life. All the good aspects of it, and everything Mattie Sue was missing. Yet she also wanted to be a loving wife to Brandon. So she had seen the part-time job as something of an answer to her dilemma. Why can't it work?

  Her husband had just forbidden her to take the job, and there was no getting him to surrender. Hen was stuck - either she obeyed him or she followed her heart ... and defied him.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she rushe
d after Brandon, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs.

  Mattie Sue's sweet voice rose from the family room. "Daddy, will you play a game with me?"

  Hen sighed, refusing to create a scene. Besides, she was drained emotionally. Her throat ached with tears that threatened to come.

  She made her way down the stairs as Brandon switched on the TV and sank into his favorite chair. Horror rose in her at the sight of Madonna prancing seductively on the screen in a revealing wedding gown of sorts, singing "Like a Virgin." Oh, dear Lord, no! It was all Hen could do not to speak her mind as she had in the past. She wanted to go over there and turn off the wickedness pouring into their house. Into our daughter's mind.

  What she wouldn't give to unplug the "one-eyed monster," as Bishop Aaron Petersheim had sometimes referred to a television.

  Clenching her jaw, Hen waited for the seemingly endless music video to finish. She looked at precious Mattie Sue, who was carrying her game to the sofa. Then, seeing Madonna on the screen, Mattie Sue dropped her game and broke out in song as she picked up Karen Perlis's Barbie doll from the sofa. Hen had never seen the matching Madonna bridal gown before, yet there it was on the shapely doll, and now, to her dismay, Mattie Sue began moving the doll around to the sensual rhythm of the song, keeping time with the worldly woman ... to Brandon's seeming amusement.

  She bit her lip, deciding once more it was best not to speak her mind. Not now. Turning, Hen hurried back up to the kitchen, tears prickling behind her eyes. She thought of the psalm: I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes. She went to the cupboard and reached for three dinner plates with trembling hands and carried them to the breakfast nook.

  "It's no big deal," her husband had insisted days before when they'd argued about MTV yet again. "Mattie doesn't know what she's singing, anyway - does she, Hen?"

  "How can he abide this in our daughter?" she whispered now. "How?"

  When she set down the third plate on her own cloth place mat, something snapped in her - everything converging in her at once. She'd experienced this sudden flash of rancorous emotion before, the night her father forbade her to marry Brandon. The bitter feelings had propelled her right out of the house, after the gas lamps were extinguished and her parents and Rose Ann had gone to bed. Hen had run straight to the phone shanty, dashing barefoot all the way, and phoned for Brandon to come and get her.