Loving Mariah

by Beverly Bird

  That was what the deacons called it, and for the life of her she could not think of a better word. But the deacons weren’t here to see.

  She had no mirror. Mirrors were against the Ordnung. Her Gemeide, though not all of them, considered such a reflection to be a graven image. They also could see no good reason why a woman should have to look into one. Anyone worth her salt could manage her hair into a bun without looking.

  Mariah smoothed her hands back over hers nervously, again and again. Then she looked down at herself and decided to change her dress. She’d first thought she’d wear the turquoise one, because it was her newest. But—her heart almost thundered with the treacherous thought—the purple one would match her eyes.

  They’d had mirrors at Penn State, she thought, trembling harder, her teeth almost snicking together now. And she knew violet, lavender, purple were her best colors.

  She had not felt this glorious, this excited, this shivery, in years, she realized, fumbling as she yanked the first dress back over her head. Then she corrected herself. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure she had ever felt this good. She’d felt something like it on the day she’d left the settlement to go away, but then it had been heavily tinged with fear and regret and sorrow.

  Tonight she felt no fear. There was no regret in her heart. Tonight she would eat with a family again. It didn’t matter to her in the least if she would have to be seated with the children. She loved children. She craved their guileless bursts of laughter. And this was the closest she had come to community, to being a part of anything, in ten years, since the day she had left.

  Sugar Joe would include her. Adam had seen to it.

  Adam.

  He was, of course, the other reason for her anticipation. Once, long ago with Asher, she had felt something like this, too. On evenings when she knew he would come and shine his flashlight on her window, a certain fluttery feeling had filled her. And it had lasted, too, until he’d actually arrived, until they’d sat together in her mother’s parlor and had searched for things to say to each other. Then, with a reluctant ache, the fluttery feeling would die.

  Somehow she knew that that would never happen with Adam. Not if he stayed here a year. Almost everything that came out of his mouth was a surprise. Much of it made her think, if only to explain herself and her people. Sometimes he even made her smile, and she had forgotten how to do that so very long ago.

  She stopped with her turquoise dress in her hands, her fingers tightening around it like claws. Adam wouldn’t stay a year. Soon, very soon now, he would be gone. The best she could hope for was a few more weeks, if he agreed to help find the other children. And for that to happen, she would have to tell him about those little ones.

  Her heart squeezed as she had her worst, most heinous thought yet. What if she didn’t?

  “Oh, Jesus, forgive me,” she whispered aloud, sitting weakly on the edge of her narrow bed.

  Of course, she would tell Adam about those babies. She would ask him to find them, because no matter what the deacons said, letting them disappear, not resisting the horror was wrong. Except once she allowed the treacherous thought into her head the first time, it wouldn’t seem to go again. It giggled nastily, mocking her.

  Don’t ask him.

  Adam was going to go. But maybe, if she was very good, very obedient, if she didn’t do anything else wrong, the Lapps would invite her to supper again some time without him.

  She began shaking with the possibility. This was the first visible crack in her Meidung since it had been thrown on her. Until Adam had protested, until Sugar Joe had told her they would arrange it somehow, she had not ever, not even once allowed herself to wish for it. But now, given this small chance, she began to ache, to yearn for more. If she kept being very good, perhaps this crack would widen.

  If she didn’t make waves again.

  If she didn’t try to find the missing babies and go against one of the most important rules of the Ordnung: we shall not resist God’s will.

  She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear dropped down, staining the turquoise dress in her hands. How had this gotten so complicated?

  She took a shaky breath and got to her feet. She found the purple dress and pulled it over her head, hanging the other one neatly in her closet with trembling hands. She would wear the one that would make her look prettiest. She would go to supper at the Lapps with Adam and savor this one, singular respite from her Meidung—almost like a date, she thought a little giddily. And she would ask him to find those other children, maybe even tonight. The deacons would be enraged and they would never let her back in. The Lapps’ door would slam shut again. And she would live with that, too. She would do it because she had to.

  She finished dressing, and it wasn’t until yet another wet spot appeared on the bodice of the purple dress that she realized she was still crying.

  Adam thought Mariah looked more beautiful than ever. She was a little flushed when she answered her door and her eyes sparkled. There was something different about her tonight. She was...radiant.

  And he knew then that no matter how much this evening meant to him, it meant just as much, if not more, to her.

  “Adam, come in,” she said breathlessly. “Would you—”

  “No.”

  “What?” She blinked in surprise. “You don’t even know what I was going to suggest.”

  “Let me guess.” But his voice was more wry than impatient this time. “Coffee?”

  She flushed even deeper.

  “Honey, if I drink one more cup, I’m going to be able to fly back to Dallas without the plane. And my nerves are wound up enough tonight, as it is.”

  Mariah’s heart skipped. It hung in her chest for a moment without beating, then it thundered. Honey. A whole new ache swept through her, sweet and hungry and wanting at the endearment. Back to Dallas. The ache changed into something ugly and bloomed into physical pain.

  Adam watched her face and realized what he had said a moment too late. He felt his own skin go warm. In a heartbeat, he was mired in panic and confusion again, when a moment ago he had felt purely good—as Jake had said, for one of the few times in his whole wretched life.

  Honey. It had slid off his tongue effortlessly, right and sweet and oddly comfortable. As right and sweet and comfortable as the thought of flying back to Dallas with his boy at his side.

  Mariah took a jerky step backward. She left him standing at the door, to hurry down the hall she had disappeared into the other day. “I’ll get the blankets,” she said breathlessly.

  Blankets? “What do we need blankets for?” he called after her hoarsely.

  She probably hadn’t heard him. She didn’t reply. When she came back into the living room, she was holding a pile of them. She had her coat on now. He barely noticed that. He was staring at the simple woolens she held clutched to her breast.

  He wondered if there was something inherent in going to the Lapps for dinner together that he hadn’t realized. There was so much about her culture that he didn’t understand yet. Dear God, were they going to end up rolling around in a field together somewhere? Was this like shining flashlights on windows?

  His blood roared suddenly, and in that moment he could feel her hair in his hands, could imagine her skin against his, and it would be warm and smooth as satin. And she would fit against him perfectly, and he would slide inside her the way a hand moved inside a velvet glove—

  “For the buggy,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. She stared at him, clearly confused.

  “The...buggy.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “The buggy.”

  “Yes.” She took a step closer, looking into his face, all her own troubles suddenly forgotten. “Adam, are you ill?” He’d flushed, she thought, then his skin had gone a sickly shade of pale.

  “I’m—” His heart kept pounding. “I’m fine. What...buggy?”

  “I want to do this right,” she said fervently. “There are some occasions when we simply shouldn’t take your automobi
le. This is one of them. So I’ve arranged for a buggy.”

  “Okay. Good. Great.” He turned for the door, then he stopped. “I don’t know how to drive a horse. You know, giddy-up and all that.”

  She finally smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She was no longer glowing, he thought.

  When—how—had this gotten so damned complicated?

  “That’s okay,” she answered. “I do. At least, I used to. Come on, let’s go. We’re going to be late. We can take your car as far as Abe’s.”

  “Abe’s.” He followed her and watched her lock up.

  “Abe Miller. He rents buggies and horses. Mostly to take tourists out in the summer, but he loans me one whenever I need one.”

  “He’s not Amish? He sees you?”

  She flinched ever so slightly. “He broke away from the Gemeide before he was baptized. It’s not the same. Like I said, that’s forgiven, though I’m sure it broke his parents’ hearts. Anyway, we’re friends. He’s a dear man.”

  A dear man? “What, you date him?” And his gut clenched all over again.

  Mariah looked over at him, startled, as they got into the car. “No, of course not.”

  “Why, of course not?”

  “Well, because he’s not part of the settlement, for one thing. The deacons wouldn’t sanction such a marriage.”

  And that simply, that suddenly his temper erupted. It blazed helplessly out of control.

  “Why the hell does it have to be marriage, Mariah? So what if you can’t marry him, for God Almighty’s sake?” He jabbed the key into the ignition. He stomped his foot on the gas and jerked the wheel, turning back up the one-way street in the wrong direction. “Just go have dinner with the guy, goddamn it! Get away from all this—this Meidung garbage. For once in your sorry life, take some pleasure for yourself!”

  Mariah gasped. Her sorry life? Her eyes filled, in spite of the fact that she told herself crying was ridiculous. “Why are you angry with me? Adam, why are you so upset about this?”

  “I’m not,” he ground out. He set his jaw. “Sometimes I just don’t like what I see, and I say so.”

  “Please don’t ruin it. Adam. Please.”

  He looked over at her sharply. “What?”

  “Tonight. I’ve waited for something like this for so long. I never thought I’d ever be invited into anyone’s home again. Please don’t ruin it.” She blinked hard.

  He felt as if she had kicked him in the chest. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the car off the road. He closed his eyes, then rubbed them. “I’m sorry.”

  Mariah tried to breathe again. Surreptitiously, she wiped her eyes.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he went on finally. And that was enough of a lie to make his face tighten all over again. He knew what was wrong. This chasm was wrong. The gulf of culture and upbringing that separated them was wrong, because it kept her on one side and him on the other, aching yet unable to join her.

  He wasn’t sure when the wanting had turned into an ache. But it was poignant now, bittersweet and consuming. Suddenly, tonight, he just couldn’t seem to get past it. Her puritanical values enraged him. Because the deacons wouldn’t sanction such a marriage . So she couldn’t even have dinner with the guy, for God’s sake, unless it headed them toward the damned altar! And she wasn’t bound by those deacons in the first place!

  She was only tied to them in her heart.

  “Nerves,” he said hoarsely, lying again because the first one had been easy enough. “Just...nerves. I’ve waited for tonight for a long time, too.”

  “Are you going to tell Bo?” she asked suddenly. “Tonight?”

  Adam looked at her again almost angrily. “No, Mariah. I’m not going to tell him. I’m going to let him get to know me all over again. I’m going to speak with him, eat dinner with him, maybe I’ll even have an opportunity to hold him again. I’m going to follow the original plan.”

  Her eyes filled again. Oh, she was far, far too emotional tonight for anyone’s good.

  “Turn on this street right up here,” she told him quietly. “Abe’s carriage house is four doors down on the right.”

  Abe, he thought, driving again. Just her friend. Only her friend, because she couldn’t marry him.

  Oh, God help him.

  Chapter 11

  The buggy was nothing like what he’d expected. Adam hadn’t anticipated the teak dashboard with all its shiny silver knobs. He was caught off guard by the rich blue carpet. He thought the velour upholstery was a little much, but all in all, it was roomy, comfortable and warm. It wasn’t necessarily wide, but it was deep.

  “I feel like Cinderella,” he muttered, joining Mariah inside.

  Her eyes flashed to him, though she still didn’t quite smile after their argument in the car. “Yes. So do I.”

  Probably in a more accurate respect than he did, Adam reflected. He’d been thinking of climbing into the pumpkin carriage. She was going to the ball.

  She gathered up the reins where they came inside through silver-trimmed gaps in the dashboard. Even with that slight touch, the horse outside picked its head up and its ears pricked.

  “Scootch over, Adam,” she said quietly, frowning. “I need a little more room.”

  “I don’t scootch.” But he tried to shift his weight.

  And only ended up settling more closely beside her. His thigh was flush against hers. He wore jeans, and she that purple dress. The blankets were still on the floor—she’d said they wouldn’t need them until the ride home. He wanted to grab them and wad them down between them, because he was too aware of the warmth of her even through their various layers of clothing. And his heart began picking up its pace because he didn’t dare make a big deal of moving again, especially since there really wasn’t anywhere for him to move to. He didn’t want to focus both their minds on body heat and flesh cozily nestling against flesh. His own thoughts being there was trouble enough.

  “Adios, Abe,” he muttered, leaning an arm on the door just below the glass. He was just as glad to be rid of the “dear” and gallant Abe Miller. The man had hovered over her, helping her into the coach before Adam could, resting a hand on her back whenever he could manage it, grinning at her, laughing with her, though her own laughter had seemed a bit forced. He’d given her the nicest buggy on the lot, free of charge, and had eyed Adam frequently and not entirely unobtrusively.

  Mariah jiggled the reins and they began moving. In the close space, he could smell her hair again. He found himself wondering how she managed that. If the Amish women didn’t wear makeup, then he doubted if they used perfume, either. And the violets were much more subtle than that, anyway. They were more an elusive whiff now and again, when he moved his head just the right way.

  “What?” he asked, jolting, realizing that she had spoken to him.

  “I said that I haven’t done this for so long, I’m rusty.”

  “Driving the buggy, you mean?” He wasn’t sure if she was talking about that or going for supper.

  “Driving the horse,” she muttered, concentrating fiercely, her jaw setting.

  “Seems to me you’re doing fine. I thought you said Abe loaned you buggies before.”

  “He always drove.”

  He’d had to ask. “Well, we’re moving,” he muttered.

  “But we keep drifting out onto the road. Get back there, Goliath,” she murmured fiercely, tugging a little harder on the right rein.

  She kept mostly to the shoulder. A lot of the snow there had melted by now. The roads had been gradually widening during his stay here, which told him how long he had been idling in neutral.

  He tried to think about Bo, about what he might say to him tonight, and he was still only aware of her warm leg pressed against his. He realized that he was afraid to think of Bo too much anyway. He was afraid to give any imagining to how this evening might turn out, for fear of being grossly disappointed.

  It didn’t take them long to get to the Lapp farm. Goliath’s pac
e was steady and brisk. Sugar Joe’s spread was different from many of the others Adam had seen. The paved road bisected the farm. A white two-story farmhouse stood off to the right of the macadam. Mariah went past it and turned onto a narrow drive to the left.

  A small carriage house sat on this side, and close behind it was a horse barn. A few of the animals poked their heads out their stall windows when they heard Goliath’s hoofbeats. One whinnied. The others looked bored and went back to their oats.

  There was a small paddock in front of an aluminum-roofed building that Adam recognized, from his other trips past the farm, as the milking barn. The standard motor shed was affixed to that, sending hydraulic power to the milking machines. A silo sat flush against either side of the big barn. Far in the back was another small, neat shed, whose purpose Adam couldn’t identify.

  They were all white with gray roofs—even the aluminum was a dull silver. Against the lingering snow it should have looked stark, plain, bleak. Instead, as Mariah stopped the buggy, Adam saw a light flicker, then begin to fill one of the windows of the house. Someone had put a lantern on in there, and he felt like he was coming home after a long, hard, cold day.

  Home to warmth and respite and family.

  Before he could dwell on that, the front door opened. His breath snagged, but it was only the oldest boy, Nathaniel, a genuine Lapp. The teenager hurried across the road to join them as Mariah pushed open her door.

  This time Adam moved fast enough to reach her before the boy could. She glanced at him. It seemed to him that her eyes merely brushed his now, almost warily, where they had always lingered before. She put a hand to his shoulder reluctantly and braced her other against the door. He caught her waist as she gave a little jump and he wondered if he imagined it or if she really did seem to stop breathing for a moment. Then her eyes finally touched his again, hesitant, aware, widening.

  He wanted suddenly, desperately, to get them back where they’d been before he’d erupted in the car like some kind of fool. Before she’d mentioned blankets and made him imagine the things they could do with one. Before she’d talked of not dating a man because she couldn’t marry him. Not only was it safer there in that old place they’d shared, but he found he missed the easy warmth of their uncomplicated friendship. He made a strangled sound in his throat. Had it actually ever been uncomplicated?