Graham raised his chin, blew a noisy breath heavenward, and then looked directly into her eyes. His stern, unyielding, critical gaze made her heart skip a beat. “It’s wrong because you’re breaking the ninth commandment.”
Trina released a squawk of protest. “I haven’t been lying! I’ve been very open with you!”
“And with your parents?” His harsh tone bruised her conscience. “You’ve been honest with them?”
“Well. . .” She licked her lips, her chin quivering. “I will be. Soon.”
“That’s not good enough, Trina.” Graham withdrew his hands and shoved them into his trouser pockets. “All this sneaking around behind their backs makes me feel as though I can’t trust you, either. How can we have any kind of relationship if you knowingly go against the teachings of the fellowship and are dishonest with your own family?”
Trina sniffed, the truth of his words piercing her more deeply than she cared to admit. Since she’d started pursuing the idea of becoming a veterinarian, she knew she’d put aside several lifelong practices, and being open and honest was only a part of it. With all of her studying, she hadn’t read her Bible in weeks. During prayer at worship, instead of praying for others, she’d prayed for herself—for her dream to become reality.
Her heart constricted painfully as she recognized how these changes must be grieving her heavenly Father. She hung her head, shame striking hard. But how could she be honest with her parents and still proceed? “I—I don’t know what to say.. . .”
Graham’s sigh carried to her ears. “I don’t, either.” The sad resignation in his tone sent another shaft of hurt through Trina’s chest.
Lifting her gaze, she said softly, “I am sorry, Graham, that so much has changed. I wish—I wish I knew how to fix it so everyone could be happy.”
He twisted his lips into the semblance of a grin. It fell short of any warmth or amusement. “Yeah. Me, too. But it isn’t going to happen, is it?”
Trina had no answer to that question. To say yes would mean giving up her dreams; to say no would mean letting go of Graham. She wasn’t ready to do either.
After several long seconds, with only the strident chorus of locusts breaking the silence between them, Graham gave a jerk of his head. “Come on. I’ll take you home before you’re late. Might as well honor your mother’s wish in that regard, at least.”
THIRTEEN
Trina stared at the gray ceiling of her bedroom. The rustle of her curtains, lifted by the night breeze, and the ticking of her bedside clock seemed loud in the otherwise quiet room. Now and then the squeak of a mattress on the other side of the wall told her Tony tossed and turned, but she lay perfectly still, eyes wide open, mind racing.
How she hated to concede that Graham’s words had hit their mark. But her conscience ached with the knowledge of her sins. She must tell Mama and Dad what she’d been doing when she visited Beth McCauley. Sweat broke out over her body as she considered their reaction. Dad would be disappointed, Mama so angry. They might even make her talk to the minister. Not for forgiveness—only God could forgive—but because her actions went against the fellowship’s teachings.
A fierce gust sent her curtains sailing into the air and twisted them into a knot. Then, as the breeze lessened, they settled back into the gentle, nonthreatening swish. Trina watched them, feeling as though her heart were twisted into a tight knot. She wished her conscience could be as easily settled.
She squeezed her eyes closed, willing sleep to come, but after counting off a series of steady clicks—the passing of minutes—she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she’d cleared her conscience.
Throwing back the light sheet, she snatched up her robe, which lay across the foot of her bed, and slipped her arms into it. The sash firmly tied, she tiptoed down the hallway to avoid disturbing Tony and stopped outside her parents’ closed door.
Trina could count on one hand the number of times she had entered her parents’ bedroom. The room was off-limits, and it felt strange now to tap lightly on the solid wood door. At her first tap, she heard a snuffle, but no one replied. So she tapped again, a little harder, cringing as she glanced over her shoulder in hopes the noise wouldn’t bother her brother.
This time, she heard her father’s cough, followed by, “Who’s out there?”
Without touching the doorknob, Trina whispered, “It’s me, Dad. May—may I come in?”
“Trina?” Dad’s voice sounded croaky.
“Yes.”
“Just a minute.” A scrabbling could be heard, underscored by her parents’ muttered voices, and then the door opened. Dad blinked at her in confusion. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Trina linked her fingers together beneath her chin. “I need to talk to you and Mama.”
Mama snapped on the bedside lamp. Her hair, usually slicked back in a smooth roll, lay tumbled across her shoulders in shimmering waves. With a start, Trina thought, Mama’s pretty. How strange to see her formal mother in such an informal setting—propped up on bed pillows, a cotton nightgown buttoned to her throat, hair loose and flowing. She appeared approachable and. . .kind.
Mama lifted her hand, gesturing. “Come in, Trina.”
On bare feet, Trina crossed the threshold and stood at the foot of the bed. The polished wood floor felt cool and satiny against her feet, and she twitched her toes, waiting until Dad sat back on the bed next to Mama.
“I’m sorry to wake you up, but there’s something I need to tell you, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Mama and Dad looked at her expectantly, their expressions curious but open.
Trina took a deep breath. “All these evenings I’ve been in my room or over at Beth’s, I’ve been—” Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed. “I’ve been studying.”
Neither expression changed.
Trina’s heart pounded so hard she was surprised her parents didn’t hear it. She took a deep breath and finished. “I’ve been preparing to take a test that would give me a high school diploma.”
Mama gasped, and Dad’s brows came together. “Why?” Dad growled the query.
“If I have a diploma, I can get into college.” Trina held her breath, waiting for the explosion. She didn’t wait long.
“College!” Dad leaped from the bed and stood glowering. “Where did you get the idea you could go to college?”
Mama folded her arms across her chest. “I know where. From Marie’s daughter, that’s where. I knew letting Trina spend time with Beth would serve no good purpose.”
“But, Mama, it wasn’t Beth’s idea!” Trina held out her hands in entreaty. “It was all my idea. She just helped me because no one else would.”
“Of course no one else would!” Dad paced between the bed and dresser, his hands clenched into fists. “My child. . .college!” He spun around, fixing his squinted gaze on Trina. “And what did you plan to do with a college degree?”
Although Trina quivered from head to toe, she wouldn’t withhold any information. “Become a veterinarian like Dr. Groening.”
Mama dropped back against the pillows, shaking her head. Dad brought his fist down on the dresser top with a resounding thud. “So that’s why you wanted to work for him—so you could take his place. Not because you like animals, the way you led me to believe.”
“It is because I like animals!” Trina scurried around the edge of the bed to stand in front of her father. Fury emanated from him, and she trembled in her nightclothes, but she stood tall and refused to cower before him. “I like them so much I want to be able to do all I can to help them. If I’m an animal doctor, then I can—”
“You deceived us, Trina.” Mama’s strangled voice captured Trina’s attention. The hurt in her mother’s eyes brought a sting of tears. The anger Trina had expected was nowhere in sight—only pain of betrayal showed in her mother’s pinched face. “You know our feelings about higher education, yet you went behind our backs and pursued the notion.” Mama t
hrust out her jaw, stopping the quiver in her chin.
“Dad? What’s going on?” Tony stood in the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes.
“Get back to bed!” Dad roared. “This doesn’t concern you!”
Tony’s eyes flew wide, and he scuttled off without another word. Dad wheeled on Trina. “Go back to your room, young lady. Your mother and I will deal with you in the morning. But you will not be going to Dr. Groening’s again. You’re done.”
Trina’s jaw fell open. “But—but, Dad! He depends on me!”
“That isn’t my problem.” Dad’s hard tone sent a chill down Trina’s spine. “You should have thought about that before you lied to me.”
Trina stood on wooden legs, unable to believe her father would be so cold.
“Go to your room!”
At his thundering command, Trina fled. She threw herself across the bed, hiding her face in the rumpled sheets. Had she really thought telling her parents the truth would make her feel better? When she was little, confessing her infrequent crimes had led to swift punishment followed by forgiveness—a cleansing absolution. But this confession had only led to hurt, anger, and despair. Where was the release?
Her misery welled up, bringing a rush of tears. “Oh Lord, I don’t know what to do.. . .”
Trina moved through the remainder of the week as if walking in her sleep. Dad and Mama made it clear she was in disgrace. They forbade her to go to the stained-glass art studio or to Beth’s home. Her mother walked her to the café each morning, and they walked home together each evening. She spent her afternoon break in a corner of the café’s kitchen under her mother’s watchful eye.
Her request to attend a Wednesday night singing was met with a stern, silent stare that communicated denial. The only place she found freedom from a chaperone was the bathroom or her bedroom. Her schoolbooks mysteriously disappeared, so she sat alone in the evenings, staring out the window or at her ceiling, mourning the opportunity that had been lost and wondering if things would be different had she been up front with her parents from the beginning. She doubted it, yet she wondered.
Adding to her humiliation and heartache, Dad insisted she be the one to tell Janina Ensz and Audra Koeppler their part-time services were no longer needed since Trina would be working at the café full-time again. Seeing the disappointment in the teens’ faces increased Trina’s pain. Now they were left hunting for jobs. She hadn’t meant for these innocent girls to be hurt by her decisions.
Graham came into the café each day for lunch, and Trina waited on him, but she didn’t give him any more attention than the other diners. He seemed hurt by her aloof behavior, but she couldn’t garner enough desire to change it. Her lips felt incapable of smiling, her tongue unable to form conversation, her soul dead. She had nothing to give, and she made no effort to pretend otherwise.
The emptiness inside frightened her, but she had no idea how to regain a sense of purpose. So she moved through the day as her parents expected, waiting tables, cleaning up, being obedient, saying “Yes, ma’am,” and “Yes, sir” without complaint or argument. And a constant, pervasive sadness blanketed her world.
Midmorning on Saturday, Beth McCauley entered the café and slid into a booth. The breakfast rush was over, and the lunch rush hadn’t begun, so the dining room was empty except for Beth. Trina clinked ice in a glass, filled it with water, and brought it over with a menu.
But Beth pushed both items aside and pointed to the seat across from her. “Join me.”
Trina glanced around.
Beth glanced around, too, her eyebrows high. “Nobody’s here who needs you. Have a seat.”
Trina looked toward the kitchen. Although she couldn’t see Mama, she knew she was there. Mama would frown plenty if she saw Trina sitting with Beth. With a sigh, she shook her head. “I can’t. I’m not on break.”
Beth sighed, too, tipping her head to the side. Her shiny ponytail fell across her shoulder, reminding Trina of her mother’s hair falling over her shoulders the night she chose to be truthful. Trina jerked her gaze away.
A soft swish indicated Beth had slid the menu across the table. Trina peeked. Beth sat with the open menu propped up on the table like a shield, but she looked over the top of it to Trina. “So. . .haven’t seen you in quite a while. Are the rumors true—have your parents shut you down?”
Trina sent a worried glance toward the kitchen, holding her breath. But Mama didn’t appear in the doorway, so she braved a quick reply. “Yes.”
“So I won’t be driving you to Hutchinson to take the GED test?”
Trina clenched her jaw for a moment. “No.”
Beth’s lips puckered in sympathy. “I hate to hear that, Katrinka. I wish it were different.”
Trina wished it were different, too, but she should have known better than to try. Why had she thought God would call an Old Order Mennonite girl to be something more than wife and mother? All she’d managed to do with all of her dreaming and scheming was make a fool of herself and let everybody down.
She said the words aloud in an attempt to convince herself of that truth. “It was a dumb idea. Graham is right—the highest calling for a woman is being a wife and mother. That’s all I need to be.”
Beth smacked the menu closed. She leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Listen to yourself! If it’s such a high calling, where’s the passion? Where’s the excitement? You might as well be discussing how many cups of flour go into the recipe for buttermilk pancakes— that’s how blah you sound. Trina, there’s no life left in you!”
Trina backed away from the table. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the little order pad in her apron pocket. “You—you decide what you want to eat. I’ll be back.” She turned with a squeak of her tennis shoe on the tile floor and hurried into the kitchen, her heart in her throat. What if Mama had heard Beth? To her relief, her mother was in the storeroom measuring navy beans into a large colander and seemed oblivious to the brief conversation.
Trina cleared her throat. “Beth McCauley is in the dining room. I thought you might want to take her order.” It occurred to Trina she could put a bite in her tone and deliver a secondary message to her mother, but years of practicing respectful behavior removed the temptation.
Mama turned to face Trina. “Yes, I suppose I should.” She looked at Trina for long moments, her gaze narrow and her lips unsmiling. Yet she didn’t appear as much disapproving as sad. She put the colander in Trina’s hands. “Rinse these well and sort out the stones, will you? I’m going to make ham and beans for tomorrow’s lunch.” She moved past Trina and headed into the dining room.
Trina walked to the stainless steel sink and began the task of sorting beans. The mumble of Beth’s and Mama’s voices drifted through the open doorway, but she didn’t try to hear the words. The comment Beth had made kept replaying through her head–“There’s no life left in you!” Trina knew her friend was right.
Closing her eyes, Trina hung her head. Father in heaven, help me. Help me want to be the person Mama and Dad and Graham want me to be. Change me. Please change me. Because I don’t want to live like I’m already dead.
FOURTEEN
A men.”
At the minister’s rumbling closure to silent prayers, Graham rose from his knees and slid back onto the bench. During the prayer time, he’d found himself unable to pray. He couldn’t remember a time since he’d been baptized that his thoughts had remained empty during silent prayer. What was happening to him?
A deacon stepped behind the wooden podium, opened his Bible, and began to read. “ ‘Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.. . .’ ”
Graham’s heart thudded in double time as the deacon read from chapter 31 of Proverbs. The words pelted him like grit from a windstorm—“ ‘The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. . . . She will do him good and not evil. . . .’ ” Despite his efforts to keep his gaze aimed forward, his head jerked toward Trina. He’d told her he couldn’t trust her. She’d hurt him
immeasurably with her plans to attend college.
The deacon read on, describing all the duties the virtuous wife performed. Graham had heard these verses preached before—he knew the list was long. But for some reason, this morning certain pieces seemed to stand out from the others.
“ ‘She perceiveth that her merchandise is good.. . . She reacheth forth her hands to the needy.. . . She maketh fine linen, and selleth it.. . . A woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.’ ”
The deacon sat down and the minister rose to begin the main sermon, but Graham’s focus turned inward. Why had he never noticed references to selling before? Selling indicated a business. That meant a woman would be involved in a business other than managing a household. And reaching forth her hands to the needy—could that include animals in need of care?
He shook his head hard, trying to clear the thoughts. What was he thinking? That Trina should go to school? Should become a veterinarian? It was ridiculous! Trina’s own words returned to replay in his mind— how God had given her the desire to treat animals with a doctor’s care. If this idea had truly come from God, should Graham consider it ridiculous?
His stomach churned as he realized where his thoughts were taking him. Outside of the dictates of the fellowship. Outside of the borders established for his community. Outside of his own personal ideals and beliefs.
Once more, his gaze drifted to Trina. She sat, spine straight, hair neatly tucked beneath her cap, her attention unwavering. His heart turned over in his chest. She was everything he wanted in a wife— lovely, gentle, hardworking, God-fearing.
Virtuous? He considered the word carefully. Could he still consider her virtuous despite the changes he’d seen in her over the past several weeks? And then another thought came— To whom should Trina ultimately answer: to God or to man?
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