by Tricia Goyer
Marianna
CHAPTER ONE
Her future hung as warm breath on the chilled spring air that carried her parents' words. They spoke in low tones as they rode along the country road, the horse's hooves clomping on the damp pavement. Marianna Sommer snuggled her three-year-old sister tight to her chest. She lowered her head and breathed in the scent of her sister's hair peeking out from under the dark blue kapp, brushed her lips against the softness of her forehead. Marianna's eyes fluttered closed and she wondered if little Ellie could sense the racing of her heart, the tightening of her chest. The trembling of her embrace.
Dat cast a sideways glance at her mother, his thick beard falling to the second button on his shirt. "How long do you think it would take to pack up?" He spoke in English, as he always did when he didn't want the younger ones to understand.
"Everything?" Mem's eyes furrowed as she looked to Dat.
"Not everything. Just enough to get us by for a month or so. Ike said he knows a man who has a semi-truck and often moves the Amish.
Marianna tried to pretend they were talking about someone else. Some other family interested in adventure, bent on leaving a place where everyone knew of your loss and every gaze held a mix of pity and judgment.
"I suppose a few weeks yet is all it would take to get affairs in order. The boys are nearly finished with school for the season, but there is Mari's job to consider. Mrs. Ropp needs her." Mem answered his questions but there was no excitement, no joy. Marianna wished Mem would be stronger. To make it clear leaving wasn't an option.
No one asked Marianna her opinion, spoke to her about matters. Though nearly twenty, they treated her the same as when she was fourteen and had just finished school. She spent the days no different now than then—caring for children, working at the neighbors', spoken to, watched over. Didn't they realize more than anything she wanted to stop caring for someone else's children and start a family of her own?
Sometimes she'd pretend. She'd rock Mrs. Ropp's baby and imagine that was her home and her husband out in the fields, providing. She'd straighten up, arranging things how she'd like them. And when she imagined her husband walking through the door, there was only one face she thought of. Only one smile.
But now, with this talk of leaving . . . her parents could ruin everything.
She turned her attention away from the talk of change, and her mind filled with thankfulness over the familiar. After all, they hadn't left Indiana yet. Maybe it was just talk. She focused on the three school-aged brothers pressed around her, lulled into a half-sleep by the motion of the buggy. The sight of the sun stretching pink rays into the morning sky. And the comfort of soon seeing their neighbors and friends unified in purposeful work.
A random lightning strike a week ago had cost the Yoders a barn. A community of church members, who believed what affects one affects all, would see to it another barn—newer, better—would rise today.
Three-year-old Ellie's eyes opened, perhaps because she sensed the horses slowing as they turned onto the road leading to the Yoders' place. If only, like her younger sister, Marianna didn't understand her parents' words. She attempted to hide her scowl, telling herself it was just talk. She needed something to distract her. Marianna opened her mouth and forced a soft song from her lips to entertain Ellie.
"In der Stillen Einsamkeit, Findest du mein lob bereit." She sang the traditional children's song in Pennsylvania Dutch, blocking out her father's words. "Grosser Gott Erhöe mich, denn mein Herze suche dich."
In the still isolation, Thou findest my praise ready, greatest God answer me. For my heart is seeking Thee . . .
The second verse carried through her mind, and though Ellie looked to her in expectation, the words caught in Marianna's throat as their buggy passed the school she'd attended for eight years. Where David, Charlie, and Josiah now went. As the buggy rolled past, she pictured the rows of small wooden desks. She imagined Ellie in her blue dress and white kapp joining them in a few years. Learning English. She thought of her sister Marilynn who'd attended the school a year before the accident.
"Remember how smart Marilyn was? Readin' by age four," she'd overheard her mother say to her father once. Sometimes, when they didn't think they were being heard, they talked about her sisters. But Marianna had heard enough . . .
"That Joanna, a voice like a songbird."
"Marilyn had a way in the garden, never saw a youngster 'cept her know how to coax a wilting flower back to life."
"I remember their care for others most. The way they'd tend to Levi like two mother hens . . ."
Yes, Marianna had heard plenty. And from her earliest years, she'd known. Known the painful truth.
She could never take their place.
Compared to her two sisters, her life paled like a thin shadow following two bright stars.
"Such pretty little girls," her grandmother always commented at the anniversary of their deaths. If only Marianna could have seen them. If only, this one time, her parents had foregone the Amish way and taken pictures. But no. There were no, nor would there ever be, pictures in their home.
More than that, she wished she could celebrate her birthday without a heavy gloom filling the day.
Marianna tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear—she didn't get her bun tight enough again. She let out a low sigh imagining her mother's reprimand: "Can't you take five extra minutes to see to it yer put together proper like?"
Her father cleared his voice, bringing her attention back to his words.
"Ike knows of a cabin that's available now." His voice reflected excitement she hadn't heard in a while. "The family who owns it moved away, closer to be to their newly married son."
"But Montana? Of all places?" Her mother tucked a strand of brown hair up in her kapp. "Why not move someplace closer, more civilized?"
"What if I don't want to go?" The words tumbled from Marianna's lips like hail from a darkened sky. She adjusted Ellie on her lap and leaned closer to the front, poking her face in the space between her parents. "I like it here. I don't want to move. And Aaron Zook. He asked me on a date."
Her father nodded but wasn't listening. He didn't turn, just fixed his gaze on the road ahead and on the Yoder's two-story house in the distance.
"If Aaron cares, as you believe, a year won't matter. I waited two for your mother." Dat stroked his beard like he always did when he didn't quite believe what he was saying, but still hoped to convince her.
"Only because she was too young to get married. This is different. I—"
Her mother winced as if she'd been slapped, then jerked her head around to look at Marianna. "Do you hear yourself?" Mem's eyes narrowed and voice lowered. Then she faced the front again, adjusting her black bonnet over her white kapp. "We've never heard you speak in such a way."
Marianna leaned back in the seat, pressure tightening her gut. Mem was right. She never talked this way to him. But how could she just let them continue without hearing her opinion? How could they not ask?
If Marilyn or Joanna were here, they'd listen to them. If Levi hadn't left . . . they'd care what he thought.
She swallowed her breath, willing herself not to cry.
Up ahead the Yoder farm came into view. Though it wasn't yet 7:30 a.m., dozens of buggies were already parked, lining the edge of the paved road.
Forget about their words, their plans, she pleaded with her heart. Today was a day to enjoy without the worry. Her hand reached for the seat back in front of her, ready to climb from the buggy as soon as it stopped. She'd spend time with her friends. She'd watch Aaron from afar. Marianna closed her eyes, picturing his oval blue eyes, his long face, fine nose, and strong jawline. Her breathing resumed, steady and even.
She felt a pinch on her cheek, followed by Ellie's laughter. Marianna opened her eyes as if surprised. Ellie giggled and squirmed with delight, kicking her small feet.
"Ouch!" Eight-year-old Charlie rubbed his arm. "Ellie kicked me," he complained in Pennsylvania Dutch.
"Stop rushing around, Ellie. You'll get all wrinkled," Mem chided.
Seeing the line of buggies, Marianna's excitement trumped her despair. She knew what the day held, just like she knew the song of the tree swallow and the scent of rain. She'd attended many barn risings. The mixing of concrete. The hoisting of beams thicker than her body, with the help of pulleys and ropes. Numerous neighbors, including her father, had already spent time at the Yoders' place over the previous days, cutting beams to length, laying them out, gathering supplies.
"Gukamalldoe!" David sat up in his seat, rubbing his eyes. "Look at that!" A line of buggies rolled toward the farm from the opposite direction, reminding Marianna of an oversized line of ants.
Her Dat was parking when Marianna saw a flash of a blue shirt, straw hat, and wide smile approaching. The tension in her stomach from the ride loosened as she noticed Aaron's quickened pace. Seeing him, the muscles in her stomach bunched again. But this time, she didn't mind.
He tipped his hat. "Do you need help there? I can carry your basket, Mrs. Sommer."
"Aaron Zook. How nice of you."
As the buggy rolled to a complete stop, Aaron reached his hand inside and took the large picnic basket off the floorboard. "Is there anything else I can do?" He glanced at Marianna and then back to Mem's gaze.
"Well, if you have an extra hand, my husband has some tools in back . . ." Gone was the sharpness in Mem's voice from a moment before, replaced by a singsong lilt that rose and fell with her words.
Before Mem even finished talking, Aaron hurried around the buggy. Marianna watched him out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but notice that his blond hair, peeking out from under his hat, was already lightening, as it did every summer.
With a smile, he took up a tool box in his free hand. "Beautiful day, isn't it? I'll take these for you." He held up the basket and the red metal tool box. Aaron took steps and then paused and looked back.
"Everything all right, Marianna?"
"Yes, fine." She rubbed her eye. "Think it must be an eyelash . . ."
"Good to know. See you at lunch." He moved to the Yoders' house with quickened steps. He looked taller today than she remembered. Tight muscles across his shoulders were evident under his plain, blue shirt.
Her father climbed down, then leaned into the back seat, taking Ellie from Marianna's lap. She was surprised to see Dat's brows furrowed. He looked to her, then to Aaron's retreat, shaking his head.
"Aaron Zook is a nice boy." Her mother climbed down from the buggy, holding on to the side, ignoring her husband's look.
Marianna's brothers tumbled over the side with the same enthusiasm and zeal as the puppies on the back porch when she'd fed them this morning.
"I hear he's building a small house on his father's property," her mother continued. "Aunt Betty said she spotted it nigh a week back when she was visiting some friends."
"Is he also building a buggy that can carry him to the moon?" David smirked.
"Has he taught a cow how to lay eggs yet?" Charlie chuckled, tossing his head.
Mem placed hands on hips. "David, Charlie, that is unkind. One mustn't say a word behind another's back that he wouldn't say to his face."
David jutted out his chin. "I'd say it to his face."
Mem blew out an exacerbated sigh and then turned to Dat, in expectation of his reprimand.
Her father set Ellie on the ground, then turned to the boys offering a wink instead.
"He's almost too perfect an Amish youth if you ask me." Dat shrugged. "And likes having folks take note of it."
"And there's a problem with following the rules, living by the Ordnung?" Mem straightened her kapp and walked to his side.
He stroked his beard and looked to Marianna, even though he was answering his wife. "It's just that a person who gets all wrapped up in himself makes a mighty small package."
"How can you say that?" Marianna folded her arms over her chest, then turned away from the gathering, focusing instead on the Yoders' field and the small, green stalks of corn about a foot high.
"If he wasn't kind and helpful"—she attempted to keep her voice steady—"you'd accuse him of being slothful and rude." It was the second time she'd confronted her father in the last thirty minutes. The weight she carried earlier returned.
Footsteps crunched through the gravel as her father approached, and she felt his presence behind her.
"It's just that no man, in my opinion, will ever be good enough for my girl. I'm sorry there. You're right, Aaron is a nice boy."
Marianna felt the smallest smile tug on her lips, and she turned to him, noticing the morning light reflect in his gray eyes—eyes everyone said she'd inherited. "He's more than a nice boy. Aaron's a good man. Far good enough. And this fall . . ." She stopped her words when she noticed her father's eyes narrow.
"No talk of this fall, at least not anything that has to do with Indiana. We won't be here, no matter what you think. No matter what your mother thinks. There's a time when a man needs to do right by his family. Trust what he feels inside."
"But how could moving to the wilderness, away from everything and everyone, be good for us? I don't understand." Tears filled her eyes and her arms trembled. She looked to him and waited. She wanted to hear his explanation. She wished he would hug her, hold her like he did when she was a little girl, and tell her everything would be okay. Mem waved the boys forward, and they raced off in a single line, oldest to youngest toward the gathering crowd. Her mother looked as if she wished to say something, but instead she took Ellie's hand and followed them.
"Dat, you haven't decided, have you?" A gathering of geese honked as they flew overhead, heading north. Marianna lifted her head, watching them for a moment before continuing. "There would be so much we'd be leaving. So many." Marianna didn't mention her older brother, Levi, but he and Aaron were in the forefront of her mind.
"I know what I need to do and that is all I'm saying. But for now keep it to yourself, all our plans. One word of us moving today and I'll be getting messages from my cousins in Ontario by sundown. Sometimes I think the geese carry our news with them, either that or the wind for the way it spreads." He offered a light chuckle, and his eyes begged her to laugh or at least agree.
Marianna pressed her lips into a tight line.
"Promise me?" Her father's tone was firmer. As she studied him, she realized he'd aged over the last few months. He looked tired, and his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested upon his broad back.
She nodded and then turned toward the gathering of men in dark pants and shirts and women in blue dresses, like a garden of larkspurs that had come to life.
Not only did her parents object about her voicing her complaints, now she was forced to keep the news inside. How could she look into Aaron's face and not burst into tears, realizing their date may never happen? How could she not watch Aaron work among the other men and wonder if she'd soon be losing what she wanted most? A life here. With him.
CHAPTER TWO
Aaron Zook placed Mr. Sommer's red tool box next to a line of others and then moved toward the long tables, picnic basket in hand.
"Did yer wife make you a lunch?" Jed King ran his hand over his new beard that was still coming in in patches. Married just a few months, the beard wasn't the only thing noticeable about his new status. The twinkle in his friend's eyes and his stomach that was already starting to round due to Lilia's good cooking were also evident.
Aaron looked to the basket in his hand. "No wife yet." He shrugged. "But it smells good." Aaron took in a deep breath, appreciating the scent of moist summer grass after the rain, cut logs, and his ma's cinnamon rolls carrying on the wind from the nearest table.
"Did ye hear John Stoltzfus say they're hiring o'er the factory? Good wages. I'm thinking of applying."
Aaron's chest felt tight, as if one of those thick ropes they were using to heave beams was cinched around it. He hoped he hadn't looked too eager, running up to the Sommers's bu
ggy like that. It was the best way he could think of to dismiss himself from talking to Mr. Stotlzfus and the other guys gathering at the worksite. He'd witnessed his father's work at the factory. The pay wasn't good, considering the long hours and the slow buggy ride there and back. Then there were the chores around the farm every night. Animals to feed, crops to tend to, fences to mend. Aaron had done his part around the farm, but he knew once one started working in the factory it was hard to leave. Besides, he had his own place he was homesteading in preparation of a wife and family. He just hoped the rumors he was hearing about Marianna's folks wanting to move out of their community weren't true.
Nearing the long tables Aaron placed the Sommers's basket among the others, then he glanced over to where Marianna was approaching with her parents. From the time she was eleven and complimented him on a picture he'd drawn of a meadow-lark during recess, he'd known she was the woman he wanted to marry. Not only because she liked his artwork, but mostly because she was as serious about their Amish lifestyle as he was. Many, like her friend Rebecca, had gone out to explore the world. But not Marianna. She lived her life as if she'd already made a commitment to the church.
He liked that.
He looked up and watched as she approached. Instead of looking toward their neighbors gathering, she stared at the ground in front of her as she walked. Her shoulders slumped more than usual. Her steps were slow.
His mother said that even when Marianna was a child she had sad eyes. Aaron had to agree. Everyone knew about the accident. It was a story told often, or at least referred to. "Don't be falling asleep on the trip down to Jed's," his mother had mentioned to him more than once. "You know what happened . . ."