An Amish Winter

by Amy Clipston

  Dinner at Ben’s home was quieter than at Rebecca’s. He was the youngest of the Weaver children, and all his brothers and sisters had their own families now.

  Ben’s mother, Emma, smiled at him. She was a tall, thin woman who had worked beside her husband in the fields. Years of being outside in the sun, years of smiling through joy and adversity, had etched lines around her eyes.

  “It’s good to have you home for supper, Sohn.”

  “Boy found out you made pot roast,” his father muttered before putting a big forkful in his own mouth.

  “You’ve never missed her pot roast either,” Ben reminded him equably. “I remember the time you were lying in the emergency room having your broken arm set, and all you could talk about was how Mamm was making pot roast for supper and you were worried it would be all gone before you got home.”

  His father slapped him on the back, a little harder than affection usually merited. “You’re right there.” He shoveled in a forkful of oven-roasted potatoes and carrots. “Been spending a lot of time over at the Miller place. How long are you going to wait for her?”

  “Samuel! It’s not our way to pry into our children’s lives in that area!”

  “A man knows when he’s found his fraa,” he went on blithely. “You’ve been a little bit slow, haven’t you, Sohn?”

  Ben just looked at his father. “It’s taking a little longer than I expected,” he admitted.

  “You sure she’s not a lost cause?” Samuel Weaver asked bluntly.

  “That’s what he’d like best,” his mamm said before Ben could answer. “He’s never been one to do things the easy way.”

  Samuel nodded. “True. Aren’t you worried that another man could come along and catch her eye, move faster?”

  “Samuel!”

  “It could happen,” he asserted as he dragged a piece of bread through the gravy on his plate and put it into his mouth. “You know it, too, don’t you?”

  Ben nodded. “One day she could stop looking inward, blaming herself for her sister’s death. She could look out and see someone else. Date him. But I can’t rush her. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “It’s hard to know sometimes when to wait and when to press the issue,” Emma said carefully.

  His father thought about it and sighed. “Listen to your mamm,” he told Ben. “Wisest woman I ever met.”

  His parents’ eyes met, and Ben saw the love they shared. He wanted that kind of relationship, that warm glow of love after so many years of marriage. His eldre had weathered many challenging times together.

  It was worth it to wait for the one you loved, wasn’t it? Marriage was supposed to be forever.

  “She’s a lovely girl,” his mother was saying. “I’m not saying this to sway you one way or the other. You’ve been a good friend to her.”

  Ben looked up and waited for her to gently say that perhaps he should move on, find someone else to marry him and give him children, and her, grandchildren. But she simply smiled.

  “I know she took the death of her twin very hard,” she went on. “There’s no accounting for how long it takes for someone to accept the death of someone they love, to accept God’s will.”

  “She still blames herself,” Ben said, setting down his fork. “She hasn’t said it in so many words, but . . .”

  “But you know because you care.”

  He nodded. She understood him so well.

  She touched his hand. “And I know that you blamed yourself for not being able to save Lizzie. The two of you have had much to deal with. Things will work out if they’re meant to. In God’s time.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard for a man to accept God’s time,” his father said. “Maybe you should—Is that my favorite?”

  Emma set the pan of baked apples fragrant with cinnamon in front of him on the table. “There’s ice cream for on top if you want it.”

  Samuel jumped up to get it.

  Emma winked at Ben as she handed him his own dessert. By the time his father returned to the table, Emma was talking about the upcoming quilting at the Millers’.

  Rebecca walked into the barn a few days later and was startled to hear her father asking Ben to drive her to the doctor.

  “Is she still sick?”

  She stopped. Ben sounded concerned.

  “No, no, she’s fine,” her father assured him quickly. “It’s an appointment with one of those head docs, that’s all.”

  Closing her eyes, Rebecca shook her head. Great, just great, she thought. Now Ben’s going to think I’m crazy.

  “It’ll be on the clock,” Amos said. “I need to stay here and work up a bid for the Brown kitchen.”

  “Ya, I’ll be happy to do it.”

  “Guder mariye, Daed, Ben,” Rebecca said as she strode forward.

  “Rebecca. I was just asking Ben here to drive you to the appointment.”

  “I can drive myself.”

  “Ya, I know,” her father said, handing Ben a list. “But I want Ben to pick up some supplies at the hardware store, so this will kill two birds, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes.

  Her father grinned. “Ask your mamm if she needs anything in town.”

  “So we can kill three birds?” Rebecca shot back over her shoulder as she walked out of the barn.

  “Smart mouth, that one,” she heard her father say with a laugh.

  She was still smiling when she entered the kitchen.

  “You’re in a good mood this morning,” Mamm remarked as she looked up from her seat at the kitchen table. A steaming cup of tea sat before her.

  “Daed said to see if you need anything in town. Ben’s driving me and picking up some supplies from the hardware store.”

  “Is that why you were smiling?”

  “I don’t get excited about picking up supplies.”

  Her mother looked at her. “You know what I mean.”

  “Because Ben will be driving me? No.”

  But the last two times she’d seen him, it felt as if things were changing between them. There had been an awareness between them that couldn’t be missed.

  Her mother went to the refrigerator and pulled a list from under a magnet. “I’d appreciate it if you can pick up these things from Nellie’s store. I’ll need them for the quilting.”

  “Sure.”

  “Rebecca?”

  “Ya?”

  “Why do you think Ben stays for supper so often?”

  “Because you’re such a good cook?”

  Naomi laughed and shook her head. “No. His mother is a better cook than me. Maybe if you think about it, you could come up with a reason.”

  Rebecca stood there for a moment. “Now why would I want to do that?”

  Then she looked up and saw Ben striding toward the house. “I have to go.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “See you later.”

  The drive into town was silent.

  Ben looked over several times and saw that Rebecca looked lost in thought.

  “You okay?”

  “Hmm? Yes, why?”

  “You’re being quiet.”

  “I’m not a chatterbox. You know that.”

  “There’s quite a distance between quiet and a chatterbox.”

  “You’re not exactly talking much yourself.”

  He nodded. “Feels strange not to be on the job on a weekday. Not that I mind, you understand. It’s good to have a change.”

  Turning, she raised her eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “That’s more than I’ve heard you say in a long time.”

  “I think you’re teasing me.”

  She laughed. “I guess I am. Imagine that.”

  Ben wondered why she was going to the doctor. She didn’t appear ill. There was no way that it was to see a “head doc” the way her father had teased. He knew of no one more levelheaded than Rebecca. Not that there was any shame in seeing a counselor if a person had emotional or psychological problems.

  Bu
t the only thing Rebecca had, in his opinion, was a mantle of grief that was finally lifting.

  Then it struck him: she could be going to see a doctor about a woman thing. The thought made the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He forced the thought aside and looked out at the passing scenery. “Nice day. You warm enough?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Are you going to the singing on Sunday?”

  “Thought I would.”

  “Shall I pick you up?”

  She nodded. “That would be nice.”

  They talked about the last singing, the friends who’d attended, what couples were pairing up, Leah Petersheim and Aaron Lantz’s recent marriage, an editor showing interest in publishing Leah’s first story. They speculated on how the Petersheims had felt when three of their four daughters became engaged in such a short time.

  A car came up behind them very quickly. Ben pulled over to the shoulder and it went speeding past, startling Ike. He reared, and Ben fought to steady him, to keep control.

  His heart pounding, Ben turned to Rebecca and found her looking pale and shaken, clutching at the dash of the buggy.

  “Someone should do something about drivers like that!” she muttered.

  Nodding, Ben pulled the buggy back onto the road. Sharing the road with modern day horsepower could be dangerous. It was easy to get lulled into a false sense of security, listening to the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, talking and gazing at the scenery. When there were accidents, it was the buggy occupants who were hurt the worst.

  Thank goodness nothing had happened. He couldn’t stand it if something happened to Rebecca and he wasn’t any more able to save her than he had been Lizzie.

  Amos and Naomi didn’t need another tragedy in their family.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dr. Prato held out her arms. “Rebecca! It’s so good to see you.”

  Rebecca hugged the woman who’d listened to her tears and fears after Lizzie died. She took a seat, and the older woman sat opposite her. The office was a comfortable place, filled with books and photos of Dr. Prato’s children.

  “So tell me how you’ve been,” Dr. Prato invited. “I haven’t seen you for, let’s see here”—she consulted her file—“three years.”

  Her eyes were warm as she gazed at Rebecca over the rims of her poppy-red reading glasses. She’d once confessed that she was in her sixties, but she looked much younger with her streaky blonde hair and trendy Englisch outfits.

  Bringing her up to date took a few minutes. Then Rebecca fell silent.

  “So tell me why you wanted to come in today.”

  Rebecca stared at her hands.

  “You don’t need to choose the right words. Just say what’s on your mind.”

  Looking up, Rebecca met her calm gaze. “I noticed my family sometimes still acts worried about me.”

  “They’re responsible for their own behavior. You can’t control that.”

  “I know.” She twisted her hands in her lap.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “I’m hearing voices. A voice,” she corrected.

  To her amazement, the other woman didn’t blink. “And whose voice is it? When we first started our sessions, I recall you thought you heard your sister’s. I told you at the time that that wasn’t unusual. Twins have quite a close bond.”

  “Ya. I remember.”

  “And your sister was quite—well, how would you describe her?”

  “Dominant,” Rebecca confessed. “Stronger, more outgoing. Definitely more adventurous.”

  “A risk taker.”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Which is why it wasn’t surprising that she died that day.”

  “But I should have—” She stopped. “I know, you’ve been telling me for a long time that it wasn’t my fault.”

  Dr. Prato smiled. “And one day you’ll believe me. One day you’ll forgive yourself. But you haven’t yet, have you?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Not entirely. I’m supposed to believe it’s God’s will. That’s what we learn from the time we’re children, that everything is in order. That God is in charge. That it’s His will—”

  “If people live or die.” Dr. Prato looked at Rebecca over her glasses. “From the way you’re talking, I wonder if it isn’t only yourself that you haven’t forgiven. Maybe you haven’t forgiven God?”

  Rebecca bit her lip. “No, I don’t think I have,” she whispered. “I stopped being angry at Him. But how long is it supposed to take to stop missing her? To not feel bad that she’s gone? To not remember the way that she died?”

  “I wish I could tell you. Everyone’s experience with grief is different.”

  “Some people tell me that it’s time to be over Lizzie’s death—not lately, you understand, but they’ve said so. Not Mamm and Daed. They never have. Or Marian.”

  Or Ben. He was around constantly, and though he’d seen her at her worst moments, he’d never suggested that she should be setting aside her grief. He just listened. And listened and listened.

  “Something you want to say?”

  Rebecca shook her head. She wanted to think about it for a while.

  “So let’s return to this voice you’re hearing,” Dr. Prato prompted.

  “I heard it the other day when I stood by the pond.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Are you afraid, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca started to shake her head, then stopped. “I could say that I’m not afraid, that it’s simply that I haven’t wanted to put on my skates since the accident. But that wouldn’t be truthful.”

  “And you’re always truthful.”

  There was no need to look at Dr. Prato to see if she was questioning or implying anything. She was simply stating the truth.

  “You don’t—you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You don’t think there’s something wrong with someone hearing a voice?”

  Dr. Prato smiled. “Do you?”

  “Now you’re answering a question with a question.” Rebecca smiled in spite of herself. “No one else I know talks about hearing voices, so I have to think it’s a little strange.”

  “Since I moved to this community, I’ve gotten to know a number of Plain people. I’ve never heard any of them having such experiences, no,” Dr. Prato admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that they don’t.” She leaned forward. “Sometimes, when others don’t talk about deeply personal things, you can start to wonder if you’re different, if something might even be wrong with you. Now, think about what the voice is saying.”

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Could it be you, talking to yourself? Is it possible that it’s your inner voice? Maybe you didn’t hear it a lot before, since you were around such a strong sibling. Maybe you’re hearing your inner voice urging you to stop being afraid to live? To do things you haven’t done since Lizzie died? You said you heard it when you were looking at the pond. That’s where you loved to skate, where you did something that made you feel happy and free.”

  “And it’s where Lizzie died.”

  “Yes. That voice could even be you telling yourself not to be afraid of going on without her, couldn’t it? To not feel guilty any longer for not being able to save her?”

  Rebecca stared at the doctor, her eyes wide. “I—I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Think about it. See if it makes sense to you.” She sat back.

  “I will.”

  “And maybe . . .” She hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Maybe it’s God talking to you?”

  Rebecca frowned. “I don’t know. I doubt it. He knows I was so angry with Him for so long for taking Lizzie home.”

  “Was there anything else on your mind?” the older woman asked after a long moment.

  “I was thinking on the way here that I’ll always be grateful that you talked to my parents about me,”
Rebecca said quietly. “You really persisted.”

  “You were worth fighting for,” Dr. Prato told her. “I can’t tell you how gratifying it’s been to see your community being more accepting of seeing a mental health professional when they need to.” She smiled. “You’ve come a long way from the first time I met you.”

  Rebecca was ashamed to remember how she hadn’t wanted to live after Lizzie died. She’d developed pneumonia and had been hospitalized for two weeks when Dr. Prato had stopped by her room at the request of the attending doctor.

  Her parents were dubious at first about her talking with Rebecca. Medical care was one thing, but Rebecca’s daed had felt his daughter didn’t need to speak to a psychologist. But something Dr. Prato had said convinced them. After Rebecca left the hospital, she visited Dr. Prato in her office in town a number of times.

  “I know it was difficult for them to consider at first.” Then she frowned. “That reminds me. I overheard my father calling you a ‘head doc’ today.”

  “It sounds like that bothered you.”

  Rebecca stared at her hands. “He was telling Ben, a friend of the family. Someone who works for him. I went to school with him; he’s my friend. But I never told him that I’ve seen you. I’m not ashamed of it, but I live in a small community. I don’t need people talking about me.”

  “Would Ben do that?”

  “No,” Rebecca said at last. “He’s such a good friend to me.”

  Was it her imagination that the doctor was sitting up a little straighter, looking a little more attentive?

  “Tell me about this Ben.”

  Rebecca shrugged. “He’s just a friend.” She picked at a thread on her skirt. “Well, he’s just always . . . around, you know? People have asked me if he’s a friend or more.”

  Dr. Prato’s brows lifted. “And how do you feel about that?”

  Ben glanced at the clock in the hardware store. He’d dropped Rebecca off almost an hour and a half ago. She’d said she’d meet him here. But maybe she’d started feeling worse. Maybe she was waiting there for him to come get her.

  He returned to the building where she’d asked him to drop her off and walked inside. He examined the building directory. Dr. Seaton, gerontologist. Hmm. No, that was a doctor for old people. An obesity clinic. No. Rebecca was slim.