An Amish Winter

by Amy Clipston

  “Daed needed something,” she told them.

  Rebecca picked up her needle and began making small, meticulous stitches. There was silence for a long moment, then the other women went back to stitching. Sarah Fisher began talking about Katie Ann, her toddler, and asking advice about teething problems, and suddenly there was chattering around the quilt frame as the mothers in the group gave advice.

  Rebecca glanced over and gave Sarah a grateful smile. Sarah smiled back. She knows what it’s like to be the object of concern because of a loss.

  Yes, Rebecca thought, it was good to sit here sewing on familiar patterns while she thought about the change that had suddenly presented itself in the pattern of her own life. She had much to think about, but nothing had to be decided in a day. She’d take things slowly and carefully to make sure that Ben was as right for her as he thought she was for him.

  “Something wrong?”

  Amos looked over. “What?”

  Ben planted his hands on his hips and looked at his boss. “You’ve been watching me all morning.”

  Shaking his head, Rebecca’s father ran his measuring tape along a wall in the Greenstein kitchen. “You must be imagining it.”

  Ben watched Amos jot some numbers down on a pad of paper. “No, I’m not. Is there something you don’t like about the way I’m doing the job today?”

  “’Course not.”

  “Then it’s about Rebecca and me.”

  Amos looked up. “Is there a Rebecca and you?”

  “That should be between us at this point, don’t you think?” Ben said it respectfully, but he felt his heart beating hard in his chest while Amos regarded him, his bushy black eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

  “You’re right,” the other man conceded after a long moment.

  When he muttered something beneath his breath as he turned back to his measuring tape, Ben’s ears perked up. “What did you say?”

  “You’d think you’d be grateful to me,” Amos told him, sounding a little irritable. He let the metal measuring tape snap back into its container. “After all I’ve done to put the two of you together.”

  Ben leaned against the counter behind him. “Are you saying you’ve been playing matchmaker?”

  “Why do you think you get invited for supper so often? I do have enough mouths to feed.”

  But although he sounded like he was growling, Ben saw the corners of the other man’s mouth quirk up into a grin. “Why, you’re as bad as my daed, trying to push us together,” he said at last.

  “Even sent you to town with her that day when she could have driven herself. Girl knows how to drive a buggy better than you.”

  Letting the joking insult slide—at least, he thought Amos was joking; he didn’t think anyone knew he’d had that little accident with the chicken last year—Ben thought about what he’d said. “So you didn’t really need those supplies at the hardware store?”

  Amos shrugged. “They could have delivered them.”

  “Why, you—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have said what I did that day. About Rebecca seeing a ‘head doc.’ Naomi made me apologize to Rebecca for that. But I knew it’d get your curiosity up. Thought you’d either stick with her, or it’d finally make you run.”

  Ben stood straighter. “I don’t run,” he said quietly. “If I did, I’d have decided not to wait like I have.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but she knows how I feel now. I’m giving her a little time to think things over.”

  “Don’t let her take too long,” Amos said gruffly. “Enough water under the bridge.”

  “She’s not the kind of person who’d treat my feelings lightly.”

  Amos gave Ben a long, measuring look and nodded, then he turned back to his work.

  Ben didn’t need reminding. He knew how long he’d been waiting. Even this space they were standing in was a reminder. It had gone on the market just last year, and Ben had thought about buying it. He knew he would get married eventually, even if Rebecca didn’t want him, and the place had been a good price because it needed a lot of repair—just the kind he and his friends and family could do in the evenings and on Saturdays.

  But he’d waited, and the house had sold. Well, there’d be another. And if things went the way he hoped with Rebecca, they’d find it—or build it—together.

  He and Amos worked together companionably, talking little for the rest of the afternoon. When quitting time came, they loaded their tools in the buggy and climbed inside.

  “Staying for supper?” Amos asked casually.

  “Not tonight,” Ben told him. “I’m giving Rebecca a little time to think. A little time,” he repeated before the other man could speak. “And, Amos, you’ll have one less mouth to feed tonight.”

  Amos chuckled as he lifted the reins and got the buggy moving.

  Rebecca was about to enter the kitchen when she heard her parents talking. Thinking it might be a private conversation, she hesitated.

  “Ben’s not staying for supper? You didn’t scare him away, did you?” Naomi asked.

  “Of course not. He says he’s giving Rebecca a little time to think.” He caught her look. “I told him not to give her too long.”

  Rebecca’s eyebrows went up. Well, that’s interesting, she thought. She knew her parents liked Ben, that he was the kind of person Daed wanted working for him. But interfering in Ben’s relationship with her?

  She stepped into the room. “Are you taking sides?”

  “Eavesdropping?” her mother asked mildly.

  “No, I was just walking in and I heard my name.”

  Her father reddened. He glanced at his wife, then back at Rebecca. “What I meant was, your mother and I know that Ben has been interested in you for a long time. If he sees you’re not feeling the same way, he shouldn’t keep waiting.”

  “But I didn’t know that he was interested until now. I thought he just looked at me as a friend.”

  “She took Lizzie’s death hard, Amos,” Naomi reminded him. “She wasn’t thinking about boys. Unlike another young woman in the house,” she muttered.

  Rebecca tried not to smile. She’d noticed Marian was already showing interest in the opposite sex—and not just Ben. She walked over to the stove and looked into the simmering pot. “Mmm, tomato soup. Perfect on a cold night. How can I help?”

  “Amos, here’s your coffee,” Naomi said, handing him the mug she’d just poured.

  “I’ve got some paperwork to do. Call me when supper’s ready,” he said and left the room.

  Rebecca could have sworn she saw the two of them exchange a look. In her opinion, there was suddenly too much interest in what was going on—or not going on—between her and Ben.

  “Why don’t you slice some bread so we can make grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the soup? I baked brownies for dessert. That should be plenty.”

  Nodding, Rebecca began slicing bread, then turned to slicing cheese. Her mother spread butter on the bread, stacked slices with cheese, and set several sandwiches sizzling on the grill pan on the gas stove.

  Naomi gave the sandwiches her attention. “I don’t want you to feel pressured by what your father said,” she offered, breaking the silence and looking up at Rebecca. “Ben chose not to reveal his feelings to you before this, but that doesn’t mean you’re obliged to suddenly conform to his plans for a life together.”

  “He’s not pressuring me.”

  “Good. I’ve seen how he feels about you, but the fact that you haven’t tells me that you weren’t ready . . . or that you don’t see him as the man you want to marry someday.”

  “I think marrying him would make Daed happy.”

  “And that should be the least of your concerns,” her mother told her tartly. “You’re the one who’ll live with him for a very long time.” She glanced in the direction of the den where Amos had retreated to do his paperwork. “I want you to be as happy with your ma
rriage as I’ve been.”

  Rebecca hugged her mother, and they stood there for a long moment. “I love you, Mamm.”

  “I love you, too, liebchen.”

  “What’s burning?” Marian asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  Naomi spun around. Tsk-tsking, she used a spatula to lift the sandwiches from the grill onto a plate.

  “The pigs will have these for breakfast,” she said with a rueful laugh. “Rebecca, cut some more bread and cheese, please.”

  Marian sidled up to her sister at the counter. “So, Rebecca,” she said, “is Ben joining us tonight?”

  CHAPTER 7

  No one expected Rebecca to attend any funerals in the community for several years after Lizzie’s death. But the Lantzes’ flamboyant Auntie Ruth had died last summer, and a few days ago, a beloved onkel had died, so Rebecca went to the services. She was grateful that both had been elderly and lived good, long lives. But she couldn’t help it; going to Onkel John’s funeral made her think about Lizzie’s.

  Now she wanted a connection with her sister, a more cheerful one. She pulled Lizzie’s journal from under her pillow and climbed onto her bed. Somehow, reading her words almost made her feel as if Lizzie were in the room with her—even in the same bed. She smiled as she remembered how, when they were little girls, her parents would find them sleeping together, as if they still wanted the closeness of the womb.

  After Lizzie died, Rebecca felt she was invading Lizzie’s privacy when she read her journal. But she justified it by telling herself that she missed her sister so much, she just wanted the closeness. Besides, she and Lizzie had always shared everything.

  Well, she’d thought they shared everything. The first time she opened the journal and read an entry, she’d been shocked. She turned to that page again.

  I’ve known my twin sister, Rebecca, all my life, Lizzie had written in the journal, in the quick, careless scrawl that would have made their teacher wince. It still surprises me that we’re so different. She’s almost timid compared to me. And she’s always watching me and worrying over what I do, almost like she’s my mother, not my sister. I love her, but I wish she’d stop that. She tells me that she’s the oldest and it’s her job to look out for all of us. She was born six minutes before me. Six minutes! Should that really mean she’s the oldest? Maybe she crowded me when it came time to be born. No, I don’t really mean that. Rebecca would never put herself first. She never does.

  Rebecca winced. Lizzie sounded . . . annoyed that she’d simply cared enough to look out for her. Imagine!

  She heard footsteps on the wooden stairs and quickly thrust the journal behind her. Marian walked into the room. “You okay?”

  “Sure, why?”

  Marian shrugged. “I just thought maybe you were upset after going to the funeral.”

  Rebecca studied her sister. Marian’s forehead was drawn in concern. It was an expression she saw often on her sister’s face.

  Marian was becoming her! She was worrying over Rebecca the way Rebecca had worried over Lizzie. Guilt swamped her. “I’m fine. Really. I was just reading. It was a long morning.”

  Her sister nodded. “I’m going to have some hot chocolate with Mamm. Want some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Marian walked out and Rebecca stared after her. When she heard her sister’s footsteps descend the stairs, she got up and walked over to her chest of drawers. Reaching back behind a stack of underwear, she pulled out a leather-bound journal and took it to her bed. She leafed through the pages and frowned. The last entry was a year to the date from Lizzie’s death.

  The handwriting was large and dark, slashing across the page, not her usual neat writing. Here and there the words were marked by patches where her tears had fallen.

  It’s not fair! she’d written. God, why did You take my sister from us? It was written over and over again, a litany of anger. She glanced heavenward. Thank goodness her God wasn’t an angry God, or He’d have struck her down.

  She leafed through the pages and found more of the same, until she reached the page where she’d written about the awful day at the pond. Taking a deep breath, she moved on and found the entries before that.

  I wonder what will happen one day when one of us finds that special man, the one we want to spend the rest of our lives with. I’ll be happy, of course, to be with him. But it will be strange to be so completely separate from this sister I’ve lived so close to from the moment our hearts started beating in the womb. We share thoughts without speaking, have shared memories. Mamm always talks about how we had our own language no one else understood until we started talking with others in the family.

  My husband will have to understand that Lizzie will be a frequent visitor, of course. We’ll visit often. Maybe we’ll get married at the same time . . . find our special men and have a double wedding? And wouldn’t it be so wunderbaar to have our kinner play together and grow up close cousins?

  Maybe one of us will even have twins. I know God determines these things, but I think Lizzie should have them. I know she thinks of me as a little mudder, always watching over her. But she has a sense of adventure I admire. Kinner need that, not just the mothering.

  I wonder if it’ll be Ben I marry. He’s so cute. And he’s been paying attention to me, not the other girls. Well, teasing me, but he doesn’t do it with them. I think he likes me, and I know I like him. A lot.

  Rebecca smiled as she closed the book and slid the two journals under her pillow. That’s where Lizzie had kept hers—under her pillow. She hadn’t made any secret of it to Rebecca, pulling it out and writing in it each night before bed. But no one else had known about it. Rebecca felt a little guilty that she hadn’t shared it with her mother, but the time had never been right. Maybe one day. There were entries in there about Mamm and Daed. Some of the things that Lizzie had written would make them smile, even when she complained about their being too strict. There were lots of those entries because Lizzie frequently wanted to do things that she shouldn’t. But she had written just as often of her love for her parents and for her sisters and brothers.

  Her entries about Rebecca had made her smile and made her frown. But Rebecca didn’t want to think about those now. So what did she want to do now? Rebecca found herself thinking about Ben, how he’d looked at her that day. How it had felt to be held in his strong arms when he picked her up to put her in the buggy. How they’d looked at each other, breath held, their faces inches apart. How it had felt when his hand touched hers.

  She wanted to see him again. Be with him.

  So what was she waiting for?

  She jumped up, freshened up, and then went clattering down the stairs. Her mamm and Marian looked up in surprise.

  “Are Daed and Ben still out in the barn?”

  Naomi nodded.

  Rebecca threw on her coat and slipped out the door. As she went to shut it, she heard Marian saying, “Bet it’s Ben she wants to see, not Daed,” then her mother’s answering laugh.

  Ben and Amos looked up in surprise when Rebecca entered the barn.

  “Daed, could I talk to Ben for a minute?”

  Amos put down the sandpaper he’d been using on a cabinet and nodded. “I think I’ll get a cup of coffee,” he said as he strolled out.

  As he passed Ben, out of sight of Rebecca, he turned and winked at him.

  “Guder mariye.”

  Ben nodded as he searched her face. “Guder mariye.” He hesitated and then plunged ahead. “I’m glad you went to your onkel’s funeral. It meant a lot to your Aenti Esther. I wasn’t sure you’d go.”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled. “People don’t need to baby me, Ben. Not anymore.”

  He found himself smiling back. Weak sunlight came filtering in through the half-open barn door, bringing out the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. He could stand and look into them for hours. Then he realized she was talking to him. “What?”

  “I wondered if you’d like to go on a picnic tomorrow?”

  “
Tomorrow?”

  “Ya, it’s Saturday, remember? I have this Saturday off.”

  “I was just thinking it’s cold out.”

  She laughed and shook her head at him, and he thought how he loved her laugh. He hadn’t heard it much these past few years.

  “I know. So we’ll wear coats and sit in the buggy if it’s too cold to sit at a picnic table somewhere. I thought I’d pack us a basket lunch, and we could go for a ride.”

  Ben swallowed. This was more than he’d expected when he’d first tentatively talked with her about their seeing each other.

  “That’d be great.”

  “Good. I’ll make some of your favorites.” She started for the door, then turned and glanced over her shoulder. “That would be food and food and food, right?”

  Laughing, he nodded. “Right. Noon?”

  “Noon.” She looked back at him for a long moment. “Bye.”

  Ben stood there for a long time after she left. What a surprise.

  He didn’t know how long he might have stood there thinking about what had happened. The barn door opened, and he quickly picked up a hammer just in case it was Amos.

  “Did I give you enough time?” Amos asked politely.

  “Yes.” Ben gave him a level stare, then followed the older man’s gaze to the hammer in his hand.

  Before Rebecca came, he’d been sanding the wooden cabinet in front of him. Setting down the hammer, he picked up the sandpaper and began running it over the wood.

  Amos just chuckled.

  Rebecca shut the barn doors and grinned. Well, that had been easier than she’d thought it would be.

  And Ben had looked surprised. Well, it wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d do—ask a mann out. But Ben wasn’t just any mann. He was—Ben, her best friend.

  She was humming when she walked back into the house. Taking off her coat, she turned around and found her mother and Marian staring at her.

  “What?”

  “Something in the barn make you happy?” Mamm asked.