An Amish Winter

by Amy Clipston

  “He doesn’t have to. I could eat his piece for him.” But Abram, just turned five, grinned to show he was joking.

  Ben accepted a plate with cake and ice cream and passed it to Rebecca. There was a look in his eyes, she thought, a silent accusation, as if he wondered how she could eat. Why should he care when he’d been so casual and unemotional with his proposal?

  She knew she wasn’t as attractive as her twin sister, and she didn’t have as interesting a personality. But even if she’d been looking at him with different eyes lately, that didn’t mean that she was willing to give up the right to a life with a man who loved her. She’d lost enough in her life. Did she have to lose the dream most young girls dreamed too?

  Rebecca stabbed at a bite of cake with her fork and shoved it into her mouth. It tasted too sweet, and the frosting stuck to the roof of her mouth. Food just wasn’t agreeing with her tonight.

  And it didn’t appear Ben was doing much better. He shoveled in a couple of mouthfuls and then, quietly taking her cue, covered the rest with his napkin. When she glanced over and saw what he’d done, he gave her a look that was a silent challenge. She shrugged, not interested in making him look bad to her family.

  She just wanted him gone.

  Finally the meal was over and she could turn her back—politely—on Ben. Get the dishes done and escape to her room.

  Six-year-old Annie got up on a step stool and held out her hands for a dish towel. She smiled as Rebecca handed her a dish to dry and worked on the task with great concentration.

  She looked up. “Becca?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are there birthdays in heaven?”

  Rebecca nearly dropped the dish she was washing. “I don’t know. I guess so. I mean, birthdays are good and heaven’s good, right?”

  “So Lizzie gets to have birthdays?”

  Tears threatened. Rebecca nodded. “With lots of cake and ice cream.”

  “And Jesus sings the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to her?”

  “Yes, liebschdi.” Wiping her hands on a towel, Rebecca turned and bent to hug her little sister.

  “I think she’s having a wonderful time in heaven,” Ben said.

  Startled, Rebecca turned at the deep timbre of his voice. She hadn’t realized he’d come up behind them with an empty coffee mug.

  “You do?” Annie asked him, staring up at him with big eyes.

  “I do,” he told her, stroking her hair with his big, work-roughened hand.

  “We’re all done. Why don’t you go ask Mamm if she needs any help?” Rebecca suggested.

  “Okay. Bye, Ben.”

  “Bye.” He turned to Rebecca. “I’ll wash this since you’re already done.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re a guest.” She tried to take it, but he resisted for a moment, then released it. She turned back to the sink.

  “I’m sorry. I tried not to stay,” he said in a low voice.

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was in hearing range, Rebecca met his eyes. She sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “I don’t understand what happened today.”

  He stopped as Amos came into the room to get himself a cup of coffee, then left.

  “You acted like I did something wrong. What did I do?”

  Quivering with emotion, Rebecca put the last dried mug in the cabinet and slammed the door. “If you don’t know, Ben Weaver, I’m not going to tell you.” And she turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER 9

  Rebecca nearly ran into her mother in her rush out of the kitchen.

  “I heard raised voices. What’s going on?” When Rebecca didn’t answer, Mamm looked past her. “Ben? What’s the matter?”

  “Ask her,” he said shortly and started to walk past her. Then he stopped. “I’m sorry, Naomi. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Rebecca. Tell Amos I’ll see him in the morning.”

  Then he left.

  “Did the two of you have an argument?”

  Rebecca avoided looking at her mother. “Not exactly.”

  Naomi touched her daughter’s cheek and frowned. “It’s obvious you’re upset about something. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s—personal.”

  Naomi took her daughter’s hand and drew her down to sit. “You would tell me if Ben . . . touched you or said anything inappropriate.”

  “Ben would never do that.”

  “But you’re angry at him. Can’t you tell me why?”

  “It’s complicated,” Rebecca said finally. She was tired, so tired of holding in how hurt she felt. How could she tell her mother that Ben had asked to marry her in just about the most passionless way that a man could?

  He’d been a good friend to her, knew her better than anybody except her family. But even when she’d been grieving, when she’d been depressed, when she’d been in emotional deep freeze, she was still a person who wanted someone to think she was pretty, to want her for a better reason than that they would “suit”—whatever that meant.

  It sounded like they’d be like two passionless people walking together through decades.

  She couldn’t tell her mother that. She could barely wrap her mind around it herself.

  Naomi squeezed her hand. “Love doesn’t always run smoothly.” Her voice was gentle, her eyes warm and compassionate.

  If only she could have heard Ben, Rebecca thought.

  “It’s a mother’s wish that you find a mann who’ll love you and who you’ll love,” Naomi said gently. “If it’s God’s will, you’ll find him and experience the joy of married love, grow together spiritually as a couple, as parents.”

  Annie came running in. “Mamm, Abram says his tummy hurts.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Rebecca with a smile. “I shouldn’t have let him have that second slice of cake.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  Naomi got to her feet and bent down to kiss Rebecca on the cheek. “No, you’ve had a long day.”

  Rebecca looked around the kitchen, found it spotless, and then went into the den to say gut nacht to her father. It took a few minutes to look in on each of her brothers and sisters and wish them sweet dreams.

  Then, dressed in her nightgown, snug in her bed, she pulled out her journal and wrote about her day, pouring out her disappointment in the pages. When she thought she’d written all that she could, she started to slide it back under her pillow. Her fingers touched Lizzie’s journal, and she brought it out to stare at it for a moment. Sweet Annie had asked if Lizzie got to have birthdays in heaven. When she thought of her twin, Rebecca thought of Lizzie at the age of seventeen when she’d left the earth.

  She’d been feeling sorry for herself earlier, when she’d let what Ben had asked make her unhappy. But Lizzie wasn’t going to have the chance to marry a man she loved or have children with him or grow old with him. Guilt swamped her for a moment. Then she shook her head. She needed to make peace with God’s will.

  Ben had been there for her so many times when she’d been grieving for Lizzie. Maybe their friendship was all that they were supposed to have, maybe he just wanted someone safe—something safe. When he’d approached her at the sink in the kitchen, he’d sounded like he truly didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

  Maybe Ben was as lonely as she was sometimes. After all, it was written in the Scriptures that a man should not be alone. Perhaps he was simply trying to find someone to walk down life’s path with. She had to find it in her heart to forgive him, to give up this hurt and anger she was feeling. Otherwise it was going to be too hard to bump into him at church services, at frolics, at so many events and in so many places in their community.

  Even though she felt tears of hurt well up in her eyes again, she blinked them away. A verse from the Psalms came to her: “Tears may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Tomorrow would be
better.

  Even though it was cold in the barn, Ben was grateful that he was able to work here this morning instead of within the close confines of someone’s kitchen. It felt good to be doing manual labor, pounding out his frustrations with his hammer.

  Why had he thought that the only answer that he could get from Rebecca would be yes? Why had he been so assured that Rebecca was the one God planned for him that he hadn’t considered that he would be going home with his heart discouraged and colder and lonelier than ever?

  All these years he’d waited for her, and now he wondered if he’d wasted his time. Had he stubbornly been insisting on what God’s will was for his life instead of listening for God to tell him?

  He rubbed at his chest, feeling as if his heart hurt, physically hurt, this morning as the monotony of his work gave him the time to reflect.

  How did he go within hours from being someone’s friend and confidant to a person to be avoided, even treated with hurt and anger?

  His eyes filmed, and his sight wavered. When he swung his hammer, he missed the nail and hit his thumb instead. With a cry of pain he jumped back, stuck his injured finger in his mouth, and sucked on it to relieve the pain.

  “Ben? You okay? Sohn?”

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to stare into the face of Amos. Nodding, he pulled his hand from his mouth. “Just hit my thumb.”

  “Looks like you really hurt yourself there. Your eyes are watering something fierce.” Amos pulled a bandanna out of his back pocket and handed it to Ben.

  Ben nodded his thanks, too miserable to speak.

  “Let’s go inside, get some ice on this.”

  “No need. It’ll be okay.”

  But Amos shepherded him inside the house and nudged him into a chair in the kitchen. Naomi was working there, preparing the noon meal. Two-year-old Ruth was coloring at the table.

  “Naomi, we need some ice. Ben hit his thumb.”

  She rushed to get the ice. Ruth crowded closer to Ben and investigated his hand with wide eyes. “Ben got boo-boo?”

  He laughed. “Yes.”

  “Kiss it make it better,” she said, and she pressed her lips to his thumb.

  Ben stroked her hair with his other hand. “Thank you, Ruth.”

  “Here, this should help,” Naomi said as she handed him a kitchen towel filled with ice.

  “Thanks.” He watched her fill a plastic cup with juice and give it to Ruth. Although he knew she was in her late forties and the mother of eight kinner, Naomi didn’t look much older than Rebecca. This was what Rebecca would look like when she was older: an attractive woman who was strong and capable, a woman who was the heart of her home.

  He swallowed hard.

  “Want some coffee?”

  “I can get it; you’re busy.”

  She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I’m going to get you some aspirin too. You’re in pain.”

  His heart hurt more than his finger. Then he shook his head. He was being melodramatic. Two years ago, a childhood friend of his had asked a young woman if he could see her, and she’d turned him down. His friend had been disappointed and moped around for a few months, then met someone else, fallen in love, and married her. They’d just had their first child last month. Life had moved on.

  Naomi went to get some supplies from the pantry, and Ben drank his coffee. When she returned, she placed a pan with two roasting chickens in the oven.

  “Will you stay for supper?” she asked as she did every day.

  “Danki, but not tonight. I’ll be eating with my parents.”

  He glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly time to stop work for the day. He wanted to be gone by the time Rebecca came home.

  Just then he heard the door open, then close, and she walked into the room.

  “Rebecca! You’re home already?” Naomi exclaimed.

  “Anita decided to close a little early.” Taking off her bonnet and coat, Rebecca hung them on pegs. “We’re doing inventory later in the week. Hello, Ben.” She walked over and looked down at his hand wrapped in the towel. “What happened?”

  “Hit it with the hammer.” Getting up, he dumped the melting ice from the dish towel into the sink. He folded the towel and left it on the counter.

  “That’s not like you.”

  Shrugging, Ben reached for his coat. “Wasn’t paying attention, I guess. Thanks for the ice, Naomi. Gut nacht.”

  He found Amos in the barn and said good-bye, then hitched up his horse to his buggy. As he pulled out of the drive onto the road, something made him glance back. Rebecca stood at the window, watching him.

  Turning back to face the road, Ben rode along, the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves on the road a soothing cadence to his thoughts. He passed by the Bontrager property. The old house stood abandoned, paint peeling, windows broken. He’d thought about buying it and fixing it up. The house was in sad shape, but he knew its construction was solid. Windows could easily be replaced, the outside of the house scraped and repainted, the interior cleaned and fixed up. It wouldn’t be hard. He was, after all, a carpenter, and many of his friends were tradesmen who could help him with the necessary repairs.

  The Bontrager property was only a mile or so away from Rebecca’s family home, and he’d thought she’d like that. It would make it handy for him to work with her father as well. He’d wanted to talk to Rebecca about it first, but a man couldn’t talk about a future home until he was assured he was talking to his future wife. So he’d waited.

  And now everything had changed.

  Dragging his gaze away from the lost promise of the house, he stared straight ahead. That was how he’d gotten through the day—doing the first thing on his list, then the next, then the next, without thinking. The first time he’d lost his concentration, he’d hit his thumb. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, and not just because his thumb was still throbbing. He was a practical man, and he had his work to keep him busy.

  A few days from now, maybe a few weeks, maybe he’d do what some of his friends had urged him to do for some time now: he’d open his eyes and look around at other young women in the community.

  Inventory was a welcome distraction.

  As much as Rebecca enjoyed helping customers and ringing up sales and answering the dozens of questions from tourists about her community, doing some mindless counting and tallying was just what she needed.

  Ben had been avoiding her. He hadn’t stayed for supper since Abram’s birthday and was usually gone by the time she got home from work. Her parents eyed her curiously but kept their questions to themselves. Even Marian hadn’t said anything, although Rebecca often caught her watching her. Occasionally, one of the kinner would ask if Ben was going to stay to eat with them, but the younger ones saw him at midday dinner or after school.

  “Hungry?” Anita interrupted her thoughts.

  “Ya.”

  They went into the break room in the back of the store to eat sandwiches Anita had slipped out earlier to buy. As she peeled back the paper from the sandwich, Rebecca hesitated, remembering.

  “Did I get the wrong kind?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, it’s fine, thanks. I was just thinking of the last time I went to this restaurant, that’s all.”

  “The day that young man surprised you by coming to take you to lunch?”

  Nodding, Rebecca took a bite of her sandwich. She didn’t really feel like eating now that she’d remembered, but she didn’t want to hurt Anita’s feelings. “I remember how you said you have a romantic heart,” she said. “Do you think all women have one?”

  “I think many do. Most, maybe.”

  “Do you think any men are romantic?”

  Anita smiled and wiped her lips with a paper napkin. She regarded Rebecca sympathetically. “Am I to assume by your question that the young man isn’t romantic?”

  “Not very.” Rebecca drained the last of her lemonade and tossed the paper cup into the trash can. “I’m going to put the res
t of this sandwich in the refrigerator for tomorrow’s lunch.”

  “What about other young men in your community? Are they different from—I hate to keep saying ‘that young man.’ What’s his name?”

  “Ben. I don’t know if he’s different from the others. I mean, I think they’re more practical than Englisch young men because so many of them work in trades or farm or whatever, but I still hear they can be romantic. I see my father being very sweet and romantic with my mamm sometimes.”

  “My Phil was that way. He brought home a dozen roses each week, and he left notes for me when he had to leave the house early and I wasn’t up yet.” She stood. “Ready to finish up?”

  They worked on inventory some more, occasionally exchanging comments about what stock had been popular, what they should order more of, what should be eliminated.

  “You’ve been such an asset,” Anita told her as they finished up. “You’re good with the customers, you sense what they want before they ask, and you’re unflappable.”

  Rebecca laughed and shook her head. “I assure you, I’m flappable.”

  Anita handed Rebecca her coat and bonnet. “Your young man really hurt you, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t think he meant to,” Rebecca said slowly. “He’s been a good friend, gotten me through some bad times since my sister died. But I want . . .”

  “You want some romance. You want to believe you’re loved.”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said at last. “Yes.”

  They were silent on the way home and then, just before she pulled into the drive of Rebecca’s house, Anita spoke. “You know, I believe that the right young man is out there for you. You’re a sweet, religious young woman with a lot to offer. When it’s time, God will send along the right man.”

  Surprised, Rebecca glanced over at Anita. Although the woman was very nice to her, they didn’t often talk so personally. Rebecca was glad she’d offered to stay and help Anita with inventory.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Anita smiled and took her hand from the steering wheel to pat Rebecca’s. “I am.”

  The front door opened, and Mamm stepped outside and waved.