A Place of Peace

by Amy Clipston

  Miriam sniffed. “I miss you too.”

  “Then you should stay.” Hannah tapped the table for emphasis. “You could stay with me or you could even stay with Aenti for a while. She’d love to have company. I could get you a job working for my mother-in-law’s quilting business. I’m sure you remember how to—”

  “No, no.” Miriam shook her head. “I don’t think that would work out.”

  “Why not?” Hannah’s eyebrows knitted together with confusion.

  “I don’t fit in here anymore.”

  “Why would you think that? You’re family.”

  “No, I’m not.” Miriam grabbed another handful of cookies from the serving plate. “I’m not Amish, and I’m not English. I’m stuck somewhere in between. Besides, Daed made it perfectly clear I’m not welcome in his home.”

  Hannah glowered. “I’ll have a talk with him after we get through the funeral. He has no right to treat you that way. You didn’t join the church, so it’s not like you’re shunned. I’ll get him to realize he’s being an old fool, and he’ll welcome you home.” Her expression brightened. “Then you can join the church and meet a nice Amish man. Soon you’ll be married and having kinner of your own.”

  Miriam sighed. Her sister made it sound so easy. “I’m not sure I want to stay.”

  “Why not? What do you have waiting for you back in Indiana?”

  “A new identity. In Indiana, I’m not judged by my past and what happened to Jeremy Henderson.” Her voice trembled.

  Hannah shook her head. “Sister, I love you no matter what. I see the person you really are and how beautiful you are, inside and out. You’re the only one who clings to that past.”

  Miriam felt a lump swell in her throat at her sister’s loving words. “Thank you.”

  5

  Timothy dried his dinner plate and placed it in the cupboard.

  He then headed through the kitchen into his den, where he flopped into his favorite easy chair and lifted his Bible from the end table. This was his favorite part of the day—when he could let go of his burdens and enjoy some quiet time with God. He flipped open the cover and found his way to Romans.

  He was just settling in to his devotions when he heard a knock on the front door. He popped up, crossed the small room, and wrenched the door open. He found his middle sister standing on the front porch holding a pie plate.

  “Beth Anne?” He leaned on the door frame and eyed her mischievous smile with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

  She feigned insult with a dramatic frown. “Is that how you greet a person who brings you your favorite dessert?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You brought me crumbly peach pie?”

  “Ya.” She stepped toward the door. “Are you going to invite me in, or are we going to discuss crumbly peach pie on the porch all evening?”

  “Of course.” Stepping back, he opened the door wide and gestured for her to enter. “I’ll make some coffee.” He led her through the den to his small kitchen.

  “Danki.” Beth Anne rifled through the cabinets and retrieved plates and utensils while Timothy grabbed the percolator to make coffee. He added water to it and set it on the stove, turning on the burner.

  Beth Anne sat at the table and sliced the crumbly peach pie. “How was your day?”

  “Gut. Yours?” He leaned against the counter while the coffee dripped, the rich aroma permeating the room.

  She licked her fingers. “Gut. I went to visit the Lapps.”

  “How are they coping?”

  She grimaced. “They’re taking it hard. It wasn’t expected. Bertha had been improving, but the pneumonia took a sudden turn for the worse.”

  He shook his head. “We’re not to question God’s will, but sometimes it isn’t easy.”

  “Ya, that’s so true.” Beth Anne pursed her lips, and her expression clouded as if she were choosing her words carefully.

  He eyed her again with suspicion. It wasn’t like her to just drop by without a specific reason.

  The coffee pot gurgled, announcing that it was finished brewing, and Timothy poured two cups. He then brought the cups, sugar, and creamer to the table and lowered himself into a chair across from Beth Anne.

  “Why are you really here?” he asked.

  She flinched at the direct question, and he stifled a laugh. He relished catching her off guard.

  “Can’t I visit my favorite brother?” Her phony innocent smile was back.

  Shaking his head, he added cream and sugar to his coffee and then passed them to her. “You’re incorrigible.” He forked the crumbly peach pie into his mouth and groaned with delight. It was sweet, moist, and smooth.

  Almost as good as the ones Miriam used to make for me.

  He pushed the thought away.

  “Wow,” he muttered while taking another bite. “You almost have me convinced that you just were being nice by bringing me this crumbly peach pie. It’s heavenly.”

  “Glad you like it.” She sipped her coffee, set the mug down, and folded her hands on the table. “I stopped by to see Edna Lapp after I visited Abraham and his kinner.”

  Nodding, Timothy took another gulp of coffee before forking in more pie.

  “Edna had a couple of visitors staying with her.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Abby Lapp.” She paused, her expression becoming serious. “And Miriam.”

  Timothy dropped his fork, which fell to the floor with a loud clatter. His eyes locked on his sister’s, and he glowered. “I knew you had an ulterior motive by coming here. You came to tell me you saw Miriam. I’m froh you saw her, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with me.”

  Beth Anne’s eyes remained focused on his, challenging him. “I think it has everything to do with you.”

  “How could that be?” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “She made her choice and left. End of story.”

  “No, it’s not the end of the story.” Beth Anne leaned forward, slicing her fork through the air like a sword and showering the table with crumbs. “If it were, then you’d be married by now.”

  His eyes widened with shock. “What did you say? You think my not being married is due to Miriam’s leaving?” He laughed with bitterness. “Beth Anne, you don’t know me at all.”

  “Don’t I?” She dropped her fork on the table and folded her hands. “I know you haven’t made a commitment to Naomi or any other woman because you’re not over Miriam.”

  “Naomi and I are just friends, but that’s none of your business. Besides, we’ve only just started to get to know each other. It takes longer than a month to decide if you want to marry someone. You and Paul dated for longer than a month.”

  Not backing down, her stare was steady. “It’s time you moved on, Timothy. You’re not getting any younger.”

  He jammed a finger in his chest. “It’s my business if I choose to stay single. You need to be concerned about your marriage and your kinner. I can handle my own life, and it’s none of your concern.”

  “Ya, it is my concern. You’re my brother, and I care about you. I want to see you froh. You need a fraa and a family. It’s part of who you are.”

  He glowered. “I choose to be alone. I appreciate your concern, but I’m happy.”

  “Are you?” Sitting up straight, she looked unconvinced. “Then why are you stringing poor Naomi King along?”

  He shook his head. How dare she criticize his relationship! “Naomi and I are good friends. I’m not stringing her along as you say. I resent that accusation.”

  Beth Anne shook her head. “Naomi is in love with you. She’s just waiting for you to propose to her.”

  “She is not. You don’t know her.” He knew Beth Anne was right, but he didn’t want to hear it. How is it that Beth Anne can read people just like Mamm does?

  “I can tell. It’s obvious by the way she looks at you. You have her wrapped around your finger, but you refuse to acknowledge the love she wants to give you.” Beth
Anne shook her head and sighed. “I’m not here to accuse you or upset you. I want you to have closure with Miriam. That’s why I think you need to talk to her and—”

  “No.” Timothy slammed his hand on the table, causing the plates and mugs to rattle. “I have nothing to say to Miriam. What we had is gone. It’s the past. Talking to her will just rehash things I let go a long time ago.”

  “You didn’t let it go. That’s the problem.” She ran her fingers over a napkin as if collecting her thoughts. “I truly believe God sent Miriam here to settle things between you two. I think it’s God’s will that you talk with her and work out all your hurt feelings. It’s just what you need so you can move on and make a new life for yourself. I think it’s the Holy Spirit working in your life, Timothy. I talked to Mamm, and she agrees with —”

  “You discussed this with Mamm?” He ran his hands down his face, imagining his sisters analyzing his life while they baked sand tarts. There had to be chitchat more interesting than his sad, sorry life.

  “Please, just listen, okay?” Reaching across the table, she touched his arm. “Mamm and I want what’s best for you, and we think that working through your feelings for Miriam would be healthy for you. Besides, when I talked to Miriam, she seemed really sad. I think she’s carrying around some regret and unresolved feelings for you too.”

  He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You actually feel sorry for her? Are you serious, Beth Anne? She left me. Don’t you remember how it happened? We had plans.” He gestured around the kitchen. “I built this house for us. We were supposed to live here together and raise a family, but she left me. She went to Indiana to move in with her boyfriend and become a nurse.” His eyes narrowed to slits as anger boiled through his veins. “How could you feel sorry for her when she was the one who ruined it all?”

  “I didn’t say I felt sorry for her.” Beth Anne held her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying I think she needs to talk to you too.”

  He couldn’t stop the questions that bubbled up to his lips. “What did she say to you?”

  “Not much. I do know she’s not married, and she didn’t finish nursing school because she ran out of money. She’s sharing an apartment with Abby and working in a pediatrician’s office.”

  “Did she ask about me?” He wished he could take the question back after he asked it. Baring his soul made him uncomfortable.

  “No, but I think she wanted to.”

  “She wanted to, ya?” He snorted with sarcasm. “Just like she wanted to marry me and have a family. It’s all false. She’s a liar.” Leaning over, he plucked the fork from the floor and then grabbed the empty plates from the table. “It’s getting late. I’m sure Paul and the kinner are expecting you home. Danki for the appeditlich pie.”

  He carried the dishes and utensils to the sink, and she followed with the remaining pie and mugs.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said while he washed the dishes and set them in the drain. “I just want you to be froh.”

  “I am happy. I have a job I love and my own little house. What more could I want?”

  “Someone to love who loves you in return. It’s what we all want.” She touched his arm. “I think you’ll find that once you let your feelings for Miriam go. Talk to her and let her explain why she left. Then you can concentrate on building a life with Naomi.”

  Timothy blew out a deep sigh. He knew his sister wasn’t going to drop it until he agreed. “Fine. I will.”

  “Danki.” She gave him a quick hug. “I best get home. Will I see you at the funeral Thursday?”

  Facing her, he leaned against the counter and wiped his hands on a rag. “Ya. Naomi asked me to go with her.”

  “Gut.” Beth Anne followed him to the door. “Maybe you and Miriam can chat there.”

  He pursed his lips. “I don’t think her mother’s funeral is an appropriate place to discuss our broken relationship.”

  Beth Anne nodded. “You’re right. Perhaps you can go visit her at her aenti’s and speak alone.”

  He frowned. “Don’t push it. I said I would talk to her, but I’m not going to make any promises about when or where.”

  “Fair enough.” Beth Anne smiled. “See you later.”

  “Gut nacht.” He watched her hurry down to her buggy, and then he closed the door.

  Timothy returned to his easy chair but couldn’t concentrate on his devotions. Instead, his mind was flooded with thoughts of Miriam and Beth Anne’s insistence that he needed to speak with her in order to let go of the past. The idea seemed utterly preposterous, but then why did he find himself considering it?

  After a quick shower, Timothy climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew Beth Anne was correct when she said he was stringing Naomi along, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a commitment to her. Whenever he considered broaching the subject of their future, the words would remain lodged in his throat. Perhaps Beth Anne was on to something.

  Groaning, Timothy rolled onto his side. He didn’t want to go down this road with Miriam. Talking to her would bring back so much —good and bad. He couldn’t help but remember what she looked like —her deep brown eyes, her long eyelashes, her silky dark hair, her creamy white skin, and the infectious lilt of her laugh …

  Although she thought she was plain, ordinary, and too skinny, Miriam lit up a room when she entered. She’d captured Timothy’s heart the first time she’d smiled at him. She’d known just what to say to him, and she’d understood and forgiven his unpredictable moods. Timothy was sure Miriam was his soul mate, the love of his life.

  He’d never felt that with Naomi. She was a pretty and sweet young woman, but she wasn’t Miriam. He’d never felt that connection with her.

  Guilt rained down on him. How could he compare Naomi to someone who had broken his heart into a million pieces? He felt Naomi’s eagerness to be loved; he knew Beth Anne was right about that. But how could he marry someone he didn’t love with all his heart?

  And how can I string her along?

  Moving onto his stomach, Timothy groaned into the pillow. He needed to sort through all of these feelings. Maybe Beth Anne was correct when she said he needed to talk to Miriam.

  However, he knew one thing for sure —a funeral was no place for that conversation. It would be disrespectful to Bertha’s memory and to Abraham’s family to speak to Miriam then.

  How would he manage to keep his emotions in check when he saw Miriam for the first time since she’d left him nearly four years ago?

  Closing his eyes, Timothy fell asleep imagining how Miriam looked today.

  6

  Miriam wished she could evaporate into thin air or melt into the hardwood flooring beneath her feet—anything to help her escape the pained glances radiating around her.

  Standing at the back of the large living room, she scanned the sea of faces before her —members of the community in which she’d been born. There were people present who’d been there when her parents were married and others who remembered when she took her first steps as a toddler. Yet she felt like a stranger, an alien visiting from another planet.

  She was clad in a plain black dress and her hair was gelled and forced into a tight ponytail.

  However, even though she was dressed so conservatively, the clothes felt strangely comfortable, which surprised her. She had to admit the paradox—she didn’t belong in the community, yet the clothes comforted her soul. Perhaps they served as a connection to her mother, whom she missed beyond words.

  Miriam had stood with Hannah during the morning of the visitation. Keeping with tradition, Bertha had been dressed in all white, including her white apron and cape that had been saved from her wedding. The color represented the final passage into a new and better life. Hundreds of members from the community had marched through Abraham’s house to offer their sympathy. Unlike the English funerals she’d attended in Indiana, which featured hugs and long discussions of memories of the deceased, the Amish were quietly respectful, giving a hands
hake and offering few words to Miriam and her family.

  The hour-and-a-half afternoon service had been beautiful. Miriam had sat with Hannah and found herself holding her sister’s hand during some of the sermon. At first, the Pennsylvania Dietsch was foreign, but after only a few minutes, the language came back to Miriam, and she hung on every word, frequently wiping her eyes in response to the emotion overflowing from her soul. The sermon emphasized the importance of yielding to God’s will and was followed by prayers and Scriptures.

  The graveside service was more painful for Miriam. Her mother was transported in her coffin by a horse-drawn hearse, which was a large black buggy. Bishop Gideon Swartzendruber read a hymn by the graveside before she was laid to rest in a grave dug by hand in an Amish cemetery located within their district. Her grave marker was simple and identical to those around her, keeping with the belief that in death, as in life, the Amish are all equal. The service and burial were plain and devoid of flowers.

  The finality of her mother’s death was almost too much to bear, and Miriam’s regret for not contacting her mother sooner was a raw wound in her heart. Abraham, her father, wouldn’t meet her gaze during visitation, service, or burial, which pushed the knife further into her soul.

  In keeping with tradition, they returned to a neighbor’s house after the funeral to share a meal prepared by members of the community. While family members and friends milled around the house balancing plates of food and cups of water, Miriam attempted to sneak out the back door and retreat to her Aunt Edna’s house across the street. Her efforts were foiled when Hannah caught her by the arm and insisted she stay for the family gathering.

  Hannah soon became distracted by an old friend from a neighboring district, allowing Miriam to slip into the kitchen and grab a drink.

  Miriam moved unnoticed past the women volunteers who were serving the meal and then found a place along the back wall where she stood sipping her ice water and watching the knot of mourners float about the room, chattering, most likely about her.