by Sarah Price
Pulling her knees to her chin, Mary Ann turned and smiled at her sister. “Oh, but I’m sure that a match is there, Eleanor. At least a delay in you recognizing it means that I can enjoy more time with you before he whisks you away to that Fisher farm down in Narvon.” She lightly pushed Eleanor’s shoulder. “I hate the idea of you moving so far away!”
At this, Eleanor gave a soft laugh. “I can assure you that you are mistaken, Mary Ann. I am not moving anywhere with anyone, even if I do have high regard for Edwin Fisher.”
“Aha!” Mary Ann leaned over her sister, her long braid brushing against Eleanor’s shoulder. She pushed her face into Eleanor’s, her blue eyes searching her sister’s. She smiled mischievously, as if she had caught Eleanor in a trap. “I knew it! From fondness to high regard! Why, Eleanor, if we keep talking about this, mayhaps you’ll actually admit that you care for him!”
But Eleanor would disclose nothing further and turned onto her side. “Tomorrow’s a long day, Mary Ann,” she said, hoping that her cheeks did not display her true emotions. “Outen the lantern and go to sleep.”
“Perhaps I too shall have a high regard and fondness for Edwin Fisher,” Mary Ann said lightly, “when I get to call him bruder!”
Eleanor lifted her head from the pillow and gave her a sharp look. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to cause gossip that would embarrass both her and Edwin. “That’s enough, Mary Ann. The light!”
Even after Mary Ann huffed and blew out the small lantern, Eleanor stared into the darkness and wondered at her sister’s words. She could not deny that she felt a fondness for Edwin. He was everything that Fanny was not: kind, thoughtful, compassionate, and selfless. A match, however, seemed unlikely. After all Edwin Fisher was to inherit a large farm that had been in the family for generations. While he needed a wife who could help him, the practical reality of the situation was that he would find that wife in his own g’may, likely a young woman familiar with large-scale farming. In fact, because courtships were kept secret, Eleanor suspected that he might already be courting someone who fit that very description.
All the more reason, then, to be sensible and guard her heart. So why did she fear that her fondness and high regard might soon cross over into territory infinitely more dangerous?
Chapter Five
COME WALK WITH me,” Edwin said softly.
Startled, Eleanor looked up and saw him hovering over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him approach her. For a Sunday afternoon in mid-August the weather was perfect for sitting on the porch with her Bible on her lap. She had just been reading Psalms and pondering a particular verse. When she heard his voice in her ear, she briefly wondered to whom he spoke. When she realized that no one else was nearby, she started. “A walk?”
He smiled and reached for her Bible, gently taking it from her hands. After carefully marking her place with the red ribbon that hung from the book’s spine, he closed it and set it on the small plastic table next to her chair. “Ja, a walk. When two people stand next to each other and their legs move them forward, at which point they can exchange a bit of dialogue and camaraderie? You are familiar with this, ja?”
She laughed at his joke and stood up. When he reached out for her elbow to assist her down the porch steps, his gentle touch on her arm made her feel light-headed. She had never been touched by a man, and the fact that her flesh warmed beneath his hand made her remember the conversation she had with Mary Ann just a week ago in the privacy of their bedroom.
While Eleanor continued to silently harbor her high regard for and fondness of Edwin, she also recognized a new feeling, one that seemed to swell up and fill her with an overall sensation of warmth whenever she saw him. She kept her expectations low and her public relationship with him as innocent as possible. The last thing she wanted was to speculate over his friendship or have people gossip about her, especially if she was mistaken in regard to the extent of his attachment to her.
Earlier that day they had attended worship service at the Lapps’ farm just down the lane. As usual Eleanor had walked to the service with Mary Ann and Maggie. Maem stayed home, her allergies getting the worst of her. Eleanor suspected that allergies had nothing to do with her mother’s absence since she had never before demonstrated an allergy to summer’s ragweed. Still, she understood why her mother didn’t want to attend, so she hadn’t made a fuss. After all, like the rest of them, her mother was still mourning for the loss of her husband. No one would dare question why she had remained home instead of attending service.
Worship services were held every two weeks, and the location always rotated. This Sunday the service had been held in the large workshop over the Lapps’ barn, where the cool morning breeze quickly changed to thick humidity. As the three-hour sermon continued, Eleanor felt as if her dress clung to her body, and she knew that beads of sweat formed on the back of her neck and knees. Fortunately the post-service fellowship had been moved outdoors so that everyone could benefit from the shade of the large oak trees and the cool breeze from the brook that cut through the nearby pasture.
She hadn’t been able to talk with Edwin either before or after the service. She knew that he had ridden along in the back of John and Fanny’s buggy, little Henry seated on his lap. When the buggy passed the three Detweiler women who were walking along the side of the road, Henry had stood on the backseat of his parents’ buggy, leaning on Edwin’s shoulder and waving out the open window, his hand already sticky from eating something pink that morning.
During the worship service at the Lapps’ farm, Eleanor focused on the hymns and the sermons, not on the men who sat on the right side of the barn. They were all dressed the same: black trousers, white shirts, and black vests. The bland sea of black on the right side was balanced by the black dresses worn by the women on the left. The only splashes of color were the dresses that the unbaptized children wore. Once or twice, she let her eyes wander and caught sight of Edwin sitting against the far wall and facing the center of the room. With so many people at the worship service, and seated between them, Eleanor could hardly see him beyond the side of his face which was turned toward the man preaching in the center of the room, pacing back and forth between the men’s side of the room and the women’s side.
As usual the worship service was broken into three parts: singing, preaching, and praying. Three hymns were sung, two sermons were preached, and one long prayer was prayed. Occasionally the unbaptized members would be excused at the end so that an announcement could be made that impacted the church district. Today was not one of those days.
Eleanor enjoyed both the sermons and the singing. She had listened attentively to the preachers as they spoke about the dangers of worldliness, and she participated energetically with the g’may when they sang. For Eleanor the three hours spent at worship were a time to meditate and clear her mind while reflecting on God, not to fall asleep or watch other people, although she knew that Mary Ann was prone to nodding off while Maggie often fidgeted.
Once the service ended Eleanor had been far too busy helping the other women with serving food and replenishing drinks to think about Edwin. The men tended to keep to themselves, sitting at their own tables, and when the meal was over, they disappeared outside to catch up on the latest community news. The women, however, served food, cleaned dishes, and when all of the members had eaten, spent their time visiting with each other. By then most of the younger men had already left, either to socialize with their own friends or to take a much-needed nap at home.
Though Eleanor had not seen Edwin much during the service, now he stood by her side, protectively holding her elbow much longer than need be as he walked slowly beside her down the dirt path that ran between the cornfields.
“A right gut service today, ja?” he asked, a nonchalant tone in his voice. She wondered if he was quizzing her or just making idle conversation.
“Ja, it was,” she responded. And she meant it.
“‘Blessed is everyone who fears the LORD; who walks in His wa
ys. For you shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands; you will be happy, and it shall be well with you. Your wife shall be as a fruitful vine in your house, your children like olive shoots around about your table,’” he quoted from Scripture.
Eleanor delayed her response, uncertain what, exactly, to say. While she had paid attention to the sermon, she certainly had not memorized any particular passage. Instead, she had focused strictly on the message: follow God’s Word. The verse Edwin had recited to her summed up everything the preacher said. How had she missed the most important aspect of the worship service? The very key to happiness as God intended for His people?
Edwin must have sensed her conflicting emotions, so he spoke for her. “I feel that is the secret to life, Eleanor. Don’t you?”
“The secret?” She paused as if thinking about that word in the context in which he used it. “Is there truly such a thing as a secret to life, then?”
He nodded his head, his black hat, worn only on Sundays and for other special events, bobbing so that he reached up to steady it. “The Bible gives us such explicit instructions. I wonder that more folks do not follow them. It is the owner’s manual for living during our short stay here on earth.”
She took a few steps, pondering his words. “I reckon you have a point, Edwin. If we fear the Lord and follow His ways, the Bible tells us we shall never want for food or happiness.”
“Exactly!” He seemed pleased with her, walking a bit farther by her side and staring ahead of them.
She wondered what he was thinking, for his mind was clearly in a whirl. He was a deep thinker, one of the things she found admirable about him. While he thought deeply, he spoke only when he felt it was important. Some Amish men spoke frequently to maintain the appearance of being a deep thinker. The reaction from those listening was often the reverse of what they wanted.
“Of course,” she said, careful to speak slowly so she did not appear too proud, “what one person considers as ‘walking in His ways’ is not always the same as another. If a person is not happy and well, is it because they do not fear and walk with God? Who determines whether the Amish way is the right way or whether the Mennonite way should be followed? Or perhaps even the Lutheran, Jewish, or Catholic way?” She shuddered at that idea. “If each group believes that God spoke to them, which way of thinking and living is the right way? I cannot imagine God could choose between people based on one or two rules that differ among religions, especially if, in their hearts, the people sincerely worship him.”
Edwin smiled, a reaction that startled her. She hadn’t meant to be humorous or mocking and certainly hoped he did not take her question in such a manner. When she heard his next words, she felt immediate relief.
“I expected no less from you, Eleanor. Your ability to ask the very questions that linger in my mind make me believe you have stepped inside my head!”
“Oh now, I would never do such a thing as invade your thoughts, especially if they reside only in your head. I would give you much more privacy than that,” she quipped, to which he laughed. “But I do wonder why the wife is by the sides of the house and the children around the table. I don’t think I would like to be outside looking in at the rest of my family.”
This evoked more laughter from Edwin. But he did not comment on her observation. Instead, they walked in silence once more, but the quiet held a new aura of understanding, respect, and even intimacy, a change that Eleanor was not opposed to welcoming.
Chapter Six
Dear Cousin,
We were saddened to learn of Henry’s passing but rejoice that he is now with God in a better place. Remember Ecclesiastes: “A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of birth.”
Frankly, while we were disheartened to learn that you were removed from the family home so suddenly, it did not come as a surprise. There are righteous people and then there are others.
Your husband was a very righteous man and helped many people during his lifetime. In fact, he once helped my own father-in-law who was, I believe, a distant cousin of his own. I should like to repay your husband’s kindness by offering you the very life-right that has been taken away from you by your stepson, John. There is a cottage on our property, modest in size but large enough to accommodate you and your dochders. It has not been occupied for a while and will need some work. But remember that “in all labor there is profit.” I believe that you and your dochders should benefit greatly from starting a new life in a new location. Besides, my mother-in-law and my fraa are quite certain that your company on our farm will add greatly to their daily joy.
Please correspond soon regarding the cottage so that I can know to have it cleared from debris and rubbish.
Your cousin,
Jacob
Eleanor set down the letter and raised her eyes to stare at her mother. “I’m not quite certain I understand this, Maem.” She had known that her mother suffered with the arrival of Fanny, but she hadn’t realized how much until this moment. “You wrote to your cousin and told him you wish to move?”
Maem nodded her head emphatically. “Ja, I did.”
“Whatever for?” Eleanor frowned and glanced at the small, tight writing on the letter. “We do not even know this man.” She reached for the envelope and flipped it over so that she could read the return address. “And to Quarryville? That’s so far away!”
Maem stood up and walked to the kitchen counter. She stood there for a moment, her back facing Eleanor, and stared at nothing. At last she took a deep breath and turned around. “Eleanor,” she said, “these past weeks have been simply awful. I’m a stranger in my own home, an unwanted guest at best. This is a time of great change and sorrow, and I need my family around me. I cannot stand to have my dochders separated . . . and miserable.”
Her mother had finally spoken what everyone else certainly thought. The move from the main farmhouse to the smaller grossdaadihaus had been as traumatic as Eleanor had expected.
To begin with, only Maggie could move to the small grossdaadihaus house with their mother, for there were only two bedrooms, and the one was too small for more than a single bed. That meant that Eleanor and Mary Ann needed to remain in the main house, living alongside Fanny, John, and little Henry. The family was, indeed, separated. If that wasn’t terrible enough, Fanny continued to do everything in her power to ensure that Eleanor, Mary Ann, and their mother knew how unwelcome they were, even if, on the surface, no one could fault her manners.
And that made everyone miserable.
Why John and Fanny had not occupied the grossdaadihaus, the two bedrooms certainly more than enough room for their small family of three, was the unspoken question that lingered in the air. To displace Maem and her daughters so soon after their father’s death seemed callous and cruel. But no one would dare to complain, even though Eleanor suspected that more than a few people in the g’may had gossiped that Fanny had forced out the Detweiler women. Regardless of what people thought or said, there was little recourse, for the farm was, after all, John’s rightful inheritance, and as such, they had the right to live there, even if it meant the insensitive removal of its previous residents.
“We aren’t truly separated, Maem,” Eleanor reassured her. “It’s only in the evenings that Mary Ann and I return to their side of the house. And we are just fine sharing a room. As for Maggie, I’m sure she is much more comfortable with you than over at the other side of the haus.”
Clearly Maem was not finished expressing her feelings, for she went on, ignoring Eleanor’s reasoning. “And then there is that Fanny! Why, she is just too much! She complains over everything about the farm. She might have delayed her move if she thought so poorly of the place.” Maem paused and let her shoulders droop. “Your daed worked so hard on this farm. All of her complaints are simply an insult to his memory!”
Eleanor wished there was something she could say to make her mother feel better. The truth was that she felt the same about Fanny. Earlier that very day
Fanny had made a fuss over the antiquated style of the downstairs bathroom. She insisted that John find someone to replace the toilet and sink, claiming that there was no amount of scrubbing that would remove the stains on the porcelain. At the time Eleanor wished she could point out that the stains were from the well water and not poor cleaning on the part of her mother. However, Edwin had spoken up and addressed the matter, telling his sister that an old porcelain sink, stained or not, certainly did its job as well as a new one and with 100 percent less the cost.
“I’m sure that she wishes John provided a more contemporary home,” Eleanor conceded. “But that isn’t a reason to move, Maem. This is, after all, our home.”
“Is it, Eleanor?” Maem gave her a look that indicated she felt otherwise.
It was true that Fanny was taking over the farm. She had even ripped up some of Mary Ann’s perennial gardens since to her mind their colorful display seemed far too prideful. When Mary Ann returned from work, she almost cried upon seeing the destruction. Many of the plants had been collected throughout the years from friends and family, both near and far.
Another blatant affront to the family was when Maggie’s climbing tree had been cut down. Fanny claimed it blocked her view from the kitchen window. But Eleanor suspected that Fanny feared little Henry would try to imitate Maggie and climb the tree. If he fell and was injured, Fanny would be inconvenienced, as it would be her responsibility to tend to his needs.
Maem sighed. “It’s bad enough that we’ve been displaced from our home, but I know for a fact that your daed requested for John to take care of us. It was his last wish before he died.”
Eleanor tried to remain stoic. The memory of Fanny complaining to John still lingered in her mind. She knew better than to share that information, so rather than respond to her mother’s heartbreaking confession, she chose to remain calm and say nothing.