by Sarah Price
“Anna?”
Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes, saying a quick prayer to God for the strength to speak what weighed so heavily on her mind. There was no easy way to tell him, so she chose to be candid instead of softening her words. “Freman, I cannot marry you in November.”
She waited for his response.
For a moment, he remained silent.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes and blinked rapidly to stop them from falling. She couldn’t imagine his devastation at the news. After so many long buggy rides home from the youth singings on Sunday evenings, their compatibility more than apparent to both of them, it had been only natural that they would marry. She wanted to marry him. But when she informed Lydia and asked how best to tell her daed, she quickly learned that her admiration for Freman was not shared by others. How could she defy the advice of her mother’s best friend or the wishes of her own father?
He focused on the reins of the horse and seemed to contemplate her proclamation. “I see,” he finally said. “I know you think you must wait until you turn eighteen, Anna. So, if we must wait until spring . . . ” He let the sentence linger between them.
“Freman, spring isn’t the answer.”
“I know it’s unusual, but more young couples are doing that these days,” he responded.
When he glanced at her, she looked away. “It’s not that I cannot marry you in the spring,” she whispered. “It’s that I cannot marry you ever.”
She saw his hands tighten on the reins, the only indication that he had heard her words. The horse sensed the tension and slowed its pace. A car approached from the other direction and slowed down as it passed them. When the noise of the engine faded, he finally asked the one question she had not wanted to answer. “Why?”
How could she explain it to him? For three nights, she had barely slept as she lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling as she tried to think of the words that might possibly explain her reasons.
“It’s . . . it’s my family,” she admitted. “Lydia said Daed would not approve of our marriage.”
The muscles tightened along his jawline. “Not approve of our marriage,” he repeated. She knew that he wasn’t asking for clarification. Instead, he was speaking out loud as if in disbelief of her words. “That doesn’t make sense, Anna.”
“You aren’t established yet,” she said softly.
“But I will be established, Anna. You know that.”
And she did know that. He was hard-working. Success would come his way; of that, she had no doubt. He was also a good man, the first one to offer assistance to those in need. Still, she had hoped that he would simply accept that explanation and not inquire further into the reasons behind her decision.
“There is something else, Anna,” he said, and when he looked at her, she lowered her eyes and stared at her feet on the floorboard of the buggy. “What is the real objection to our marriage?”
She couldn’t lift her eyes to look at him, but she knew that he needed to know the truth. “It’s . . . it’s your background, Freman.”
At this, he laughed haughtily. “My background?”
“Lydia says Daed won’t approve because you intend to pursue carpentry.”
Another mirthless laugh. “And he thinks that is not a viable profession?” He paused for a moment. The silence in the buggy was broken only by the gentle rhythm of the horse’s hooves on the road and the gentle hum of the buggy wheels. She knew that he was thinking, and considering how smart he was, he was connecting the pieces to the puzzle. “Is this because my family needed help from the g’may?”
She didn’t dare respond.
“That was years ago!”
How could she explain that her father, William Eicher, would never allow one of his daughters to marry into the Whittmores, a family that had been debt-ridden and sought financial assistance from their church district, not just once but twice? While such shameful antipathy coming from a conservative Amish man defied logic, Anna also knew that it was the truth, as her father had often spoken disparagingly of the Whittmores and seemed somewhat cold in his interactions with Freman. Lydia prevailed upon Anna to see that, whether or not she agreed with her father, she would have to make a choice: either Freman’s love or her father’s approval. Despite her own feelings toward Freman, Anna was persuaded that Lydia and her father knew best and, as such, had decided accordingly.
Clearly, her silence explained everything. Still unable to look at him, she knew that he would not try to argue his case any further. He was a man of strong resolve; it was one of the things that she had grown to love about him. Neither aggressive nor arrogant in his views, he would accept her decision without further discussion. After all, what more could he argue?
At the next crossroads he guided the horse so that the buggy turned around and headed back in the direction from which they had just come. They rode back in silence toward the Eichers’ home. There was nothing left to be said. When she stepped down from the buggy at the same place where he had, just minutes before, retrieved her, he bade her good-bye instead of good night. As he drove away, she watched until the buggy disappeared in the distance, wondering how she would be able to live without him in the bleak months and years ahead. It was not going to be easy, she pondered, realizing she may have lost the only man that made her feel that special way.
Chapter One
ANNA EICHER SAT in the old rocking chair by the wood-burning stove, quietly quilting as she listened to her father and her two sisters converse with Lydia Rothberger, the elderly woman from the g’may who had taken on the role of dispensing maternal wisdom ever since their mother passed away ten years ago. Lydia’s presence in the kitchen was always welcome, even if she charged the air with a tight energy of propriety and despite the fact that she had changed Anna’s life irrevocably with her advice eight years ago—tearing Anna away from the only man she had ever loved in the process. With each stitch that Anna pulled through the fabric, her dark eyes glanced up just for a moment. No one noticed. They were too engrossed in their discussion, the three other women focusing all of their attention on her father.
“What will people think if we ask for aid? They will talk for weeks! Mayhaps months!” William said, his hands raised just slightly in the air.
Anna’s heart sank, the irony of the moment not lost on her: the very same fault that her father had used to discredit the Whittmore family so many years ago had now become his own fate. The deep wrinkles and dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and hard decisions. His long white beard, untrimmed and wiry, hung from his wide jaw and covered the first two buttons on his dark blue shirt. Anna noticed that it was dirty and she reminded herself to ensure it was laundered before he wore it again. He looked first at Elizabeth and then at Lydia. “You know those people who love the Amish grapevine. Gossiping and speculating, all of them.” He said the last part with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Anna bit her lower lip, too aware that the biggest contributor to that gossip-filled grapevine was her own father. With a silent resolve, Anna tried to concentrate on her work, knowing that the tiny stitches in the baby blanket she was quilting for her younger sister Mary was the only input she would most likely make today. No one cared what she thought about the possib
ility of her father losing their small family farm, anyway. The affront did not bother her. Indeed, she was just as happy to stay out of the heated discussion.
Elizabeth shook her head, equally as distraught. “There must be another way; perhaps to hire young men to farm the fields.”
That suggestion invigorated William. A new look of optimism lifted the cloud of despair that had rested upon his face. With great hope in his eyes, he pointed at his oldest daughter while he glanced over at Lydia for her response. “Ja! That’s a right gut idea! Hire men to work the farm!”
“William,” Lydia said, leaning forward and gently touching his knee. The gesture was one of familiarity without intimacy.
Over ten years had passed since Anna’s mother, Anne, passed away. When Anne married William Eicher at an early November wedding, Lydia Rothberger stood by Anne’s side as her attendant. The two women had grown up together in Sugarcreek, Ohio. Furthermore, they had sat in the one-room schoolhouse, progressing through eight years of schooling. At sixteen, they went to their first youth singing, standing awkwardly at the back of the barn. It was only natural that, as best friends from childhood, the two young women remained just as close when Anne and her new husband moved to the small town of Charm, just ten miles away.
Since long before Anna’s birth, Lydia Rothberger had been a constant presence in the Eicher family in births, baptisms, and deaths. Her own husband, Edward, had died only one year after their marriage, a union that resulted in no children but left Lydia with a small dry goods store in the outskirts of Charm, only a mile or so from the Eichers’ home. Over the years, she had continued to operate it, and despite the initial speculation from the community and her deceased husband’s family, she had managed to become an impressive business owner in her own right.
After Anne passed away, Lydia stepped in to provide a maternal presence to her best friend’s three daughters, especially to Anna, the middle daughter who was named after her mother. Even at the young age of fourteen, Anna resembled her mother, after whom she had been named, in temperament as well as presence. Quiet and giving, she wanted nothing more than to please the people she loved. For the past ten years, while it was most often Anna who sought out Lydia for advice, Lydia’s sensibility guided the daughters and, on occasion, their father.
Today was one of those days.
“It’s time to consider alternatives. You simply cannot maintain it, William, and you have spent your savings. There is no money left to hire young men.” She hesitated, glancing at Anna with a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Barely enough to even make it through the winter, I fear. You might consider selling the haus. Since it’s paid off, you could invest the proceeds from the sale and live off the interest for a while. You’d fetch a good enough sum for that.”
He stood up and began pacing the room, twisting his hands in front of him. “This haus has been in the family for generations!” His feet shuffled across the perfectly waxed and shiny linoleum floor, Anna having worked hard to ensure that it was never dull or filmy. “Selling it is not an option, Lydia!”
“I’m afraid your options are few, William,” Lydia said with a sigh.
But Anna’s father appeared determined. With a fierce look of unshakable insistence, he stopped pacing and turned toward Lydia. “There are always options! What about taking out a mortgage?”
Anna glanced up in time to see Lydia shake her head. “I don’t see that as being very wise. You still must pay it back. Besides, with no real income, I’m not even certain you could get one, William.”
Exhaling sharply, William continued pacing. “I could sell that Florida property.” He lifted his eyebrow as if this was the solution. “I haven’t been down there in years anyway.”
Even Anna knew that this was another futile idea. The small house in Pinecraft, Florida, had been left to her parents in the will of her maternal grandmother. Only twice had the family traveled to the house, and as far as Anna was concerned, that was twice too often. The place was no more than a two-bedroom trailer house situated on a very small lot in a community of elderly Amish and Mennonites. With only one flower bed for gardening, Anna felt far too confined there. She much preferred the open fields, rolling hills, and winding roads of Holmes County, Ohio, that was for sure and certain.
“Now, William,” Lydia replied gently. “You know that place is barely worth five percent of this property. That wouldn’t do you much good.”
“Such a sorry state of affairs!” he declared before adding, “If Anne were here . . . ” under his breath.
At that statement, Anna shifted her eyes back to the baby quilt. She knew that the absence of her mother continued to haunt her father. After all, it was her mother, Anne, who had managed the finances and kept William on a strict budget. William had simply adored his petite wife and yielded to all of her advice. Once she died, he seemed incapable of budgeting his money. Lydia had tried to help him, as had Anna, but when it came to money he refused to listen to either one of them.
“You need to observe the practicality of moving to a smaller house, William,” Lydia offered, clearly not offended by his comment that insinuated his deceased wife might have offered a better solution than Lydia. In truth, if Anna had not passed away, she would not have let her husband become such a spendthrift.
Anna looked up in time to see her father stop short and turn to face the three women. “Sell the house and move to a smaller one?” He shook his head and continued pacing. “People will say I cannot provide for my family! Humiliating!” With stooped shoulders and glazed eyes, he paused to consider this thought. “Nee! Disastrous!”
“Scandalous, indeed!” Elizabeth added, always the one to follow her father’s concern over what others might think of their good family name.
Anna studied her older sister. Ever since their mother died, Elizabeth had assumed the position of the female head of house, helping their father make decisions. But it was Lydia who provided a maternal presence, at least to Anna. On most occasions, Elizabeth deferred to Lydia. However, if Lydia was not around, there was simply no reasoning with her father and elder sister: they seemed to agree on anything and everything as long as it maintained their image within the community. And that left out Anna.
As for Mary . . .
Anna looked at her other schwester, the prettiest of the three and, being married to Cris Musser, Mary was the only one who wore a white prayer kapp at worship service. Her waist, while not quite as thick as Elizabeth’s, still showed the extra weight that went with bearing children, although Anna wondered if she might be expecting another baby already.
Unlike Elizabeth, who worried about the family reputation, Mary tended to fret over having to support her destitute father and two unmarried sisters. Being the only married member of the family, and with a husband’s family that lived quite nicely, Mary frequently expressed her anxiety of shouldering such a burden. “If you sold your house, where would you live?”
Once again, Anna lifted her head and stared first at her father and then at Elizabeth. Neither one spoke. She knew what they were thinking, so with a soft smile, Anna spoke for them. “We could stay with you, Mary.”
This idea flustered Mary. The color rose to her cheeks and she responded with a quick excuse. “You know that our haus is already too small! Salome Musser refuses
to give up the larger one!” She pursed her lips and sighed. “Imagine that! Putting us into the grossdawdihaus with two small kinner!” She clicked her tongue three times as she shook her head, clearly disapproving of her mother-in-law’s decision. “Her own son, me, and two grandchildren! Living in such cramped quarters! Why, it’s a wonder the bishop doesn’t interfere with Salome for being so selfish!”
No one responded to her complaints. Nor did anyone point out that she still had a spare bedroom, given that the two young boys shared one. However, the Eicher family all knew what was required when Mary went on a self-indulgent rampage: a proper moment’s hesitation, as if permitting a respectful silence to acknowledge Mary’s complaint, before continuing to address the real situation at hand—finances.
At last, Elizabeth broke the compulsory silence. With her hands folded together and resting so primly on her lap, she appeared almost like an austere schoolteacher reprimanding rambunctious young children. Only she wasn’t: she was scolding her father. “I dare say that selling the house would raise eyebrows, Daed.” She paused, hesitating as if mulling over her own words. “But there must be something we can do. Why, the Hostetlers kept their family place even after all of those medical bills required not one but two rounds of aid from the g’may!” She turned her head, her sharp eyes staring at Lydia with a look of disdain. “Certainly we are better off than that!”
The challenge was set. Anne could only hold her breath and wait to hear what came next. When she glanced at her father, she saw the glimmer of hope that shone from his eyes and her heart ached for her father. But he was oblivious to his middle daughter’s thoughts. Instead, for the second time that evening, William pointed at Elizabeth as if her comment might solve his problems. “Ja, that’s the truth!” A glow of eagerness returned to his face. “No one can doubt that we have done much better than that Henry Hostetler!”