The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  “I’ll miss you,” she said.

  “Send me a letter once you’re settled.”

  Normally her brother rejected showing emotion in public, but he held her like this was their final parting.

  Eli peered over his shoulder at Josiah standing a few feet away. “Let me have a word with your husband before I leave.”

  Your husband . . . The words rolled over in her mind as Eli lumbered over to where Josiah stood. Josiah Plank’s fraa . . . Josiah’s Lindie. Her new identity would take getting used to.

  The men talked in low voices. Her brother said something and Josiah nodded. Then Eli dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Josiah.

  Lindie’s breath caught. Before leaving home last night, Eli had made a comment that he couldn’t forget the cash for the trip. She foolishly assumed the money was for travel expenses.

  The men shook hands, their business transaction completed.

  Her arranged marriage had come at a cost.

  Chapter Three

  A chill settled over Lindie’s bones. Her brother’s bus rounded the corner on Elm Street and she sniffled as it disappeared.

  Josiah offered her his hankie.

  “Denki,” she squeaked. She dabbed the soft cloth against the creases of her eyes, then used it to wipe her nose. The overcast sky added another level of dreariness to her mood. So did wearing clothes soaked from the icy rain. She couldn’t recall any woman who had cried tears of grief on her wedding day.

  “I have some things to talk about with you, but we can do that on the way to the haus if you’re ready,” he said.

  She wasn’t ready. But standing any longer in the sleet wasn’t the answer either. They would both catch pneumonia. She dried her nose with the hankie again. His eyes followed her hand as she shoved the hankie into her cape pocket.

  “I’d like to wash it before I return it,” she said before thinking. Of course she would wash it. From now on, she would be washing all of his clothes.

  He motioned to the parking lot. “Let’s go before the roads get too slippery.”

  Her stomach seized up as they approached the buggy. Please, no more hills. She’d already made a public spectacle of herself when she hung over the trash can at the bus station. She didn’t want that embarrassment repeated.

  Neither spoke again until they were inside the buggy and heading out of town—in the same hilly direction as the bishop’s house. She sucked in a breath and secured a hold on the side of the bench.

  “Don’t be surprised if the church members ask a lot of questions. Getting married without a formal announcement will raise some brows,” Josiah said, guiding the horse.

  She’d seen her share of raised brows lately from the members of her home district. Ones from strangers wouldn’t cut as much.

  Josiah’s face contorted. “I ask that you nett tell anyone we married for convenience.” He dropped his line of vision to her belly. “So when is your boppli due?”

  “May tenth.”

  He opened his mouth, looked again at her belly, then focused on the road.

  Perhaps he now regretted his request to conceal the arranged marriage. At three months, she wasn’t showing—yet. Her body wouldn’t stay this size much longer. Tongues would wag, but they’d be directed just as much at him.

  A few moments of silence passed. “Mei dochder doesn’t respond well to strangers. She’s unpredictable. It might take her awhile to get used to you.”

  His daughter wasn’t the only one who needed time to adjust.

  She gripped the edge of the bench to keep from jostling around as they traversed the hills. At least her stomach wasn’t rolling like it had earlier. She had eaten a sandwich on the bus hours ago but had lost any vestiges of it. Lindie didn’t want to think about food. She peered out the window opening, but the tall pines and dense clouds hid the sun and made the surroundings look gloomy.

  “How large is your settlement?” She’d only counted two farms with buggies in the driveway and they were separated by Englisch homes. In her district, several Amish houses shared the same acreage and dozens were clustered within a few miles radius.

  “It started with ten families. Nau we have eight.”

  “We have over a hundred families in Middlefield.” Due to her district’s growth, they’d divided, then divided again. It made staying in touch with people difficult. Besides the massive attendance for weddings and funerals, she hadn’t seen some members in years.

  In the clearing ahead, the bishop’s house came into view. But before reaching the Troyer farm, Josiah slowed the horse and turned right onto a narrow road. Shadowed by thick woods on both sides, daylight disappeared. She tightened her grasp on the bench as they approached a wooden bridge. The buggy wheel took a little dip and she bumped into Josiah.

  Her face heated. “Sorry.” She slid away from him and clutched the edge even tighter.

  “I should’ve warned you. This bridge could use some repairs.”

  The road wasn’t in much better shape. The mixture of dirt and crushed stones gave it a washboard texture. When the lane ended, the horse veered left without any reining from Josiah. Once the buggy cleared the patch of spruce pines, a log home came into view.

  “It’s small,” he said, sounding apologetic.

  “It’s very nice.” She especially liked the idea of sitting under the covered porch while she shucked corn or shelled peas.

  “Denki. I like it back here. It’s peaceful.”

  Isolated is how she would describe it. That would take some getting used to. Fellowship was the glue that kept her settlement together. Then again, maybe she would welcome the isolation.

  “Whoa, Molly.” Josiah stopped the horse next to the house and jumped out. He went to the back of the buggy and opened the hatch.

  She surveyed the homestead as she climbed out. A small slat-board barn and horse corral stood to the left. On the right were two long barns. They reminded her of the chicken barns on some Englischers’ farms back home, but instead of aluminum siding, Josiah’s were constructed of wood. Smoke curled up from a stovepipe on the barn roof.

  “You heat your chicken coop?”

  He shook his head. “That’s mei wood shop.” He pointed to the barn without a smokestack. “And that one is the lumber storage barn.” She supposed it made sense to have a heated barn to work in, but it seemed strange he would keep a fire burning while he was away.

  Mud sucked her shoe into the earth. She jerked her foot out and shook it. Had she been looking where she stepped, she would have spotted the path of cedar shavings. But even the ground beneath the wood chips was soft.

  Josiah grabbed two of the boxes. “I’ll kumm back for the other ones.” He headed for the house.

  She followed him onto the porch, but paused when he opened the front door. Maybe she should wait for an invitation. After all, it wasn’t her home. Not yet.

  “You’re going to get kalt standing on the porch,” he said.

  It wasn’t the warmest welcome, but an invitation nevertheless. She stepped inside and removed her muddy shoes. The wooden floor chilled her stocking feet, though her toes were already numb. One of the first items she planned to unpack was her wool socks.

  “This is the sitting room.” He kept walking as he spoke. “In here is the kitchen.” He pointed with his elbow as he passed the entrance and continued down the hallway.

  This wasn’t the time for a tour. She was more concerned over where he was hauling her things. Her heart raced so fast some of the beats seemed to jump over themselves.

  Josiah stopped at the end of the hall, opened the door on the right, and stepped inside. He lowered the boxes to the floor. “You’ll want to get out of those clothes.”

  She gasped. “Why?”

  He crinkled his brows, eyed her from kapp to stockings, then looked at his clothes. “Aren’t your clothes wet? I know mine are.”

  Undress? In front of him? She couldn’t breathe. She hugged herself and looked down at t
he floor. She felt his stare.

  “I’ll bring in your other boxes.” He shuffled out of the room.

  Her view of the wooden floor blurred. She wiped her eyes, then looked around the room. A large dresser, a table with an oil lamp on it, and a double-sized bed made up with a gray-and-black patched quilt.

  A burning sensation climbed the back of her throat. It was normal to feel nervous on one’s wedding night—but she was sick.

  Lindie bolted out of the room. She nearly ran into Josiah in the hallway as she made her way to the front door. Outside, she rushed to the far end of the porch and bent over the railing just as her stomach revolted in dry heaves. She straightened, but only for a moment before the nausea returned. She hunched over the railing, but still nothing came up. Her ears rang and sweat beaded along her brow, yet her teeth chattered from the cold.

  A minute passed, then the door creaked open and Josiah came up beside her. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

  “Jah.” She pushed off the railing.

  “I’ll help you get into bed.” He looped his arm around her shoulders. “I put your other boxes in the bedroom.”

  She lacked the strength to object to his assistance.“Denki.”

  Josiah guided her and didn’t release his hand from her back until she was seated on the bed. “May I?” He pointed to the boxes.

  She shrugged. As her husband, he didn’t have to ask. Ach, what was she doing married to a stranger?

  He pulled a pocketknife from his pants pocket, cut the twine binding, and squatted beside her belongings. He sifted through two of them before he rose to his feet, a nightdress in his hand.

  “You can change into this,” he said, handing her the garment. “I’ll warm a glass of milk for you.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  She trembled as she clutched the nightdress in her hands. She wasn’t ready for this night. The clang of pots and pans jolted her senses. She unfastened the pins from her dress, set them on the dresser, then climbed out of her wet clothes and into the cotton nightdress. Hearing footsteps stop outside her door, she scurried to get under the covers.

  A soft tap sounded.

  She pulled the covers up to her neck. “Jah?”

  “May I kumm in?”

  “Jah.”

  The door creaked open and Josiah entered. “Here’s the warmed milk.” He set the glass on the lamp table beside the bed. “Would you like anything else?”

  “Nay, denki.”

  “I’m going to reheat some soup for supper. I’ll bring you a cup when it’s ready.” He crossed the room, then paused at the door. “Are you warm enough?”

  “I’m fine, denki.” He must’ve confused her trembling with shivering. She wasn’t cold now that she had changed out of her wet clothes, just leery of his expectations. After all, it was their wedding night.

  Doubts filled Josiah’s mind. He should’ve insisted they wait longer to marry. He tried to rationalize the swift decision but found it impossible. Josiah pulled his coat off the hook and slipped his arms into the sleeves. He wanted to give Lindie some space. Besides, he needed to put the buggy away, feed Molly, and tend to the other livestock. But first he would check on his daughter. Usually the moment he pulled into the yard, Hannah came bouncing out of the lumber barn.

  He hoped Simon hadn’t had any problems with Hannah. Lately his daughter tended to wear down her grandfather’s patience. Simon didn’t have the stamina to keep up with her, especially when she wandered away, which she was doing more and more of these days. The doctor had told Simon last year that his hip needed replacing. Now that the weather had turned cold, his limp was more pronounced.

  Now Lindie would care for Hannah while Josiah worked to get the lumber orders out on time. And Simon wouldn’t have to watch over his granddaughter. It wouldn’t be long before things would start to run smoothly around here.

  Josiah trekked across the yard toward the lumber barn. His boots dug into the muddy ground. He made a mental note to toss another layer of wood chips on the path. He didn’t mind dirt on his boots or even tracking mud into the house, but he hated how mud messed up his buggy. These fluctuating temperatures caused the mud-caked wheels to make the buggy unbalanced, which interfered with Molly’s ability to pull it. He looked forward to the ground being frozen solid.

  He pushed the barn door over the track and stepped inside. Simon’s living quarters, the grossdaadi haus, was attached to the back of the barn. The same place Josiah and Caroline lived when they first were married, and up until Hannah was born. But his in-laws insisted they swap places since the space was too cramped for a growing family.

  He tapped on the wooden door.

  “Jah, it’s open,” Simon called out. He looked up from reading the Budget newspaper as he sat in the rocking chair next to the woodstove.

  Hannah sat at the small kitchen table drawing on a sheet of paper. Usually she sensed his footsteps by the vibrations on the floor and would look up from her activity. Not today. Her concentration held steady. She was either upset or preoccupied with her picture.

  Josiah crossed the room toward Simon. “How did it go?”

  “She ran off twice. The first time she wasn’t gone long and returned on her own. The second time I found her in the woods. I gave her two swats with the willow for nett minding me.” He shook his head. “You’ve got your hands full with that child.”

  His hands were not only full, they were tied. He expected his father-in-law to quote the scripture about not sparing the rod, spoiling the child.

  Simon held his tongue. Perhaps he was in pain.

  “I’m sorry you had to chase after her. How did your hip hold up?”

  Simon shrugged. “I’m thankful it didn’t give out and leave me in the woods.”

  Josiah had tried everything he could to reach his daughter, but had failed. He’d even resorted to spanking her when he found her waist-deep in the duck pond. He recalled the dazed look on his daughter’s face as if she were oblivious to the frigid water temperature. The ducks had all flown south for the winter. His daughter was eight years old, unable to swim, and didn’t have a plugged nickel’s worth of sense.

  Nothing seemed to reach Hannah since her mother had died. To complicate matters, Hannah hadn’t uttered a word in three years. She’d managed to block everyone out as though she were both deaf and dumb. For all he knew, she was. The doctors certainly had no answers for what had happened to her. At first they thought she suffered irreversible head trauma, but later the diagnosis changed to a severe case of emotional trauma. Either way, his daughter was lost.

  Simon folded the newspaper. “What kept you so long in town?”

  “Remember I told you that I’d found someone to care for Hannah?”

  “Jah.”

  “I was working out the arrangements.”

  “Will this woman be able to keep up with Hannah? Those other women didn’t last.”

  “Mrs. Zook did the best she could.” Her health wasn’t much better than Simon’s—only it wasn’t her hip but her heart that gave her trouble. Ellen Yoder was different. Widowed and raising four young boys, she managed his daughter fine. However, once she pointed out how they’d both lost their spouses and it would be easy to merge their families, he had retreated. Fast. It wasn’t difficult to do since Simon didn’t care for Ellen. He made it clear that he didn’t like the way she intruded, or how she assumed that the role of Hannah’s mother was already hers. Josiah didn’t think Simon would like anyone stepping into Caroline’s place. And he agreed, which made it even more confusing how quickly he’d decided to marry Lindie.

  “Well, hopefully Hannah will treat this one differently.” Simon sounded like he didn’t believe his own words. He gingerly shifted in the chair, grimacing as he moved.

  Josiah hoped Simon would treat Lindie differently too.

  Hannah looked up from her paper. She dropped the pencil on the table and moved toward her father.

  Josiah gathered her into his arms and hugge
d her close to his chest, then pulled back so that she could read his lips. “Want to help feed Molly?”

  She smiled and took his hand once he lowered her to the floor.

  He spoke over his shoulder as they left the room. “I’ll bring you out some supper when it’s ready.”

  “Don’t forget the paper.” Simon pushed off the arms of his chair and stood. He wobbled a few steps forward.

  “You didn’t have to get up.”

  “Jah, I can’t sit too long without getting stiff.” He extended the folded paper to Josiah.

  He took the paper as he did every week. Only he couldn’t remember the last time he actually sat and read the news. Anymore, the paper sat on the table until he chucked it into the burn pile. The paper worked well for starting the morning fire in the cookstove, although he limited it to one page since the ink tended to cause a buildup of creosote in the chimney. He didn’t want any gummy substance to coat the pipe and cause a house fire.

  Josiah placed his hand on Hannah’s shoulder and guided her outside. As usual, he did all the talking as they completed the chores. Then, as they did every night, the two of them prepared supper. He wasn’t sure if he should trust her to take the meal out to Simon alone, but he wanted to give Lindie a cup of soup and slice of bread, and he wasn’t prepared to introduce his daughter to the woman lying in bed.

  He wrapped a mason jar filled with soup in a dish towel before handing it and a partial loaf of bread to Hannah. “Take it to Grossdaadi,” he said, opening the door and motioning to the barn.

  She took little steps over the cedar chip pathway.

  He prepared Lindie’s meal and carried it to the bedroom. He knocked, waited for her response, then opened the door. “I brought you some soup.”