by Anna Schmidt
Luke stood toe to toe with the shorter, heavier man. “You stay away from her,” he ordered.
“Or what?” Josef challenged but a thin line of sweat trickled down his temples and Luke saw that the man was afraid of him.
Luke stepped away, effectively releasing Josef without ever having touched him. “Just stay away until this is settled. She will need time.”
Josef looked at him, his eyes squinting with curiosity. “You would give up so easily?”
“I would protect the woman I love from gossip and scandal,” Luke replied and turned back to his work, taking out all his frustration at this latest turn of events by pounding out a hot piece of iron on the anvil. Behind him he heard Josef’s footsteps moving quickly away.
When all three men were gone, Luke moved to the small window and stood for a long time, staring out at the deserted street. The sun was almost set now and he knew that, in houses all around Celery Fields, families would be gathering for their evening prayers.
He took off his leather apron and hung it on the hook then walked outside and down the street toward the old Obermeier house at the far end of town. He had bought the property earlier that week from Pleasant. It had been the home of her first husband and the place where his four children had been born. It had been Pleasant’s home after his death while she ran the bakery and raised the children until Jeremiah Troyer came to town. For the last couple years, it had sat vacant and neglected and Pleasant had been happy to hear that Luke wanted to live there.
“Alone?” she had asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“For now,” he had replied and been unable to stifle the half smile that tugged at his mouth whenever he thought about the life he was going to build with Greta.
He had asked that Pleasant not speak of the transaction to anyone else. “The house is to be a gift,” he told her, knowing that he needn’t say more, for having been with Lydia and Greta when Levi called to seek their approval of Luke’s proposal, Pleasant now knew the whole story.
In preparation for getting the house refurbished and ready for Greta, he had gathered all of the supplies he would need and stored them in the abandoned chicken coop behind the house. His plan had been that once the announcement of their upcoming wedding had been publicized at services, he would spend every spare hour working to ready the house for their wedding night.
Now it hardly mattered when he worked on the property. Now there was no longer any reason to keep the surprise for Greta. For now there would be no wedding, no house for them to share, no future with the only woman he had ever truly loved. He had told Bontrager that he wanted to protect Greta from gossip and scandal. But in truth, by not admitting to his past when he had first come to Celery Fields, by not insisting that she hear him out—all of it—before she agreed to marry him, he had brought her the very pain that he had sought to avoid.
Luke climbed the front steps and sat down on the weather-warped boards of the porch. He buried his face in his hands as he prayed for God’s guidance. And when he looked up and looked over the town that he had come to think of as home, he saw one lamp burning. It stood where it had stood every night since he and Greta Goodloe had first started keeping company and to his eyes it was like a beacon drawing him to her.
* * *
Greta did not know whether or not he would come but she was determined to stay on the porch swing until dawn in case he did. Lydia had refused to make any comment on the story that Josef brought them about Luke or on the few details that Greta was able to offer based on her conversations with Luke.
“I will pray on the matter,” she had said. “I suggest you do the same. There must be some explanation beyond what Josef has been able to uncover,” she had added as she went to her room, her Bible grasped firmly in her hands.
It occurred to Greta that Lydia had come to care for Luke a great deal—and the feeling was reciprocated. Oh, it was nothing remotely romantic. The two of them interacted as if they were already family—favorite cousins or sometimes even sister and brother. Lately when Luke came calling, Lydia would join them on the porch for part of the evening and the conversation would often turn to the difficulties each faced at work. Enrollment at the school was down now that so many families had moved north and Lydia worried that the elders might be forced to close the school altogether. Meanwhile Luke’s non-Amish customers—who were an important part of his business—had fallen on hard times. Many had lost their jobs or businesses and could not afford his services.
Greta preferred to focus her attention on happier topics but she was glad that Lydia took an interest in Luke’s business, as he did in her teaching. One day he had even gone to the school to speak to the students about the work he did. That evening Lydia had come home beaming and at supper she had announced to Greta that one day Luke was going to make a fine father. “And you’ll make a fine mother,” she’d added with a smile.
But again Josef had spoiled things for her—for all of them. If only he had never gone to Ontario. She sat on the porch swing, pushing it into motion with her bare foot, and wondered why she wasn’t more upset with Luke. After all, Josef was simply delivering the news. Of course it was news that he had set out to discover, but there could be little question that there was at least some truth to the tale he had brought back with him from his travels north.
Still, Luke had kept things from her. How often had she asked him about his life before he came to Celery Fields? Now she remembered how early on when they first began keeping company he had avoided her questions and she had allowed it. He had always turned the subject back to her and she had allowed that, as well. Yet she could not deny that of late when he had tried to tell her about his past—about the events that had led up to his coming to Celery Fields—she had begged him not to speak of such things. “You are so very shallow, Greta Goodloe,” she muttered angrily as she pushed the swing even harder.
“Careful there.” Luke’s voice came out of the dark and it took a moment for her to realize that he was standing in the shadow of the large oak tree next to the porch. “Wouldn’t want you to go flying off that swing.” His voice held none of the teasing she might have expected from such a comment. Indeed, he sounded sad and defeated. She longed to put her arms around him and tell him everything was going to work out for them. But she didn’t know that. In fact it seemed more likely that things would not work out at all for them.
“Come and sit with me,” she invited, fighting to keep her voice light when what she really wanted to do was cry out to him for answers. What would they do now? Why had he kept these things from her? Why hadn’t he insisted that she listen? What had really happened back in his hometown?
“I shouldn’t. If somebody saw us...”
“I don’t care about that,” she fumed, unable to hide her bad mood a second longer. She was so very tired of worrying about what other people might think. She needed to understand what she thought. That very morning she had thought that she was in love with this man, that they would be married and that by this time next year they might have that first baby. And like the sand castles the tourists’ children built on the beach, all those plans and dreams had been swept away. Now what?
The silence that stretched between them at first made her think that Luke had perhaps gone home. But then she heard his step on the crushed calcified shells that lined the path leading up to the porch. She practically leaped from the swing and flung herself into his arms, burying her face against his chest, needing to hear the strong beat of his heart against her cheek. “Tell me that Josef made the whole thing up,” she begged.
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his face against her hair. “You know better. Josef is an honorable man and even though he acted out of his deep caring for you, he would not lie to win favor with you.”
It felt as if her heart had paused in its beating. She felt as if she could not find her next breath. “It’s true then that you were placed under the Bann?”
“Yah. I was. I am.”
�
�Then I will join you in that,” she said firmly. Never had she been more certain of anything in her life.
Luke held her by her shoulders and moved her away from him so that she was looking up at him. “You will do no such thing,” he said, his voice almost a growl. And he pulled her back against him. “I love you too much to let you throw your life away, Greta.”
“Don’t you understand that without you I have no life?”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
She shoved away from him and returned to the swing, folding her arms across the bib of her apron as she glared at him. “Luke. I know exactly what I’m saying.”
He did not move but remained standing on the top step of the porch. “No, I don’t think you’ve thought this through. You’d lose everything—and you have a great deal to lose. Lydia—your family, this community that has been home for all of your life...if you had to leave all of that, never to see them or speak with them again?”
“I don’t care,” she muttered, but of course, she did care. Never to be able to see or speak with Lydia ever again? And what about Pleasant and her children—the children from her first marriage that Greta had come to love as if they were her very own? The twins from Pleasant’s marriage to Jeremiah that Greta had rocked and made crib quilts for?
“You do care,” Luke said. “You know that you do.”
“But what about us?” She was very close to tears now. Then suddenly it hit her. “You’re going away again, aren’t you?” In the beat of hesitation he took before he sat down next to her on the swing, she had her answer. “No!” she cried.
Once again he wrapped her in his arms and held her close. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Greta. There is one possibility that things might work out for us. If I agree to go back and seek forgiveness from the congregation in Ontario, then if the bishop there agrees to lift the Bann, I could come back and...”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” Greta protested. “Even Josef said that there were many who believed that...”
“What exactly did Josef tell you?”
“He told me the gist of it and after I left to find you, he told Lydia more of the details. There was a man who lived in your town and he had two daughters. As you told me, you had thought to court the younger one but the father wanted to be sure his elder daughter found a good husband.” She paused and looked up at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. “Josef told Lydia that the father offered you a large piece of land, a house and a great deal of money if you would marry the elder daughter.”
“He did and I refused.”
“Then he said the woman killed herself by jumping into the river, knowing it was far too cold to survive and also knowing that she could not swim.”
“Josef has spoken the facts, Greta—at least those that he knows. That is more or less what happened. The father—the deacon in the congregation—accused me of causing her death by breaking her heart, but there is one more part to the story—a part that the deacon never tells.”
“Tell me.”
“Her name was Dorie—the woman who drowned that day. She had heard her father make his offer to me. It was his offer that broke her heart.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because she told me so. She came to my shop later that same day—it was just about dusk. She told me what she had overheard and she said that she was no more interested in a union with me than I was with her. She would not be bartered like one of her father’s cows was the way she put it.” His voice cracked on this last statement and Greta cupped his face with her hands. “Let me finish,” he said.
“Yes, tell me everything and then maybe...”
“I offered to come with her so that we could both talk to her father, but she refused, saying that she wanted to take a walk along the river—as she often did—because she needed to think. Did she jump or slip? It had rained for days and the river bank would have been sodden and the puddles would have turned to black ice as the sun set. I have gone over it all a thousand times and I have no answer. If only I had insisted on seeing her home. I offered but she actually laughed and said that she thought the two of us had caused enough gossip for one lifetime. That’s the way she said it—for one lifetime.”
“What about the younger sister—the one you were in love with?”
He tightened his embrace. “I have already told you that I was never in love with her, Greta. You are the only woman I have ever loved. I need for you to believe that whatever may happen.”
“But you had thought to marry her...”
“My brothers had all taken wives. Dat wanted to see us all settled. I thought perhaps she was a good choice. Our families had been neighbors.”
“Did she love you?”
“I doubt it. I was several years older than she was. Rumor had it that she had set her sights on the bishop’s youngest son.”
“What happened after her sister died?”
“Nothing really. Her father forbade her having anything to do with me. I think she was relieved in one way and of course in time she came to believe what many others in town believed—that Dorie had jumped to her death because I rejected her.”
“I’m sorry for Dorie,” Greta said softly.
“You would have liked her. The truth of the matter is that if her father hadn’t interfered, in time I probably would have chosen her on my own. We were a good match in age and temperament. But then I would never have come here—never met you—never known what true happiness can be.”
He kissed her and it was not like the kisses they had shared before. This kiss held the taste of finality and she clung to him even as he gently pulled away.
“Just always remember that I love you, Greta Goodloe,” he whispered and then he was gone, trudging down the lane to his shop without once looking back at her.
Everything in Greta’s heart told her to run after him. Everything in her head told her that to do so would only make matters worse.
Chapter Fourteen
In the days between his Monday meeting with Levi and Bishop Troyer and Sunday, Luke first decided that he would spend his time working on the interior of his living quarters at the livery. But Roger Hadwell and others kept stopping by, offering to help or bringing a hot meal their wives had made for him and he did not like knowing that, if they knew what was coming on Sunday, they would not be offering such neighborly kindness. Besides, every time he looked out his window or stood at his door, he found himself looking straight at the Goodloe house.
So after a day of this, he spent the rest of the week calling on his customers in town, driving his wagon from farm to farm or house to house, offering to shoe a horse or repair some bit of hardware at no charge.
Finally the day he had dreaded arrived. On Sunday he did not attend the services—held this time at Josef’s farm. Early on Sunday morning he saw Lydia hitch up the buggy that she and Greta sometimes used for visiting or shopping. She led the horse around to the side of their house and after some time Luke saw Greta come out and join her sister for the ride to services. By the time they came back, he knew that everyone would know why, for the first time in weeks, the Goodloe sisters had arrived for services alone and Luke had not come at all.
* * *
At first Luke had thought the shunning would not bother him one way or another. After all he had been shunned before. And yet there was something at once familiar and at the same time strange about being shunned by his friends and neighbors in Celery Fields. In Ontario his father and brothers and their families had all taken part in shunning him—as was right within the guidelines of their faith. At family events he sat separate from everyone else to take his meals. Even when it was just his father and him sitting down for supper, Luke sat at a separate table and the two men did not exchange so much as a single word.
He had thought that being shunned in Celery Fields might be easier in some ways. After all he already took his meals alone—separate from others. And he still had his Englisc
her customers who continued to patronize him, oblivious to the ways of the Amish. Business was slow and his days were long and silent. He had time on his hands that he spent completing the work on his upstairs rooms, sure now that he would need to make his home there instead of with Greta in the Obermeier house. He did not allow himself to think about how he was going to get through the days and weeks and years ahead without her.
One day he drove his wagon into Sarasota, intent on shopping for essentials such as pots and dishes that had not survived the fire. He ignored the curious stares of other shoppers as he drove down Main Street, navigating his team around the motorized vehicles that crowded the street. He found a place large enough to leave his wagon and team and climbed down to walk the half block to the hardware store. He knew and trusted the owner there. The man had sent him a good deal of business and had shown up to help with the rebuilding of his shop and livery. And while he would prefer doing business with Roger Hadwell or even the Yoders, he no longer had that choice.
Determined to make quick work of his errand, Luke reached for the doorknob even as he fumbled in his pocket for the shopping list he’d made that morning. The door flew open and he found himself looking straight into the eyes of Lydia Goodloe. For one long moment they stood there staring at each other. Lydia’s mouth worked nervously as if she were fighting to hold back words, then she hurried past him without a word.
He stood in the doorway, watching her as she dodged other shoppers on her way to the bicycle that Luke had often seen Greta take to the beach. She dropped her shopping satchel into the large front basket before peddling toward him and on past the hardware without so much as a glance in his direction.
“Must be my day for the Amish,” Jacob Olsen boomed from inside the store. “What can I do for you, Luke?”
Luke handed the proprietor his list, determined to make his purchases and leave as soon as possible. But his curiosity got the better of him as he waited for Jacob to gather the goods, then wrap and box them. “Does Lydia Goodloe come here to shop then?”