by Amy Field
They traveled the twenty or so miles and reached the small village of Banbury not long after the sun had set. A small coaching inn provided them shelter, and they shared a meal of stew and bread in the rather rowdy pub before retiring for the night. Jane tossed and turned on the straw mattress, uncomfortable in the strange surroundings. Morning did not arrive soon enough. As soon as she had dressed herself in her traveling gown, she ventured down the rickety stairs and found, Henry, freshly scrubbed and chipper, waiting to share a morning meal with her.
“I trust you slept well,” Henry said as they waited for their steaming bowls of porridge to cool.
“As well as could be expected,” she diplomatically replied, her night of discomfort mostly forgotten in the presence of her beloved once more. She only hoped the circles beneath her eyes were not too dark.
“We shall travel all day, stop at another inn at nightfall, and reach the Scottish borders before the dinner hour tomorrow,” Henry told her, trying a spoonful of oats.
Jane nodded solemnly. She did not look forward to the long day of travel, but being married on the morrow was more than worth it.
Chapter Ten
“How do you feel, Lady Pendleton?” Henry asked her as they strolled out of the blacksmith’s shop. Their marriage had taken only a matter of minutes and but a small fee.
“I feel quite fine to be married to such a handsome fellow as yourself,” she answered, holding tighter to his arm as they made their way back to the carriage.
“Are you sure you would not like to stay the night here? There seems to be a rather cozy inn just over the bridge,” he pointed out.
Jane shook her head. “No, it is best we begin our travels and return to Eastleigh as soon as possible. We must pick up the pieces strewn about and start our lives together. No need in postponing the inevitable,” she said resolutely.
“What a brave wife I have!” Henry exclaimed jubilantly, his face glowing with pride.
“You are too magnanimous, dear husband,” she replied, relishing the ability to claim him as her own.
Henry helped her into the carriage before climbing in behind her before the coachman shut the door. He scooted close to her and pulled her in for a kiss. Jane closed her eyes as his lips touched hers, love overwhelming all of her senses. Henry broke the kiss rather quickly.
“Jane? Do you believe you will be well enough to . . .” He trailed off.
Her cheeks reddened, but she nodded vigorously. “I shall be fine for many months more.”
“Good. I would never hurry you, dearest, but in the matter of eloping, I believe it of the utmost importance to consummate our marriage as soon as possible,” he explained.
“Yes, you are quite right. It must be done. Tonight,” She replied firmly.
They wiled their first day as husband and wife away within the confines of the Pendleton carriage, stopping for a picnic lunch beneath a lush grove of trees by the roadside, where Henry gathered her a fragrant bouquet of her favorite wildflowers. As night fell and the carriage meandered into the bustling town of Stratford-upon-Avon, the coachman pulled up to large, fancy inn just inside the city limits. The inn resembled a small palace or great estate house.
“Oh, Henry! What a treat it shall be to stay here!” Jane cried, glancing out the carriage’s window at the elegant establishment.
“I instructed our coachman to find the nicest lodgings available for the evening, seeing as it is our wedding night. Only the best shall do,” he smiled at his wife of but a day.
Once they were out of the carriage and escorted inside the elegant inn, Henry secured their room for the night, insisting they be given the nicest one available. With Jane on his arm, they ascended the palatial staircase to the third level of the grand home, and down the hall to an ornately carved wooden door.
Opening the door, Jane let out a small gasp of surprise. The room was exquisite! Elegant velvet furnishings in rich shades of blue and red, fancy draperies with silk tassels, and a marble fireplace with a welcoming fire were all held within the spacious room.
“Henry, I’ve never seen such a beautiful room before!” She said as she waltzed into the room, running a hand along the tufted crimson sofa.
“The rooms at Heatherly shall be most surprising for you then. I cannot wait for you to see them,” he told her. He closed the heavy door behind him and promptly pulled her into his arms, kissing her thoroughly.
“Shall we retire early?” He gazed into her eyes and asked her.
“Yes, let’s please do,” Jane replied breathlessly, pulling his lips to hers.
The next afternoon as their return journey came to an end, Jane took a deep breath while the carriage made its way up the long graveled drive leading to Heatherly’s mains. Henry placed a calming hand on her arm.
“No need to worry, Jane. You are my wife now, good and true,” he assured her.
“Yes, but your mother—“
“My mother will love you, I am sure.”
Jane said nothing else, only sighed. She wasn’t so sure of his words. She had not known anyone as of yet, other than Henry, who believed her worthy of loving.
When the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the grand house’s large double doors, Henry helped Jane down. She was a bit in awe of the enormous stone house that so closely resembled a kingly castle. As they took the steps up to the doors, they almost immediately swunh open. The Pendleton’s butler, Knightley, and their housekeeper, Mrs. Bailey, were the first to greet the newlyweds.
“Welcome home, Master Henry,” Knightley said formally.
“Come along, you two. Master Henry, your mother has instructed me to bring you to her immediately upon your arrival,” Mrs. Bailey fussed, leading the way down the grand corridor. Jane walked beside Henry as they followed the plump housekeeper. As she walked down the palatial hall with marble floors and elaborate artwork, she swallowed. Her nerves truly were getting the best of her now.
They entered a drawing room where Lady Pendleton stood, looking exquisite in a gown of ivory, her hair elegantly coiffed. To Jane, she certainly was a beauty and did not look old enough to have Henry as a son.
“Hello, please be seated,” his mother said as they entered the room.
“Mother, this is my wife, Jane,” Henry announced, before anything else could be said.
His mother smiled sweetly. “Hello, Jane. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, milady,” Jane replied.
“Henry, as you know, I am none too pleased with the circumstances regarding your marriage,” she immediately began once they were all seated. “However, I love you, son, and I like you said before you left, I must trust that I raised you to make the right choices. If you believe Jane is the right choice for you, then I do, too. I know your father will agree with me when he returns on the morrow.”
Jane’s shoulders sank in relief. A burden she had been carrying had now been lifted. “Thank you, dear lady,” Jane said, her voice quivering. “I love your son. Very much.” She could hardly say more, so overwhelmed with emotion.
“Thank you, Mother,” Henry added.
“Now, what say you?” The benevolent Lady Pendleton clapped her hands. “Shall we plan a ball to celebrate your marriage?”
EPILOGUE
Spring of 1827
They walked along the country lane, both holding the hands of a toddling girl, her pink ribbons bobbing happily. Henry held a chubby baby boy on his hip, his gurgling laughter carrying on the breeze.
“Charlotte, dearest, here is where your mummy met her dashing prince,” Jane told the little girl holding her hand.
“And we became a family, the two of us, then you, sweet Charlotte, and a while later, your little brother, Harry,” Henry added as the little girl listened intently. They walked along, taking in the arrival of spring, appreciating the green buds and blooming flowers.
“Daddy picked a pretty bouquet of those flowers for me years ago, and now he brings them to me whenever he rides out and he sees them springing
up from the ground,” Jane said, pointing to the budding flowers beginning to fill the meadows.
“Would you like a bouquet, Charlotte?” Henry asked the little girl.
“Yes, Daddy!” The girl exclaimed gleefully.
Henry handed the bouncing boy to Jane and set about gathering a bouquet of flowers for his little princess. Jane looked about her, never imaging those first walks in this country lane, in her black dress with her spirit bleak, that one day she would be the happiest of women. But here she was back in that very lane, surrounded by her little family. Out of great tragedy and sorrow, a beautiful new beginning had been birthed, and she was very thankful for it, indeed.
Amish Romances
Book I
Mary Of The Amish
“Hands build houses, love builds homes.”
- Amish saying
“Mary, there is something…”
Cough, cough.
“That I need to tell you.”
“What is it, mom?” Mary asked in a strained voice as she watched the frail woman who was slowly slipping away and out of her life.
She looked in anguish as her mother’s breathing became more labored. Her feeble hands that lay on top of the covers barely opened and closed in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness of her limbs. She forced herself to keep the tears at bay as she didn’t want her mother to be saddened even further. She smiled lovingly, encouragingly, as she waited for her to continue.
“I, I know…” she started and stopped to catch her breath. “I should have told you this a long time ago, but now it is necessary that you know.”
Mary’s heart leaped with anticipation of what could be so important to have her mother looking so anxious and making so much effort to speak.
“Mary, my sweet baby, please don’t hate me for not telling you.”
She sat waiting by her mother’s bedside, not sure what to make of her sudden look of remorse and the words that reflected that.
“I’m not your mother.”
Mary’s heart rammed against her chest as she tried to wrap her mind around the revelation.
“What?” she whispered disbelievingly.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I am not your biological mother. I wish it weren’t so, I’ve prayed so much for it to not be so but there is no way to escape it,” her mother spoke as a lone tear slipped from her eye and ran down her pallid cheek.
“No, this can’t be true,” Mary returned, shaking her head in disbelief. “Mom,” she choked over the emotion bubbling in her throat. “Say this isn’t true.”
Her mother reached up a feeble hand and brushed it gently against her cheek. Even that simple act was strenuous for her and her hand dropped to her side shortly after.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you like this, Mary,” she spoke after some time of silence and labored breathing.
Mary decided at that moment that none of what her mom had just revealed mattered to her. She was in pain, but she knew that her mother had done everything in her power to protect her and she suspected this was one of those things.
“It’s okay, mom, you don’t have to explain. It doesn’t even matter. You’re my mother – the only mother I’ve ever known.”
This caused a small smile to crease her mother’s thin lips.
“I love you, Mary,” she spoke lovingly.
“I know, I love you too mom,” Mary returned.
Mary reached out her hand and held her mother’s as she slowly slipped into the sleep zone. She remained by her mother’s side, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest that indicated how close she was to her last. She then turned her gaze to the small monitor with green lines moving in an up and down motion across the screen. This represented her mother’s life and the moment it became a flat line running across the screen its meaning would be clear.
That moment came two hours later while Mary dozed by her mother’s side, her head resting close to her leg. As if an alarm had gone off in her head, she looked up just in time to see her mother take in her final breath of air before releasing it. Then there was nothing but the loud beeping of the machine and the flat line running across the screen.
The doctor and nurses came in a few seconds later. After a few attempts to revive her, they made the pronouncement.
“Time of death?” the doctor asked the nurse, who was currently standing above her mother.
“2:30 am, Doctor,” she replied.
Mary felt dull. All feelings and emotions were drained – she felt nothing but drained. Without warning, she collapsed and sank to the floor.
When she woke up, she was looking at a ceiling. Confused, she eased herself up and placed her feet over the side of the hospital bed. She tried to organize the thoughts in her befuddled brain, but all she came up with was a splitting headache that caused her eyes to pain her.
“Oh, Miss Smith, you’re awake,” came the cautious voice of a nurse who had just entered the room.
“Why am I here?” she asked, foregoing the pleasantries.
“You fainted from exhaustion so we moved you to this room to get some rest,” the nurse replied cautiously.
“But why…”
Her voice trailed off as she remembered what happened. It felt like she had been sucker punched in the gut as the pain overcame her and she released a strangled sob. Her mother was dead.
Mary watched as they lowered the casket into the ground. The preacher’s monotonous voice droned on as he committed the body. She had gotten over the initial pain she felt as she knew her mother was in a better place; somewhere where there was no more pain and suffering.
After the service, the few persons who had showed up dispersed and went their separate ways. She stayed by the burial site for more than an hour, just sitting. It felt weird to go back to the house they had shared when her mother was alive. She didn’t want to be greeted by the silence – an indication that she was now all alone in the world. With effort, she compelled herself to walk away from the grave.
When she got to the house she immediately bypassed the living room that held so many good memories of her childhood with her mother. She went to her room and locked the door as the tears that had been threatening to fall finally made their appearance. When she was finally able to turn off the tap, she sat up in bed. She headed for her wardrobe to change when her eyes suddenly fell on the chest where she kept photos and other memorabilia of her and her mother.
She reached for the chest and noticed that a letter now lay in the position where the chest was. It was addressed to her.
Mary,
If you’re reading this then it means that I am probably dead. I know this will be the hardest thing I will ever have to tell you but I also know that it is the right thing to do. I have had you since the day you were born but you are not mine – biologically at least. I believe you were a gift from God who saw me in my need and knew that I needed someone that I could call my own. You are mine in every sense of the word but I know I should tell you about your birth parents so that you can get closure.
You were born to Elizabeth Schrock. She was a young Amish girl who ran away from Faith’s Creek Pennsylvania to have you. Your father was from New York. He was passing through their community and Elizabeth fell in love with him. When it was time for him to leave, he asked her to come with him but she couldn’t leave her home. When he left she found out that she was pregnant. Her parents were furious and ordered her to leave the community and to never come back.
I found Elizabeth when she was about six months pregnant. She was living at the shelter where I volunteered from time to time. When she told me her story, my heart went out to her and I offered her a place in my home. I could see that she loved you very much even before you were born but she was torn. She missed her family but she knew she could never take you with her if she returned.
I offered to take you as my own and she agreed. However, when you were born, she cried so much that I felt guilty about taking you but I knew if I didn’t she would probably end up giving
you to someone else and I couldn’t bear the thought of you ending up with someone else.
Three months later, she decided it was time for her to return home and I legally adopted you and became your mother. A year after she left I received a letter from her. She told me she had reconciled with her family and that this was the last time I would hear from her.
I can only imagine the hurt you must feel as you read this. My poor baby I am so sorry for not telling you and I hope in time you will come to forgive me and that the memories we shared as a family will always remain with you and give you strength.
Love,
Your mother.
The tears splashed her warm cheeks and her whole frame shook as the weight of her mother’s revelation once again hit her like a ton of rocks.
Mary remained in the house for the next two weeks, going over every single detail of the life she had with her mother. She couldn’t bring herself to get rid of any of her stuff. Every piece of clothing she selected to pack up for the Salvation Army she replaced on the rack as it reminded her of some special moment she and her mother had while her mother was wearing it. All the while her mind kept wandering back to the contents of the letter.
She had another mother and she was Amish. How bizarre was that? Here she was, a twenty-something girl with a suburban upbringing, who'd never seen anyone Amish or been to an Amish village. As she pondered upon the words in her mother’s letter, Mary wondered if she really wanted to meet her real mother. Maybe she would have information about her father. If anything, she definitely needed some time away from the place that had made her so happy at one time and was now making her very depressed. Maybe a visit to her birth mother was just what she needed to do, to bring closure to all of this.
After calling her travel agency to book a flight to Pennsylvania, she packed a suitcase full of clothes and took a cab to the airport – she was going to find her birth mother. Three hours later, she was at the Lancaster Airport. Using her phone, she googled the town of Faith’s Creek and her possible means of transport to get there. To her dismay, the only bus that went through that part of town wasn’t due to make a trip until the next day. She would have to rent a room and wait it out or she would have to hitch hike.