by Jan Drexler
The door pushed open farther and Sadie walked into the room. “Go get a towel.” She waved Ida Mae away and sat on the bed next to Mary, sighing as she lowered herself onto the mattress.
“You didn’t need to come all the way upstairs.”
“I find it difficult, but not impossible.” Sadie smoothed the hair off Mary’s forehead. “You need us, so we came.”
Ida Mae came back with a damp towel and Mary held it on her face, drinking in the coolness.
“How did your dress get so muddy?” Ida Mae asked.
Mary had forgotten the mud. She stood, moaning as she saw that the mud from her dress had soiled the quilt. She buried her face in the towel again.
Sadie pulled her back down to sit on the bed again. “Tell us what is wrong.”
“I’m all right, really.”
“Your kapp is crooked,” Ida Mae said. She reached to straighten Mary’s kapp and the hairpins fell out.
Sadie brought a small stool closer to the bed. “Sit here and I’ll brush your hair while you tell us what is wrong.”
Mary succumbed to Sadie’s attention and relaxed on the stool, fingering the towel she still held. Sadie took long strokes with the brush that eased away all the remaining tension, leaving Mary as weak as the towel in her hands. She gave it back to Ida Mae and picked up her kapp from the bed where Sadie had laid it. Mary turned it in her hands. She had worn it for as long as she could remember, from the time she was a little girl. Every woman she knew wore a kapp, only to be removed at bedtime, and she had done the same...until the night Harvey had attacked her. Then it had fallen off as she struggled with him.
She fingered each pleat in the fine fabric.
“Sadie, why do we wear our kapps?”
“It is a sign of our submission to God and to our fathers or husbands. It is a sign of our humility.”
Humility. The concept was as familiar to her as her kapp. It went hand in hand with submission...she held back a shudder as she considered ever needing to submit to a husband. She was right to remain single.
Mary shook her head. “I don’t feel very humble, or very much like submitting to any man.”
Sadie chuckled. “Whether you feel humble or not, you must act that way. God calls us to always put others before ourselves. To obey. To serve. And to put Him above all.” She finished brushing and started gathering Mary’s hair into a bun. “We are to enthrone Him, not ourselves. The kapp is the symbol of that submission, of putting ourselves under His authority.”
She took Mary’s kapp and pinned it in place with the last of the hairpins.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“What do you mean?” Sadie sat down on the bed again and Ida Mae joined her.
Mary bit her lip and glanced at Ida Mae.
Her sister grasped her hand. “I told Sadie what happened to you. I know you wanted to keep it a secret, but Sadie asked what was bothering you—”
Mary patted her sister’s knee. “That’s all right. I’m glad you both know.” She drew a deep breath that caught at the end. She wouldn’t start crying again.
“I mean,” she said, looking at Sadie, “the kapp is that sign, but doesn’t that mean that God is supposed to protect us?”
Sadie’s eyes grew wet and she bowed her head.
“Ach, Mary, you’re learning what submission to God truly is.”
She raised her head again and took Mary’s hand in her own worn one. Mary stroked the soft, fragile skin with her thumb.
“You are asking where God was when you needed him the most.” She grasped Mary’s hand tighter. “He was right there with you, suffering with you. And He is with you now, ready to help you understand. Our Lord suffered and died so that we could come to Him and be forgiven of our sins.”
Mary shrugged. “I’ve heard that my whole life, in church and at home. What does that have to do with what...what happened?”
“When you can forgive that man for what he did to you, you will begin to understand the forgiveness God extends to us.” Sadie leaned closer. “Humble yourself, and submit to what God is teaching you through these circumstances.”
Mary pressed her lips together, thinking of Samuel’s angry face as he had held Martin in his grip. “How can I do that? How can I just forgive and forget like nothing ever happened?”
Sadie shook her head. “You will never forget. But you must forgive, whether the man who attacked you is repentant or not. Forgiving him has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you. Let God turn this terrible event to your good rather than making you fearful and bitter.”
Mary sniffed. Fearful, ja. She had lived in fear ever since that night. But bitter? Unbidden, memories came of harsh words to Ida Mae, and to Samuel. Uncharitable thoughts about Sadie. And Martin...she had reserved her most bitter thoughts for him.
She gave Sadie’s hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
“I think I need to spend some time alone.”
Sadie gave Mary a gentle hug, then she and Ida Mae left the room, closing the door quietly behind them. She sat, considering Sadie’s words. Forgiving Harvey...that would take more strength than she possessed, but perhaps she could in time.
But Samuel was different. She would see him often, perhaps daily. He had asked for her forgiveness. Could she do that? Could they ever be friends once more?
Mary changed her soiled dress for her clean one and lay down on the bed again. Tears came, but not the anguished, violent tears of earlier. These tears fell like a gentle, cleansing rain until she fell asleep.
* * *
On Friday, Samuel was surprised to see Ida Mae drive Chester up the lane to the house. He met her at the hitching rail and caught Chester’s reins to hold him while Ida Mae stepped out of the buggy.
“You’re on your way to town?”
Ida Mae smiled at him. She was nearly as pretty as Mary, with blue eyes instead of brown. But some unnamed sadness haunted her expression most days.
“I’m taking the eggs and butter into Shipshewana, and I thought Judith or Esther would like to go with me.” She glanced toward the house. “Mary is brave enough to make the trip by herself, but not me. I’d rather have company.”
“I haven’t seen Mary for days.” Not since she had told him to leave her alone. And he had, even though he worried about her every minute. “Is she feeling all right?”
“She has been staying close to home, taking care of the chickens and everything. And the cow, Schmetterling, takes a lot of her time.”
He backed away. “I see.”
Ida Mae took a step closer to him. “Sadie thought you might like to stop by some time. Maybe tomorrow?”
Samuel rubbed his chin. “Sadie thought so?”
Ida Mae just smiled and started toward the house with Samuel following.
“What about Mary? Does she want me to come by?”
Mary’s sister paused. “She hasn’t said so, but I think she misses you. I think she would like to see you again.” She put her hand on the doorknob, then turned to him. “Tomorrow. After morning chores are done.”
Samuel headed back to the barn and the work that was waiting. Sadie and Ida Mae both thought Mary wanted to see him, but he knew better. He had seen the frightened look in her eyes. She feared what he had become when he let the rage take over.
He took the manure fork from its place on the wall and headed toward Tilly’s stall, but stopped when his vision became too blurred to see where he was going. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. The weight of what he had done bowed his shoulders as he opened the gate to the stall. He stared at the soiled straw. What was the use? Why even try to clear it out? It would only have to be done again tomorrow.
For the first time, he understood Daed’s need to drink. To obliterate the pain of what he had become,
what he had done. What hope was there if he couldn’t control the rage that lurked inside him?
A call came from outside the barn. “Samuel?”
Bram. What was he doing here? Samuel wiped his eyes again and picked up the manure fork before Bram walked into the barn.
“There you are.” Bram voice was pleasant. Carefree. “I was passing by on my way to town and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”
Samuel shoved the fork under the straw and lifted, balancing the load. If he didn’t turn around, if he didn’t look at Bram, maybe his brother would get the message that he didn’t feel like talking.
“Esther sent me out to get you. She has some bread fresh out of the oven, and she put a pot of coffee on. She thought you’d like to take a break while we visit.”
Samuel grunted as he carried the loaded fork to the manure pile outside. When he came back in, Bram was waiting for him, leaning on the stall gate.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were back to your old self.”
Samuel glared at him. “I never stopped being my ‘old self.’ I’m the same as I’ve ever been.”
A frown passed over his brother’s face. “What has happened?”
Samuel shoved the fork under the next section of wet, soiled bedding and carried it out to the pile. Bram was still waiting for an answer when he came back in.
“Who says anything has happened?”
Bram reached over the gate and grabbed his sleeve. “Put the fork down and talk to me. You’re as grumpy as an old hen.”
“I’m not grumpy. This is just the way I am.”
Bram stared at him and Samuel gave up. He leaned the fork handle against the side of the stall and faced Bram.
“I lost my temper and acted as bad as Daed ever did. Worse.”
“So you slipped back into his old habits.”
Samuel nodded. “I can’t trust myself not to do it again.”
“Is that why you’ve stopped keeping company with Mary?”
“Esther’s been talking about me?”
Bram rubbed his thumb along the top of the gate. “Actually, she asked me to stop by and talk to you. She’s worried about you.”
Samuel shrugged, trying not to care. “There’s no reason to be worried. I’m a Lapp. Our father’s son. It’s just the way I am.”
“I used to think you were, too. But as we’ve gotten reacquainted I can see that you’re nothing like him.”
Samuel picked at a loose splinter on the wall of the stall. He couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “How can you say that?”
“We both know what drove Daed. It was the alcohol. I don’t know why he drank, but he did, and it controlled him.” Bram reached over and grasped Samuel’s arm. “You aren’t like him. You can ask for help. You can control your temper.”
A short laugh escaped. “Obviously, I can’t. You weren’t there.” Samuel shook his head. “You didn’t see the look on Mary’s face when I threw Martin out of the barn.” Just like Daed, he had ruined everything that was good in his life.
Bram’s eyebrows rose. “Mary? So you do care about her.”
“If I did, I ruined it when I lost my temper.” He leveled his gaze at Bram. “You know I can’t ask anyone to live the way Mamm did.”
Bram didn’t answer right away and Samuel didn’t blame him.
“So you made a mistake.”
“A big one.”
“Have you asked for forgiveness?”
Samuel picked at another splinter in the wood. “I thought so. But Mary hasn’t spoken to me since then.”
“Not from Mary. From God.”
It was Samuel’s turn to be silent. He hadn’t asked God for help, and he hadn’t asked Him for forgiveness, either. It was no use anyway.
“You haven’t, have you?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Then you have some work to do. Ask God for His forgiveness and His help. Then go apologize to Mary. Ask her to give you another chance.”
Samuel bowed his head. “I can’t risk it. I know that eventually I’ll lose my temper again. It’s best that Mary and I just call it quits. She’ll find someone else.” Even as he said the words, he felt them knife through his heart.
“You can’t give up, Samuel. Let God take control of your temper and your life. Submit to Him.” Bram squeezed his arm, then pushed away from the gate. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Samuel watched him leave. Bram was wrong. There were just some things a man couldn’t trust to anyone else, even God.
* * *
Samuel woke before the sun came up the next morning. It had been a long night as he spent several sleepless hours arguing with God. Every time he had made up his mind to ignore Bram’s advice and give up on Mary, Bible verses and snatches of sermons would echo in his mind. The theme of all of them was trust.
He finally gave up, sitting on the edge of his bed and reaching for his clothes. He would give God one more chance. He would trust Him with Mary’s safety and his own sanity. Glancing at the ceiling, he had said one simple prayer. “Help me.”
But he still wasn’t in a hurry to face Mary. He dawdled at his chores and breakfast until Esther took his plate away.
“Whatever it is you don’t want to do, just get it over with.”
He pushed himself away from the table. “That’s easy for you to say.”
She piled his plate on top of hers and Judith’s and took them to the sink. “So what is it that you don’t want to do?”
“I need to go over to Sadie’s, but I’m not sure Mary wants to see me.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You don’t think Mary wants to talk to you?”
He shrugged and took his hat from the peg. “I guess I’ll find out.”
Esther’s giggle followed him out the door and down the steps. He stalked down the worn path through the fence row. Esther could laugh all she wanted, but she hadn’t seen Mary’s face when she told him to leave. He couldn’t see any way back to the friendship they had shared before.
When he reached Sadie’s yard, the only person in sight was Ida Mae, working in the garden. When she saw him, she pointed in the direction of the new chicken coop.
Samuel walked in that direction, following the sound of excited clucking and Mary’s voice calling to the hens. As he rounded the corner of the chicken coop, she saw him and fell silent.
“Good morning,” Samuel said.
She finished spreading the rest of the grain over the ground, then came out of the pen, closing the gate behind her. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“I know.” He ran his thumbs up and down his suspenders. “The last time we spoke, you told me to leave you alone. Do you still mean it?”
Mary swung the empty grain bucket in her hand. “I don’t know.”
“Ida Mae said she thought you missed me.” He took the pail from her and set it next to the gate. “Do you want to go for a walk? Just down to the creek?”
She bit her lip, and then shrugged, never looking at him. He held the fence wires apart for her, and then he looked at the pasture. Instead of stopping at the corn field, it extended all the way to the woods, the fence enclosing a good three acres of his corn field. The young corn plants were gone, and he could imagine how the cow and Chester had found them sweet and tasty.
“When did you move the fence?” He struggled to keep his voice even.
“Dale and his son came over and did it for us yesterday afternoon. He said he was sorry he had planted corn on Sadie’s land.”
Samuel started counting inside his head, hoping Mary wouldn’t notice. “On my land. Dale planted the corn on my land.”
She faced him. “Aren’t these three acres part of the ten that your grossdawdi gave to Sadie? She said it was.”
“H
e gave her the ten acres to use, but we still own it. Someday, when Sadie is gone, this land will be part of our farm again.”
Mary stared at him. “Does Sadie know this?”
“She did at one time. But the way she forgets things, I have no idea what she believes.”
“Then it sounds like we should move the fence back.”
Samuel had lost track of his counting. He didn’t need it. He was in no danger of losing his temper. “The corn is already gone, and you are right. You need the pasture for the cow.” He lifted his hat and wiped his brow. The day was growing warm. “There’s no use making Sadie upset. Grossdawdi would never have wanted that to happen.”
Mary was quiet as they continued to the corner of the pasture where the creek cut through. “He must have loved her very much, the way he made sure she was taken care of.” She plucked a wild carrot flower and twirled it between her fingers.
“I think he regretted what happened between them. Even though he had married Grossmutti and was happy with her, he always had a soft spot for Sadie.”
They had reached the creek and Mary jumped across it. Samuel followed her.
“Are all the Lapp men like that?”
Samuel watched her profile as she leaned against a sycamore tree. If she never loved him, it didn’t matter. He would still care for her and protect her.
“I think they are.”
She picked some more of the wild carrots and started making a chain of the flower stems.
Samuel plucked one of the flowers and let it bounce at the end of its stalk. “I came to apologize. I...I lost my temper the other day.”
Her hands stilled, holding the half-finished chain.
“I frightened you, the way I lost my temper with Martin.”
She nodded. He picked the flower in his hands apart. “I don’t know why I lost control. I was angry about what you told me...what happened to you...and then when I saw Martin...”
Mary wove another flower into her chain.
“I had the thought that I could go and take care of that man in Ohio. Make him pay for what he did.”
Her eyebrows went up. “That wouldn’t change anything.”