A Promise for Miriam

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Do you work for the village president?” Eli asked.

  “I’m the clerk. Technically, I work for the citizens of Cashton.”

  “I suppose that means you work for us,” Gabe said with a smile. “Lead the way.”

  They walked into the boardroom in the same order they had sat in the row—Samuel, Gabe, Miriam, and then Eli.

  Janice Goodland greeted them cordially, everyone introduced themselves, and then she offered them all seats–which they refused. She didn’t bother with small talk.

  “Obviously, you have some concerns about the project.”

  “Ya. We have a list.” Eli pulled the small sheet of notepad paper from his pocket. When he noticed the expression on her face, he added, “It’s a short list. Only three items.”

  After Eli had gone over their three points, Mrs. Goodland turned to the other members of her board. A tall, wiry man named Jim—Gabe thought he’d been introduced as the tax assessor—only shrugged.

  He did remember that the shorter and rounder one handled money. That man shook his head adamantly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t offer an explanation, but the frown and gestures were enough. Gabe was sure he was saving his comments for a private conversation with the other board members.

  Miriam cleared her throat. “Surely you can understand my concerns as a schoolteacher. It’s my job to teach and, to some degree, protect the children under my care.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Goodland fiddled with the cap on a bottle of water. “I wouldn’t want one of our schools to be a stop on anyone’s tour, but I’m not sure that’s what Drake was intending.”

  “Perhaps if we could speak with him,” Gabe suggested.

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Mrs. Goodland walked over to a calendar laid open on a desk.

  “We are not here to interfere in Englisch ways,” Samuel pointed out.

  Mrs. Goodland had been running her finger down the calendar. At Samuel’s words, she paused and studied him a moment. “I’m sure you’re not. I’ve been president here for twelve years, Mr. Gingerich. In all that time, I’ve never had a group of Amish persons attend a public meeting. You strike me as quiet, private, law-abiding citizens.”

  She circled a date in the book and closed it.

  “You’ve also never failed to pay your taxes.” She looked at the tax assessor when she said this. “Wisconsin now has the fourth highest Amish population of any state, as you probably know.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind having more Amish in Cashton. And while not everyone in that room tonight would agree with me, that’s all right. I don’t mind a little dissension. They would point out that there’s the occasional young Amish person on their…”

  “Rumspringa,” Eli offered.

  “Yes. And there are the horse droppings, the buggies that slow down traffic, and now and then conflict with the FDA over raw milk.”

  “Natural milk,” Gabe corrected her.

  “Call it what you like. My point is that I’ll put my crime rates beside a non-Amish community any day. Plain people make good neighbors, and I represent you as much as I represent everyone else who gathered here tonight.”

  Gabe stared at her in surprise.

  No one moved. He could tell the others in his group were as astonished as he was. Could they actually have found an advocate in the village president?

  Mrs. Goodland reached for her bottle of water and began fiddling with the cap again. “But I do represent everyone else in that room as well, and they need jobs. Whether you like it or not, Amish communities increase tourism.”

  Miriam shook her head, Eli stuck his hands in his pockets, and Samuel looked as if he were trying to decide which Scripture to spout next.

  Gabe jumped in before the tone of the meeting could deteriorate. “We’re not here to stand in the way of anyone’s job, Mrs. Goodland, but these three things Eli mentioned…surely there is a way to present them to Mr. Drake. Surely there is a way to have both the jobs which people need and still maintain respect for our way of life.”

  “A compromise?” she asked.

  The room was quiet, but it was obvious everyone was in agreement.

  “Okay. Two weeks from Friday,” she said. “I’ll set it up with Drake. We’ll meet here.”

  Chapter 45

  The driver Miriam’s father hired arrived early Friday morning.

  “I’m glad you’re going with me,” she confessed as they walked toward the car.

  “This is an important decision in your life. Besides, your old dat could use a day off the farm.” He tugged on his beard as he opened the car door for her.

  Her parents had been incredibly supportive when she’d explained her predicament. Although she couldn’t believe there would be anything that would appeal to her in the New Order district where Aden was living, it seemed best to go and see. Abigail offered no words of wisdom, no proverb, as she checked that they had their overnight bags.

  “Are you sure you won’t go with us?” Miriam asked.

  “No. Your bruders are coming with the grandkinner. I promised we would make popcorn.” She paused to kiss the top of her daughter’s head, which spoke enough to the seriousness of the occasion—Abigail King was not one to demonstrate affection, especially in front of Englischers.

  Jocelyn, their driver, waited until everyone had buckled up before starting the shiny blue automobile and driving down the lane. Miriam had ridden in cars before, but not often and she didn’t relish a drive that would last nearly two hours. She missed her mare already. Immediately Jocelyn had Joshua talking about the weather and if the snowfall they’d had meant good planting in the spring.

  Miriam stared out the window, watching the fields, hills, and creek she’d grown up around sail past her like leaves caught in a wind. How would it feel to leave all she’d ever known behind her? How would it feel to move away from this, returning only for the occasional holiday?

  The road unwound like a skein of her mother’s yarn as they drove north and then east through a few towns, then more countryside, and finally to the community where Aden had settled.

  “My sister lives north of here,” Jocelyn said. “It worked out well for me to drive you because I’ve been wanting to come up and see her. Are you sure you want me to drop you off here at the mercantile? I would be happy to take you to the home you’re visiting.”

  “Nein. Aden said he would pick us up at noon.” Joshua helped Miriam out of the car and then claimed their overnight bags from the backseat.

  “I’ll meet you back here tomorrow at six.”

  “Gut. Danki, Jocelyn. We appreciate it.”

  Miriam remembered to add her thanks at the last moment. She was busy staring at the store in front of her, where Amish families were walking in and out.

  “It looks no different than our store,” she whispered.

  “Perhaps a little bigger.” Joshua said. “Plain is Plain, Miriam. Don’t expect to see much that is different here.”

  But there were differences. Joshua soon had his head stuck in the hardware section, asking the salesperson to explain how the gas stove worked and walking around the refrigerator, shaking his head.

  When Aden found her, Miriam was staring at an Englisch coffeepot.

  “This is for Amish use?” she asked.

  “Ya. There’s no electrical cord. You set it on the gas-powered stove.”

  Miriam shook her head, but she could feel a slow smile working its way across her features. “You New Order Amish are like children with your play toys. My dat is fascinated with the refrigerators.”

  “Can you blame him? No more cutting blocks of ice from the lakes. A man could get behind that.” Aden waved a hand to Joshua and then walked her toward the coffee shop in the corner of the store. “Have you eaten?”

  “Nein. We were waiting on you.”

  Aden’s answer was a smile that pricked at her heart. Had it been fair to agree to come and visit him? Could she return his feelings?

/>   Joshua bounded up like a pup let in from the outside. “Aden, have you seen these contraptions they are selling to put your food inside?”

  “I have. All the families here have them.”

  “And your bishop allows it?”

  “Ya. No electricity needed.”

  They ordered sandwiches and soup. While they waited, they discussed everything from the condition of the roads to happenings in Pebble Creek. What they didn’t talk about was the real reason for their visit. It sat on the table between them, like a giant Thanksgiving turkey no one had the courage to carve. Finally, Joshua sat back after accepting a refill of coffee from the waitress. He cleared his voice and gave both Miriam and Aden his serious, fatherly look. “My dat often said to me that if you want good advice, consult an old man.”

  Aden smiled uncomfortably, and Miriam stared down into her tea and then back at her father.

  “I don’t consider myself old. I also don’t know enough about your feelings for each other or enough about this community to offer either of you advice.”

  Miriam glanced at Aden. This time she didn’t look away. She had a sudden urge to reach across the table and push the dark-blond hair back and away from his blue eyes.

  Instead they both waited for her father to continue.

  “I can’t say the gadgets here don’t interest me, but marriage is about more than what is convenient and what doodads a community allows. Aden, I assume you moved here for a reason, and I’m sure those reasons were gut. It speaks well to your hard work that you’ve been able to purchase your own place already—”

  “It’s small,” Aden said.

  “Many of us started on a small place. No need to apologize for that. We came to visit today because none of my kinner have moved more than a buggy ride away. Before I give my blessing for such a thing, I wanted to meet some of the families from your district, and Miriam—”

  He waited, but she didn’t offer any explanation.

  “Miriam is still searching her heart.”

  Aden lowered his gaze to the table. When he looked up again, the boyish smile was back. “I think I understand.”

  “Gut!” Joshua set enough money on the table to pay for their meal. “First, I’d like to see this buggy shop where you work. Our bishop wants me to bring back a report about where his young apprentice is employed.”

  Miriam was happy to be in a buggy again. Jocelyn seemed to be a gut driver, but the ride in the Englisch car had made her a little naerfich. Buggies were more natural, in her opinion, and Aden’s gelding was a real beauty. His buggy, though—it was like the coffeepot in the general store. It was different. There was a gas heater inside that ran on a small propane cylinder. Though he still kept lap blankets stored on the backseat, it was definitely warmer than her old buggy back home.

  She thought it was the fanciest buggy she’d ever seen, and Miriam began to wonder if Aden had forgotten his vows of humility. But then they arrived at the shop, and she soon saw that the buggy he was driving was the cheapest model sold there. There were buggies with leather seats and buggies with dual heaters. All of the buggies were the same color on the outside, so that when passing on the road no family would seem more prosperous than any other, but she couldn’t help thinking of her buggy waiting for her back in Pebble Creek.

  Aden had worked extra hours all week so that he could have the afternoon off. He took them to his farm next, which was indeed small. “I have the option of buying additional acreage as long as I do so within five years.”

  “From an Englischer?” Joshua asked.

  “Ya. He is retired and can use the money, but he’s not in a big hurry for it.”

  The home he was staying in was an old hunter’s cabin. There was no electricity, but he did have small gas appliances—heater, stove, and mini refrigerator. He also had running water and a small corner bathroom.

  “It looks like your bruder’s home, Miriam.”

  “You mean the bathroom? Ya. David would be comfortable here.”

  The laughter helped to ease the tension as she stood in the middle of Aden’s one-room cabin. Aden waited until Joshua walked outside onto the porch, and then he stepped closer.

  “I would never ask you to live in this cabin. You know that, right?”

  “Aden, I’m not ready to talk about—”

  “Ya, I know. But it’s just that when I look at this one room through a woman’s eyes, well it doesn’t look so gut. I wish you could see what I see.” He turned from her and walked to the window, frustration tightening his shoulders.

  “And what do you see, Aden?”

  He glanced back to decide if she was mocking him. Satisfied that she wasn’t, he pointed out across the fields. “There, tucked in the shade of that grove of trees—a home. Not large at first, but well constructed. A barn to the west of that, and animal pens, of course.”

  “You’re happy here. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Except—”

  Miriam waited, dreading but knowing there was no way to stop him.

  “Except that it’s lonely.” He turned now and walked across the room until only a few inches remained between them.

  “Aden, I know there are women here, gut Amish women.”

  “Ya.”

  “Except?” She echoed the word back to him.

  Now the boyish grin returned. “They are not you, Miriam King.”

  “You sound like a student with a childhood crush.”

  “But I’m not a student, and it’s not a crush.” He cupped her elbow in his hand and walked her out onto the porch. The sun was shining down on his fields and she could picture it, could imagine what he had described. She could even envision the way Grace would draw it, and that thought made her smile. The question was—could she see herself in that picture?

  The rest of the evening and the next day passed quickly. The home she and her father stayed in was warm and inviting. The women were kind and didn’t ask too many questions. They did let slip that several of the young ladies in the community had expressed an interest in Aden Schmucker. For some reason it eased the worry in her heart. Should her answer be no, she didn’t think Aden would be living on his small farm alone for very long.

  She didn’t speak of her decision on the drive home, while the road unwound beneath the tires of the Englisch car.

  Neither did she talk about her feelings as she and her father laughed about the percolating coffeepot with her mother, or told of how the gas heat left the downstairs rooms warm but felt rather dry on their skin.

  Miriam stayed at the kitchen table on Saturday night, long after her parents went to bed. She opened her Bible, searched her heart, and prayed that her decision wasn’t a selfish one. Then she wrote a letter to Aden.

  The next morning she woke feeling ten pounds lighter.

  There was no church that day, so they would do only the chores that had to be done, followed by breakfast and Bible study in the sitting room.

  It was during lunch, when her parents noticed her humming, that they finally asked.

  Miriam selected a cold slice of ham and another piece of bread, one baked yesterday in her mother’s wood-burning oven. “I’d like my children to have a creek wandering through their childhood.”

  “Ya. That’s important,” Abigail agreed. “I always loved that proverb.”

  “I suppose I’d trade a feed bag of modern conveniences for one gut creek,” Joshua said, reaching for the butter a second too late.

  Abigail moved it away from his grasp and shook her head.

  They didn’t ask Miriam about her feelings, but she loved her parents all the more for that. And she positively wanted to laugh when her mother said, “Did I mention that Gabe and Grace are coming for dinner tonight? I promised to give her another quilting lesson.”

  Could it be that her mother was matchmaking?

  If so, she’d have to thank her for it. But first she needed to clean up these dishes and make sure the checkerboard was out and ready for their guests. She was ready f
or a rematch with one Gabriel Miller.

  Chapter 46

  Grace didn’t understand adults. She didn’t understand donkeys, either, but at least they made more sense than adults.

  “Watch your stitches, Grace. I believe they are getting bigger there.” Abigail’s voice was kind as she pointed to the border of the lap quilt Grace was piecing together.

  They had been having lessons since the auction. Grace thought she was getting better, but she was still glad they had started with something very small. She had a small lap, so it was a small quilt. Abigail said it would be just right.

  “My stitches grow worse when my mind wanders.”

  “Where was your mind wandering just then?”

  “Two different places. Toward grown-ups and donkeys.”

  Abigail chuckled and reached to put another piece of wood in the iron stove. It was comfy where they were sewing in the sitting room. Grace loved Sunday afternoons spent with Abigail and Joshua. Being home was good too, and Sundays when church meetings were fun, but Sundays when they visited? Those were her favorite.

  “Want to talk about the donkey first?”

  Grace leaned forward so that she could peek at her dad and Miriam sitting at the table in the kitchen. They were supposed to be playing checkers, but far as she could tell no one ever moved a piece on the board. That made no sense at all. Didn’t they want to win?

  “Ya. Donkeys might be easier.”

  “How is Gus?”

  “He’s gut. He likes being with the horses, but if you ever leave him alone…” Grace shook her head as she sewed three stitches that ended the row. Turning the quilt, she glanced up at Abigail. “He can find a lot of trouble for such a small animal.”

  “Donkeys are herd animals. They tend to find trouble when left alone.”

  “That’s what my dat said. When we tried to pull him out of the old chicken coop—I don’t know how he even got in there—well, we couldn’t do it. My dat pulled and pulled, and he’s real strong. Gus wouldn’t come. He sat down and brayed and wouldn’t come. Dat was mad and stomping around in the cold.”