The Tempted Soul

by Adina Senft

  So she told him. It was pointless, but she did it anyway, more to punish herself for having such hopes and being so foolish, than to give him information. The samples, the drugs, the needles, the cost—she told him everything.

  “Thirty thousand dollars to have a baby?” He sat back, and her hands slid out of his. She folded them on top of the Bible.

  “That’s just to conceive it. I think it might cost nine or ten to go to the hospital and have it.”

  “I think our way is easier,” he said with a feeble attempt at humor. “As you say, the old-fashioned way.”

  “I want you to know,” she said steadily, “that I’ve given up. Even if the bishop were to say the treatment is the next best thing to a Honda generator and everyone should have one, I wouldn’t do it. We have no way of coming up with that money short of selling the farm.”

  “Which would not be wise. I suppose we could bring up our family in a buggy, but it would be cramped.”

  His face was so gentle, his eyes so kind, that her own filled with tears. “I’m sorry I’ve put you through this. I know I’ve made you think that I think less of you somehow—that because we can’t have children that you’re less of a man and I’m a defective woman. But it’s not so. You’re far too good for me.”

  “God does not create defective people,” he told her. “Every one can serve Him in their own way. Ours will just have to be as friends and neighbors, not as parents. Until God decides otherwise.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” He reached under her hands and opened the Bible again, where a slip of ribbon lay between the pages to mark Psalm 113. “He has kept all these promises to us so far, Carrie. Look. We were poor and needy, and he raised us up with better work that I can do with joy and confidence. We live among princes—His chosen people. You are certainly keeping a home of our own instead of living in that buggy or in someone’s empty Daadi Haus. The only promise that He has left in this Psalm is to make you the joyful mother of children. Not a child, my dear one. Children. An abundance of them.”

  She could point out that the Psalmist was probably not writing directly to her. But maybe that was not so. Maybe these words had been preserved in this book so that this morning, the last Sunday in October, she would read them to her husband and be reminded of how good God had been to them.

  “I’ve been so selfish,” she whispered. “All these gifts. Emma is always telling me about the little gifts she sees everywhere, and I’ve taken even that for granted.” Her throat swelled. “I’m sorry, Melvin. I will put this away in God’s hands, where it belongs, and leave it there.”

  “I will not stop praying,” he said, covering her hands on the fragile onionskin pages with his warm ones. “And neither will you.”

  “But I will stop plaguing everyone with my wild ideas.”

  “Don’t give up hope. God will provide. You’ll see.”

  She nodded. This morning, in her kitchen, sitting across from the man she really would live in a buggy with, if it came down to that, it was almost possible to believe.

  Almost.

  Chapter 15

  Three things would make Emma’s wedding something Carrie would never forget. The first was the look in Grant Weaver’s eyes as he took his bride’s hand and led her to the front of the congregation packed into John and Karen’s house. He stood for just a moment, holding her hands and gazing at her as though he couldn’t quite believe she was there, dressed in a new blue dress and the crisp white organdy cape and apron Carrie had made, all for him.

  “ … und glaust daß es vom Herren ist und durch dein glauben und gebet so weid gekommen bist?”

  “Ja,” Grant said to the bishop, but his voice was pitched just for Emma.

  With the simple vows that followed their declarations of belief that they were obeying God’s will, she became Grant’s Emma…and Carrie knew down to her bones that for her friend, life could hold no greater gift until she met her Savior in heaven.

  The second thing was that the cake Carrie had made was mistaken by just about everyone as having come from an expensive bakery in Lancaster, where a wedding cake could cost as much as five hundred dollars. Carrie pressed her lips together to keep from smiling as she sat in the Eck at the bridal table and heard someone murmur about it just loud enough for them to hear.

  “Do you want me to tell them?” Emma leaned over to whisper. “After all the work you put into that cake?”

  Carrie shook her head and tried to keep a giggle under control. “You can give me the five hundred dollars later.”

  That set them off, and somehow Amelia, who was serving, caught the joke, and pretty soon all three of them were wiping tears from their eyes and trying to fend off their husbands’ questioning looks.

  She didn’t care about who got credit for the cake. Her little weaverbirds were for Emma’s eyes alone, and if other people liked them, well, that was just…icing on the cake.

  The third thing might have overwhelmed her and spoiled the day entirely if it hadn’t been for the gift of the first two. The arrival of Melvin’s mother, Aleta, for the wedding was preceded by a letter, giving them just enough warning to make sure the second bedroom—not the one she usually stayed in, because that one held the quilt frame—was in fit shape for company. Aleta was Mary Lapp’s sister, and had been in Miriam’s buddy bunch decades ago—both very good reasons to come for a visit and see “that poor Stolzfus girl” safely married to a widower who had a family in need of her care.

  Carrie pushed the third thing out of her mind. Beside her at the wedding meal, Emma glowed with happiness as she talked with her agent, Tyler West, who had come to her wedding from New York City in a navy suit with a lime-green tie. Even Grant’s face, usually so solemn with care, had lightened with the ability to tease his wife and be teased in return.

  And the weaverbirds had not been lost on him, either, much to Carrie’s satisfaction.

  The one thing about being Neuwesitzern was that neither she nor Kathryn, the sister closest to Emma in age, who was also standing up with her, had cleanup or serving duties. As members of the wedding party, their job was to make sure the bridal couple had whatever they needed, from another glass of punch to an extra pin for Kapp or apron. Likewise, as the mother of the bride, Lena Stolzfus allowed others to work, and simply enjoyed her family and Grant’s parents at their table close by.

  Meanwhile, in the big house, Karen directed the delivery of all the food to no fewer than three sittings with clockwork precision. Carrie had no idea how many were there, but as Emma had estimated, it had to be over two hundred. But by two o’clock, everyone had eaten, and Emma had a few minutes to visit with her guests before the singing began at three.

  “I’ve always liked wedding roast,” Emma said to Carrie and Amelia, “but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed it as much as I did today.”

  Carrie adored the chicken-and-stuffing concoction that went by the prosaic name of “roast,” even though none of her own chickens would ever contribute to it under any circumstances. “There was a lot of love and answered prayers in that roast. I bet that’s why it tasted so good.”

  “I’m so full I’m going to burst.” Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia watched Eli take the boys to the outhouses in back. Even though the farm had indoor plumbing, it wasn’t capable of handling the influx of people who came on church Sunday, or for weddings and funerals. The outhouses had to be kept in good repair as backup. “But you can guarantee the Youngie will be ready to eat again tonight.”

  “You will be, too,” Emma said. “Even if it’s only another piece of Carrie’s cake.”

  “How many cakes have they cut so far?”

  “Six,” Emma told her. “Christina Yoder made two really pretty chocolate ones. They were the first to go. I’m trying to save your sheet cakes for last, Carrie, because they’re the nicest thing this old barn has ever seen. They won’t get past the Youngie after tonight’s Singing, though.”

  “I like how you say t
hat word,” Carrie teased. “You relish it—because you’ll never be one of them again.”

  “Will you last until after the Singing?” Amelia asked affectionately.

  Emma raised a brow in acknowledgment. “Usually I’m the first one to run away from a crowd. But”—she surveyed the happy congregation, the roar of conversation like that of a huge waterfall of words—“this is my crowd. I’ve been waiting for it my whole life. So I’m going to enjoy every single minute.”

  They soon lost her in a throng of well-wishers, many of them from their buddy bunch and quilters’ groups who had traveled a long distance on trains, buses, and buggies to join her on her wedding day. Grant took Tyler West away to join the men, including Melvin, as though he were one of them, despite the fact that none of them could look at his tie and keep a straight face. Carrie had some time while the waiters and waitresses who had looked after them at the Eck had a chance to eat their own meal there, so she made her way outside.

  The day couldn’t have been nicer if they had ordered it from a catalog. The midafternoon sky was a deep autumn blue, tinged with frost and garlanded with hawthorn berries and the last of the chestnuts. She wandered toward the cornfields, bare now, behind the house, wondering how many couples would be made public tonight at supper, when the bride traditionally paired off the Youngie.

  “That’s quite a crowd in there,” a voice said behind her, and she turned to see Joshua Steiner coming over the grass, his long stride eating up the yards between them. “Are you looking for your man?”

  “Nei. He and Grant took Emma’s agent away somewhere, since the barn is wedding territory today instead of men’s territory.”

  “Fortunately for us all, John Stolzfus has more than one barn. You’ll likely find them with my cousins in the dairy, where John is planning to make some changes.”

  “He wants cabinetry in the dairy?” Carrie couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her tone, and Joshua laughed.

  “Nei. But he does want some good opinions. Mine isn’t worth much, but Brian’s is.”

  “But you work at the Hills’ big dairy. If you have an opinion, wouldn’t you offer it?”

  “With John, I’m afraid, you wait until you’re asked.” Joshua’s smile changed as he looked over her shoulder. “I think someone is looking for you.”

  Carrie turned, expecting Melvin, or at the very least Amelia or one of her own sisters. But instead, steaming up the hill like a very determined train, was her mother-in-law.

  What had she done now?

  There had been a time when Carrie had humbled herself literally to the dust and done what was right—washing Aleta’s feet—one of the most difficult experiences she’d ever passed through. She had put Aleta before herself, and found a measure of peace, even if it had gone down hard. Not that she expected some kind of return—that wasn’t how Uffgeva worked. Uffgeva—that giving up of oneself to God, to one’s brothers and sisters, to one’s community, was the principle that enabled disparate personalities like theirs to rub along together.

  But usually the other person practiced it, too, with peace as a result. Maybe Aleta’s attention drifted during that part of the Abstellung.

  “Carrie,” she called when she was about ten yards away, “you’ll be wanted down there. The Youngie are getting ready to sing.”

  One look at the barn was enough to tell her that the young men hadn’t gone in yet. Since they were the last to be seated and no one looked to be in a hurry to stop talking, she still had a few minutes.

  “Mamm Miller, you remember Joshua Steiner? He’s helping us on the farm this fall.”

  Her mother-in-law drew level with them, her chest heaving under her neatly pinned cape. “I do. In fact, I wanted a word with him, now that I have the two of you.”

  The two of them? Carrie didn’t like being paired, even in thought, with anyone but Melvin. You’d think Melvin’s mother would feel the same way.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Aleta.” Joshua sounded as sincere as though he really did pay attention to the occasions when one meddlesome widow was in town. “I hope you’re well?”

  “I’d be better if you weren’t up here with my daughter-in-law in front of the whole Gmee.”

  Carrie’s mouth dropped open while she tried to decide which would be worse—laughing or saying something that would betray what she really thought.

  “Better in front of the whole Gmee than hiding, wouldn’t you say?”

  Aleta huffed and blew and finally corralled some words. “So what I’m hearing is right, then? You’re hiding your sinful attentions to my son’s wife, and she’s going along with it?”

  Carrie turned to run. She didn’t know where. Out to the other barn, maybe, where she could grab Melvin and get him to take his mother home. She was clearly out of her head.

  But before she could take a single step, Joshua laughed. “Is that what they’re saying? Seems to me the grapevine must be hurting for material if it’s reduced to making things up.”

  “My sister does not make things up.”

  “Ah, our good bishop’s wife. She certainly is blessed with the gift of husbandry.”

  Goodness. What a thing to say! As though Mary Lapp cultivated the grapevine as assiduously as she did her own garden. Which she sometimes did—even if half the time it was accidental.

  Aleta shot him a narrow look. “She’s also blessed with the gift of discernment, and if Carrie is so blind she can’t see it, then I’ll speak up myself. You stay away from her, Joshua Steiner.”

  “Aleta, he works for us,” Carrie managed to get in.

  “Is that all he’s doing? He’s eating meals alone with you and helping you in the kitchen and who knows what-all?”

  “Last I looked, eating a good meal wasn’t a sin,” Joshua said easily. Carrie wondered how he could be so calm and speak with such good humor. Did nothing bother him—even being accused of—of—

  Of what?

  “Yes, that’s all he’s doing,” she finally managed to get out. “If anyone is saying different, then shame on them.”

  “A man’s work should take him outside,” Aleta pressed, “not inside in a woman’s world. Helping to peel apples. Hmph!”

  Where was she getting her information? But no. She couldn’t ask that. It would look as though it were true. Except it was. “He isn’t very good at it,” Carrie said. If Joshua could look like he found it funny, then so could she. “The peeling only lasted one evening and then he went back to picking, which he’s much better at.”

  “So it’s true?”

  “That I’m a terrible peeler? Ja, sad to say.”

  Aleta’s lips thinned. Carrie wondered how often she was teased. Clearly she wasn’t used to it, and had mistaken it for mockery.

  “I meant, it’s true you’re in my son’s house, flirting with his wife and getting up to who knows what kind of tricks.”

  This time Joshua laughed out loud, and by the time he got control of himself, Aleta’s face could have made a thundercloud look like a harmless puff of quilt batting. “Aleta Miller, if I were a vain man, you would put the polish on me. But I have the least reason in the world to be vain, so let me tell you the truth. Your daughter-in-law and your son have been nothing but kind to me. And I mean that in its simplest sense. Kind.”

  Aleta folded her arms and glared at him, as if being told that her son was indeed the man she’d brought him up to be was as bad as a single man talking back to her.

  “Melvin gave me a job, when he could have chosen any of the other young men around here, despite what my cousins might have told him about me. Carrie fed me and put up with me and made me work whether I had any liking for the task or not. I may not have learned anything useful in the kitchen, but I learned how good she is. You can be thankful to the gut Gott that you have such a family, Aleta. I know I would be.”

  By this time, the folded arms only made her look as though she were cold. Carrie took off her jacket and settled it around her shoulders.

  “You
don’t need to tell me what I already know, Joshua Steiner,” Aleta said, but the anger had gone out of her tone.

  “Even the best of us need a reminder of our blessings once in a while,” he said cheerfully.

  “I’m far from that.”

  “You care about your family and you’re willing to stand up for them,” he said.

  Carrie would not have put it that way, but she was just a bystander to this conversation. If she had taken lessons from Emma on how to handle Joshua, then she’d better take a few from Joshua on how to handle Aleta.

  The two of them had never understood each other. Carrie had always felt that Melvin’s mother would rather have seen him married to anyone on the planet but her. No matter how well Joshua was smoothing this over, she would just have to overlook the fact that Aleta had had no problem believing Carrie would step out on her son.

  The first notes of the ninety-seventh Lied, “Wohlauf, Wohlauf, bu Gottes G’mein,” where the church is exhorted to put on its bridal ornaments for Christ, drifted up the hill. All the young men and boys had gone in and been paired off with the single girls already, and her place was empty.

  “Looks like I missed out on getting a singing partner,” Joshua said. “I’ll be at the farm tomorrow afternoon as usual, Carrie.”

  “It’s the singles table for you. I’m going to be here tomorrow, helping with the cleanup. I guess I’d better go and take my place, too, before Emma thinks I’ve deserted her.”

  Joshua loped off, and Carrie would have followed him except that Aleta laid a hand on her arm. “Just a minute.” She swung Carrie’s jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to her. “Denki for this. The wind is cold.” She paused and pursed her lips. “I was a bit hard on you.”

  Was this an apology? Carrie couldn’t very well agree with her, and to deny it would be a lie, so she kept silent.

  “I came up here to talk to you, and when I saw that man, I suppose everything Mary told me rose up and got the best of me.”

  “Does Mary believe all that?”

  “I don’t think so. She doesn’t believe hardly any of what people tell her. She winnows through it all, looking for bits of truth, but it’s like trying to find a grain of wheat in a measure of rice sometimes.”