Ella's Wish (Little Valley 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Ella felt her whole body stiffen. So this is going to be another marriage proposal delivered like his sermons, like they were utterances from on high—straight, cold, and to the point. The thought chilled her to her toes. What does Preacher Stutzman think? That I will rush to my wedding day with him because his girls need a mother?

  His voice continued. “I got to thinkin’ that perhaps there would be a way out for me, one that would please both my girls and you.” He glanced at her face but didn’t seem to see the anger rising in her eyes.

  “See, I can afford to pay for their care but not farm-help wages. I suppose you think me a cheapskate.” A smile played on his face, his eyes remained focused on the floor, and his voice sounded apologetic. “But if I am, then I am. I cannot help it. But it would do my girls good to be taken care of by you. You are a responsible girl. You’re well brought up in our people’s ways. And I could trust them with you. Perhaps Monday through Friday? Just for a short time or until I can make other arrangements?”

  The smile played on his face again, sad this time.

  Ella’s mind raced to understand. Preacher Stutzman wants me to care for his daughters, and he will pay for the service. He isn’t speaking of marriage. Ella almost let out a sigh of relief.

  “Would you consider it?” he asked in a voice just above a whisper.

  “I…Well…Yah,” she replied, finding her voice, “it might be just what I am looking for.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ach, surely you know I’m needing to support myself. And I do have this big house.”

  “I see,” he said, looking relieved.

  “Oh,” Ella said, remembering, “I should tell you that Ronda and Joe are moving into the first floor after their wedding. I’ll be upstairs or in the basement. But perhaps that would even work better since Ronda could help with the girls sometimes.”

  His face brightened. “That does look like Da Hah’s hand, and I’m pleased. So you can start next week?”

  “Next week?” Ella asked. Her mind started spinning as she considered this new direction. “Of course. There’s no reason why not.”

  “I will bring them Monday mornin’, then. And I hope your supper isn’t cold.” He nodded, reached for the knob behind him, and backed out of the room, shutting the door after himself.

  Ella stood still, staring after him. Amazing.

  Fifteen

  Ella allowed the memory of Preacher’s Stutzman’s girls at their mother’s funeral to swim before her eyes. They seemed to be lost in a haze of incomprehension. She sat down at the kitchen table, but her uneaten food had lost its appeal. The casserole would be long cold now, but it didn’t matter. Her mind was no longer on food. Before her the small faces of the girls refused to fade. She was to care for them. Is this an answer to prayer, an answer to my need?

  The empty house was quiet again, but if the girls were to come to her, that silence would soon be a thing of the past. By next week this house will be full of people, life, energy, and children—as it is meant to be. Who would have thought of such a thing? She nibbled at the casserole, oblivious to how cold it was.

  Ella got up from the table, washed the dishes, and drained the water into the bucket below the sink when she was finished. She carried the bucket outside and behind the house, where the garden would be planted next spring, and dumped the contents into the darkness. How Da Hah continues to supply my needs! I am very unworthy of such grace.

  In her room Ella found her tablet by the light of the kerosene lamp. It was hidden under the wedding dress and in the safest place she could think of. It was a place her family hadn’t been tempted to look. The crisp white pages and blue handwritten words comforted her. They were a connection between her past and her present.

  Dear Journal,

  You have become as familiar and as comforting to me as a friend or perhaps even a husband, but that doesn’t seem possible. Aden is the only one I can imagine as my husband, and he certainly was a whole lot better than you are. He was not like you at all, but real, alive, and so in love with me. Yet this is what I am left with. But I am thankful for anything to dull the pain from where the love has been torn from my heart.

  I’m alone tonight in my big house, but I won’t be for long. Preacher Stutzman—of all people—called on me tonight, and I am to take care of his girls during the weekdays. Who would have thought the fierce preacher would ever make contact with me, or that I would take the care of his children? I guess death and sorrow changes a lot of things.

  His three girls will be the first additions to my big house—and so quickly. Ronda and Joe move in after their wedding. I think the house will be more than full then, and I feel much more satisfied already.

  I had thought I would live here alone or perhaps with Eli if he got in trouble with his Englisha girl, who he now has. Surprise, surprise. But Daett said today that Eli could stay at home. Daett is wise. Eli’s better off at home. Daett will be more understanding of him there. And now it turns out I wouldn’t have room here anyway. How like God, I guess, to help out in ways one doesn’t expect.

  I suppose I should be bitter with Aden gone. I admit there were times I was, especially in those first weeks, but one doesn’t question God for long. It does little good anyway. It only eats at one’s heart. Our preachers would take care of the problem anyway. It’s hard to question God for long and listen to them preach. They firmly believe God controls all things for the best.

  I now have Ronda and Joe and the Stutzman girls to supply income for me. I think there’s one more thing I’d like to do. I wonder if I could possibly have a quilt shop in the basement? That would be just the thing and would work, I believe, even with little girls under my feet. They won’t be that different from my younger sisters.

  Clara could do some of the creative drawing. We could even start out with a duplicate of my wedding quilt with this house as the centerpiece. It could be sort of a specialty item, related to the house. We could try one at least and put out the sign. I’m not going to sell the one I already made, that’s for sure. It has too many memories; sad memories, yes, but precious too. I could at least use it as a sample to sell from. Don’t you think that would be a good idea, dear Journal?

  Isn’t that strange? Now I’m talking to a journal. I must be muddled in my head like Daniel and Eli. I hope not, but I wouldn’t be surprised one bit with all that’s been going on. The house is so quiet tonight, as if it’s afraid to breathe. Don’t houses always make some kind of noise? Ours always did at home, and if you listened long enough, something somewhere would squeak. I’ve been listening for a long time now, and not a squeak can be heard anywhere. Perhaps it’s the newness of the house.

  Well, Journal, my friend, I really need to get to bed even if I have no chores to get up for. There is no way I will allow myself to get soft and spoiled. I grew up as a farm girl, and a farm girl I will always be.

  The temptation to get soft will be great. Thankfully I will have things to do. There’s the bishop to think about, and I must say I’m worried. He’s a decent man, otherwise he wouldn’t be a bishop. Mamm and Daett think the world of him, and yet I can’t accept him.

  I expect he could come back for his visit anytime now, and I will have to have an answer for him. That answer must be, “No.” But I must also ask him if he can help out with Eli to please Daett. Surely the bishop will be understanding about my refusal.

  Why, then, am I troubled, dear Journal? Do you feel my hand tremble? You might not, but the letters of blue ink aren’t quite as well written right at this moment. I feel like a cloud hangs over me. It may be off in the distance, but it’s a thick black one, full of rain and lightning.

  Daett would say it’s all female emotions and that I’m worrying about nothing. I know he would tell me so. He would tease me, but I still long to hear his voice, his laughter, and his prayers. I’d love to hear him say the words even if I don’t agree with them. He’d say, “You need a husband like the bishop.”

  The bishop will c
ome soon to say what he has to say, and I will say what I have to say. Then it will be over with, and life will go on. Now I really need to get some sleep.

  Ella set down the pen, folded the tablet, and went into the bedroom to place it under the dress in the cedar chest. The faint light of the kerosene lamp filled the room. She knelt to pray beside the bed. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Longings rose in her heart to speak the words out loud, but she didn’t dare.

  Suddenly she got to her feet, grabbed her coat, and went outside. Perhaps if she were outside, she could breathe the words in her heart. How that could be, she had no idea. It was just that way.

  Above her the starry Milky Way swept across the summer sky, almost reaching from horizon to horizon. The great clusters of stars bunched together till they couldn’t be numbered.

  “Dear God in heaven,” she prayed, “would You please help me? I thank You for all the help You’ve given already—for Ronda and Joe, who are planning to move in, and for the little Stutzman girls. Yet I’m still afraid of what lies ahead. I don’t want to choose my own way like Eli is doing. Mamm and Daett think I should marry the bishop. You know how hard it will be to stand up to them and go against their wishes, especially when I have no other man to love.

  “I had Aden, but You took him from me. I can’t ask to have Aden back, and there isn’t anyone else like him. There never can be. So please help me with the bishop, God. He plans to marry me. He almost said so, and I can feel it. I’m just little me, against all that. It doesn’t feel like my refusal will mean a whole lot.”

  Ella paused and let her eyes search the sky. Have I been too bold to talk to God like this? Does He mind or even hear? Does He have plans for me? What could they be? How am I to know?

  Her hand trembled on her chest, and the stars swam before her teary eyes. Above her the heavens remained silent. She remembered where she was and that it was late. Sleep was necessary for the day ahead.

  Ella wrapped the coat tightly around her and forced herself to go back inside. She turned the wick down low on the lamp and blew out the flame. Climbing under the covers, she pulled them tight under her chin and closed her eyes.

  Moments later, she saw herself—as clear as day—in a buggy, driving along the road with other buggies. A long line of buggies stretched out over the familiar valley roads, but she didn’t know where she was headed. Up ahead, buggies slowed down and then pulled into a big field. People climbed out. Many women were dressed in light-colored dresses, so this couldn’t be a funeral. It must be a wedding. Enough men stood outside the barn to represent at least five or six districts. Instead of joy, fear stabbed her heart. Who was getting married? She had heard of no one from this area being published.

  Ella struggled to see inside the house and get past all the seated people but couldn’t seem to make much headway. She caught herself in a cry of alarm. It seemed desperately important to see the young couple sitting in front of the row of preachers. Struggle as she might, all she could see were the backs of the six people all lined up in the straight-backed chairs.

  In desperation, Ella ran into the house through a side door. It seemed like her legs would hardly move, and her breath came in labored gasps. Finally, she was close enough to break through the crowd to get her first look at the couple in the center. To her shock, she saw herself—Ella Yoder—and Bishop on the center chairs.

  She awoke with a cry and sat bolt upright in bed. Her chest pounded so hard it hurt.

  “It was a dream,” she cried into the darkness. “It’s just a dream!”

  Sixteen

  Susanna opened the front door of the dawdy haus when Preacher Stutzman knocked.

  “Yah?” she said with a puzzled look on her face.

  He tried to keep his eyes on her face but quickly dropped his head. “I’ve decided to visit the widow Weaver tomorrow,” he said, “and see what she has to say. Could you take care of the girls?”

  “It’s about time that you’re gettin’ around to it. You should have asked for that woman’s help a long time ago. Now why don’t you ask her to marry you? She’s just sittin’ over there by herself waitin’.”

  “I have my plans,” he said, ruffled that she pushed him. “Till then, Ella Yoder will be taking care of the girls, starting Monday morning.”

  “Ah,” Susanna replied as a smile lighted up her face, “Ella Yoder. Well, good for you.”

  “Goodnight,” he said, turning to go.

  “It’s a wise thing to do,” she called after him.

  He fixed supper for the girls and settled them down for the night. Mary wrapped her arms around his neck in the upstairs bedroom and hugged him.

  “I’m taking you to someone’s house next week,” he said, stroking her hair. “She’s a really nice woman, and she’ll be taking care of you and your sisters.”

  “Will she be our new mamm?” Mary asked.

  “Nee,” he said, shaking his head, “she’s just taking care of you.”

  Mary settled back on the bed, clutching the covers tightly.

  “I’d like a mamm sometime, then,” she said. “A real one like we used to have.”

  Sarah nodded sleepily beside her.

  “Well, someone will take care of you now,” he said, trying to smile. He blew out the kerosene lamp and in the darkness found his way downstairs where he sat alone in the stillness of the house, listening. Baby Barbara made no noise in the bedroom. She should be soundly asleep for the night.

  Tomorrow holds another hard day of farmwork, and I really should be in bed. Ivan felt the shame run through him. He had thought for all these years that the Word of God and the work of God were his highest goals. But now he realized he had never noticed how much he had loved a woman—perhaps even more than Da Hah Himself.

  He missed Lois. He missed her until the pain ached all the way down to his feet. How can a person be so lonely? How can a man with three small children, a hundred tasks to do, and all the comforts a man could want in this life seem so utterly without purpose?

  He had mowed his hay today and wondered why he even cut the stuff. What is wrong with me? Now the thought pressed in on him, grabbing him by the throat. Since he had seen Ella Yoder again, he couldn’t get away from the thought. This is a woman I could love.

  Shame filled him again. Hopefully none of this had shown on his face when he spoke with Ella. He had been so careful to show nothing even as his heart lurched inside him. Am I to fall in love again?

  The desire wouldn’t go away and served only to increase his shame. He wanted a woman to love, one who would love him as Lois had. He didn’t want marriage to the widow Weaver. Ella was the one he truly wanted. She knew how to love, care for a man, and fill the emptiness inside his heart. Next to Ella, Nancy Weaver looked like a pale weed and a noble attempt to fill the needs of his daughters, but she left his own heart untouched.

  Ivan stood to his feet and rebuked himself. No, Ella cannot be mine. Da Hah has spoken—roughly, yes, with the death of Lois—but He is Da Hah, and who am I to question His ways? Lois has been taken from me and for a reason. Perhaps through this I will be able to see the condition of my own heart. What a presumptuous fool I would be to walk into the arms of another woman I loved.

  The idea caused his hands to shake as he blew out the kerosene lamp. In the darkness, he felt better. Surrounded by its embrace, his shame was at least hidden in the shadows. He sighed as relief came. When exhaustion gripped him, he was thankful. The labors of farm life overcame even a man’s loneliness, his reluctance to sleep, his unwillingness to eat, and his disappointments living life without a woman to love and care for.

  Ivan lowered himself wearily into bed. Tomorrow morning would come soon enough. Things could be faced then. He closed his eyes and moments later heard the familiar cry of the baby from her crib. In a haze he tried to get out of bed, but then the crying ebbed, and he drifted off again.

  Again baby Barbara cried, this time more insistently. Ivan slid slowly out of bed and walked over to the cr
ib. Little Barbara hollered loudly right into his face, even as he tried to calm her. Strange how she didn’t know when he was right there. His fingers tested under the diaper. Yah, she needed a change.

  Sleepily he moved the baby to the dresser, found a match, lit the kerosene lamp, and changed the diaper. As he laid her back in her crib, she showed no intentions of sleep, and so with one arm, he carried her on his shoulder out to the kitchen. He set her on the floor beside the oven, then lit the fire, and waited while the milk warmed. When it was ready, he took the bottle and the whimpering baby into the living room where he settled in the rocker and held the bottle up to the baby’s searching mouth.

  Images faded in and out of his mind as he resisted sleep. What do women have that men don’t? Do they have some special strength that Da Hah gives them, unique only to them? Lois had always taken care of these middle of the night feedings and yet still got up with me at the same time each morning and had breakfast ready when I came in from the chores. She worked all day like I did and went to bed around the same time. How ever did she do it?

  The arrangement with Ella Yoder will do until the widow Weaver and I can be married. It’s what I have to do, and that’s all there is to it. Tomorrow I will make my visit to the widow and set things in motion. Now he was drained; had given up in a way that was hard to explain. What is will just have to be. What once was can never be again. That is as clear as day.