Rachel knew what he meant. They’d be punished, not directly, but subtly, through diminished celebrations. She also knew the minister’s leniency had a great deal to do with the friendship he’d had with her daed. Still, she was so relieved not to be placed under the Bann she almost slumped in her chair. Her lips twisted. Of course, her desire to collapse could be due to the perpetual tiredness that shadowed her lately. Only sheer will kept her on her feet some days.
As for the wedding, it wouldn’t be the one she’d dreamed of anyway. Neither would the marriage. Nor the groom.
A glance at Ben revealed his dark head was bowed. Surely he was as relieved as she not to be placed under the Bann? Or had his sigh been more one of discouragement that he was now unexpectedly saddled with a wife?
Rachel bowed her head as well to hide the tears congregating behind her eyes. This couldn’t be the marriage he’d hoped for either. How could they possibly make it work?
Chapter Three
“Why do you keep watching the door? Everyone’s here who can be here because of...” Rebecca flushed, “Well, you know.”
Rachel grimaced as she sat with her sister, Ben and a few other newehockers at the eck table in the corner of her family’s home. She certainly couldn’t tell her sister she’d been watching the door in hopes Aaron would come through. Although now it wouldn’t make any difference. It was too late. She’d said her vows to Benjamin this morning and she would never break them.
And yes, Rachel did know. Although they hadn’t had to make a public confession in the few weeks since their visit to the minister, the smaller assembly was the district’s way of punishing her and Ben for breaking the rules of the Ordnung. That, along with diminished festivities, fewer attendants and more limited decorations than she’d anticipated for her...other wedding.
All changes seemed insignificant to the fact that a different groom sat on her right at the corner table set up for the bridal party. She was Rachel Raber as she’d dreamed of for years, but she was married to a different Mr. Raber.
The reduced activities were intended as a disgrace for their sin, but Rachel didn’t think she could be more shamed than when she’d had to face her mamm about the situation. Ben had offered to come in with her when they’d returned from seeing John Stoltzfus. Rachel had declined. It was time she left her youthful illusions behind and shouldered the responsibilities going forward. Besides—a flush rose in her cheeks—it would’ve made her more embarrassed to have him there.
Susannah Mast hadn’t said anything. She’d looked up with a questioning smile when Rachel came through the door. As Rachel haltingly and tearfully explained where they’d gone and why, her mamm had slowly stood, her expression subsiding into a sympathetic frown. And then she’d opened her arms. Shaking with sobs, Rachel had walked into them.
There might be fewer sidesitters that joined her at the eck table than she’d planned to invite, but Susannah Mast had worked to ensure her oldest daughter had a memorable event. The farmhouse almost gleamed from intensive cleaning. Their corner table was laden with roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed celery, coleslaw, applesauce and fruit salad, with various desserts to be picked up from a side table later.
Rachel eyed the banquet before her ruefully. With fatigue and nausea continuing to plague her, she had little appetite for any of it.
Ben glanced over to give her a shy but supportive smile. His blue eyes were concerned when his gaze lingered on her barely touched plate.
He scowled. “Was it the mousetrap we found in the salad?”
Rachel’s lips twitched at the common Amish wedding prank. “Nee. Actually, I was expecting something like that. Our friends have been known to pull a trick or two at these events.”
“At least, as it’s winter, hopefully they won’t put the bed in the middle of the field.” His eyes met hers. Rachel watched a flush that surely matched her own color his cheeks.
Ben suddenly found something of interest on his empty plate. “Well, I hope they won’t.”
Rachel cleared her throat, wanting to recall the brief moment of comradery. “I seem to remember being at weddings where you were an integral party to that activity.”
With a rekindled twinkle in his eye, Ben returned his regard to her. “Probably more than my share. It seems to have gotten out that, as a furniture-maker, I’m pretty quick about disassembling and reassembling pieces wherever they might be needed.”
Rachel was grateful for the shared smile. It was something she desperately needed today when she felt as if she were holding herself together with the straight pins that secured her wedding dress. When Ben’s eyes softened, she found herself leaning imperceptibly closer.
“I meant to tell you that you look very...nice.”
Rachel’s eyes widened at his unexpected compliment. “I... Denki.”
Plain people didn’t believe in using words like pretty or beautiful in regard to one another. To do so might make the recipient proud, or hochmut. Rachel soaked up Ben’s words like a shriveled plant in a hot August. Affirmation, another thing she desperately needed today. It was something she’d really loved about Aaron. He’d showered her with positive comments all the time. But this was the first time she’d heard one from Ben. Warmth spread through her, permeating the edges of her tension and fatigue.
Reaching over, she touched his hand where it rested between them on the table. He inhaled deeply. Slipping his thumb away from his fingers, Ben shifted it to capture the tips of hers. The flare of warmth expanded. This was the first time they’d even held hands, if that’s what they were doing. Rachel’s heartbeat accelerated. He was her husband now. Her breath caught on the thought. Her husband. These past few weeks, she’d thought about getting married to Ben, not about being married to him. What would happen to their relationship after this afternoon?
The sound of a crash jerked her attention to the center of the room. A young man and woman stood glaring at each other, the dark liquid from a broken cup of coffee splattered over the linoleum at their feet, along with the fragments of white china. It was obvious the pair didn’t get along. Which was regrettable, as they were husband and wife. It was common knowledge their relationship was as splintered as the porcelain scattered across the floor.
The warmth seeping into Rachel dissipated, replaced by a chill. The couple now the center of the room’s attention started out the same way, for the same reason, as she and her new husband. She glanced at Ben’s somber profile, his attention also fixed on the red-faced and thinned-lipped couple. Would the same happen to them?
“I hear they won’t even be living together pretty soon,” he murmured.
Rachel tugged on her hand. Ben’s thumb tightened against the ends of her fingers for an instant before it fell away. Returning her hand to her lap, Rachel clenched it there in the folds of her blue wedding dress. A dress made when she was dreaming of a happy married life with another man. For the Amish, marriage was for life. If the relationship didn’t work out, there was no way out unless one became a widow or widower. Please, please don’t let them end up like the couple now assisting her mamm and other women in cleaning up the floor. Ben’s hand remained on the table, tightened into a white-knuckled fist. How would she and Ben clean up the mess they’d made of their relationship?
Picking up her fork, Rachel prepared to take a bite of potatoes, just for something to do in the awkward situation. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for the china. It’s a lovely set.”
In lieu of an engagement ring like the Englisch did, an Amish man generally gave his intended something practical, like a clock or china. Along with the dishes, Ben had also presented her with a table and set of chairs he’d made.
“Hopefully that wasn’t one of the pieces.”
“Nee,” she hastened to assure him. “My mamm had been collecting this china from resale shops this past year in anticipation...” Rachel’s words dried up. The dishes had been
collected in anticipation of her wedding to his brother. She closed her eyes in frustration. Almost every topic led to a pitfall today.
Ben smiled wryly. “Your mamm was always wise that way.”
Rachel strove to veer the conversation in another direction. “Well, she’ll have them ready to share at a future barn-raising or community frolic.”
* * *
Ben couldn’t sit anymore. “I’m going to see if there’s any coffee left. Can I get you something while I’m up?” Scooting his chair back, he shot to his feet. His mind had been constantly churning the past few weeks with regard to their future. The mention of a barn-raising reminded him of his next primary concern after the wedding. He had to find them a place to live.
New Amish couples typically spent the first several months at the bride’s parents home while they established more permanent living arrangements. He and Rachel hadn’t talked about theirs. Ben snorted as, wearing the expected smile for those he passed, he crossed the room to where the coffee urn was located. The two of them barely talked about anything.
Given the stiffness of their current relationship, Ben wondered how they’d survive one night, much less many months, living under someone else’s roof without their stilted marriage becoming a community discussion. Not that Susannah would talk, but the Amish grapevine was such that the footfalls of someone limping across the floor on one side of the district echoed in conversations on the other side within a few hours, prompting folks to either whittle that person a cane or talk about how clumsy he was.
Ben didn’t have the money to buy a place right now. He hadn’t expected to be married this soon. He’d figured that, after watching Aaron wed the woman he wanted, it would be a while before he could even imagine settling on someone to marry. But Gott had another design. Looking across the room, Ben’s heart ached at the sight of his bride. He was thrilled to adjust his plans to Gott’s, but it would take time. Maybe a second job? He’d ask around, but still, it would be months at best before he could afford a place, even if one was available. And they’d need one with enough room for the boppeli... Ben’s eyes widened at the reminder.
“I sure didn’t see this coming. As soon as the one was out of sight, she latched on to the other. I don’t think even ticks jump to another body that fast.” The sharp female voice siphoned through the clatter of dishware and background hum of conversation in the room.
“Then you obviously weren’t paying attention. Ben was making calf eyes at Rachel even before I was married.”
Swiveling, Ben saw two women on the other side of the big coffee urn, their backs to him. He could tell from the color of their kapps that one was married while the other wasn’t. A moment later, Lydia Troyer’s profile was visible as she frowned toward the eck.
Ben pressed his lips together. He was surprised any single man, in or out of the district, had missed her attention. If there were a prize for flirting, she was the perennial winner, including, to his chagrin, him the day of the sugaring, when he’d welcomed her distracting company at first.
Lydia’s sister had been more subdued in her flirtations, but apparently not subdued enough. She was the female member of the couple who’d broken the coffee cup. Ben’s ears burned as he reminded himself that, like the story in the Biewel, he certainly couldn’t cast the first stone.
What pained him more than the parallel of how the couple’s marriage began was the current status of it and the corresponding fear he and Rachel would end up the same way. Ben’s arm jerked, sloshing coffee over the edge of his cup. He’d seen how her gaze had constantly flicked toward the door during the marriage service this morning, obviously hoping his brother would show. He’d been watching for the same person as well, with the opposite desire. Switching the cup to his other hand, Ben snagged a napkin and dried the coffee from his fingers. They were married. He vowed to do whatever was necessary to make the relationship work.
Dropping the napkin in a nearby receptacle, he raised his voice so the pair on the other side of the table could hear him. “Denki for coming. I appreciate the...respect you’re showing by celebrating with us on this special day.” He propped a smile onto his lips, but he couldn’t make it reach his eyes.
Whirling to face him, Lydia flushed until her cheeks were as red as her hair. “J-ja, denki for having us,” she muttered, looking everywhere but at Ben. “Ach, looks like they’re clearing this seating to get ready for the next. I should go...and see if I’m needed for help.” Ducking away, Lydia headed for the kitchen. Ben watched to make sure the young woman didn’t go near Rachel. With an embarrassed, conciliatory smile, Lydia’s sister left, as well. Ben knew Lydia was a gossip, but she probably wasn’t saying much more than a few others were about his unexpected wedding. His troubled gaze followed the two women into the kitchen before it shifted, equally concerned, to where Rachel sat at the corner table.
He almost jumped at the hand that settled onto his shoulder. Turning, he looked into the steady regard of his employer, Malachi Schrock. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Raber. Nothing is going to change that. And if your bride doesn’t know it now, she’ll soon figure it out.”
Ben tried not to be embarrassed that the man, who he greatly respected, had witnessed the previous exchange and apparently interpreted some of Ben’s unease.
Reaching up, Ben patted the hand still resting on his shoulder. “Denki. Those words are the best gift I could have gotten today.”
“Don’t judge your situation by others. She’s not Rachel and the husband isn’t you.” Malachi’s fingers tightened reassuringly on Ben’s shoulders before he dropped his hand. “And I’ve never known anyone to work harder than you to make things right.”
Ben wished he had the confidence in himself that his employer had. Still, the words encouraged him as he made his way back to his bride.
* * *
Hours later, Ben stared at the wooden door to Rachel’s bedroom. Should he knock? After today, as per Amish custom to live in the bride’s parents’ home, it was his bedroom too. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he swallowed. It was a custom about to be broken.
He eyed the door’s handle like it was a wasp nest he needed to stick his hand into. “We’ve already tossed some of the more essential ones aside.” His mouth hooked in a rueful smile. It wasn’t as if theirs was a normal marriage. If they were to make it one, it might be best to do so without an audience.
Ach, well, he’d solved the situation. Hopefully his...wife agreed.
His wife.
He tried the word on again, speaking it softly. His wife, Rachel Mast, now Raber. Ben’s hands flexed as he acknowledged the realization of a dream. Now that was definitely something his wife wouldn’t agree on. Which was why he would never tell her. Far better to be silent and appear a fool to her than to speak and remove all doubt. His mouth snapped shut at the sound of footsteps from inside the room. Nothing like having his wife open the door to find him talking to himself like he was narrish. Although it was crazy to have loved his bruder’s girlfriend. Even crazier to have married her.
Firming his shoulders, Ben rapped his knuckles on the wooden panel. The footsteps stopped, then...nothing. He held his breath in the ensuing silence. Was she going to leave him outside the door, feeling like more of a fool than he already did?
“Ja?”
Exhaling at the quiet word, Ben twisted the doorknob. He took one step inside and stopped short. If he’d felt breathless on the other side of the door, he now felt like the time he and his three brothers had climbed upon one of his daed’s Percherons. When they’d all fallen off, Ben had landed at the bottom, with his brothers piling on top of him. He’d had no air. He had none now either. He’d never seen anything as beautiful as Rachel, with her dark hair streaming down over the shoulders and the back of her white nightgown. His jaw dropped. Along with his breath, gone were any intelligent words he’d planned to say. He hastily stepped back into the hallway.
He remained rooted there until a soft, “Come in,” drifted through the open doorway. When he warily stepped through, Rachel, pale of face, stood by the window. Her hair was pulled behind her and under the quilt that was now wrapped about her shoulders. She offered Ben a quavering smile.
“I...” He pointed awkwardly toward the hallway. “They told me to come up. For the night.” He swallowed. “Which I did.” His toes curled inside his shoes, newly purchased for the occasion. He probably couldn’t sound more dumpkoff if he tried.
Shaking his head, Ben’s lips twitched into a self-depreciating grin. “Obviously, becoming a husband hasn’t made me any wiser. Except,” his smile evaporated as his gaze flicked around the room, “that I don’t think it’s a gut idea for us to be here together while we’re still...” he twisted his hand back and forth, searching for a word “...uncomfortable with each other.” The look of surprise and relief that swept across Rachel’s face was unflatteringly obvious. If he’d felt the same way, it would’ve been comical. Instead it was more evidence of the missing foundation necessary to build their relationship.
“So. After it gets quiet downstairs, I’ll go out to the barn and spend the night.”
Rachel’s eyes rounded. “You can’t do that. You’ll get caught.”
“I’ll be careful, but it’s only for tonight. After we help clean up from the wedding tomorrow, I’ll start work on moving us into our new place.”
“New place?” Rachel frowned, her brows lowered in confusion.
Ben hoped she wasn’t too disappointed not to be traveling around the community over the next few weeks, calling on friends and collecting wedding gifts. She’d seemed strained enough just with today’s events. Given the situation, he’d assumed she might want to avoid the other activity for now. It’d be difficult to hide that they weren’t sharing a room if they stayed with everyone they visited, as was customary. He couldn’t sneak out to all the barns in the community. She was right—it’d only be a matter of time before he was caught.
Their Surprise Amish Marriage Page 3