Only once in a blue moon did Lucas feel guilty for using modern technology and advances. There was still a huge part of him that believed in the simplicity of plain living and the spiritual reasons behind it. Sometimes when he laughed at profanity or a crude joke, he caught himself, inwardly reprimanding that his mother would not approve, that he’d fallen far away from the clean-minded spiritual life he used to live. The lifestyle he thought he’d live forever.
The show ended, but Lucas hadn’t been into it. Perhaps the crassness had bothered him more than usual. Probably because of that visit from Esther. Yes, he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he’d gotten home, whipped up his favorite Bobby Flay seared steak, and finished the evening with one of those shows that features family-run restaurants.
Maybe he’d see her again. If he did, what would he say? From what he’d gathered, she came into town to sell soap at Yoder’s. Now that he recognized her, he made a vow that next time he saw her, he would ask her to talk.
He felt a strange flutter of anticipation in his chest as he got ready to turn in, still keeping with the Amish custom of asleep at dark, up at dawn. The plan was curiously comforting. Perhaps it would give him what he’d been craving all these years.
CHAPTER FIVE
Traces of the sunrise were barely visible on the horizon when Esther popped out of bed. The September weather warming the air as she hummed to herself, she flew through her morning chores.
Having something wonderful to look forward to always put Esther in the best mood. Combing through young Eve’s thick hair was usually a chore no one enjoyed. But this morning, Esther cooed and cajoled her little sister while gently working out the tangles.
“Something’s up with you, jah?” Anna, Esther’s married sister, asked as they stood side by side at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes.
Esther bumped her sister’s hip. “Nay, there’s not.”
“Then why have you been grinning all morning like Auntie Rosie’s horse?”
Esther tried to hide her smile by keeping her chin dipped, staring into the bubbles.
Anna had married John three years ago. Their courtship hadn’t lasted long, and even though Esther had known her older sister was ready to be a fraa, she’d had a hard time letting her go. For years, the two sisters had shared the room at the top of the stairs, talking long after even the crickets had gone to sleep. Wednesdays had become precious to Esther, as that was when Anna came to visit.
“Can’t a body be in a good mood without causing the Spanish Inquisition?”
Anna glanced at her. “The what?”
“Nothing.” Esther blinked, forgetting that her sister hadn’t received the same kind of education as Esther. Early on, Maam must have sensed something in Esther, for her last years of schooling were steered toward literature and even world history. Esther had found it fascinating—mesmerized by stories of the American pilgrims risking their lives for freedom, the courage and miracles of Anne Frank, and even the centuries of war between England and France told by Shakespeare.
What Esther had loved most, however, was the poetry. Her mother would give Esther a poem to read and study, to pick apart for hidden meaning about Gott and nature. At bedtime, Maam knelt by her bedside and recited that poem word for word, images dancing through Esther’s young mind.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever…”
“To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour…”
“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there…”
“Trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home…”
Even today, the beautiful words lived deep in Esther’s soul. Sometimes when she felt down, she’d force herself to recite one.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Anna, taking control of the conversation. “You’re getting as big as wee Abraham’s pig.” She gently rubbed a hand over Anna’s growing belly.
“Not funny,” Anna said. “Last week, John had to help me off the sofa. I couldn’t get up on my own.”
“You’re loving it.” She handed Anna the final dish to dry. “Every time I see John, he’s walking on air.”
Anna giggled. “He’s more excited than I am.”
Her sister went on to tell about the crib her husband had finished sanding and the rocking chair that Simon, their older brother, was working on.
“Sounds like the nursery is all but ready. Just needs a baby.”
“I’m working on it.” Anna sighed as she stepped away from the sink to take off her damp apron. “The other day, we were talking about maybe moving to the other side of the Baker’s mill. It’s real close to Simon.”
“Jah?” Esther asked, helping her sister untie the wet knot. “But you love your farm. You finally got a good corn harvest last fall.”
“Aye,” Anna said, her voice light and wistful. “But right now, we’re pretty far away from family. Simon’s got the three boys and little Rebecca. This wee bundle will be close to their same ages.” She removed a clean, white apron from a drawer. “We want to be around the younger cousins.” She frowned while trying to maneuver the apron ties around her belly. “If you’d had kinnah with Jacob, we’d stay right here—” Anna cut herself off, her face ashen white. “Oh, Es.”
Esther put both hands over her cheeks and turned away, feeling heat pulsating beneath the skin.
Anna moved toward her sister. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say…”
Esther dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed and guilty over something that was no fault of her own.
“Esther, please.” She felt Anna’s hand on her shoulder. “I can’t believe I… My mouth just goes sometimes. I wasn’t thinking.”
Esther took a moment, breathed out a long exhale, then lifted her chin stoically. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Anna stomped her foot, tears filling her eyes.
Esther didn’t wish for her sister to feel shame at what she’d said. After all, it was the truth. She and Jacob should’ve had two bobbeils by now, and one on the way. The perfect ages to complement Anna’s future family.
Dear Gott, please forgive my doubts and take away my fear. Help me have faith in your plan for me.
She paused her inner prayer, hoping to feel something. Anything. When nothing came, she pinched her eyelids together and sucked in a slow breath. “You better rest now,” she said to Anna. “Just over two months before you’re due. Why don’t you take some knitting out to the porch? It’s mighty sunny.”
“Nay,” Anna said stubbornly, still blinking back tears.
But Esther was already leading her toward the back door. “I’ll bring you some hot tea.”
Anna’s eyes brightened. “Juniper?”
“Of course.”
After she’d dragged the knitting basket to the chair where she’d placed Anna, Esther filled the kettle with water and settled it over the woodstove. Then, once Anna had her tea, she went straight to her soapmaking nook at the back of the kitchen.
Today began so brightly, she thought, blinking furiously at the tiny tears invading her eyes. She knew of one sure way to knock away those tears like spiking a volleyball.
First the lye, then the coconut oil—the fancy brand she’d had Leah order online. After carefully stacking each item on the counter, she pulled down a small box. Measuring, stirring, boiling, whisking… As the recipe progressed, the time came to add that final ingredient. Instead of the usual amount, Esther doubled it, filling the kitchen with the fragrance of spicy, warm clove.
After she’d poured the mixture into its molds, she set out to make a second batch. Triple the size this time. After all, even with all the battery-operated fans going, each batch took nearly a week to set up properly.
And if Leah wanted more, she’d give it to her.
Hou
rs later, while pouring the final mold, Esther’s mind began to slow from its frantic speed. Why am I so determined to want what is not righteous? she thought, staring down at the rows of the overly fragrant molds. Why can’t I use my talent to enjoy what I’m allowed to do?
Her soul felt a familiar heaviness. If she couldn’t control her will enough to obey the simple rule of limiting the scents in her soap, how else might she sin in the future?
For the first time, Esther allowed her thoughts to wonder if being baptized into the church, and thus keeping those very important covenants for the rest of her life, was what she really wanted.
Not allowing such a horrible thought to plant seed, she quickly cleaned up her nook, changed into a clean apron, grabbed a box of lavender soap from the top shelf, and headed to put on her cloak.
The second she opened the front door, she jumped and screamed. “Amos!”
Her soon-to-be brother-in-law stood shaking on the steps, face as white as the underclothes hanging on the lines. “Sarah,” he muttered.
“What about her? Maam!” Esther called over her shoulder. “Amos, what happened to my sister?”
“What is it?” Maam said, gently pulling Amos inside. “Has something happened to Sarah? Where is she?”
“In the carriage,” Amos said. “She’s been to see old Eliza Fisher.”
Esther stood on her toes to see a buggy parked by the fence. Eliza Fisher was the community’s healer. The eccentric old woman wasn’t someone most folks just dropped in on. If Sarah had seen her, something was wrong. She pushed past Amos and ran toward the buggy. “Sarah,” she called out. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
Sarah suddenly appeared, slowly sitting up as if she’d been reclined back in leisure. A white ice pack sat on her lap.
“What…? Is anything wrong?”
“I’d say so,” Sarah said, displaying the ice.
Maam came up, followed by Amos and pregnant Anna. “What happened, dearest?”
Sarah moaned. “We were at his mother’s.” She tipped her head toward Amos. “Showing Sister Mary that I can too put up peaches—despite what everyone says.” She turned her gaze to Esther, but Esther didn’t dare reply. “I was trying to move the canning pot off the stove—”
“She wouldn’t let me help,” Amos cut in.
Sarah glared at him. “Because you’re helpless in the kitchen.”
“Gracie was standing right next to you.”
Sarah sighed again. “You sister is too obsessed with that horse of hers to know anything about canning.”
“You were moving the pot, and…” Esther prompted, needing to hear the end of the story to make sure her sister was really okay, and also, admittedly, so she could take her soap into town as planned…
“She picked it up.” Amos actually chuckled.
“With your bare hands?” Maam said.
Sarah pressed her lips together and stared up at the sky. “I was distracted. And do not laugh at your fiancée.” She turned to Amos, who immediately dipped his chin and removed his straw hat. “Maam, Eliza Fisher says…she said I mustn’t use my hands.” Sarah displayed the pads of her fingers. All eight of them were marked a mean red and looked as painful as a barbwire cut.
“Aye,” Maam said, examining them. “This does look like a pretty good burn. Deep second degree, I’d say.”
“What does that mean?” Sarah asked, looking panicked.
“Well, from what I understand, it affects the second layer of your skin, not just the top layer. And see, you’re getting blisters already.”
Sarah snatched back her hands. “It feels like they’re on fire.”
“You need to keep applying ice. In a few days, they’ll feel better, but the blisters will be there for a week or two, I fear.”
“That’s what Eliza Fisher said. She said I can’t do anything that engages my fingers. She said they need to rest till at least mid-October.”
“That seems mighty extreme,” Maam said. “But I’m not the expert. You don’t want the blisters to pop—that’ll take twice as long to heal and may scar.”
“Scar?” Sarah said, quickly returning her hands to the icepack. “I can’t be scarred on my wedding day.”
“Which is why you need to rest,” Maam said, coaxing Sarah down from the buggy. “Take my arm.”
“I want Esther’s,” Sarah said with a pout in her voice. “Help me, will you, Es, darling?”
“Sure,” Esther said, allowing Sarah to loop an arm through hers, then lay her head on her shoulder. It felt good to be of service, but knowing Sarah’s personality, Esther couldn’t help sensing something else was coming. The other shoe was about to drop, as the English saying goes.
“Es,” Sarah began, her voice almost too sweet. “I’ve been thinking. Since old Eliza said I can’t use my hands, and now Maam is saying I must take it easy…”
“Jah?” Esther said, a warning tingle at the back of her neck.
“Well, since you have only that old soap of yours to keep you busy, I wonder—well, I mean, I’m sure you’d be ever so happy to plan my wedding.”
Esther stopped walking. “Your what?”
Sarah turned in to Esther’s body and gave her an overly tight hug. “Oh! I knew you’d come to my rescue.” She gave another lung-collapsing squeeze. “I’ve already mentally planned everything, so now it’s just a matter of execution. Anna, you can help some, of course. And even Gracie if she ever comes out of that horrible horse stable.”
“Sarah, why me? Why not Maam?”
“Maam’s starting to take in some of the village’s kinnahs to homeschool.”
Esther turned to her mother. “What?”
Maam smiled with a twinkle in her eyes. “We talked about it as a family last week. Have you forgotten already?”
“Uh, nay, I do remember something about that.” Esther held her fingers up to her temples, massaging the oncoming headache. She did recall that her mother was going to be much busier going forward, especially in the evenings, when she’d be preparing her school lessons for the next day.
“Sarah,” Esther continued, still trying to think straight, “I’m really not—”
“Oh! And we must go shopping tomorrow. You know, if I’m up to it.”
“Shopping for what?” Esther said, her mind swimming, trying to get a hold of the conversation while also straining to ignore the tears just behind her eyelids and the pressure in her chest, the constant reminders that her younger sister was getting married before her.
Sarah pulled back and looked at her as if she was missing an obvious answer. “Material for my dress, of course,” she said. “You get to make it for me.”
And there went the other shoe…
…
After an hour of trying ever so subtly to get out of it, Esther finally agreed to plan Sarah’s wedding. Sewing the dress from scratch would be the biggest challenge, since traditional Amish weddings were not like the Englishers’ ceremonies.
Leading up to the day of the wedding, there would be several ceremonial announcements and meetings and meals—nothing Esther couldn’t handle with a bit of help. The wedding itself would take place at their home. Some might mistake an Amish wedding as a traditional church service, for there were sermons, prayers, lessons, scriptures, singing, and a final blessing. After that, the women prepared the big meal while the men set up the tables. Weddings were indeed a community affair.
Their sect was slightly different—adding a youth choir during the ceremony. The church leaders hoped that getting teenagers involved would help them become interested in joining the church earlier.
Isn’t it bad enough having to see my own wedding dress on a daily basis? Esther thought as she walked toward town—slightly slower than she’d planned, feet heavy as lead. But now I have to make my sister’s? And it wasn’t as though Sarah was the easiest person t
o work with, let alone the most gracious.
The afternoon wind picked up, and without her cloak, Esther walked at a brisker pace, pumping her arms, the invigorating exercise making her heart beat fast and sweat pool at the base of her neck. To take her mind off the wedding, maybe she’d talk to Leah about adding another shelf to her soap display at the store. After all, she’d said it herself: they were the hot commodity. Whatever that meant.
She’d talk about anything to distract herself from thinking about making the wedding dress— Ack, Esther! Before she’d had the chance to correct the prideful thought, two hands grabbed her elbows. The next moment, she was spun around.
“Will you come with me?”
Even while startled and gasping, Esther easily identified her accoster.
Lucas Brenneman.
He appeared as out of breath as she, like he’d dashed at a sprint into the middle of the street just to grab her. When his hands gripped her tighter, she glanced down at them, causing Lucas to immediately let go. For a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes, neither of them blinking.
Esther couldn’t think of the last time she’d been touched like that by a man. She could still sense his strong grip on her skin like a phantom, causing her to feel warm all over, maybe even a little eager for him to touch her again.
“Come where?” she asked, breathless from the fluttering of her heart.
But he was already walking.
Too stunned to think on her own yet, she followed, curious but also…it was the mysterious Lucas Brenneman. Talk about distractions.
When she’d been a silly girl, she used to think he might resemble Gilbert Blythe from the Anne of Green Gables books: a very handsome young man with dark curly hair, a kind yet mischievous glint to his hazel eyes.
The twenty-six-year-old Lucas might’ve still been a fair comparison, if Gilbert Blythe had the broad shoulders of an iron worker and two days’ worth of scruff on his chin, his eyes brown like a bar of Hershey’s chocolate.
She was still a silly girl now, allowing herself to think of him in that way, feeling the rapid beats of her heart as he glanced back to make sure she was following.
Never an Amish Bride Page 4