Then their short conversation the other day popped back into his mind. As he recalled, he’d been plenty sharp when she’d asked about Jacob, even though she’d probably had to gather major courage just to pull open those glass doors in the first place.
Knowing his old community and how private his family could be, she was probably truly clueless about what had happened to Jacob. After how kind she’d just been to him, Lucas couldn’t help feeling he owed her something.
Not everything. But something. Even though he knew if he shared his secret, it would surely bring her pain, not closure.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You promised your sister.”
Esther sighed. “I know, but—”
“A promise is a promise,” Maam said in a singsong voice while laying writing notebooks on the table.
Esther straightened one. “Don’t you think I’d be more of a help here with you? With all your new students? And what does that phrase even mean? A promise is a promise…”
“It means you gave your word, and that means a lot in this family.” Maam began putting out yellow pencils. “And lower your voice, sweetie,” she said while glancing toward the stairs. “You don’t want to hurt your sister’s feelings.”
For a split second, Esther felt a tiny pinch of guilt for trying to get out of the task. “Jah,” she said a moment later, dropping her voice. “But it irks me to no end that she thinks I have so much spare time to just plan someone’s wedding. I have commitments, too. My days are very busy.”
“And yet you just offered to help me with the schooling.”
Esther bit her lip. She knew it was a lost cause to fight. In fact, her whole conversation with Maam had been while she’d been tying her cloak and fastening her outside black kapp, readying herself to call Sarah downstairs so they could go material shopping.
“Did you know Leah sold two boxes of my soap before I’d even set them on display?”
Maam put on her little round glasses and began thumbing through a book. “I believe I heard something about that.”
“She wants me to make more. It’s ever so good for their business. I’m helping their whole family—the community!”
“That’s very charitable of you, sweetie. But is it bringing you closer to the Lord?”
Esther stopped tying and looked at her mother. “What?”
“All things are to be done for the praise of Gott. Everything in life is to worship Him.”
Esther felt a knot in her stomach. Not once had she thought of her soap that way. It was an escape for her, something to do and have that was all her own. Must she really turn even that over to the Lord?
Though the question pressed against her heart, she wasn’t ready to speak her doubts aloud to Maam. Or to anyone. She just wanted to live her life, hoping maybe all her questions would somehow disappear.
“I…I want to do better,” she said, humbling herself. It was as much as she could say without stretching the truth. “Do I have to stop making my soap?”
“I didn’t say that,” Maam replied, organizing the pens in her apron pockets—the children would be showing up for school any minute. “I simply want you to remember the commandments. Put no other gods before me, and love the Lord thy God with all thine heart.”
“I do,” Esther said, a lump of shame forming in her throat. She didn’t like feeling this way. She didn’t ask to have doubts about the church, or lingering heartache over Jacob, or pride about her soap.
But her struggles were growing more intense every day.
And now she had to plan Sarah’s wedding?
“Would you pick up some small bandages while you’re in town?” Maam asked, shaking Esther out of her daze.
At the mention of medical supplies, her thoughts shot to Lucas. Should she confess that she’d seen him? Spoken to him, twice? And that she had every intention of meeting with him again?
“Okay,” Esther said, then shut her mouth. Today wasn’t the day for surprises or confessions. Maam was preparing for new students, Daed was working hard on the harvest, and from the sound of it, Sarah was finally making her way downstairs.
Esther felt her shoulders relax. For only a moment.
“I can’t find my gloves,” Sarah said, stomping into the kitchen.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to cover your fingers yet.”
Sarah looked at Esther. “What if I’m cold?”
“Are you?”
“Esther, if I’m outside, I might be. I need to be prepared. Who knows what could happen with you driving the buggy.”
Esther inwardly sighed and tried to remember what her mother said about keeping her word, and what the preacher said last Sunday about showing unbridled charity toward others, and what the Bible said about not killing.
“Where going?” little Benjamin said, tugging at Esther’s cloak along with her heartstrings. “I come, too? I help.”
Esther bent down and picked up her little brother, traces of oatmeal at the corner of his mouth. Which, of course, made Lucas pop into her mind again. That tiny dollop of cottage cheese.
“I come, too?” Benjamin repeated.
“Aww.” Esther gave him a squeeze, then spun in a circle. “Not this time, buddy.” She ruffled the top of his head, noting that he needed a haircut. Perhaps she’d do that later today.
“No tagalongs,” Sarah said. “It’s going to be stressful enough.”
“We’re shopping for material,” Esther said, hoping to defuse her already stressed-out sister. “It’s a happy occasion.”
“We see things so differently,” Sarah said, literally peeling Benjamin from her arms and putting him on the floor. “I’ve never found much happiness in sewing.”
Remembering back to when she’d made her own wedding dress, by then Esther had sewn five dresses on her own, and maybe a dozen blankets, and over twenty burping clothes for all the new bobbeils at church. By no means did she have the skills of a professional seamstress, but she could surely make a simple dress fit for a wedding.
Plus, she’d loved Jacob and had been excited to marry him—excited to start a new life. Making her dress had been a way to show that. When she thought about it now, she couldn’t remember what that felt like. Was she still in love with him? Or had the two years since he’d gone weakened those feelings?
And was that a sin? Was she meant to move on, or was she supposed to be devoted to him forever?
Too many of the same questions made her temples throb.
“You can take my gloves,” Esther said, pulling them from a drawer and passing them to Sarah.
“Thank you,” Sarah said as she began putting them on. “Well, they’re not quite as soft as mine, but they’ll do. Can we go?”
“Peanut’s hooked up and ready.”
“Esther! Can we please not take that mule of yours?”
“What’s wrong with her? She’s stronger than any of Pa’s horses and so much sweeter.”
Sarah rolled her eyes but headed for the door. “She needs a good wash with some of that soap you’re always working on.”
“Oh, jah? Which scent do you think she’d like?”
Sarah breathed out a snort-laugh. “Heavens, whichever’s the strongest. Some of that perfume the English woman at the bank wears. You can smell her a mile away.”
“Two miles,” Esther tweaked.
The sisters glanced at each other, then dissolved into laughter.
As they climbed into the buggy, Esther happily considered that maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as she’d been dreading. Maybe Sarah would have a good attitude and they’d have a wonderful time building memories.
…
Two hours later, Esther was ready to climb aboard Peanut and ride away, leaving Sarah behind to drown beneath a pile of fabric samples. All these years, Esther had thought her sister was a perfectionist, w
hen it turned out she was plain old indecisive.
“I still don’t know,” Sarah said, holding some heavy blue cotton up to the light. “Does the color suit me?”
“It does,” Esther said, leaning back against a table of flannel, her feet sore from standing. “It’s only slightly different from those other three blues over there.”
“I like blue, but I don’t want to look pale.”
Never one to preach at her younger sister, Esther did not explain that Sarah shouldn’t be fretting over what she looked like. She was beautiful before Gott, and Amos loved her, and the covenants she’d be making to the church were the most important thing about her wedding day.
All the youth had been taught this lesson since their first prayer meeting. And Maam had always been a flawless example of modesty and humility and obedience. Why, in Esther’s estimation, their mother practically walked on water. Except for the tiny incident of making Esther follow through with her promise to Sarah, Maam was pretty near perfect.
“The deep blue matches the hue of your eyes,” Esther said, recalling the headline of an article in an English women’s magazine with a glossy cover. “And makes your skin look creamy and your cheeks lily—I mean, rosy.”
Sarah turned to her. “Is that gut?”
“Oh, jah,” Esther replied with a sage nod. “You’ll look right smart in your black apron, matching Amos’s suit to a tee.”
“Black apron,” Sarah repeated, staring off into space. “I do like the idea of matching.”
Esther didn’t have the heart to remind her sister that all brides in their order wore black aprons over their wedding dresses and all grooms wore black suits, bow ties, and tall hats. If the notion of matching helped Sarah make a decision, Esther was all for it.
“Your stockings will be black, too,” Esther added.
“Who cares about my socks?” Sarah replied.
Okay…
“I like this one the best,” Esther tried again, picking up a random piece of blue fabric. It was thinner than the rest and looked the easiest to cut and sew. “Should we get it?”
Sarah tapped a finger to her lips. “I think not.” She pushed past Esther and to a table of thicker fabrics, practically denim. Definitely not easy to cut and sew. “I wish they carried the same purple of your wedding dress.”
Esther froze in place, her hand still outstretched. “What?”
“You know it’s the prettiest color and nicest material they’ve ever carried here.” She exhaled a moan. “I don’t see why I can’t just wear that dress.”
Esther felt her mouth fall open. “Be…because it wouldn’t fit you. And because…it’s my dress.”
“But you’re not using it, not even on preaching Sundays. It’s just hanging in your closet doing nothing. Don’t you think it would look nice on me?”
“Sarah.” Esther closed her eyes, needing to concentrate on breathing. “You cannot wear the dress I made for my wedding day on your wedding day. You just can’t.”
“Fine,” Sarah said. “Oh, look! This is it. This is the one.” She was holding up a bolt of heavy blue cotton.
Esther wouldn’t care if the material was coarse winter fleece with satin trim, she was just happy her sister had picked one. “I love it,” she said, forcing a great big smile.
“Do you really, sister?” Sarah looked almost vulnerable, which seemed out of character. It wasn’t usual for her to care what Esther thought about anything.
“I love it,” Esther repeated, wearing a genuine smile this time. “You’ll be the most beautiful bride in Lancaster County.” She put an arm around her sister’s shoulder and drew her in to her side. “More beautiful than any Englisher in a silly white gown and veil.”
Sarah pressed her lips together. “Danke, Es,” she whispered, causing a lump to form in Esther’s throat. She did want Sarah’s wedding to be a wonderful, memorable day. And if it took a little coaxing and tender self-confidence prodding to make her sister happy, where was the sin in that?
Esther was about to add that she’d promise to brush Sarah’s long hair with one hundred silky strokes on the morning of her wedding, when Sarah said, “We better buy a lot of extra material in case you mess up.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The guy in the yellow shirt raised his hand. It was his third question in a row. “Aren’t your marriages arranged?”
This time, Lucas didn’t bother reminding the classroom that he no longer considered himself officially Amish, that the “your” pronoun in Yellow Shirt’s question was misplaced. “No,” he simply said. “Teens can begin dating, or courting, as they call it, when they’re sixteen. They can court as many partners as they’d like and decide who they want to marry.”
“You get married that young?” Yellow Shirt didn’t raise his hand.
“It’s extremely rare for anyone to marry under eighteen. Depending on the state, I believe that’s against the law. They usually wait until early to mid-twenties.”
“What’s up with those beards?” This question came from the back of the room.
“It’s nothing more than a tradition started during the Civil War,” Lucas replied. “In most Amish sects, it’s customary for a man to begin growing a beard once he’s married.”
“But no mustache?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
It wasn’t a difficult question, but when Lucas had agreed to give a short Q&A, he thought the topics might be less superficial. Then again, the basic questions were probably the precise reason why his friend and colleague, Dr. Gregory Browning, had asked Lucas to give the lecture.
Hershey Medical Center was less than an hour drive from Honey Brook, Intercourse, and other Amish villages. Lucas had to admit it was an inspired idea to educate the doctors, nurses, and interns at the teaching hospital about the growing population of Amish and Mennonites. Apparently, over the decade since he’d been away, the local clinics were treating more and more plain folk. Gaining even a basic background of these patients was highly beneficial to all involved.
And how often did a teaching hospital have their very own Amish medical expert?
At least it will look good on my résumé, Lucas had thought after he’d agreed to the one-time Q&A.
“The Anabaptists of the late eighteen hundreds didn’t want to look like soldiers. Also, the tradition goes that the original German and Swiss Amish wanted to distinguish themselves from other religious groups—which explains the absence of mustaches and also the bowl haircuts.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that hair?” Yellow Shirt again.
“It’s obviously tradition,” a young medical intern in the front row answered. “Haven’t you been listening?” She turned around to face Yellow Shirt. “And stop being so ignorant and insensitive. This is his heritage; these are his people.” She pointed at Lucas.
Again, Lucas’s knee-jerk reaction was to explain that he no longer practiced the Amish religion or lifestyle. “Any other questions?”
The classroom fell silent, and people were definitely squirming in their seats.
“Come on,” he coaxed, attempting to lighten the mood. They’d already covered the use of buggies, one-room schoolhouses, the plain clothing, no zippers, and very few buttons. He’d even mentioned that the women make their own wedding dresses. Obviously, the only reason that had come to mind was because of Esther. Even while standing in front of the class, he couldn’t help smiling when he thought of the aardvark story and her shocked expression when he’d told her he’d been in the barn that night.
“Anyone? Come on,” he continued, holding his arms out to the sides. “I’m here all day.”
Spatters of nervous chuckles.
A man wearing a denim jacket slowly raised his hand. “Do you believe in God?”
Once more, Lucas ignored the incorrect pronoun. “Yes, they do,” he said. “All
their religious beliefs are based on the Bible—Old and New Testaments. Their faith in Gott is highly important.”
Even though he hadn’t been to a proper church meeting in years, did that mean his religious beliefs had changed so much that he had to make it a point to distance himself by changing that pronoun? By the way he was talking, it sure seemed like it. Did he still believe in God, the Ten Commandments, and the Sermon on the Mount?
“How did you say that word?” the intern at the front asked, dragging him back to the present.
“What word?”
“God? It sounded different.”
Lucas replayed his earlier sentence. “Oh.” He rubbed his chin. “Um, yes, it’s pronounced slightly different. Gott—a hard T instead of a D.”
“Is that Pennsylvania Dutch?”
“More like it’s derived from the accent,” Lucas explained, all the time wondering why his tongue had slipped to the old pronunciation. He hardly even thought in reformed German anymore. “If you’ve driven around the countryside,” he continued, not wanting to dwell on why he might’ve made that mistake, “you’ve probably noticed the bedsheets and clothes hanging on the lines. This is because they don’t use electricity. Though some homes may have a propane tank—”
“The Amish bakery I go to has electricity,” someone said.
“Well, in situations like that, it’s common for an Amish family to team up with a less conservative sect, like a Mennonite family. Most Mennonites in this area are allowed to use electricity.”
“My cousin’s Amish neighbor has a computer in his barn,” said someone from the back corner. “And a phone.”
“That’s… That seems odd,” Lucas said.
“Actually,” an older man with a trimmed gray beard standing by the wall began, “it’s not at all unusual for Amish families to have a phone outside their home—in a barn or even built onto the side of their house.”
Lucas had no idea what the man was talking about. Back when he’d been a teenager, there’d been a handful of new order Beachy Amish families who used some electricity or built phone booth shacks near their property lines, but he’d never heard of any family in his community using modern technology.
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