“She’s got a black thumb, eh?”
“Completely black.” She laughed. “She couldn’t even grow basil, and that’s simple as anything.”
Lucas took a drink of water. “Does her husband have cows?”
“Jah. They live with his father—mother went to heaven when he was little, so he’s always stayed close to home. His pa runs the small dairy farm on the other side of the creek.”
Lucas wasn’t sure where she was talking about, but he nodded just the same. “I’ve got all this land, and I’d love to have a working Amish farm again.”
“You would?” She set down her fork. “But you work at the clinic.”
He pushed his plate back and wiped his mouth. “I’d like to think I could do both.”
This was something else Lucas hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone. He loved research and practicing medicine and couldn’t imagine giving up helping people in that way. But also, he was really starting to miss the old way of life…planting with his bare hands, growing, tending, and harvesting. Visiting friends and family, gathering together as Christ’s believers every other Sunday.
There was no doubt that the simpler Amish way of life had suited him very well at one point in his life. But what exactly was he willing to give up now? His car? Electric lights at home? A career he loved?
Was there a way to have everything that was most important to him?
“Huh,” she said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d want to live plain again if you didn’t have to.”
Lucas was about to tell her all the technologies available to aid with farming these days, but he didn’t think that was her point. After all, wouldn’t it be a herculean task for any sane man to give up modern conveniences after living in comfort for ten years?
“I haven’t forgotten everything from my past,” he replied.
“Oh,” she said, then seemed thoughtful for another few seconds. “Do you feel like you’re trapped between worlds?”
The question caught him off guard and made him search for a true answer as he arranged his silverware over his plate. “I never thought of it in those terms, but I suppose I do.”
“Me too. No one else seems to even understand what I’m talking about.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his. “I guess we have that in common.”
Lucas didn’t know how to reply, but for about the fifth time that evening, his small cabin felt very small—barely enough room for two people to breathe.
Maybe thinking the same thing, Esther pushed back from the table and sprang to her feet. “I’ll do the dishes,” she said, and quickly gathered the plates and cutlery.
“You don’t have to—”
“The fire needs stoking,” she said as she moved toward the sink. “You add some wood while I wash up. Check on Peanut, please, too, would you?”
“Peanut?” he asked, standing.
“My jenny mule. I can hear the wind howling through the trees. She’s probably scared to death to be away from home. Just give her some long strokes down her back and feed her this—make sure she eats the whole thing, but no sugar cubes.” She handed him a carrot.
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Anything else?”
She tossed a dish towel across her shoulder. “Do you know ‘You Are My Sunshine’?”
“The song?”
She nodded. “She likes it best in Dutch, calms her right down.” And with that, she turned back to her work.
“Um, okay?” A bit bemused, Lucas headed out to the barn. She was right, he could tell her mule—Peanut—was skittish. First, he fed her the carrot. “Good girl,” he said. “But don’t think I’m about to serenade you. You smell!” The mule looked at him, blinked her long lashes, and shook her head, white mane hitting him in the face.
“Fine,” he grumbled, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. “You are my sunshine…” he began in Dutch, his voice unsure, as he hadn’t sung a note in years. “My only sunshine.” He patted her rump. “You make me happy when skies are gray.” The mule whinnied and nodded. “You like that, little girl?”
Surprisingly unabashed, Lucas finished the song, all the verses he could remember—the Pennsylvania Dutch returning to his mind without even thinking. Then he grabbed some logs from under the tarp and headed inside. The kitchen was spotless, with a very pleasant fragrance coming from the stove.
“What are you making?” he asked as he placed a log over the flames.
“Just warming some chopped apples,” Esther said without turning around. “A dash of sugar and cinnamon.” She’d taken a long dish towel and tied it around her waist like an extra apron, causing her dress to cinch in, displaying womanly curves.
“Forgive me,” he mouthed, swallowing hard. I didn’t bring her here to play house or to overstep my boundaries. He needed to stop this before it went any further.
“Esther,” he said after a quick throat clear.
Wordlessly, she removed the saucepan from the stove, then turning to him, wiped her palms across the towel. He knew what he was going to say to her. He’d been thinking about it for days, reading, pondering, and even praying for the right words.
A lot of praying, actually, he inwardly admitted. He hoped the insights he was about to share would help her see things differently, help to clear her mind of confusion and so much worry.
At the same time, the things he’d studied for her had also touched him, though they had not helped to ease his mind over Esther—the friendship he felt for her. For he knew the more clarity he would bring her, the more space it would put between the two of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The air and pressure in the room suddenly felt different. A change had occurred—Esther had noticed it the second Lucas spoke her name in that serious tone. He looked serious, too. Furrowed brow, lines of tension cutting into his forehead. If she hadn’t felt so comfortable and at home the last hour, she might’ve feared he was about to kick her out of his house.
She’d enjoyed their discussion so far—well, she always enjoyed talking to him. It was so easy. He didn’t judge her or get preachy, even after admitting the petty resentment she felt toward Sarah or how she was determined to top her soap sales from last month, no matter what it took. He didn’t once tell her she was in the wrong.
He’d just listened.
No matter what he’d said earlier, a part of her believed that maybe it was fate or holy providence that made her storm through those medical clinic doors that day nearly a month ago. The idea brought a strange peace to her heart.
He was rubbing the back of his neck and pacing around the kitchen. “Esther,” he repeated, gesturing for her to sit on the sofa. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
“Really?” she said, unable to not be happy at his admission.
He held up a hand. “Sorry, let me clarify. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve shared with me some fairly deep concerns about the church, your place in it, and if God has a plan for you.” He paused, rubbing his neck again. “And I think you know I’m working through some tough issues of my own, and I don’t just mean about my family. I’m missing something.” He pressed a hand over his heart. “But I don’t know what it is.”
“You have an amazing life,” she couldn’t help blurting. “You’ve seen the world. You have a college degree and a high-paying job you love.” She stared toward the window. “You have a fancy automobile and a hundred channels to watch on your big screen TV.” She paused to gesture over the mantel. “Oh, it’s gone. Why?”
“I’d stopped watching it, so I got rid of it.” He shrugged at the easy explanation. “My priorities have changed.”
“Oh.” She waved a hand. “Anyway, I can’t fathom what you think you’re lacking in your life.”
When she finished, she noticed that Lucas was sittin
g as still as a sleeping cow, not even blinking. Then he began rubbing the palms of his hands together so fast, she feared they might start a fire.
“I’m sorry. I said something terribly wrong,” she said, realizing her words had hurt her friend. “I suppose I’m missing your point.”
“No,” he said, looking up at her. She’d never seen his face so pale. “To you, it probably does seem like I have everything I could ever want. But electricity, cars, and material possessions can’t fill this.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m searching, too, and I’m maybe more confused than you about where I fit in the world.”
Again, Esther didn’t understand. He’d left home on purpose to help Jacob; then he continued to live in the outside world to work with sick people. He left the church. Was he saying he now had regrets about that?
“My quest started out as getting answers to help calm your heart,” he said. “Because you asked me to. But I’ve been feeling things lately, and it’s pretty unexpected. I’ve been neglecting patients and other responsibilities because you’re on my mind.” He began pacing around the room again. “I’m praying a lot more lately.”
“I hope it’s helping.”
“I’m still not very good at it, but like I said, I’m feeling things I can’t explain away through science.”
Esther couldn’t help smiling. “I think that’s what we call faith.”
He exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose. “Maybe. But we’re not here to talk about me.” He stopped pacing and looked at her. “I know you have doubts—big ones, scary ones. I have to believe it’s natural for even the most faithful people to feel that way sometimes.”
“Isn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t my faith be pure and strong no matter what?” She felt herself choking up. “I feel guilty about my doubts and bad thoughts. Surely that’s Gott’s punishment.”
Lucas opened his mouth but then closed it again. He closed his eyes, as well, and Esther wondered if he was saying a prayer. A moment later, he looked at her.
“Can you do something for me?”
Without thinking, she nodded.
“For the next little while, I’d like you to forget about all that. Tell yourself that your feelings aren’t wrong, that they’re not wicked or sinful, that you’re just working through something and soon everything will be okay. Can you do that?”
Tears began creeping up her throat, causing her chest to rattle. “Jah.”
Lucas walked to a bookshelf and slid out a thick binder. For a moment, he stared down at it, then held it close to his chest, as if it were a cherished possession. As he began walking toward her, she immediately recognized it as the scrapbook the community had made for him when he’d had an accident while working with a young bull.
Making scrapbooks had become a tradition in their congregation for the last few generations. When someone got hurt or went through a tragedy, friends and neighbors gathered to make the person a personalized keepsake filled with uplifting scripture passages, hymns of encouragement, and even Englishers’ poems and verses that were spiritual in nature.
Esther had one of her own, but it was hidden beneath her bed. She hadn’t pulled it out since the day they’d buried Jacob.
Carefully, Lucas sat beside her on the couch, displaying the front cover. It was white with a hand-painted red rose. Thick, loopy gold script read: Lucas Brenneman, son of Ephraim, grandson of Lucas Aaron and Emma Marie. To bring joy to your healing.
“Do you know what this is?”
She nodded.
He turned to a page in the middle. With a tightening of her throat, Esther recognized her twelve-year-old handwriting.
“Do you remember this?” She nodded again. Along with a passage from St. Matthew, she’d included her favorite quote from Wordsworth:
We have within ourselves enough to fill the present day with joy, and overspread the future years with hope.
Seeing her simple penmanship and remembering how those words had touched her as a girl, tears sprang to her eyes.
“I had such faith back then,” she said. “Where did it go?”
“Do you think it’s gone?”
“Sometimes.” She ran a finger over the page. “Then I see this and I can’t help…remembering.”
“I remember, too.” His voice was low, contemplative. “Powerful, isn’t it? The memories we carry with us.”
She nodded as she sniffed back a tear.
Lucas turned the page. Colorful scraps of paper were glued to the white sheets, each with handwritten messages by one of their dear neighbors.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none. —William Shakespeare
These things I have spoken unto you. That in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world. —John 16:33
I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else. —C. S. Lewis
Together, they turned page after page, taking turns to read aloud each scripture, quote, and passage.
“The Lord is my Shepherd…” Esther began, the words of the psalmist flowing freely from her lips.
“Fear thou not,” Lucas read, “for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness…” The prophet Isaiah’s words seemed to fill the room, while also refilling Esther’s soul with something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“This might sound a little backward,” Lucas said, “but I think it’s completely natural to doubt. After all, that’s why we have faith. It’s what religion is based on. We can’t know scientifically that the world was created in six days. We can’t know Moses parted the Red Sea or that Christ sat on a hill and taught us to turn the other cheek. But we can have faith it’s true. That’s our job, to believe and live as if it’s true. That’s what faith is.”
His words made so much sense, it was scary. And they touched her heart more deeply than any Sunday sermon she’d heard since Jacob died.
Lucas Brenneman—runaway Amishman—knew what he was talking about.
She believed what he was saying, which was just about the strangest thing ever. Gott knew her heart, was aware of her struggles, and He loved her anyway—maybe He loved her more because of them. Had she forgotten?
Then she couldn’t help but wonder… How could Lucas stay away from the church if he, too, had so much faith?
She was about to ask him when he cut into her thoughts. “Read the next one.”
Esther swallowed, then cleared her throat. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be given him.” She paused after finishing the verse from the epistle of James.
“What do you think about that one?”
She thought for a moment. “Gott wants us to go to Him with our questions.”
He nodded for her to continue. “And…?”
“And He knows everything and won’t hold back His love.” She paused again. “If we ask, He’ll answer.”
Lucas touched his pointer finger to his mouth. “Exactly. Do you know the next verse?”
Esther bit her lip, the words not coming to her remembrance.
“But…” Lucas began, not consulting the scrapbook or the Bible, “let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.”
Esther felt warmth spread through her chest. “I did that.”
“How did it make you feel?”
She took a moment to really consider the question.
Had she asked unwaveringly? Had she prayed with an open mind? Or had she allowed other things to block her faith? Like sadness, rejection, and all those awkward times when she had to go alone to a dinner party, or the singings, or a dozen other activities. She’d watched friends, even younger friends, get married and start f
amilies. Now her own sister. Was that why she felt left behind? Because they had new lives and she’d missed hers?
“How did you know I needed to see this?” She touched the scrapbook. “How did you know what I needed to hear?”
“This was made for me.” Lucas patted the scrapbook that lay across both their laps. “Who said any of it was what you needed to hear?” He turned to the next page, where someone had slipped in one of Elizabeth Browning’s poems. Though the lyrical words were correctly interpreted as Gott’s pure love for His children, Esther knew Englishers read the lines as romantic love between a man and a woman.
“‘How do I love thee?’” Lucas began, reciting the poem by heart. “‘Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight, for the ends of being and ideal grace.’”
“Why do you have that one memorized?”
Lucas exhaled softly. “Maam taught it to me when I was a boy. It might’ve stuck more than most others. Here.” He passed her a clean white hanky.
“Danke,” she said, patting all the damp places of her face. “I haven’t felt this much peace in… You did all this for me. I don’t understand.”
He scooted closer. “Your friendship has become very important to me. I forgot what it’s like to be around good people, unselfish souls who try hard and who desire to live a righteous life. I’m talking about you, you know,” he said, giving her a playful nudge. “You’re the good person on the righteous path.”
“But what happens if I want something that’s not on the righteous path?”
Lucas smiled. “You’re a smart woman; I don’t have a single doubt you’ll figure it out.”
Another weight lifted off her shoulders, and she wanted to hug him out of pure gratefulness—platonically, as he’d put it once. The memory made her smile.
It was mind-boggling, the many ways her heart had been touched tonight. She still didn’t have all the answers, but she was closer, and she was not going to give up. If she couldn’t give Lucas a hug of gratitude, how was she supposed to thank him properly?
Never an Amish Bride Page 17