The First Love

by Beverly Lewis

  Joseph finished chewing before replying. “Well, he’s been helpin’ wire floodlights at the big tent in town.”

  “The revival tent?” Leroy asked, his hazel eyes suddenly wide.

  Reaching for his water glass, Joseph nodded. “It’s the oddest thing, really.”

  “Luke helpin’ out . . . or the tent comin’ to Lancaster?” Leroy asked.

  “Both, I s’pose.” Joseph looked at Rachel and grimaced. “Luke said he’s also on the set-up crew for the public-address system.”

  “That’s real neat,” Leroy said, sounding a little too enthusiastic. “He must’ve learned all that at his Mennonite college.”

  Joseph gave his son an appraising look. “Now, son, remember . . . education that counts in the eyes of the Lord God is all we Amish desire. College ain’t for you.”

  Leroy dipped his head immediately and resumed eating, not making eye contact with Rachel during the meal even when she passed him the apple butter. Once, however, Rachel noticed him looking Maggie’s way. He seemed to be comforted by her, even though Rachel knew it was Grace who had taken on the role of surrogate mother after Sadie Ann died.

  The talk of the tent meetings ceased. According to one of the Englischers at market last week, the meetings were to last for six straight weeks, wrapping up near the end of July. The young woman in cuffed blue jeans, bobby socks, and dark brown loafers had been rather bubbly about the news, saying the local paper had interviewed the evangelist, who declared he believed God had called him to bring a “strong gospel message” and that he was “hoping to convert many sinners.”

  Rachel had wondered about it at the time, but she’d given it no further thought till now. And by the tone in Joseph’s voice—and the look on Leroy’s face—she knew not to show a speck of curiosity about it.

  2

  Maggie was sitting at the kitchen table six days later, helping Grace with the Wednesday mending. Mamm’s day clock on the shelf near the sink struck twice, and Maggie remembered the day Dat brought it home—a replacement for the old one that had continued to lose time. She shook off the memory, just as she’d tried to do with so many since Rachel married Dat.

  “Look, we’ve got company,” Grace said, glancing out the window.

  “Who?” Maggie turned to see Tom Witmer’s two-toned green sedan coming up the lane. “Wunnerbaar! I hope Lila came along.”

  Grace leaned closer to the window, squinting now, her sewing needle poised. “Jah, looks like Tom brought the youngest boys, and there’s Lila, too.”

  I’ve missed her, Maggie thought, pleased as pudding to have a visit from her close-in-age cousin. Lila Witmer was her favorite of their Mennonite relatives.

  Soon, brown-eyed Lila was calling through the side screen door, and Maggie and Grace waved her inside as her father and brothers headed toward the barn.

  Lila, wearing a dark blue dress with a tiny yellow-and-white floral pattern, its hem falling to midcalf, burst into a smile as she greeted them. “I thought I’d ride along and come see yous. ”

  Grace nodded, and Maggie invited her to sit with them. “Would ya like something cold to drink, maybe?”

  “Sounds real gut,” Lila said, her face pink and her usually tidy hair bun windblown from the warm car ride.

  Maggie placed on the table the shirt she had been mending and poked her needle into the collar for safekeeping. Then, pushing her weight onto her arms and hands, she managed to get up from her chair.

  “Aw, you’re hurtin’ real bad,” Lila observed, insisting that she get something from the fridge and spare her the bother.

  “Nee . . . I need to move around some.” Maggie limped to the counter and stood there for a brief moment. “Ach, I left my cane,” she whispered and then wished she hadn’t said it, because Lila hurried to the table to retrieve it. I’m not an invalid yet, Maggie thought, increasingly frustrated with her condition as each week passed. High humidity like today’s made her limbs ache more than usual. “Denki, Lila,” she said, accepting the cane.

  Grace stood. “How about I get all of us something to sip on, to cool us off.”

  Maggie relented, a little embarrassed as she shuffled back to her chair. Lila took a seat beside her and fanned herself with a hankie, eyes on Maggie. She didn’t say anything, but from her expression, Maggie suspected her cousin had noticed her declining health. I’m weaker every time she visits, Maggie thought.

  Hoping to get Lila’s mind off whatever it was she was thinking, Maggie said, “Glad to see ya again.”

  “It’s been some time, jah?” Lila glanced about the kitchen and craned her neck toward the next room. “Is your Schtiefmudder around?”

  Grace was the one to reply as she carried a large wooden tray with glasses filled with ice-cold lemonade. She set the tray down near the oval bowl of bananas and apples at the center of the table. “Rachel’s out hoeing the vegetable garden with Miriam.” Grace bobbed her head in that direction. “It’s a real busy time round here . . . like most Junes.”

  “I s’pose you’re getting used to things little by little?” Lila pressed, her fingers tapping the table. She reached for her lemonade glass.

  “We are, but it’ll take some time,” Grace said, giving Maggie a look.

  No one expected Dat to remarry so soon, Maggie thought suddenly.

  Lila sighed. “Must still seem strange to yous.” Then she went on to say how hard it must be, too, for Rachel to step into their Mamm’s shoes.

  “It’ll all work out,” Grace said as she finally sat down across from them. “’Least Dat’s happy again.”

  Maggie nodded. “Seems so.”

  Maggie had not forgotten how very sad their father had been after Mamm’s death. He rarely spoke for the weeks immediately following, but she had overheard him quietly telling his aunt Nellie next door that he felt disoriented without his Sadie Ann around. “How can everything just keep goin’ on as if nothin’s different?” he’d said, his voice breaking.

  Maggie had held her breath, hearing her father in such distress. And she had prayed daily for him, as well as for all of them.

  Just then, petite Miriam burst in the back door, her chubby cheeks bright red and perspiration dripping from her chin. Miriam dashed to the sink and turned on the faucet, then splashed cold water onto her face and the golden-blond hair tightly bound in a knot at the back of her head. Silkiest hair ever, thought Maggie.

  “Somebody else is overheated, too,” Lila said, observing the youngest Esh with a grin.

  “Hullo, Cousin Lila,” Miriam said, drying her face with a blue hand towel. “Wie geht’s?”

  “Oh, we’re makin’ hay at our house. Well, my older brothers are,” Lila said, going on to tell about the oodles of berries she’d sold at her father’s roadside stand, too. “They’re comin’ on real fast now. Every single day we’re out pickin’ those—and peas.”

  Miriam looked fondly at Lila and wandered over to the table, her cheeks still the color of berries. “Mamm used to put up more jam for us to eat than to sell.”

  “Well, there’s more of yous to feed than at our house, for sure.” Lila smiled at Grace. “You’re the fastest berry picker, jah?”

  “Not just me,” Grace said. “Some days it’s actually hard to keep up with Miriam in the berry patch.”

  Smiling at that, Miriam sat there for a while longer, then glanced at the day clock and began to fidget. “Wish I could stay longer, but Mamma Rachel’s gonna wonder what’s happened to me,” she said. “Oh, and I almost forgot. She asked if you’d come help for a while, too, Gracie.”

  Mamma Rachel, thought Maggie, still jarred by Miriam’s apparent ease in addressing Rachel that way.

  “Why didn’t ya say so?” Grace hopped out of her chair to hurry out the back door with Miriam, leaving Maggie there with Lila.

  “Honestly, I’m kinda glad it’s just us now,” Lila said, taking a sip of her lemonade before setting it down. Suddenly, Lila’s eyes sparkled, and she clapped her hands.

  Maggie
stifled a laugh. This was the cousin she knew and loved. And there was always something up her sleeve. “What’s on your mind?” Maggie asked.

  “Well, I went with my family to the first revival meeting last evening, and, my goodness, I’ve never seen such a huge tent! It’s like a Billy Graham crusade, Mamma says!” Lila lifted her hands to demonstrate the size. “And I’ve never heard such singing, either. Just beautiful, like we’d all died and gone to heaven!” In that moment, her eyebrows rose high, and she looked absolutely horrified. She sputtered, “Ach, I didn’t mean to say . . .”

  Maggie felt sorry for her. “’Tis all right. You didn’t mean anything by it. Just that the singin’ was joyful, ain’t so?”

  “No better word to describe it, truly,” Lila said, her face all the pinker now with obvious embarrassment. “But what I really wanted to tell ya is that I’d love for you to go, Maggie.” She had lowered her voice to nearly a whisper.

  Why me? Maggie felt uncomfortable. It was one thing for Dat’s cousins to belong to a completely different Anabaptist group, but to hear Lila suggest that Maggie come along to attend revival services like this . . . well, Maggie didn’t know what to say. She glanced out the window and saw Cousin Tom’s car parked there, big and bold as you please. And she remembered Dat’s reaction to Leroy’s enthusiasm for the revival tent coming to town, too, and assumed that their father would be none too happy to hear that any of his children had been in attendance.

  “We could pick ya up, Maggie . . . maybe even get you a wheelchair if that’d help.” Lila looked at her so pleadingly, Maggie felt awful about turning her down.

  “I have work to do here,” she replied. “And it takes me so long, there’s no time for much else.”

  “But the meetings are at night,” Lila argued. “You wouldn’t be missin’ out on anything at home. Won’t ya consider goin’?”

  Once more Maggie was struck by Lila’s excitement. She’d never seen her like this before, let alone about a church service. Maggie’s curiosity was sparked.

  All the same, she was about to say she could not think of going, when Lila softly touched the back of her hand. “With everything you’ve been through, cousin, I think you’d find some comfort in it. Might be exactly what you need.”

  Overcome by Lila’s gentle understanding, Maggie blinked back tears.

  “Aw . . . I didn’t mean to make ya cry.” Lila moved closer.

  The truth was, sometimes Maggie hurt so much it was hard to think about anything but the fiery pain. At night, while lying in bed, she often resisted the urge to sleep curled up on her side, for fear her tensed muscles might throb all the more.

  “I’m sorry your life’s so hard right now,” Lila said, the corners of her eyes glinting as she took Maggie’s hand. “Just come with me one time, cousin.”

  Feeling torn between her own hesitation and Lila’s seeming passion, Maggie turned to look toward the gristmill up the road, though she couldn’t see the building from this distance. “Remember, I’m taking baptismal classes . . . started at the end of May. . . . I’ll have to talk it over with Dat.”

  Lila slumped down a bit on her elbows on the table, as if she knew that would put the nix on the whole thing.

  “But don’t hold out hope for this week, even if he gives me the okay.” Maggie needed time to think this through, never having been impulsive nor drawn toward church-related events outside the Amish community. She wasn’t about to change that now.

  Maggie switched the subject and eventually got around to sharing that Grace had been after her to attend the upcoming Sunday Singing at the deacon’s house, not far from there. “She thinks someone might just ask me to go riding again,” Maggie said, wondering what Lila would say to that.

  “And just who might that someone be?”

  Maggie felt her face redden.

  “Is it that good-lookin’ Jimmy Beiler?”

  Maggie nodded, her heart lifting at the thought of the brown-haired boy she’d secretly liked since she was sixteen and going to the youth activities. “He’s real nice, for certain, but I can’t help but wonder.”

  “What? If he’s sweet on ya?”

  Bowing her head, Maggie felt sure she knew the real truth behind Jimmy’s motives, kind as he seemed.

  Lila peered at her. “You clammin’ up on me?”

  Maggie sighed. “Jimmy only asked me that one time ’cause he felt sorry for me.”

  “How do ya know?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Maggie shrugged. “I was all alone, and he was nice enough to notice.”

  “Aw . . . I think you should go with him if he ever seeks you out again.”

  “I doubt he will,” Maggie said. “A fella doesn’t like to be rejected twice. Besides, I don’t want his sympathy, Lila. I couldn’t bear it.”

  With a frown, Maggie slowly rose from the table and went to stand at the back door. Looking out, she felt misunderstood and alone, in spite of Lila’s presence.

  3

  That night, while lying in bed, Maggie recalled how her mother had often come into her former room upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed, quietly singing “Jesus Loves Me” before reciting the Lord’s Prayer. These days, because the stairs were often too difficult for her to manage, Maggie slept in the downstairs spare room around the corner from the large front room, where they hosted Preaching service once a year.

  Maggie let her thoughts return to the days before she felt so poorly. Days when she’d run across the road and up to the old stone gristmill, standing just outside the dark brown door where her father appeared at four-thirty sharp every weekday afternoon. His eyes always brightened when he spotted her there, and even though she rarely missed, he always welcomed her affectionately with a surprised and happy look on his face. Sometimes they would skip home for fun, and other times Dat would whistle a made-up tune.

  Maggie rolled over gingerly and stared into the darkness, a tear coursing down her cheek. Remembrances of those lighthearted, healthy days continued to plague her. Was it possible Cousin Lila was right? Would attending a revival service bring some type of comfort?

  Slowly, Maggie pressed her hand beneath the feather pillow and drew a long breath. She’d taken two aspirin with milk and an oatmeal cookie before coming to bed, hoping for a better night of sleep than the past few. And, while offering her silent prayers, she added a new request to the Lord God. If it be Thy will, may Dat permit me to attend the tent meeting with Cousin Lila. I pray this in the name of Thy Son, Jesus.

  She assumed it wouldn’t be long before she had her answer, and she pondered now how best to present her request to Dat tomorrow. She had little doubt how he’d respond. Whatever befalls us is God’s will, she thought as she stared at the moonlight peeping beneath the dark green window shade.

  “Denki, Leroy,” said Rachel the next morning, still believing that if she was consistently courteous, Joseph’s son might come to realize how much she wanted him to accept her as family. “This is very helpful . . . and I appreciate it.”

  “No trouble to gather a few eggs,” Leroy said. “It’s normally Miriam’s chore.” Then he quickly made his way out the back door with the empty wire egg basket to store it in the coop. Rachel remained at the kitchen window to watch him as he crossed the expanse of newly mown lawn. She wished she could get through to him somehow. How long would it take?

  “He doesn’t dislike me, I don’t think.” Reluctantly, she moved from the window to put the fresh eggs in the refrigerator. Am I misreading him? she wondered. She’d had no previous experience living with a teenage boy, having grown up in Myerstown with four sisters, all of whom were now married with children of their own.

  She went to the broom closet, still pondering her surprising place here in Joseph Esh’s family. And while sweeping the kitchen floor, she thought of a number of recipes that might appeal to Leroy in particular. Either fried chicken or hearty beef patties and thick gravy would be ideal for the noon meal today. Oh, it was such a challenge to keep this family wel
l fed and the house as neat as a pin, day in and day out!

  She quickened her pace, planning to pick cherries that afternoon at a nearby orchard with Grace and Miriam and several neighbors, thankful for these few moments to herself to think how best to fit in here. Dear Lord, help me do just that!

  It was a relief for Maggie to drift out of the heat and attend the Sunday night Singing at the home of Deacon Mast, a distant cousin to Mamm. Getting out of the buggy, she and Grace waved happily to Leroy, grateful to be dropped off. As Maggie and Grace entered through the back door, the deacon’s wife greeted them and explained that since it was so warm and muggy, the youth would be gathering in the basement, where it was cooler.

  Downstairs, Maggie noticed the usual arrangement of long tables and benches—young women on one side and the young men on the opposite, so each side could look at the other while they sang. It was the time-honored way of pairing up.

  Despite the heavy dew on the grass before Preaching service that morning, Maggie felt better than usual today, so much so that she’d left her cane at home. Whatever the reason her pain faded on some days, Maggie was thankful for this unexpected reprieve—one of the truest of blessings.

  Almost immediately after she sat down with Grace, Maggie spotted blue-eyed Jimmy Beiler at the end of the table with several other young men in their early twenties, including two of Jimmy’s cousins. Smiling, Jimmy nodded discreetly, as he’d done at every gathering since the baptismal candidates started their nine sessions of instruction that fell during the first forty minutes of Preaching service.

  Maggie tried not to smile back too broadly, even though seeing him made her heart melt a little, as it did each time he greeted her politely. She remembered what Cousin Lila had said, and despite her own determination to avoid others’ pity, Maggie couldn’t help wondering how she might respond if Jimmy offered her a ride home yet again.

  While waiting for the rest of the youth to arrive, Maggie quietly looked around to see if there were any new faces. She spotted one, a young man whose red hair peeked from beneath his straw hat. Glancing her way, he offered her a big smile in return.