The First Love

by Beverly Lewis

  Meanwhile, Maggie continued to read the Good Book, writing down the verses that gave her inspiration and hope for healing. Aunt Nellie came over more often, too, and her visits lifted Maggie’s spirits. Dear Aunt Nellie had a wonderful knack for doing just that, as everyone who knew her agreed.

  Three days later, when Maggie was feeling particularly low, Aunt Nellie wandered over to sit with her on the back porch. Siggy was with her, which Maggie enjoyed even though she couldn’t attempt to hold him on her lap due to her pain. “You must’ve known I needed company,” Maggie said, pleased by the visit.

  “Now and then I have my own days of misery. But nothin’ like yours, my dear.” Nellie smiled lovingly.

  They talked about how pretty the fields were this time of year, and how it was becoming much cooler most days. The corn and soybeans were flourishing, and it wouldn’t be long before the Jonathan apples were ready to pick and can. And there’d be applesauce to make, too, and sweet apple cider.

  “When I long for peace in my most trying moments,” Maggie said, “I remember how it felt to stand on the ladder, the peach tree branches tickling my head. There’s something calming ’bout the memory of pickin’ peaches with Rachel and my sisters.”

  “Well now, I believe I understand.” Nellie mentioned again how nice it was to have had so many peaches to put up. “Thanks to all of yous.”

  “We look after each other, ain’t so?”

  Nellie petted Siggy. “I’ve seen ya sufferin’ and have been wantin’ to share something with you. Something I’ve learned over the years.”

  “I’m all ears, Aendi.”

  “Well, here ’tis. The Lord calls us to come to Him with all of our weaknesses—body, mind, and spirit. I’m talking ’bout myself, too.”

  Maggie listened carefully, trusting what Nellie had to say.

  “Honestly, I have to remind myself that physical limitations can actually be helpful—even liberatin’—when my deepest longing is to follow close after Christ. It sure teaches me to pray without ceasing.”

  Maggie let the words sink in; she hoped she’d remember them for always.

  “I pray ya never disdain prayer. It’s the simplest way you can serve our Lord, and sufferin’ won’t hold you from it,” Aunt Nellie said.

  As it often did, the verse Maggie had reread earlier this morning came to mind. “‘My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. . . .’” Maggie paused as she said it, tears springing to her eyes. She couldn’t finish.

  “‘Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me,’” Nellie finished, quoting the remainder of the verse.

  Maggie gave her a tender look. “That’s become one of my favorites. I know it by heart now.”

  Nellie tittered a little. “When a body’s my age, you find you’ve memorized some passages without tryin’, you’ve read them so many times.”

  Smiling, Maggie understood. “What would I do without ya, Aendi?”

  “Aw . . . you’re a love.” Nellie’s lower lip quivered. She paused a moment, picking at the waistband of her black apron. “The real question is, what would any of us do without our Lord?” she said. “After all, there’ll come a time when we must cross over Jordan River.”

  Maggie reached for Nellie’s hand, letting the precious words find their way into her heart.

  For old times’ sake, Maggie asked Leroy the very next afternoon to take her to the mill while he ran an errand for Dat. Since Leroy needed the market wagon, though, she would need help getting in and out. She had decided to bring the cane instead of her walker today, since her brother, and later her father, when he was finished with work, could steady her if need be.

  “I’ll come back and pick you and Dat up,” Leroy commented as they rode the short distance together. “Can’t have ya tryin’ to walk home.”

  “Denki, Bruder. I just want to see the mill again, since I rarely go out anymore.”

  “It’s a perty spot,” he agreed.

  “I have happy memories of sitting in the meadow there, pickin’ dandelions and blowin’ the puffs when they’d gone to seed. . . .” She sighed and considered her deteriorating health.

  Leroy glanced at her. “Thinkin’ about the past?”

  “Nee . . . not really.”

  “Looking ahead is better.” He said it softly. “And I know that from you, Maggie.”

  “No need to credit me.”

  “Well, it’s due ya.” Leroy went on to say how he’d finally told Dat what she’d said to him the day he’d gone to the attic. “I let Dat know how much I appreciated Rachel’s sacrifice for all of us.”

  Maggie nodded, surprised at his sincerity. “Sometimes we just need someone to open our hearts to.”

  Leroy said, “I’m hopin’ Joanne’s that sort of girl. I really think she is.”

  Maggie smiled. “You’ll have plenty-a years to find out once you’re dating age.”

  “Only two more till I can get my courting buggy an’ start goin’ to Singings.” He sounded so confident. “I’m crossin’ off the months on my wall calendar.”

  “Well, Aunt Nellie was real young when she was courted by Onkel Matthew. Not that I’m encouraging you, mind ya.”

  When they arrived at the spot where Maggie had always liked to wait for Dat, Leroy jumped down and came around to help her out of the wagon, letting her lean on his arm as they walked slowly toward the familiar green area. He helped her lower herself into the soft grass. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Denki, take your time.” She put her cane down and sighed. Leroy must think I’m foolish. But she didn’t care as she looked at the sky and then let her gaze drift over the familiar creek and old stone mill out yonder. The birds entertained her as they flew in flocks and called to one another. Did birds greet each other of a morning, announce their new hatchlings, tend to a wounded member of the flock? They were questions she had pondered since childhood but had no answers for . . . and she was okay with that.

  I don’t need answers for everything. The Lord God knows.

  She embraced the sounds of late afternoon—the burr of a baler across the field to the south, a farmer’s watchdog barking, and, now and then, carriages clattering by. Folk are heading home as suppertime nears.

  She remembered a song she’d heard on Cousin Luke’s car radio—“No One Ever Cared for Me Like Jesus”—and fought back the lump in her throat. The sermons and the testimonies she’d witnessed at the tent meetings had triggered a similar tenderness in her heart.

  Thinking again of Aunt Nellie’s wise words, she knew that the hand of the Lord had been at work in her attendance at those services. She was glad, too, for the opportunity to meet Glenn Brubaker and his mother.

  She sighed and thanked God again for all the things that were working together for good in her life, as the Scriptures declared. And even if I’m never healed, she thought, I will continue to do Thy will, O Lord.

  It was a promise Maggie was ready to make . . . and keep.

  34

  Maggie went where?” Rachel asked Miriam as they worked together in the kitchen with Grace.

  “Over to meet Dat,” Miriam told her, getting the plates down from the cupboard.

  “For goodness’ sake! Why? And how will she get home?” Grace asked over where she chopped onions, eyes watering.

  Miriam shrugged. “I guess Leroy’ll come back for both of them.”

  “Where does Leroy go to get cheese, anyway?” Grace asked, pausing in her chopping and staring at Miriam. “Does anyone know?”

  Rachel had to laugh. “If Leroy wanted ya to know, he’d tell ya, jah?”

  Grace looked at her. “Do you know?”

  Shaking her head, Rachel kept busy slicing potatoes. They were having scalloped potatoes and baked ham for supper, another one of Leroy’s favorite meals. Actually, the whole family seemed to enjoy her cooking.

  “Maybe he’s in puppy love,” Miriam said, smirking.


  Grace laughed out loud. “My lappich little sister . . .”

  “I’m not that silly,” Miriam protested good-naturedly, and both girls began to giggle.

  Indeed, as Rachel delighted in the teasing between the two, she wondered where Miriam had gotten this notion. Yet she remained concerned about Maggie being outdoors without her walker. What was she thinking?

  Still sitting in the meadow, not far from the lovely old mill, Maggie closed her eyes and thought of her caring Mamm. So much had changed since her passing. But God provided a loving wife for Dat. Rachel had become such a joyful and significant part of their lives. Who would have dreamed it?

  Pensive, Maggie tried to embrace hope for the future, come what may. God holds my tomorrows, she thought. I will be content with whatever comes my way.

  Her back toward the road, Maggie became aware of an approaching horse and carriage, but due to her stiffness, she was unable to twist around to watch this particular horse slow and the carriage roll to a stop. More than likely, one of the People had noticed her sitting there and wanted to kindly offer a ride. In their community, such thoughtfulness was rather commonplace.

  Now, someone was swishing through the tall grass, coming closer.

  “Hullo, Maggie . . . I hope I didn’t startle ya.”

  She knew that voice, and her heart beat faster. Jimmy Beiler!

  Without thinking, she attempted to turn to see him but experienced a sudden stab of pain and grimaced. Still, not wanting to appear aloof, she worked harder to face him, fighting the discomfort.

  By now, Jimmy had made his way around to her, leaning down to ask if she was all right. “I spotted you over here and wanted to check on ya.”

  “Oh, I’m just waitin’ for Dat.” She shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at Jimmy. “He’s prob’ly running late, but I’m enjoying bein’ outside.”

  “Ain’t too warm today,” he said, sitting cross-legged next to her. “Hope ya don’t mind.”

  Jimmy’s casual manner put her at ease, and she thanked him again for the walker. Shrugging it off, he pulled a blade of grass and fooled with it. With Jimmy so near, her heart was melting in a strange mingling of sadness and joy.

  Maggie wondered if he wanted to talk about their upcoming church baptism, or that she’d stopped going to Singings.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t accept your offer of a pie or cake that day I brought you the walker,” he said unexpectedly.

  She smiled. “It’s all right.”

  Jimmy looked down at his bare feet, clearly hesitant about something. Then at last, he said, “You’ve been on my mind, Maggie.”

  She bit her lower lip.

  He looked at the sky and seemed to be formulating his words. When he spoke, he turned again to look at her. “You know, it seems like we’ve been friends forever.”

  She nodded. “True.”

  “And then, more recently, it seemed like we were becoming . . . more than friends.”

  Nee, she thought, tensing up.

  “But when I asked ya to ride home after Singing that time, and you didn’t want to go . . . well, I figured I was wrong. So I didn’t push ya.”

  She felt embarrassed and terrible for him and at a complete loss for words.

  Unexpectedly, Jimmy reached to lightly touch her face. “Maggie?”

  She looked into the eyes of the kindest young man she’d ever known.

  “Maggie, if I’m right, won’t ya say so? Tell me you don’t feel the way I do, and I won’t bother ya.”

  She swallowed hard. Now would be the time to let him go, to tell him she didn’t want to be his girl.

  But that wouldn’t be true.

  Trying to catch her breath, she felt like she was riding one of the roller coasters she’d heard about over at Hershey Park. Quietly, she asked, “With all the healthy and strong young women in our district, why would ya want me?”

  He looked mystified. Then, glancing down at her hand, Jimmy reached for it, and the feel of his hand on hers was more wonderful than anything she’d ever known. “Is your illness what’s holding you back?”

  “You have no idea . . . it would ruin your life.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “I love ya, Maggie, and I have for a gut long while now. I don’t care how sick you are. My life would be empty without ya.”

  She didn’t want to spoil this beautiful moment by tearing up. And looking down at their hands entwined there in the grass, she held her breath. This was so unforeseen; her mind was whirling. “I scarcely know what to say,” she whispered.

  He smiled and said that, while he wanted her to be whole, he also knew that she was the young woman God had put on his heart.

  Without a doubt, Maggie knew she loved him, too.

  Jimmy moved closer, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, wondering, Is this really happening?

  “Will ya be my sweetheart-girl, Maggie?”

  She lifted her head and sighed with great happiness. “Jah.”

  ———

  By the time her father was out of the mill and walking up the grassy hillock, Maggie was already settled into Jimmy’s courting carriage. He waved to her father, inviting him to join them. “Want a ride home?” he called. “There’s plenty-a room.”

  “You two go on,” Dat said when he saw Maggie there. He waved with his straw hat, seemingly trying not to grin.

  “I’ll look after her,” Jimmy said as he picked up the driving lines.

  But they were heading in the opposite direction of home, and when they ended up at Betsy Lapp’s Bakery, there was Leroy, carrying a box of cookies out to the market wagon. Fortunately, he didn’t see Maggie there with Jimmy—or if he did, he wasn’t letting on.

  “I’ll go in an’ get you a treat,” Jimmy said, leaping out of the open buggy and going to tie the horse to the nearby hitching post.

  “It’s nearly suppertime,” she said.

  “Save it for dessert, then,” he insisted, grinning at her.

  She couldn’t argue with that or his contagious smile. “In that case, I’ll have something small.”

  “Ach, let’s celebrate!” He winked at her. “How ’bout I surprise ya?”

  She agreed; his enthusiasm was so infectious. “Denki.”

  “I’ll be right back!” He hurried toward the entrance of the bakery, and she could see Betsy waving to him through the front picture window.

  And hearing the chirrup of birdsong all around, Maggie’s spirit rose. Jimmy loves me. How can this be, dear Lord?

  35

  SUMMER 1998

  Maggie set the small kitchen table, savoring the smell of the hearty meatloaf baking. She was boiling a few new potatoes and was beginning to cook up some string beans in another small pot. There would be enough leftovers for several meals, and she was pleased with herself for going to the trouble of preparing a special little supper for her milestone birthday.

  Making her way to the back door, Maggie stood there, looking out at the sky, admiring the shifting cloud shapes as she’d always loved to do. “I praise Thee, Lord, for bein’ a very present help in trouble,” she whispered. All these many years, she’d never ceased saying her prayers aloud. For her, it made praying seem so real, like a conversation with her closest friend.

  The day had been pleasant and not too warm or humid yet for June twenty-sixth. She was looking forward to quietly marking the day. No need to make a fuss about it, she decided with a glance at the purple martin birdhouse, an exact replica of the one her brothers had given her, presenting it after church baptism that long-ago September. The precious end of the most unforgettable season of my life, she thought, going over to the stove to check the potatoes for tenderness.

  It surprised Maggie that she still remembered how exceptionally fragrant her Mamm’s roses had been that summer—how sweet the strawberries tasted, and, oh goodness, all the applesauce she’d made with her sisters and her great-aunt Nellie. And the peaches . . .

  Thinking of dear Nellie, Maggie re
called the handkerchief her aunt had tatted in the prettiest pink color. Not meant for using, rather more of a keepsake, Maggie had kept it in her Bible to mark Second Corinthians, chapter twelve, verse nine. My life verse.

  She was quite content to reside in the comfortable Dawdi Haus where Great-aunt Nellie had lived well into her late nineties, next door to industrious Stephen and his easygoing wife, Rebekah. They and their eventual brood of seven had taken over the small farm after Dat’s passing, leaving Rachel a rather young widow at the time. Maggie had grown even closer to her Schtiefmudder when Rachel agreed to move into a smaller addition right next door, one Maggie’s brothers had built. Rachel was always so attentive to all of us, Maggie thought, even though she also doted on her own twin daughters with Dat.

  The memories continued, and Maggie smiled, remembering when Rachel had taken time to sort through all of Mamm’s kitchen utensils and whatnot, passing them on to Mamm’s girls. Miriam had ended up with the well-worn flour sifter—“old as the hills,” Mamm had frequently said of it. Miriam loves to bake bread, thought Maggie, so it was only right for her to have it.

  She, on the other hand, had chosen the everyday set of dishes, while Grace chose the for-gut set for her hope chest.

  Just then, Maggie heard voices and footsteps outdoors, interrupting her fond reverie. She turned to see her brothers and sisters and their spouses coming up the back walkway, toward the back porch. And as they came, they were singing the birthday song.

  Plump and beaming, Grace was carrying a large sheet cake with her tall, graying husband, Martin Lantz. Behind them walked Leroy with his wife, still pretty Joanne, who had brought what looked like hot dishes wrapped in quilted carriers.

  “It’s a birthday potluck!” Miriam declared when she arrived in her best blue dress and matching cape and apron, coming in behind all of them with her husband, Ike Stoltzfus.

  Maggie’s sisters and sisters-in-law insisted on taking charge of the small kitchen, arranging all the food, including the meatloaf in Maggie’s oven, the beans on the stove, and the potatoes, which Grace set to buttering.