by Sarah Price
If God leads you to it, she thought, God will lead you through it.
With Adam gone from the house, curiosity got the best of her, and she slowly approached the staircase. With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched the banister, not surprised that she felt the sticky residue of dust under her fingers. Slowly, she began to take each step, listening to the creaks and groans of the old wood beneath her shoes. She hadn’t noticed those noises when Adam took her bag upstairs.
The second story was dark; there were no windows in the hallway. Instead, there were five doors, two on each side and one at the far end. She opened the first two doors, one on the left at the top of the staircase and one on the right. Both rooms were empty. She left the doors open so that the light from the dirty windows could brighten the second floor. As she walked down the hall, she noticed that the walls were wood and had never been painted. That, too, surprised her. No wonder the hallway was so dark and ominous-looking.
The second door on the right was locked, but when she tried the fourth door at the end of the hallway, it opened to a surprisingly large bedroom. There was a double bed against the back wall, with two nightstands underneath the windows. Her bag was on the floor, and she realized that this bedroom faced the front of the property. While it wasn’t necessarily clean, someone had made an attempt to make it orderly. A small, narrow dresser was against the wall by the door, and there was a ladder-back chair on the other side of it. Empty pegs lined the one wall, waiting for clothing to be hung. Clearly, no one lived in the room, and she couldn’t help but wonder where Adam’s clothes were. Besides an old quilt and two pillows on the bed, there was no sign that anyone inhabited this room.
But her bag at the foot of the bed clearly indicated that it was to be her room, and that meant it would be their room.
She shuddered.
Trying to keep her eyes away from the bed and her thoughts focused on the present, not the nighttime, when she would be forced to recognize her wedding vows, she began to unpack her bag. Her clothing was limited to her three work dresses, one of which she wore, her Sunday dress, and her wedding dress. Quickly, she hung them on the wall and put the rest of her undergarments in the empty drawers of the dresser. She folded her empty bag and stored it under the bed.
Her exploration took her to the last door on the second floor, and she was surprised to find that the room was set up almost identically to her own bedroom. There were dresses hanging on the wall, as well as a pair of suspendered pants. But the cobwebs in the corners and the dust on the clothing led Belle to believe that no one had lived in that room for many years.
After shutting the door, she made her way back downstairs, trying to avoid looking at the boxes and dirt, dried leaves and cobwebs, that awaited her. She wrapped her arms around herself again and stepped over a pile of sticks as she walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. If she had hoped that Adam might have made an attempt at cleaning that room, she was sorely disappointed.
With a sigh, she stood in the doorway and assessed the chaos that greeted her. She wasn’t even certain how to start addressing the disaster. There was an old farmer’s table near the back door, littered with papers at one end. A bench was knocked over, and she saw some garbage behind it, as if Adam might have simply tossed old papers on the floor.
She walked toward the table and bent down to right the bench.
There, she thought. One thing done.
She walked over to a door on the other side of the table. When she opened it, she saw a pantry with empty shelves and a ratty-looking broom in the back. She retrieved the broom and set about sweeping the dirt and debris on the floor into piles. She couldn’t find a dustpan, so she searched for some cardboard or anything she could use to lift the dirt and toss it outside. Finding nothing, she decided to just push the piles toward the door and sweep them onto the porch.
It took her almost an hour to clear the floor.
For the rest of the morning, she moved garbage and boxes onto the back porch, deciding that removing things from the house before she started cleaning the floors was wise. They would need to be scrubbed, and probably more than once or twice. From the looks of the brown linoleum, it hadn’t been cleaned in years.
By the time she heard footsteps on the porch steps, it was noon.
The door opened, and Adam stepped into the kitchen.
“What’s all of that stuff out there?” He didn’t sound happy.
Belle stood by the kitchen counter, thankful that she had a buffer between herself and Adam. She noticed the sweat stains on his shirt and how the back of his hair was wet. Still, he didn’t change into a short-sleeved shirt, and he kept his hat on his head, despite the heat. “Garbage, I presume.”
He turned, looking around the room. “Where are all of my papers? How am I supposed to find anything?” he said angrily. “And why isn’t there any food ready for dinner?”
Belle pressed her lips together and frowned. She didn’t like the way he had just raised his voice to her. Not once had her father ever used such a tone with her. She might be Adam’s wife, but she would not permit him to disrespect her. “I don’t know how you found anything to begin with,” she retorted sharply. “And I certainly cannot cook food in such a pigpen. Besides, I don’t see much in the way of food to cook!”
Adam spun around and glared at her. “I am your husband. You will respect me.”
She lifted her chin. “I will respect you when you have earned it. So far, that has not happened.”
He crossed the room in three long strides, a noise that almost resembled a growl escaping his lips. Belle shrank back, frightened that he might strike her. But Adam merely slammed his hand on the counter and glowered at her. When she stood her ground, Adam huffed and, without another word, left the kitchen, retreating back the way he had come.
She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the dirty refrigerator. How on earth would she ever get through the rest of the day? The thought of having to spend the night with him made her feel nauseous once again. She couldn’t be a true wife to him. She simply could not. And yet, she had made him that promise . . . to bear him a son. Fulfilling that part of her marital obligation was something she simply could not—and would not!—think about.
Returning her attention to the kitchen, she continued cleaning the counter, washing dishes, and organizing cabinets. Slowly, the room began to be transformed from a disastrous mess to a satisfactory condition that, while not up to her personal standards, was certainly livable.
By three o’clock, Belle needed a break from working inside. She hadn’t tackled any other room in the house, and her back ached from scrubbing the floor. The kitchen was finished for the day.
Outside, the air was cooler than it had been in previous days. She wandered over to the overgrown garden, trying to assess if there was anything edible growing there. To her surprise, she found a few tomato plants that had somehow managed to grow, as well as a vine of not-quite-ripe pumpkins. While it was too late in the season to gather many tomatoes, she did hold out hope that she might harvest some pumpkins in just a few weeks. Further tugging at weeds in the back of the garden revealed that wild onions and peppermint plants had taken over there. While she knew that the wild onions had clearly already flowered and were probably not good for harvesting, she felt hopeful that she’d have a bumper crop the next spring. And, although the peppermint was done for the year, with only a few stalks worth plucking for tea, she also knew that cutting back the plants would help cultivate a much healthier batch for the next year.
At least I can make some meadow tea. She wiped her hands on her apron and stood up, pressing her hands into the lower part of her back to stop the aching. She returned to the kitchen. As she did, she looked around the room, surprised by how much she had achieved in one short day. God works miracles.
The door opened again. This time Adam walked in carrying a large box, which he dropped onto the counter. He stepped back and stared at her. The dim light of the room cast a shadow
on his face, and she could almost make out the scarring that she had seen the previous day during their wedding. The puckered skin glistened, just a little, from sweat. His right eye looked at her piercingly through the folded skin that partially hid it.
“There. See what you can do with that for some food.”
Cautiously, Belle peeked into the box. Potatoes. Onions. Celery. And a half-empty bag of flour. “What’s this?” She reached inside and withdrew the celery. It was wilted and hung from her hand. She raised her eyes to stare at him. “This is all that you have?”
Once again, he huffed at her. “It’ll do. It has for me.”
Belle swallowed. “I see.”
Had he truly been living off such limited supplies? She had found some old containers with sugar, salt, and what appeared to be packages of yeast. She might be able to make some bread; she wasn’t certain. But she could try to make potato soup, which at least would stop the rumbling in her stomach.
“Perhaps there is some milk?”
He motioned with his head toward the door. “Go fetch it yourself.”
Belle frowned. He had wanted this arrangement. This marriage of convenience to bear progeny. Yet he seemed as unhappy with the prospect as she was. Their future was uncertain and their relationship was nonexistent, but that didn’t mean that their interactions needed to be coarse and unkind. “This is our first day together, Adam,” she said in a soft voice. “I would think that, given the trepidation you know that I am feeling being in a strange place—”
“You mean a pigpen,” he interrupted.
She ignored his angry comment. “—that you would attempt to make my first day here less inhospitable. That is, after all, the Christian thing to do.”
He laughed. Just once.
“So I am going to ask you again if there is milk, and this time, perhaps you might be gentlemanly enough to respond that you will fetch it for me. Or at least take me to show me where you store it.”
His good eye widened at her gentle reprimand.
“Danke.”
She didn’t wait for him to reply as she began to empty the box onto the counter. She sorted through the potatoes, putting the usable ones aside from those that looked too old. Not once did she look at him again. Instead, she began to hum a hymn, hoping that he would get the hint and leave the room.
He did. But not without slamming the door behind himself. Moments later, he returned with a plain steel bucket of milk, which he slammed onto the counter, white liquid spilling over the edge. She refused to address him, focusing her attention on cutting the potatoes and dumping the pieces into a pot of water that she already had on the stove. She continued humming, losing herself in the melody and unaware that he watched her for a few long moments before snatching the empty box and storming back outside.
By the time Adam returned, the aroma of freshly baked biscuits filled the kitchen, and Belle had set the table with two place settings. She glanced at him and forced a nervous smile. “If you wash up, we can have supper.”
Rather than walk to the sink, Adam took his place at the head of the table. Clearly good hygiene was not part of his eating ritual. It was a battle Belle decided not to fight this day. Instead, she carried a basket of biscuits and set it down in between their places. Then she returned to carry over the large pot of soup.
She took her place on the bench to his left. When she lowered her head to pray, Adam reached out for a biscuit.
“Adam!”
He looked at her.
She gave him a fierce look of disapproval and lowered her head once again. When he did not follow her example, she gave in and said her own silent prayer of gratitude to God for the food that they were about to eat. It was hard to concentrate with Adam already serving himself, ignoring her moment of reflection and prayer.
When she finished, she reached for the ladle to serve herself. “You don’t pray?”
He ignored the question and continued to eat, slurping the soup from the spoon.
“And I suppose manners are out of the question, too?”
Her question was met with silence.
“I suppose you have your reasons, Adam,” she said quietly. “It would, however, be helpful if we could talk about our expectations. I am quite certain that we both are feeling similar apprehensions about this . . .”
She paused. What was this? A marriage, yes. But not the way she had envisioned it.
“. . . this arrangement.”
He reached out for another biscuit and began dipping it into his soup.
“We will both have to make sacrifices. That is part of two lives joining together.” She sipped her soup and, to her surprise, was satisfied with the taste. Though she suspected that it would leave her as unfulfilled as her marriage to Adam Hershberger, she knew that it would suffice for the evening. “And I would like to know more about you.”
The spoon dropped from his hand and clattered against the bowl. “There is nothing to know. I am a beast, ja?”
“A beast?”
“I am a beast,” he repeated. “That is what they say in town, those Amish folk who claim to be good Christians.”
Belle stared into her bowl of soup. How would he know what people said in town? What games the children played in the school yard? And yet, despite the truth behind his words, he needed to accept some of the responsibility for that label. Any person who lived such an isolated and dark life needed to realize the consequences included an aura of mystery that might damage his reputation.
“Not all of them speak of you in such a way,” she said in a soft voice.
Slowly, he turned his head so that his entire face was in her line of sight. “Their silence does not mean they hold a different opinion.”
“Nor does it mean they hold the same opinion. Perhaps if they knew you.”
He waved his hand at her in a dismissive manner. “There is nothing to know about me. I live here alone—”
“Not anymore.”
“—and I don’t want people in my business. And that includes you.”
“Me? But I am your wife.”
He returned his attention to the food. Without any attempt at good manners, he began slurping at it again. “You’re to bear me a son, Belle. That’s all you need to do. Then you can return to your family.”
Belle felt her heart race.
Adam hadn’t really discussed that part of the deal—at least not in detail. On the one hand, the idea that she did not have to live the rest of her life with him gave her hope for the future. Yet she knew the stigma that would be attached to her as a wife cast out by her husband. And what about the child? Would Adam expect her to simply walk away from what would, undoubtedly, be her only child? What if she didn’t bear him a son but daughters? If she did bear him a son and left—something she couldn’t possibly imagine doing!—unless Adam died, she would never be able to marry again and live the life she had always imagined. A life that included a loving husband and large family. And while she knew that she could never love a man like Adam, she had hoped that they could at least develop a relationship that was tolerable enough to provide some degree of happiness.
Clearly that was not what he had in mind.
“So I am to merely be a broodmare?” she asked when she found her voice.
He stared at her, his one eye so crystal clear and bright, while the other was shadowed by scars. For a long, silent moment, he seemed to consider her question, and then he lowered his voice and responded with his own. “Do you love me?”
Belle blinked in surprise. “What?”
“It’s a simple question. Do you love me, Belle?”
She could hardly believe that she had heard him correctly the first time. But when he repeated it the second time, she was stunned. How could he possibly ask her that? She knew nothing about this man outside of whispered gossip. Her own, limited interactions with him had been strenuous and tense. And yet he asked her if she loved him.
“Adam, I . . . I don’t even know you,” she managed to
say.
He shoved the empty bowl away and reached out for the remaining biscuits. “What is there to know?” Glaring at her, he stood up. “I told you, Belle, I am nothing more than a beast.” He pushed back the chair so roughly that it fell over. Without making any move to pick it up, he stomped to the door and passed through it, this time leaving it open. Belle watched as he headed toward the stable and disappeared.
To her relief, he did not return again that evening.
Chapter Eleven
When she awoke in the morning, it was to the sound of Adam’s deep voice talking outside of her partially opened window. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, she was confused. Where was she? Why did the room look so strange? As she blinked her eyes, she tried to place where, exactly, she was. And then it dawned on her: Adam’s house. She rolled over in the bed and peered out of the window. Adam was walking in the bluish light of dawn toward the barn, a small dog at his feet.
Funny. She hadn’t known that he had a dog on the property. Not once had she heard it bark or make a noise.
She watched as Adam talked to the scrappy-looking brown mutt. He reached for a stick and threw it for the dog to retrieve. The dog ran after the stick, its tail wagging happily when it returned to Adam’s side with the stick in its mouth. Adam bent down, rubbed its head, and pulled the stick from its mouth so that he could throw it once more.
It was the closest expression to joy that Belle had seen on Adam’s face.
Sinking back into the pillows, Belle stared at the ceiling. She didn’t understand Adam. He acted so gruff and mean, yet what she had just witnessed was a tender display between a man and a dog. While she knew that many Englischers treated their pets as family, Amish men did not.
Perhaps there was more to Adam than met the eye.
She sighed and tossed back her covers, reluctantly swinging her legs over the side of the bed. At once, she noticed that the bedroom door was slightly ajar, and she quickly looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. But she had definitely shut the door the previous night. Had Adam come into the room while she slept?