by Sarah Price
That was when it dawned upon her that, for the first time in the three weeks since she had agreed to marry Adam, she had actually slept through the night.
While she wouldn’t say she felt refreshed, she certainly felt less tired than she had been of late. When she had gone to bed at eight o’clock the previous night, Adam had not yet returned from the barn. She’d been sure she’d never fall asleep, but exhausted from the hard physical labor of the day, as well as the emotions of the last several weeks, she had quickly nodded off and slept the night away.
And he had not disturbed her. Why?
In the darkness of her room, she trembled as she dressed and fixed her hair. If Adam had come into the room, he had most certainly not slept there. And while she was more than relieved about that, she felt vulnerable and unguarded nonetheless. Even though Adam was her husband and intimacy was part of marriage, Belle wasn’t in a hurry to experience the carnal needs of a man, even if she was married to him.
Once dressed, Belle hurried downstairs and out the kitchen door. At her father’s house, she would have been up already and finished with the morning milking. Today, however, she was late, having overslept just as her sisters usually did. She wondered if either Susie or Verna had arisen to help their father with the milking. And who would make breakfast? Immediately, she felt a pang of homesickness and had to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat.
The morning dew felt wet on her bare feet as she crossed the yard to the barn. With each step, she felt nervous and frightened. What would Adam say to her? Would he mention the fact that she had fallen asleep so early? An overwhelming sense of dread seemed to course through her veins, and she tried to ignore the feeling.
Instead, she focused on the crisp predawn air, knowing that with cooler mornings, the season would begin to change soon enough. Hopefully not too rapidly, for she always enjoyed autumn the most of all seasons. It seemed to present the most marked contrast, with cold mornings and hot afternoons. And she loved when the trees began to change colors. That was how she felt, like a tree in autumn, the beautiful green leaves slowly dying and falling to the ground. Belle’s only hope was that, like a tree in the springtime, she might see a rebirth once again.
She stopped in the entrance of the barn. It was dark inside, and she let her eyes adjust. When they did, she saw that Adam stood before her, facing her directly. However, this time, he did not turn away. Instead, he lifted a small kerosene lantern and took one step toward her. The orange glow from the flame flickered, casting dancing shadows around him, but it was just enough light for Belle to study his scars. She knew he had been burned, but she didn’t know how it had happened, and she wished she could ask him about it. One day, she thought. Perhaps she might find out more about the tragic fire that had left him with such an obvious and permanent injury.
“What are you doing here?” he asked at last.
The color rose to her cheeks. “I . . . I was coming to help with morning chores.”
“Women work inside the house. Men work outside.”
She tried to smile. “Don’t be silly. I always helped my daed with the barn chores.”
“You are not with your daed anymore.”
Standing there, she felt her shoulders droop, disheartened by his harsh tone. “Are you saying you don’t want my help?”
“I don’t need your help, nee,” he snapped.
Without warning, she felt tears stinging her eyes, and she quickly covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want him to see her cry, didn’t want to feel rejected, yet again, by this man who had wanted to marry her yet did not appear to want a wife. How could she possibly honor her commitment to God to live in love with this impossible man? She turned and ran back toward the house, embarrassed that she had let him see her cry and angry with herself for even caring.
In the kitchen, she wiped her face with the bottom of her black apron. She knew that it would take time to adjust to a new home and new routine. Regardless of the couple, newlyweds faced change. Adam would have to get used to having someone else living in the house, and Belle would have to get used to . . . well . . . everything. She sighed and bent over, letting her forehead rest on the counter. Shutting her eyes, she said a quick prayer to God, praying for the strength to get through the long day that undoubtedly lay before her.
If Adam was assigning her the inside of the house, then she knew that she needed to get into her own routine. She searched for a pad of paper and a pen before she sat down at the table and began to make lists. She would follow the same schedule as she had at her father’s house: wash on Mondays and Fridays, cheese making on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and a complete house cleaning on Wednesdays. She’d do all her baking in the mornings and weed the garden in the evenings. While she no longer lived close enough to town to walk there every afternoon, she decided that she would try to reserve Saturdays for that. She would want to visit her family and her friends as often as possible.
Determined to do something productive, Belle made a long list of things that she needed from the store. The previous day, she had inventoried the sparse pantry and knew that Adam had next to nothing in the house. When she finished, she gathered her cleaning supplies—a scrub brush and a bucket of warm, soapy water—and headed toward the hallway. If she tackled one room a day, the house would be neat and tidy within a week. While she had no idea how to create a livable marriage, at least she could work on making a livable home.
This time, rather than dumping all of the boxes and garbage on the back porch, she dragged it out the front door. She piled everything into a heap, realizing that she’d have to burn it in order to get rid of everything. It was simply too much to take to the local garbage collection place in town. When the hallway was empty, she got down on her hands and knees, focusing all of her energy on scrubbing the wide plank floor. Three buckets of water later, she sat back on her heels and assessed her progress.
“What are you doing?”
She heard him before she saw him storm over to the door and look outside at the pile of garbage.
“I’m cleaning,” she replied as she stated the obvious.
He pressed his lips together and put his hand against the wall. For a moment, he stood there like that, his back to her as he gazed out the open doorway. Finally, he lowered his arm and took a deep breath. “I suppose it was time,” he mumbled.
“I should say so.” Belle managed to get to her feet, her knees sore from having been on them for so long. “When was the last time this house was cleaned?”
Adam turned around. “Twenty years ago.”
If anyone else had said that to her, she would have thought it was a joke. But, despite knowing so little about him, Belle did know one thing: he wasn’t the type of person who teased. She glanced at the walls, the cobwebs still clinging to the corners of the ceiling and dust covering the woodwork. Even though the floor was clean, she still had a lot of work to do. And Adam had probably come inside for the noon meal.
“I reckon you’re hungry,” she said as she wiped her hands on the front of her apron and began to walk to the kitchen. “I didn’t make anything, but I can put out some biscuits, butter, and leftover potatoes from yesterday.”
He grunted.
“And I made a list.” She pointed to the yellow pad of paper. “The second page. Mayhaps I could go into town this afternoon?”
He glanced down at the list and frowned.
“Without a garden, I cannot can anything.” She pulled out the biscuits and began to slice them in half. “And I don’t see any chickens running around. Might be a good idea to have a small flock for fresh eggs, ja?”
Another grunt.
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a container with butter and a bowl of leftover potatoes. “I made this butter yesterday,” she said as she carried it to the table and set it down. “I just need some mesophilic culture and I could make Colby cheese. I do so love Colby cheese, don’t you?”
“Enough!” Adam covered his ears with his
hands. “Stop prattling so!”
Belle’s eyes widened at the intensity of his voice. “It’s not prattling,” she said sharply. “It’s called conversing. That’s what a husband and wife are supposed to do. Converse with each other.”
Under his breath, he growled as he sat down and reached for a biscuit.
“Adam!”
He rolled his eyes at her and waited until she sat down and prayed. Once she finished, he began to cover the biscuit with her fresh butter.
“So, do you think I might go into town then?”
“Give me the list,” he grumbled. “I’ll go.”
“Mayhaps we could go together?”
He scowled and shook his head. “Nee! I already have a headache from your ‘conversing.’”
She pursed her lips in disapproval of his remark but made no further attempts to talk with him. Instead, she ate two biscuits in silence, the only noise the sound of birds chirping outside the kitchen door. When she finished eating, she stood up and carried her plate to the sink. Her list, written in neat, cursive handwriting, lay on the counter. She glanced over it before picking it up and carrying it to him.
“There,” she said. “Your list.”
She watched as he read through the different items, the furrows in his forehead deepening. She could tell that he was displeased with the length of the list, and she waited for his rebuke.
But none came.
Instead, he pushed back his plate and grabbed the piece of paper before he stood up and stomped out of the kitchen. Belle was still sitting there, staring out the window at nothing, when, fifteen minutes later, she heard his horse and buggy heading down the long lane toward the main road.
She was disappointed that he had not permitted her to go to town. She had hoped to see her friends, even if only for a few minutes. She felt alone on this strange farm that she was, somehow, supposed to consider home. But home was where the heart resided, and her heart most certainly did not reside anywhere that Adam Hershberger did.
Leaving his plate at the table, Belle decided to spend some time outdoors, hoping that the sunshine and fresh air might help improve her mood. She had seen the remnants of a garden on the first day she visited Adam, a day that felt a lifetime ago. So much had changed since then. She had changed since then. But she had made her vows to God to be a wife to Adam, and that was what she intended to do.
And part of being a good Amish wife was taking care of the house and garden. Even though it was too late in the season for the garden to bear any produce, she could at least start cleaning it for the next season. If nothing else, working outside would get her away from the house and the disaster that awaited her in the other rooms that she had yet to clean.
As she had already seen, the garden was mostly a mass of weeds with a few rogue plants that had somehow managed to survive what Belle presumed was years of neglect. Certainly nothing had been planted in it for years. Belle suspected Adam wasn’t one to garden at all.
However, the fencing remained good, even if it needed a fresh coat of paint, and she could tell that the soil was rich. In her mind, she could envision the large plot of ground cleared of debris and organized properly with rows of corn, tomatoes, root vegetables, and cucumbers. She’d grow carrots and beets, as well as trellises of green beans, to make chow chow. And of course the back part would be filled with juicy, sweet onions and tall mint for tea.
As she stood there assessing the garden, it dawned on her that, by the time she had grown anything worthy of cooking or canning, it would be almost a year living with Adam.
The thought seemed impossible to comprehend.
How would she survive a year? How would she survive bearing him a child? And she had yet to approach him about what he really meant when he said she could return to her family if she gave him a son.
She felt a wave of panic in her chest, and in order to calm herself, she took a few deep breaths, standing in the middle of the weedy garden and refusing to let out the sob that rose in her throat.
What on earth had she done? How could she have thrown away her life?
And yet, as soon as she asked herself those questions, she felt a sudden sense of calmness wash over her. For I know the plans I have for you, a voice whispered inside her head.
Ah, she thought, that feeling of peace spreading throughout her body. So it was true that God had led her to Adam. Belle didn’t understand why, but she knew that he had a plan. She knew better than to question her faith in God’s decisions for her life. One day, something would make sense about this arrangement . . . if that was God’s will. In the meantime, he had led her outside to the garden, and Belle knew that, for now, he wanted her to get on her knees and pull weeds, to prepare the soil for next year’s planting. In order for anything to grow, time needed to be spent on preparing the foundation of the garden. The more she invested in preparing the soil, no matter how distasteful the task seemed due to the years of neglect, the more likely she would have a bountiful harvest.
She was still working outside when, almost two hours later, Adam returned to the farm. She heard the sound of the buggy wheels and the horse’s hooves on the dry, dirt road long before she could see him. Rather than look up when he pulled up to the barn, she remained on her knees, tugging at weeds and tossing them onto the other side of the fence. Already she had cleared half of the garden, and despite knowing that she had at least another two hours of work ahead of her, she felt a sense of accomplishment.
“Why are you tossing the weeds outside of the fence?”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Adam standing near the gate. Sitting back on her bare feet, Belle lifted her arm and wiped the sweat from her brow. “I reckoned it would be easier to rake them up afterward rather than to keep carrying buckets of weeds to a compost pile,” she said, before adding, “or wherever you put weeds.” Although, after working outside for so long in the weedy garden, she highly doubted that this was a problem Adam had faced in recent years.
“I’ll rake the weeds,” he said, “after I unload the buggy.”
Belle got to her feet, wiping her dirty hands on her apron. She pushed open the gate and followed Adam to the buggy to help carry the boxes filled with flour and sugar, coffee and yeast, eggs and butchered meat, and all of the other items that she had put onto her list. He had even purchased two boxes of fresh produce. Belle almost felt excited at the thought of making some real food for supper that evening.
“Danke, Adam.” She began unpacking the boxes, setting each item onto the counter so that she could better assess what he had purchased and then organize the pantry.
He plopped the last box onto the floor near her feet. It was filled with fresh apples and a large bottle of corn syrup. She hadn’t asked for the apples, and she looked up in surprise. But Adam was already retreating from the house.
Perhaps a nice apple pie would help break through his rough exterior, she thought, surprised that she to realize that she actually wanted to break through it. A lifetime was a long time to live with someone whom she knew nothing about. And, regardless of their arrangement, in order for her to return to her father’s farm, she had to bear Adam a son, and that son would link them together forever.
She worked in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon, determined to make a decent supper for herself and Adam. By the time he returned to the house, the kitchen smelled of fresh bread, baking chicken, and cooked vegetables, with a hint of onion in the air. Belle watched for a reaction from Adam as he went to the sink and began washing his hands. He splashed water on the back of his neck, apparently not noticing (or caring) that he was spilling water on the floor and the front of his shirt.
“I . . . I hope you are hungry,” she said in a forced, cheerful voice.
He turned around, a damp cloth in his hands that he used to rub against his cheeks. She noticed that he avoided touching his right side, focusing most of his attention on his undamaged skin.
“Does that hurt?” she asked.
“What hur
t?”
Hesitantly, she reached for the towel and made a move to dab at his right cheek. “Here. Does this hurt?”
Adam recoiled from her, shoving her hand away. “Never do that.”
She pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Adam. I’m just—”
He glared at her as he finished her sentence. “—curious. Ja, I know. So is everyone.” He offered her no more insight into the cause of the scarred skin that covered the side of his face. “And nee, I am not.”
Belle looked up, uncertain what he meant. “Not what?”
“Hungry.” He threw the towel onto the floor and brushed past her as he retreated, once again, to the outside.
This time, however, Belle was not about to let him escape her so easily. She hurried after him. “Adam! I have made a wunderbarr meal. I know you barely ate any breakfast, and you barely ate any dinner either. You simply must kum inside and eat. Please.”
He stopped and turned to face her. For one brief moment, Belle thought that he would return with her to the house. Instead, he tilted his face and simply repeated his question from the previous evening. “Do you love me?”
Belle winced at the question. “Adam, please. Why do you keep asking me that?”
His left eye narrowed, a stern look on his face. “Do not follow me into the dairy, Belle. That is my domain, not yours. Go back to the house and enjoy your wunderbarr meal. I told you that I am not hungry.” He spun away from her and slipped through the door into the darkness of the barn, leaving Belle standing alone in the barnyard, the sun beginning its descent behind the building, covering her in the golden blue of dusk.
With a sigh, Belle returned to the house, pausing only to glance at the garden. All of her work, work that she had hoped might impress Adam, seemed for naught. But as she climbed the steps to the back porch, she noticed that, true to his word, Adam had cleared away the weeds that she had tossed outside of the garden. Perhaps, she thought, there was more to Adam than met the eye. If only he would give her a chance to discover it.