Hope on the Plains
Page 30
Hannah could always draw on the strength of anger, swat any choice or confrontation aside like an annoying insect. Anger and rebellion were her strength, especially with people. They served her purpose well, to hide the weakness beneath, erase the softening, the opening of her heart, and the trust that went hand in hand with love.
But now, they fell from her grasp. It was, by all means, a solution. Could she do it? What if she fell in love with him and he could never love her, stick thin and mean as the old cow that had killed her father?
He drew her closer. She wriggled out of his grasp, stepped away, breathing hard.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Touch me.”
“All right. I won’t.”
“I will do it if you promise not to touch me or try to kiss me the way you did before. Married in name only. The only reason I am allowing this is to save the homestead. Do you have money? Means of surviving the drought?”
“Yes, I have some money put by.”
“Then yes, I will marry you.”
Jerry’s heart sang, lifted the song to the heavens and danced with the stars, leaped from star to star, flinging the notes with abandon. He wanted to hold her, and yes, of course, kiss her, pledge his undying love for all eternity, now and forever, with God’s richest blessings bestowed on both of them.
He put his hands in his pockets and said, “It’s settled then.”
“You understand, of course, that this is a marriage out of necessity. It will save the homestead. So don’t go around thinking I’ll fall in love and be a real wife, because it is not going to happen.”
“I know. I agree to keep my part of the contract.” It would be enough to sit across the table from her, three times a day. It would be enough to talk to her, every day. Learn her ways, learn the reason she was as hard to please as a wild horse, and as untamed. He looked forward to the challenge.
Suddenly shy, she fell silent. The wind whispered the words of promise neither one could say.
The following morning, Sarah sat down weakly, Hannah’s words like an approaching cyclone. She threw both hands in the air, wagged her head back and forth, disbelief clouding her eyes.
Manny reacted with a stare, and silence.
“Are you sure?” Sarah finally uttered.
“You’re going back, aren’t you?”
“We are.”
“Well, then. I’m staying. We are staying. We’re going to try and make it through the drought.”
The ceremony was held the following week. Heat shimmered across the prairie, but the summer breeze flapped the curtains in the living room as Ben Miller preached the Amish wedding sermon of creation, Ruth and Boaz, Samson and Delilah, and the story of Tobias from the Apocrypha.
Hannah sat, dressed in a blue Sunday dress and a black cape and apron, which replaced the white Swiss organdy normally worn by the bride, simply because it was not available.
She was breathtaking in a neat, white covering. Her hair was done loosely, combed in waves and darkly shining. Slim, sitting with natural grace, Jerry stole glances of admiration all through the service.
Hannah looked at him once, then kept her eyes averted. She was going to have to watch out. Dark haired, dark eyed, with that long, tanned face and wide mouth, he was startlingly handsome in a white shirt and black vest and trousers.
They were pronounced man and wife, given the blessing of old, the same vows that had been repeated for hundreds of years, a tradition that would stand the test, and be carried on until the end of time, a precious heritage, the birthright of the Amish.
Now, of course, Hannah was blind to this, her eyes covered by her own will and determination to save the homestead at all costs. Her vows were spoken without love or spirituality. This was the only way of obtaining what she most desired.
If the drought continued, they’d get by. He had money. She would tell Betsy she was quitting at the café, which was a joy of enormous size, not having to make that long, hot ride into town.
The wedding meal was simple, mostly supplied by the remains of Susan Miller’s pantry, and most of Jerry’s. Potatoes mashed with milk and salt, the usual roasht made with only bread cubes and onion. Thin gravy made with a whisper of chicken broth.
There was wedding cake, however, made with lard and white sugar, eggs and white flour, a rare and special treat.
Hod Jenkins sat with Ken and Hank, uncomfortable in stiff collars, Clay with a red-faced, sweltering Jennifer. The Klassermans sat side by side, perspiring great splotches on their Sunday finery, madly fanning themselves with white handkerchiefs, wondering if this service would ever end.
There was a general upheaval afterward, packing, hauling things to the rail car in Pine, an endless, wearing task as the summer heat mounted. But the day came when it was time to go, time to part, time to leave Hannah in the care of her new husband.
Sarah swallowed her tears, put on a brave face, knowing any display of emotion would only draw out Hannah’s indignation.
Manny shook their hands, taller than Hannah now, wished them both Gottes saya, then turned to search the small crowd for the petite Marybelle, already awaiting the promise of a rosy future in Lancaster County.
Mary sniffled a bit as she clung to Hannah, produced many facial contortions as she desperately tried to keep her tears to herself.
Eli said he was going to raise pigs in Lancaster County and have bacon at every meal, then shook hands gravely, like a well-mannered little preacher.
Hannah held Abigail’s small form, soft and pliable, molding her into her own body, kissing her soft cheeks over and over, before handing her to Sarah, tears dangerously close to the surface.
The train whistle blew, a short, sharp blast, followed by another. Ben Miller’s family boarded the passenger car. Jake Fisher shook hands, clapped a hand on Jerry’s shoulder, thought for the hundredth time that Jerry must have become mentally ill out here in this forsaken, dry land. No one could pay him enough to marry Hannah Detweiler.
As the train pulled slowly out of the small, dusty station, the whistle sounded again, high and piercing. Steam poured from the underbelly of the locomotive as black smoke poured into the hot sky.
Hannah did cry, a great gasping sob as she saw her mother’s face pressed to the dusty window, a handkerchief to her nose. Crying. Her mother cried to leave her with Jerry. This knowledge brought her own unstoppable sobbing.
Jerry heard and turned away quickly, jamming his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
Hannah snorted once, lifted her defiant eyes to his and said, “Let’s go.”
Jerry followed her to the spring wagon, and they rode off across the desolate prairie, sitting side by side on the hard, wooden seat in the bright morning sun, with the dust and tumbleweeds blowing ahead of them.
GLOSSARY
Ach du lieber—Oh my goodness!
Ausbund—The book of old German hymns written by Amish ancestors imprisoned in Passau, Germany, for their Christian faith.
Aylend—A poor work ethic; unconcerned about work.
Dichly—A triangle of cloth worn by women instead of a head covering.
Fa-sarked—To take care of.
Frieda—Peace.
Gottes saya—God’s blessing.
Grosfeelich—Arrogance stemming from pride; hubris.
Herrn saya—God’s blessing.
Ivva drettung—Overstepping set boundaries.
Knepp—Thick, floury dumplings.
Nein—No.
Ordnung—Literally, “ordinary,” or “discipline,” it refers to an Amish community’s agreed-upon rules for living, based on the Bible, particularly the New Testament. The Ordnung can vary in small ways, some from community to community, reflecting the leaders’ interpretations, local traditions, and historical practices.
Ponhaus —Scrapple.
Roasht—Chicken filling.
Rumschpringa—Literally, “running around.” A time of relative freedom for adole
scents, beginning at about age sixteen. The period ends when a youth is baptized and joins the church, after which the youth can marry.
Schenked und fagevva—To forgive.
Schmear kase—Spreadable cheese for bread.
Sei—His.
Verboten—Forbidden.
Vissa adda unvissa—To know or not know.
Voddogs—An everyday shirt or dress, patched again and again, then handed down to a younger child.
Voss in die velt?—What in the world?
Wunderbar—Wonderful!
Yusht da vint—Just the wind.
Zeit-lang—Homesick.
OTHER BOOKS BY LINDA BYLER
LIZZIE SEARCHES FOR LOVE SERIES
BOOK ONE
BOOK TWO
BOOK THREE
TRILOGY
COOKBOOK
SADIE’S MONTANA SERIES
BOOK ONE
BOOK TWO
BOOK THREE
TRILOGY
LANCASTER BURNING SERIES
BOOK ONE
BOOK TWO
BOOK THREE
TRILOGY
HESTER’S HUNT FOR HOME SERIES
BOOK ONE
BOOK TWO
BOOK THREE
THE LITTLE AMISH MATCHMAKER
A Christmas Romance
THE CHRISTMAS VISITOR
An Amish Romance
MARY’S CHRISTMAS GOODBYE
An Amish Romance
BECKY MEETS HER MATCH
An Amish Christmas Romance
THE DAKOTA SERIES
BOOK ONE
BOOK TWO
BOOK THREE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda Byler was raised in an Amish family and is an active member of the Amish church today. Growing up, Linda loved to read and write. In fact, she still does. Linda is well-known within the Amish community as a columnist for a weekly Amish newspaper.
Linda is the author of four series of novels, all set among the Amish communities of North America: Lizzie Searches for Love, Sadie’s Montana, Lancaster Burning, and Hester’s Hunt for Home. Hope on the Plains is the second book in the Dakota Series, preceded by The Homestead. Linda has also written four Christmas romances set among the Amish: Mary’s Christmas Goodbye, The Christmas Visitor, The Little Amish Matchmaker, and Becky Meets Her Match. Linda has co-authored Lizzie’s Amish Cookbook: Favorite Recipes from Three Generations of Amish Cooks!