Isaac handed a pretty little box to her across the white linen draped table. “I bought you something. When you open it, you might not understand. Not at first, anyway.”
With everything already going through her mind, she didn’t need more to ponder. A box so small seemed certain to contain jewelry—far from being a traditional Amish gift—but she was polite and accepted it.
Inside, she found a delicate gold wristwatch. It was so beautiful, and yet . . .
She looked at him. “This is . . . really lovely, Isaac. But I’m not sure where I’d ever wear it.”
“How about when the two of us are together?”
Rose honestly didn’t know what to say to this, but at his urging, she put it on to see how it looked on her wrist. “Oh, it’s so perty.”
He smiled and nodded across the candlelit table. “Thought you might like it.”
“I do . . . I truly do.” She didn’t know what had gotten into her, but she loved being treated like this. The whole evening was so romantic, like something out of the wonderful library books she read and reread.
Halfway through dessert—chocolate mousse and a specialty coffee with a hint of mint and chocolate—Isaac said, “I’ve been waiting for the perfect setting . . . and the right moment, Rose. I believe this is it.”
She held her breath and looked into his handsome blue eyes; they shone with promise.
“Will you marry me, Rose?”
She looked down at the gold wristwatch, the time already set to the correct hour. She’d never, ever dreamed of owning or even wearing something so delicate and pretty. Would she wake up and discover this heartbreakingly beautiful night was a dream? That Isaac was too good to be true?
Ach, but I already know he isn’t. This watch was proof of it, and she’d seen him driving a tractor just yesterday. She couldn’t just sit there and not inquire about that, or about his church’s Ordnung. It was imperative to know where he stood on something so important, as well as his plans for the future. Did he truly mean to embrace the fellowship of the People? How could she give her answer before knowing?
Rose raised her eyes to Isaac as he awaited her answer across the exquisitely set table, his expression clearly one of love and great anticipation.
Gentleman that he was, Isaac walked Rose up the driveway to the back door, seeing her safely inside. She waited till he left, standing on the back porch as he climbed back into the van. A mule hee-hawed in the barn, a wheezing, mocking laugh.
The van pulled away. Rose didn’t bother to change out of her best clothes before hurrying across the yard to the barn. She carefully climbed up the hayloft ladder and sat there with little Tillie in her lap, the gray kitten Dawdi Jeremiah had named on the day of his Homegoing. Perched in the sweet hay, Rose began to cry, letting the purring kitten comfort her.
“I believe Isaac truly loves me.” She sighed and looked about the dimly lit haymow. “He asked to marry me . . . but I had to say no,” she whispered, her tears coming fast now. “I couldn’t marry Isaac. I just couldn’t.”
Torn between the love and marriage she’d wanted so desperately, and what was pleasing to God and the church, Rose felt utterly disillusioned. And wretchedly sad.
Isaac had argued his case, saying it didn’t make sense for him to be completely Old Order—he freely admitted to driving the car she’d spotted at the Mortons’. She’d insisted that such things were against her church Ordnung and the way she was raised. But Isaac had said working for Ed Morton was his livelihood—how he planned to support his family and his wife. “You’d get used to it, Rose. How can you know if you don’t give it a try?”
Give the world a try? That’s what she believed he was saying. And in the end she had to be true to her baptism and not let Isaac influence her away from her promise to God. Somehow she’d kept her emotions in check during the rest of their time together.
But now Rose gave in to tears of self-pity, grieving for all the lost years ahead of her—of the love she’d intended to show to Isaac, and of the children she would never bear and nurture.
Exhausted, she leaned back in the hay and whispered, “O Father, I know you want what is best for me.” She prayed, “I have to believe this . . . with all of my heart.”
A husband with one foot in the world can’t possibly be right for me, she thought. How could such a marriage work?
She hadn’t even thought of Hen and Brandon in making her decision, but Rose realized she’d learned important lessons from the problems their union had faced. She would not make her sister’s mistake.
Sometime later, she was startled by a dark silhouette approaching the hay hole across the barn, then suddenly disappearing to the lower level. When she leaned up to look more closely, she wondered if her mind had played tricks. Or had she cried so hard she was mistaken about having seen anything at all? Rose strained her ears, listening . . . and heard muted footsteps fading below.
Ach no! How embarrassing!
But then, what would anyone be doing out here at such a late hour? Surely it was merely her imagination.
She returned to her warm spot in the hay and brought Tillie up close to her heart. As far as Rose knew, the last person to hold Tillie had been her devout Dawdi. She felt strangely comforted by the knowledge and soon fell sound asleep, tears drying on her cheeks.
Days passed and the work of digging early potatoes commenced, as did picking and processing an abundance of produce from the family garden. Rose and Mammi Sylvia harvested limas, string beans, corn, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, and peppers. They joined with Barbara Petersheim and her married daughters, as well as Hen, to can, freeze, and dry all of it, which took up much of their time and energy through the end of August. Rose also managed to help rake hay and sometimes even drove the mules for baling it. She and all the People looked at farming and caring for the land as a spiritual mandate, one of their highest callings. ’Tis a gift to be Plain, Rose often thought.
But the most revered mandate of all was church baptism. The highly anticipated Sunday was fast approaching, and Rose spent many of her hours and days now on the redding up necessary to host the gathering. Mammi Sylvia assisted, and Mamm wheeled outside to watch them from the porch, sitting in the comfortable custom-made chair Dat had recently purchased for her. The occasional therapy sessions she still attended had been helpful in improving her endurance, and she needed to rest less frequently than before.
Rose kept so busy she scarcely had time anymore for reading. She’d lost all interest in romances, especially now that she was convinced she was past the age for the merriment and matchmaking of the Singings she no longer attended. She confessed to the bishop the dancing she had done with Isaac, resolving to be more true to the Ordnung the brethren had established. And she put her energy into being a blessing to her grandmother, hoping to make Mammi Sylvia’s life more pleasant . . . less lonely. The two of them forged an even closer relationship during the many hours spent sewing and going for walks together, two of Rose’s delights.
Meanwhile, Leah Miller was more often missing after the shared meal on Sundays, and other times, too. Rose felt sure her friend was slipping away to Bart to spend more time with Jake Ebersol, who was ever observant of the Old Ways. Unlike his twin.
Rose had seen the peculiar kind of Amish her former beau wished to be. Closing the door on a future with Isaac had been painful, but it had left her all the wiser.
Hen walked over to the farm to help her sister and grandmother wash down the windowsills and sweep the porches in preparation for Preaching services ten days away. While she worked, she noticed Rose’s exceptionally quiet demeanor. The spring in her step had vanished, as had the smile on her pretty face.
Has my sister been jilted in love? Hen finished dusting in her parents’ former bedroom, now furnished for occasional overnight guests. Remembering how bubbly Rose had been the last time they had a heart-to-heart, it was beyond Hen what had happened. Much too long ago, Hen realized sadly. Alas, she’d gotten caught up in her own
work as a wife and mother, busying herself with preparations for the new baby.
When the noon meal rolled around, Hen took her old spot at the table, with Mattie Sue across from her. Her father bowed his head and they offered the silent prayer.
As they ate, Dad talked of the upcoming baptismal Sunday. He looked at Mom, then at Hen. “Two of your cousins, Sarah and Mary, are joining church.”
“And Nick, too,” Mattie Sue piped up, eyes bright.
“How do you know?” Hen asked her little girl.
Mammi Sylvia chuckled at Mattie Sue, but Rose remained still and uncharacteristically quiet.
“ ’Cause Nick said so!” Mattie Sue declared. “When he asked me about my Amish clothes. That’s when I told him.”
Hen leaned forward. “What did you say?”
“When I grow up, I want to join church.”
Dad reached over to tug gently on Mattie Sue’s ear. “Are ya mighty sure?”
Mattie Sue bobbed her head up and down.
Dad just might get a replacement for the girl he lost to the English, Hen thought, though she realized that much could change between now and when her daughter turned sixteen. So very much.
For now, it was sweet to think Mattie was so determined to maintain the Old Ways that she’d worn her little cape dresses and aprons all summer long, even going barefoot and wearing her hair up in a bun. This hadn’t annoyed Brandon like Hen thought it might, but it still surprised Hen. Mattie’s attire was the last reminder of Hen’s own yearning for the Plain life, a yearning that had found its unexpected fulfillment in her marriage and the faith she now shared with her husband.
Although they’d gathered in various barns for baptismal Sundays other years, Rose’s father had decided to meet indoors for this year’s baptism Sunday. Rose was glad to be inside on this windy and rainy Lord’s Day. She joined her voice with all the People in singing hymns from the Ausbund as they awaited the arrival of the nine baptismal candidates.
There was a clap of thunder during the solemn pause after the last hymn, which startled many, Rose included. Then, as if on cue, the applicants slowly filed into the room, taking their designated seats in the center section, near the still-vacant bench set aside for the ministerial brethren.
The congregation, young and old alike, watched respectfully. Rose’s own blessed day of baptism came to mind—the day she had turned her back on the world to trust the Lord. Suddenly, she thought of dear Hen, a tear in her eye for her sister who’d chosen against church membership as a teen and later lamented the decision.
Except Nick, who was nearly twenty-two, all of the candidates were in their late teens. Nick’s sincere desire to follow the Lord in holy baptism was evident on his countenance even at this moment. Since his return home, he had exhibited the utmost humility and submission to God and the Plain community. He was genuinely transformed.
Presently, he sat with his head bowed with the others, facing the audience but with eyes closed in reverence, undoubtedly rehearsing the things the ministerial brethren had shared with the candidates earlier this morning. The lifetime vow was not to be taken glibly or without great consideration. Once made, it was never to be broken.
Soon the ordained brethren arrived from their quiet meeting upstairs, removing their hats at the back of the room. Slowly they came, moving toward the wooden bench at the front of the room. Rose recognized several visiting ministers, including Bishop Simon from Bart, and sadness rippled through her as she thought of the connection between her own church and Isaac’s on this day.
But it was Bishop Aaron who was in charge of the hallowed service. He would have the unique privilege of baptizing his son, Nick.
After the regular sermons, which lasted a couple hours, Bishop Aaron turned his attention to the candidates and gave them special counsel. Deacon Esh then brought in a small container of water and a tin cup. Tears sprang to Aaron’s eyes as he gazed upon Nick and reiterated, “The oath is to be made to God, above all.” Momentarily his voice broke, but he coughed and managed to recover his poise. “For those of you who are still willing to join the body of Christ as members of this church, and believe this is the right thing to do, you may now kneel.”
Nick dropped quickly to his knees, followed by the other eight. Rose heard some sniffling amongst the congregation and felt deeply moved.
As all of the candidates waited for the initial questions from their bishop, the girls removed their head coverings. “Are you prepared to follow Christ and His church and to remain faithful through all the days of your life until your death?”
Rose listened to the words and remembered—to this day she had never known anything more sacred or satisfying than the holy mantle that covered her life at her own baptism.
She noticed Nick’s head bowed lower than the rest. It was a struggle to suppress her tears as she rose with the People while the applicants continued to kneel. Bishop Aaron cupped his hands over Nick’s head first. Deacon Esh poured water from the small pail into the bishop’s hands. A low sigh rose from the People as the water trickled down over Nick’s black hair.
Someday will he tell me how he feels at this moment? Rose was unable to stop looking at Nick, kneeling in the remarkably penitent position.
After each baptism, the bishop offered the hand of fellowship, beginning with Nick. “We extend the hand of fellowship, in the name of the Lord and of the Church. Rise up, Nick Petersheim.”
Petersheim? Rose could scarcely believe this. Nick had changed his name to honor the bishop!
For an instant it almost appeared that Aaron meant to embrace him. But instead, Nick and the other young men received the customary holy kiss from the bishop, and the pronouncement of peace. Barbara Petersheim in turn greeted and kissed each of the girls as sisters in Christ.
“Now may the most high and almighty God complete the work which He began in each of you, giving divine strength and help through all the days of your lives, until you come to a blessed end through Jesus Christ, God’s Son. Amen.”
Later, the bishop read from Romans, chapter six. The service concluded with Bishop Aaron instructing the congregation to do whatever they could to assist the new members. “Each one present should continue in faithfulness to God and to the ministry of the church.”
The People then knelt for the final prayer. Rose was especially grateful for this time, ready as she was to offer her devout thanks to God for answering her prayers for Nick. O Lord, you knew all along this day would come, that you would bear much fruit in Nick’s life. . . .
When the benediction was given, the rain stopped and the clouds parted. Sunshine streamed in through the windows like a blessing as the People sang the final hymn, and the former outcast, at long last, was now one of them.
Rose’s mother and grandmother gently encouraged her to consider going to the Singing at her great-uncle Daniel Kauffman’s in two weeks. Rose listened respectfully, but she felt it would be awkward to return after these long months of being courted by Isaac. And, too, it seemed pointless now.
Besides, it makes me feel sad, she thought.
Then Leah Miller’s letter arrived one afternoon. I don’t want to stick my nose in, but I’ve heard that Nick’s no longer seeing your cousin Sarah. I thought you’d want to know . . . especially as Jake tells me you are without a beau yourself.
Such surprising news! Rose scarcely knew what to think. So she finally asked Dat to take her to the next Singing, curious to see if what Leah had written about Nick was quite true.
As she entered, the upper level of the barn was still warm from the early October day. The sweet smell of stacked alfalfa bales greeted Rose as Rebekah Bontrager spotted her and hurried over.
“I saw you comin’ in the lane with your father,” Rebekah said, brown eyes sparkling. “I hope ya don’t mind . . . but I told Nick you were here.”
Rose blushed, terribly embarrassed. Had Silas remembered what good friends Nick and Rose once were and mentioned it to Rebekah? Rose felt like a rutabaga in a w
atermelon patch. I should’ve stayed home.
Yet Rebekah stayed near, even slipping in next to Rose on the bench, acting like a protective sister once the Singing got under way. Rose appreciated her thoughtfulness, but she really didn’t need to be looked after. She’d known these young people all her life . . . nice, upstanding youth who sang wholeheartedly, their heads back, mouths open as they rejoiced. Nick sat all the way at the other end of the table with several other baptized fellows. He seemed very much at home.
When the songs were finished and the fellowshipping and pairing up began, Rose felt downright timid. So many there were so young. Why had she come? Right then she wanted to head home on foot.
But Rebekah would not hear of it. “No . . . no, you’re riding back with Silas and me,” she insisted.
Rose noticed that Nick was also leaving early, even though Rebekah had supposedly told him Rose was present. Maybe with so many squeezed into the elder Kauffman’s barn, he felt uncomfortable seeking her out, even as a friend. Or was he simply respecting her wish that he keep his distance, perhaps not aware she was no longer seeing Isaac? Could that be? As reclusive as Nick had always been, she was half surprised he’d come at all, given he was without a girl now.
If Leah even has it right . . .
Rose felt dreadfully out of place riding home with Silas and Rebekah—till she remembered that she, too, had once done a similar favor for Rebekah.
When she was back in the safe haven of her father’s house, Rose sat in bed and opened her Bible in an attempt to push away the memory of the uncomfortable evening. No more of that, no matter if Mamm and Mammi beg me to go again, she promised herself.
The next morning, after breakfast, Rose confided in her mother that she’d decided against attending future Singings. “I’m just not cut out for them anymore. I hope you understand.” She dried her hands on her apron and stood near the sink. “You and Mammi Sylvia mean well.” She sighed. The Lord knows my heart.
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