The Amish Bride

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Oh.” My mind raced. That meant Sarah had been raised Mennonite but had ended up joining the Amish church instead. My exact situation.

  “Why did she become Amish?” Zed asked, the first words he’d spoken since the meal began.

  Mammi tilted her head to the side. “That’s a good question.” She was quiet for a long moment, and then she said, “My father was Amish, so I suppose she did it because of him.”

  My heart began to race. “Wait a minute.” I put down my knife and fork and let my hands fall to my lap. “Your mother joined the Amish church so she could marry the man she loved?” I looked toward Mammi as I said it, but my eyes met those of my mother instead, who gazed back at me with dismay. For a moment I realized the face she was giving me was the same one I had given Christy earlier, when she’d been talking about Ruth’s crush on Ezra under the guise of feigned innocence, as if she didn’t know such news would upset me. Christy hadn’t been fooling anyone then, and neither was I now.

  Even as I felt my cheeks flush with shame, I couldn’t help but persist. “That’s really amazing, Mammi. Imagine that. A Mennonite woman falls in love with an Amish man, and their families don’t try to stop them from becoming the same religion and joining together in marriage.”

  I shifted my gaze across the table to look straight at Ezra, but his face was tilted downward, eyes glued to the table, cheeks and forehead a vivid red. My first thought was, Shame on him for being too chicken to support me in this moment.

  My second thought was, Shame on me for ruining a lovely gathering because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.

  Clearing my throat, afraid I might suddenly start to cry, I pulled the napkin from my lap and excused myself, tossing it onto my chair and heading for the bathroom. Once there, I locked the door and just stared at myself in the mirror for a long while. I wasn’t wrong to want to marry Ezra and embrace his church. They needed to hear the truth, but maybe this wasn’t the place and time.

  I knew my mother was probably furious, Ezra clearly mortified, and everyone else either scornful or disgusted or just plain embarrassed for me.

  Eventually, once I had gained control of my emotions, I went back to the table. I was still torn between feeling half stubborn and half repentant, but no one seemed to notice either way. They didn’t watch me as I took my seat nor even pause in the conversation. Their discussion had moved on to the topic of cheese making, and they continued with that as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Right or wrong about what I’d done, I was relieved to see that the moment had passed.

  The rest of the meal, right down to Klara’s delicious blueberry cobbler made from filling she said she’d canned last summer, progressed smoothly. Mammi and Alice were tired by the time we were all finished and retreated to the living room, where they settled on the couch. I began clearing the table while Izzy and Christy took Mel and Mat upstairs to put on their pajamas, and Will, Uncle Alexander, Ben, and Ezra, with Zed tagging along, all went outside to check on one of the cows that my uncle thought was in preterm labor. I wished I could go with the men. I really didn’t relish the thought of having to face my mother just yet.

  Ada soon disappeared, I assumed to check on the girls, leaving me alone with Nancy, Aunt Klara, and Mom. I just kept cleaning and ignored all of them until Nancy addressed me directly.

  “So, Ella,” she said as she took a stack of dishes from me and lowered them into the sink of sudsy water, “what are your plans for working now that you’re done with school?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of babysitting, but I’d like to find a real job, any job. Then, once I’ve saved up enough money, I’ll be going to baking school.”

  Mom gave me a pointed look but didn’t say anything.

  I wasn’t as fortunate when it came to Nancy. “Baking school?” Her voice was incredulous. Amish women invariably learned to bake from their mothers and grandmothers. The thought of going away to school and paying a lot of money for it had to sound ridiculous to them.

  “I’d like to be a pastry chef,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “But I’d settle for basic classes, if need be.”

  Nancy and Aunt Klara exchanged one of those looks. Fanciful Ella—that was me. I returned to the table for another stack of plates. When I came back with them, Nancy asked if I planned to go away to school or if there was one locally I could attend.

  “I’m looking into both options,” I said, retreating to the table for the glasses. I wasn’t about to tell her I wanted to leave Lancaster County or why.

  Aunt Klara and Nancy began talking about a recipe that had been in last week’s Budget, the Plain newspaper all of us subscribed to, and I continued clearing the table. I’d tried the recipe they were talking about last Saturday. It was for a caramel pie. Aunt Klara said she thought it was too sweet. I kept my mouth shut, but I agreed. I was thinking about experimenting with it, maybe adding a chocolate-and-nut layer, perhaps make it resemble a sundae minus the ice cream. I tuned out the rest of their conversation as I thought about my recipe ideas, but after a while Ada came downstairs and began helping Mom dry the dishes while Aunt Klara continued to put food away.

  At one point, they got on the subject of Zed’s ever-increasing height.

  “He’s getting so tall and strong,” Nancy said to my mother as she slipped a plate into the rinse water. “I think he’s looking more and more like his daed all the time.”

  There was an awkward pause, which caused Nancy to glance around, bewildered. “Did I say something wrong?”

  I placed the butter dish on the counter, near the stove. “It depends on how many people in the room know who Zed’s father is.” Each woman’s face was expressionless. I turned to Nancy. “I think it’s unanimous. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t know. But it looks like everyone else did.” My eyes landed on my mother. “And did you hear that Mom and Zed saw him last night? Spent the entire evening with him. He’s moved back to Lancaster County, apparently.”

  “Marta?” Aunt Klara moved quickly from the refrigerator to my mother, her arm around her shoulders in an instant. “What’s going on?”

  Mom, in her typical fashion, stood statue still and answered, “Zed wanted to see Freddy, that’s all. Ella chose not to.”

  I crossed my arms. “So now it seems there’s just one mystery remaining. And that would be, who is Zed’s mother?”

  Instantly every face in the room went slack again.

  “So how is Freddy?” Aunt Klara asked, turning her back to me.

  “Don’t do this,” I stammered.

  “Ella.” It was Ada’s sweet voice. Her sickening, annoying voice.

  “Don’t ‘Ella’ me!” My hands landed on my hips. “You all know something I have the right to know. Don’t do this.”

  “There are no ‘rights’ here,” Mom said, her head still turned away. “And now is not the time to discuss it. We’ll talk about it later.”

  I spun around and stomped from the room as a wave of despair swept through me.

  “I have to go. Tell Mom I’m walking home, would you?” I said to Mammi as I reached the door in the living room and slipped on my boots.

  “Ella—” Alice was struggling to her feet. “It’s cold and wet out there, not to mention pitch-black.”

  I nodded as I put on my cape. Mom would be leaving soon, but I wasn’t going to sit around in the dark, so to speak, any longer. Besides, I had my cell phone, which would serve as a flashlight.

  Izzy and Christy were descending the stairs with the little girls. At least they hadn’t been present to see me humiliated.

  Swallowing my fury for a moment, I kissed Mammi’s wrinkled check, gave Alice’s hand a pat, and then hurried out the front door. By the time I was halfway up the lane, using my cell as a flashlight, Ezra was calling my name.

  Without looking behind me, I pulled my hood down farther on my head and marched on. In no time, his running steps encroached on me.

  “Ella!” He was a little out of breath. “Wait
! We need to talk.”

  I waved my gloved hand, gesturing for him to leave me alone.

  He was beside me now. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “It’s freezing out here.”

  “Not like it is inside.”

  “Come back and I’ll get the buggy. I’ll give you a ride.”

  I shook my head and picked up my pace.

  “I feel bad about last night,” he said.

  I kept my head down.

  “I didn’t explain myself very well.”

  I lifted my face, meeting his eyes. “You heard Mammi in there, Ezra. My own great-grandmother was Mennonite, and then she joined the Amish church to marry her husband. It happened for them. It could happen for us.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “It was different back then,” he said. “Switching from Mennonite to Amish wasn’t that big of a change. They didn’t even have cars.”

  “They did. It was nineteen twenty.”

  Even in the darkness, I could see Ezra smile. “Maybe Model Ts. But no computers. Or baking school. And I certainly can’t imagine you without your cell phone.”

  Before I could answer, Mom’s car pulled up beside us, and Zed rolled down the window.

  “Let’s go,” he called out.

  As I opened the back door of the car, Ezra tipped his hat toward me, the rain dripping off the brim.

  “I’ll call you,” he said. “Tonight. I promise.”

  I nodded curtly and climbed onto the backseat, realizing I’d said too much to him in the last two evenings, even for me. To counterbalance my deluge of words, I didn’t say a thing to Mom or Zed. The rain was coming down in torrents and, again, the windshield wipers were having a hard time keeping up with the sheets of water slamming against the car. Mom slowed and then finally pulled over under the willow tree not far from Aunt Klara’s. The defroster worked about as well as the stupid heater, and soon the car windows were completely fogged over. I leaned my head back against the seat.

  Finally, Zed turned around. “Lydia Gundy,” he said, his eyelids heavy.

  “What?” I sat up straight.

  “Lydia Gundy was my birth mother.”

  I gasped. “Will’s first wife?”

  He nodded.

  My mind was spinning. Lydia had been a patient of Mom’s, the one who had died during childbirth and nearly ended my mother’s career. Lydia had been Christy and Mel and Mat’s mom. How could she be Zed’s birth mom too? How could I have not known that all of these years?

  “Everyone knows?” I was whispering.

  He nodded again. “Even Lexie.”

  “Ezra too?”

  “Maybe.” He glanced at Mom.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  I sank down in the seat and crossed my arms. So I’d made an even bigger fool of myself in front of the Gundys than I’d thought. Worse, they had all kept this from me. I’d never felt so humiliated in all my life. My only hope was that Ezra didn’t know.

  Because if he had known and didn’t tell me, I would never forgive him for that.

  FIVE

  Once we got home, I changed into my nightgown and robe, waited for Zed and Mom to go to bed, and then sat down at the computer to reread the articles about the deaths of Lydia and her baby. No wonder Zed had accessed them that day.

  I didn’t understand how Will and Ada and Ezra and everyone could pretend as if nothing had happened. Why were we still friends? Didn’t they feel the shame of all of this? Back before Lydia was married to Will, she had become pregnant by Freddy, my own father—while he was still married to my mother! At least Lydia had then given that baby over to them to raise as their own once he was born. But no matter how well things turned out in the end, the way it all started was still a major disgrace.

  Once I was done reading, I was more determined than ever to leave Lancaster. I would come back eventually, of course, but not until after my father was healthy and had gone on to greener pastures.

  I searched the online white pages for a Darryl Kline in Nappanee, Indiana. Of course there would be a gazillion Klines, but I hoped just a handful with the first name of Darryl. There were two. I printed out the names and addresses. I’d have to ask Mammi which address was for her old dairy.

  Then I searched for Rosalee Neff. There was only one—and she lived on Willow Lane! There was also a business listed under her name, Plain Treats. Was that a bakery? No way could that be possible. I jotted down the phone number, along with the address, wondering if I should call or write.

  Next I went to Google Earth and typed in the address for the Home Place. As the image became larger and larger, I saw that the two properties bordered each other and the houses, as the crow flies, were less than a quarter mile apart, just as Mammi had said. I smiled, imagining Ezra working at the dairy and me working at the bakery. It was a possibility that was too, too good to be true. It had to be God’s doing. Nothing less could explain it.

  Even though my first choice was the French Pastry School in Chicago, I did a search for cooking schools in Indiana. A pastry school in Indianapolis popped up, and then classes at a Goshen grocery. Next I tried South Bend, which wasn’t too far from Nappanee and the Home Place. The University of Notre Dame offered culinary classes, but that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. There were a few restaurants offering a series of classes, but none of them were schools.

  I kept going down the list, stopping at Pierre’s Culinaire Classes. I read the description, which said that Pierre was French, no surprise, and had trained at Cordon Bleu. He had a bakery and restaurant in town called Petit Paris. It sounded as if his cooking school was located behind the restaurant. He only took ten students at a time, and the site said the program was “perfect for those looking to open their own bakery someday. Business plans and practices are covered in the course work.” The program was only three months, running from January through March, May through July, and September through November. It was quite the clever schedule, with time off at Christmas, in the spring, and summer. Maybe someday I would have a bakery and could offer similar classes. It would definitely be a way to generate more income. I couldn’t find a “Tuition” link, but it was probably far more than I could afford.

  I clicked on the “More Information” button and requested a packet. Though I was taking a slight risk by having it sent here, Mom had a post office box for her business, and I was the one who brought in the mail from the box at the end of our driveway. Chances were she would never see it—or, if she did, she would lump it in with all the other cooking schools I’d received info from and not notice the Indiana in the return address. As I logged off the computer, my phone vibrated in the pocket of my robe.

  It was Ezra. Finally. I hurried up the stairs to my room, not answering until I was behind my closed door, a towel pushed against the bottom to muffle my voice, thinking about when Zed used to sit on the top step and eavesdrop on my conversations.

  We chatted for a few minutes before he blurted out, “I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know what to do.”

  Come away with me to Indiana! was what I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. For once I wasn’t going to say too much.

  “Really, Ella,” he continued. “You make me crazy, you know? You’re always scheming and pushing and testing.”

  I remained silent, hoping there was a “but” in there somewhere!

  “But all of that is worth putting up with because you’re also so alive and eager and determined. I’ve never known anyone who keeps coming out and swinging at life the way you do. For such a beautiful girl, you sure are tough and feisty, but you have a big heart. I love that about you. I love you.”

  “I love you, Ez,” I whispered, glad I’d gotten my “but” and then some.

  “Are you really serious about joining the Amish church?” His voice was a little shaky, which surprised me.

  “Yes,” I answered. I asked when he was going to sta
rt taking classes to join.

  “When I get back.”

  The timing could work out perfectly. We could marry after he finished his stint on a dairy farm and I’d finished school.

  “When are you going?”

  “That depends on what Will finds for me, but probably soon.”

  I wasn’t ready to share my crazy Indiana scheme with him yet, not before I had a chance to talk with Mammi again. For my plan to work, it would be best for it to look as if it wasn’t my idea at all but hers instead. I didn’t like being disingenuous, but I figured as long as I accomplished what she needed me to once I got there, I didn’t owe anyone the whole truth about my reasons for wanting to go. Instead, I told Ezra I would check back at our favorite bakery in downtown Lancaster to see if they still had a position open.

  He said he was going to be working hard for Will all week in the greenhouses.

  I wanted to ask him if he knew who Zed’s birth mother was, but I wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. Finally he asked if I planned to meet my daed while he was here.

  “No,” I answered firmly, and then I saw my opening. “I’m afraid if I did, all I’d think about was his relationship with Zed’s birth mother.”

  “Why? What does that have to do with you?”

  “Are you kidding? It has everything to do with me. It has to do with—” I was about to say “with you too,” given that Zed’s birth mother was Ezra’s late sister-in-law, but I changed course and said, “Well, you’d understand if you knew who she was. Do you know?”

  There was a long pause. Then he said, “No. Why would I?”

  “Because some of the people in your family do. I thought maybe they had told you.”

  “Of course not. That’s not any of my business.”

  My face grew warm. “So you really don’t know who she is?”

  “No.”

  “And you don’t want to know?”

  “No.”

  “Even if it had something—”

  “Ella, I said no.”