The Amish Bride

by Mindy Starns Clark

  It was my turn to smile. “Isn’t it amazing how everything has fallen into place? Obviously, it’s what God wants for us.”

  Ezra gave a little nod and then popped up from the bench, taking my hand and pulling me up beside him.

  “We’ll have the adventure of our lives,” I said. “Just wait and see.”

  That evening I sent an email of confirmation to Penny, and then I checked the online job listings again. The waitress job at the café was still open. I decided I would call in the morning about it. I finished filling out an application to another restaurant, online, as Zed came up behind me. I turned around and glared at him, wondering if he’d seen anything. If so, was he going to rat me out to Mom?

  “Give me a minute,” I barked.

  Once I was done, I turned the computer over to him and then looked at what he was doing. He’d saved clips of different videos to a program he’d managed to scrape enough money together to buy. He had footage from Lexie’s wedding, clips of the three wooden boxes our ancestor Abraham Sommers had carved, and footage of Aunt Klara’s house. He’d also shot footage of horses and carriages around the county and the covered bridge near our home.

  I knew he’d used the camera on my phone at Lexie’s wedding.

  “How’d you film all of this?”

  “Your phone.”

  I nodded. “And?”

  “A friend’s phone.” He lowered his voice. “Sometimes Mom’s phone.”

  “Zed!” The thing was, Mom probably had no idea she had a video camera on her phone. I looked him in the eyes. “What are you going to do with all of it?” As I asked the question, a video of the man I was sure was Freddy came on the screen. I leaned closer to the monitor. “Is that him?” He wasn’t any clearer than he’d been on the street corner. It was the same coat and cap, but I still couldn’t see his face. He was in downtown Lancaster though, walking toward the camera.

  “Yep.”

  “You see him without Mom?”

  “I have a couple of times.”

  I made a face.

  “He’s on disability, Ella. He gets lonely—although he helps out at the soup kitchen on weekends.”

  I hadn’t listened very carefully the few times Mom had tried to talk with me about Freddy. It sounded as though he had some sort of digestive problems that made it hard for him to work.

  Zed clicked on another clip. It was of me on Ezra’s motorcycle. You could see my face but not his.

  “What are you going to do with all of these?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I just like to play with the clips. Rearrange scenes, that sort of thing.”

  I’d been annoyed with Zed ever since Freddy returned, but I grew teary at the thought of how much I would miss him. He was a constant, steady presence in my life. There was no doubt I’d taken him for granted his entire existence.

  I wouldn’t be around for the end of his freshman year. Or for his sophomore year. And maybe ever again. I always thought he was much too responsible to get into any kind of trouble, but now that I knew he was Freddy’s son, that added a whole new set of ingredients. What if he took after his father? What if it turned out he hadn’t fallen far from the family tree?

  On Sunday afternoon I talked Mom into dropping me off at Mammi’s while she went to check on a first-time mother who had been having contractions on and off for a few days. Mammi was happy to see me and asked me to make us a pot of tea. Aunt Klara and Uncle Alexander were still away at church. Mammi had been fighting a cold and had chosen to stay home.

  After I served her tea, I positioned a straight-back chair close to her recliner and sat down.

  “How goes the code breaking?” She leaned toward me, a twinkle in her eye.

  I smiled. “Well, we’re not there yet.”

  Her face fell, and I realized that when she saw me show up this afternoon, she must have assumed I had come with big news. I felt terrible.

  “Don’t look so sad,” I told her quickly, “it’s not like I haven’t made any progress at all.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’ve been working on it. Besides, we knew this would take time. Be patient, okay? I really feel as though I’ll have a breakthrough on this stuff very soon.”

  I bit my lip, wanting so badly to tell her everything, to tell her I was about to do exactly what she’d been hoping for all along, go to Indiana. To the Home Place. Once there, I had no doubt I would find some clues or leads or explanations or something that would help me figure this out for her.

  Changing the subject before I gave in to the urge to spill all, I pulled the carved box from the flannel pillowcase I’d stashed it in.

  “I brought this,” I said. “I’d like to hear more about the Home Place, and I thought having the image of it might help.”

  Mammi reached out for the box and I passed it to her. She handled it with such care. She knew as well as I did that all three boxes—mine, Ada’s, and Lexie’s—had been carved from sycamore wood well over a century ago.

  “What can you tell me about the different buildings in the picture?” I prodded.

  She studied it for a long time, carefully running her fingers over the carved ridges and dips of the wood. Finally, she began to talk, saying that the first part of the house had been erected in the late 1870s—and that the original tile roof was still on it a hundred years later when she left Indiana. The big barn had been built first, then the one-room front part of the house, but within a few years the structure was turned into a two-story house, and later the two wings were added. A daadi haus had been built as a separate structure for her grandparents when her parents had purchased the property.

  Once I’d received the architectural run-down, I asked more questions about the people who’d lived there, and soon she was off and running again.

  “We were a small family, just six total,” she said, “though there was a seventh, a baby who died. As you know, I was the youngest, and the only girl. My oldest brother, Caleb, left home when I was still little and moved to Lancaster County, so I never knew him all that well when I was growing up.”

  “How about the other two? Were you close to them?”

  I saw a flash of something in her eyes, some pain of long ago that for a moment bubbled to the surface. Then she answered my question. “Of the three, the brother I was closest to was Gerry, the father of Rosalee, the niece I was telling you about who lives there now.”

  Feeling guilty as I held in the fact that Rosalee and I had actually played phone tag with each other just recently, I asked what made her decide to leave Indiana and move to Pennsylvania.

  “When Caleb first came to Lancaster County, the woman he married had no brothers, so it was arranged that he would run his in-laws’ farm. Many years later, after Caleb’s wife died, he needed a housekeeper, so my mother urged me to come out and work for him that way. It ended up being a good move. He was kind to me. After he died, of course, the farm still belonged to his late wife’s family, who had no obligation to my children or me. But they were also kind. They let me lease the property, and eventually I was able to buy it from them.”

  I nodded, knowing that out of all the descendants of Abraham Sommers, Mammi had been the one to inherit Amielbach, the old family mansion back in Switzerland. When she sold it, she’d used the proceeds to purchase this farm.

  “Did you ever go back to Indiana, at least to visit?” I crossed my legs to get more comfortable.

  “No. Once we left there, I never looked back.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, Ella…We’ve gone through hard times here in Lancaster County too, but nothing like back in Indiana.” She took a raggedy breath and then stared off toward the window. “There was too much pain there. I know I speak glowingly of my time at home when I was a little girl, but every childhood eventually comes to an end. The realities of adulthood can be far more cruel…” She turned back to meet my eyes. “For one thing, I’m sure you’re aware that my husband was…well, that he was difficult.”

&nbs
p; Difficult? From my understanding, he was downright abusive to her and to their children. But of course I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I just nodded.

  “And there were other hurts, other sorrows. It would have been too hard to face all that again. I didn’t even go back for Gerry’s funeral.” Her voice trailed off, her eyes growing moist. “He died ten years after we left. He had a heart attack out in a field.” She sighed, glancing down at her wrinkled hands, dotted with age spots. “Maybe I was wrong to stay away, but I was weak.”

  “Mammi, can I ask you something?” I said softly, leaning forward and fixing my eyes on hers.

  Looking back at me, she nodded.

  “Why is it so important that I break this code for you? What is it you want to learn from Sarah’s book?”

  Mammi studied my face solemnly, and for a minute I thought she was going to tell me. But then that urge seemed to pass and she merely shook her head.

  “If I do break the code, I’ll find out anyway.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Well, then. Let that be your incentive,” she replied stubbornly, pursing her lips.

  And there we sat for a long moment, her lips pursed, my chin jutted out, both of us digging in our heels. Suddenly, the absurdity of the moment came clear and we began to laugh.

  “Sarah and I aren’t the only feisty ones in this family, you know,” I teased, getting up to refill her tea.

  “I suppose not.”

  When I sat back down she was still smiling, but she made it clear that the subject was closed. Instead, she asked me about my job hunt, so I told her I’d been cleaning houses and babysitting while I looked. I didn’t add that I’d been looking in and around Nappanee, Indiana.

  “That’s needed work, but you should be baking.” She squeezed my hand. “My mother loved to bake too. The other women in our district thought she was fancy with her pretty desserts, and sometimes she’d do things like put lavender in her pound cake. Oh, and the way she’d dress up her pies. She’d draw birds and trees, things like that, in pie dough with the tip of a sharp knife, and then she would cut them out and then bake them onto the top crust. She’d end up with a whole picture.”

  I tried to imagine it, the symbols from her book on top of a pie. “Was the Amish church okay with her art?”

  Mammi held the book at arm’s length. “I really don’t have any idea.” She sighed. “I’m sure the bishop wouldn’t have approved of all the time she spent drawing and painting, had he known. But it was our family secret.”

  “Did your daed approve?”

  “Not exactly, but Mother didn’t draw as much when he was around.” Mammi had a faraway look in her eyes.

  “What happened to all of the artwork she created?”

  “I don’t know.” She leaned her head back against the recliner and closed her eyes. “She had many finished canvases and full sketchbooks back then, which she kept in a big closet in the front upstairs bedroom. Though, at some point, she must have taken them out of there and hidden them away somewhere else, because I don’t recall seeing them anywhere later, once I was an adult.”

  “So they’re just…gone?”

  Mammi shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “What a loss,” I said sadly.

  An odd expression crossed Mammi’s face. “Maybe. Maybe not. She was Amish, Ella. She had no business indulging in any endeavor—no matter how talented she was—if that led her to commit the sin of pride. I don’t think she was prideful of her artwork, but she may have been, at least privately so. Perhaps getting rid of it in the end was her way of asking for God’s forgiveness.”

  Sobered by the thought, I patted Mammi’s hand and said I would make us lunch. Though the Mennonite faith stressed humility, the Amish made a huge deal out of it. And while I understood what she was saying about Sarah’s sin of pride, I still didn’t think a confession would warrant the destruction of a lifetime of art. But I let the subject drop.

  After we were finished eating our sandwiches, Mammi said she was going to take a nap as she settled more comfortably in her chair.

  “I wish I could have known Sarah,” I said, feeling nostalgic. I knew lots of people who had relationships with their great-grandmothers, the way Christy did with Alice. Never mind that mine would have been absolutely ancient if she were alive now. I still would have liked to have known her.

  “She loved life, that was certain,” Mammi said. “She was much more joyful than me. She saw beauty in absolutely everything. You can see that in the drawings in her journal.” She closed her eyes, and because I couldn’t think of how to respond, for once I didn’t.

  Mammi had never been fun loving, that was for sure, or one to gush over people or nature, but she had been steadfast and hardworking—at least until a few years ago, when she’d had her stroke. Stroke or not, I always knew she loved me and that she was dedicated to me and to our entire family. I stood perfectly still and watched her for a few moments as she drifted off to sleep.

  Next to Zed, I knew I would miss her the most. But then my mind leaped to the Home Place, and I couldn’t help but wonder if something was there that really could help me break the code in the book. Maybe Sarah hadn’t ditched her artwork after all. Even if the art really was gone, there had to be papers or something she’d left behind that might help me decipher it. Because the place was still in the family, chances were Sarah’s things were still there somewhere, probably boxed up in an old attic or forgotten down in some basement.

  All I had to do was get to Indiana, get to the Home Place, and get a good look for myself.

  EIGHT

  I never did receive the packet from the cooking school in South Bend. When I called to follow up, a machine greeted me, so I left a voice mail message requesting another packet to be sent. It never arrived either, so the day before Ezra and I left for Indiana, I called a third time and left a message requesting that a packet be sent to Penny’s house in Nappanee.

  That afternoon Ezra again picked me up at the library. Will had given him the day off to prepare to leave.

  “The weather’s cooperating,” I shouted into his ear as we zipped along.

  He nodded his head.

  “So we’re going to take the bike?”

  He nodded again. “I canceled the driver this morning.”

  I was feeling giddy by the time we reached the cottage. Mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and Zed wasn’t home from school yet.

  “Want to come in for a minute?” I asked.

  He hesitated.

  “Come on, Ez. Just for a minute.”

  He followed me inside and I poured him a glass of water. I started telling him all about Mammi and Sarah’s book and the Home Place. I hadn’t mentioned any of it to him before because Mammi had asked me to keep her request to myself. But now that he was going to be a part of my adventure in cracking the code, I thought he needed to know.

  “I’ll go get the book,” I said once I’d finished explaining.

  Upstairs, as I was fishing for the box under my bed, I heard Mom’s car turn into the drive. I must have pushed the box, still wrapped in the pillowcase, farther back than where I usually positioned it. I got down on my hands and knees and was finally able to retrieve it. I hurried to the stairs, hoping to be back in the dining room before Mom came inside, but she must have noticed Ezra’s bike because she hustled into the house in a hurry. I was halfway down the stairs and Ezra was at the bottom when the front door opened and Mom called out my name.

  By the time I reached Ezra, it probably looked as if we had both just raced down the stairs. Mom didn’t say anything. She just gave us one of her killer stares. We shuffled over to the couch and sank down onto it. I hated how suspicious she always was, especially when she had nothing to worry about. Sure, I could be headstrong and stubborn, but I wasn’t stupid. You don’t grow up with a midwife for a mother without fully gasping the consequences of certain choices. More importantly, though, Ezra and I were both committed to waiting for marriage—whether my mom believed
it or not—and that’s all there was to it.

  I took the box out of the pillowcase and then took the book out of the box. Ezra leafed through it briefly, shrugged, and handed it back. Then he took the box, turned it over, and looked at the construction of it as much as at the carving.

  As he handed it back, he said, “Cool.”

  I don’t know what I expected from him, but I was disappointed. Then I decided he was probably so ho-hum because Mom was in the dining room. He stood, saying he should go, but he wanted to tell my mother goodbye first. Terrified he would say something about my going, I told him that wasn’t a good idea.

  “She and I still have a few things to work through,” I whispered, and then I walked him outside and down the steps to his bike.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said.

  I nodded. I had to tell Mom what I was up to because I hadn’t mustered the courage to discuss it with her before now.

  I walked to the highway and watched Ezra go, tracking his motorcycle as it dipped down the hill and then out of sight.

  When I returned to the cottage, Mom was in the dining room.

  “Come here,” she said.

  I obeyed.

  “Ella Marie Bayer, don’t you dare interfere with that young man and his future.” Her voice was calm, but her face reddened as she spoke. “He’s leaving tomorrow. It’s the beginning of his new life.”

  “I was just showing him the book and the box of the farm in Indiana because he’s going to be right next door to it.” I met her gaze. “Because he’s been my friend for as long as I can remember.”

  It was as if she hadn’t heard me at all.

  “You have no right,” she barked.

  I spun away from her and fled to my room to pack. How could she care so deeply about the man who cheated on her and abandoned her, and not care about me, her only daughter? She acted as if I had no right to my feelings. She acted as if I had no right to my life. There was no way I was going to tell her about my plans to go to Indiana now.

  Shutting my door, I scanned my room. I’d already mailed a box to my new address a week ago. I had filled it with clothes and toiletries, including the hand mirror I used to use when I was a little younger and sometimes wore makeup. I had also included my magnifying glass to continue reading Sarah’s book. And though I would have liked to add the book itself, just because it was so bulky, I didn’t dare. Being irreplaceable, it wasn’t worth the risk of mailing. For the drive out, Ezra had bought saddlebags for the motorcycle, and I would have my backpack. I planned to carry the book with me in there.