The Amish Bride

by Mindy Starns Clark

  As I was getting ready to leave town, I stopped by the café again. Deciding I had nothing to lose, I took in the samples for Kendra and Wes.

  Kendra was making a BLT, obviously for herself, and Wes wasn’t in sight.

  “I brought you something,” I said. “Samples.” I placed the boxes on the worktable. “Everything’s a little smushed, but it all still tastes really good.”

  She put tomato slices on top of the bacon. “Well, thanks, sweetheart. Wes and I still haven’t decided. Want to stick around for a cup of coffee?”

  “Can’t,” I said. “I’m on my bike and need to get back. Call me when you’re ready to place an order.” I grinned.

  She shook her head and smiled. “You’re too much.”

  I waved as I hurried out the back door.

  On Thursday Pierre offered his first lesson on bread making. It was to be a simple loaf of French bread. I’d first made one when I was nine. Still, I listened attentively and even took notes. Although it was interesting to watch Pierre go through the steps, I didn’t learn anything new.

  On Friday Eddie asked me if I’d be going to church on Sunday. It was at their house. I told him I would consider it.

  Millie hadn’t been over to the bakery since Wednesday because she’d been home cooking and cleaning. On Saturday I made cookies—snickerdoodles, peanut butter, and chocolate chip—for the service, plus a big pot of bean soup and an industrial-sized tray of corn bread. Luke drove the food over that evening in Rosalee’s buggy.

  The next morning I decided to attend the service, mostly out of curiosity and because Eddie wanted me to. Rosalee and I walked through the woods together. The day was a sunny spring day, cool but with the promise of warmth to come. I was a bit nervous as Rosalee introduced me to members of her district. Some I recognized from the bakery, but many of them I didn’t. One of the older people asked me about my grandmother, but it seemed most didn’t know who I was. I’d learned from Rosalee that I didn’t have many relatives left in the area. Quite a lot of the Mennonite offspring had moved west, and the only one of my grandmother’s brothers who’d had children was Gerry.

  Millie and Eddie greeted me warmly, and Luke gave me a shy smile. Their mother took my hand and squeezed it, thanked me for the cookies and soup, and then introduced me to her husband.

  Darryl took off his hat, showing an almost entirely bald head with just a fringe of dark brown hair to match his long, full beard. He was tall and wide and seemed a little gruff, but he wasn’t the ogre I expected. Ezra had been exaggerating.

  As Rosalee and I took our seats on the women’s side of the Klines’ shed, toward the back, I began to relax. Because I was going to marry Ezra someday, I needed to become comfortable in an Amish church service. I also needed to work at learning Pennsylvania Dutch, something I hoped Eddie could help me with.

  I estimated there were probably close to eighty people at the church service, maybe more. Of course, a large portion were children, sitting up on the backless benches, looking straight ahead. I knew, from going to services with Mammi, that sometime during the morning parents would take the most restless of the children out for a break, but the majority of them would endure the long stretches of songs, sermons, and prayers. I admired the stamina of Amish children.

  The first song, from the Ausbund, was in German and lasted about twenty minutes—or at least it felt like it. The second one was no better. The Scripture reading was also in German. I could make out a few words here and there, but as the bishop started the teaching segment in Pennsylvania Dutch, my mind began to wander.

  Zed and I had texted the night before, but he was giving me less and less information. I sensed it was because he was spending more time with Freddy and didn’t want to divulge that, but when I asked about it he didn’t give me an answer. Mom and Zed were beginning to feel more and more distant, as did all of Lancaster County.

  The preacher’s voice fell to a near whisper—obviously he was emphasizing something. He was fairly young and extra good looking with blond hair and dark eyes. I wished I could understand what he was saying because he sounded very kind and the others listened attentively—except for Eddie. He was making a face at me. I quickly looked away, determined not to encourage him. Two hours later, by the end of the long service, Eddie had his head tucked against Luke’s side and was fast asleep.

  When it finally ended, I went to the house with Rosalee to help Cora and Millie pull the meal together. Cora looked better than the evening I met her and seemed to be holding up fine.

  The tables in the kitchen and living room were already set. Men started bringing in the benches from the service and putting one on each side of each table. I realized there were tables set up in the basement too when the men started hauling benches down there. It seemed Tom was in charge of that task because he stood at the door and directed the men. Darryl must still have been outside.

  It wasn’t long until it was time for the meal to be served. I knew the men and women sat at separate tables. I also knew that it usually took two seatings for the entire district to eat, and that was probably truer here at the Klines’ than in most homes because their house was small.

  I waited with Rosalee while the first group ate. We refilled water pitchers and then put the cookies and other desserts out on a long table. I knew she hadn’t contributed any pies from the bakery, but it looked as if other women had purchased some of our pies and brought them along.

  Finally, Rosalee, Cora, Millie, and I sat down together with our bowls of soup. When we were finishing up, Eddie wiggled onto the bench between Rosalee and me, looking up at me with his big gray eyes.

  “Yep,” he said in English. “I’m going to court you some day.”

  The women all laughed, and I gave his shoulder a squeeze, realizing I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t experienced since I left Lancaster County. It was the way I once felt with Ezra’s family. That made me sad. When I returned, would they be accepting of me, both as a member of the church and as Ezra’s wife?

  I began gathering the empty bowls around me, and as I stood I realized Luke was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching me. He blushed and then walked through to the living room. As I began washing the dishes, he came back through with the first of the benches. Soon they would all be stacked back in the church wagon and on their way to the home where services would be held in two weeks.

  It was plenty warm enough for people to visit outside, and after Millie and I had finished the last of the cleanup, we went out and sat with some of the younger people.

  “Are you coming to the singing tonight?” one of the younger teen girls asked.

  Millie said she wasn’t sure; it depended on how her mamm was feeling. I could see that hosting the church service would tire Cora out.

  “How about Luke?” the girl asked, but Millie only shrugged.

  “Naomi will be there,” the girl teased, but then, without missing a beat, she turned toward me. “Are you going, Ella?”

  “Probably not,” I answered, not wanting to explain that, first of all, I hadn’t been invited, and second of all, even though I’d felt a sense of community I didn’t feel as if I belonged.

  As I loaded Rosalee’s pots and pans into the buggy, a man’s firm voice drew my attention.

  It was Darryl, standing in the doorway of the shed.

  “Eddie,” he called out.

  The boy was scampering across the barnyard, a kitten in his hands, toward the shed.

  “I already asked you to sweep up once.”

  Eddie let the kitten go and walked toward his daed, his head down.

  I walked back to the house for Rosalee but bumped into Luke.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said to me, stepping wide, but then he stopped, watching Eddie grab the broom.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Seems to be.”

  It was obvious Darryl ran a pretty tight ship.

  Luke turned to me. “Have you met our minister?”

 
I shook my head.

  “Preacher Jacob,” he called out.

  He was twenty feet away but hurried over, his hand outstretched.

  “Welcome,” he said, shaking my hand. He didn’t seem to be thirty yet. His wife joined us. She was pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes. They didn’t have any children with them.

  “Could you understand the sermon?” the preacher asked.

  I told him I could make out a few words.

  “Feel free to have Rosalee translate next time. She can whisper as I speak.”

  “I don’t want to be a nuisance,” I said.

  “You won’t be. I’d rather have it that way. Or I can speak in English.”

  My eyes must have betrayed my surprise.

  “It’s not unheard of,” he said. “If you have any questions, let me know. But please come back. We’d love to have you join us regularly.”

  His wife nodded.

  “This is Marilyn.” Jacob stepped back and put his hand on her elbow.

  She took my hand too. She was probably not much older than Millie. I wondered how long they had been married.

  “It’s so nice to have you with us,” she said. “And nice that Rosalee has you every day.”

  I thanked them both, and then, after exchanging goodbyes, I watched them walk toward their buggy. Jacob leaned toward his wife, whispering something to her. Her head tilted forward and she patted his arm. I felt a pang of envy. That was what I wanted, minus having a preacher for a husband. I couldn’t imagine Ezra doing that and hoped the lot would never choose him. But I envied Jacob and Marilyn’s closeness, their easiness with each other, how he seemed to absolutely adore her, and vice versa. He was young to be a preacher, yes, but clearly he was doing a good job.

  Rosalee joined me. “He’s a gut preacher,” she said. “He’s taught me so many things. He talks about God’s love in ways I’ve never heard before. It’s as if God speaks right through him.”

  TWENTY

  That afternoon, while Rosalee rested, I saw my chance to thoroughly explore the farm. I’d been on the lookout ever since I arrived, searching everywhere I could, but I hadn’t been able to do a methodical search to see where Sarah’s artwork might be tucked away—if it hadn’t been destroyed. I had even asked Luke a couple of times if he’d seen it. The second time he told me he understood what I was asking, but he hadn’t seen any sort of artwork around the place.

  I’d searched the bakery a second time. I knew it wasn’t in the house—unless it was in Rosalee’s room, which I doubted. It wasn’t in the shed. I’d been in the barn a few times and looked through a downstairs tack room to no avail, but I’d never been in the loft. If I were going to hide artwork, I definitely wouldn’t put it there. Barns tended to burn down. But still, I needed to look.

  I sneezed a few times as I climbed the ladder. The straw was old and musty and needed to be changed. It was probably on Luke’s long list of chores. The horse neighed in her stall below me, and Rosalee’s cow mooed. It was nearly time for her to be milked.

  Only a few rows of hay bales, stacked four high, were left in the loft. The floor was long plank boards balanced on beams, but as I looked closer, to my relief, I saw they were nailed down. I scanned the open area. There was nowhere anything could be hidden. I walked to the end of the loft and stood at the open window where they most likely brought the hay in, probably on a conveyor belt. I could see past the first field and on to the second. I hadn’t been out there yet. I squinted, making out a willow tree bowing down toward a small pond, remembering Mammi’s story about her grandfather playing his alpine horn.

  Discouraged, I left the barn thinking I would walk out to the field. But first I decided to look in the underground cellar. I hadn’t been in it before. It seemed that Rosalee always went after the potatoes herself or sent Eddie. It was worth a try.

  I hurried down the stone walkway, sure Mammi’s grandfather Gerard Gingrich had constructed it. The wooden door at the bottom was also made of planks. I grasped the handle and pressed against the latch, easing the door wide open to give myself some light as I stepped into the cold cellar. I exhaled, noting that my breath hung in the air. It was probably around forty degrees, even though it was close to seventy outside.

  The odor was pungent, a mix of earth, onions, garlic, and other root vegetables. A small pile of potatoes was in the corner. There were also nearly empty bins of turnips, cabbage, yams, and onions. Strings of garlic hung from the low ceiling.

  I turned on the flashlight app on my phone and shone it around the room. The ceiling was curved and constructed of bricks, which seemed to be quite an engineering feat. There were no cupboards or shelves built into the wall, but there was a space between where the stone wall ended and the bricks began, although not enough room for much of anything. I didn’t want to run my hand along it. I stood on my tiptoes and strained to see on the ledge, hopping around the room as I did. When I got to the other side, I stopped. Something looked like a piece of dull metal. I reached up, tentatively, and then pulled down an old butter cookie tin that was icy cold against my hands. I brushed away the cobwebs and opened it.

  Inside were five stacks of papers, two-inch squared I estimated, rubber banded together. Each of the top squares had a drawing on it. I picked up one with a bird, and started to take the rubber band off, but it broke in my hand. Each of the squares had a symbol on it—many were the same ones that were in Sarah’s book. It was obvious she’d drawn these too. There was edelweiss, an alpine horn, a hen with a brood of chicks, a crow, an eagle, a small bird, a hound, a butter churn, a cow, a cat, a willow tree… then an owl and hawk. I closed the lid and left the cellar, taking the box with me and carefully latching the door. It wasn’t what I was looking for, but still it was a find.

  I decided to go on to the pasture and the pond. I walked around the edge of the field because Luke had seeded it not too long ago. I stayed along the fence line and then cut across the pasture. As I neared the pond, I realized the Klines’ property was on the other side of it. I could see the cows in their pasture, and there was a gate between the two. One of the cows raised her head, as if she had noticed my approach in the distance.

  I stopped under the graceful willow and sat down on a wide, flat root that was sticking out of the ground. Opening the tin, I took the rest of the rubber bands off the stacks of squares. I was more careful with these and they didn’t break. It was hard to tell how old the paper was. I guessed the coldness of the root cellar had preserved the images more than if they had been in the house.

  I thumbed through the pictures. There were probably fifty altogether. At first I thought the squares seemed as if they were made for a game like Memory, but there were no matches. Each symbol was different. There were more herbs. More household objects—a lamp, a pitcher, a ladle. There were raspberries, blueberries, peaches, and apples. There was also a Bible, a songbook, and a notebook. I stopped at the very last picture. It was a baby. I gasped. Mammi said her mother didn’t draw people. But here was proof that she had. I went through the pictures again, one by one, and then stopped at the picture of the baby once more. The infant had curly hair and bright eyes and was smiling. I wondered if it was a particular baby or just a drawing of a random baby. If it was a specific one, I couldn’t help but wonder who it was. My mammi? Rosalee’s father, Gerry? Mom or one of her sisters? It could easily have been a boy or a girl. I puzzled over it as I put the rubber bands back on the stacks and then carefully tied the rubber band I broke. I put everything back in the box for safekeeping. Unfortunately, I didn’t see how any of the drawings would help me figure out the code, but I was grateful to have found them, even though they only added to the mystery of Sarah’s work.

  The mooing over at the Klines’ grew louder, and I realized someone was herding the cows toward their barn. I stood up and stepped away from the tree and pond. Standing on my tiptoes, I shielded my eyes. It was Luke. He spotted me and took his hat off and waved it at me. I waved back, smiling a little.

&nbs
p; He was hard to figure out. I was never sure if he was happy to see me or not. I was surprised he was doing the milking. He would miss the singing if he didn’t hurry.

  By the time I got back to the barn, Rosalee was already milking Bossie, perched on the little stool, her head against the cow’s flank. The ping of the milk against the galvanized bucket masked the sounds of my entrance, and I had to say hello twice before she heard me.

  “Goodness,” she said, turning her head toward me and stopping the milking as she did. “You startled me.”

  Her hands returned to her work, picking up the steady rhythm again of the milk against the pail, but she kept her eyes on me.

  “What do you have in the box?”

  “A sort of game, I think. I found it in the underground cellar.” I hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind that I was snooping around.”

  She smiled a little. “No, I told you to. I expected it.”

  Relieved, I continued, “I think Sarah must have made it.” I opened it as I spoke. “It has many of the same symbols as in her book, plus more, but these don’t seem to be tied to recipes.” I held up a stack of cards, showing the willow tree on top. “Do you remember these?”

  She shook her head. “But that’s the willow in the field.”

  I nodded but was disappointed that she didn’t remember the cards or if they were part of a game. I put the stack of symbols back inside and closed the box, deciding I’d go fix dinner.

  First, though, I retreated to my room and sat down on the bed, placing the box beside me. I took out my phone and hit the speed dial key for Mom’s number. For once she picked up right away. I didn’t want to chat or hear about Freddy, so I jumped straight to my question, asking her about the squares with the pictures on them and told her Rosalee didn’t remember them.