by Kelly Long
“Martha Yoder? Why Joel, she comes to church with patches on her dress . . . And besides, Bishop Loftus says that the Yoders . . . well, poverty, is a result of the hidden sin in their lives. I couldn’t possibly have Martha Yoder there with Bishop Loftus sharing the same table.”
“Why not?” Joel persisted, feeling angry at Rose’s disdainful dismissal of Martha.
Rose gave a helpless shrug, and Joel clenched his shepherd’s staff tighter. “Didn’t Derr Herr Himself eat with the poor? And what sin do the Yoders hide that Gott would so afflict them?”
Rose gave a quick, furtive look over one shoulder, then spoke low. “Joel, you musn’t speak that way. You know that Bishop Loftus is a great spiritual leader, and to contradict him is . . .”
“Heresy?” Joel asked.
“What?”
“Never mind. We’ll be at supper. Sei se gut, give our thanks to your mamm for the invitation.”
Rose nodded and then hurried away, floundering for a moment with her skirts in the snow. He watched her go, unable to resist comparing Martha’s natural grace to that of the other girl. Then he turned back to rub Lenore’s black ears while he thought over his angry feelings about Bishop Loftus. The man gave him a sick feeling at times when he spoke of some parable or teaching in church, yet Joel had never really expressed his misgivings aloud—until now. He realized that perhaps it was no chance meeting that he’d had with Martha but rather something that would bring about change in his life and possibly others’. Then he gently prodded Lenore away and began to herd the sheep to shelter.
* * *
Martha’s fragile jaw ached from the blows Judah had given her, and she swallowed hard as she stirred the outside kettle full of ashes and fat. She had to make soap whether she had been beaten or not, so she straightened her spine and began to hum as she worked. She tried not to think of the possibility that Judah might kumme, even that very nacht, to court her and shuddered to think of what that might entail. But surely he would do no improper thing—not that slapping me was proper . . . Still, she knew that bundling, or bed courtship, was a common practice among her people, and she could not stand the thought of lying so close to Judah, even with a bundling board between them.
Her thoughts drifted as she moved the paddle stick in the boiling mass, and then her attention was caught by the muted sound of her mother coughing hard inside the cabin. Martha abandoned the soap, careless of the mess she’d have to clean up later, and flew to the porch and then inside. She entered her parents’ room to find her mamm caught in a deep paroxysm of coughing.
“Ach, Mamm,” Martha strove to keep her voice calm. “I’ll get some more of May Miller’s tea for you right away.”
“Nee, Dochder.” Her fater’s worried voice gave her pause. “Yer mamm’s worse off this time. Best if you run over to May’s and ask for some stronger kind of medicine. Take the brown hen with ya to barter.”
“Jah.” Martha nodded in hasty agreement, not bothering to contradict her daed. She knew that he understood from her own vivid descriptions of the chickens that the brown hen was their best layer—but the healer must be paid. Even though she’ll probably refuse it . . .
Martha called reassurances to her grossmuder, then raced out to the shabby barn with the alarming sound of her mamm’s asthma echoing in her mind. She snatched up the surprised brown hen and tucked the bird under her arm and beneath her frayed cloak. Then she set off in desperate haste for May’s cabin on its rocky incline.
* * *
Joel leaned back in the comfortable ladder-back chair and took a drink of the black tea that May was in the habit of brewing when he came for an occasional visit. They both understood that there was nothing romantic in these brief encounters, but rather simply a shared love of reading and the written word.
“You’re distracted,” May murmured, and he smiled at her.
May was young, but her eyes held old secrets, and he always had the odd feeling around her that she could see more of him than he might prefer. But now, he wanted to talk about Martha . . .
“I guess I am a bit,” he admitted, glancing to the small cabin’s kitchen window at the falling dusk outside.
Courting was done mostly at nacht in the beginning, and he was counting the minutes until he could geh to Martha’s.
“Who is she?” May asked, idly turning the pages of a poetry book she’d been reading aloud.
Joel laughed and shook his head. “Is it that obvious?”
“Jah,” she answered simply.
He knew he could trust May’s discretion, so he spoke Martha’s name like a deep caress.
May nodded, smiling a bit. “An excellent match that would be—you and she.”
“You say ‘would be’ . . . Do you think she won’t have me?” He tried to keep the anxiousness from his voice and was surprised to find his heart pounding.
“I think—” May paused. “That love is never easy. Courting should be a time to truly get to know another person so that later . . . well, never mind.”
“What?” He was intrigued but also deeply shaken by May’s seemingly casual use of the word “love.” Do I love Martha Yoder? I don’t even know her . . . but I want to. Gott, I want to . . .
He was about to mutter this thought aloud when there was a furious pounding at the door.
“Somebody’s bad off,” May murmured, and he rose to hurry and open the wood barrier.
Martha Yoder nearly fell into his arms, and he had difficulty keeping his hands to himself as he hastened to help her balance. She was gasping for breath, and her doe-brown eyes were wild with fright.
“Martha,” he said soothingly. “What is it?” He took the hen from her without question and set it on the floor.
“My mamm,” she cried. “She’s coughing real bad—I don’t think she can breathe much.”
Joel saw that May was already working at the large cabinet that housed the mysteries of herbs and potions the woman used to bring health and healing to their people.
He caught Martha’s small hand in his and automatically began to rub his thumb over the rapid pulse point in her wrist. He longed to gather her to him but he knew he might help a better way when May turned to both of them. She held a small vial of some reddish liquid.
“Here. Give her a few drops of this in water. It will both ease the coughing and calm her.”
Joel gently released Martha’s hand, not sure if she had even noticed his touch. He took the vial from May, then turned to look deep into Martha’s eyes. “Let me run on ahead with the medicine to give your mamm. You’re exhausted, and my legs are longer. Trust me. Please.”
He saw the wavering indecision in her pale face, but then she nodded. “Jah, sei se gut, geh. Danki.”
Joel exhaled and nodded, then ran from the cabin, praying that Gott would get him there in time to help.
Chapter Five
Martha drew several deep breaths as her eyes randomly swept the book-laden table at May Miller’s. But worry for her mother held back any assumptions about Joel and May and she pulled her cloak closer, preparing to run after him.
“Wait, Martha, sei se gut,” May called.
“Ach, do you have something else for Mamm? I hope the hen here will be enough in payment.” Martha struggled to keep the anxiety out of her voice, knowing that surely, sooner or later, the healer would need payment that her family did not have to give.
May scooped the hen off the floor. “I’ll not take your best layer, Martha.”
“Wh—what? How did you know?”
Martha watched the other girl shrug. “I just know—the same way I also know that I’ve never seen Joel Umble so concerned about a woman as to hold her hand in comfort.”
Martha felt herself flush. “Did he hold my hand?—I didn’t notice.”
May gave her back the hen, and Martha automatically settled the bird beneath her arm.
“Next time—notice,” May suggested dryly. “Now, geh to your mamm.”
Martha nodded. “Danki.”
Then she turned and tried, in her too-tight shoes, to race home over the snowy ground.
* * *
Joel had never encountered poverty up close, so his first glimpse of the interior of Martha’s home came as something of a shock. But he knew, in his heart, that it didn’t matter where a person lived but rather how a person lived their life and loved. And clearly, Martha’s home was one of love.
Her grandmother, whom he had only seen a few times over the years, smiled at him with bootblack eyes as she raised herself up on one elbow when he knocked at the cabin’s door then entered without much preamble. “I’ve kumme with medicine for Martha’s mamm,” he said to the auld woman.
“In the room yonder, young fella. Where is my girlie, Martha?”
He crossed the sagging floor and smiled down at her. “She kummes behind me. Don’t worry.”
“How can I worry when there’s a strapping lad like you ta help?” Frau Yoder demanded, and he nodded as he headed for the adjacent room. As he saw the invalids’ beds, he wondered briefly where Martha slept, then gave his full attention to her mamm.
Elise Yoder still showed hints of a faded beauty, even as she clearly struggled to breathe.
“I need a cup to mix up the medicine that will ease you. It’s from May Miller.”
“Our family cup is out at the well,” Martha’s fater said over his wife’s wheezing. “Ya passed it on the way in.”
“Right.” Joel nodded as he headed back outdoors, unable to resist thinking of the myriad cups and mugs his mamm had at home.
He grabbed the tin dipper, pulled up the well bucket and scooped water into the cup. He dropped a bit of the medicine into the cold water, then hurried back into the cabin, all the while thinking of how easy it would be for the community to gather and help the Yoders—but then there was Bishop Loftus to contend with . . . He pushed the rapid thoughts away as he helped Martha’s mamm into an upright position and placed the cup to her lips. She drank, still fitfully coughing. As he pressed his hand against her back, he closed his eyes and pictured her damaged lungs working easily with the miracle of breath that only Gott can give—the breath of life.
He opened his eyes to an odd silence and glanced down into Frau Yoder’s face, now peaceful and relaxed, her breathing even and easy.
“Danki, Joel Umble,” she whispered.
He nodded, glad that the potion May had made worked so well, then unbent his back to stand upright as he realized that Martha stood behind him.
“What did you do?”
Joel turned to look at her, taken once more by the wild loveliness of her face and the toss of her honeyed hair, which had lost all of its pins as well as her kapp. He knew of no other maedel who would appear without the proper head covering in front of someone not her husband, but Martha was like no other girl.
“What did you do?” she demanded again, breaking his reverie.
He spread his hands helplessly. “I—I gave your mamm May’s medicine. What else could I do?”
She looked straight at him, deep into his eyes, then finally dropped her gaze. “I think you might be able to do a whole lot, Joel Umble. A whole lot . . .”
* * *
Martha was quiet as she saw him to the broken front steps of the little cabin. She thought he would take his leave quickly—probably anxious to get back to May as the nacht settled in . . .
“Where do you sleep?” he asked.
His soft, intimate question amazed her, and she answered automatically. “In the pantry.” She gestured with her hand to the narrow add-on to the left side of the cabin. “It has a window,” she added, not wanting to arouse his pity.
“Gut,” he said, smiling in a way that made her feel like she stood on uneven ground, lost in the blue of his eyes.
“Why?” she finally managed to ask. “Why is it good?”
She watched the rise and fall of his broad chest as he drew a deep breath. He leaned close to her, bending his head so that his dark hair brushed her heated cheek. “Because I want to court you, Martha Yoder. I want to throw pebbles at your window and beg to kumme in, and you might let me and we’ll—”
“Because you saw my body—you want to court me?” She knew she sounded curious, not angry. Joel Umble is asking to court me . . . Ach, Gott, help me. Help me know what to do . . .
She shivered when he finally whispered against her cheek, his thick lashes lowered. “Jah,” he whispered. “Because I saw you—it is only honorable that I ask to court you. Please, Martha—let me.”
He reached his long fingers to caress her jaw, and she nearly winced. Then all thoughts of courting with Joel flew out of her mind as she remembered Judah.
She backed away from Joel’s tall warmth and edged up the steps. “Nee, Joel. I—I cannot court with you because of desire. It—it isn’t right.” But it is . . . It is . . . It feels so right, if not for Judah and his very real threats. And then she realized that she was worried what evil Judah might do to Joel if he found out his own bruder was courting the girl he’d set his sights on . . . She shuddered and made for the cabin door.
“Martha,” he said in the growing dusk.
She couldn’t help but turn at his even tone. “Jah?”
“I’m not giving up.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to keep asking, keep wanting, and I think—I hope—maybe you will too.”
She shook her head and mutely entered her home, closing the door on him and the dream of any future she might fantasize about with Joel Umble.
Chapter Six
“Quite a nice spread, wouldn’t you say, Joel?” Bishop Loftus spoke loudly in a jovial tone that nonetheless had rivulets of darkness running through it.
Joel knew the auld man well enough to realize that any response could be twisted into a sermon on evil, so he merely nodded politely.
They were standing in the Rabers’ well-appointed cabin for the Saturday nacht supper that Rose had invited him and his family to attend before the youth singing. The long kitchen table was covered in a snowy white cloth and was laden with so much food that it was a wonder the legs held. Any other time, Joel would have joined in the conversation and appreciated the bountiful dishes, but now, all he could see in his mind’s eye was Martha’s sparse cabin, and he wondered if the Yoder family had enough to eat that nacht.
Judah stood on the opposite side of the bishop while Frau Raber, Rose and Ruby’s mother, busily moved about the room. Herr Raber began a rumbling conversation with Joel about wool that distracted him for the moment from his concerns about the Yoder family, and soon it was time to eat.
Joel slid onto the bench, finding Ruby pressed near him as everyone strove to fit, and he wondered if the girl had purposely asked her mamm to add no extra chairs so that she might snuggle close. Though he might have enjoyed the feminine touch in the past, he now found it cloying and wondered how a simple few minutes with Martha in his arms could have changed him so much. But it wasn’t simple—it was hot and right and filled me with a desire beyond myself . . .
He looked up from the silent grace late to realize that dishes were being passed around him. He concentrated on scooping out a spoonful of sweet potatoes covered in thick marshmallow, then handed the casserole to Ruby. She made a subtle play of pressing against his side, and he nearly rolled his eyes.
“Spring is nearly upon us,” Bishop Loftus observed. “Only a few more days away. The time for courting, I always say.”
Joel frowned faintly. Adults were never to intrude on the process of courting—another young person might know certain details, but initially, most courting was done in secret—which gave him an idea.
“Everything is delicious tonight, as always,” Joel announced, distracting everyone’s attention from the bishop’s turn of conversation.
“Danki, Joel.” Ruby smiled. “Mamm and Rose and I did our best.”
He nodded and gestured lightly to the table. “Such blessings of abundance, there are bound to be leftovers.”
Frau Raber spoke up quickly. “Jah, Joe
l—and we would love for you and your family to take some home.”
Joel drew a deep breath. “I was actually thinking of taking some up to the Yoder family. They’ve—been on my heart lately.”
He was unprepared for the dagger-sharp glares he received from both the bishop and Judah, and he shrugged innocently. “After all, we are to help the poor as Derr Herr commands . . . Isn’t that right, Bishop Yoder?”
Joel lifted his gaze to meet the dark eyes of the bishop directly. He knew he was treading a thin line, but he didn’t care. If it was within his power, Martha and her family would taste sweet potatoes and marshmallow that nacht too.
Bishop Loftus took a long sip from his coffee mug, then nodded abruptly with an odd glance at Judah. “Jah, Joel Umble, you speak correctly. The poor should be helped, but not indulged. It’s not gut for them and will only keep them bound in the curse of their poverty.”
Here we go . . . Joel sat up straighter. He tapped his fork idly against the table and nodded. “The curse of poverty—I’ve heard you say that before, Bishop. So you believe that young Martha Yoder, caring alone for three invalids, is cursed? How so?”
The table had grown still and silent, and Joel waited, counting his heartbeats, but then the bishop laughed, breaking the tension. “Ach, Frau Umble, your sohn has wit as well as intelligence to try to ask such questions at a festive meal . . . We will eat and talk of other—more meaningful things this nacht.”
And Joel listened as the people gathered strove to make relieved conversation, almost as if an icy knife had passed through their midst but had done no real harm. He went back to eating his meal but was aware of the bishop’s eyes upon him, almost as if he were being weighed somehow. Rose shot him a daggered look across the table that warned him to forget the Yoders.
But he smiled at her, then turned to his other side, where his hostess sat. “Frau Raber, as I said, if you might pack up the leftovers—” he began in an undertone.
She passed him the scalloped potatoes and gave a brief nod. “At the back door, during the singing.”