Accidentally Amish (44 page)

“I cannot wait.”

Christian considered his bride-to-be. He had no doubt she was the prettiest of the Yoder sisters, but her devotion to the church had won his heart.

A wagon rattled into view and hurtled toward the house.

“Why is he driving so fast?” Lizzie rose abruptly, clutching her shawl against the wind, and moved to the edge of the porch. “My uncle! Something must be wrong—it may be my aunt.”

She stepped to the front door, pushed it open, and screamed for her family. The answer came in a thunder of footsteps from every direction. When the wagon came to a halt only a few feet from the porch, Christian was there to grab the reins and steady the horses. Yoders swarmed around the wagon.

“Miriam!” Lizzie’s mother pushed past and clambered into the wagon. Her sister looked nearly unconscious. “Adam, how long has she been like this?”

“Three days.” Adam jumped from his seat into the back of the wagon. “She cannot hold anything down, Martha. She was determined to be well enough for the wedding tomorrow, but I am worried today. I could not wait any longer.”

“Is she with child again?”

“She did not tell me,” Adam answered. “But she must be. It is the only time she gets like this.”

“Take her in the house. The room at the top of the stairs is ready.”

Christian caught Lizzie’s eyes. The room at the top of the stairs had been readied for them. He had not yet seen the preparations for where they would begin married life.

A tangle of arms lifted Miriam’s limp form, cradling her as they transported her into the house. Stair-stepped small children climbed out of the pit of the wagon and raced each other around the house, oblivious to their mother’s plight.

Christian was left holding the reins and stroking the horse’s neck. Lizzie was frozen in place.

“I suppose I should put the horses in the barn.” Christian found the horses’ lead. “I’m sure they’ll stay the night for the wedding tomorrow.”

“Christian,” Lizzie said, her face blanched, “they will stay far longer than that.”

“Your aunt seems quite ill, but with your mother’s care—”

Lizzie was shaking her head, her lips pressed together. “You don’t understand. Miriam is with child. This happens to her every time. It lasts until she is at least four months along. With the twins, it was even worse. She’ll be in bed for weeks. My mother will have to spoon-feed her. My uncle will have a terrible time keeping up with the cousins, so the little ones will stay here, too.”

Christian considered these facts. “You mean, she will be in bed
here
for weeks?”

Lizzie nodded.

“She will be in … our bed … for weeks.”

Lizzie nodded again. “Christian, where will we live after our wedding?”

Elizabeth used a long, thin washing bat to lift Jakob’s shirts out of the barrel where she had left them in lye to soak out the stains. One at a time she plopped four identical white cotton shirts into a basket then bundled up assorted children’s clothing and tossed them on top of the load. Lisbet was fourteen now, more than old enough to look after the children while Elizabeth sought creekside refuge. Elizabeth took her warmest cloak off the hook in the kitchen and arranged it around her shoulders.

“But it is cold out there.” Sarah, nine, poked at the load with one finger. “Why are you washing clothes in January? Why not wait for spring?”

“Your
daed’
s shirts are dirty now.” Elizabeth hefted her basket.

“Is Lizzie going with you?”

“No. This is Lizzie’s baking day.” Elizabeth’s answer was quick. Lizzie was the reason she had decided to do laundry in the middle of January in the first place. Lizzie’s second batch of buckwheat loaves sat on the table, rising in the warmth from the oven.

Outside, the slap of brisk air was welcome. Elizabeth started down the path to the creek. The water had frozen solid a couple of weeks earlier, but temperatures had risen again, and the creek yielded a sluggish flow.

A sluggish creek was good enough for Elizabeth.

It was not that Elizabeth disliked Lizzie. She was a perfectly lovely girl and well suited in temperament to Christian. Elizabeth was genuinely happy for the young couple. But Lizzie had been sheltered all her life from anyone who was not Amish and didn’t seem to know what to do with Elizabeth, or Jakob, or Christian’s half siblings. Over the years, Elizabeth certainly did not intentionally offend her neighbors. Most of them would speak to her in friendly ways. Mrs. Zimmerman helped her birth five babies, and Mrs. Stehley enjoyed borrowing Elizabeth’s books. Elizabeth had learned to sew clothing for her Amish stepchildren, and mothers with younger children happily accepted her garments as serviceable hand-me-downs. Though Jakob repeatedly offered to bring her whatever she wanted from Philadelphia, in many ways Elizabeth lived as plain as her neighbors.

Lizzie did not say most of what she thought—Elizabeth was certain of that. It was Jakob whom Lizzie wordlessly condemned. Elizabeth was merely an unenlightened outsider. Jakob was the one who left the church when he married her. He was the one who put his children in the difficult position of choosing between him and the church.
How does he bear it?
Elizabeth sometimes wondered.

Christian was the third of the Byler children to marry into the extended Yoder family. The truth that their mother had been a Yoder was never far from Elizabeth’s mind, nor, she suspected, from theirs. Newly married, Christian and Lizzie lived as separately as they could while sleeping under the same roof with Jakob and Elizabeth.

And now the bishop was here to stay. For the first time, the Amish families of Northkill and Irish Creek had an authority living among them permanently. Jakob seemed unconcerned, but Elizabeth wondered if the presence of a bishop would disturb the careful balance of their life together. Only a few hours ago, Elizabeth overheard Lizzie murmuring to Christian that the bishop should talk to Jakob. It would be best for everyone, Lizzie had said, if Jakob came back to the church and brought his family with him. If he repented publicly, no one would withhold forgiveness. It would be against
Ordnung
not to forgive.

At that moment, Elizabeth had knocked a pot against the table with particular swiftness, announcing her presence. She was
not
something to be repented of.

Elizabeth reached the creek and set down the basket. Closer to the water, the air was even more biting, but she did not care. Below a thin layer of ice, the water was moving. Elizabeth gripped her washing bat and broke the ice in one strike, creating an opening where she could rinse the clothes. One at a time, she swirled shirts and dresses and trousers in the frigid water and watched the dirt break free and flow downstream.

If only life were that simple,
she thought. She picked up a shirt and wrenched the excess creek water from it.

By the time Elizabeth returned to the house, her hands were red and raw, but her nerves were settled. The aroma of Lizzie’s baking efforts filled the kitchen, though the room was unoccupied. The trouble with Lizzie using the kitchen all day to bake was that Elizabeth could not feed her family more than cold meat and cellar fruit. Her own bread shelf did not offer much at the moment. Tomorrow would be her turn to beat and knead her bread dough and slide the loaves into an oven that took three hours to heat sufficiently.

For now, Elizabeth picked up the limp end of a rope and attached it to the nail on the opposite wall. If she left her laundry on the bushes outside, it would freeze before it would dry, so she hung it in front of the kitchen fire. Then she went in search of her children, wanting nothing more than to fill her arms with them while she dried off and warmed up.

As she passed the broad table, Elizabeth saw the mound wrapped in a dish towel. Laying her hand on top of it, she absorbed the rising warmth. She sensed someone was watching her and looked up. Lizzie leaned against the door frame leading to the main room.

“I thought you might enjoy some bread with your supper,” Lizzie said. “I made plenty.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught. She was so cold, and she craved the heat of the fresh bread, even just a bite. “Thank you, Lizzie. It smells delicious.”

“Mrs. Byler, I feel convicted that I have made you feel unwelcome in your own home. I hope you can forgive me.”

Elizabeth hardly knew what to say. “Thank you, Lizzie.”

“I promise to be more mindful of my actions,” Lizzie said. “I do not want to appear ungrateful for your hospitality.”

“You are Christian’s wife. Of course you are welcome in his family home.”

“The Kauffmanns will soon be ready for us. Christian says we are to move in three days.”

Elizabeth shivered, and not entirely from the cold. Relief would come soon.

“Jacobli has built a wonderful fire in the other room,” Lizzie said. “Come and warm up away from the wet clothes.”

“Yes, I shall do that.”

Lizzie moved out of the way, and Elizabeth stepped into the main room. The beauty of what she saw swelled and lodged in her throat. Lisbetli sat on a large rag rug with Joseph on one side and David on the other, the three of them with their heads bent together over a book Rachel Treadway had sent from Philadelphia. Sarah sat on her favorite window seat and stared out, just as Anna often had done in the cabin ten years ago. John and Jacobli were on their knees in front of the fire, poking at it with sticks and laughing about things that only brothers shared. The moment was worth every hardship they had endured.

“
Mamm
, come and get warm.” Jacobli waved her over with a hand.

Elizabeth suddenly noticed how tall his form had become. Even folded up before the fire, his height announced itself. He was eleven, but she saw the man he would be soon enough. She perched on a low footstool in front of the fire, close enough to stroke Jacobli’s head, and welcomed the flickering heat.

“
Mamm
,” Jacobli said. “I think I want to meet the new bishop.”

Her hand rested at the base of his neck now, trembling. “Have you spoken to your father?”

“Not yet. I wanted to tell you first. Lizzie says I would like him. He is very friendly, she says.”

Lizzie. Of course she would be in league with Christian over the children’s faith.

“We have always told you that when you were old enough, you could choose for yourself, according to your own conscience.”

“Am I old enough?”

“What do you think?” Her heart pounded.

“I think I want to meet the bishop.” Jacobli stabbed the fire with his stick.

He might as well have stabbed his mother’s heart.

C
an we park down here?” Ruth asked when Annie turned the car into the long Beiler driveway. “I’d like to walk up. She’s probably in the garden.”

Annie pulled to one side of the lane and turned off the car. “I’ll give you a head start then see if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Ruth got out of the car and glanced back at Annie, the only friend who knew her in both worlds and felt the pull of both for herself. Then she drew a deep breath, puffed her cheeks in an exhale, and turned her steps toward the garden. Her mother was there, just as she had thought. Lydia and Sophie were supposed to look after the vegetables, but Ruth knew her mother did not regard the patch as a chore but as a place of solace. The Beiler children had learned long ago not to disturb Franey when she knelt there. She was as likely to be praying as weeding. On her knees now in the far end, Franey was picking out bits of growth that did not belong in the ordered rows and tossing them in an old basket. Remembering when that basket was new, so long ago, Ruth watched her mother for a few minutes.

“
Mamm
?” Ruth finally said.

Franey shifted her weight, putting one hand down on the ground to support the turn, and raised her face to her daughter. “Your brother is doing well. There’s no need for you to go to all this trouble to check on him.”

“That’s not why I came.” Ruth stepped forward. “I came for you.”

“What does that mean, Ruth?” Franey stood now and brushed her hands together. Loose crumbs of black dirt tumbled to the ground, not back to where they came from, but to the new place where they belonged now.