Anna's Gift (15 page)

“Right here.” Roman waved to a chair. “Heard you made quite a sight on Sunday, in that fancy sleigh of yours. Wish I'd seen it.”

“You heard about it, huh?” Samuel sat down. “So you know that Anna and I are walking out together.”

Roman laughed. “You'd better be. And I'd best be hearing bans read in services soon. Martha was fit to be tied. Said it was scandalous, you two flying around the county with bells on.”

“She would.”

Roman offered him a mug of cider, but Samuel shook
his head. “So you're set on Anna, are you?” Roman removed his glasses and looked hard at him. “You're sure this is right for both of you?”

“I am, but she's still nervous.”

“About you, herself, or the children?”

Samuel leaned back and folded his arms. “She keeps talking about Frieda, about how pretty she was. Anna doesn't think I'll be satisfied with her, not after Frieda. I try to tell her different, but she's stubborn.”

Roman sipped his own cider. “Comes by it honest. Her mother puts the
S
in stubborn when she sets her mind to it.” He hesitated.

“Say what you're thinking,” Samuel urged him.

“I hope you can work this out first. Otherwise you'll spend the rest of your life trying to make her believe that you see more in her than a strong back and a Plain face. Not loving oneself can tear up a marriage. I've seen it with my cousin and his wife. She inherited a farm, and he came there as a hired man. After they married, he worked it and made a go of it, but Zekey never felt like he was good enough.”

“They still together?”

“Oh, sure. He's turned Beachy Amish, got a car, but they hold to their vows. Trouble is, neither one seems happy. It's sad when a man and wife don't fit together like a hand and glove. Hard on the children.”

“But Anna Yoder. You think we can be happy together?” Samuel urged his friend.

“I think so. But it's not me, it's Anna you have to convince of that,” Roman said. “Whatever you decide, I'll still be there for both of you.”

 

It was after nine when the school board finished its business and made the final plans for the winter picnic.
The event would begin in Samuel's barn, Saturday evening, in two weeks. The children would put on a program demonstrating to their parents what they had learned, and then there would be a spelling bee.

Next, Samuel would auction off baskets of cookies made by unmarried women and girls. The men and boys would bid on the baskets, and all the money would go toward the school. Each eligible young woman would pack supper to go with the cookies, and at the end of the evening, the couples would spread a blanket on the straw and share the food. Afterward, there would be games and singing. It would be well chaperoned, fun for everyone and a proven moneymaker for the school.

Hannah was excited with the prospect of the frolic. “Winter's bad weather keeps our young people in their homes too much. It's so important that they have a chance to mingle with others their own age,” she said on the way home in Samuel's carriage.

“I agree,” Samuel said, urging Smoky toward Hannah's house at the end of her lane.

“I'm glad the children have two weeks to study their spelling. Since you've offered to donate a calf to the top speller, competition will be fierce.”

Samuel chuckled. “And maybe some of the parents who don't care too much about their kids' education will take a little more interest.”

“You're a good man, Samuel,” Hannah said, as he reined in his horse at her back door. “You give so much to the community. I hope everyone appreciates it.”

“I have three children in the school and two more to follow. Why wouldn't I help as much as I can?” He got down and helped her out of the buggy. The ground was still muddy from the melted snow.

“Come in for coffee?” she asked.

He was about to decline when he saw Anna's face at the kitchen window. Their eyes met and his heart leaped in his chest.
“Ya,”
he said, hurrying to tie the horse to the rail. “Coffee would be good, after all that sweet cider.

“I'd like to drive Anna to church this Sunday,” he said. “If it's all right with you.” How was it that a man his age could feel like a boy again? Just the sight of Anna's sweet face made him giddy-headed.

Hannah called over her shoulder. “You'll have to ask her.”

He followed her into the house, and there was a flurry of putting away of coats and scarves and mittens. Only Anna was in the kitchen, but it wouldn't have mattered if all her sisters, her grandmother and her aunts were there. Samuel had eyes only for Anna.

“What kind of cookies will you be baking for the winter picnic?” he asked her.

“What kind do you like best?”

“Sand tarts and black walnut cookies,” he answered, “but I eat them all.”

“Almond slices?”

“Love them.”

Anna smiled. “I'll see what I can do.”

“I suppose I'll have to pay a high price for your basket. Everyone knows how well you bake.”

Anna dimpled and blushed. “You can't bid on mine. You'll be the auctioneer.”

“Don't care. Nobody gets your basket but me.” Somehow, in the exchange, Hannah had left the kitchen. He hadn't even seen her go.

“Would you like coffee?” she asked.

He nodded. He would have drank vinegar, if it meant he got to sit here at the table, in this warm, cozy spot, with her. He took his seat at the head of the table while
she brought him a steaming cup and a slice of lemon meringue pie. “Mmm,” he said. “Looks delicious. If you keep on like this, I won't be able to fit through the barn door.”

“Ne,”
she said softly. “You work too hard, Samuel. You'll not get fat.”

The sound of his name on her lips made him want to pull her into his arms and hug her, but he didn't dare. Instead, he took a bite of the pie. It was as good as it looked.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” Anna said, coming to sit at the table with him. “I want you to speak to Bishop Atlee for me. It's about Grossmama.”

He listened as she explained Lovina's desire to go to the English senior center. He didn't speak until she'd finished.

“I don't see what harm it would do,” Anna said. “It would make her feel useful.”

Samuel hated to deny Anna anything, but what was she thinking? They didn't send their old people to be cared for by the English. They kept them at home, no matter how ill or feeble they became.

“So what do you think?” she asked. “Will you speak to the bishop for me?”

“I know that you care for your grandmother more than even some of her own daughters seem to do. But this is not our way, Anna. You know that. It would be useless to take such a question to Bishop Atlee. He wouldn't permit it.”

Anna stood up. “So you won't ask him for me?” Her voice was no longer sweet, but firm.

He loved her, but he couldn't allow her to force him to do something he knew wasn't right. It wouldn't do to
start their marriage off by letting her think that he could be led around by the nose like a prize bull. “There would be no need,” he said firmly and he left it at that.

O
n Sunday, Samuel and the children came to drive Anna to services. Anna held Mae on her lap and Lori Ann sat on the seat between them. Irwin had taken Naomi's dress and
kapp
over on Saturday, so the girl was able to wear her new outfit to church. Anna was pleased to see that it fit her so well. Being with Samuel and his family seemed right, and despite the glares she received from the twins, Anna felt comfortable as they reached the Beachy farm and were caught up in the familiar day of worship and fellowship.

As always, the hymns and preaching soothed Anna and made her feel that all was right with the world. Mae seemed content to be held, and when she and Lori Ann grew restless, Susanna was there to take the two children to the kitchen for milk and a snack. When they returned, Miriam produced a handkerchief doll from her pocket for each girl to play with, and soon Mae drifted off to sleep in Anna's arms.

Maybe, if I married Samuel, it wouldn't be so different,
Anna thought.
I wouldn't be leaving my family, just stretching my arms to include more people that I love.
She knew that she loved Samuel's children, but did
she love Samuel the way a woman ought to love a man? Did he love her that way? She knew there were different kinds of love. Were there different kinds of love between married couples, too?

Miriam's tug on her sleeve broke Anna from her reverie, and she realized that everyone was rising for one of the closing hymns. Mae stirred and made a soft little sigh, then nestled against her. Anna smiled down at the child as a warm surge of emotion enveloped her.
She could be mine,
Anna thought.
They could all be mine…even Samuel.

She closed her eyes and prayed fervently for guidance.

 

There had been no time alone, after services and the communal Sunday meal, for Anna to try to convince Samuel to reconsider talking to the bishop for her. Samuel drove her home and then hurried to his own farm to begin the evening chores. Anna really wanted to speak with Samuel on the matter, because she didn't feel he'd given her plan fair consideration. Who could possibly believe that Grossmama wasn't being taken care of properly? Anyone who knew her should be able to see that hers was a special case, and that teaching Englishers how to make her rugs would only restore her sense of being useful.

Monday was wash day, and too busy for Anna to find time to do something about her idea, but late on Tuesday afternoon, when Grossmama was taking her nap, Anna walked across the fields to Samuel's house with a mind to plead her case to him again. She didn't see anyone in the farmyard, and she doubted that Samuel would be in the house at that time of day. Hesitantly, she pushed open the heavy barn door and called his name. “Samuel? It's Anna. Are you here?”

She heard a rustle and what sounded like a giggle, but there was no sign of Samuel. She entered the barn and pulled the door closed behind her. Light poured through a glass window at one end of the hayloft, but otherwise, it was shadowy and dark inside. Horses stood in their stalls, and the boys' pony nickered. “Samuel?”

Something flew past Anna's head. Splat! Puzzled, she turned to see a smashed egg oozing down the side of the pony's box stall. As her eyes adjusted, she caught a glimpse of a white face and blond hair before another egg came sailing down from above, out of the hayloft, and just missed her shoulder. “Rudy?” she shouted. “Is that you? You're supposed to be in school!”

“Not Rudy,” Peter called from the feed room. “It's me!” He drew back his arm and hurled a dead mouse, of all things, at her. He leaped out into the passageway, stuck out his tongue and taunted, “Fatty-fatty, two by four!” Then he darted into the dark shadows again.

Anna almost laughed out loud. It was time she and the boys had a little talk, and this would be the perfect opportunity. If Peter was on the ground floor, Rudy could only be one place. The direction the second egg had come from: up. Stripping off her coat and bonnet, she dropped them onto the nearest hay bale. She might be a big girl, but she was strong, and she could move fast when she wanted to. Rudy wasn't going to escape. There was only one way out of the loft—down the ladder.

Anna strode across the barn and took the ladder, one rung at a time. Behind her, Peter was shouting, “Can't catch me, can't catch me,” but she had no intentions of trying. Rudy was the main mischief maker, and if she caught him, she wouldn't have to go after his twin.

When she reached the top of the ladder, she saw Rudy climbing a stack of hay bales. Pigeons flew up and feath
ers and dust sprayed the boy as he climbed higher, toward the roof. He'd lost his hat, and when one pigeon dropped a smear of excrement on his head, Anna burst into laughter. Scrambling, Rudy reached the top of the hay pile, and the whole structure began to sway.

“Best you get down here and take your medicine before you fall and break your neck,” Anna warned. “You know your father is going to find out you skipped school.” She waited, arms folded, beside the hatch that opened to the ladder.

“Not coming down,” Rudy said. He wiped at the gooey mess in his hair and grimaced. “You can't make me.”

“I don't have to,” Anna said. “All I have to do is wait here until your dat comes in for evening milking. Then you can explain why you're wasting good eggs, knocking down his hay bales and being rude to a guest.”

“We don't like you.” Peter came slowly up the ladder behind her and poked his head into the loft.

“You don't have to like me.” Anna looked from one twin to the other. “You have to respect me.”

“We don't want Dat to marry you,” Rudy said. “Naomi says Dat is going to marry you and then you'll be our mother.” His voice was tight, as if he was about to burst into tears.

“Ah,” Anna said. “You two think you know better than your father, when it comes to deciding what he should do?”

“You aren't our mother.” Peter walked around Anna to stand closer to his brother. “She was pretty.”

“Ya,”
Anna agreed. “Your mother was beautiful, and a good woman, a good mother. But she's in heaven now, and your father needs help with the house and with the little girls. You two are almost grown. You may not need a mother, but you might need a friend.”

Rudy slid halfway down the pile. “We don't need anybody.”

Anna sighed. “You must trust your father.” When neither boy answered, she went on. “Tell me something. If he came to the bottom of the ladder right this minute and said ‘jump'—if he held up his arms to catch you, would you trust him?”

Peter frowned.

“You would jump, wouldn't you?” she pressed. “Because you trust him to do the right thing. So you have to trust him now. If he chooses me or another woman to be his new wife, you must try to understand. He's the adult and your father, and you still live under his roof. You have to trust his decisions.”

“You gonna tell on us?” Rudy asked. “Not about school. We'll tell him that. About the eggs?”

“Should I?” Anna replied.

“We'll be in big trouble,” Peter said. “More than last time.” Rudy slid the rest of the way down the hay. Peter looked at him and wrinkled his nose. “You stink,” he said.

“Pigeon poo.”

“Maybe that's fair punishment for throwing eggs at me.” Anna's gaze narrowed. “Think about what I said. Think about your father and sisters, and about what's best for your family. You're growing older, both of you. Maybe you should find a way to do good instead of causing trouble. Maybe that would make your mother happy.”

Rudy was red-faced, sniffing and wiping at his dirty face with the back of his hands. “Sorry,” he said.

She turned her gaze on Peter. “And by the way, Peter. You're right,” she said. “I am fat, but it still hurts my feelings when you call me names. It makes me cry at night.
Did you like it when the other boys teased you at school for failing your spelling test?”

Peter shook his head.
“Ne.”

“At your age, you should be thinking about what kind of men you want to be when you are grown. Do you want to be someone like your dat? Because if you do, it's time to start changing your ways.”

Anna stood there for a minute looking at both of them, then climbed down the ladder and put on her coat and bonnet. “I'd clean up those eggs if I were you,” she hollered up to the twins. “And if you try something like that with me again, I promise you'll not get off as easily.”

She was halfway back across the field toward home when she realized that she hadn't found Samuel and wasn't any closer to helping Grossmama than before. She didn't know if she'd made things worse between her and the boys or better, but she was through taking their nonsense. From now on, she would be the adult. But mature as she was, she couldn't help but take satisfaction from the memory of Rudy wiping pigeon poo out of his hair.

 

Twice that week Samuel and the children came to dinner at the Yoder home, and he was heartened by the way his girls ran to Anna to be hugged and fussed over. Hannah and her family treated him as though he was already family, and the twins were on their best behavior. But as much as he wished it, there was no opportunity for him to spend time alone with Anna.

He needed very much to talk to her. She was as warm and friendly as ever to him, and he couldn't have asked for anyone to be kinder to his daughters. But there was a distance between them that hadn't been there the day he'd taken her riding in the sleigh. She was obviously upset about the matter of Lovina and the English senior
center, but surely Anna wouldn't allow that to come between them, would she?

He'd written to his sisters in Ohio, and told them that he was courting Anna Yoder, and that they should be expecting an invitation to a wedding soon. Normally, weddings were held in late autumn, but since he was a widower, he could marry when it was most convenient, so long as the proper bans were called and the church leaders were in agreement. Anna was young, but she was of age, and she'd never been married before. There was no reason they couldn't become a married couple before spring planting.

Sunday was a visiting day, and Samuel hoped to be able to leave the children in Hannah's care and take Anna in the buggy to visit friends in the neighborhood. Maybe then he could talk about their little disagreement and get past it. With each day, Samuel was more and more convinced that Anna was exactly the right wife for him, and that he could make her happy.

Earlier in the week, he'd ordered ice cream from a delivery truck and had it stored in the freezer at the chair shop. After dinner, he'd drive down and pick it up, so that they could all enjoy a special treat. His hogs had come back from the butcher in neat packages, and the meal the two families had shared had centered around fresh pork chops that he had brought to Hannah's the day before. Soon, he hoped to be able to have Anna's mother, sisters and extended family to his home for dinners. Other than his children, he had no relatives here in Delaware, and with Anna's help, he couldn't wait to play host.

But once again Samuel was disappointed. Anna agreed to come with him, but just when they were about to depart, Bishop Atlee, his wife and sister arrived to pay a call on the Yoders. In a buggy behind them came Martha,
Dorcas and Reuben. There was no question of Samuel's leaving, and the whole group ended up spending the afternoon in Hannah's parlor. It was a pleasant time, as the bishop was known for his sense of humor, and always had a store of new jokes and news from far-off communities. But it wasn't the way Samuel would have chosen to spend the hours.

Finally, when everyone had stuffed themselves on cake and ice cream and consumed pots of strong coffee, Bishop Atlee rose and began to make his goodbyes. “Oh, Samuel,” he said as he reached for his coat. “You'll be pleased to know that I've come to a decision on Anna's request.” His eyes were twinkling.

Confused, Samuel glanced at Anna and saw that she'd blushed a rosy red. He returned his attention to what the bishop was saying.

“Quite an unusual request, this. I can tell you that I prayed over it several nights.” His expression grew serious. “You did know about Anna's coming to see me on Friday, didn't you?”

Samuel shook his head.

“But she
has
spoken to you about Lovina's request to take part in the program at the Englisher senior center?”

“Ya,”
Samuel answered, as it dawned on him that what he was talking about was that Anna had gone to the bishop herself, after Samuel had refused her. He bristled. “I told her that it wasn't our way, that we kept our old people at home.”

“And who are you to say where I should go or not go?” Lovina demanded.

“Mother!” Martha admonished. “You don't talk so to the bishop.”

“He's young enough to be my son, and I'll say what
ever I please. I want to go and teach the Englishers how to make proper rugs.”

“There, there.” Bishop Atlee broke into a wide smile and raised his hand. “And so you shall, Lovina. I doubt we have to worry about you straying from the fold, do we? You might even teach the worldly folk a thing or two in the process.”

He glanced back at Samuel, who didn't know what to say.

“Come, don't be such a stick-in-the-mud.” The bishop grasped Samuel's arm. “We may be a conservative church, but we aren't backward. We don't turn our back on the Englisher doctors or hospitals, do we? And as Anna has so ably pointed out to me, Lovina isn't going two days a week to be cared for, but to teach and relieve the spirits of others. I think it's a fine plan, and if she wants to ride in the red van, she has my blessing.”

 

All the way home, Samuel kept thinking about what Anna had done. Where had she gotten the spunk to go to Bishop Atlee on her own, and how had she convinced him to break with tradition and allow such a thing? A part of Samuel was annoyed; he'd been embarrassed to hear the news from the bishop first. But a part of him couldn't help but be pleased with Anna. Most women would have trusted his word as a deacon, but she'd gone to a higher authority. As was her right as a member of the church, and maybe her duty to do all she could for her grandmother.