Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (17 page)

Marianna heard footsteps behind her and noticed Aaron approach. "I remember days like that." Aaron looked at Marianna out of the corner of his eye. "There were times I was concentrating on my math facts and I'd feel eyes bearing down on me. I'd glance over, and sure enough, Marianna Sommer would be staring as if I had a mouse sitting on the end of my nose."

A gasp escaped Marianna's lips as all the women turned her direction. "I did not! Aaron, how could you say such a thing?"

Aaron's laughter filled the air. "
Ja
, you're right. She was much more sly about her looks. I'd turn her direction just in time to see her look away."

"You've had an eye on each other for a time. I couldn't imagine it any other way." Mrs. Zook smiled as she said those words, but her voice held little hint of happiness.

Breathing in, Marianna released her breath. The Zooks seemed pleasant enough, but there was something strange about the way they interacted with her. It was as if they knew something she didn't . . .

And she wasn't at all sure she wanted to find out what it was.

Dear Marianna,

The cold of Montana is just a memory, but I cannot help but think of you when I consider that place. The cold here reminds me of the moments we walked alongside each other on well-worn paths, more aware of each other's presence than the world around us.

Today as I thought of you I considered what it would be like for you to get to know my family—really know them. Though there is much the same, I think you would find the differences appealing. There is a quiet humor that most outside our family don't understand. You'd pick up on it in time. My father might scare you. I'll have to remind you often he's not as intense as he seems. Since I was a child I could read a story in his every gaze. Some stories I did not like, but if you learn to ask he's quick to tell you what he really thinks.

I've written more letters to you. I have a small pile. I've been thinking more realistically about giving these to you. Maybe in the spring. Spring is a time of new life. Maybe it can be a time of a fresh start for us. I'm tired of hiding the truth.

I hope you are enjoying time being back in Indiana. I imagine your laughter as you share in the dailiness of life in you aunt's home. In my dreams the "dailiness of life" includes us laughing together. I can't imagine anything better.

Written with the pen of the man who dreams of a future by your side.

M
arianna smiled at the first sprigs of green grass as she strode from the barn to Aunt Ida's house after choring. She paused, bent down, and plucked it up. Was it possible? Had three months already passed since Christmas? Her life had settled into an easy routine, doing Aunt Ida's morning chores, heading over to spend the day with Naomi—cleaning the house, sewing baby items, or reading the books Aaron gave her for Christmas. Her friend seemed thankful for her company, and they chatted and laughed about silly things while they always made a nice lunch for Levi. Her brother's relationship with his wife-to-be hinted of a deeper closeness as Naomi's stomach grew. From the way he tended to her, Marianna would have never guessed the baby Naomi carried wasn't Levi's child.

Her eyes wandered to the orchard west of Aunt Ida's house, with windbreaks on the north and west side of it. She could picture Levi's and Naomi's child climbing those trees just as she and Levi had done. This was a wonderful place to nurture a child.

Her steps slowed, and Marianna turned toward the orchard. The ground was soft from spring melt, and water pooled in low spots. Marianna stepped around the puddles. Her shoes squished deeper into the ground as she moved toward the nearest apple tree. Gray branches stretched into the sky like gnarled fingers. The tree wasn't much to look at. Yet somehow that only drew her to it even more. It was easy to love a tree full of green leaves and apple blossoms. It was delightful to approach such a tree, with branches weighed down with fresh fruit. The offering and the display might change but the tree was still the same.

She neared the trunk and leaned her back against it, looking through the branches to the sky dotted with clouds.

"Is that how You've seen me at times?" She lifted her face to God. "I useta be so dead, with nothing to offer. I thought I was doing fine in my life. I followed the teachings I'd been taught, but it was the truth that changed everything . . ."

The truth of God's Word
had
brought new life, like fresh green leaves. And the more she soaked in the Word, the more the living water fed her. And with the presence of the Son, Jesus, she'd begun to bear fruit. Begun to help and serve others in ways that truly mattered.

She considered her time with Naomi. Her friend had never minded Marianna reading her Bible in the dawdi haus, and recently she'd begun asking questions. Marianna couldn't live with Naomi—help her—for the rest of her days, but perhaps Naomi would fall in love with God as she had. A closer relationship with Jesus would change her life. Make what she had to face in the community easier.

Marianna leaned her head back . . . so much to think about. So many prayers to offer for friends and family. It wasn't the same as the pond behind their home in Montana—there was only one place on earth as special as that—but then God He met her here too. Maybe she could bring the baby out here some day, to hold him and tell him about God.

As she headed back to Aunt Ida's house, Marianna couldn't help wonder again about the baby's real father. Was he Englisch? Amish? Would he ever try to butt into their lives? Would the child know? Would he or she be told?

Those weren't things for her to worry about now, she supposed. Or any time in the near future. Since Naomi had a doctor's appointment, today meant going to a sewing circle with her aunt, followed by a stop by the Farm and Garden store to pick up baby chicks. Every spring they always put baby chicks in the brooder house, with kerosene brooder stoves to keep them warm. Since she was a child, it was always a day to look forward to, and with the quilt circle it was two good things in one day.

"You have to make an effort to make new friends," she mumbled to herself as she climbed the porch steps. Since returning she and Rebecca had only seen each other a few times—her friend often found more joy in spending time with her Englisch friends. And other than Naomi and Aunt Ida, Marianna spent little time with other women in the community. And yet, they were no longer just Mem's friends. She was soon to be married, so she needed to make them her friends too.

It was just a short buggy ride to Lynn Over's place. The older woman with almond-shaped brown eyes welcomed them in.

"Marianna, it is
gut
you joined us. Please have a seat while I beg of yer aunt to help me with the last of the snacks." Lynn hurried to the kitchen, Aunt Ida on her heels.

Marianna moved that direction too. "I'd be glad to help."

"Oh no, dear. No need. Jest have a seat in there. Guests do not need to lift a finger in my home." Lynn pointed to the living room where a large quilt was already set up in a frame.

Marianna nodded and did as she asked, sitting gently on the pristine sofa, not wanting to rumple the throw pillows Lynn had set up there.

The house looked like a museum, everything neat and in place. She could hear the two women in the kitchen, but the living area was silent, lifeless. Why did Aunt Ida have to be the one that was always early?

Marianna thought back to Lynn's welcome. She was used to being welcomed into the sewing circle in Montana with open arms and hugs. With smiles. She'd never been called a guest before—especially not in this community.

The women arrived one by one. As more filled up the living room, Marianna moved to the wooden chair to the side, taking in the sight of the other women at the sewing circle. Two of Rebecca's sisters were there, wearing identical dark blue dresses, white aprons, and pressed white kapps. Last year about this time Marianna had invited them to Mem's sewing circle, but both had confessed they'd rather spend their day in the fields than inside.

Marianna smiled. As young women grew, the young men in the community often caught their attention . . . and unlike the Englisch who often though of romance first, Amish young women knew their ability to care for a home and family would make them attractive to a suitor. Even the toughest tomboys often settled down to work on their sewing and cooking as they neared marrying age.

Each woman brought over a dish for lunch and set it in the kitchen. They all knew their places around the quilt frame, and after they set up, Rebecca's sister, Christy, motioned to Marianna. "There's a spot here next to me if you'd like."

"Denke, that's kind." She pulled her needle and thimble from the small satchel of her things. "I have not quilted for months and I'm jest a bit out of practice. The one thing that is good though, whether in Montana or here, quilting varies little."

The women didn't respond, and Mrs. Troyer pushed her glasses up on her nose, a slight frown evident. "I hear things are different in Montana. Liberal."

Amazing the woman could speak through such pursed lips. Marianna threaded her needle. "They're not much different. Maybe a bit more relaxed in their dress—many work at Englisch businesses too, which means they sometimes have Englisch friends."

"Englisch friends?" Lynn Over clucked her tongue and scanned the faces of the dozen other women, who seemed equally shocked.

Marianna looked to Aunt Ida. She, too, sported lowered eyebrows and squinty eyes. The other women glanced at her aunt, as if gauging her response. Aunt Ida closed her eyes, opened them, and let out a longsuffering sigh. "No comment."

The quilting continued in silence, the women puncturing the quilt, reversing their needles and raising to the ceiling in unison.

The conversation picked up again, as each woman shared her garden plans. Excitement for spring planting was evident.

"I found some seed for baby eggplant and they were wonderful gut," one of the ladies mentioned.

"Do you have any extra seeds? I can do a trade," another commented.

Marianna kept her head bowed over the quilt, making her stitches as perfect as possible. Maybe they'd forget she was here. When the woman next to her cleared her throat and leaned closer, she knew it didn't work.

"So Marianna, do they do much gardening in Montana?"

Heat rose to her cheeks. "
Ja
, of course. Would an Amish woman be an Amish woman without a garden?" She laughed, but noticed that no one joined her. "Of course, the growing season is much shorter. They don't start planting until the snow melts off the Rockies, and that can be as late as June. Mem had a small garden, and the neighbors down the street had a greenhouse. They gave Mem some starter plants—"

"Were they Englisch friends?" Mrs. Troyer's question resonated with disapproval.

Marianna patted her kapp. "
Ja
, but I don't see how that makes a difference."

Her words stilled the motion of the women's hands. Marianna glanced up and noticed needles hung in the air, as if frozen in time.

Marianna's fingers picked at a stray thread on the quilt.

Mrs. Troyer eyed Marianna. "It doesna matter?"