Breath of Spring (18 page)

Annie Mae let out a shuddery breath and swiped at her eyes. “
Jah,
I can understand why you’d feel that way. That was a horrible-bad thing to watch.”

Adam’s eyes widened. “You don’t get it, Annie Mae. I
killed
my mamm
,
and then I was too much the coward to admit it,” he rasped. “Didn’t show my face at home until I figured the sheriff had been by to let the rest of the family know about her. And I never once let on to them about why Mamm’s horse had spooked, or what I’d been doing when I was supposed to be fetching Ruth.”

Annie Mae’s mouth opened and then closed as tears streamed down her face. She held his gaze, sorting out the details of his story, yet not once did he see signs of disgust or hatred or blame. “Adam, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she whispered. “Brings to mind the day my
mamm
passed . . . she was feelin’ poorly, about ready to have a baby, so Dat and little Nellie went on to church that morning while I stayed home with her. The baby was . . . stillborn,” she recalled in a forlorn voice. “And then when Mamm kept bleedin’ and bleedin’, I wanted to run and get the midwife but . . . but she begged me not to leave her. I was only eleven. Didn’t know what else to do.”

Adam pulled over to the side of the road and halted the horse. He leaned into Annie Mae’s misery, wrapping his arms around her as she tightened her hold on him . . . as they both sighed and shuddered together. “
Jah,
” he whispered when he could speak again. “But you did what your
mamm
told you to. I did
not
.”

“Same difference,” she blurted. “She was gone and there was nothin’ I could do to save her or bring her back.” Annie Mae sniffled loudly and then sat up straighter. “Of course, when Dat got home and found me bawlin’ and holdin’ her hand, with her blood all over the place, he railed at me—even though the doctor had warned
mamm
that another baby might well do her in. I was too young to understand all the details about baby-makin’, so . . . so I believed Dat when he said her passin’ was my fault.”

Adam bit back a retort. He recalled how the gossip had flown about the bishop’s disregarding the doctor’s orders and how his second wife, Linda—mother of the four little ones—had passed in the same way. Hiram Knepp was hard on his women.

Yet through the years, Annie Mae had risen to the challenges of her difficult youth. Maybe some of her wilder nighttime adventures with guys had been her way of compensating for having to grow up too soon.

Or maybe she’d figured out something he’d missed.

Adam raised his head from her shoulder to engage her gaze again. “So how did you get past losing your
mamm
and then having Linda die the same way?” he asked quietly.

Annie Mae thought for a moment. “Back when I first started seein’ Yonnie, I went to one of his Mennonite church services—partly to impress him but mostly because it would irritate Dat,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “The preacher spoke about how God’s love is bigger than all our sins put together—and how, if ya ask His forgiveness, He’ll give it to ya. No matter who still condemns ya for what you’ve done.”

Adam considered this. “I can’t think your
dat,
or Gabe—or even Tom—would say such a thing on a Sunday morning,” he murmured. “The
Ordnung
says you have to go on your knees before the bishop and the preachers and the members. To be forgiven for my
mamm
’s death, I have to confess. And then accept my punishment.”

“I think ya just
did
that, Adam.”

Adam frowned. Was he missing something? Or losing his concentration because he and Annie Mae still sat in each other’s arms?

“
I
heard every word ya confessed,” she clarified. “And if ya tell Bishop Tom about this, that doesn’t mean he’ll order ya to do a kneelin’ confession like Dat would have. Besides, you’re still punishin’ yourself for the mistakes ya made all those years ago,” she insisted as she held his gaze. “Ya think God didn’t hear ya? Ya think He doesn’t know how you’ve suffered?”

Adam blinked. Annie Mae made it sound so simple—but then, she was young and hadn’t yet joined the church. “But, see, my whole point of telling you this story was so you’d know why I can’t be trusted—can’t risk taking on a wife or having a family, because I know that when push comes to shove, I’ll let them down.”

As comprehension dawned on her face, Adam braced himself. Surely Annie Mae would scoot away from him now, so as not to be contaminated by his guilt . . . his weakness. His cowardice. Yet she brought her hand to his face and stroked his hair back from his temple with a tenderness he hadn’t known since—well, since he’d been a child, sitting in Mamm’s lap. He saw himself mirrored in Annie Mae’s unblinking blue eyes, and he felt his fear drifting away. . . .

“Comin’ from me, this is gonna sound a little odd, maybe,” Annie Mae murmured. “But I think we should pray on this and see what comes of it.”

She bowed her head before he could reply, so Adam did the same. It wasn’t how he’d seen their spur-of-the-moment date unfolding, yet Annie Mae seemed to know what she was talking about. Listening to her, he could grasp the
possibility
of releasing his unshakable beliefs about his mother’s death—

“God, Ya just heard Adam lay out the guilt and the burdens he’s been carryin’ for so many years,” she said in a reverent voice. “I hope You’ll forgive him when he asks Ya to—especially on account of how young he was when he made these mistakes. And then I hope You’ll show him how to forgive himself, too.”

Adam sat motionless, his eyes still closed. He and Annie Mae had addressed God with their arms still around each other—not the most churchlike position for petitioning the Lord. Her prayer had touched him deeply, however. The sweetness of her voice and the simple sincerity of her words made him see what he’d been blind to for so many years: he’d believed his burden was his alone, too onerous to reveal even to God.

And how foolish was
that? Adam mused.
You saw
Mamm
’s wreck, and knew what I was thinking all along, God, for all these years . . . yet I never once figured You’d believe I was sorry enough unless I followed all the Old Order rules. Will . . . will You forgive me?

Adam slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. He opened his eyes. Annie Mae had laid her head on his shoulder . . . no lightning bolts had cut through the roof of the rig to show God’s anger with him. Matter of fact, he felt relaxed and comfortable—with Annie Mae, and with letting go of his deepest secret. “You know,” he murmured, “my real reason for joining the church so soon after Mamm passed was to keep myself from finding any more trouble. It wasn’t because I had any strong religious convictions.”

Annie Mae chuckled softly. “Protectin’ yourself. Same as I am.” She widened her eyes at him, getting back to her earlier happy mood. “Now that Dat’s left town, these folks in Willow Ridge will look after the kids and help me with them. They’ll do their best to see that Dat’s meanness doesn’t take us down. That’s why I know I belong here, as a full member of the church.”

“You’ve got that right,” Adam replied. He loosened his hold on her, but kept his arm around her shoulders as she, too, eased out of the intense embrace they had shared. It felt better than he’d figured on, sitting this close to Annie Mae, and he hated to break the mood.

“With Tom bein’ the new bishop, there’s a whole different feel to Willow Ridge nowadays,” she continued in a thoughtful tone. “If ya talk to him about your
mamm
and that motorcycle, he might consider that you’ve done all the confessin’ ya need to. I can’t see him lordin’ that mistake over ya, like Dat would’ve. Tom’s gonna be so
gut
for this district.”

“He’s a breath of spring, for sure,” Adam replied.
And so are you, Annie Mae Knepp.

What a startling thought. To keep from plunging too deep too fast, Adam steered the conversation down another trail. “Tom’s a man with an eye for a fine vehicle, too. So maybe he’ll have ideas about how I can test drive that cycle without breaking my church vows,” he mused aloud. “It’s ready to sell, but I wouldn’t feel right about saying it’ll run the way it’s supposed to, unless I take it out on the road.”

“Oh, but I’d like to come along when ya did that,” Annie Mae admitted with a mischievous grin. Then she got serious again. “Could be that ridin’ your cycle will be another step toward facin’ down your guilt about your
mamm,
too. Kind of like gettin’ back on a horse that’s thrown ya . . . so ya won’t be afraid of that horse nor too scared to ride at all anymore.”

How did she come up with such ideas? Adam gazed at Annie Mae, amazed at her wisdom and compassion. Even though the cycle’s saddlebags weren’t designed to be a passenger seat, he had a sudden mental image of her riding behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, as they flew down the road . . . with her long black hair flowing loose, out of the confinements of her bun and
kapp
. . .

He exhaled to get that alluring image out of his mind. It wasn’t proper for a man to see a woman’s hair unfurled unless she was his wife.

“You hit the nail on the head, Annie Mae, about me not riding that cycle—not being able to turn loose of it, either, because of the guilt thing.” Adam sighed, releasing some more of his pent-up anxiety. “It’d probably be best to wait for warmer weather. If I’m going to sin to test ride it, I might as well make it a really
gut
sin, ain’t so?”

Annie Mae’s laughter filled his rig and was so contagious, he joined her . . . let go like he hadn’t in way too long, far as expressing any sort of happiness.

No, this is what
joy
feels like. Don’t let it slip away. . . .

“Is it time for pie?” she asked pertly. “All this serious talk has gobbled up that quick dinner I ate.”

For a moment, Adam could only watch her lips move. He took in the slender beauty of her face and the way it lit up when she laughed. “Pie,” he mumbled. “Comes a time I’m not ready for pie, you might as well put me six feet under. But let’s set all that funeral talk behind us, shall we?”

“Fine idea, Short Stack.” Annie Mae turned to grasp the pie plate that was behind her on the seat, but then she playfully held it beyond his reach. “I’m glad we could talk this way, though. When folks go too long with heavy stuff on their chest, it really holds them down. And I’m
tired
of bein’ held down.”

Adam quickly dismissed the suggestive image her remark brought to mind . . . suddenly had
ideas
about how he wanted to hold Annie Mae, and none of them were sanctioned by the church.

But two could play this game—so he reached in front of her to grab for the glass pie plate. “If you’re gonna tease me with that thing—”

“Ya love it when I tease ya, Adam. Ya know ya do.”

With just the slightest angling, his lips found hers. Adam moaned, knowing this was
not
the way to keep his feelings for Annie Mae in check as he sorted out his secret sin and his cycle and his guilt
and . . .
but why was it, again, that he’d been so set against falling for her? He kissed her fervently, tenderly, with all the wonder he’d missed out on by swearing off girls when he was only sixteen.

And bless her, if Annie Mae felt that other guys were better kissers, she wasn’t letting on. She set down the pie plate without breaking off the kiss, and when both of her arms twined around his neck, Adam didn’t have the will . . . the strength to disappoint her by pulling away.

Who are you kidding? You don’t want to let her go . . . maybe not ever.

When Annie Mae finally slipped her lips from his to gasp for air, Adam scooted away from her, trying to clear his fogged thoughts. “Don’t go thinking this means I want to get married, or—”

“How many times do I have to tell ya I’m gonna stay a
maidel?
” she countered softly. But her whispery voice gave away the same emotions he was denying. “Besides, if I was to marry every guy I’ve kissed, I’d have way too many husbands, Adam,” she added breezily.

Well,
that
put things back into perspective. Adam sat back against the seat, where he belonged.

“That came out all wrong,” Annie Mae whimpered. “I’ve only kissed two other fellas, and you . . . well, you’re the only one who’s worth his salt, Adam. Just sayin’. Not expectin’ it to go any farther than this. Really.”

Adam glanced over at her. Thumbed away a fat tear before it fell. “Hey. It’s all right, Annie Mae.
Really,
” he murmured.

After a moment she busied herself unwrapping the two silverware bundles she’d dropped into the glass plate with the remaining slices of pie. She handed him a napkin, smiling wryly. “Brought these along in case things got . . . messy.”

“
Jah
. Who knew?” Adam smiled at her, because it seemed Annie Mae had away of lifting his spirits, no matter what sort of mess he’d gotten himself into. “It’s all
gut
—the talking, the kissing—and for sure, you bringing this pie,” he added. “So let’s enjoy it for what it is, without getting in too deep. We’ve both got enough heavy stuff going on right now.”

She nodded. Then she cut the tip off one slice of pie and held it in front of his mouth.

Adam’s heart stopped. Just when he thought he’d gotten his emotions under control, Annie Mae was offering him the first bite with the look of a girl whose heart might as well have been on that fork. But he opened his mouth . . . and then closed his eyes over the sheer, sweet goodness of soft apples bathed in brown sugar with a hint of lemon and a hefty helping of cinnamon.

Why is it, again, that you could never marry Annie Mae?

“We’ll bow for prayer, askin’ God to bless this session as we teach and learn about membership in His church,” Bishop Tom said as he met the gazes of everyone present on Sunday morning.

Ben bowed his head. As he sat in one of the upstairs bedrooms with Bishops Tom and Vernon, Preacher Henry Zook, and the five who were receiving their instruction to join the church, he knew a true sense of fulfillment. From downstairs, the voices singing a familiar hymn provided accompaniment for this meeting, which would take about half an hour before the main part of the service began. Now that he was a preacher, Ben was adjusting to a slightly different rhythm in his Sunday morning worship. He found it gratifying to be here with such a venerated leader as Vernon Gingerich—just as he was thrilled at the size and makeup of the group seeking to join the Old Order. And he was happy to be hosting church in his new home, as well.

“It’s a blessing to see you among us now, Annie Mae and Nellie,” Vernon said after a few moments of their silent prayer. “Nate and Bram Kanagy, while you watch the construction of your new sale barn and home, it’s a wonderful thing to witness your commitment to the Old Order as you anticipate your marriages to Martha and Mary Coblentz. And it’s a special joy to assist you, Andy Leitner, as you seek to become Amish and a vital part of the Willow Ridge community with your nursing skills.”

Ben smiled at their earnest expressions, recalling his own time of instruction—back before the gal he’d proposed to in his youth had married another fellow, who’d come into a large farm. “It’s my pleasure to be helpin’ with these sessions, as well,” he said, “because it makes me review the
Ordnung
and the Dordrecht Confession of Faith we’re studyin’, from the viewpoint of a new preacher. So I’m learnin’ right along with ya.”

Beside Ben, Henry Zook grunted. The storekeeper seemed resigned to his new post as preacher, but he would be no bright, shining beacon of faith for these seekers. So Ben had decided that this group was to be his first, special mission. He would dedicate himself to being a positive influence to these five as they made the most important decision of their lives, because every one of them could have chosen a different road. Andy might have decided to forgo his love for Rhoda Lantz, considering how difficult—how nearly
impossible
—it was for an English fellow to be accepted into the Amish faith. Bram and Nate were successful in their auction and horse-training businesses and could have jumped the fence to take up worldly ways. Annie Mae and Nellie had endured countless confrontations with their father, to the point Ben was amazed that these girls would take on the same faith that Hiram had twisted like a pretzel to fit his own arrogant purposes.

The session flew by, and then they went downstairs to join the others for church. It gave Ben a whole new perspective, sitting up front with the bishops . . . made him pay closer attention, too—with even greater respect for the way Tom and Vernon delivered their sermons of nearly thirty minutes and then an hour, respectively, without notes. He had no idea how he would pull so many words from thin air with Tom’s down-to-earth applications of the Bible to their everyday lives, or with Vernon’s soul-searching eloquence, come time for him to begin preaching.

But then, these men are so attuned to You, Lord, they simply believe . . . and their messages come forth. Give me their faith....

Partway through Vernon’s sermon, the door at the far end of the front room slammed. Ben sat straight up and the rest of the men turned around—prepared to meet Hiram head-on. But it was Gabe Glick, looking sheepish for the way the wind had snatched the door from his unsteady hand.

Vernon paused, his face radiating his gladness—and relief, as well. “It’s a fine thing to have you join us, Gabe,” he said in his rolling voice. “I take this to mean your Wilma is resting comfortably this morning.”

Gabe removed his broad-brimmed hat, nodding slowly. “Millie’s helpin’ with her, and she let me oversleep,” he explained. “I hope you’ll all pardon me for bein’ so late—and for interruptin’ your message, Bishop.”

Heads nodded and folks relaxed as Vernon began speaking again. Ben was pleased that Gabe was able to join them on this cold February morning—glad he’d been able to get away from home for some fellowship with his friends.

From the women’s side, Ben saw Miriam gazing at him. How sweet it was to be a part of this wonderfully close-knit community because she had loved him from the moment he’d blown into town. Rootless he’d been, traveling the Midwest in his farrier wagon, until this fine woman had given him a reason to stay and make something of himself. Without her, he wouldn’t be enjoying marriage in this beautiful new home....

The singing of the slow, traditional hymns, punctuated by kneeling in prayer, brought them to Bishop Tom’s benediction at the close of the service. The women headed to the kitchen while the men began rearranging the pew benches and setting up the long tables for their common meal. It wasn’t proper to be prideful, but Ben felt particularly pleased that the home he’d built for Miriam could accommodate these church services more comfortably than most of the other families’ houses did. When he caught sight of Adam and Matthias Wagler across the extended front room, which bustled with men and boys, he made his way over to help them.

Ben grabbed the corner of the table they were setting up and then leaned close to Adam’s ear. “So how’s it goin’ with Annie Mae?” he asked quietly. “I was glad to see the two of ya takin’ off together after Tom’s wedding.”

“It was just a ride,” Adam hedged, “with apple pie being the main reason for it. She likes to bake it, and I like to eat it.”

“That’s all the reason most of us need.” The glimmer in Adam’s eyes said more than his words, so Ben didn’t press for details. He’d always wondered why the younger Wagler brother wasn’t courting someone, and it was easy to see that Annie Mae had more spring in her step whenever Adam was eating in the Sweet Seasons.

But time would tell. Any man would be wise to take things slowly with Annie Mae, considering the fellows she’d been dating—although Ben admired her greatly for denouncing Yonnie Stoltzfus, who’d become a cog in the wheel of her father’s ever-circling deceptions. He wasn’t upset that Annie Mae had quit seeing his brother Luke, either, as Luke wasn’t known for committing to relationships any more than he was to the faith. As the women carried out platters of sandwiches and filled the water glasses, Andy Leitner held up his hand to get everyone’s attention.

“My new clinic wagon’s here!” he announced jubilantly. “Rebecca has printed up cards with the new number, for everyone to post alongside their phones.”

A collective
oh!
filled the room, and folks surged toward Andy for one of his cards.

“And in case you’re concerned about your call going to my message machine, unanswered,” Andy went on, “Bishop Tom has allowed me to use the call forwarding feature. So if Rebecca, my office assistant, doesn’t answer you right away, your call will ring on the mobile phone in my wagon. Or, after hours, it’ll ring in my family’s apartment above the clinic.”

“This is
not
to say everybody in Willow Ridge gets cell phones!” Bishop Tom clarified. “We’re allowin’ this on a trial basis for the clinic, on account of how Andy wants to respond to emergencies as quick as he can. If I hear folks’re callin’ him at all hours of the night for situations that can wait ’til the next day, we’ll put a stop to it. Every man has to have his rest.”

“And what if somebody’s sick on a Sunday? Is Andy allowed to work then?”

Everyone got quiet, looking toward Lydia Zook, who’d asked the question, and then toward their new bishop for his answer.

Tom stroked his silver-spangled beard, unruffled. “Vernon and I have been discussin’ this very subject, about how when ya allow one new convenience—like Andy’s phone system—a dozen new questions arise from it. And workin’ on the Sabbath is a debatable situation.”

“We’re all aware of how our Lord Jesus defied the religious leaders of his day by healing on the Sabbath”—Vernon continued the discussion—“and it could be said that we bishops and preachers do the bulk of
our
work on Sundays—no matter what you might think about the quality of our sermons.”

Folks laughed, their faces alight with interest.

“So for now,” Bishop Tom went on, “we’ve told Andy to answer all his calls, but to keep us informed of how many patients he tends on Sunday. We’re pleased to have him amongst us with his healin’ skills. I believe we Old Order folks should welcome new opportunities, if we handle them properly.”

“Hear, hear,” one of the fellows remarked.

“So when can we quit shavin’ and let our mustaches grow?” another man asked in a half-teasing voice.

Vernon laughed, as this topic came up every now and again. While U-shaped beards were the mark of married Amish men, with the longer beards symbolizing Christ-like maturity and experience, forefathers of the faith had considered mustaches a reminder of European military officers—too militant a look for men who practiced pacifism. “I don’t see that change coming anytime soon,” the bishop from Cedar Creek replied.

“So when can my
dat
marry Rhoda?” a little boy piped up.

“So she can be our new
mamm?
” his sister added.

Again Ben smiled. Brett and Taylor Leitner were so eager to complete their family and so willing to make the sweeping changes their new Plain life required. Bishop Tom extended his hands to the youngsters, who grasped his fingers and beamed up at him. “We’re all waitin’ for that day, kids,” he said kindly. “I see it as God’s will that your house has sold and you’re movin’ to your new place next week. And your
dat
’s takin’ his church instruction classes. And you’ll start your homeschoolin’ with Nellie Knepp as soon as ya finish out your school year in New Haven, ain’t so?”

Brett and Taylor nodded eagerly. The boy was dressed in a black vest and broadfall pants while his sister wore a solid purple dress with a white pinafore—clothes Rhoda had sewn for them—and her hair was pulled back into a bun beneath a
kapp
. What a precious sight they made. Ben considered it another positive step for Willow Ridge that this fine family was being considered for inclusion in the Amish church.

“Your
dat
’ll become a member in God’s
gut
time, and when the other folks here decide he’s ready,” Tom continued. “Can ya be patient a while longer?”

“No!” Brett blurted, but Taylor elbowed him.

“
Jah,
he can,” she insisted in her little-girl voice. “We’re workin’ on that part.”

Rhoda then murmured something to them, already looking and acting so much like their
mamm,
that Ben got a thrill from watching her. The Lantz triplets had all matured so differently, yet each of them radiated their mother’s finest qualities. Their frequent visits to this home were such a blessing to him and Miriam.

After they said a silent grace, the common meal went more quickly than usual, because several folks wanted to look at Andy’s new clinic wagon. And what a marvel it was! Ben noted that its basic, boxy structure didn’t differ much from his farrier wagon, on the outside—except two solar panels on top allowed Andy to plug in some basic pieces of medical equipment. Inside, there was an examination table, a sink, and cabinets along the walls that provided storage for his supplies.

Posters of the inner systems of the human body covered the walls, and the diagram of a baby inside its mother held Ben’s attention. Wouldn’t it be
something
if Miriam would someday carry his child? What a blessing—what a miracle—if she could conceive all these years after giving up hope of having more children.

As Ben walked up the road toward home, he felt filled with love and joy and hope. This had been quite a Sunday! Truly a time when God had revealed His presence among those receiving their instruction, and when Preacher Gabe had walked in, and in the wonder of Andy Leitner’s wagon.

More blessings than I can count, Lord,
he mused as he stepped up onto his wide front porch.
And for that, I’m truly grateful.