Crossing (8 page)

Carelessly his eyes roamed over the congregation. All the women, even the pretty young girls, looked alike in their dowdy clothing. He had learned that the manner of dress was set out by the Ordnung, which to Yancy was simply a list of too-strict rules that everyone in the local Amish community had to obey.

The men also wore identical clothing, almost like uniforms, which consisted of a long black collarless frock coat with no lapels and split tails, with hook-and-eye closings. All wore vests fastened with hooks and eyes. They wore trousers with no flies and wide front flaps that fastened along the side. In the winter, the men and boys wore wide-brimmed felt hats, but it was close enough to summer that most of the hats were straw.

Yancy had discovered the width of an Amish hat brim meant something. The broader the brim, the more conservative the wearer and the less willing he would be to change. Those who were more liberal and had wilder spirits trimmed their hats to make them at least a
little
different. But no matter what, they all had to conform to the Ordnung.

On Sundays, Yancy, too, conformed. He wore black homespun pants, a linsey-woolsey shirt with no buttons, and the hated heavy black shoes. He had, however, flatly refused to wear a straw hat. “They’re girlie hats,” he had complained.

“I wear one,” Daniel had said mildly.

“And you look girlie,” Yancy had retorted. “I’m not wearing one. I’ll wear my old slouch hat. That covers my head good enough.”

The men’s congregation had been set up in the Keims’ large parlor. The furniture had been removed, and backless benches had been brought in. The women were in the connecting dining room, with the young women. The young men were in the barn. The smallest children were with their mothers, but during the service they often wandered over to their fathers. As long as they were not disruptive, they were allowed to go back and forth as they would, since the service was so long and it was understood that small children grew restless.

As did Yancy. He studied the congregation with little interest or excitement. It was the same group that he had been meeting with for almost a year now. He knew their names but hadn’t grown close to any of them.

The service began as usual with a relatively short sermon by one of the preachers. It was followed by scripture reading and silent prayer. Other preachers went to the barn. Following this came a longer sermon by the bishop. The service always included hymns, without any musical instruments. Even harmony was not permitted.

Yancy sat silently as the sermon moved along tediously, struggling to keep from dozing off.

Finally the service ended. The men worked to put the benches and tables outside and to move the Keims’ furniture back in. The women went to the kitchen and then outside to set the tables for Sunday dinner, as was customary. Hosting a Sunday service was demanding, but everyone in the congregation brought food, and they always made sure that any cleaning after services and dinner was done.

This was the one good thing about the services to Yancy—plenty of good food. Fried chicken, roast beef, all sorts of vegetables and casseroles, pies and cakes—all in plenty, enough to satisfy even ravenous teenagers. The men were all seated and the women began to serve them, replenishing their bread baskets; and the butter, tea, and lemonade cooled in the stream.

A young woman, Hannah Lapp, refilled Yancy’s lemonade. She was thirteen and was in school with him. She was a pretty girl with sandy brown hair, dark brown eyes with perfect winging brows, and a beautiful complexion. She was a little shy, but she and Yancy had talked some, during lunches and recess. She tended to hover close by him at Sunday dinners. “Are you coming to the sing next Sunday, Yancy?” she asked softly.

“Hope not,” he answered shortly.

“You should come. There’ll be lots of games and good things to eat.”

Yancy shrugged. “That doesn’t make up for having to sit through a sing—when you can’t sing and you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be singing.”

“I could teach you some of them,” Hannah said. “Not all of them are long and hard German words.”

“If I cared,” Yancy said harshly. “Which I don’t.”

Rebecca Braun was across from Yancy, serving up fresh bread. She gave him a stern look, but he ducked his head and ate steadily.

“Oh—I—of course not,” Hannah said lamely. “I’m—sorry.” Quickly she moved along to the next man, to refill his glass.

After the meal, when everyone was meeting and talking in companionable groups, Becky came to sit beside Yancy, as he was still sitting on the bench at the table by himself.

“You weren’t very nice to Hannah, Yancy,” she said quietly. “I thought you were more of a gentleman.”

“Guess not,” Yancy muttered. “But I don’t see how it’s any of your concern, ma’am.”

“I think it is my business, Yancy, because I’m going to marry your father. I know I won’t be like your mother. But I would like to look at you as my son. And so I would like to know that my son is a kind man, a man that I can be proud of.”

Yancy stiffened. “You’re right—you’re not my mother. You’ll never be my mother. And besides, my father hasn’t asked you to marry him yet.”

“No, he hasn’t, but that’s because of me. I wanted to wait until I could be sure that he was the kind of man I wanted to marry. A good man, an honorable man that could make a good home for me.”

“And?” Yancy demanded.

“And he’s that man,” Becky said simply. “But there’s something else I’ve been watching and waiting for.”

“What’s that?”

“I wanted to see if you would be a good older brother to my children.”

This amused Yancy so much that despite himself, he smiled. This woman was the one person he saw of the Amish, besides his grandmother, who was different from the others. Becky Braun and Zemira Tremayne always spoke their minds directly, without hesitation or decoration. “So, do you think I’ll be good with your children?”

“No. Not right now, I don’t.”

Her abruptness startled Yancy. “Why wouldn’t I be a good brother? Is it because I’m part Indian?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“What is it then?”

“You haven’t learned how to be kind.” Becky paused and her eyes were fixed on Yancy with such an intensity that he couldn’t turn his gaze away from hers. She had a way of drawing people’s attention and keeping them fixed when she spoke. “You were short with Hannah, without need. You should be gentler with people, Yancy.”

Yancy was irritated. “I guess you better not marry my father then, if I’m not what you want in a son.”

“I know you could be.” Becky smiled suddenly, reached out, and pushed a lock of Yancy’s coal black hair from his forehead, where it had fallen. “I know you will be. I don’t need to wait any longer. So come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just come with me and don’t ask questions.” Becky led Yancy through the crowd to the end of one of the tables, where Daniel sat with Becky’s family. They all looked up as they approached, and Daniel got to his feet. “Hello, Becky. I see you’ve corralled my son. Won’t you sit down?”

Becky stopped directly in front of Daniel and looked up at him. “Not just now, Mr. Tremayne. I need to know … do you still want to marry me?”

A silence fell over the group, and Yancy saw that his father was taken totally off guard. Astonishment marked Daniel’s face and then he turned red. But he answered solidly, “I do want to marry you, Rebecca Braun.”

“All right.” Becky smiled. “We’re engaged then, but I don’t want to wait a year.” A year was the common period most young couples waited before marriage. Now Becky turned to her father and said firmly, “Father, I know it’s not the Amish way, but Daniel and I are older. He’s proved himself to be a good man. We’d like your permission to get married in one month.”

Simon Braun wasn’t a man who was easily shocked, as he’d grown accustomed to Becky’s “wild ways” as he called them. He frowned and said, “Daughter, I know when you’ve made up your mind, a whole string of plow mules couldn’t drag you from it. But would you do me a favor, here and now? You know that we don’t condone marriage except for November and December, because of the harvest. Won’t you at least wait until then?”

Becky said stubbornly, “No, Father—”

Daniel took her hand, tucked it into his arm, and said, “Yes, Mr. Braun, we’ll be glad to wait until harvest is over. November will be fine.”

“But—” Becky began, looking up at him beseechingly.

Daniel put one finger on her lips. “Shush, bride. Let me win this one.”

She took a deep breath then laughed. She had a good laugh, a rich laugh. “All right, groom. But you’d better count this one dear. You won’t win many.”

“You sure won’t, Mr. Tremayne,” Simon Braun said, sighing and shaking his hand. “You surely won’t.”

J
uly 1857 was a bountiful harvest, almost more than anyone could ask for. The Tremayne fields of hay, wheat, and corn were bursting. The pantry and the root cellar were overrun from the kitchen garden with peas, squash, tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes. Other women from the community came on Saturdays to help Becky and Zemira can them, as Becky and Zemira also went to their farms to help them with the riches of their lands.

Becky and Zemira sat on the veranda, sipping lemonade and shelling peas. The front veranda faced east, and often they could see the Blue Ridge Mountains, mostly just a grayish smoke on the horizon, but sometimes they could make out the dreamy peaks.

“I’ve never been there,” Zemira murmured. “Jacob and I thought that we might go to the mountains once. But somehow home never let us go.”

“Home is good,” Becky said quietly. “Sometimes it’s better just to stay close. At least, that’s how I feel now. I couldn’t ask for any other happiness.”

Zemira glanced at her sharply. “Becky, daughter, are you with child?”

Becky’s finely etched black eyebrows arched in surprise. “I—I think so. But it’s so early, I haven’t even told Daniel. How did you know, Grandmother?”

Zemira smiled. “I think the Lord tells me things. It’s not like I hear His voice; it’s just a knowing. So how far along are you?”

“I’ve been telling myself not to hope too much,” Becky answered. “It would just be a couple of weeks. But like you, Grandmother, I feel like I just …
know
.”

“Women do.” Zemira nodded. “Women generally do.”

They shelled peas in silence for a while, their nimble fingers stripping the tough, stringy stems and separating them into bitesized chunks.

“You and Daniel have been worried, haven’t you?” Zemira asked softly.

Becky didn’t answer; she ducked her head and shelled peas energetically.

“It’s all right,” Zemira continued. “I know you’ve wondered, though Daniel wouldn’t say anything. You’ve been married eight months now, and I know it makes you anxious to wait. Jacob and I were married for almost forty years and had only one son. And Daniel didn’t come along until we’d been married for fourteen years. I know you and he have thought about that.” Zemira sighed deeply. She wouldn’t tell of the two stillborn sisters Daniel had, one in 1818 and one in 1820. Daniel hadn’t been born until 1823.

“It’s—it’s not just you, Grandmother,” Becky said hesitantly. “It’s my family, too. I mean, I was born, but then it was eight years until Shadrach was born, and then another six until Judith, and a year later Lois. Daniel and I—it’s just that we both want children so badly, and we both want four, maybe five. I don’t know if I’ll—that is, if time—if we can—”

Zemira dropped her hands and gazed at her daughter-in-law sternly. “Child, you talk foolishness. My son has become a good man, a fine man, constant in the Lord and walking in His will. You are a good and faithful Christian woman. God will bless you. I’ve no doubt in my mind.”

Becky ducked her head. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, Grandmother, as always. I’m very proud of Daniel, and I’m so blessed to have him for a husband.”

Zemira nodded emphatically. “I’m so proud of him, too. He’s a good son, and a good husband, and a good father.” She bent to her work again. “But he did have his wanderings. And I think that Yancy may, too. You wouldn’t know it from the way Daniel is now, but Yancy is so much like him, when Daniel was in rumspringa.”

“You see that in Yancy? That same rebelliousness?”

Zemira glanced at her. “Has Daniel ever told you about his time then? When he left home?”

“No, he hasn’t, and I haven’t wanted to intrude on him to ask. Whatever happened then, he’s a different man now.”

“That’s the truth, daughter,” Zemira agreed. “And I have to say that Yancy is much better behaved than Daniel was then. Maybe it’s just a young man’s restlessness. He does get into scuffles with the young men, and the girls say he’s very forward with them.”

Becky laughed. “The young men that he’s bested say that, and I think the young girls that complain about him are the ones that don’t get his attention. He’s a very good-looking young man, you know, and he is strong and quick and probably very desirable to young women.”

“I suppose so,” Zemira said grumpily, “but the bishop is out here every week, it seems, complaining about another one of his scrapes. It’s getting harder to find excuses for him.”

Becky answered, “But you do find excuses for him, as I do. All we can do is pray, Grandmother. Pray that he stays with us and finds God. Until then, we must find more excuses.”