The Amish Bride (9 page)

“Jah,”
he agreed quickly. “But thank you. And thank you for going with me, Ellen. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”

“Not far to go this week,” she answered. Church was being held at their neighbor’s, two farms down. “I’ll see you there.”

“Thank you for seeing our girl home,” her father called from the porch. “Good night.”

Ellen walked up the steps, bent and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“Did you enjoy yourself, dear?”

“
Jah
, I did,” Ellen said. And she had, but the excitement of her day faded fast. Her mother’s remarks worried her. She wanted her father to make a joke of it, to say that they’d put their heads together and decided to play a joke, but he didn’t say anything. He just sat in his rocker and sighed. She could feel his distress without him speaking a word.

Ellen rested her hand on the back of her mother’s chair. “Are you tired,
Mam
?” she asked.

“She did a lot of baking today,” her father explained. “I think it’s just that she’s tired. Cooking for tomorrow’s church dinner. I told her she didn’t need to make so many muffins and cookies. We always have plenty.”

Ellen felt a wave of guilt for not being there to help her mother. She’d planned to bake tomato and cheese pies tonight. No cooking could be done on a church Sabbath, and not much on a visiting Sunday, every other week. The Sabbath was supposed to be a day of prayer and rest so Saturdays were usually busy ones for the women, preparing food that could be served cold at the break in worship service.

And, she thought, even more guiltily,
if I marry Micah—if I marry anyone and leave home, who would be here to help
Dat
?
Her mother was not getting any better. The occasional memory losses and confusion were becoming more common. Trying to brush off the incidences as normal with age was no longer possible. Her mother had some failing of the mind...and it would only get worse with time. How could she think of leaving the household when her parents needed her more than ever?

* * *

A misty rain was falling the following morning when Ellen rose to prepare a light Sunday breakfast of muffins, cold cereal, juice and hard-boiled eggs. Her father would have to hitch up the horse and buggy, and the Petershwims would have to host the dinner inside, buffet-style, rather than outside on tables under the trees. It would make for more work for the women and probably more confusion, but the rain would be good for the late crops. Most of their neighbors were farmers, and farmers always welcomed rain in late summer. Ellen didn’t mind. She loved the feeling of gathering for worship with her friends and neighbors with rain or snow pattering on the roof and against the windows. It always made her feel safe and content, even if the ride home was somewhat less than comfortable.

She threw a light raincoat on and went out to feed the horse and chickens. She’d heard her parents moving around in their bedroom, and she wanted to have everything ready when they came out to breakfast. Back inside, she washed her hands, put the coffeepot on and poured the tomato juice. She’d dressed for church earlier. All she had to do was trade her work apron for her Sunday apron, cape and bonnet. She’d been up late the night before finishing food preparation, so she had missed a few hours of sleep, but she felt good this morning. The promise of a day of peace and worship always lifted her spirits. The problems that had seemed so overwhelming last night had receded. She would find her answers in prayer, and whatever the outcome was, God would be her rock, as He always had been.

She had just gotten the butter and jam from the refrigerator when she heard a knock at the door.
Who would be coming so early on a church Sunday?
Pray God it wasn’t an emergency.
Wiping her already dry hands on her work apron, she hurried to open the door. To her surprise, Neziah was standing there, wet black wool hat in hand. “Neziah.”

“Ellen.” He shifted from one foot to another. “I thought I’d come over and drive you and your parents to church this morning. That way, you won’t need to take your horse out in the rain.”

“It’s early yet,” she said, and then felt foolish. Would he think she was ungrateful? “Please, come in. We’re just sitting down to breakfast.”

He smiled and ducked his head as he came into the kitchen. It was a low sill, and if a man as tall as Neziah didn’t duck, he’d get a rude awakening. “I thought you might be eating, but I wanted to get here before your father hitched up the buggy. Save him the trouble.”

“It’s thoughtful of you.”

He glanced at the stove. “And hoping maybe I could have a cup of that coffee I smell brewing.” He grimaced. “
Dat
heated up last night’s coffee. Says making it fresh is work, and work is against the rules on the Sabbath.”

She couldn’t resist an amused expression. “If I remember, you once told me that yourself. Didn’t you?”

Neziah hung his hat on a hook by the door and went to the cupboard for a large white mug. “I probably did,” he admitted sheepishly. “I admit I was pretty strict the year or two after I was baptized.” He offered her another hopeful look. “But I’ve mellowed since then. I can’t see where making a decent pot of coffee to get a man’s blood moving in the morning goes against the Lord’s law.”

She rested her hands on her hips. “Neziah Shetler. You do astonish me sometimes.”

“Do I? Good. Because no matter how many amusement parks and frolics my brother takes you to, in the end, you’ll come to see that you and I are the best match.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I do.” His dark eyes grew serious. “I changed in more ways than my choice of Sunday coffee, Ellen. I’m not a foolish boy any longer.” He hesitated. “But I am still the man I think you loved.”

She tried to think of what to say to that, but found herself speechless. The Neziah she’d known had been unmoving on such things as whether his wife could work outside the house in a public place. It had been one of the chinks in their relationship that had led to their breakup. And what was this with his talk of love? Did he mean love in the same way she did? “I don’t...” she began. “I mean—” She spied her father coming through the door.
“Dat.”

Neziah turned to greet her father as he entered the kitchen. “John, a blessed Sabbath to you. I’ve come to drive you and your family to services.”

Her father smiled and offered Neziah his hand. “Have you now? Isn’t that thoughtful of him, Ellen? Well, don’t just stand there with your coffee cup. Sit and have breakfast with us. I insist.”

“I guess the boys didn’t want to come with you?” Ellen asked.

“Oh, Joel wanted to come but I told them to stay put.” Neziah pulled out a chair and folded his long body into it. “My boys will ride to services with Micah and my
vadder
. Asa was still abed when I left the house. You don’t want to wake him too early or you’ve got a cranky child on your hands all day. Let him wake easy and he gives no trouble.”

“Sounds wise to me,” her father said. He took his normal place at the table. “Your mother will be right out. She’s good this morning. Real good.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ellen said.

Neziah eyed the muffins hungrily, but she knew he wouldn’t touch one until after the silent grace. “Did you make these muffins?” he asked Ellen.

She shook her head. “
Nay
,
Mam
did.”

“Well, I won’t complain. She always was a fine cook.”

Was
, Ellen thought. She hadn’t tasted these and hoped that her mother hadn’t confused the salt with the sugar again, as she was wont to do. “Don’t say you won’t complain until you’ve tasted them,” she warned.

Neziah’s gaze met hers. “I’ll not complain,” he repeated. “I’d give your mother no reason to be embarrassed no matter what she fed me. Or you, either.” His smile widened. “I told you, I’m a changed man.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ellen teased, and the two men joined her in laughter.

Chapter Eight

I
t was a short distance from John Beachey’s place to Uriah and Nellie Petershwims’s big stone farmhouse down the road, but Neziah drove cautiously, as always. His mule Jasper ignored the rain and the loud motor vehicles that occasionally passed the slow-moving gray buggy. Neziah was uncommonly fond of Jasper. He was a steady beast of burden, sure-footed and streetwise. Neziah could brush off his brother’s and his friends’ jests about
mule speed
and
long-eared transportation
for the knowledge that those he cared most about were safer with the big Missouri mule between the shafts. Micah’s fancy horse might be showy for the girls, but the animal was too high-spirited for Neziah to want him for a driving horse, especially where the safety of his sons was concerned.

His mother and his late wife had died in a traffic accident when the van they’d been riding in had been struck by a tractor trailer, and Neziah had seen several fatal buggy accidents. He didn’t like the idea of taking his chances with flighty horses who might not be steady enough to remain calm when a motorcycle or a wailing fire truck approached. Micah accused him of worrying like a
grossmutter
, and maybe he did, but he was never one to take unnecessary chances. He placed his faith in the Lord but felt that a man had to do his share by showing common sense.

“Looks like we’re one of the first to arrive this morning,” Ellen’s father commented as he climbed down out of the buggy and brushed lint off his black wool coat. Her father was wearing identical clothing to Neziah’s—his best go-to-meeting garments, which included the formal
mutze
—a long coat with split tails normally worn only to worship.

Neziah gave the order to Jasper to stand and got out to help Ellen and her mother with the baskets of food they’d brought for the midday meal. Ellen favored him with a warm smile, which went a long way toward easing the discomfort of what had become a downpour. “I’d be glad to carry these to the house,” he offered, indicating the containers of muffins and the tomato pies. Even in the rain, she shone like the first star of evening. Most women would be fussing about getting wet, but Ellen took the day in stride with good humor.

“No need,” Ellen said. “We can manage.” Her father took a tray with the pies, and two of the Pettershwim girls came out with umbrellas to cover them in their run to the house.

“
Will komm
, Neziah,” the one in the brown dress said. “Your brother’s coming today, isn’t he?” She gave him a toothy smile.

“We made schnitz pies yesterday,” squeaked the one in lavender. “I know how he loves them.”

He returned the greeting politely, trying to recall which of Uriah’s daughters they were. There were four girls still at home with their parents, though they were all of marrying age. They always looked alike to him: average height, plain, freckled faces, reddish-blond hair, faded blue eyes that peered out at the world through thick, wire-rim glasses. The Pettershwim daughters all had small hands and feet, squeaky voices and not a single one had eyes that danced like Ellen’s.

The girls’ father was a man of substance in the community, owning five hundred and twenty acres of prime Lancaster County farmland, a dairy and a harness shop. He had approached Neziah on the subject of his available daughters on more than one occasion. Uriah had pointed out that he was well able to provide good dowries for his daughters. Neziah knew the size of the jointure down to the dollar because not two months ago, Uriah had offered him his choice of any of his girls and the harness shop.

He hadn’t been interested. Uriah’s daughters were pleasant enough and they were devout members of the church. Any of the four would probably be kind stepmothers to his sons, but he wasn’t willing to go into another marriage for practical reasons. He’d set his hopes on Ellen now, and if he couldn’t have her, he might not marry at all.

As he guided the mule away from the house, Neziah scanned the long, open shed for his brother’s horse and their other family buggy. He’d warned Micah to hitch up the driving mare, a steadier horse than Samson. He hoped Asa and Joel hadn’t been too much trouble this morning. Sometimes, getting them fed, dressed and tidy for church seemed harder than a nine-hour day at the sawmill. They needed a mother to see to their needs, that was certain, but not just any woman. They deserved someone who would accept them as her own, love them and take them in hand. It was a great responsibility, and he wasn’t certain he could convince Ellen to take on the task.

Keeping an eye out for his boys, Neziah led Jasper into the stone shed, removed his bridle and snapped his halter rope to a round iron ring in the old wall. He unharnessed the mule and pushed the buggy back far enough so as not to make Jasper feel confined. Some men wouldn’t bother to unhitch their animals, but there would be a three-to-four-hour service this morning, the break for the midday meal and then at least another hour of final services. Neziah wouldn’t see any animal of his standing so long in discomfort, especially with the inclement weather. Jasper was a social creature, and he was content with whatever horse or pony was tied beside him in the shed. Lastly, Neziah took a section of burlap, wiped the wet from Jasper’s back and fed him an apple from his pocket. The boys would see that he and the other horses and mules were watered and given hay.

Other families were arriving, and friends and neighbors soon joined Neziah. He waited in the shelter of the shed until his brother and father came in and was pleased to see that Micah had heeded his advice and had hitched up the mare instead of his Samson. He chatted with them all for a few moments before dashing with his sons through a lull in the rain to the huge stone barn where the men were gathering. Asa and Joel ran to play with other boys, and Neziah joined the men. It was always pleasant, the visiting with other men before church: discussing crops and weather, congratulating new fathers, inquiring after the health of older folk in the community and listening to the latest jokes.

They all waited in the barn until the bishop and the two preachers entered the house. When the last elder had taken a seat inside, the married men and widowers filed into the rambling farmhouse followed by younger men and finally the male children. Earlier, teenage boys had removed furniture and carried the rows of benches into the keeping room and two parlors. The big stone house was spacious, giving ample space for an aisle down the middle of the largest room, separating the women’s section from the men’s.

Neziah settled Asa on his knee; Micah took charge of Joel. The boys couldn’t be still for the entire service, but they would wander with other children their age in and out of the kitchen, have a snack and return, hopefully without causing a commotion. Normally, Asa, because of his young age, would have remained with his mother on the women’s side. Since Betty’s death, Neziah had tried to keep his sons with him during church, even though the women always offered to take them. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Once the men were seated, the married women entered in much the same order, with the older or infirm given comfortable chairs near the front. Next came the unwed women, followed by the teenaged and younger girls. The widows sat with their own age group, or near friends or family. Many of the women carried babies or small children.

Neziah had eyes only for Ellen. She was tall and graceful, her posture erect, her hair neatly twisted into a bun, her modest
kapp
, apron and dress without a wrinkle. Neziah’s throat tightened as he watched her. He admonished himself. It was the Sabbath; his thoughts should have been on the opening hymn, but all he could think of was Ellen and how it would be to drive her to service every worship Sunday and to have her seated beside him.

An elderly man, the song leader, known as the
vorsinger
, rose shakily to his feet, opened the
Ausbund
and began the first hymn of the morning a cappella. There was no accompanying organ or piano, as musical instruments were considered worldly. As every voice joined in the sixteenth-century Anabaptist hymn
,
the bishop and the two preachers retired to another room to plan the morning’s service. Once, an English acquaintance had remarked to Neziah that Old Order Amish worship hymns sung in the high
Deitsch
dialect sounded like medieval chanting. To Neziah, it was natural and right, and the combined voices of his community filled him with peace. Both he and his brother had been blessed with their father’s singing voice, and Neziah took more pleasure than he should have from adding his resounding bass to the cherished hymn.

The song had many verses, and it was nearly a quarter of an hour later that it ended and the
vorsinger
led them into
“Das Loblied,”
the traditional second hymn of the service. It was then that Asa wiggled free from his grasp, crawled under the bench ahead of them and darted down the center aisle to where his grandfather was sitting. He climbed up on the bench beside Simeon and began to dig in his grandfather’s pocket for the peppermints he usually carried there. Neziah was mortified. His first instinct was to go after the boy, but doing so would only disturb the service more as he’d have to climb over four other men to reach the aisle.

His father bent and whispered to Asa, but instead of heeding Simeon, Asa persisted in digging in first one pocket and then the other. More people were noticing. Then Asa found a wrapped peppermint, laughed and carried his prize back to the aisle. Neziah knew that he had to act, but as he was rising, Ellen suddenly appeared in the aisle, scooped up a protesting Asa and carried him out of the room. With a sigh of relief, Neziah returned to his place and took up the hymn again.

Hours later, when the community stopped for the midday meal, Neziah approached Ellen as she carried a platter of sandwiches from the pantry to the kitchen counters. Due to the weather, the dinner would be inside, but with so many people and not enough tables, there was a lot of commotion. “Thanks for seeing to Asa,” he said. “Where is the scamp? When I get my hands on him—”

“He’s with Micah.” She deposited the sandwiches, wiped her hands on a towel and motioned for him to follow her back into the pantry.

“He’s only four,” she said. The long, narrow room lined with shelves was in semidarkness, lit only by a single window high on the wall. Jars of canned peaches, green beans and tomatoes rose head high, and cured hams and slabs of bacon hung from the ceiling along with strings of onions and bunches of dried herbs and flowers. Ellen walked to a table loaded with trays of sandwiches. “It was a naughty thing to do during worship, but he’s little more than a baby.”

“He knows better,” he answered. “It’s my fault. I let go of his hand to turn the pages of the
Ausbund
.”

“But there was no harm done.”

She was so close that he could smell the clean scent of her starched apron and
kapp
, and something more. Honeysuckle? He took a step closer. “Ellen...” he began.

She turned to pick up one of the trays. “It was nothing, Neziah. I was on the end of a row. It was easy for me to get to him without bothering anyone. Little boys will be boys.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, if the boys had a mother, like you, they wouldn’t be into mischief all the time.”

She looked at him and pursed her lips. “Don’t think you can guilt me into this, Neziah. I’m not the kind of woman who needs or wants to be controlled.”

Now she had her dander up, which hadn’t been his intention at all. “I was joking.” He felt foolish. He didn’t want to argue with her. Not ever again. “I didn’t mean—”

“Ellen!” a woman called from beyond the sliding door. “Have you got more sandwiches?”

“I have to go,” she murmured, holding the tray between them.

“I can carry that,” he offered.

She gave him a quick smile that seemed more polite than anything else. “You best not. Excuse me.”

He stood there for a minute chastising himself. It had been silly to make that remark. He hadn’t meant to guilt her into anything; he really
had
been just teasing.
Attempting
to tease her. Why had he spoken before thinking, before realizing how it might sound to her? When they’d been courting, there had been arguments over what she had seen as controlling behavior in him. And in all fairness, she’d probably been right. But he wasn’t that man anymore. Why didn’t she see that? It was his own fault for trying to make a joke. Micah was the jokester in the family, not him.

He debated if he should go find Ellen and apologize or just let it go. Maybe he could bring it up when he took her home. But would it matter what he said? Was he kidding himself to think Ellen would ever choose him over Micah? If he were her, who would he choose?

He emerged from the pantry into the kitchen to find it empty. Or so he thought. As he crossed the kitchen, just out of the corner of his eye, he registered movement on the dessert table. As he turned, he saw a pie sliding across the white tablecloth...with the assistance of a small hand. Then a second hand appeared. The child’s fingers closed around the rim of the pie pan and the lemon meringue pie vanished.

It would have been funny, had Neziah not known to whom the hands belonged. He strode across the room and lifted the hem of the spotless white tablecloth.

Two pairs of guilty eyes widened in shock. The pie rested on the floor between them, ruined by little fingers. Joel burst into tears and covered his round face with quivering hands covered in meringue. Asa’s mouth gaped, revealing partially chewed pie.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Neziah demanded, reaching for the nearest boy, who happened to be Asa.

Asa was too quick for him. He scooted out from under the table and fled past a sturdy woman carrying a tray of bread, cheese and jam.

“Vas is?”
Nellie Pettershwim exclaimed. The bishop’s wife, coming just behind her, gasped. A third woman, behind her, laughed behind her hand.

“Joel. Come out here,” Neziah said in an attempt to regain his composure.

Joel wailed louder, started to crawl out and managed to put a knee in the pie.