A Merry Heart (6 page)

Crystal touched Miriam’s arm. “Mary Ellen’s a sweet child. I’m sure no such ideas have entered her mind.”

“Maybe not, but some adults, whom I won’t bother to mention, are in on the scheme to marry me off to Amos.” Miriam wrinkled her nose. “I’m afraid some of them might be using that poor child as an instrument of their devious ways.”

Crystal laughed. “How you do exaggerate. No one’s being devious or plotting against you. We just want your happiness; surely you can see that.”

Miriam just kept on walking.

“Ever since we were little girls, all we talked about was
how we would marry someday and have a family. We both knew how happy we’d be if God gave us good husbands and a bunch of fine kinner to raise.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say, because you’re happily married to my brother Jonas. And you have these
lieblich
boys to fill your life,” Miriam added, pointing to her adorable nephews. She touched her chest. “I, on the other hand, am an old-maid schoolteacher, and I’ll always be one.”

T
hat was a great story you did on the farmers’ market,” Pete said when Nick entered his office the next weekend.

Nick pulled out a chair and took a seat in front of his boss’s desk. “Thanks. Glad you liked it.”

“You must have some kind of a connection with the Amish, because the quotes you got were awesome, not to mention the pictures you included.”

Nick nodded. “I took a few years of German, so I understand some of what they say when they speak Pennsylvania Dutch to each other, which is how I got some of the information included in my article.”

“And the pictures? Did they willingly pose for those?”

“Only a few of the Amish kids did. The older ones don’t like to have their pictures taken, so I had to get those on the sly.”

Pete nodded, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re not only good with words and pictures, but you’re crafty, as well. I like that in my reporters. That’s how great stories are born, you know.”

Nick lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I do my best.”

Pete’s balding head bobbed up and down. “And I’m sure you’ll do your best on the next piece I give you.”

“What might that be?” Nick asked with interest.

“Covered bridges.”

“Covered bridges?”

“Yep. There are a lot of them in the area, and some of the older ones are in the process of being restored. I think it would be good to do an article about the bridges so our readers will know where they are and how to find them.”

“Do you know where they all are, Pete?”

“Nope, but that’s your job to find out.”

Nick felt a trickle of sweat roll down his forehead. Driving all over the countryside searching for covered bridges did not sound like an interesting assignment, and he told his boss so.

“You don’t have to drive around aimlessly. I’m sure the Amish in the area know where the bridges are, so I would suggest that you stop by some of their farms and ask for directions.” With that, Pete stood and motioned to the door. “Your assignment begins right now, Nick.”

The morning sun beating against the windows had already warmed the kitchen when Miriam came downstairs. She squinted against the harsh light and turned away from the window. Her head felt fuzzy; another pounding migraine had sent her to bed early the night before, and the unpleasant remnants of it still remained. What she really needed was
something to clear her head of the dusty cobwebs lingering from her disturbed sleep. Since today was Saturday and there was no school to teach, perhaps she would have a cup of herbal tea, wash her hair, and then go sit by the stream to dry it. Some time alone might do her some good. Papa and Lewis were already out in the fields, and Mom had gone over to her eldest son, Andrew’s, place to help his wife, Sarah, with some baking, so no one would need Miriam for anything.

While she waited for the water in the kettle to heat, she cut herself a wedge of shoofly pie and took a seat at the table. She liked solitude, and the quietness of the house seemed to soothe her aching head a bit. By the time she had finished eating, the water was hot, so she poured some into a cup and added a peppermint tea bag. After drinking the tea, she went to the sink to wash her hair, using a bar of Mom’s homemade lilac soap. A hint of the perfumed flower tickled Miriam’s nose, and she sniffed appreciatively. She rinsed with warm water, reached for the towel she had placed on the counter, and blotted her hair, being careful not to rub too aggressively, which she knew would only aggravate her headache.

When she was satisfied that the majority of water had been absorbed from her hair into the towel, she wrapped another towel loosely around her head, picked up her hairbrush from the wall shelf nearby, and went out the back door.

Miriam found the stream behind their house to be clear and blue, so inviting. She sank to the ground, slipped off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the sun-drenched grass. At moments like this, she wished she were still a child. Life seemed easier back then, and it wasn’t nearly so painful.

She reached up and pulled the towel from her head, causing her damp hair to fall loosely about her shoulders. She shook her head several times, letting the sun warm her tresses as she closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sky.

Oh Lord
, she prayed,
why must my heart continue to hurt so? I want to be pleasing in Your sight, yet I know that most of the time I fall terribly short. How can I have a merry heart, as Mom says I should, when I’m so full of pain and regrets?
Tears squeezed from her closed eyelids, and Miriam reached up to wipe them away.

The crackling of a twig startled her, and when she turned, she spotted the lens of a camera peeking through the branches of a willow tree. When she realized it was pointed at her, she gasped and jumped to her feet.

Nick McCormick stepped out from behind the tree and smiled. “Sorry if I surprised you.”

“I—I never expected to see you again.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I can’t believe my luck—it’s the liberated Amish woman I had the privilege of helping to her feet last Saturday. And what beautiful feet they are,” he said, pointing to Miriam’s bare feet. “I had no idea I’d be seeing you again today, either. Especially not like this.”

Miriam pulled the hairbrush from her apron pocket and began brushing her tangled hair, knowing she must look a sight. “I don’t appreciate you sneaking up on me. And I don’t like the fact that you were taking my picture. I told you last week—”

“Yes, yes, I already know. The Amish don’t like to be photographed.” His smile widened, and he moved closer to her.

Miriam’s teeth snapped together with an audible
click
, and she twisted the handle of the hairbrush in her hands. Why did she feel so nervous in this man’s company? “The Bible tells us in Exodus 20, verse 4, ‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image,’ ” she explained. “We believe that includes posing for photographs or displaying them for impractical reasons. We also don’t want to appear prideful.”

“I can see that you’re well versed in the scriptures,” Nick said as he took a seat on the grass. Before she could comment, he quickly added, “And for your information, I photographed several Amish children at the farmers’ market the other day, and none of them put up such a fuss. Is their religion any different than yours?”

Miriam lowered herself to the grass again, making sure she was a comfortable distance from the insolent intruder. “Children haven’t joined the church yet, and they don’t know any better. Besides, some English folks bribe them with money or candy. They’re not strong enough to say no.”

Nick laughed, causing the skin around his blue eyes to crinkle. “How about you, Miss Stoltzfus? Would you allow me to photograph you for a piece of candy?”

“I wouldn’t pose for a picture at any price.” Miriam looked the man squarely in the eyes. “Anyway, you’ve already taken my picture without my knowledge or my consent. I’m sure you probably have some prize-winning shots of the silly Amish woman sitting by the stream without her head-covering in place.”

Nick’s face sobered. “I’ve offended you again, haven’t I?”

“To be perfectly honest, you have.”

Nick held his camera in front of her face, and as he pulled
each of the pictures he’d taken of her onto the screen, he hit the D
ELETE
button. “There. Is that better?”

Before she could open her mouth to reply, he added, “Please accept my heartfelt apology for intruding on your privacy.”

Miriam’s defenses dropped just a little. “Thank you, Mr. McCormick.”

“Nick. Please, call me Nick.” He grinned at her in a most disconcerting way. “You know what, Miriam?”

“What?”

“You’re beautiful when you smile.”

Miriam felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized that she’d given him a smile. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly around her hairbrush, and noticed that she was trembling. “I—I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was strained as his gaze probed hers. How could this man’s presence affect her so, and why?

“Now I’ve embarrassed you,” he said. “I apologize for that, too.”

Glancing out the corner of her eye, she admired the perfect line of his profile. He was the most handsome man she had met since William. Instantly, she halted her thoughts. How bold of her to scrutinize the Englisher like that. As much as she would have liked to get to know Nick better, she was eager for him to leave.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you willing to forgive me?” he asked, his lips twitching with a flirty smile.

“Of course I am. It’s just that. . .well, no one has ever called me beautiful before.”

“Then they must have been wearing blinders.” Nick rose
to his feet. “I’d better get going. I’m on a quest to find covered bridges, and so far I’ve only found two.” He grunted. “I thought I could get some information from people living in the area, but you’re the first person I’ve run into, and you probably wouldn’t be willing to help.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You didn’t want to show me around the farmers’ market last week, and I’ve offended you twice already today, so I just assumed—”

“You assumed wrong, Mr. McCormick.”

“It’s Nick, remember?” He looked at Miriam in such a strange way, it made her mouth feel dry and her palms turn sweaty. Maybe she just needed something to drink. “So do you know where some covered bridges might be?” he asked.

She nodded. “There are a few not far from here, and several more throughout the county.”

“Can you give me some specifics?”

“Let’s see. . . . There’s one near Soudersburg, just off Ronks Road. Another is close to Strasburg, off Lime Valley Road.” She paused and thought a minute. “There are two south of Manheim, one north of Churchtown Road, one east of Rothsville, and another one northeast of there. Then somewhere between Reamstown and Martindale you’ll find one, and I believe there’s one north of Ephrata, too.”

He whistled. “That’s pretty impressive. You must get around quite a bit.”

“Not anymore. I spend most of my time teaching school. I used to travel the area a lot when I was a teenager.”

“You’re a schoolteacher?”

She nodded. “I teach at the one-room schoolhouse about a mile from here.”

“So the liberated Amish woman is not only beautiful, but she’s smart, too.”

Miriam’s defenses rose once again, and she clenched the hairbrush tighter. “I am not liberated, and I wish you would quit saying that.”

“Sorry.”

There was an awkward pause as they stood there staring at one another. Finally Nick smiled and said, “I’ve heard that the Amish only go through the eighth grade. Is that correct?”

Her only reply was a quick nod.

“Then how much training does a teacher for one of your schools need?”

“Same as the other scholars—we graduate eighth grade.”

“That’s it? No college or other formal training?”

She shook her head. “Amish teachers are selected on the basis of their natural interest in teaching, academic ability, and Amish values.”

“What kind of values?”

“Faith, sincerity, and willingness to learn from the pupils.”

“Ah, I see. Very interesting facts you’ve given me.” Nick smiled. “One of the things I enjoy most about being a newspaper reporter is learning new things when I interview people.”

“My mother’s a reporter, too.” Miriam hadn’t planned on blurting that out, but she thought maybe Nick might be interested since he also wrote for a newspaper.

“What newspaper does she write for?”

“
The Budget
. Mostly Amish and Mennonite people read it, although I understand that some Englishers subscribe to the paper, too. Have you heard of it?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I believe it’s published in Sugarcreek, Ohio. Am I right?”

She nodded. “There are Amish and Mennonite people all over the country who write columns that go into the newspaper, and my mother is one of the scribes.”

“That’s interesting. What kind of news does she report?”

“Oh, just the happenings in our local community—things like weddings, funerals, those who have had recent out-of-town visitors, accidents that have occurred in the area—that type of thing.”