Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (24 page)

Dear Marianna,

I've lost track of how many letters I've written. It has to be a dozen at least. I still don't know when I'll be giving these letters to you. Or if I ever will.

Lately I've been thinking about children. It seems silly I know. Your life is occupied with other things—other people. There is no date for our wedding (even though I wish it were so), but I cannot stop from thinking about how you would be as a mother.

My own mother is kind, but distant. She's quicker to point out what I've done wrong than what I do right. My artistic talents—she thinks they are nice but would rather have me work a real job. I know you are not like that. I have seen you with your younger siblings. I've noticed the way you listen when they talk to you and the way you snuggle them on your lap.

Of course the most important thing you have that you can offer your future children is your faith. You are an example of all that is right and good. You don't take your role as an Amish woman lightly. I respect that. In fact, seeing your example has made me consider my own faith more.

Sometimes we do the things we do, and serve the way we serve, because of what we feel is right. And then sometimes we see others and they show us new ways. They remind us of the faith of our forefathers . . . and live in a way that brings to mind why those things should be remembered. Your steadfast faith has been an example to me, even if you didn't know it.

Written with the pen of the man who sees your faith and considers his own in a new light.

N
aomi sat up in bed and gasped for air. A strong, knotting contraction pulled her breath from her lungs. Her eyes spread open and she searched for light. Instead, darkness spread in every direction. The room was dark. The night beyond the window was dark, and she still had two and a half weeks to go before the baby was due.

She opened her mouth to call for her mother—to try and tell her that the contractions had come, but a moan escaped her lips instead. When the pain ebbed, she relaxed back into her pillow to catch her breath. Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away.

It was then she knew it wasn't her mother she needed. It was Levi and Marianna. She needed Levi's strength. She wanted Marianna's prayers.

She slipped on her robe and slippers, lit the lantern in her room, and tiptoed outside with the lantern swinging in her hand. The spring air was warm and it smelled of damp soil, fresh grass, and rain. The rain would come, she just hoped it wouldn't come too hard before the midwife was fetched.

She hurried to the dawdi haus, the glow of the light guiding her steps. Rocks bit through the thin bottoms of her slippers, but she ignored the pain. Her heart pounded with the realization that the time had come. The baby would soon be here!

Her lower stomach knotted up again. "Levi!" Her lungs struggled to fill, so intense was the pain.

She placed the lantern on the porch and braced herself against the door. The pain peaked hard and tight. Her fist pounded on the wooden door and a squeak escaped her lips.

She heard fumbling from inside and a minute later the door opened. Golden light bathed Levi's face, and she fell into his arms.

His heartbeat pounded against her cheek, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her up. "Is it time?"

She nodded. "
Ja
."

He led her into the house, through the living room and to his bed. Before she lay down he stripped the dirty sheets and remade it with clean ones the midwife told them to keep on hand. She sat down on the edge of the bed and wiped the sweat beading on her brow.

Levi studied her with concern in his gaze. She attempted to offer him a slight smile, but she could tell he could see right through it.

"The midwife. I need to go get her."

"Levi!" Naomi's fingers wrapped around his night shirt. "Don't go."

Levi studied her, and then he took her hand. "This is happening faster than I thought it would. I won't go. I promise. I'll send Marianna."

Naomi looked to the window. "But that night's so dark."

"She'll be fine. She doesn't have to go far."

Another contraction hit and Naomi turned to her side, covering her face with her hands, trying to breathe. Levi leaned closer, making soothing circles on her back. A minute later the pain released and Naomi's body relaxed. Without a word Levi rose and hurried to the extra bedroom, pounding on the door.

He returned a few minutes later and stroked a hand over her hard, round stomach. "Marianna's on her way, but if the baby comes too quickly we'll be fine." He winked. "I'm an expert at birthing calves and colts."

"Do not think that makes me feel . . . better." Another contraction began, and she closed her eyes. "Just pray." Her voice was breathy and low. "Pray for me and this baby."

He lowered his head and she trusted he was indeed praying. When the contraction stopped, he rose and hurried to the washbasin. Returning, he wiped her brow with a cool, damp cloth.

She reached for his other hand and gripped it. She could never have done this without him here! How did she ever deserve a man who would stand by her in such a way, with concern for her and not for himself?

She didn't want to know where she'd be if Levi had left, walked away.

Another contraction came, and she was almost grateful, for she didn't want to imagine life without him—not for a moment.

Marianna hitched up the buggy quicker than she ever had before. With a hasty motion she pushed the lap robe to the back and with a flick of their wrists they were on their way.

She knew from experience that most first-time labors took their sweet time, but she questioned if that would be Naomi's case. The pains seemed to be coming close together. She set the horse at a quickened pace.

There was nothing she could do but pray as the buggy carried her forward. Back in Montana they had a phone in their shed. How useful that would have been to just ring up the midwife. Useful, but a "trapping of the world" according to her bishops.

The steady
clip-clopping
of the horse's hooves stilled from the urgency of the moment. There was no such thing as speeding when it came to driving a buggy. One could only go as fast as the horse was prepared to go. As she settled back into the seat, the quietness carried her thoughts to God.

Her first whispered prayer for a safe delivery for Naomi was followed a prayer for Ben. At first she questioned why this name entered her thoughts, but the Lord's ways—she knew—were His own.

Wherever he is, Lord, be with Ben. I'm not sure why you've placed this burden on my heart, but let him know that You are there for him, and let him know there are others who still care. If he questions the place You've put him at this moment, may Ben find the answer in You. If he wonders if You still have a plan, find a way to assure him You do.

The words came as soft whispers, and as she prayed Marianna realized that the things she was praying for Ben were things that burdened her own heart. She too needed to know God was there and others cared. She questioned the place she was at. Did God still have a plan? Was she still in line with it?

Am I just trying to put my problems on Ben? Or is he going through the same things as I am? Does he have the same questions?

Either way she knew that didn't matter. If Ben needed strength for those things, so be it. If not . . . well, prayers sent up to God never went to waste.

She noted the midwife's house up ahead and her mind was stirred back to the present. She'd be an aunt today. A new life was always something to celebrate no matter what else happened—even if the things she prayed for never resolved as she thought they ought.

Ben sat on the bed in his bus and pulled the guitar out of his suitcase. He strummed for a few minutes.
God . . . why? Why did You bring me here? Why make me a star. Because I know that's from You, Lord . . .

The image of that woman who'd tried to pick him up at the restaurant drifted into his mind. She'd seen him in concert not once, but twice. Obviously she saw something she liked. The only question was, had she seen any difference in who he was now and who he'd been then?

The first time on tour he'd been just a kid—barely twenty. He lived with his roommates and the only thing they'd had in the fridge was booze. He'd been dating Carrie, Roy's daughter, at the time. But that didn't mean he didn't bring home other girls every now and again. His life had been headed for a train wreck until his buddy Jason drank himself to death on Ben's living room couch. The tour stopped after that and the trial followed. Ben had been acquitted, on one condition. For the rest of his life he had to write one letter a week to an underage drinker who'd been caught drinking or arrested for a DUI. He'd continued writing those letters, even when he was on tour. And hopefully those he wrote to understood his change. The thing was, those in the audience now had no idea he was different from what he used to be.

In the years since Ben's last tour he'd given his life to God. He moved to Montana to have a quieter life, to focus more on God and the people He placed in his life. Sure, between songs he shared a little about Montana, about his faith, and about writing "Every Warm Cabin Needs a Good Wife" with the audience, but what if he shared more . . . shared how God had
really
change his life?

Roy wouldn't like it. In fact, Roy already shot down the idea when Ben mentioned it months ago. But then, the crowds didn't pay to come see Roy. They paid to come see him, and if they really wanted to know him . . .

Well, Ben would let them do just that.