Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (32 page)

"So this is your room?" Ben squeezed by her and entered, looking around. "This is where you grew up?" He sat on a bed, running his hand over the bedspread. "It's nice."

"Thank you."

Ben stood and walked to the window, taking in the view. "It's beautiful." Then he pointed to the two trees. "I heard your mom saying something about those."

"The trees, yes, they were planted right after the death of my sisters. To remember them . . . although I'm sure my parents will never forget." She stepped into the room. No need to feel uneasy. This was Ben. He cared about her as a friend and was curious about her life.

She swept her arm. "This room was my sisters', before they died. They slept together on that bed."

Ben bit his lower lip. "That must have been hard, growing up. Being here without them."

Marianna fingered the top hem of her apron. "Actually, it was. I've never told anyone, but I used to hang a blanket over the window at night. I didn't want them looking down from heaven seeing me sleeping in their bed and wearing their dresses."

"I can't imagine, Marianna. I'm so sorry."

She turned to him and smiled. Within a matter of minutes all awkwardness had left. It was just Ben—the one who was so easy to talk to. In fact, more than anything she wished she could sit beside him and share more of her childhood stories. She had a feeling he'd enjoy hearing about her Indiana life.

Voices carried up from downstairs—Mem and Dat talking about what to take and what to leave.

"It was kind for the renters to let my family stay in the house—make a mess of everything," she said. "I appreciate you coming, helping my parents with that."

He shrugged. "That's what friends do."

Marianna stood. "Well, I'm glad you're a
tall
friend." She smiled. "I have some things I can't reach on the top shelf of the closet. Was wondering if you could get them down." Her gaze dropped, as she turned her back to him.

Whistling came from Charlie, walking down the hall with a box of his things. Marianna heard the screen door slam as yet another box of their things was taken to the large trailer outside.

She heard Ben pull the boxes out of the top of her closet and turned toward him. She wasn't sure what was inside, perhaps childhood toys. She hadn't touched those boxes for years—if ever—and the layer of dust on top of them proved it.

As she took the boxes from his hand she noticed a cut on the back of his thumb. It was red and swollen.

"What happened?" She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

"Just banged up. Nothing bad."

"I can get some bandages. We have some under the sink downstairs . . . or at least that's where we used to have them." She couldn't remember if those were some of the things Mem had packed up to take to Montana the first time.

"Aw, no, there's no need. I'm just tender from lack of hard work. Too much time plucking guitar strings and not enough on manual labor."

"I heard the song, Ben." She lifted her eyes to him. The way he studied her made her feel beautiful. She touched her kapp and tucked a strand of dark hair back into place. She never felt as beautiful as she did when Ben looked at her.

He nodded and then lifted a hand to her cheek. "Everyone's asked who the girl with gray eyes is . . . it's been my secret. And I can't believe—" Emotion caught in his throat. "I can't believe I'm sitting next to her."

"Don't get all sentimental on me." She rose and opened the box. Old dolls, shoes, and handmade greeting cards inside were nestled inside. "Maybe if you write another song it should be more clear." She grinned. "Might as well just sing my name."

Ben picked up one of her old dolls and eyed it for a moment, then looked back at her. "I would have if I'd known it would be okay with you." His gaze grew intense. "I only attempt to hide my true feelings because of my concern for
you
. I'm not worried about what people think about me . . . about us . . . my concern is for you. So the question is, How would you feel, Mari, if I did sing your name?"

She bit her lip. At first a rush of warmth came to her chest. Her name sung over the radio, playing in stores like the fabric store. Not just here but all around the country. Everyone knowing . . .

Everyone knowing.
It would bring as much angst as joy. Not because she didn't think Ben was wonderful. She did. She always would. But letting others know that would mean one thing: that she'd walked away from what her people believed. For she could not stay Amish if she gave her heart to an Englischman.

She met Ben's questioning gaze. "It would mean a lot to me. It would honestly mean a lot." She put an old journal into the box. "And that's the problem."

Ben didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

They both knew how impossible all this was.

Abe and Ruth didn't do much packing since it was Sunday—just prepared everything for the real work that was to happen tomorrow.

Abe was sad he wouldn't be able to see Levi, Naomi, and the baby until tomorrow, due to the baby's fever. More than anything he wanted to embrace his son—to welcome him back into the fold.

"Have the wildflowers bloomed? Has Trapper been good? Oh, you'll have to say hello to Annie and the others for me when you remember." Marianna crossed her arms as if trying to hold in her emotion.

Abe cocked his hat and smiled back at his daughter. She seemed more grown up. He should face the fact his little girl wasn't so little and would be a married woman soon.

Abe sighed. "It sounds like you're missing Montana."

"I am, Dat, and I can see from your eyes you find it funny. You like being right. Don't you?"

"I can't confess that. No good Amish man would. It's prideful you know." He moved to Marianna's side and placed a soft hand on her back. "The good news is that you'll come back and visit us often—once a year at least."

A quick movement of her fingertips wiped away a tear she didn't want him to see.

A conflict waged within Abe. He knew if he asked Marianna to return with them, she would. Not because she'd feel obligated to obey, but because she cared for that place and its people.

Yet he couldn't take her away from all she ever wanted—to have her own home and family and to be married to Aaron. Abe also couldn't help but compare Aaron with himself—a good Amish man. Aaron cared for his daughter. He was a hard worker. He'd done everything right to win Marianna's heart.

Pain tinged Abe's heart. He'd spent so many months all those years ago questioning if Ruth would choose him—choose to remain Amish and become his wife. He'd had no greater joy than when she'd come to him and confessed he was her choice. There had been rough days and hard spots after that, but she'd chosen him. Abe had seen the same joy on Aaron's face when Marianna agreed to be his wife. And while Aaron's love for Marianna was clear, was that enough? Did she want more?

And, even beyond that . . . did God want more for his daughter?

T
he rooster outside had roused Ruth early, and she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It was strange being here again, everything so familiar, yet so foreign. Each inch of this house had a memory attached to it, or so it seemed. But it wasn't home. There were no whispering pines outside the windows or neighbors down the road that knelt with her in prayer, speaking words aloud to God's heart.

On the table Abe had left his Bible open. Ruth sat down and read the section he had underlined.

"The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing."

"Imagine that." She whispered the words aloud although no one was in the room. Imagine the God of the universe cared about her enough to sing over her with a song.

She looked out the window to the trees that had been planted in memory of her daughters. She read the Scripture again and tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

He delights in me
.

He no longer rebukes me
.

He saves
.

When she returned all those years ago—full-hearted to Abe—she'd asked God's forgiveness too. She'd walked away from a relationship with Mark but the realization of what she'd done—where her emotions had led her—had hurt so many. She'd broken God's heart. She'd sent ripples of shock through the community.

After time, the pain faded from Abe's eyes, and those in the community seemed to forget her shameful actions, but her own guilt had trailed behind her like untied apron strings. And then, after her daughters' deaths, those strings tightened, cutting off her ability to breathe.

It's punishment for how you acted,
a voice in her mind told her.
You hurt those you love and now you'll know what hurt—real hurt—is.

She hadn't told Abe she felt
that way. He carried his own guilt, having been the one who fell asleep while driving the buggy. She'd told him over and over again that it wasn't his fault.

Mostly because it was hers.

But what if . . .

What if the accident happened just because they lived in a world where bad things struck everyone, good or bad? What if the accident had nothing to do with her?

Peace fluttered in her heart like a dozen butterflies. God loved her. God forgave her.

Ruth rose and washed her hands in the sink, and then started washing some of the strawberries that one of their neighbors had dropped off last night. She knew that sometime during the week she'd see Mark, and before that she'd have more time to pray. To listen to the song her heart told her God was singing over her.

Going to Montana for good, they'd leave behind many things. She wanted her feelings for Mark to be one of those things. If she kept turning to God and reading His Word—remembering His love for her—maybe that would be possible.

Over the years she'd heard rumors about Mark. He'd been married two times, maybe three. He had children from a few different women. A foul taste rose in her mouth to think she could have been caught up in that. Ruth wrinkled her nose and then took a bite of a strawberry hoping to wash the taste away.

What had been so appealing? It wasna Mark himself. Maybe it was the emotions. The pounding of her heartbeat, the flush of her cheeks. The forbidden fruit. She bit her lip. Those feelings had held her prisoner for so long.

Looking around at what needed to be packed up, she noticed Abe and Ben had carried down her hope chest from upstairs. That was yet another thing that needed to be sorted through.

Since the children still slept, she decided no time was as good as the present for getting started. She opened the trunk to find crocheted dish clothes and beautiful table clothes that she'd been given for wedding gifts. There was an old, tin teapot that used to belong to her grandmother, and nestled under it there was something wrapped in brown paper.

She lifted it in her hands and turned it over. Could it be . . . ? Ruth unwrapped the paper and a smile filled her face.