Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (8 page)

"Abe Sommer." Ruth rose and placed a hand on her hip. "Wasn't it you that talked me into coming? And now that I like it here, you're the one who wants to hold on to what we left? Montana's a good place. I can see that it's best."

"Really, you do?" He stood and faced her. She lowered her head and he studied the top of her kapp. "And what do you like about it, Ruth?"

"Like I told you before, not everyone's eyes are on me. I can breathe here, live. I don't have to be 'that woman' who lost her girls. I don't have to be 'that woman' who . . ." Tears touched the corners of her eyes, and two concrete bricks fell on Abe's shoulders.

The Amish woman who almost left her husband for an Englischman?
Is that what she was going to say? From her downturned lips and the way she refused to look at him, Abe guessed that's what it was. He tried to shrug, pushing the weight of the past off of him. The burden was heavy, even after all these years. He imagined she felt the same.

"Ruth, you know I don't see you as that woman. Most people don't remember, much lest care, about that anymore. But I understand, and I want to support you." His hand stroked her chin and tilted it up until her eyes met his. He hoped she could see the love in his gaze, but worried it was distorted through her own pain.

"If you believe selling the farm is our best decision, then I do too. My home is where you are, Ruth. I want you to always remember that."

Jest tell Abe about the letter.

Ruth argued with herself as she peeled a bag of apples that Annie from the store had dropped by. She turned over the green apple in her hand and worked the sharp knife to extract the peel in one long strand. The love she'd seen in Abe's eyes as they'd talked this morning brought tears to her own.

"Don't go getting all misty. You're gonna cut yerself," she mumbled under her breath.

"Owie?" Ellie asked from her place on the chair next to Ruth. Ellie washed the peeled apples in a bowl of cool water—not because Ruth needed help, but because young Amish girls need to learn how to work. How to be useful.

"No owie yet . . . and I have to remember you're a smart one. I've got to watch that. You most likely know more English words than I realize."

Ellie lifted her head, nodded, and wrinkled her nose. Laughter spilled from Ruth's lips, and Ellie joined in. How much the young girl reminded her of Marianna—always watching, always so willing to help and give and serve. If Ellie grew to be as industrious and kind-hearted as her old sister, Ruth would have no complaints.

She glanced at the clock, counting the hours until Abe returned. She hoped he'd have a letter from Marianna with him. She wondered what Marianna thought about being back in Indiana. Unlike Ruth, Marianna had always been highly respected there.

Ruth handed the peeled apple to Ellie, who dunked it into the water, and then Ruth picked up another. She'd been jest a newly married woman when Mark had caught her attention. When Abe was out in the fields it was Mark who came by to check on her parents. One cup of coffee would turn into two, and they'd get lost talking about the people he'd met and places he'd visited. He opened a world to her she hadn't known much about. More than that, he'd asked her about her dreams.

Where would you like to travel to some day, Ruth? What's your favorite book? What do you do for yourself? Shouldn't you think about what makes you happy instead of just caring for everyone else?

Looking back now, Mark's words had a certain hiss to them. Like the sweet, tempting words the serpent had spoken in the garden to Eve, they had stirred dissatisfaction. She and Abe had read that Bible story just last week in their English Bible, and the story caused her to look at her past in a new light. Made her see Mark in a new light. Maybe it was God preparing her—preparing them—for what was to come when they returned to Indiana.

Still, she had to admit the way he'd wooed her caused heat to fill her chest even now. Although she'd made the right choice in focusing her heart on Abe, and living life as his wife, her sister's letter—and even her memories—stirred emotions in Ruth she hadn't felt in a while. Like a campfire she'd thought had grown cold, the letter had been a stick stirring the ash. And she was surprised that sparks had kindled underneath.

She finished peeling the last apple and handed it to Ellie.

Ellie washed the apple and then set it on the clean kitchen towel. "All done?"

Ruth set down the knife. "All done." She smiled and wished she could speak so confidently about what was inside. She wished her feelings for Mark were all done. Then again it didn't surprise her that she'd been drawn to him in the first place. She'd always been drawn to fancy words, fancy things.

"Ellie, can you go and see if Joy's still sleeping for me, ja? Be a big girl and hold the handrail as you go upstairs."

"Yes, sir!" Ellie turned and stomped off.

Laughter spilled from Ruth's lips. Now that was something Ellie never would have heard in their Amish community in Indiana. She no doubt picked up that phrase from the Carash boys down the road.

Ruth turned to the cupboard and pulled out the oatmeal, deciding to make an apple crisp for dessert. A memory stirred of when she was Ellie's age. She reached for the sugar and smiled, thinking about the day at the flea market and her purchase.

She'd gone with her grandparents to Shipshewana. It was one of the few times she remembered being with them without her other siblings. Her grandmother had given her some dollar bills—how many she couldn't remember now—and told her to pick out anything she'd like.

Heat rose in her face even now to realize she'd picked out the fanciest thing possible—a delicate china cup with intricately painted flowers! She'd been used to drinking from tin cups, and for the rest of the week she drank from that cup with her mother looking on with a disapproving gaze.

Her younger sisters, of course, thought it was beautiful too and tried to sneak it when they could. It was then Ruth had realized what she had to do—she packed it away in her hope chest. Even as a young girl she knew that's what Amish women did to prepare for their future.

After getting married she considered pulling it out, just to look at it, but her first baby came nearly nine months later and more children after that. Not wanting it broken, she left the china cup where it was. Where it was still packed away.

"Baby wake!" Ellie called from upstairs.

"Coming!" Ruth started for the stairs. When she was in Indiana she'd have to go through her things and get that china tea cup out. Maybe she'd even get rid of it. Heaven knew she needed to start purging old things.

Most especially old feelings and thoughts.

M
arianna had just finished her last bit of toast with blackberry jam when she heard the clomping of a horse's hoofs coming down the gravel roadway. Looking out the window her heart leapt to see Aaron. She'd missed him.

Though the air was cold outside, the sun shone brightly. How many days had she imagined this—Aaron arriving to take her on a date? She'd bathed and dressed after returning to Aunt Ida's house from talking with Levi, and she'd also determined not to let her brother's challenges disrupt her day. She'd do what she could to help her brother tomorrow. Today was Aaron's day.

Marianna stood and walked to the door, smiling.

Aunt Ida hurried into the room with quilting needle in hand. "Is that Aar—"

"It's Aaron,
ja
, we're going to see the cabin." Marianna moved back to the table where her plate sat.

Aunt Ida waved a hand. "Leave it . . . I'll wash that up yet. You git now, you hear. You've waited a long time for this."

Marianna didn't argue. She hurried to the coat rack and put on her coat. Pulling her mittens from her pocket, she slipped them on as she hurried out the front door. She reminded herself again not to worry about Levi or Naomi today.

Aaron parked and looked as if he were preparing to climb down when she rushed up to him.

"No need to get down, I'll just climb in. I don't want to dawdle. We have our house to look at."

Aaron settled back down, holding the reins with one hand and rubbing his leg with the other. "I like the sound of that. I've been waiting"—he turned to her and she saw sadness in his smile—"I've been waiting a long time for this."

She nodded, not wanting to get their conversation bogged down with what could have happened or what should have been if she never would have moved to Montana. Instead, she climbed up and scooted next to him, tucking a lap blanket over her.

She placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder. "Do you know this is our first official date?" Laughter slipped through her lips.

Aaron removed his hat from his head and scratched his blond hair. "I guess that would be right. Had to find out if you'd be willing to marry me before I spent any time courting you . . ."

"Aaron Zook!" She punched his shoulder with a soft fist.

He returned his hat and then turned toward her, running a finger down her cheek. His hand was cold, but she didn't mind. The gaze in his eyes warmed her even as the wind picked up.

"You're worth it, Marianna. Worth everything. Now, let's get going so you can see what I got for you." He winked and then turned his attention back to the horse. "I've been waiting for this day fer quite a while," he said with a flick of the reins.

They rode to the Zooks' place in near silence. As the buggy passed the small Amish schul where she'd first met Aaron, a verse they'd memorized filtered through her mind.

I must be a Christian child,

Gentle, patient, meek and mild,

Must be honest, simple, true.

I must cheerfully obey,

Giving up my will and way.

Uffgevva.
The word played through her mind. It was a Pennsylvania German word that had been as natural to her as the farm, fields, and community.
Giving up
was its literal meaning, and she'd done it in daily tasks, putting down her quilting to tend to her siblings. Putting down her book to make dinner. Anything she desired mattered little when it came to submitting to parents, teachers, church leaders. And soon to her husband.

She thought even about the sermons she heard while growing up. Every minister started his sermon with a confession of his unworthiness and ended it by asking the other ordained men to correct any of his mistakes. It was giving up your day to raise a barn or your time to help finish another's quilt. She hadn't thought much of it until her father's step of boldness. He'd traveled to Montana to protect his family. He'd stepped out on his own, going against the good of the community to consider the good of his children. Her father's "adventure" was tolerated, as long as he had plans to return, but what if he stayed?

Leaving for good wasn't an option. Those in the community would make it clear he wasn't yielding. To yield would be to stay and continue life as he always had, no matter what Dat's heart desired.

She glanced over at Aaron, and her own heart was conflicted. He'd always followed the way of the community, that she knew—but what if protecting their family called for something different? She had a feeling the community would still win. And up until the last year she was fine with that. But now?