Ella's Wish (4 page)

Will Ella say yes to me?
The question disturbed him as it hung in the air.
Surely she won’t deny me. Does she have reason to say no? Is someone else after her affections?
He knew of no one and had kept his ear open to be sure. Ella had promised she would give no one else an answer before she spoke with him again.

Could any other man make an offer better than mine?
He searched his mind and tried to be honest. There were not that many marriageable men available. Boys or girls of twenty-one years or older either had firm dating relationships or were already married; some only months after their birthdays.

He was the exception but had never worried much about his limited choices. Ella must have been the reason.
Da Hah
must have known she would come along and had given him the patience to wait.

He got up and used the dipper to pour a drink of water from the water bucket, splashing water on his shirt. His clumsiness disturbed him, and then he smiled in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.
I might not know how to pour water from a dipper without spills, but I certainly know how to touch a woman’s heart
.

All his life he had known how. He couldn’t remember a time a girl made him blush or tremble like the other boys in his class. His cousin Amos had turned as red as beet when Esther May so much as walked close to him. When Amos was well over nineteen, he still reddened when Esther smiled at him in the public youth gatherings. He couldn’t imagine those kinds of nerves when it came to girls.

Thomas became all tongue-tied around girls in grade school. He chuckled.
I am a bishop now and shouldn’t really be thinking such judgmental thoughts about the other men
. Yet they just came. Ella did that to him. She made him feel his youth again.
Isn’t love like that? Ella doesn’t turn me into a stammering mess and neither will her smile once she finally gives it to me out of the deep love of her heart. I can already see the glow on her face
.

Bishop Miller turned down the light of the kerosene lamp and picked it up to take with him. He would find Ella’s love, when it came, a great honor; a thing he would always be grateful for, even unworthy of.
Have I not waited all my life for this, and has
Da Hah
not seen fit to send Ella my way?

He bowed his head in thanks, guilty and yet glad that martyrdom wasn’t ahead of him.
Soon I will hold Ella’s hand in marriage. Soon this house will know the step and steady hand of the woman I love
.

He felt the urge to sleep and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would be busy with orders to fill at the cabinet shop. Kneeling by the bedside, he opened the prayer book and read the evening prayer. His voice was full, confident, and open before God.

Five

P
reacher Ivan Stutzman sat in his rocker. His oldest daughter, Mary, sat on his lap. He was fully aware that the time was well past their regular bedtime. The squeak of the old hickory rocker filled the living room with its rhythmic sound. All day Mary had complained of an earache, and aspirin seemed to give little relief.

Tomorrow she would need a visit to the clinic. For now little could be done. Mary had dozed off, a fitful sleep from which she would awaken if he dared move. He knew this because he had tried.

Slowly he continued rocking. The kerosene lamp was turned down low, and his other two children were fast asleep. The baby slept downstairs in her crib in his bedroom, and two-year-old Sarah slept upstairs, where her sister should have been by now. Never in his wildest dreams had Preacher Ivan Stutzman imagined having to raise three daughters on his own.

His older sister, Susanna, lived across the road, taking care of their elderly parents. During the day, he took his three girls over to her. Evenings, mornings, nights, and weekends, they were in his care.

He continued to rock as tears formed at the edges of his eyes. It didn’t seem fit for a preacher to be crying, but still the tears began to roll down his cheeks and mix with his lengthy beard. A few fell on Mary’s long black hair. He thought to brush them away but was afraid Mary would awaken.

Since his wife, Lois, had passed, he hadn’t cried often, though the pain was intense at times. Preacher Stutzman considered himself a strong man, able to work outdoors for most of the daylight hours and handle his farm in summer’s heat or the harsh unrelenting winters. Yet his loss and the sorrow that followed had broken his heart and nearly crushed his spirit. He knew now how greatly he had loved her.

Among his people, he was feared for his fiery sermons. He was known to take on all men, holy or unholy, who threatened what he loved—God and the Amish tradition. And yet it was he who had loved a woman so greatly that he gave her the place in his heart that belonged only to the holy One. Guilt gripped him and compounded his agony.
Is this not why I’ve been left alone to bear the weight of the children without the care of a mother? Will
Da Hah
have mercy on me?

Da Hah
must have His reasons for what He has taken and what He has left behind. That usually involves rebuke and chastening. Is that not my faith, the one I’ve always preached with such vigor? Is that not the value system that applies equally to my own life as well as those I preach to? I’ve failed not only God but also my beloved Lois, for she would have surely lived out her full years if I’d kept my heart in the right place. Beyond a shadow of doubt, I’ve sinned beyond measure by loving my wife so greatly
.

Da Hah
in His wisdom has found a way to reach me and cause the necessary pain to punish me
. Preacher Stutzman could have borne untold distress, discomfort, and even death, but when these things were laid upon his children and his beloved, he was crushed to the ground.

“
Da Hah
has a case against me,” he whispered. “I must have been grievin’ him somethin’ awful.”

His lament turned to gentle sobs, which stirred Mary in his lap. She rubbed her ear vigorously and whimpered.

“You want to try to sleep in your bed now?” he asked.

“It’s hurtin’,” she moaned.

“Daett knows,” he said with a voice filled with regret. “We’ll take you to the clinic tomorrow to get some help. You just have to endure this for the night.”

“I’ll sleep upstairs, then,” she said, “with Sarah.”

He got up, cradled her in his arms, and found his way carefully upstairs in the darkness. At the top, he found the bedroom knob and pushed open the door. The half moon gave enough light to find the bed. He pulled the covers back and gently lowered Mary into bed. He stood, waited for her to resume her sleep, and then he retreated.

Outside the door he waited a few moments longer and then moved downstairs in the silence. Perhaps there would be peace for the rest of the night. The girl was exhausted, worse than he was, and sleep sometimes came even when there was pain. Some nights his body took over and demanded the rest he had no desire to experience.

It would have seemed more appropriate if he never slept again and suffered in that small way in payment for what he had done. On the last stair step, even with the light of the kerosene lamp on the desk, he stumbled and caught himself awkwardly. The clatter across the floor echoed in the house. He reached for the couch edge to help regain his balance and listened in the silence.
Did I wake the baby?

Hearing no sound, he walked over and blew out the lamp. Gently he opened the bedroom door. He contemplated the thin rails of the crib outlined against the wall but heard no sound.
Baby Barbara must be fast asleep. This can simply not go on. Something has to be done, but what?

“You have to get married,” his sister Susanna had lectured him a month ago already.

He had shaken his head, resisting her. Not only was it too soon, but he knew he could not love another woman again.

“A man in your situation needs a woman,” Susanna had scolded. “Look at yourself. You have three small children to care for. It’s not my place to be mentioning names, but you know I could do so. There are several widows around who would jump at the chance to fill the place Lois left. You have to think about it, Ivan. Think hard and long about it.”

He hadn’t answered, but on nights like this, it was hard not to consider her words.

A widow lived in the district south of them. Nancy Weaver was a year older than he was, and her husband had been dead for four years already. She had three children of her own; all boys.
My memory of Lois is too fresh. It’s too soon to take another woman as my wife and allow her to hold the place that Lois had held. Plus, have I not sinned once in this area already? The sin, though driven out, can easily return
.

Then why not take Nancy Weaver as my wife since I do not love her? Nancy would understand my reasons and might even feel the same way. Surely
Da Hah
would accept my marrying a woman I do not cherish as I had Lois
.

Perhaps Susanna is right. Perhaps it is time to consider a wife
. In the darkness he found the bed and lowered his weary body. The night air was too warm for the quilt, and so he pulled only the sheet over himself.
A marriage to the widow Weaver might be the right thing. But I need to think of my girls. How would they survive, thrown suddenly into the company of three strange boys?

Necessity is the issue now. I need someone to keep house and run to the clinic tomorrow with Mary. I need time in the hay field, which is ready to cut. Susanna can’t go tomorrow, but someone must
. He tossed onto his side, unable to sleep.
Without a doubt, I need a wife—and quickly
.

Still, a wedding takes time. Is it possible to hire a girl temporarily? That would take the pressure off until I can approach the widow Weaver, have a proper engagement, and set the wedding date. But where would such a girl come from? She would have to be someone who wants the work and is available. Those girls are few and far between. Many of the families help each other out but usually only for short periods of time. Most older girls are either married or needed on the family farms
.

A thought came to him, unheeded at first, fuzzy because of the lateness of the hour.
Didn’t Ella Yoder move into her new house just this week? Wouldn’t she have plenty of time on her hands? Sure, she’s a little strange. What young Amish woman has her own house and remains unmarried? She’s also, no doubt, still grief stricken from losing Aden Wengerd
.

Would she possibly consent to work for me—in the daylight hours, of course. Ella Yoder has a house of her own. Why couldn’t I board the girls there until I’ve made other arrangements? I could then bring the girls back home on Friday nights to spend the weekend with me
.

Would Ella Yoder consent to such an arrangement?
He searched his mind and couldn’t find any reason why she wouldn’t. He could afford to pay the usual fee. The farm didn’t bring in much more than enough to live on, but there was money in the bank he saved mostly because of Lois’s wishes. Surely she wouldn’t have objected if the monies were spent on her girls.

Will Ella think me untoward? Surely not if I explain myself. I’ll tell her the situation is only temporary and until something else can be done. Even Susanna will approve of this plan. What the widow Weaver thinks about it, I need to find out
.

Will Ella think I’m after her as a wife and presenting some hidden marriage proposal of sorts?
He tossed in bed and decided she could figure that out herself.
Ella is a smart girl, from the little I know of her, and will see by my attitude what my intentions are
.

Why not ask Ella to marry me?
The thought pressed in on him as he looked out the window at the starry sky. He wished the idea hadn’t come. It was wild and stirred him deeply. It was a troubling notion.

Yet for what he had in mind—a marriage in which he would never give his heart—this seemed grossly unfair to anyone but a widow. Ella might feel like a widow, as close as her wedding date had been. Yet he knew that nearly married wasn’t the same as married. Any girl, he figured, deserved to marry for love and experience the affection of a husband who could give her his whole heart.

He, of course, could never give his all again—couldn’t even if he had wanted to—out of fear the Almighty would smite the object of his desire. Preacher Stutzman stirred again and reached for sleep.
Perhaps a confession at church might be in order; a confession for the sin I’ve committed. Yet how would I do such a thing?
A knee confession in front of the whole church—a punishment saved for only the serious offenses—would be appropriate, but Bishop Mast would have none of such a confession. To love one’s wife too much was not a matter to be confessed in church.

At the very least, I could preach about the matter and warn others of the danger I’ve stumbled into. I would have to speak in vague terms, of
course, to protect the honor of Lois’s memory
. Thoughts of Ella kept running through his mind. He pushed them away, realizing his body was so tired it ached. For a long moment, he listened to the silence of the house and then involuntarily dropped off to sleep.

Six

E
lla awoke with the alarm, feeling the strange stillness of the house around her. She swung her legs out of bed, groped for a match on the dresser, and lit it by striking it against the underside of the drawer. The little flame flickered in the darkness. She transferred it to the wick and then got dressed. Clara, still asleep, groaned in protest as Ella gently shook her awake. Clara pulled the covers tighter up under her chin and then rolled over.

“You’re at my house,” Ella whispered, and Clara’s eyes opened to her sister’s voice. “You’re not at home, silly, and there are no chores this morning.”