Following Your Heart (26 page)

Teresa nodded as she got to her feet. They entered the house, and
Mamm
jumped up to offer Teresa the couch.

“I think we'd better eat supper,” Susan said. “Teresa must be starving after that visit.”

“Was it bad?”
Mamm
asked, looking concerned.

“He
is
a nice man,” Teresa said. “He's much nicer even than I was expecting.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear that,”
Mamm
said. “Come, sit at the table while Susan and I get supper ready.”

Teresa followed them into the kitchen but didn't sit down. “I think I should help,” she said. “It sounds like I need to learn all I can, and as quickly as I can. Yost is worried I don't know how to cook.”

“The nerve of the man!”
Mamm
said, waving her hand toward the kitchen chair. “I don't care what Yost wants, you're going to sit down. I can see clearly he has worn you out with his questions. No doubt he wants to know if we've been teaching you how to bake bread and wash clothing.”

“Something like that,” Teresa admitted. “I reassured him, but I'm not sure how much he believed me.”

“I wouldn't worry about him,”
Mamm
said. “Yost will be happy enough with whatever food you make. I can't imagine he's getting much right now anyway.”

“I told him that,” Teresa said, a smile playing on her face. “I don't think he cared much for the remark, although he agreed.”

“Men!” Susan exclaimed, wringing out the washcloth until her fingers turned white. “I would think Yost ought to be grateful instead of worrying about what kind of food he will be getting out of the deal.”

“He's probably worried I might starve him or poison him with
Englisha
food,” Teresa offered.

“It's more like he thinks you don't know how to cook,” Susan said. “He's thinking about microwaves and restaurants. He probably thinks that's all
Englisha
women know how to do.”

A smile crossed Teresa's face.

“I can't imagine Yost in a restaurant,” she said. “He'd pass out from astonishment.”

“He's certainly no Mr. Moran and his fancy Italian restaurant,” Susan said absently. She paused suddenly, realizing what she'd said. She noticed
Mamm
staring at her from beside the counter.

“I went to a nice restaurant with Duane Moran,” Susan reminded. “I already told you about him, so it's not something you didn't know.”

Mamm
looked away but remained where she was. “I wonder sometimes how much of the
Englisha
world is still in your heart, Susan,”
Mamm
finally said. “You know how dangerous that life can be. Little things get hold of a person. And now you won't even join the instruction class. Why don't you go to Deacon Ray and tell him you still want to join this spring? You could finish with Teresa and Thomas and be baptized this fall. It would be a comfort to our hearts to see that you have really left the world behind, Susan.”

“
Mamm
,” Susan reminded, “the instruction class has started already.”

“Bishop Henry will understand and make room for you,”
Mamm
insisted.

Susan shook her head, continuing to clean the tabletop.

Teresa cleared her throat. “Yost wants to know if Susan can come with me sometime for a visit to his place,” she said, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Do you think that would be okay?”

“I don't know why not,”
Mamm
said.

Teresa jumped to her feet right after a cry from Samuel came from upstairs. “I'll go get him,” Teresa said, “and then I'm going to help with supper.”

“Susan, I wish you'd try as hard as Teresa is,”
Mamm
said after Teresa disappeared upstairs.

“I see things differently than she does,” Susan said. “And there's nothing to be done about that.”

J
ames sat on the front row, keeping his eyes on the songbook as the sound of the young people's voices filled the living room. Supper had been over for an hour, and the sun outside the living room windows had sunk below the horizon. Above his head two gas lanterns gave out warm light, along with two more hung further back. Emory Yoder believed in having plenty of light when the young people had the Sunday night hymn singing at his house. Perhaps he thought this would hold back the darkness that threatened their young hearts

James turned to look at Teresa again. He shouldn't be looking, but he couldn't seem to keep his eyes away from her.
Yah
, Teresa might be an
Englisha
girl from birth, but right now her face had joy written all over it as she followed along with the German words. There was no way she could be understanding all of them, but she was clearly enjoying the effort.

Teresa glanced up from the songbook page, meeting his eyes, and the joy disappeared, replaced by a look of fear. She turned away, streaks of red spreading up her neck to where the strands of hair hung out from under her white
kapp.

Why did he keep disturbing the girl, James asked himself. Was his heart flirting with darkness? James looked back to the songbook page. Everyone knew the
Englisha
girl was promised to Yost Byler, and should be off-limits to any other boy's attention. Why then could he not stop looking at her?

It had to be more than her face. There were Amish girls he knew who were better-looking. Even Eunice would pass that test—if good looks were what he wanted. But it was more than good looks that was drawing him to Teresa. It was the softness and tenderness of her heart which seemed to shine through her face in moments when she didn't know anyone was watching. He had noticed this on the first Sunday she had attended the instruction classes. Teresa couldn't possibly know what her face was showing, and that made it even more
vundahboah
. Yost Byler certainly didn't deserve a wife this
gut.

Glancing at Teresa out of the corner of his eye, James felt the boy beside him nudge his ribs.

“You can ask her home,” the whisper came, delivered with a slight smile. “She's available.”

James kept his head still, his heart pounding. Obviously the boy thought he had been looking at Eunice. If he knew the truth there would have been no smile in the teasing.

“I don't want to,” James whispered back, and the boy's smile got broader. Clearly he was not believing the story.

This whole situation was becoming intolerable. Should he speak to his
daett
about this?
Nee
, that wouldn't do any good. But then what was he to do? Speak to Teresa? That was even more out of the question…or was it? His head ached with the thinking. What could the preachers possibly do to him? There would be some fuss, that was for sure. His
daett
after all was the deacon.

James blinked hard, trying to clear his mind. Why did Teresa have to marry Yost Byler once she was baptized? The answer was obvious of course—no one trusted her, but they were wrong. Clearly wrong, and things needed to change. Could he be the one to change them? He was Deacon Ray's son, though. That made it all the harder.

Yet Yost and Teresa's wedding day was coming up before long. And it would simply be awful to stand by and watch Yost Byler taking the vows with Teresa. And all the while Teresa would have that deep tenderness shining out of her eyes, mixed in with fear and trust. There might even be tears. He doubted he could bear to see that.

Nee
…this couldn't be allowed to continue. He had to speak with Teresa. He had to tell her she had other options. That he would be willing to consider a courtship with her. Because he was willing, wasn't he?

The question stared him in his face.
Was
he willing? Was he willing to say the vows with an
Englisha
girl? Vows from which there could never be any going back? What if she left him after the wedding? What if she became tired of being Amish and longed for the worldly things she had left behind? That was possible was it not?

James looked at Teresa's face again, and she raised her eyes as if she knew he was looking, meeting his gaze without blushing. There was sorrow written in them, and deep, deep pain. James tried to smile, the effort failing, and she lowered her eyes to the page on the songbook.

Beside him the boy's elbow dug into James's ribs again and he jumped. This had to stop somewhere, he told himself, but what was he to do now? Did all these questions about Teresa have to be decided tonight? Maybe he was taking things in giant steps instead of in the order in which they should be taken. He was thinking of marriage, and she might not even wish to be his girlfriend, let alone his wife. He could speak with her about Yost, and they could always part as friends if nothing else. Like some of the other Amish girls he had dated. But she should at least be given the option. That was the important point.

“I can ask her for you,” the boy next to him whispered close to his ear. “That is, if you're scared.”

James shook his head, forcing a smile. Behind them someone hollered out the last song number of the evening, an
Englisha
song they all knew by heart: “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.” Concentrating, James sang along, keeping his eyes away from the bench full of girls.

Low chatter filled the room as the young people talked with each other. Every once in a while the conversation reached across the space between the boys and girls, but James didn't join in. The steadies soon left, the boy leaving first, followed closely by his girlfriend a few moments later.

James waited until Susan and Teresa rose and walked out to the washroom. Slipping outside, he went to the barn. He found Susan's horse in the second stall and led it outside.

“Oh, it's you, James,” Susan said, meeting him at the buggy. Teresa hung back in the shadows. “I was hoping some kind soul would bring Toby out for us.”

“You wouldn't expect us to leave two lovely girls to hitch their own horse,” he joked.

Susan laughed, the sound ringing in the night air, but Teresa moved deeper into the shadows and around to the other side of the buggy.

“Susan, um, I need to speak with Teresa,” James whispered, motioning toward her with the rim of his hat.

“With Teresa?” Susan questioned.

“
Yah
, but don't make a racket about it,” he said. “I wish to speak with her in private. Here, hold the horse for a moment, please.”

“She doesn't wish to speak with you,” Susan said. “And you're not allowed to anyway. It will make all kinds of trouble.”

“I don't think you want this thing with Yost Byler to go forward either, now do you?” he shot at her.

“No, I don't,” she snapped. “But this isn't the best way to handle the problem. You can't just go and talk with her. You can talk with your
daett
if you really care. That might do more good.”

“I just might do that,” he said. “But first I wish to speak with her.”

“You're not going to unless Teresa agrees—and she won't,” Susan retorted.

“Would you speak more quietly?” he asked. “Someone will hear you! Of course I won't talk with her if she doesn't want to. But I'm going to find out from her, not from you. So hold the reins while I do that.”

“What's going on?” Teresa asked, her voice coming from the edge of the darkness.

“I would like to speak with you in private,” James said, trying to see her face in the dark.

“You don't want to talk to him,” Susan asserted. “I know what I'm saying, James.”

“I think I'd better,” Teresa said. “Have we got time?”

“Well, make it quick then!” Susan said. “You can't be seen with him for very long.”

“Come,” James said, stepping behind the buggy.

Teresa's face still wasn't visible, and he didn't dare take her hand. Hopefully she could see well enough to follow. He kept walking until he reached the wooden fence that separated the barnyard from the field where the rows of buggies were parked. He heard soft treads behind him, and then saw her body take shape beside him in the dim lantern light coming from the house.