Heritage of Lancaster County 03 The Reckoning (13 page)

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Mary had promised herself that she would try to not think about the bishop so much. 'Course, it was next to impossible to keep that promise really. Every waking minute he was on her mind. She could only hope that he was pleased with the way she'd looked after his children.

She arose at four-thirty, eager to help with breakfast, and even volunteered to assist her father with milking chores.

"No... no, you stay in where it's warm," he said, hurrying out the back door into the predawn blackness.

"Are ya sure?" she called after him, experiencing such a surge of energy she could hardly contain herself.

Abe turned around, staring at her from the bottom of the snowy steps, a frown pinching his brow. "Goodness' sakes, Mary, ya haven't helped with milkin' for several years

now."

"Well ... just thought I'd offer." She knew her words must sound awful peculiar; still she waited, wondering if he'd change his mind.

Her father shrugged, turned, and shook his head as if to say he wasn't about to try to figure out his youngest offspring, which didn't discourage her one little bit. She rushed back into the kitchen to help stir up some milk and flour

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and eggs, making ready for homemade waffles.

Even as she stirred the mixture, John Beiler was a big part of her day, of her thoughts, and she felt like a young girl again, getting ready for the Christmas Eve program at school . . . or something just as exciting. She hailed him from past days, recalling the fun, the laughter ... jah, the love that was beginning to flower between them.

And there was to be yet another get-together. The evening she had prepared to leave the bishop's house, after John had arrived home from Schaefferstown, he'd invited her on a sleigh ride. "For just the two of us," he whispered as she stood in the privacy of the utility room, pulling on her mittens.

"Where will we meet then?" she'd managed to ask.

His eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. "Can ya take your Dat's horse and carriage over to the bridge at Weaver's Creek?"

"Jah... I think so."

"We'll leave the buggy there. The horse will be all right tied up to the fence post." He paused for a moment, his eyes searching hers so much that she felt she might blush right there in front of him. "Meet me after nightfall.., about six- thirty."

She smiled, imagining the sleigh ride, bundled up in her warmest coat and winter bonnet, maybe even snuggling a bit under the furry lap robe.

"What're you smilin' about?" her mamma said, staring over at her from across the kitchen.

Mary straightened, turning away, so her mother and grandmother wouldn't see the heat rising into her face. "Oh, was I smiling just now?"

Mammi Ruth cackled, going about the chore of setting the table. "She must be thinkin' on her new Beau."

Not to reply would mean acknowledgment. So Mary spoke softly, keeping her face to the wall as she stirred the

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flour and baking soda into the bowl with swift, hard strokes. "What new Beau?"

Now both women were hooting with uncontrollable laughter. Mary had to smile herself. She couldn't help it; the corners of her mouth turned up at will. But she was able to hide the jubilant grin from the women most dear to her. She did it merely by facing away, fixing her eyes on the waffle batter.

She accepted John's extended hand, allowing him to pull her up into the box-shaped sleigh filled with sweet-

smelling straw and more lap robes than she could count. "Nice to see ya, Mary." "And you too."

He helped spread the fur-lined blankets over her legs be-

fore taking the reins in both hands. "Ready?" he said. "Jah."

The tinkle of bells echoed in the night as the moon peeked through trees, casting silvery shadows on the ground. Mary heard the swishing, crisp sound of the runners cut through hardened snow, and the icy earth glistened under ten thousand stars.

She laughed right along with John as the horse seemed to fly over acres and acres of snow-laden fields, pulling them through space, away from their work and toil, away from those whose eyes might pry, those suspecting that love just might reside in the chill of the wind on this night.

John leaned his head back at one point, sniffing the cold air. "Smell that?"

She did the same, breathing in deeply. "Ach, it's skunk." They had to laugh again, pinching their noses shut. After the smell had dissipated, they rode on in silence. Mary, content enough just to be sitting next to John this way,

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squeezed her mittened hands under the heavy blanket on her lap.

It seemed as if eternity might pass before John spoke again. Oh, how she longed for it, to hear his voice so very close to her ears. So close ....

When John let go of the reins with one hand and reached behind her, putting his arm around her, she felt as if she might cry, so in love with this man she was.

"A right-gut night for a sleigh ride." He turned to face her. "Ain't so?"

Her eyes met his. "Jah, right fine," she whispered. Then John moved closer, pressing his forehead gently against hers. The motion tilted her winter bonnet back a bit, but she didn't mind, didn't even bother to put up her hand to steady it.

"I'm a bit old to think of goin' for steady, ya know," he

said, his breath warm against her face.

She knew. "If ya say so."

He sat up straight just then. "Well, what would ya think of marryin' your bishop in the dead of winter?" His voice

was strong and confident, taking her by surprise.

Her heart beat wildly. "Marryin'?"

"I want you for my own.., for my wife, Mary Stoltzfus." His eyes were wells of affection.

"Oh... I..." Her throat felt like cotton. "I--" Gazing intently on her face, he reached up and traced her hairline with his fingertips. She held her breath, and his bare hand cupped her trembling chin. "It must come as a surprise to ya, Mary. I'm sorry if I--"

"I'm... I'm as happy as can be," she said softly, so as not to break the spell, her eyes searching his.

Then slowly his lips found hers in a tender kiss. He backed away, looking deep into her eyes yet again. "Oh, Mary, I want to make ya happy. Honest I do .... "

Before she could answer, his lips met hers again--a lin-

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gering kiss to seal their unspoken commitment.

Mary wasn't sure how long they snuggled that way. For all she knew, the horse might've lost his way for the lack of direction on the part of the driver, yet Mary cared not how many sweet kisses her beloved showered upon her that night, his strong arms enfolding her in his loving embrace. Nor could she think clearly of anything but of her longing to be near him, for ever and always.

It was well past eight o'clock when they turned back toward Weaver's Creek, to her parked carriage and the poor abandoned horse. "Sugar might be too cold to be trottin'," she said, glancing up at the moon.

"We were gone longer than I thought," John said, getting out of the sleigh and throwing one of the lighter blankets over Sugar's back. "That oughta help. Just let him go at his own pace. And . . . if ya don't mind, I'll follow you out to your lane."

"Denki. That's kind of you." She wished John would come and give her a parting kiss before they went their separate ways. But she knew it was best that they not show affection right there on the road. Too many courting couples out on a night like this. Too many eyes...

He helped her into the cold buggy, then went to the fence and untied her father's horse. "Why don't ya use one of my blankets? Already warmed up."

"Gut idea." She had to smile as he jumped up into her carriage unexpectedly, wrapping her up in the furry thing, treating her as tenderly as a child.

"This'll keep ya warm till you're home." He turned, looked both ways up and down the road, then sat beside her. I'll be missin' ya, Mary. I will." He took her in his arms and gave her a long good-bye kiss. Her head was swimming,

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though she did not pull away first. "Good night, Mary, dear." "God be with you," she said, completely out of breath.

Grinning, he backed out of the buggy and stood there in

the snow, waving. "Meet me here again?" "When?" "Tomorrow, maybe?"

She nodded, wishing the night might never end or, better yet, would depart on swift wings of day until Sunday evening could come.

Katherine had been completely surprised by the letter in the late afternoon mail. Because of her scheduled plans to have the quilting class meet again that evening, she purposely waited until the ladies left for home, before ever sitting down with the envelope postmarked Newark, New Jersey.

Sighing, she leaned against the plump antique chair just a few feet from her bed. She might've guessed Daniel would pursue her, especially after the way she'd digTnissed him. Though, thinking back on it now, she wished he had done so years ago, long before she'd discovered that her Amish upbringing had been a fakery. That she was truly English.

Unsure of herself, she held the envelope in her hand, studying the handwriting. She'd know it anywhere. The old feelings stirred within her, and she hardly knew what to do.

Slipping a finger under the loose part of the flap, she opened the envelope, her breath coming more quickly now. Dare I do this? she wondered.

She hesitated, eyes scanning the return address. So this was his residence, the place where he'd hid from her all these years? In Newark, New Jersey--not far from Lancaster County. She almost laid it down or threw it away, still uneasy about holding the envelope in her hands.

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Was she giving Dan a second chance, another opportunity to hurt her, by reading his letter? She laid the envelope on her lap, staring at the formally draped window across the room.

Was it the right thing to do? A soft chuckle escaped her lips. The right thing. The very words that had always defined Mary's position in life. Her friend would probably say to go ahead and open the letter, find out what Daniel wanted to put in writing. Mary, it seemed, was still advising her in spirit, though they were miles apart. Friends for life, in spite of the shunning. Connected in spite of all that had transpired.

Her dearest friend would say to read it. So she did. With shaking hands, she unfolded the letter.

Thursday, March 7

Dear Katie,

Nearly two months have passed since I saw you in Canandaigua. At the time, I worried that I might upset you unduly, and as it turned out, that was the case. You were not only upset, you were clearly pained at my visit, and for this, I am truly sorry.

No amount of asking on my part can make it possible for you to forgive me, though I could only pray that it would be so. You see, I have never stopped loving you, and hard as I try to think of you as Katherine Mayfield, it is difficult for me to remember you as anyone other than the dear Amish girl I first fell in love with that day many years ago--when we were but children. Perhaps I never told you about the first time I saw you standing there by the old buck stove in the schoolhouse. Your hair was not yet in the traditional bun, but pulled back with braids wrapped around your little head. You must have been no more than seven, but I can't be sure. If I'd had any sense I would have recorded the day, the year, the moment. I never told you of the feeling I had that day, but it has never let go of me since

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that time. To think that all those years from my nineteenth birthday until now have been wasted, literally a great waste of our love. And now, here we are, once again separated.

I take all the blame for this, Katie, as I tried to tell you when we met briefly, and you may not accept it now as you did not then. How can I tell you? What I did was wrong. I should have returned to my father that very day, made things right with him, turned from my rebellion, and then, after much prayer and counsel, left the Amish church. Instead, things turned out much differently for me--for everyone. Someday I hope you'll allow me to tell you the whole story, everything that happened.

In the meantime, I have found a love I've never known . . this I find in the Lord Jesus. And if nothing ever comes of my love for you on this earth, it will not be for naught. You see, Katie, I pray that you may find this same joy and peace that I have. It is not bound up in the rules and requirements of a church. My happiness is in knowing my sins are washed away, my name written in the Lamb's Book of Life. You can have this peace, this assurance of salvation that we were taught to believe was wrong, even prideful. The truth is, God's Word clearly states the way to redemption--through faith in Jesus, the Savior. If you ever yearn to know more, read the book of John in the New Testament. You'll find there what your heart searches for.

I don't mean to sound like a preacher, but I cannot keep this peace to myself. Truly, it passes all understanding. It is this Good News that compels me to witness of Jesus' love foryou.

Yours always,

Daniel Fisher

P.S. Do you ever play the guitar I gave you?

Had she known the contents of the letter, she might never have opened it. Slipping the letter back inside the en-

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velope, she tried to push his written words out of her mind. The man was clearly insane . . . declaring his love to her in a letter like this.

And telling her what to believe about God, of all things! She wondered where such boldness had come from, for she had not remembered him being quite this way as a youth, well.., maybe he had been more brash than most, now that she thought of it.

There was no need to belabor this. She went to her bureau drawer and placed the letter inside, beneath the satin baby gown still wrapped in tissue paper.

Justin called as he had promised, inviting her to tomorrow evening's symphony concert, followed by a reception in honor of a retiring violinist. She agreed to go, thinking that another evening spent with her dashing boyfriend might lay all her troubles to rest.

Had she been a praying woman, she might've mentioned this in a prayer to the Almighty. But she was far too suspicious of such praying--to plead for mercy or help from the Creator of the heavens and the earth. Besides, how could she really know if God was as intimately involved in her life and in her plans as both Lydia Miller and Daniel Fisher seemed to think? She considered this concept, so foreign to her way of thinking and to her Amish background, and recalled Laura's glowing deathbed description of her love for God's Son, even going so far as to ask Katherine if she, too, knew Jesus.