Last Bride, The (Home to Hickory Hollow Book #5) (7 page)

T
he hues of Hickory Hollow were peacefully muted and fall-like that Sunday morning as daylight began to peek over the distant hills.

Marcus reached for his ledger as he rolled out of bed that no-Preaching day, exhausted in every way. A feeling of detachment from the People had begun to engulf him, all the more so since communion and foot washing last Sunday. He should not have participated in the Lord’s Supper, but lest he call attention to himself, he’d gone ahead. Prior to the day, he’d fasted on Friday, beseeching God to forgive him for getting Tessie into such an excruciating mess. And for disobeying his unwitting father-in-law.

Filled with turmoil, he began to write.

Sunday, October 20

My beloved Tessie is troubled. If only I could remedy that! Her father continues to be a roadblock. I’ve tried several times to work with Ammon, to somehow get into his good graces.
Yet I don’t trust what he might say or do—it might hurt Tessie further, and my first priority is to protect my bride. It rankles me no end, not being able to bring her home with me. That is all I want. When, O Lord?

I’ve decided it isn’t prudent to keep our marriage quiet any longer. The upcoming wedding season may be the best time to reveal the truth, preferably at one of Tessie’s cousins’ weddings, where I’m sure Ammon will be respectful, or at least not fly at me like a hornet. Any large gathering would be ideal.

It’s a shame our joy has been squelched so, when I am anxious to share it with my family . . . and with all the People. This secrecy is cause for unhappiness in my Tessie’s heart, as well. It pains me to see the sorrow in her eyes each time we’re together.

In thinking back to our marriage at the courthouse, I’m mighty glad I took my Bible along . . . and later prayed over Tessie and me, in place of the bishop. Not that I presume to have offered the kind of blessing he would’ve prayed over the two of us in a church wedding. Still, it’s a comfort that we did everything as right as we possibly could, given the circumstances.

Marcus tucked their marriage license into his daily journal; then he decided to write a brief note to Tessie. He said he couldn’t stand living apart from her much longer, and that he planned to talk with her father at the first of her relatives’ weddings.

Please be praying for wisdom for me as I speak to your Dat . . . and that he might receive the news with some measure of grace.

Honestly, Tessie Ann, I have been so lonely without you. Some nights I stay up late and write in my journal instead of trying to fall asleep. I’ve told you about my journal before, haven’t I? I’ve been recording the story of our marriage there—never want to forget all we’ve gone through to be together. Of course I don’t dare keep such a record out in the open, at least for now. I’ve got a concealed compartment in the top middle drawer of my bureau, which should suffice.

I’m looking forward to growing a beard very soon—the all-important symbol of a married man. I can hardly wait, my dearest love!

He signed off,
Yours always, Marcus
, then slipped the note into an envelope to mail in the morning.

Tessie had the jitters on the ride to the barn raising early Tuesday morning, anxious to tell Marcus about the folder in her father’s desk. She’d missed seeing him this past Sunday, having no choice but to visit relatives with her parents. Then, yesterday’s washing took up much of the day. To think today was the first time she could share Dat’s reason for being so set against Marcus as her husband.

Such terrible news,
she thought miserably.
Marcus and I should never risk having children!

She wondered how they might solve this . . . somehow. Should they go to the bishop and confess their private deed, perhaps? What would Bishop John suggest? Their marriage
could not be undone; she knew that much. And as for birth control measures, those were forbidden, as well.

Today Mandy had joined Tessie and Mamma in the family buggy, since Dat had left the house before dawn with the bishop, who’d come for him on the way to the site. Tessie had seen her father hang his nail apron and leather tool belt on one of the wooden pegs in the outer room beyond the kitchen just last evening. She’d wondered, at the time, what job Marcus might have at this barn raising. He was so lean and limber—the many experienced foremen typically liked to have such young men work as nailers high on the rafters.

“Too bad ’bout the perty white barn that burned down,” Mandy said from where she and Mamma sat in front of Tessie Ann.

“Jah, and to think the phone at the nearest shanty was out on the very day it was so needed,” Mamma said, melancholy in her voice.

“Somethin’ awful.” Mandy glanced over her shoulder at Tessie.

“Can you imagine if the
house
had caught fire?” Mamma added.

Tessie and Mandy gasped in unison, and Mandy shook her head.

“
Gut
thing the community comes together like this.”

Tessie agreed and was glad to be able to spend a good part of the day setting up the serving tables for more than four hundred men and dozens of younger boys. Some families would come from as far away as Strasburg and Nickel Mines. She quickly settled into the work, enjoying the fun-loving banter and talk among the womenfolk.

“I hear there’s a local Amish farmer who’s raisin’ camels for their milk,” Rebecca Lapp said presently, catching Tessie’s attention.

“Jah, Miller’s Organic Farm is shipping it all over the country,” Rhoda Kurtz answered. “Ten dollars a pint.”

“Guess it tastes like skim milk, only a little saltier,” Rebecca said. “S’posed to be mighty
gut
for folks with diabetes and other illnesses.”

“Word has it, it’s even helped some of the autistic children round Bird-in-Hand,” Lillianne Hostetler chimed in.

“Well, not so quick,” Rebecca said. “No one’s stating outright that camel’s milk will cure anything. Let’s just be real clear on that.”

Tessie smiled, wondering about all this camel talk as she, Mamma, and Mandy set out three dozen snitz pies. By midafternoon, the new barn would be pretty much closed in, if all went as usual. A good number of folk would stay on till closer to supper, making vents to place in the eaves, and taking time to build grain bins, too. She envisioned sledgehammers and long ropes, chalk lines and measuring tapes, and pry bars. A head carpenter had been appointed days before. The eight-by-eight timbers had already arrived, and sill planks were laid out on the vast foundation. The older men would build the animal stalls inside the towering barn walls, amidst what might seem to an outsider like mass disorder, yet was anything but.

With everything Tessie Ann had to do to help with the meals for the male workers, she didn’t know exactly when she might whisper her startling discovery to Marcus. How might he respond? Still, it was only fair that she told him the probable
source of the lingering tension between him and Dat, even though it would add a new burden to their young marriage.

Perhaps they could take a short walk after the noon meal, right before Marcus returned to his high perch on the barn’s roof. She prayed the Lord might make it possible to do so privately.

———

Marcus paused to wipe his brow with the back of his arm, there high on the rafters. He squinted into the sunlight, thankful for this near-perfect weather. A number of men had commented earlier on it, saying the Lord God had seen fit to give them a fine day to raise this barn. As was usual at such gatherings, the atmosphere was abuzz with the camaraderie of all the workers—men and womenfolk alike.

He scanned the area below, searching for sweet Tessie. And then he spotted her, clear over near the large tent erected off to the left of the field, no doubt helping to spread out the food.

Even at this distance, she was mighty pretty. And more than that, helpful and kind, possessing all the worthy character traits a man would ever desire in a wife. At the thought, he glanced over at Ammon Miller, working several tiers below him. Marcus had high hopes for the Lord’s intervention for a conversation with Tessie’s father, possibly even today.

I trust in Thy will, O Lord,
he prayed, watching Ammon hammer nails with the force of a young man.
A man with strength in many areas,
Marcus thought.
A man who surely has his daughter’s
best interest at heart.

———

One of Tessie’s Amish neighbors, Maryanna Esh, who owned a greenhouse, was chattering about an old upright piano her
elderly aunt had seen at a German Brethren meetinghouse. The young man who’d played it had explained to her that such instruments needed exceptional care. “A
gut
piano like that reminded my aunt of some people, I guess.” Maryanna continued, “You just can’t let them be for too long without tending to them. They’ll break down and weaken . . . and, in the case of a piano, lose their ability to stay in tune.” Maryanna glanced up from cutting squares of strawberry Jell-O in a large pan.

“Lookin’ after each other
is
important,” Tessie agreed softly, saying the words more to herself than to anyone.

Other women had interesting anecdotes, too, including Rebecca Lapp, known all over the hollow as a storyteller. Oh, could she ever grab your interest, particularly with hilarious childhood tales, which soon had the women cutting up and laughing.

Tessie looked over at the already raised wooden walls of the barn, trying her best to locate Marcus. There were so many men, most wearing their black work jackets because the day was chilly, although some of the younger fellows had shed theirs.

She sighed. There was no way to pick out which of the menfolk might be Marcus. And in that moment, she felt farther from him than ever.

———

Tessie was counting out plastic utensils with Mandy in the large dinner tent when she heard a collective gasp. She looked up to see men scrambling down from their locations on the beamed barn walls.

“What’s happened?” Mandy glanced toward the rush of men.

Tessie held her breath. The atmosphere was hushed . . . too still.

O Lord, don’t
let any of the men be hurt,
she prayed, recalling other times when injuries had occurred.

Cousin Emmalyn rushed to them suddenly. “It’s Marcus King. He’s fallen!”

Tessie’s legs locked, and she felt she might faint. Oh, but she couldn’t let herself do that when she wanted to dash across the field to go to him. But no one knew of their intimate relationship. “Is he hurt?” she whispered as fear gripped her heart, but Emmalyn didn’t know.

Mandy turned to wrap her arms around Tessie Ann, holding on to her or holding her together—Tessie wasn’t sure which. She saw two young boys race toward the phone shed.

I should be with Marcus. . . .

Terror overwhelmed her, yet she could not turn and weep in Mandy’s arms—could not,
would not
cause a scene. Marcus himself had refused to allow their marriage to be known till the time was right, so she must try to honor him even now.

The knot of men in black suspenders and work trousers crowded in closer, the swarm ever increasing as more workers rushed to gather near fallen Marcus. As she watched, incapable of breath, every muscle in Tessie’s body felt stiff . . . hard as the nails Marcus had used this day.

Then, one by one, the men respectfully removed their straw hats. A siren wailed in the distance.

No, no, no!
Tessie screamed silently. And she broke free of her sister and dashed across the wide green field, running and crying, not caring who saw her as she burst through the throng of men, hurrying to her husband’s side.

M
andy gasped as Tessie dashed off in the direction of Marcus and the workmen.

Emmalyn and her mother stood near Mandy, watching . . . waiting. Mamm wrung her hands as she stepped closer to Mandy. Her sweet face had turned bright pink, and though Mandy offered soothing words, she was unable to settle her mother down. “What’s Tessie doin’ over yonder?” Mamm asked, then babbled something in Deitsch about Tessie Ann and Marcus’s recent breakup. None of it made sense.

“There, there,” Mandy said, unable to grasp her mother’s concern over that at such a fragile time. Yet, as beside herself as Mamm seemed to be, it wasn’t Mandy’s place to explain that Tessie did indeed love Marcus King. She’d seen the evidence weeks ago, and her sister’s bold action now reconfirmed it.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Mamm craned her neck to see.

Mandy touched her mother’s back. “Let’s be in prayer . . . not say more.”

“Jah.” Mamm’s frown was etched on her brow, and her chin quivered as the ambulance pulled up and paramedics emerged with a long stretcher. The Amishmen parted to make room.

In a few short moments, Marcus was carried off the field to the waiting emergency vehicle, covered with a stark white sheet. Tessie’s head bowed low as she walked next to the stretcher.

Mandy clenched her jaw, trying not to cry as she watched her poor, dear sister place a hand on Marcus’s heart for a moment, then step back as he was carried into the ambulance and the doors were closed. The vehicle pulled out onto the road, but the siren was as still as the young Amishman inside.

By the time Tessie arrived home with her sister and mother, she felt not only stunned but sick. Neither Mandy nor Mamma had posed a single question about her behavior on the hushed ride back from the barn raising, and for this she was thankful, not knowing what she would have said anyway.

When they pulled up to the stable, Mandy kindly offered to unhitch the horse for Mamma and urged Tessie inside. Tessie went into the house and up the stairs, going to her room to lie facedown on her bed, inconsolable. Oh, she wished her tears might come now that she was alone! But they remained locked away inside her as she helplessly replayed her last precious,
loving hours with Marcus. She had to cling to those memories, for they were all she had.

Eventually, Mandy came into her room, closed the door, and lay down on the bed. When she felt her sister’s arm slip around her, Tessie’s tears finally began to flow, mingling with Mandy’s own.

“How can I ever live through this?” Tessie whispered, sobbing. “How?”

“You must have cared for him very much.” Mandy’s voice was soft and soothing.

“More than anyone knows.”
More than anyone will ever know,
Tessie thought.

Mandy stroked her back until, sometime later, Tessie gave in to deep and numbing sleep.

“After supper, let’s talk a bit,” Sylvan said to Mandy when he came into the house to change out of his work clothes soon after her return from her parents’. He stood in the doorway of the downstairs washroom and indicated he’d heard some surprising things at the barn raising today prior to Marcus King’s fatal fall. “I wouldn’t have said anything, considering, but it seems like everyone but your husband knows ’bout your boldness,” he said before closing the door. “How can that be, love?”

I worried it might come to this
,
Mandy thought, her conscience pricked.

“Honestly, I tried to tell ya,” she whispered. “I don’t want to turn back now.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. It had been enough today to witness the aftermath of Marcus’s shocking
fall from the pinnacle of the barn rafters . . . and Tessie’s devastation.
And now this.

When Tessie awakened to a knock, she called out sleepily. “Come in, Mamma,” she said, seeing Mandy was gone. Her whole body ached as she attempted to rise from her snug spot on the bed.

“Sorry to bother ya, but this just came in the mail . . . for you,” Mamma said, looking at her apprehensively.

“Denki.”

Her mother was quiet as she paused at the door. She stood there, eyeing Tessie, as if she wanted to say something more.

Tessie Ann wished for a consoling embrace that would not come, because her mother did not know the terrible truth that Tessie had just lost her husband. “I’ll be down to help with supper soon,” she finally offered, wishing she could lie down for the rest of the day.
Or month.

“All right, then.” Mamma closed the door.

Tessie looked down at the envelope. “From Marcus,” she murmured, tears springing to her eyes again. Her hands shook as she quickly opened it. She savored his final words to her, then was suddenly befuddled. Had he intended for her to retrieve the journal someday?

Did
my darling think he was about to die?

Moving to the window, she raised the letter to her lips and stared out, looking up the long road toward the house, just out of view, where they’d planned to live together. The thought ripped her heart anew.

“Mandy knows I love him,” she said softly, then considered the crowd of men surrounding Marcus as he lay dead on the ground. All of them knew she loved him now, too.

If she felt up to going, she wanted to run over to the rental house later tonight and look for Marcus’s journal, once her parents were asleep. What a treasure that would be! After that, she must pack up her beloved memories and store them in her mind and heart, sealing them away for the rest of her life. Especially now, given the alarming information she possessed, something her husband would never come to know this side of heaven. It would take everything she had to do this, but she must. How else could she survive, knowing what she did?

No one needed to know what she and Marcus had truly been to each other. Not even Mandy. The secret of their brief marriage could simply go to his grave.

First thing tomorrow, Tessie would start sewing her black dress for the funeral. Even though she would not reveal that she was, in fact, his widow, the dark color would stand for something.

Mandy considered Sylvan’s earlier remark as she raked the side yard, waiting for supper to bake. Couldn’t she have
some
say about what she did during her daylight hours? How frustrated she felt just now, with all the many emotions scrambling inside of her.
I should have tried harder to talk to him about
it.

Refusing to be put out at Sylvan, she used her energy to gather up the scattered gold, red, and orange leaves that were falling even now, showering her head and shoulders. The
linden leaves had turned a soft yellow, and the oaks an inviting bronze, yet as much as she loved the changing palette of color, Mandy also relished how warm the air still felt—warm enough to keep the windows in the house wide open.

All the happy
autumn days, raking and piling up leaves with my sisters
.
At times like this, she missed her siblings terribly, missed being absorbed in their shared work and play. And, oh, the pleasant chatter.

She saw two school-age girls out on the road, riding their bikes like scooters, pushing with their right foot as she and her sisters always had. As required by the bishop, there were no pedals, so they couldn’t go too fast.

Thinking again of Sylvan, Mandy realized that he was her family now. He was a good and decent man, after all, and Mamm had once suggested that, if respect came first, sometimes love would flower in time.
But without children, where
does that leave us?
She sighed, knowing full well that a marriage without
Kinner
was a blight on any Amish home.

She finished her raking chore and headed for the house, making her way into the back door. Supper would be later than usual because of the barn raising and Marcus King’s horrific accident.
Ach, poor Tessie Ann.
Her heart ached yet again.

She personally could not imagine losing a beloved to death—it pained her to ponder such a thing. Although she’d felt something similar to that when her first beau left Hickory Hollow so unexpectedly.

Glancing outside, she saw her father and Bishop John Beiler pulling into the lane. Dat hopped out and went calling to Sylvan, hurrying toward him near the barn while the bishop tied the horse to the hitching post.

Men talk,
she thought, hoping that her father didn’t know about the shop . . . or that she’d kept it from Sylvan. Mandy felt embarrassed. What would things be like once supper was over and Sylvan was ready to voice his full displeasure? Despite their rocky start, Mandy hoped against hope that Sylvan might be okay with her plans even now.

A strong breeze rustled the leaves outside below the window, which slammed shut. Mandy startled and pressed her hand to her heart, willing it to slow.