My Dearest Naomi (25 page)

He laughed and used me as an example on being separated from our loved ones. “Take Eugene here,” he said, “and the fact that he has been away from Naomi for so long. This will likely deepen his love for her
because when they get back together, they will remember how it once was without each other. While if they had never been separated, they wouldn’t know how that feels.”

I thought that was also a good point, although it doesn’t really help the current pain a lot.

Surprisingly, a contentious issue here in the church is the assurance of salvation. I thought only Amish churches argued about this. I guess many of the older people here, including Lonnie and Luella, feel that it’s wrong to make such statements and that our salvation must be left to the Lord.

Stan, on the other hand, openly advocates saying that one is saved by the work of Christ. The two sides seem to be at each other’s throats at the moment, and strangely enough—considering that I am Amish—I am on Stan’s side.

I told Lonnie and Luella at the supper table the other night when they asked me about it, that I believe the Scriptures say we can know what Christ has done for us and that this is not a statement of pride. Lonnie said the forefathers never believed so, that they felt God decided such things at the day of judgment.

“We can have a hope,” he said, “but we must not tell God what His decision will be.”

I think this would be an insecure way to live, but I didn’t argue with him. They seem quite happy and content believing as they do.

I love you,

Eugene

January 13

Greetings from a very tired girl. I went to the popcorn shelling at Robert’s, after being up reading until midnight last night. Mom said that was tough, so I received no sympathy from her corner. I need to get to bed earlier and will try tonight—after I am done writing this letter.

Your mom heard me talk about the book you gave me last Sunday and asked whether she could read it. So I passed the book on through one of your sisters tonight because I finished it last night.

Once we arrived at Robert’s, it was worth the tiredness to be there. Talking and chatting with the other girls cheered me up. The boys started throwing popcorn kernels near the end, but Robert called them down, which was a good thing. Those little things hurt when they hit your neck.

Mom is trying to eat foods that contain large quantities of iron. As pale as she looks, she should go in for an iron shot. At least she should have herself checked out by a doctor, but no way. She will try other things first. She’s stubborn that way.

I love you,

Naomi

January 14

I’m very lonesome for you, as usual, especially with the weekend coming up. I’m looking forward to making this all up to you someday by being with you all the time.

Lonnie’s dad passed away last night. The funeral will be on Sunday, so I really won’t have too much leisure time over the weekend. I’ve been doing the chores for the last two evenings so Lonnie and Luella could spend all the time they need with family.

The children are playing inside games at school, many of which I’ve never seen before. Today the boys and girls divided up into groups after secretly numbering off each group. Everyone guesses who in the other group has their number by writing down three choices. Those with hits in the three tries get a point. If there are too many ties toward the end, they take it down to one guess per round.

By some coincidence, the sixth graders, Dennis and Jackie, had the same numbers the first three rounds. Jackie threw a fit when Dennis kept guessing her on his first round. She threatened to quit the game. They are regular sweethearts. I mean, it’s no secret to anyone because of the way they act. So it was natural to me that Dennis should pick her.

I convinced Jackie to try another round, and Dennis didn’t pick her, nor did she have his number, so she calmed down. Girls are strange sometimes.

It’s too bad you weren’t here because I would have picked you every time.

With love,

Eugene

January 14

I forgot to ask you in my last letter if you could tell Luella that Mom and I really appreciated her letter. Luella listed your full diet, in case you don’t know what she wrote about. Even though Mom won’t be using the diet now, at least I know what you’re eating. It sounds healthy even if the food doesn’t taste good. You were funny with the cuisine descriptions, but you must keep on the diet!

I wonder how Lonnie’s dad is by now.

I received your letter and card today, which was a nice surprise. That card is beautiful. Thank you.

I hope your school attendance gets better soon.

I arrived back from a tramp through the back fields. One doesn’t get as much exercise in the winter when there’s no outside field work, so I took time for a long walk. Plus, it’s snowing nicely. I filled the bird feeder while I was outside, as the snow is staying on the ground now. We have the usual barn sparrows who use the feeder—the pesky things—plus black-capped chickadees, cardinals, a pair of wrens, and I even saw a house finch tonight.

It was a nice walk, bundled up as I was in one of Dad’s pants, the legs rolled up under my dress, and the three coats I squeezed into, with a big scarf topping off the outfit. You would have laughed, I know, but you might as well get used to this if you’re going to marry me. I love long walks in the snowy fields.

Oh, I wish I could be with you tomorrow. A long buggy drive home from church with you at the reins would be just the thing a girl needs.

With all my love,

Naomi

January 17

Here’s another letter from me. I received two from you today, which is irritating when they pile up like that. I know it’s the mail’s fault, not yours, but there I sat for three whole days sweating it out, waiting for another letter, and then two come at once. Patience, Eugene, patience.

I’m a little nervous, I guess, thinking about what I wrote you a few letters back—that my parents have objections to our marriage this summer. I really shouldn’t have told you that. They had the right to express their fears without my passing it on to you. I think it’s perfectly normal for parents to have fears about their children and when they should marry. On my part, I never expect to find anyone better than you or someone who suits me better. They won’t object to our wedding next year. I really wouldn’t worry about it.

And please don’t get nervous around them, either. I really should have kept my big mouth shut. I can imagine you’ll try to act extra nice and end up all tense and out of sorts. They really do love you.

Dawn, Norman, and Dakota are back in school and scrambling to catch up. I’m also scrambling to get checking their schoolwork done in the evenings so they can see by the next morning if there are any problems.

The chairman of the school board brought an electric typewriter to the schoolhouse tonight. I felt like a little boy with a new toy. The thing is a whiz compared with the old manual typewriter I was using. I think Noah had the manual one along on the ark with him and left it in Iowa.

The eighth graders have run into problems with their arithmetic. This takes extra time in class, which runs other things shorter, but so it goes. Try explaining how to find the area of a rectangle, the volume of a rectangle, the circumference of a circle, the area of a circle, the volume of a cylinder, the volume of a sphere, the area of a sphere, and then its outside surface area. And doing all this in a few fifteen-minute time slots. Anyway, we survived.

The new typewriter will surely have me spoiled by the end of the term. It will be difficult going back to the old manual typewriters at home after this luxurious machine. Here you only touch the keys instead of pounding down with great vigor.

On an unrelated subject, when I write Miller on your letters, I have often thought what a wonderful name that was and what a shame you should lose it someday. But how can I help it that I love you?

With all my heart,

Eugene

January 18

This is not going to be an easy letter to write. Nor will it be easy for you to read. The truth is, I don’t think we should marry this summer. I think waiting will be better for all concerned, and I don’t want you to try to persuade me differently because I have thought about this a great deal, and prayed, and, yes, cried too. Maybe if we wait your mom will eventually be ready to let you go (although part of me doubts she’ll ever be ready). And maybe by that time they would think me mature enough and worthy of being your wife (although part of me doubts that too). I’m feeling so bad about this, but I’m in such confusion and agony, and you are so far away that I can’t see or talk with you.

Did you really have to teach at that school? This is never going to end, or so it feels. I can’t tell you how confusing this all is or how many tears I’ve cried since I received that last letter. And yes, you should have told me about it. I’m so glad you did. If we love each other, we must tell each other these things and work them through. Only how? That seems to be the problem. For now, though, we had better call the wedding off. I just can’t think what else to do.

What really hurts is that your parents don’t approve of me or think me worthy of you. That cuts all the way down to the heart. I don’t think I can live like that—with my husband’s parents thinking their son messed up by planning to marry me.

Maybe you can find yourself a nice, wonderful Mennonite girl out there somewhere who will meet their approval. And there are a few girls around here your mom seems to think are great. I’m sure you can do much better than you are doing with me.

I don’t want you to think that anyone put me up to this because they didn’t. I’ve thought this out myself, and it seems the best thing to do.

And I still love you,

Naomi

January 19

I arrived home with the high hopes of finding a letter from you, but of course there was none. The rest of the day suddenly seemed exceedingly boring until I remembered there was Bible study tonight, which helped a little.

The best thing I could do was reread some of your old letters. I get so lonesome for you out here on these flat plains. As I reread your letters, I see a lot of places where I made blunders in the things I wrote you. I hope you have patience with me because I will try to improve myself as time goes on.

It does seem harder this way, with us apart and trying to write letters. I hope this venture wasn’t some big mistake, some dream I ran after trying to do something interesting with my life. I know a farmer’s life is also interesting, so I’m not knocking that. I do plan to settle down after my next year of teaching. We should have plenty of time then to work this out and to enjoy our lives together.

And please tell me how you feel. Don’t try to protect my feelings. Improving oneself can be painful, I know, so I don’t want to shy away from that.

This morning Lonnie and Luella took one of their friends to the airport in Chicago. I would have loved to go along for the drive as I’ve never been in Chicago, but work comes before pleasure. I guess I should act like the children do—taking off at the slightest excuse. Perhaps if they would see the teacher act like they do, they would know how it feels. I get so exasperated. If they even have a sore throat or
say
they do, they stay home. Sickness follows all of them around like the plague, jumping out from dark corners to drag the poor pupils home from the schoolhouse. Am I being nasty? Yes, I suppose I am. I will quit now and think nice thoughts about them.

Anyhow, Lonnie and Luella had to leave at 4:00 this morning, which left me by myself for breakfast. Luella said that Janie could come up and fix breakfast for me. I said no she wouldn’t, and Luella said yes she would. After we went around the circle a few times, Luella gave in and left me with detailed instructions on where things are. I think the poor woman is afraid I will burn down her kitchen. She’ll probably be expecting bowls to be melted to the burners, at the very least, and grease spots all the way to the ceiling. Perhaps I should play some trick on her, but I can’t think of
anything good enough that wouldn’t be courting disaster, so I will leave the joke department to others more skilled than I am.

Luella left all the food items on the counter for me, so I heated the water for the oatmeal, toasted a piece of bread, and set the bacon out to be fried. While the pan was warming, I tossed in a piece of butter, and the house promptly filled with smoke. It was no trick either, just stupid of me. I quickly opened all the kitchen windows and waved a towel around. If Janie had been driving by on the road, I’m sure she would have come racing in to save Luella’s kitchen from the hands of the clumsy schoolteacher.

Luella usually prepares poached eggs for breakfast, but I took the opportunity to fry the eggs. Hopefully that isn’t breaking the diet rules or it will create a stink when Luella comes back. I tried to hide the evidence so there wouldn’t be a discussion on the virtues of poached versus fried eggs. Lonnie likes his eggs poached, and that’s fine with me, but if Luella finds out my preference, she will think she has to make fried eggs every morning.