Second Chances (24 page)

A half hour later, Anna heard the sound of an engine and tires rolling over the gravel
outside, then the muffled thump of van doors slamming. The driver must have arrived.
After leaning over to plant a soft, unseen kiss upon Leah's forehead, Anna rose to
her feet and departed the room, her already packed suitcase in hand.

Freman stood in the living room, his own travel bag at his feet. Upon hearing her
footsteps, he turned.

“Where are Hannah and Mary?” Freman asked as he stood there, confused by the presence
of Anna with a suitcase. “Why is your bag packed?”

It dawned on Anna that, the previous evening, he had returned to the house after
the decision was made for Mary to stay. Clearly, no one had thought to update him
on the plans.

“Hannah must be upstairs still. Getting ready.” She paused and lowered her eyes.
“Mary decided it was best if she stayed in my place to care for Leah.”

He appeared confounded by her simple explanation. “That wasn't what we agreed upon.”
The sharpness of his words lacked the warmth from the previous day. “You had stated
you
would stay.”

His displeasure more than apparent, Anna wondered if he thought that she had intentionally
abandoned Leah. “Mary was rather adamant,” she offered meekly.

“Indeed.”

Knowing that he was dissatisfied with the situation, and no words from anyone would
change that, Anna excused herself and tiptoed up the stairs to awaken Cris and tell
Hannah their driver had arrived. Her heart felt heavy as she returned downstairs.

In the kitchen Rebecca pressed a bag of sandwiches into her hand, “for breakfast
or lunch,” she said. Benjamin and Jonas took a break from the milking to see their
visitors off. With quick hugs and tears of good-bye, Anna left the Eshes' home and
headed to the awaiting van. Moments later Hannah joined her in the backseat, but
after making a few comments about the journey ahead, she fell silent,
exhausted by
yesterday's events and still worried over the health of her sister.

With the sun not yet up, and most people still asleep except dairy farmers and early
morning travelers, the driver headed down mostly empty roads. In the front of the
van, the bishops talked to Freman, inquiring further about Leah and her condition.
Anna sighed and pressed her head against the window, staring outside at the darkness.
While it had been a wonderful visit and a welcome interruption to her daily life,
the memory of Leah's accident—her lifeless body in the middle of the field—lingered
in her mind.

She wondered whether as a result of the accident Freman might have realized the value
of a persuadable mind. Had Leah listened to the others, permitting them to convince
her that her reckless actions might be harmful, she might have escaped injury as
well as the inconvenience forced upon her companions.

For a moment, Anna felt a sense of absolution for having a persuadable temperament,
even if she regretted the emotional depths of pain it had inflicted on both parties.
But to what extent could one allow oneself to be persuaded to act this way or another
without compromising one's free will and personality, both considered, after all,
unique gifts from God?

Years back, she had been shopping at the local fabric store when she overheard two
Englische
women commenting that Amish women were so
submissive and obedient
. That
remark had stayed with Anna ever since. At the time, she had felt resentment swelling
within her chest and wished she had the courage to address their incorrect observation,
for contrary to the belief of the outside
world, Amish people, including women, were
not made from a cookie cutter. However, despite the ridiculous nature of their perception,
Anna knew that reacting to it and addressing the women would be more than just plain
rude (and certainly not an Amish thing to do); it would also convey a sense of pride,
something Anna would not tolerate in herself.

But now, she was not so sure anymore. Had she been too
submissive and obedient
when
she rejected Freman's proposal so many years ago? Or had she done so out of respect
for the opinions of her elders? She had been so young at the time; how was she to
know that her father and Lydia's opinions might be prejudiced? That their opinions
were meant to persuade her to do something that benefited them more than her?

Then a new thought dawned on her: Was she just afraid of or uncomfortable with saying
“no”? If so, she wondered if that was a flaw in her character as a result of her
upbringing. Even worse, and the very thought of it tormented her, had her religion
and her profound devotion to Scripture made her overly submissive, unable to stand
up for what was right and good? Her experience with Mary seemed to say so. Not only
did Mary always demand her own way, Anna always
let
Mary have her own way, even when
it hurt someone else, like Leah, when she did so.

No wonder that, earlier that morning, Freman had viewed her actions with dismay and
even disgust. She had not stood up for Leah, allowing Mary to get her way, once again.
Surely it had reminded Freman of her inability to stand up for him so many years
ago. The realization of how so much of her life had been guided by the coercion
of
others caused her cheeks to flush with shame. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes,
and she turned her head to look out the window, blinking rapidly in the hope that
no one would notice the tears that threatened to trickle down her cheeks.

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE RETURN TRIP
felt much shorter than their previous journey from Holmes County,
Ohio, to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, perhaps because the excitement and anticipation
of the previous Thursday were now replaced with worry and silent prayers. While Anna
was looking forward to returning home, anticipating the comfort of a regular routine
and having missed the two boys, she remained anxious about having left Leah behind.

While she felt confident that Leah would recover in no time, Anna spent the majority
of the drive fretting over having left the injured woman in the care of Mary. Silently
Anna was forced to admit that she worried because of Mary's inability to think of
others before herself. For so many years Anna had quietly excused her sister's behavior,
since Anna's personality shied away from confronting or arguing with others. She
was, she realized, a pleaser; a person who wanted nothing more than to keep others
happy, and with that, she had lost the ability to stand up for her own opinions for
fear of offending others—especially her own family. Now Anna recognized that this
gave her family the power to easily persuade her
to do their bidding rather than
seeing to her own needs or desires or the needs or desires of others outside the
family. What Anna had once viewed as heroic unselfishness, mirroring her own mother's
personality, she now suspected might actually have become a fatal weakness.

Rebecca had packed a bag of sandwiches and some fruit for the travelers so that they
would not have to stop along their return trip for a meal. Anna had lost her appetite
and declined to take one of the sandwiches. Only at Bishop Troyer's insistence had
she finally accepted. Without having to stop, except to refuel the van, they made
much better time. Indeed, Rebecca's thoughtfulness was greatly appreciated when,
well before noon, the van pulled off the main road at a clutter of mailboxes and
drove down the driveway to come to a stop in front of the Mussers' house.

Anna glanced at Freman, knowing that he was bracing himself for relaying the news
of Leah's injury to the Mussers. He had been especially quiet during the long drive,
his face turned toward the window and his hand pressed under his chin. She hadn't
been able to read his expression, but she knew that his thoughts were focused on
Leah. His concern remained deep and his mood dark. While he had not said such in
so many words, she could tell he had been greatly upset at learning that Mary, and
not herself, was to stay behind to tend to Leah.

She saw Freman take a few deep breaths before he reached for the door handle and
swung the door open to exit the van. Hannah, who still was prone to weep for her
sister, leaned against Anna, both of them watching as Freman walked up the front
steps, Bishop Troyer trudging along behind. They had all agreed that the bishop's
presence would help reassure Salome that Leah had not sustained any long-lasting
head injuries.

While the two men informed Salome, for Raymond was still out in the fields working,
Anna and Hannah quietly stood outside, watching as the driver removed their luggage
from the back of the van. They waited until Bishop Troyer and Freman reappeared,
their faces pale and drawn from the stress of dealing with an upset mother.

“She'll be fine,” Freman said to the two women before he returned to his seat in
the van. “But you best go to her. She's quite shocked with the news.”

Anna nodded and started walking to the house, pausing to wait for Hannah to catch
up. She understood Salome's reaction; it was frightening to have a child, no matter
how old, injured. And, of course, it was not uncommon to hear of head injuries that
were fatal. The Amish grapevine often spoke of a child killed after being kicked
by a foul-tempered mule or high-spirited horse. Occasionally an adult would be the
one who died after falling from a high place while doing maintenance on a house or
barn.

As expected, Salome wanted to immediately travel and tend to her daughter, her distress
only heightened when she learned that Mary, not Anna, had stayed behind.
With both Anna and Hannah to comfort her, however, she finally calmed down, if not
for her own sake than to avoid alarming the two
kinner
who, upon hearing the van
in the driveway, had run through the fields back to the house. They had been helping
Raymond with dragging the fields, their job to run ahead of the mules and pick up
any rocks or sticks in the way. They had happily abandoned their work to greet their
returning aunts.

Neither seemed particularly disturbed that their parents had not returned with their
aunts. Instead, they clambered onto Anna's lap, both vying for her attention, a
welcome distraction from Salome's tears of concern for Leah.

After ensuring that Salome was fine, Anna focused her attention on little Cris and
Walter. She took them back to the house and set about preparing their noon meal while
they played inside with a set of wooden farm animals. Their laughter and chatter
warmed Anna's heart, even if she found it surprising that they didn't ask more than
once about when their parents might return. Despite her vague answer, for she truly
didn't know the exact date, neither child reacted negatively.

As Mary had correctly predicted, their favor toward their aunt far exceeded that
of their mother, a realization that saddened Anna when she thought of what Mary so
carelessly neglected. What Anna would have given for her mother to still be with
her!

Even though she knew that heaven had welcomed her mother, Anna missed her dreadfully,
especially at times like these. Sometimes Anna found herself fighting anger over
a life cut short far too soon, especially for such a kind-hearted and loving woman
as her mother had been.

Anna thought of her often, sometimes reliving the memories that she had, memories
that she cherished and the only comfort she had left of her mother.

She remembered spending the cold winter months seated by the wood-burning stove at
the small house in Charm. Entire afternoons were occupied by embroidering linens
or quilting small blankets, items that would be given as gifts to brides during the
next season or offered to new mothers for their babies. Sometimes, if there was
an
excess of items, Mother would take them to a local store, leaving them there on consignment
so that the store owner could sell them to tourists during the season. But there
wasn't a lot of money in that, nor did the Eichers'
g
'
may
support the idea of pandering
to tourists.