Second Chances (31 page)

T
HE SHOCK FROM
learning that Leah was not engaged to Freman as she had thought—a thought
that had occupied her every waking moment since she had first suspected their mutual
attraction—gave way to a new emotion: despair. Her heart ached for Freman, knowing
that he must truly be distraught over the turn of events. However, she also realized
that, once again, Freman had removed himself from Holmes County, the humiliation
of rejection chasing him back to Indiana.

When she resigned herself to the fact that, most likely, she would never see him
again, her heart felt heavy and her throat constricted with grief.

Would she ever again have a night's sleep without tears staining her pillow?

In the morning she went through the motions of dressing for church and helping to
prepare breakfast. Mary fussed over the two boys, always insistent that they be dressed
before breakfast in their white shirts with black bow ties already fastened at their
necks. As for their shoes, she inspected them closely, mindful that there was not
one speck of dirt upon them. When Walter's shoes appeared
scuffed, Mary hastily removed
them and insisted that Cris polish them one more time.

Anna paid no attention. Seemingly overnight, she built a wall around herself and
retreated inside her own fortress. It was not the first time that she had done such
a thing, taking comfort in her own distress and blocking out the world around her.
Had she insisted on staying in Lancaster, had she forced Mary to behave like a proper
mother, Anna might have been able to save Freman from a second round of heartbreak.
Once again she realized with a perfect blend of remorse and shame, her inability
to stand firm and her tendency to permit family members to persuade her had impacted
the future of the man she loved. She remained pensive and withdrawn as she placed
the sliced bread and cup of butter onto the table, her own appetite vanished and
her eyes dull with sorrow.

No one seemed to notice, anyway.

It was a dreary day, with gray clouds hiding the sun, and a moistness in the air.
The two buggies departed together, Cris with his family in one and Raymond with his
in another. Anna sat in the back seat, holding little Cris and Walter as the buggy
headed down the road toward the bishop's house. Had it been a sunny day, they might
have walked, even though the distance was a bit far, since Bishop Troyer's residence
was at the edge of the church district.

Between the overcast skies and her own dark mood, Anna remained lost in her thoughts,
paying little attention to the conversation in the buggy. She was only vaguely aware
that Mary was speaking, most likely complaining about a headache or morning nausea.
Sitting in the back of the buggy, holding the boys on her lap, Anna stared
out the
back opening, watching the road behind them. It was long and winding, empty of traffic
and lined with trees that were shedding their leaves. The bleak gray mirrored her
mood and she shut her eyes, leaning her cheek against the back of Walter's head.

When they pulled up to the Troyers' farm, Anna barely saw the line of black buggies
that had arrived before them. Young boys ran toward their horse, one grabbing the
horse's bridle while another pointed toward an empty spot on the grass, indicating
that the buggy should be parked in that spot. After the Musser family and Anna climbed
through the door and stood in the driveway, the boys led the horse away. Absentmindedly,
Anna watched as they backed the buggy into the indicated spot and, with expert precision,
unharnessed the horse.

“Anna? Are you coming, then?”

Her empty thoughts interrupted, Anna looked at her sister, so anxious and impatient,
and nodded her head, willing her feet to move in the direction of the Troyers' house.

The usual line of other women stood waiting to greet the newcomers, each newly arrived
woman expected to pass through the line to shake hands and exchange a quick kiss
on the lips from each one, until she assumed her role at the end of the line. The
practice had been passed down for generations, a way of following the apostle Paul's
command to greet each other with a holy kiss.

Mary often offered her cheek, claiming that she was sickly or not feeling well. The
older women found her actions snobbish, but no one ever complained to the bishop.

Today, with downcast eyes, Anna obediently shook hands with everyone and greeted
them as expected, but as
she received Lydia's kiss, she remained silent. She couldn't
look up from the floor, her eyes avoiding the older woman's as they shook hands.

Unaccustomed to such a response from Anna, Lydia did not release the young woman's
hand and leaned forward. “Are you unwell?”

“In spirit only,” was her simple response.

She felt a hand on her elbow and looked up as Lydia gently guided her away from the
other women so that they might talk in private.

Standing to the side of the kitchen, partially inside a large food pantry that was
stocked with rows of canned food, Lydia forced Anna to meet her gaze. “What's wrong,
Anna? I haven't seen you so forlorn in years.”

“Eight years,” she replied softly. “To be exact.”

This statement startled Lydia. “Eight years?” She frowned as she looked at Anna.
“How curious that you should say such a thing! Whatever do you mean?”

Anna shut her eyes and exhaled, the effort a telling sign of the distress that she
felt. Was it possible that Lydia didn't remember? How could something of such importance
that altered the entire course of Anna's life be so insignificant and easily forgotten
by another who professed to care so much for her well-being? “Oh, Lydia,” she whispered.
“I'm so terribly confused.”

The older woman patted her arm. “Let me assure you that your father and sister will
come to see reason.” She smiled softly. “Willis Eicher is a right
gut
man, even given
his past history with your
daed
and Elizabeth.” She glanced up as if to ensure that
no one could overhear her next words. “The fact that he is more partial to you does
not surprise me. You always were the most godly and
righteous of the three
dochders
.
A man like Willis would certainly find you a
wunderbarr
partner.”

For the second time in less than two days, Anna remained speechless. Was it possible
that Lydia thought Anna was referencing feeling forlorn over Willis Eicher's past
desertion of Elizabeth? That Anna might possibly be contemplating marriage to him
and worried about Elizabeth's feelings? Such an idea seemed preposterous to Anna.
While he seemed pleasant enough and the thought of restoring her family to their
home was appealing, a marriage to Willis was not. And while it was one thing to have
Lydia caution her from marrying someone, she bristled at the idea of Lydia pushing
her into marrying a man she did not even love. So she said, stiffly but firmly, “I
think most highly of Willis Eicher; we are, after all, family. But I can assure you
that we would not suit as husband and wife.”

Lydia ignored her words. “You are so like your
maem
,” she said, a wistful expression
on her face. “She would be so pleased to see you assume her place at the farm. She
did so love that garden and house.”

Anna gasped at what Lydia insinuated. “Oh
ja
, I do so love our house and garden,
but I would not marry a man I do not love simply to secure maintaining them.”

“True love comes after marriage,” Lydia reassured her.

Oh! Anna wished with all of her being that could respond, that she had the courage
to speak her mind in regard to that common cliché that the older Amish women told
the younger ones. Anna wanted to voice her thoughts, to admit that her heart could
be held by no man, save one. That she knew she could not be like Benjamin Esh and,
after professing such deep feelings of love, suddenly turn
to another for comfort.
While Benjamin suffered for only six months, Anna was content to suffer for sixty
years if that was what it took to prove the injustice of her decision to listen
to others when she, and she alone, knew that Freman's place in her heart could never
be replaced.

Furthermore, Anna couldn't help wonder how Lydia had learned of any interest held
for her on Willis's part. After all, Elizabeth's letters to Salome indicated that
Willis's intentions were elsewhere: with Elizabeth! If he had been deceiving her
yet again, that alone spoke volumes of his character. “He has only returned to my
daed
's good graces just recently. What do we truly know of him, beyond the pain that
he caused both
Daed
and Elizabeth so long ago?”

Lydia laughed softly. “Ah, that is in the distant past. And Willis assures me their
cordial relationship has been restored.”

So Willis himself had gone to Lydia, hoping to secure her tacit approval of his plan
to court Anna. How Anna recoiled at the thought! But thankfully, a stirring at the
doorway interrupted their talk, and Anna could turn away without saying anything
she might have regretted.

The church leaders entered the room, evidence of rain on the brims of their black
hats. Still bristling at what she had just learned from Lydia, Anna quietly reassumed
her place in line, once again between the stern Kate Schwartzentruber and the love-struck
Hannah Musser.
The bishop and preachers greeted the women with strong handshakes before they took
their places in the middle of the room. Only when they sat did the women begin to
file to their places on the far side of the room.

Hannah seemed antsy, barely able to stop herself from glancing in the direction where
the men were gathered, just outside of the side door to the house. “Oh,” she gasped
softly, tugging at Anna's sleeve. “I think I just saw him.”

In front of Anna, Kate gave a quick glance of disapproval toward Hannah. The room
was supposed to be quiet while everyone found their places on the benches.

Hannah's comment, however, had reminded Anna that somewhere outside in the crowd
of men, all dressed in black with their hats properly positioned upon their heads,
stood Willis Eicher. With a tightness forming in her chest, Anna remembered that
he had asked her about attending the singing. Surely he meant to escort her home,
and that would signal to the others his intentions. She knew that she could not —must
not —attend that singing.

The women had just been seated when the men began to file into the room. Anna stared
at the ground, refusing to look up for fear of catching Willis's eyes upon her. She
had a decision to make: to court Willis in order to marry or to risk remaining alone,
left only with a fading memory of her dreams of what might have been. If only she
could speak to Freman just one more time and with the freedom to apologize for the
hurt, both old and new.

Her thoughts were so deep that, when Hannah nudged her, Anna startled.

“My word!” Hannah whispered. “I didn't know Freman had returned.”

Immediately, Anna lifted her head, her eyes scanning the sea of black hats crowding
into the room as the men assumed their positions against the back wall in the section
of the room opposite the women. The indiscretion of her desperation to find him was
not unnoticed, and she
ignored the scowl that Kate cast in her direction. Instead
Anna continued blatantly searching for the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Freman
Whittmore.

She caught her breath when she finally saw him, seated on the farthest row with his
back against the wall. For a moment, she heard nothing, a sense of peaceful stillness
silencing the soft noises surrounding her: people fidgeting as they tried to get
comfortable or the whisper of thin pages being turned in the chunky black hymn book.
Her mouth opened, just enough that her surprise upon seeing him was visibly noticeable
to anyone who might have observed her.

But Anna did not look elsewhere.

Her eyes remained upon Freman, stunned to see him at worship, and even more astounded
to see him returning the look, his eyes meeting hers with a fierceness and intensity
that confounded her. She could barely turn away.

“Why, I had heard he returned to Indiana!” Hannah risked whispering once again. “I
wonder what brings him back . . . ”

At this last statement, Kate reached over, her arm brushing against Anna's back,
and poked at Hannah's arm. “Shh!”

With a slight rolling of her eyes, Hannah returned her attention to the middle of
the room where the bishop and deacons sat, waiting for the singing of the first hymn
to begin.

While the rest of the congregation sang, Anna merely moved her lips, no sound coming
from her mouth. Indeed, she wondered, why would Freman return? Was it possible that
he had not heard of Leah's engagement to his cousin, Benjamin? She doubted that was
likely. Certainly Sara or
even George Coblentz would have notified him, if not his
aunt in Lancaster. And, numerous times during the hymn singing, she glanced in his
direction only to find that he too was often looking in her direction.

For the first time, the worship service that Anna usually enjoyed so much seemed
to drag on for days, not hours.

Immediately after the final prayer, she lost sight of him. The men hurried to convert
the benches into tables, fitting the legs of each handmade bench into a truss so
that the members could eat. Meanwhile, the young boys made a game of collecting the
Ausbunds
, their arms laden with the hymnals as they tried not to run back and forth
to the empty crates used to transport them.

Anna barely had time to search for Freman. Immediately the bishop's wife put her
to work slicing bread in the kitchen. With her back to the eating area, she couldn't
look for him without the risk of embarrassing herself further.