The Amish Bride (15 page)

* * *

The following day was the Sabbath, but not a day of community worship. It was a visiting Sunday, one where friends and relatives would call on each other and spend time together, resting from the week’s labor. Sometimes Ellen and her parents spent a quiet day together on visiting Sunday, but this week it was far from quiet at their home. Dinah’s friends from the widows’ group had gathered there to plan their next benefit and to give thanks for little Raymond Blauch’s continuing recovery at the hospital. Ellen had invited Dinah to welcome the widows to her house rather than the apartment over the store because Dinah’s space was small, and negotiating the stairs was difficult for some of the older women.

It was a beautiful September day with a breeze that carried the sweet smell of ripening apples from the orchard and ruffled the hair of the laughing youngsters who chased each other around the yard. Some of the widows had brought children and grandchildren, and several other families who were not members of the widows’ club had stopped by. The older women tended to gather in the kitchen and front room, while the teenagers and younger women congregated on the porch or in the yard, where they could see and be seen by the younger men, who stood and talked in the shade of the barn and windmill.

“Anne will stop by later if its another false alarm,” Naomi Byler informed Ellen, speaking of the local midwife. Naomi, widow of the former bishop, was the unofficial leader of the women’s group. She’d settled into a comfortable rocker in the kitchen where she could observe the comings and goings and make certain that no one was behaving in a manner improper for a Sunday. “This is Dora Stoltzfus’s first child. She’s not due until the first of October, but her husband’s gone to fetch Naomi three times this week. Twice it was the middle of the night.”

“Poor Anne,” Dinah remarked as she made room on the counter for a bowl of applesauce. “I don’t know what’s worse, anxious young mothers or worried first-time fathers.”

“The fathers for certain,” Ellen’s mother said. “My John made such a fuss when Ellen was born that the midwife said he was in more danger than I was.” Her friends laughed and were quick to share stories of their own childbirths, some funny, others harrowing. Ellen’s mother wasn’t a widow, but she’d known most of the women, including Dinah, for a lifetime, and they were all dear friends.

To Ellen’s amusement, what had begun as a typical Sunday with a few guests dropping by had grown to a large gathering. Ellen’s parents had neglected to tell her that they’d invited the five Shetlers, and with the promise of a fine dinner, nothing short of a flood or snowstorm could keep Simeon and his sons and grandsons away.

It was a matter of fact that the widows’ group included some of the finest cooks in Lancaster County, and it was a point of honor that every woman brought the results of her best recipe for their potluck dinners. Casseroles, trays of sandwiches, baskets of yeast bread, platters of cold ham and chicken, jars of pickled beets, salads and plates of stuffed eggs covered the counters and spilled over onto the kitchen table. Ellen’s
mam
’s prize hand-carved buffet was lined with pies, cakes, puddings and apple tarts.

“More food here than a wedding supper,” Ellen’s father had teased as the largess continued to arrive. But there were no complaints from him. Ellen knew that he was looking forward to the delicious meal and the leftovers that would remain behind when the widows went home. He’d always enjoyed company, and playing host to his friends and neighbors pleased him greatly. If the female chatter became overpowering, the weather was nice enough that he and his comrades could always retreat to the barn or to the fields for peace and quiet.

Ellen had just found another folding chair on the porch for an elderly latecomer when she caught sight of Micah standing near the grape arbor. She paused to wave and smile at him, and he motioned for her to join him. She carried the chair inside and then went back out.

As she approached Micah, he stooped to pick up a soccer ball that had bounced off a tree and tossed it back to Joel, who gave a whoop and dashed off with three other boys in his wake. Micah moved back into the arbor and gestured for her to sit beside him on the high-backed swing. There, shielded from the house and yard by the still-green grape vines, they could have a measure of privacy without breaking the rules of propriety.

“It’s crazy in the house,” she said and gratefully took a seat. “Dinah says that it’s rare that nearly everyone can make a meeting.” The grass was cool under her bare feet, and she was all too aware of Micah’s commanding presence. A few bees buzzed and flew overhead, but the Concord grapes had ripened and vanished for the year. Only bare stems and a few dried remnants of the fruit that had hung so heavily on the vines remained. She’d always loved the grape arbor. As a child, it had been her favorite place to read. Now she found another reason for it to give her sweet memories.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Micah said. He folded his arms and regarded her seriously. “I heard that you’re letting some runaway sleep in your shop.”

Ellen grimaced. “That didn’t take long. I expected the news to make the rounds by church Sunday, but...” She shrugged. “Who told you?”

“
Vadder.
What are you thinking, Ellen? You don’t know this girl, and you don’t know if she’s under a ban from her church.”

She was so surprised by the tone he was taking with her that it took a moment for her to respond. “You haven’t even met Gail. She’s a
goot
person in bad circumstances. She had a place to live but her roommate didn’t pay her share of the rent and they were both evicted.”

“I have to admit I’m surprised. You’re usually so sensible, Ellen.” He frowned. “And I don’t know what’s gotten into your father that he’d allow—”

“Micah!” She stared at him, more than a little annoyed that he’d speak to her as if she were one of his naughty nephews.

Just then, Neziah appeared at the entrance to the grape arbor. “Melvin’s here,” he told his brother, “and he’s looking for you. Something about a horse race?”

Micah glanced at Ellen as he rose from the swing. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. “I think you need to give it serious thought.”

Speechless and now more than a little irritated, she watched Micah walk away. Neziah took his seat on the swing next to her. “I was looking for you.”

She turned toward him and held up a hand. “If you’ve come to talk to me about Gail, I’m not in the mood to discuss it.”

He looked at her oddly. “Are you talking about the Bontrager girl?”

“Is there anything that anyone in the community doesn’t know about my personal business? Yes, I did offer to let Gail sleep at the shop, and I’m standing by my decision. I’m not a child, Neziah. I’ve thought about this for days. I’ve prayed about it, and God showed me His way. Gail’s a sweet young woman, and she’s going through a bad time. What’s wrong in extending a hand of—”

“Ellen, Ellen.” He raised his hand again, this time in a calming motion. “I didn’t come to criticize you.”

“Micah certainly did. I’m thirty-three years old!” She took a breath and started again. “Old enough to make my own decisions. Was I supposed to let Gail sleep in a barn? What if something terrible happened to her? The world outside our community isn’t a safe one for a young woman alone. Aren’t we supposed to show charity?”

He smiled down at her. “Can I say something, or do I just get to listen?”

She sighed loudly. “Go ahead. Get it off your chest. Tell me why I’ve made a foolish decision and why I’ll live to regret it.”

His smile became laughter.

“I’m glad you think my actions were—”

“Admirable? Brave? I came looking for you, Ellen, because I heard about Gail Bontrager, and I wanted to tell you how proud of you I am. It’s easy for people to talk about extending a helping hand, but actually going out on a limb for a stranger? You don’t see that often. Not even in our community, where it should be taken for granted. It’s where the Mennonites put us to shame, don’t you think? They go out into the English world and help those who need it most.”

“Wait!” She seized his hand. “You’re saying you don’t think what I did was wrong?”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. He looked at her with his cinnamon eyes. “
Jah
, Ellen. I agree with what you did. I think it was right and
goot
. I would hope that, put in the same position, I’d make the same choice you did.”

She stared at him, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “Neziah, I never expected
you
...” She stopped and started again. “When we walked out together, you admonished me for attending those Bible classes where we were free to talk about interpretation. You didn’t want me to speak out against tradition. You told me that you’d never allow your wife to work outside your home...to associate with the English.” She looked down and then up at him again. “You’ve changed,” she murmured.

“I hope I’ve gained a
little
wisdom in ten years.” He stroked the back of her hand. “What can I say? I was wrong about you working in the craft shop. I was wrong about the Bible class. I was wrong not to give you the respect you deserved. I’ll make no excuses for myself except to say that I was young and foolish.”

She pulled back her hand, unable to think clearly while he was holding her hand so intimately, as small tingles of excitement were running up her arm. “You disagree with what our bishop teaches?”

“Nay.”
Neziah shook his head. “I didn’t say that. But I sometimes
do
question our interpretation of it. I think sometimes I’ve thought too much about the rules and have forgotten the message that the Lord came to deliver to us. What does Jesus say is the greatest of the laws? ‘Love one another’?” He steepled his hands, as if searching for the right words. “I was born Amish. My blood and bones are those of the martyrs who came before us and died for our faith. I could never live outside our church. But I would be less than what I believe God wants if I refused to question or to think for myself.”

She felt as if a weight pressed on her chest. Was what she had believed all this time about Neziah’s rigid mind-set wrong? She scrambled for clarity. “Do you still believe that a husband should be the head of the family?”

“Jah,”
he said. “I do. I believe that it is God’s plan for us. I think the man should be the head of the household, but I believe just as strongly that the woman should be the heart. Can a head live without a heart?” He smiled at her and extended his hand. “Ellen, I know it hasn’t been long since—”

A child’s scream brought them both to their feet. Neziah dashed out of the arbor, and Ellen hurried after him.

“Neziah!” Simeon shouted. “Come quick! It’s Joel! He’s hurt bad!”

Chapter Fourteen

N
eziah ran toward his father.
“Vas is?”
he shouted. “Where?”

His brother came around the stable holding Joel in his arms. Blood poured from the boy’s mouth and nose, running down his chin and dripping onto the ground.

Asa, shrieking at the top of his lungs, darted after them. “He’s dead! Joel’s dead!”

Neziah raced across the yard toward his injured child.
So much blood.
What could the boy have done to hurt himself so badly? Other men crowded around, forming a barrier between him and Joel, but he shoved his way through and held out his arms to Micah. “What happened?” he repeated. “Is he breathing?”

At that instant, Joel began to kick and scream at the top of his lungs.

Neziah gathered his son against his chest.
Not dead. Not dead.
Despite Asa’s continued wailing that Joel was dead, it was evident that the howling child in his arms was very much alive.
But how badly was he hurt?
Neziah looked at Micah expectantly.

“He fell off the chicken house roof. He may have struck his face on a cultivator before he hit the ground.”

A cultivator?
His son had fallen on a cultivator?
Neziah’s blood ran cold
. They would need an ambulance. A doctor. Had his head struck the metal prongs?
The front of Joel’s shirt was bloody. Did he have broken ribs? A fractured skull? Everyone was talking at once. His father was bellowing orders. Asa was still wailing. A woman shouted questions from the porch.

Neziah had always considered himself levelheaded. When one of their hired hands had severely cut his arm at the sawmill, he’d been the one to apply a tourniquet, bandage the wound and drive the man in a wagon to the nearest phone where he could call 911. He knew how to react to an emergency. Or so he’d thought. But now, with his child, Neziah felt as though he were wading through waist-deep mud. He couldn’t get his mind and hands to coordinate. He knew he needed to examine his son’s wounds, but it was difficult to see for the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Let me see him.” Ellen appeared in front of Neziah. How she’d gotten through the press of men and the frightened children, he didn’t know, but she was suddenly there, calm and soft-spoken. “Stand him up,” she said. “He’s choking because you’re holding his head on an angle.”

“But if he has serious injuries, won’t that make it worse?” he said.

“Look at him, Neziah. Listen to him. No child on his deathbed has that much lung power.” She waved her hand at the onlookers. “Please. Give us room to get a
goot
look at what’s wrong.”

Given a definite task, his father, Simeon, was all too ready to take charge. “You heard Ellen. Back up, everyone. Give the boy room to breathe.”

Joel was sobbing now. His mouth and nose were still seeping blood, but when Neziah stood him on his feet, nothing seemed to be broken. Joel clung to his father’s leg and tried to talk, but fell prey to a bout of hiccups and clamped a hand over his mouth.

“You’re all right,” Ellen soothed, stroking Joel’s bare head. “Let me see.”

“But...but Asa said...” Joel’s garbled attempt at speech was muddled by a combination sob and hiccup. Joel glanced down, saw all the blood on his shirt and started screaming again.

“Can someone bring me water and a clean towel?” Ellen squatted down. She rubbed Joel’s back in slow circles. “Shh, shh, it will be all right.”

Lizzie Fisher, a veteran of mending scrapes and spills because of her seven young stepchildren, had already guessed what they would need for an injured child. The small but capable woman slipped between the men and shyly offered a basin of water and several towels.

“Shh, shh,” Ellen murmured. She dipped the corner of a towel in the water and began to dab it on Joel’s face.

“Matthew...said...said I’m
dead
,” Joel sobbed. His upper lip was swelling fast, and his words came out barely coherent.

Matthew Fisher was eight and one of Lizzie’s brood. In Joel’s mind, whatever the older boy said must be true, despite the fact that Matthew was known for his vivid imagination. “You aren’t dead,” Neziah said. He ruffled his son’s hair. He wanted to keep holding him, to kiss his tear-streaked, bloody face, but Amish men didn’t publicly show affection. Alone, he would have followed his instinct and embraced Joel as he did every night when he tucked him into bed. With his father and the other men and women watching, it didn’t seem right. “You’re going to be fine,” he said gruffly.

“I don’t want...want to go to the hospital!” Joel protested. “
Nay
shots.” His sobs were coming slower now. The hiccups continued, but the bleeding from his nose and mouth had clearly slowed.

Ellen dabbed gently at Joel’s face with a wet cloth. “You’re going to be fine, Joel,” she said, glancing up at Neziah. “He’s fine. He just knocked out his two front teeth when he fell.”

“I don’t know. They said he fell on a cultivator,” Neziah said. He didn’t want to overreact. They didn’t run to doctors and the hospital the way
Englishers
did because they didn’t believe in insurance, but Joel’s well-being was more important than medical bills. “Maybe he should go to the hospital.”

“I think he looks worse than he is.” Ellen’s tone was reassuring. “If he’d fallen on the cultivator, he’d be hurt a lot worse. Look at him,” she said. “Legs whole, arms intact.” She mopped at Joel’s upper lip. “Nose took a bump. Probably had the wind knocked out of him, but he’s not acting like he lost consciousness. The total damage seems to be a nosebleed and two baby teeth dislodged before their time.”

“His front teeth?” Neziah asked woodenly. “He knocked out his front teeth? That’s all?” He took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow. How was it that Ellen could make everything okay in the space of a few moments? And then he felt shame that he hadn’t given thanks to God. Surely, it was the Lord who’d prevented far worse from happening. Praise be, he thought.
For Your mercy.

“Shouldn’t we try to find the teeth?” Micah asked. “Take him to the dentist and see if she can...do something.”

“Put them back in,” Neziah finished. “Thomas told me that his brother’s child knocked a tooth out, and a dentist put it back in. It didn’t even turn black.”

“Try to put Joel’s teeth back in after they’ve been laying in the chicken yard?” Ellen shook her head. “They’re baby teeth. He would have lost them by next year, anyway.”

Joel’s lower lip quivered. His nosebleed had slowed to a thin trickle. “My teeth?” It came out more like
m’teef
. He blinked back tears. “I fell,” he said.

“Apparently fell off the roof,” Micah repeated. “Matthew said that the soccer ball got stuck there. Joel climbed up to get it, but then he was walking on the edge to show how brave he was. He must have gotten too close to the edge.”

Asa, who’d squeezed between his uncle Micah’s legs nodded. “Joel climbed on the roof.”

“No serious harm done,” Simeon announced to his neighbors. “Nothing to worry about. Boy just knocked out a tooth.” The group began to disperse—the single women gathered to whisper to each other and the young men to relate similar incidents from their own childhood.

“
Two
teeth,” Neziah corrected quietly. He didn’t want to show disrespect to his father, but neither did he want the incident dismissed as nothing.

“Luckily not his second teeth,” Lizzie added. She held the basin of water for Ellen, waited until she’d dried Joel’s face and then carried the basin and towels back to the house.

“Thank you, Lizzie,” Neziah called after her. “I appreciate it.” Joel’s fall must have brought back terrifying memories. Lizzie’s husband had died in a fall out of his hayloft.

Micah knelt beside Joel and gave his nephew a playful nudge on the shoulder. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Joel tried to smile, revealing the hole where his top teeth had been.

“We were on our way to throw a few lines in the water when the kids started yelling that Joel had fallen off the roof,” Micah said to Ellen as he got to his feet. He pointed to Abram, who’d come up into the yard driving a farm wagon heaped with loose straw. Nat, holding several fishing poles, was sitting on the board seat beside him. On the back of the wagon, Saloma’s younger sister and two other unmarried girls were sitting with their bare feet dangling over the edge. “Dinah said we won’t be eating until after they finish their meeting, so we’re going down to the creek for an hour. Want to come along?”

“Come on!” Saloma’s sister called to Ellen, with a wave. “It will be fun.”

Ellen glanced down at Joel and shook her head. “
Danki
, but I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him.”

“Are you sure?” Micah asked. He seemed disappointed.

She brushed at a small bloodstain on her apron. “
Nay
, you go. I think Joel could use something cold on that lip.”

Micah’s brow furrowed as he glanced from Ellen to Neziah. “You can take it from here, can’t you, brother? You don’t want her to miss out on the fun, do you?”

It was exactly what Neziah wanted. He wanted Ellen to skip the fishing and stay here with him and Joel, and he was ashamed of himself for thinking it. He averted his eyes. “You should go.” He rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I can handle this from here.”

“I want to go fishing, Uncle Micah,” Joel declared. “I wanna go!”

“No children this time,” Neziah murmured to his son. “Just adults. Maybe next time.”

Ellen waved to Micah as he walked away. “Have a good time.”

Neziah watched Ellen as his brother joined the young folks in the wagon. “You sure you don’t want to join them? Joel can’t be too hurt if he’s begging to go fishing.” He picked up his son. “Let’s see if we can talk the women out of some ice for that lip.”

Ellen followed him to the house, but Neziah noticed that she was watching the wagon full of young people as it bounced across the field toward the creek. The thought that she was missing out on the fun to care for his boy didn’t sit well with him. Marriage to him would mean the heavy responsibility of motherhood from day one. There’d be no honeymoon as most newly married couples had; there would be no trip out of state to visit relatives and spend time getting to know each other as man and wife. Ellen would immediately be a mother of two, with less time for leisure and the lightheartedness that often went with being a newlywed. He knew Ellen would never complain, but he wondered if he was asking too much of her. He loved her and wanted her to be his wife, but was he being selfish? Was he thinking of his own happiness at her expense?

* * *

The following week was so busy that Ellen wasn’t sure where the days went. Business at the shop had increased measurably, and she and her mother were trying to preserve the abundant harvest from the garden before any went to waste. She found herself rising before dawn to begin regular household chores and breakfast, and returning from the store to can vegetables or to prepare them for drying, late into the evening.

All week, either Neziah or Micah drove her to work, and when she left the shop at the end of the day, one of them was waiting to drive her home. Usually it was Micah, but Neziah came once. The intention was nice and it was fun waiting to see who would be there to greet her, but a part of her missed her quiet times, scooting along on her push scooter. When she rode with Micah, she didn’t have to talk. He always had plenty to say, and it was always entertaining. Her rides with Neziah and the children were very different; Asa and Joel chattered on like a pair of bluejays, and she and Neziah shared bits of their day, with Neziah often consulting her on some issue with his boys. Still, she found herself comfortable around both brothers, making her looming decision even more difficult.

With the resilience of childhood, Joel’s injuries healed quickly. He’d started school, and—according to Micah—his accident and his missing front teeth made him quite popular among the other first-graders. Neziah had explained that he’d considered keeping his oldest son home another year, but since he had an October birthday, the teacher had convinced the family that school would be good for Joel. Secretly, Ellen agreed. He was a bright child, and keeping him occupied and facing new challenges every weekday would prevent him from coaxing too many sweet treats out of his grandfather.

One of the things that Ellen and Neziah and the children had done together that week was to go to the general store and pick up healthy snacks and fruit to go in Joel’s lunch. Not to be left out, Asa had asked for his own lunchbox. Apparently, packing lunch for both boys for the following day had become part of bedtime routine at the Shetler house. And Ellen was pleased to learn from Micah that individual bags of potato chips and packaged whoopie pies had been replaced with apples, cut-up carrots and raisins. Most Amish children walked to school, but since Joel’s school was located on a narrow, twisting road more than a mile away, Simeon drove Joel, in the pony cart, to and from the one-room schoolhouse daily.

Neither her mother nor her father had said anything to her about her promise to decide if she would court Neziah or Micah before the month was up, but one of them had drawn a circle in red marker on the calendar that hung in the kitchen. She suspected the culprit was her
mam
because the circle had a small tail at the bottom like a capital
Q
, her mother’s trademark. Of course, her father was known for his practical jokes, and when Ellen was a child, he’d sometimes play tricks on her. He’d never own up to his teasing, but always blamed her
mam
. Her
mam
would shake her head and say, “You’ll never know, I suppose.” Her mother was always loyal, even when it meant taking the blame for mischief she hadn’t created.

In any case, the circled date was always the first thing she saw when she came downstairs in the morning, and the last thing she saw before going up to bed. “Nothing like a little pressure,” she had muttered under her breath the first time she had spotted it. But she didn’t really blame them. They were, as always, thinking of her best interests. She hoped she’d be as good a parent as they had been, and she never failed to thank God for them in her evening prayers.