The Amish Bride (33 page)

When we reached the dairy, a stench greeted us. I knew it was hard to keep up with the waste and, depending on the way the wind blew, I’d smelled it before, but this was horrible. I was sure Ezra’s dairy would never smell so bad.

“Yuck,” Eddie whispered.

“Let’s get you into the house,” I said. We hurried along, racing up the
back stairs. I felt Eddie’s forehead again when we reached the top. He was still hot, but it was hard to tell if it was from a fever or the heat. I hoped he hadn’t gotten sunstroke earlier in the day.

He opened the kitchen door and we stepped inside. It was dark with all the shades and curtains drawn and fairly cool.

“Millie,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Shhh.” I heard a thud and then she appeared, stepping from the living room into the kitchen. “
Mamm
’s asleep.”

I told her about Eddie. “He needs lots of fluids and a cool cloth. And rest.”

Millie sighed. “Well, I was just finishing up the cleaning. Now I’m going to start on supper.”

Eddie hung his head.

“It will be hot in the kitchen. You’d best be in the living room.
Mamm
’s in her room.”

Eddie gave me a quick hug.

“Change your clothes first,” Millie said. “Or you’ll be making a mess. And grab a cloth from the bathroom.”

“See you tomorrow,” I said, touching the brim of Eddie’s hat. “If you’re feeling up to coming over. Do what Millie thinks best, okay?”

He nodded and then shuffled down the hall.

On the way home, I kept wide of the men again. ThoughTom waved, Darryl didn’t acknowledge me.

By the time I got back to the bakery, my loaves of bread were double the size I thought they would be. The kitchen had grown hot, really hot, from the sun beating through the west windows. All I could do was bake them and anticipate Pierre’s ridicule the next day.

“What do you call this?” Pierre held up the larger of my two loafs above his head.

No one responded.

“This is like an overgrown German sausage, no? Or a fat slug. This is not
l’art du pain.
It is the failure of the American Midwest. You might as well make that sourdough bread.” He tore the loaf in half and then tossed one piece at me, and then the other. “You must do this over.”

Somehow I managed to catch them both and put them on the table in front of me.

“Explain yourself,” he said.

I shrugged. I wasn’t about to tell him about having to walk Eddie home or any of that.

“The kitchen was hotter than I anticipated.”

“What were you using? A woodstove?” He smirked. “And let me guess, no central air,
oui
?”

“
Oui
,” I whispered.

“
Pardon
?”

“
Oui
!” I didn’t mean to shout. What kind of Plain woman was I that I couldn’t bake a decent loaf of bread?

Next up was Penny. Her loaves were perfect. She received four and half points, nonetheless.

“I never give a five,” Pierre explained.

Inwardly, I groaned.

By the time we were on the way home, Penny had forgotten about my humiliating experience, or perhaps it hadn’t registered with her in the first place. She gushed about Pierre.

“Isn’t he amazing?” She beamed as she spoke. “I feel so privileged to be taking this course. And to think I never would have done it if I hadn’t met you. If you hadn’t lived with me for that short time.”

I nodded encouragingly. I could see how God had worked that out. I was happy for her—but not so happy for me.

“And you’re more comfortable with your own people. Right?” She gave me a quick glance.

I wasn’t sure how to explain that the Amish weren’t
my
people, because in some ways they were, but in others they really weren’t.

“It’s a little hard getting used to not having electricity.”

“And using a woodstove. I thought your bread turned out great, considering. And to think of the things you all make in that bakery!”

I laughed. “Actually, we have a regular oven.” Although it wasn’t very consistent. Rosalee needed to look into buying a new one.

“Oh,” she said. “But I thought…”

“Pierre’s the one who mentioned the woodstove.”

“That’s right.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes.

“I’ve been thinking about taking Elizabeth’s cooking class next session.” Penny slowed for a tractor that hugged the shoulder ahead of us. “Want to join me?”

“I’ll be back home by next session,” I said. “But thanks anyway.”

“Ah, so you and your boyfriend are still an item?”

“Pretty much,” I said briefly. I didn’t want to talk about Ezra.

She zipped around the tractor and a field of foot-high corn came into view. In no time we were speeding down the highway toward Nappanee again. But I was wishing I were speeding toward Lancaster County instead.

T
he next day, Eddie wasn’t his usually bouncy self, but at least he wasn’t running a fever. We thought he’d become overheated, so we had him drink more water and rest during the hottest part of the day. Millie continued to seem short with him, but I figured that was because of all the responsibilities she had.

On Sunday, because it was an off week from church, Rosalee visited with a widow in the next district, while I stayed at the Home Place. I had run out of spots to look for Sarah’s artwork, but I did go through her recipe book again, taking out my magnifying glass and rereading the section about her second husband, Dr. Clive Chapman, starting with when she moved to Indianapolis to go to nursing school.

August 29, 1915—Now that I’m away from Alvin, I’m free from that tedious code. I’m living in a boarding house with a bathroom down the hall and dinner every night. Once I start doing my rotations, I’ll have to pay for dinner at the hospital or take a sandwich. I hope I’m doing the right thing. The program will take two years—and then I’ll have to decide whether to go back to the Home Place or not. I’ve tried to talk to God about it, but don’t think He’s listening. Of course, Mother and Father weren’t happy with me
and neither was Alvin. In fact, he was quite adamant that I should stay and was very loud about it.

Later, Mother and I were talking and she said Alvin can’t always help himself, which I disagreed with. She said she’s surprised I haven’t realized that he isn’t “quite right.” She told me she’s afraid it’s her fault, going on to say when he was newly born she was quite sick and the neighbor woman cared for Alvin for a stretch of time. She said that by the time she recovered and Alvin came back he wasn’t like her other children had been at that age. And he’d been slow ever since.

I thought of the hunting accident when Gus was killed and wondered if Alvin’s disability had contributed to that.

I think Mother is feeling needlessly guilty. Perhaps whatever made her so sick impacted Alvin too, although she thinks it was exhaustion from a mixture of the flu, caring for such a large family, and childbirth in her early forties.

The next entry was about Dr. Chapman, who had asked her on a date for the third time.
He’s English and he wears glasses. He’s as different from Gus as could be. I do enjoy talking about medicine with him. He’s inquisitive and always learning, and I can tell he cares about his patients.
She went on to say he was concerned about the war in Europe that had been going on for more than a year.
I hope it will end soon. Honestly, I don’t like to hear about it. It makes me miss home and our nonresistant ways.

On March 10, 1916, she wrote:
Dr. Chapman—although he insists I call him Clive—took me to the Art Association today. It was splendid. Drawings, paintings, sculptures. I showed him some of my work afterward. He said he wonders at my wanting to become a nurse. I told him I think it’s all related. It’s all nurturing either the body, mind, or soul. Nursing, cooking, baking, making remedies, singing, drawing, painting, listening. None are more important than the other. I feel that all of these things are about beauty, about sharing God’s creation. It’s a form of worship.

I stopped and considered Sarah’s philosophy. Plain people were known for being purposeful, but she took it beyond that. I wondered if my baking was a way of worshipping God.

I kept reading.

April 29, 1916—Clive is talking of returning to England and joining up with the Red Cross to take care of soldiers. He says it’s his duty, and that we
shouldn’t expect young men to sacrifice their lives if we’re not willing to care for them.

In the next entry, Sarah wrote that Clive had asked her to marry him.
I can’t give him an answer yet. He thinks it’s because he’s Episcopalian. That’s not it. I know he worships the same God I do. We believe mostly the same, except when it comes to war.

The next set of recipes were quite interesting, as they were for all English foods: marmalade, trifle, scones, Irish soda bread, Scottish oat cakes, rock cakes, Yorkshire curd tart, English summer pudding, and shepherd’s pie. More entries followed.

May 23, 1916—Clive challenges me in a way I never dreamed possible. I saw that today as we hiked. He knows so much about nature and a person’s whole being. He presents it all as one. I’ve never felt so full. I drew an owl with Clive’s eyes today. Then I told him I would marry him. It will be at the courthouse, just him and me. I’ll write to Mother, Father, and Alvin afterward.

On June 10, 1916, she wrote:
I’m now Mrs. Clive Chapman. He doesn’t want me to finish nursing school, but unless I’m blessed with a baby before he leaves, I will.

Then on July 17, 1916:
Clive left yesterday on the train to New York. He’ll board the first ship he can and go straight to France. Oh, how I hope this war ends soon.

Wow. Looking back at the date of the previous entry, I realized they had only been living as husband and wife for a little more than a month before he went away. How awful! I couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been to tell each other goodbye. I continued reading.

July 30, 1916—No new role as mother hen for me—not now. I am overwhelmed by loneliness. Thank goodness I didn’t quit the program. I must press on and learn all I can.

September 25, 1916—I had a letter from Clive. He is in northern France, near Flanders. That was all he could say, except that he loves me very much and dreams of me every night.

November 10, 1916—From the Scripture I read today: “The beast of the field shall honour me, the dragons and the owls: because I give waters in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert, to give drink to my people, my chosen” (Isaiah 43:30).

That is my prayer, that the Lord provides for Clive in this wasteland of war…

May 28, 1917—I finished my program and have been awarded my cap and pin. I’ve decided to stay on at the hospital, even though Mother and Father have asked me to come home. Alvin has taken over the farm, but Mother said they could use my help around the house. I wrote back and said I would stay put and hope my husband returns soon.

March 10, 1918—Clive’s letters are few and far between. I believe, from what he writes, that many have never reached me. Also, many of mine apparently don’t reach him. He said trench fever is rampant, and he’s had to send several soldiers back because of shell shock. They have also had an epidemic of typhoid fever. I’m praying he doesn’t get it. He says the sanitation is horrible.

On August 7, 1918, she wrote that a letter arrived from Clive saying he’d been treating soldiers for the Spanish flu.
He said he’s never seen anything like it, and it’s spreading fast. Worse than typhoid. Oh, how I wish I could have gone with him. I don’t think it’s too late. He wouldn’t allow it if he knew, but perhaps if I just show up? I’m contacting the Red Cross tomorrow.

August 8, 1918—I filled out my application with the Red Cross. Why didn’t I do this as soon as we married? I could have been by my husband’s side all along.

Then again, by tending to the wounds of war, will that make me a proponent of war? Of violence? These thoughts trouble me, and yet how could God, who indeed hates war, not want His precious children tended to in their pain, regardless of what brought them to that state? These are questions I will put to prayer as I wait to hear back about my application.