by Sarah Price
“It is a zebra! How clever you are!”
The boy beamed and nudged his younger brother who, just shy of three years of age, fell over at the slight. Immediately, they began to tussle, wrestling on the floor. Mary grabbed Cris Junior’s arm and pulled him aside.
“I knew you’d have too much sugar,” she scolded, dragging her son out of the kitchen by his elbow and toward the side door. Young Walter began to cry but, true to his nature of solemn loyalty to his brother, followed them.
The wails of young Cris faded away, overshadowed only by Mary’s harsh words, half in Dutch and half in English.
From her seat on the sofa, Salome pursed her lips, her eyes watching as her two grandsons and daughter-in-law disappeared. Leah and Hannah both shook their heads but remained silent. Feeling uncomfortable, Anna was uncertain whether or not she should leave with Mary. However, leaving after just arriving seemed almost as discourteous as her sister’s departure, so she quickly opted to stay.
“It’s right gut to see you,” Anna managed to say with a small smile. “I wanted to visit before the supper hour.”
The tension lifted. Sitting at the kitchen table, Leah’s arms were stained a reddish-purple, almost matching the color of her work dress, as she stirred the contents of a large metal pot with her hands. Without having to ask, Anna knew that she was pickling beets to be canned for the winter months. The sweet smell of vinegar mixed with raw cane sugar and pickling spices began to fill the room, overcoming the scent of baked cookies, most of which the boys had eaten long ago. Cookies never lasted long in any kitchen when Cris Junior and Walter were around.
“You should stay for supper then,” Leah said, a genuine smile on her face. Her straw-blonde hair framed her face and her pretty cornflower-blue eyes sparkled when she spoke. “It’ll be a welcome change for all of us, I’m sure.”
Hannah agreed and looked at her mother. “We have plenty, ain’t so, Maem?”
There was no need to nod her head. Instead, Salome smiled and patted a spot on the sofa, indicating that Anna should sit down beside her. “Kum, kum, Anna,” she said. “Amuse me with your clever stories.”
The compliment, unexpected and, in Anna’s eyes, unwarranted, brought a flush to her cheeks. “I dare say that I don’t have any stories, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t know if they were clever or not!” But she joined the older woman, pleased for the joyful reception from the Musser family.
“The boys are keeping you busy, then?”
Anna nodded. “The boys are a refreshing change from the everyday, ja? I’m not certain which one makes me laugh more! Little Cris with his mischief or Walter with his ability to attract dirt to his face, even just after he’s had his bath!”
“Bless him, that child!” Salome said, a smile on her lips but some pain showing in her eyes. She lifted her hand to her cheek, gently touching her own skin as if to remember the soft touch of another, from years long gone. “Surely he reminds me so much of my dear Rodney.”
A moment of silence blanketed the room at the mention of her deceased son who, almost ten years ago, had been called home to walk with Jesus. Anna remembered the news of Rodney’s passing. What had started out as a severe headache quickly escalated into something much worse: a malignant brain tumor. He had only been twenty when he died.
Clearing her throat, Salome lowered her hand and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she looked at Anna, studying her for a long moment. Finally, she asked, “You are faring well at Mary’s, then?”
The shift in conversation, while welcomed by all, startled Anna, mostly because of the curious tone of the question which hinted at more than just polite inquisitiveness.
“Quite well, danke,” she responded.
“Your calming nature must be a pleasant addition to the household,” Hannah quipped. “For sure and certain, ja?”
“Perhaps it will linger after you have left,” Leah was quick to add, to which Salome cast a stern look in the direction of her daughters.
Anna laughed, uncomfortable with the hidden complaint in the compliment. “One sure does learn to appreciate moments of quiet, that’s for sure and certain. But I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. I enjoy those kinner so much, I’m afraid I’ll be hesitant to leave.”
Salome nodded her head, approving of Anna’s tact in responding.
“You must miss your daed and schwester, ja?” Without waiting for Anna to answer, she caught her breath and leaned forward, another thought having just occurred to her. “Have you been to meet George and Sara Coblentz yet?”
“Nee,” Anna confessed. “I have not.”
Salome smiled, understanding written on her face. “In due time, I reckon. That must be a disconcerting feeling, to move from your daed’s haus!”
With all of her being, Anna wished she could speak her mind and tell them that it wasn’t a disconcerting feeling to leave her father’s house; that she could bear just fine, danke. And it didn’t bother her that someone else enjoyed it now. Nee, neither of those two reasons struck her as remotely troublesome. What created unease for Anna was the idea that, should she call upon the Coblentz family, she might run into her past. Instead of speaking, Anna merely lowered her eyes.
Salome hesitated, after glancing at Leah and Hannah, then spoke once again: “We would have come to visit you yesterday, Anna. But we went to welcome them with Bishop Troyer’s fraa.”
This news brightened Anna’s mood: a welcome diversion from her thoughts of Freman. Looking up, she smiled. “Ja? And how did you find them, then? Were they to your liking? Are they godly people?”
“Oh, heavens!” Salome clapped her hands together and laughed. “Godly? Why, I’ve never met such a fine woman! That Sara . . . why! . . . she’ll be the perfect caretaker of your daed’s haus! She’s quite fastidious, you see. Everything is so clean that it shines!”
Hannah dried her hands on a towel and walked over to the sitting area. “They have a visitor coming next week,” she said, a light growing in her eyes. At eighteen, Hannah was young and pretty, the slight up curve of her nose giving her face a playful look. Since both sisters were younger than Anna, they ran with a different set of friends. But Anna always had thought kindly of both young women, even if they were more animated and lively than most Amish women.
From the kitchen, Leah called out, “Ja, her bruder!”
“Her . . . bruder?”
Anna felt her heart skipping a beat as she held her breath for a few seconds and forced herself to remain calm. The last thing she wanted was to appear curious. Surely they didn’t mean Freman, for he had left Charm, Ohio, almost immediately after Anna refused his offer of marriage. The grapevine did not speak of his sudden departure, at least not in the presence of Anna. And, given the rest of the Eicher family’s tendency to focus on themselves, and not on other individuals that they deemed less interesting, she heard of no scuttlebutt in the community divulging his whereabouts.
That had been years ago.
Hannah glanced at her sister and a secretive look passed between them. “Leah heard his name is Freman and he’s quite handsome,” she went on, quickly dodging the hand towel that was thrown in her direction.
“Why would you notice, with Caleb calling on you!”
Hannah flushed at the mention of her second cousin, Caleb Wagler. While some Amish youth kept their courtships private until such a time when the wedding was announced by a deacon right after worship, apparently Caleb was not one of them. Not only did he bring Hannah home from every youth singing, but he also had made clear to other potential suitors that he had every intention of marrying Hannah. While she remained silent about her own feelings on the matter, no one doubted that she shared Caleb’s sentiments.
“I’m promised to no one!” Hannah retorted quickly but without credence. “I suppose I still may ride home with any young man who asks me!” “Girls!” Salome chastised them with her voice, but her eyes held a sparkle that clearly indicated that she too hoped that the younger brother
of Sara Coblentz might come calling on one of her dochders. But wouldn’t Freman be married by now?
Anna felt as if the walls were closing upon her. The lightness in her head was as intense as the heaviness in her chest. Despite the continuation of the visit, including two more invitations to supper which she declined, her mind remained focused on one realization: Freman was returning to Charm!
It wasn’t until later that evening, as she sat upon the edge of her bed, staring at the empty white wall before her, that she became aware of something even more consequential: his physical absence had not lessened the emotional turmoil that she felt, even after so many years, upon hearing his name.
Chapter Three
WHEN HE WALKED into the worship service, Anna Eicher had to catch her breath.
For the past week, she had tried to prepare herself for this moment, the moment when her eyes would fall, once again, upon Freman Whittmore—for the first time in eight years! She had thought herself ready, her inner discourse aimed at rehashing the reasons why, despite herself, she had rejected his proposal: Daed thought him too reproachable, and Lydia thought him not worth risking her daed’s disapproval. And Anna found their arguments too persuasive.
Yet, nothing could have properly prepared her for when she once again saw his face. She recognized him immediately when his tall form followed the other Amish men walking single file into the room, their Sunday hats casting shadows over their brows so she couldn’t see his eyes. It didn’t matter. She knew that he wasn’t glancing around the room in order to catch her gaze. He probably didn’t even know that she was watching him moving through the line of empty pine benches, waiting until the men stopped and sat down, sliding the length of the bench to make room for each other.
He looked the same, she thought, a flurry of emotions coursing through her veins. For the briefest of seconds, she was no longer sitting on a hard, pine bench but was transported through her memory to a time, eight years prior, when she had sat beside him in his borrowed buggy. His strong hands held the reins and he smiled as he talked to her. When he asked her a question and she responded, he nodded his head with approval at her words. Respect. That was what he had offered her eight years ago. Respect and his hand in marriage: two things that, with the deepest sense of loyalty to her family, she had found herself rejecting.
Not a day had passed when she did not think back to that rejection and the ensuing grief that she felt when he, caught off-guard with her denial, had slipped his hat back upon his head and turned to leave. As his buggy pulled away, the dark canopy shadowing his face, she hadn’t called for him to return. Oh, how she had wanted to! She had wanted nothing more than to run after him and stop the horse, to confess that it was a mistake and that there was nothing she wanted more than to become his wife.
But she hadn’t.
Yes, not a day had passed without thoughts of Freman Whittmore infiltrating her mind. As days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, she wondered of his circumstances. Where had he gone? What was his occupation? Had he taken a wife?
Now, however, as she snuck another look at him, her heart beat rapidly, for she realized he wore no beard. Was it possible, she wondered, that he had never married after all that time?
As if on cue, once the rest of the unmarried men were seated, all of the men reached up to remove their hats and slide them under their bench. The men in the back of the room stood up and hung their hats on metal hooks that lined the wall near the ceiling. Anna normally used this moment as her reminder to fix her attention on the Ausbund, the black chunky book that she held in her hands. It felt old, as she knew very well that it was published some forty years ago. The cover was worn and spoke of an uncounted number of hands that, over the years, had clutched the book during just as many worship services. Today, however, she could not keep her eyes from watching Freman Whittmore, sitting so proper and straight on the bench, his attention fully turned to the front of the room where no one stood yet, but where the bishop would eventually stand for his opening sermon.
The vorsinger, the young man who started singing the hymns, began the first syllable of the song, his voice lifting in the air, following an ageless and unwritten tune. When the rest of the worshippers began to sing with him, the bishop and the g’may’s three deacons stood up and left the room. Anna glanced at them, just for a second, before returning her gaze toward Freman. To her surprise, his dark eyes now stared in her direction, no emotion in his expression. While she felt certain that he knew her, for it had been only eight years, he showed no sign of recognition. At least, not on the surface.
“Anna!”
She caught her breath and glanced at the older woman seated beside her. Normally Elizabeth sat beside her, as she was one of the oldest unmarried women in the church district, second only to Kate Schwartzentruber, another older woman known for being overly righteous and rigid, her hopes of marrying gone with both her youth and her reputation. Today, however, Anna sat next to Kate. Had Elizabeth not gone traveling, she, not Anna, would have sat next to Kate, since the members of the g’may always sat in order of their age.
“Pay attention!” Kate hissed at Anna, her steely gray eyes flitting in her direction for just the briefest of moments.
Embarrassed, Anna lowered her gaze to the Ausbund and tried to find her place in the hymn that everyone else sang. Even though she knew the words by heart, she continued to follow the words in the book, her mouth moving and the words coming out while her mind wandered back to Freman.
With his dark, curly hair and deep brown eyes, he looked exactly the same as he had eight years ago. The only differences were subtle signs of aging on his face: wrinkles by the corners of his eyes and furrows in his brow. He remained as handsome as she remembered him, perhaps more so, if that were even possible. Of course she knew that memories often took on a life of their own. Surely hers had exaggerated the depth of his feelings, and despite the way her mind raced and her pulse quickened, she tried to convince herself that it had been just a spring romance between them.
“Who is that?”
The soft voice in her ear startled Anna. Without looking, however, she knew who it was: only Leah, who sat beside her, would dare to whisper during the opening hymn.
Not daring to respond, for surely Kate would have complained afterwards, and probably directly to the bishop, Anna merely shook her head, just enough to silence Leah. Yet from the corner of her eye, she saw the slight movement of the other, younger unmarried women that sat to her left. Their attention was not focused on the bishop but on the newcomer to their worship service. Anna knew she’d have to answer questions afterwards if she indicated that she knew his name.
The last thing she wanted to do was to rehash the emotions and the hurt from so long ago, especially since she had already convinced herself, in just those few minutes, that his affection had been the fleeting fancy of a young man who, clearly, had not been truly ready to settle down. Even Cris had taken her refusal in stride, quickly shifting his attention from Anna to Mary since marriage had been his main intention. For most Amish men love was not necessarily a precursor to proposals. It was more important for both parties to have a good standing in the community, a reputation for righteousness, and a hint of compatibility for the future.
Anna exhaled slowly through her mouth, willing her heart to stop beating so rapidly.
Their courtship had been so secretive. Few people had even suspected that Anna Eicher rode home from the youth singings with Freman Whittmore. In public settings Freman was always the last to voice his opinion, never quick to speak, and so when he did, people listened. As for Anna, her propensity for remaining quiet in group settings was as renowned as her kindness to individuals. Never one for gossip or judgment, Anna was known to be the quintessential Amish woman.
Unfortunately, when she was sixteen, what caused the older members of the community to observe her with respect was the very reason she walked home alone from the singings during those early months of her
Rumschpringe: her reputation for shyness meant no one offered her a ride home. So she walked alone. It wouldn’t have been that way if Elizabeth hadn’t refused to attend the singings. She professed to being offended by the fast pace of the chosen songs in the youth group. As for Mary, fifteen at the time, she was too young to accompany Anna. Without either of her sisters, Anna had no choice but to walk home alone, a fact that hadn’t bothered her because she was more than comfortable in her own thoughts.
And then, one night, Freman had asked her to ride home with him.
“Kneel, Anna!”
Snapping to attention, Anna looked over at Kate, stunned to realize that everyone was kneeling before their benches, foreheads pressed into clasped hands as they began to silently pray. Quickly, she slipped off the bench and knelt down, the color rising to her cheeks as she anticipated quite the tongue scolding from Kate right after the service. Had she truly been daydreaming for so long that she missed an entire sermon and another hymn?
For the rest of the service, Anna focused her eyes on the front of the room, forcing herself to pay attention to the second (and longer) sermon. When the final hymn was sung, she sang along with the other members of the g’may, ignoring the urge to glance in Freman’s direction. There was no point in doing so, she told herself. At almost twenty-five years of age, she had lost the beauty and zest of her youth. Her skin was too tan and her hands too callused from working in the gardens. Indeed, she worked so hard that, unlike her two sisters, her hollowed cheeks lacked the cheerful roundness that most of the older Amish women touted.
Nee, like Elizabeth, her time for courting handsome young men was long expired. It would be an older man, most likely a widower, who would come calling now. And Anna knew what that meant: young children to raise and a rigid husband to mind. While she much preferred being married to her memories, she knew that the day would come when she’d have to make a decision to create new memories to replace the old.
“What ailed you, Anna?”
