by Sarah Price
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
THE 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 par
ents 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.
Each season seemed to have its own memories, for in the springtime, they worked together to plow the family garden and plant vegetables. Anna had loved walking out to the garden in the evenings, after supper was finished and before her bedtime prayers, to see how much the seedlings had grown. Her mother usually accompanied her and they would stand, in silence, at the edge of the garden to observe its progress.
During the spring and well into the summer, the plants would grow and produce food that would be harvested and canned, food used to feed the family for the rest of the year. Most of the work usually took place in late summer and early autumn, the kitchen absorbing the smell of whatever food they were canning: tomatoes, cauliflower, chow chow, beets, and apples. Like the day she had spent with the King family, helping to can the apples, it was a joyous time with all three of the daughters working alongside their mother. No one complained. In fact, Anna suspected that, like her, both Elizabeth and Mary had always looked forward to that time of year.
Of course those wonderful days spent together as a family, enjoying each other’s company as they worked, may have been common while her mother was still alive, but such days would happen no longer. The family had been dispersed, and the house in Charm was now occupied by another: Freman’s family.
With her father and Elizabeth having moved down to Pinecraft, Florida, a place that Anna had little to no intentions of visiting, Anna suddenly felt as if everything in her life was in disarray. She missed the daily routine that she had become so accustomed to, even if it meant listening to Daed and Elizabeth’s conversations that so often centered on their respected place in the community, a fact proven erroneous by the change in their circumstances. She felt as if she were homeless, wanting neither to live in Florida as a third wheel nor to remain in Sugarcreek for the sole purpose of serving her sister, Mary. She had no place in the world to call her own, and the thought created a cloud of sorrow to linger over her head.
To make matters worse, Lydia stopped by to visit on Wednesday morning, having heard from Sara Coblentz about what had happened.
“Such a terrible mess,” Lydia said while they sat on the porch watching the two boys chasing the barn cats in the driveway. “Whatever was she thinking?”
Anna often wondered that herself. In hindsight, Leah’s carefree, and careless, behavior had caused the situation. The change in the young woman’s behavior while in the presence of a suitor had not escaped Anna’s attention. If only Leah had just behaved like herself and not worked so hard to attract Freman’s attention, none of this would have happened.
“Sara told me that Freman was quite upset over the entire matter,” Lydia added. “Felt as if he were to blame.”
“To blame?”
Lydia nodded. “Mayhaps he feels he might have been able to prevent it, that’s what I think.” She sighed and stared toward the horizon. “Young men often feel the need to protect others, I suppose, especially women. His worry is an admirable quality and speaks highly of his character.”
Anna fought to maintain her composure at this last comment. After all, wasn’t it Lydia herself, together with Anna’s father, who had spoken against the Whittmore family years ago?
“Sara told me that no sooner had Freman returned to Charm than he turned around and left again!”
Anna gasped at this unexpected news. Quickly, she tried to regain her composure, hoping that Lydia did not notice her reaction. The last thing that Anna wanted was anyone to suspect that her interest stemmed from anything more than casual curiosity. “Left again? Did she say where he went?”
Lydia shook her head. “Nee, but she suspects he went back to Lancaster. He’s been quite open with her that he intends to return to Indiana with a bride. His determination to settle down at last and his concern for Leah can mean only one thing. Sara’s convinced he’s intent on having that young woman as his wife.”
If only Lydia knew how her words cut through Anna! Oh, the irony! It hurt to hear Lydia discuss Freman’s fine qualities and suggest that he was more than suitable to marry Leah Musser when, eight years ago, she had asserted that he was not a good enough man to marry Anna.
Later that evening, after Anna had put the boys to bed, she sat alone at the kitchen table staring at a small spot upon the table top as she reflected on Lydia’s words. His behavior toward her in Lancaster had softened, and for a moment or two, Anna had doubted his interest in Leah. What she had then seen as a glimmer of hope, Anna now viewed as the afterthought of a forgiving man who saw her as a future member of his extended family. It would not do him any good to harbor hard feelings toward his future wife’s relations.
If she had wondered at how little Freman knew Leah, she knew that, if he was about to sit at her bedside during her convalescence, there would be more than enough time now for the two of them to become better acquainted. With each passing day, Anna felt more and more despondent, her grief magnified when she heard nothing more about Leah, Mary, or Freman.
Not willing to succumb to her grief, Anna forced herself to focus on the little things around the house in order to take her mind off of the inevitable. She gave Cris Junior and Walter her undivided attention and soon developed a daily routine. In the mornings she made a game of cleaning the dishes and straightening up the kitchen. Afterward they walked down to the barn to offer assistance to Raymond. Without Cris, he was tending the chores alone. If nothing else, an hour or two of help would lighten his burden as well as occupy the boys’ time and spend their endless energy.
Anna noticed that, without Mary and Cris around, the boys behaved much better, showing a sense of calmness and respect for authority that Anna had never witnessed before. She found that, rather than vexing her nerves, the kinner often provided her with much-needed smiles and laughter.
In the afternoons Salome and Hannah often came down to visit, the three of them sitting outside behind the house while the two boys played on the swing set or tossed a ball back and forth.
Anna enjoyed the adult camaraderie but found the discussions to be dissatisfying, especially since the main topic of conversation often focused on two things: the certainty of Leah’s recovery and the likelihood of Leah’s wedding.
“Indiana! What on earth will Leah do moving to Indiana?” Salome could barely focus on her needlework. It was four days since the accident, and with the news that Leah’s recovery was progressing nicely, Salome had moved on to a new worry.
“Maem, you don’t know that to be the case,” Hannah responded, causing Anna to wonder if she was slightly put out that it was her sister, and not her, that Freman had chosen. But then of course, Hannah had Caleb, so any discontent on her part didn’t make any sense. Instead, Anna
chose to believe that Hannah wanted to be the first to marry.
Salome sighed and turned her face toward the now empty fields. There was a despondent expression on her face, and she looked as if she had aged overnight. “It was bound to happen that one of you would move away from us. Just the realization that it could be so soon . . . ” She left the end of her sentence hanging.
Anna tried to shut her ears to the conversation.
Hannah too seemed bored with the constant attention being paid to a sister who wasn’t even there to appreciate it. Leaning forward, she gently tapped her mother’s knee. “Maem, tell Anna about the letter.”
“The letter?”
Hannah nodded. “Ja, from Elizabeth.”
Now this was interesting news, Anna thought. Not once since her father and sister had left for Pinecraft had Anna received a written word from either one of them; rather, her father had directed his brief notes to Cris. It was to be expected, she realized with not the least bit of jealousy, for she had never been of the same fiber as those two. However, propriety dictated that some communication would be shared with the Mussers, a way of indirectly letting Anna know of their circumstances without burdening themselves with writing multiple letters.
“Oh, that letter!” Salome smiled and turned her attention to Anna. “Seems they are having a wunderbarr gut time in Florida, the weather being most agreeable to your daed. Elizabeth wrote that she too is enjoying her time there and finding Pinecraft much to her liking.”
Hannah sighed loudly. “Not that part, Maem! The part about Willis!”
