by Linda Byler
Brent sat up. “You could take a picture the way Mommy does.”
“Emma might not appreciate that.”
He nodded, looking up into Emma’s face.
“Let’s make those cookies, Emma,” he said. “Please?”
She could not have refused him, so she gathered ingredients, made a cup of coffee for Ben but none for herself. There was no baking molasses or ginger, so she mixed a sugar cookie recipe. Halfway through, there was a wail from the living room, the usual sound of Annalise being woken from a deep sleep.
“I’ll get her,” Ben offered.
Emma opened her mouth to tell him it likely wouldn’t work, but watched in disbelief as he reached the sofa in a few long strides and scooped her into his arms.
“Hello, little girl,” he said, returning to the barstool, with Annalise staring up into his face, Charlie Brown clutched in her arms. Annalise didn’t protest, seemingly enjoying the attention from this unexpected visitor.
The afternoon was spent in the cool, comfortable kitchen, a scene of domestic harmony, the chilled dough rolled out on a floured surface, the children taking turns to cut trees and bells and angels with a set of old tin cookie cutters that had been stored away behind an angel food cake pan, a bundt pan, and a heart-shaped set from Wilson Baking Company.
“Now who would come to the beach to bake?” Emma asked, as she pulled out the dusty pans.
“Evidently you,” Ben teased.
Emma’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, like an emerald, he thought, her skin deeply tanned and still dotted with an array of copper colored freckles, especially over her nose. Ben had never seen a more attractive girl, he decided then and there, a fact he’d tried to deny, with all her standoffish ways. She was the girl of his dreams, and he could not understand how she could remain single in the Amish world, where most girls were snatched up before they reached the age of eighteen or nineteen.
And so he held Annalise, stole glances at Emma, and fell steadily and irretrievably in love. The recessed lighting in the all-white kitchen was the perfect backdrop for the vibrant colors that made up this girl. Try as he might, he could barely keep his eyes off her as she bent over the children, guiding, helping, and encouraging.
The result was row after row of trees, some of them crooked with far too many sprinkles, some too thin with hardly any at all, a few botched Santa Clauses, and at least ten partially winged angels.
Brent sighed, stretched his shoulders, and said he was really getting tired of this. He allowed Emma to wash his hands and wandered off to the living room to play with his Legos. Annalise was feeding a crumbling bell to Charlie Brown, making a mess all over the floor, but Emma said nothing, just stored the cookies in a plastic container and began to wipe the counter.
The wind was kicking up, bending the grass almost double, the sunshine taking on a dull yellowish look, as if someone had covered the windows with a thin coating. Ben glanced at the sky from the sliding glass door, shoving yet another cookie into his mouth. Emma came to stand beside him, her eyes going to the sky that seemed as if it had taken on a greenish hue.
Ben shook his head.
“I bet the lightning will be awesome,” he said. “I’ve never seen a really hard electrical storm over the water. Have you?”
“No. This is my first time at the ocean, you know.”
The sound of the phone ringing made her jump, an unaccustomed jangling that set her teeth on edge.
“Hello?”
“Hi! Hey, it’s me, Kathy. I am listening to the news, on my phone, and it sounds bad. Are you okay? I called Daniel, and he said they aren’t working. If you’d feel more comfortable, you can get a room in town. I don’t want to think of the children being scared.”
“I think we’ll be alright, Kathy.”
“What are you doing?”
“Well, we made cookies this afternoon. Christmas cookies, I’m afraid.”
Kathy laughed her polite tinkling sound that held no real mirth.
“Oh. I’m sure the kids loved it.”
“They did.”
“So you’re by yourself, then?”
“No. Ben is here. He insisted. Said the storm might be severe. I told him we’d be fine, but it didn’t do any good.”
Why did she feel as if she had to make excuses? That none of this was her fault?
There was a silence, a breath suspended.
“Well, whatever. Look. I have to go. I’ll call later.”
With that the phone line was disconnected. Slowly, Emma’s thumb pressed on the off button, and she replaced the handset to its base, keeping her face averted as she busied herself at the sink.
Ben watched her, but kept himself from asking who it was. Figured it was Kathy or Roger.
Emma turned, drying her hands on a dishcloth.
“Kathy’s worried.”
Ben nodded. “It’s good to know they think of the children.”
“They are very good parents.”
Ben looked at her, said nothing.
“Let me dry those for you.”
She handed him a dish towel. He smiled at her. Their eyes met. She told him how glad she was that he was there without saying a word at all, then turned to her dishes as if they were the most important thing in her life.
“You have a dishwasher here. Why don’t you use it?” he asked, standing much too close.
“I’m Amish, you know. I love to wash dishes. It’s a process that fills a domestic need, I suppose.”
“Do all Amish women enjoy washing dishes?” he asked.
“How would I know? I’m only one woman, and I don’t hang out with the marrieds.”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t. I bet there are more than one of your friends who have two or three children.”
“Try five.”
“What? You’re not serious.”
“Rachel Ann.”
“Who is she?”
“One of my friends. She was married before she was nineteen. She’s my age, so in seven years, she’s had five children.”
Ben shook his head.
“Is that normal? Like, for this day and age?”
Emma shrugged. She did not want to tell him about their deep sense of what was right and what was wrong, choosing to leave the number of babies in the Lord’s hands. That was their own personal decision, and a subject she was not willing to broach. Not with him.
“She looks a lot different now.”
“You mean . . . ?”
“Well, she’s gained quite a bit of weight. And she’s, well . . . tired. She’s just so worn out. She has her hands so full. I mean, can you even imagine the laundry alone? I don’t like to go there, it just seems too overwhelming. Marriage, all that suffering . . . ”
Ben’s laugh rang out.
“So there is the reason you’re teetering on the brink of singledom. Finally. I have broken the code. I understand you now.”
She swatted him with her dishcloth.
“That is not the reason. How shallow do you think I am?”
“Pretty shallow, in my opinion. Isn’t every respectable Christian girl meant to get married and have at least a dozen children? You know, her husband working by the sweat of his brow? Like me, over there in the house we’re renovating. I mean, on most days, the sweat just runs off me. So I would definitely keep my side of the bargain as far as being a husband. The rest would be up to you.”
“What?”
She stared at him.
“Don’t you like where this conversation is going?” he asked, a grin elevated to his eyes, watching her response.
“I don’t want to get married if that is all there is,” she huffed.
“You pity what’s her name? Rebecca?”
“Rachel Ann.”
“You pity her.”
“Well, no, not really pity her. It’s just that it all seems so overwhelming. I mean, that isn’t even the right word. There is simply too much expected from a young girl, that’s all.”
Ben sobered, searched her face.
“I can see you’re serious. You’re smart, Emma. A girl like you thinks more than many of our people do. You are much more complicated than this Rebecca Ann.”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel Ann. So perhaps she is genuinely happy. She’s fulfilled in her role as wife and mother. Shouldn’t she be?”
“Of course. But I’m not convinced it is necessary. In God’s eyes, I mean.”
“Okay. Dishes done. I wish they weren’t. This time with you is better than any time I have ever spent with a girl. Let’s get all the dishes out of the cupboard and wash them again.”
Emma laughed. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious. I’d stand here all evening drying dishes, talking to you.”
The wind slapped against the north side of the house. A chair went sliding across the back deck, banged into the railing before it stopped, followed by the empty flowerpot beside it. Ominous clouds welled up like dirty sheep’s wool, obscuring the light of the late afternoon sun. A clap of thunder brought both children running to the kitchen, their arms outstretched.
They sat in the living room, then, a child on each one’s lap, as rain lashed the windows in wind-driven streams. Lightning was like scattered streaks across the sky, the ocean like boiling broth in an overheated kettle. They moved to the glass door to take in the fury of a midsummer thunderstorm, the sight a renewal of faith in a living God whose hand controls the wind and waves.
Emma felt the magnetism of Ben’s solid form, inched closer until she felt her sleeve brush the fabric of his. She winced when a blinding flash illuminated the room and everything stopped. The house was eerily silent without the steady rumbling of the central air unit, the sound of the TV in the living room. The house turned gray and shadowy, with all the cozy yellow lights without power.
And still the storm increased, until Emma declared she felt the house shiver in the gale. She felt his hand on her back, then slid around her waist, a very small amount of pressure applied to draw her against him.
She leaned in, gladly, her heart hammering.
“It’s dark,” Annalise whispered.
“The electricity just went off,” Brent told her in his grown-up manner.
“I don’t like to be here,” Annalise said, drawing in her breath, the first indication of producing one of her famous fits.
Emma wanted to move toward the living room, wanted to sit on the sofa away from the wind and lashing rain, the jagged lightning that illuminated everything in blinding blue flashes, but could not bring herself to step away from the protection that was Ben. When Annalise cranked up her objection to a full-out howl of indignation, Emma stepped away.
Ben followed her, sat a safe distance away, and sighed.
“You know, Emma. It’s pretty dark in here. You think we should light the candles? I saw a couple jar candles on the dining room table. Or would that be too unabashedly romantic?”
She smiled, so clearly delighted with the word he used to describe romantic.
Oh but she loved this man’s company. He was smart, funny, unselfconscious, and very easy to know. But who knew in which direction this would go?
“Candles are just candles,” she said, and got up to light them.
He stayed, so she brought a candle into the room, lit it, and set it on an end table. They watched the flickering flame in silence until Annalise said she did not like that fire.
“Charlie Brown likes it. Look at him,” Ben said, shoving the elephant to the top of the end table, where he sat with his polished black eyes gazing across the top of the small orange flame.
CHAPTER 10
EMMA FOUND HERSELF HOPING THE STORM WOULD LAST LONGER THAN IT did, with the cozy atmosphere in the house. Ben’s company helped to keep the children distracted so that they didn’t get too frightened. When the lights came back on, the refrigerator’s hum seemed intrusive, as did the brightness of the television screen.
At twilight, the earth was soft, washed clean with the sluicing rainwater. The air was moist with salt spray, a sharp pungent aroma that delighted her senses. Puddles of water were everywhere, droplets on the railing, dripping off the patio table, small pools on its surface. The dull roar of the ocean seemed a comforting lullaby now, no longer the unsettling crash of mighty waves.
It seemed as if Ben was settled in for the night, comfortably housed in the living room, a child on either side of him, reading the favorite “Babar” book. She slowly slid the door shut, turned, and wondered what the proper procedure was to have an overnight guest that seemingly was self-invited.
He looked up as she entered the room.
“Storm over?” he asked.
“Looks like it.”
“So you were hoping I’d leave, or do you want me to stay over?”
She swallowed, opened her mouth to say, yes, he could leave, but that was not really what she wanted. Her answer was like a piece of food stuck in her throat.
“Yes or no?”
He raised one eyebrow, that lopsided grin playing dangerously with her emotions.
He was impossibly good-looking, impossibly handsome, beguiling her in an unfair way.
When she didn’t answer, he said, “It’s okay. Another storm could come up, so I better stay. What do you think?”
She did not say yes or no, merely shrugged her shoulders.
He took that as a yes, and said, “Good. I’ll be glad to stay.”
They made chocolate milk with Nestlé Nesquik and a large bowl of popcorn, sat around the table and played four games of Candy Land with Brent.
She took the children upstairs for their bath and bedtime while he cleaned up downstairs. She tried to take her time, but found herself impatient, reading the story too fast, watching eagerly for the drooping of their eyelids.
He could sleep in Roger and Kathy’s bed, but he’d need clean sheets, so she carried a stack of neatly folded ones to the downstairs bedroom. She had taken off the heavy comforter and all the pillows when he came into the bedroom in his stocking feet, making no sound.
“Need help?”
She jumped, a hand going to her chest. “You scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to.”
“I got this,” she said.
“Let me get this corner.”
He proceeded to help her stretch the fitted sheet, then the flat one, tucking it along the bottom neatly. They put clean pillowcases on the memory foam pillows, before he stopped, looked at Emma, and laughed.
“We seem just like an old married couple, huh?”
Her face felt like a radiator.
“We’re not, though,” she told him brusquely.
“We should be.”
She shook her head. “The things you say. And here I am, painfully blushing my head off.”
He laughed a full boisterous laugh that put her immediately at ease.
“Don’t worry, Emma. I enjoy teasing you, just to see how long you’ll be effective at treating me like a mosquito.”
He mimicked spraying insect repellant.
She laughed, “No, it’s not that bad.”
“Isn’t it, Emma?”
She looked up from fluffing the last sham, and went cold.
He was looking at her with an expression she could not decipher. The silence in the bedroom was deafening, the air charged with unspoken feelings.
“Emma.”
Then he came around to her side of the bed, his gaze never leaving her face. When he reached her, he lifted both hands to encircle her waist, drawing her slightly, very gently, toward him.
He was so tall, so solid, and so terribly attractive. Here were all the feelings she had ever longed for, and then some. To be carried away like this, given another chance of allowing someone to claim her whole heart, was surely an undeserved blessing. Or another ride down the oiled chute of heartbreak.
Her eyes told him all of this. He read acceptance, desire, attraction, followed by doubt, then real fear.
“It’s okay,
Emma. I’m not going to speed this up before you are ready. I make all these offhand remarks, but in my own heart, I’m not sure I’m capable of actually pursuing a girl. I have never done that. I’m dead serious. I truly have never met a girl I felt about the way I feel now and it’s just as scary for me. I understand you. I do.”
A small tug of his hands on her waist, and she was in his arms, her face scrunched into a sob, her mouth turned downward, her eyes squeezed shut as tears poured from them.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying, rubbing her back as if she were a small child.
Her face was blotchy with tears and the onslaught of remembered pain. Tears spilled from her eyes as she stepped away to reach for a handful of Kleenex from the nightstand. She pushed past him, out of the bedroom and into safer territory, honking into the tissues she held to her nose.
He switched off the lights and followed her to the back door, the large door that was her window to the adjacent house, the sea, and the sky. The place she had spent too much time watching for him, too much time allowing herself the luxury of attraction.
They stood together, in silence. Finally, with a deep breath, Emma spoke.
“I think we’re just a bit over the hill, both of us,” she said. “When we’re young, we’re, I don’t know, innocent? Naïve. Whatever you want to call it. We’re simple when it comes to attraction. Boy meets girl, they like each other, date, get married and live happily ever after. Something like that.”
She would not meet his eyes, but she told him about how she had fallen in love before, how he had married her sister. She spelled it all out, slumping down on a bar stool and staring out the window to avoid his eyes.
He listened, took a deep breath, put his hands in his pockets and looked out of the glass door into the dark night. After a while, she felt his presence behind her before his large hands circled her shoulders.
“Emma. I’m willing to wait, for as long as it takes. I knew from the first day I met you that you were the one.”
Slowly and quietly she said, “I . . . would like to be so sure.”
He gave a small groan, then turned her around, helped her to her feet.
“Look at me, Emma.”
