by Linda Byler
Now he heard the sound of footsteps, saw a face appear in a small window, and then the latch was turned.
“Good evening, Emma.”
“Elmer? What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I’m not sure.”
They both laughed, a pleasant, if nervous sound.
“Well, come in, it’s cold outside.”
She stepped back, opening the door wider, allowing him room to enter. He was tall, with brown hair cut in the style of the Amish, his cheeks flushed with the cold, his brown eyes curious, alert, like a well-trained dog, Emma thought.
“You have a very nice place here.”
“Why thank you. I appreciate that. We put a lot of work into it.”
“I heard. You did another house, right?”
Suddenly she remembered. Dena! She hadn’t thought she was serious. She felt her face flushing, felt the heat suffuse her cheeks before she could turn away.
“Yes, yes. We did. My two brothers and I, and Dena.”
“Looks like they know what they’re doing.”
“You mean . . . ?” She spread an arm to show the interior.
“All of it.”
“Oh, well, it was me,” she laughed. “I designed the inside. Actually, I picked the colors for the outside, too. And for the house we just flipped, I did a lot of the work.”
She didn’t want to boast, but she wasn’t about to let her brothers get all the credit for her hard work.
He smiled. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat.
“So, the reason I came over . . . I would like to ask you to the contractor’s Christmas banquet. I work for Keystone Structures and thought perhaps you’d enjoy it.”
Emma smiled. “You’re supposed to bring a girl, right? If you can find one, that is.”
He smiled back. “Yeah. Sort of like that.”
“Okay. I’ll go with you. Am I there for decoration, or for business purposes? I don’t really need a new contractor—my brothers and I make a good team.”
She sounded ruder than she intended.
“I thought we might enjoy each other’s company,” he said, without a trace of defensiveness.
“Thank you,” she said, more humbly.
“Six o’clock? Friday night the eighteenth.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Sounds good. Have a good night.”
“You, too.”
She closed the door gently, sagged against it, blew out a long, slow breath. She knew it was all Dena’s work, but whatever. It might be fun to go. But she had no heart to make another attempt at romance. Elmer was nice enough, and at this point the fact that he was five years her junior didn’t seem like such a big deal. Somehow, the older you got, the less age seemed to matter. Within reason.
Her sisters planned a day of cookie baking at Ruth’s house, so it was off to the home place to pick up her mother and Dena. The hired driver showed a lack of interest in anything Emma tried to say to him.
“Where to?” were the only words out of his mouth, the unloading of the van left entirely to themselves, the hearty thank you’s received with a grunt.
“I don’t know why you called him,” Dena complained.
“I couldn’t get anybody else. Everyone’s busy at Christmas,” Emma said.
The sisters were already bustling around Ruth’s kitchen, setting out the coffee urn, mugs, an array of breakfast foods.
Esther greeted them warmly, hugged them closely, and fired questions without reserve. Ruth was already flushed, gamely trying to produce a new breakfast quiche, which Dena said was simply a fancy name for eggs slopped into a pie crust, causing Ruth to draw her lips into a firm line before barking some retort in her own defense.
Emma hugged the nieces and nephews, each one so precious, then sat at the table, cradling the six-month-old baby in her arms.
Would she ever have a child of her own? She knew she wanted one, or two or even more, but the possibility of that seemed so remote.
She felt a sickening despair at the thought of next Friday evening. Elmer was a good man—devout, hardworking, safe. He would make someone an excellent husband. But could she make a good wife? Would she be able to love him? These days, she was always telling herself she could accept life as a single girl, especially now that she had her mind and heart occupied with the business of renovating old houses. This was not just a job—it was her new life’s purpose.
But when she held a small child—a warm, squirming baby that cooed and smiled and smelled of Johnson’s baby lotion and that warm, damp smell all babies were born with—she felt the longing to be a mother as strongly as she ever had.
Her thoughts took on the usual prayer. Thy will, Lord, not mine. I don’t know why my life is so filled with bad luck when it comes to romance, but I will place my trust in Thee.
“Earth to Emma. Beep-beep-beep,” Dena said loudly.
“I’m here. Stop saying that. It makes my toes curl.”
“Then stop staring off into space.”
Dena looked around to make sure she had everyone’s full attention, before announcing the upcoming event with Elmer Zook, then basked in the audible gasps of astonishment, the high fives from both sisters.
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect,” Ruth said, setting down a casserole dish containing the flattest French toast Emma had ever seen.
“Why didn’t we ever think of Elmer Zook? They say he owns his own farm already. Milks cows.”
Emma thought of herself tying a bandana around her head, slipping her feet into Muck boots that never were completely free of the rancid odor of cow manure. She thought of bawling calves and their wet tongues that were as strong as an arm, slurping at anything they could find, the flies and the runny bowels called scours and the mud and the rain and the sound of dozens of cloven hooves squishing into the slimy smelly mixture of mud and manure.
She squeaked softly, “Does he milk cows?”
“They say he owns his father’s farm, so it must be his dad does the milking.”
“He must work for this Keystone place, right? Or else he wouldn’t be going to a Christmas banquet,” Emma said, realizing how desperately she did not want to be a farmer’s wife.
“You’re right,” Ruth said. “Alright, everyone, dig in. There’s more coffee brewing, so help yourself.”
They dug in, finding solace in the familiarity of sharing breakfast.
“So, do you know how I got Elmer to ask Emma?” Dena asked, looking around to make sure she had everyone’s undivided attention.
Her mother’s eyes opened wide.
“You mean you had the nerve to set this up?”
“Of course. It was really easy.”
“Tell us.”
Emma endured the embellished account of Dena sidling up to the uninterested Elmer, opening an intelligent conversation about the ongoing house cleanups and remodeling, followed by an account of her older sister’s many professions and lack of ability at procuring a husband.
Mama shook her head, closed her eyes and put both hands over them. Ruth was shocked into a shriek of disbelief, and even the sweet tempered Esther gazed at her openmouthed.
“Sure I did. He’s a nice guy. Sort of flat and boring, but I figure Emma will get a few sparks out of him. He likes me. He gets a kick out of me. I asked him if maybe he had something special going on over Christmas, something he could invite Emma to.”
More shrieks from Ruth and Esther, followed by Mam’s deadpan, “You did not.”
“Why not? Emma obviously needs some help.”
Emma groaned and then laughed. “Well, at any rate, he did show up at my door. He was very polite. I’m sure he’s a very nice, decent man.”
“You’ve had enough of the other kind and it didn’t work out,” Ruth said.
Why did that statement bring out such rebellion? She defended herself with quick words of denial that fell hard, destroying the gentle air of camaraderie between them, leaving everyone to turn to
the children to divert attention from the urge to fight back.
But after a second round of coffee, the tension was soon forgotten and the hour spent around the kitchen table rolled on seamlessly, albeit leaving Emma in an unsettled state of self-doubt.
After the dishes were washed, mixing bowls and measuring cups and bags of flour appeared on the table, chilled cookie dough came out of the fridge, and each person was assigned their own duty as cookie baking began in earnest. Candles sputtered on the windowsills, but there was no snow, only the grayish brown hue of depleted vegetation and the stark outline of trees that appeared naked, shed themselves of all their leaves.
Emma was unwrapping Dove chocolates, ready to imprint them on the top of peanut butter cookies, the dough having been prepared and chilled the day before.
“Why Dove chocolates? They’re expensive. Why not use Hershey’s Kisses?”
“You can stack the cookies.”
“Is that right?”
“Yup.”
“They don’t look Christmassy, though.”
“Sure they do.”
The conversation swirled around the kitchen, a good-humored flavoring of many different views and opinions, freely released, freely taken and regarded.
Whoever had heard of putting dried cranberries and vanilla chips in one cookie, asked Dena? Gross. Walnuts were just the clincher. No one was ever going to convince her that walnuts were made for human beings to consume.
Esther quietly spread the brown-butter frosting on the cranberry cookies and handed one over. Dena bit into it and pronounced it the best thing ever.
When talk circled around to Elmer Zook again, Emma spoke honestly about her misgivings, saying no one could blame her, she’d been through enough heartache.
“He’s nice enough. It’s just that part of me is afraid to try again. And part of me is still expecting that phone call from Matt.”
“What? Don’t you ever give up?” Dena exploded.
“Of course I do.”
“I may be younger, but I’m wiser. It ain’t gonna happen, Emma. Get over it. He’s English now. Why would you ever give up your car for a horse and buggy? I certainly wouldn’t.”
Which of course brought the desired results, everyone laughing and shaking their heads at Dena’s well-seasoned threats that seemed harmless enough at this stage.
“I think this Elmer is the one. I really do.” Esther said.
Mam nodded in agreement, adding the fact that he seemed so conservative, so settled and steady in his beliefs.
“Someday, Emma, you will thank God for a husband who is dedicated to the church, strong in the support of our Amish traditions.”
“My word. Mam, we haven’t even gone on our first date, and it’s not really a date. He simply needed a girl to take to the Christmas dinner.”
“But it will work out. I just have a good feeling about it this time.”
These were the words Emma remembered as she drifted into a dreamless sleep that night.
She sewed a new dress that week out of bright cranberry-red material that brought a humming to her throat as she worked. It was, after all, the Christmas season, her favorite time of the year, so perhaps that in itself was an omen.
Would Elmer Zook be God’s gift to her? Oh, she hoped so. She hoped he would find her attractive, hoped she could fall in love with him. Misgivings fled as she worked, left in an aura of renewed hope and the energy and will for a new start.
She would bury the memory of Ben and Matt as efficiently as she would bury the self-blame and the self-pity. She would be cleaned by the blood of Jesus, forgiven, the slate wiped clean of any mistakes she had made, known or unknown. The faith in her heart sang along with the sound of her sewing machine, the dress turned out well, and the week flew by in a happy aura of newfound hope in her future. The brothers took notice and teased her about the new boyfriend, which made her smile. Somehow, it felt good to be teased about a man.
In her own sweet home, she made a hot cup of peppermint tea, took a long shower, and snuggled up against the dreary cold night with a fleece blanket, good book, and the now unfailing sense that all was well.
God was in His Heaven. He cared about her life, and she was about to embark on a long and blessed journey of discovery.
CHAPTER 23
WHEN THE FRIDAY NIGHT FINALLY ARRIVED, NOTHING STOOD IN THE WAY OF Emma’s anticipation, or the happiness that followed. She felt beautiful in the red dress, pinned the black apron around her waist with confidence, slipped her feet into pretty black slippers and chose her best coat.
When the van pulled up to the small house, Elmer stepped up on the porch to walk her to the vehicle, and her heart was full. He was tall, she noticed, which was a good thing.
The van was filled with other Amish people, some who were good friends, others merely acquaintances from other church districts in Crawford County.
There were good-natured calls that bordered on teasing, which they both met with smiles or laughter, and all too soon were pulling into the parking lot of the banquet facility called “The Beacon.”
Elmer stayed with her, following the group into the building.
“I often wondered about this place,” Emma commented.
“So tonight you’ll find out, right?” Elmer remarked.
“I guess.”
She shrugged out of her coat without his assistance, then turned to hang it on a hanger alongside his. She smiled up at him, took a deep breath, and prepared to face the crowd.
He had nice eyes, and a nice smile. His shirt was an electric shade of green, but it didn’t look bad on him. Anyway, all that was superficial, vain. This time she would get it right.
They were seated with his coworkers, some married Amish couples, some unmarried young men with bored or shy young women at their sides. Emma found it easy to make small talk with Elmer, liked the way he gave her his full attention.
The owner of Keystone construction spoke a few words, a prayer followed, and directions were given on where to fill their plates. The adjoining room had long rows of steaming tables with heavy ironstone plates stacked on either side, so many different foods all creating a delicious holiday aroma. Emma followed Elmer, pushing back the bit of annoyance that he hadn’t allowed her to go first, and retained her sense of optimism, the feeling that all was going to be in her favor, now and forever.
She thought of Elmer and Emma, Two E’s, like Eva and Elvin. Another good sign.
She lifted a large stainless steel spoon, dug into the vat of mashed potatoes, and felt a hand at her elbow, a voice in her ear.
“Hello, Emma.”
She turned slowly, still gripping the spoon with mashed potatoes, to find none other than Matt Yoder’s honey colored eyes much too close to her own.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out of it. She was covered in chills, as if a wintry blast had kicked the door open. A tingling began in her arms, her hands went lifeless, which resulted in the clattering of spoon and mashed potatoes onto the ceramic floor, followed by the crash of the heavy ironstone plate that broke into dozens of pieces.
She felt the color leave her face, felt sick and weak and dizzy. She endured the gasps and stares, Elmer’s concern and kindness, but could not take her eyes away from the gladness in the liquid warm gold of Matt’s.
She finally managed to step away, whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Elmer stepped in, asked if she was okay. She smiled weakly, nodded her head, apologized for being clumsy. He assured her she was fine, accidents happen, but she hardly heard him. Matt was here, in this same room. He was wearing black trousers with a forest green shirt with black suspenders, his face clean-shaven, the glistening black curls cut neatly.
As she stooped down to pick up the pieces, so did Matt, their heads nearly touching. “I need to talk to you,” he whispered, and she nodded. But then Elmer seemed to realize he should be helping too, and effectively shooed Matt away as he grabbed the last pieces of broken plate.
Emma watch
ed Matt move to the opposite side of the room, then filled her plate absentmindedly and returned to her table. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Elmer asked again, and she nodded, fighting her emotion bravely, until it simply wasn’t possible, then excused herself and fled to the safety of a restroom stall, where she bowed her head and wept silently into a scrunched-up wad of toilet paper. She sobbed sloppily a fresh supply until she shuddered, wiped her eyes, and stopped.
What was this? What are you doing, Lord? Tormenting me with Matt when he is likely here with his new girl and I am still hopelessly, and yes, irretrievably in love with him?
Why is he dressed in Amish clothes? Dear God, he told me the sacrifice was too much. I’ll accept my past failures, Lord, I’ll marry good level-headed Elmer, but please don’t punish me with Matt’s presence.
I can’t take it. I can’t take it. I love him even more than I ever have.
She patted her face with paper towels saturated with cold water, applied another light dusting of face powder, steadied herself with deep breathing, hoping no one in the adjoining stalls would hear, then made her way back to the table, feeling as if every pair of eyes were darts that found their way into her pride, effectively reducing it to a limp balloon. She tried to see where Matt had gone, but he seemed to have disappeared.
Somehow, she got through dinner. She ate enough to keep up her manners, made small talk with Elmer, managed to smile.
The owner rose to his feet. Announcements were made. The employee of the year was applauded. Bonuses were handed out. It was announced that Matt Yoder, an employee of fifteen years, would be stepping down from his position as truck driver due to his unusual return to his Amish people, a move highly respected by the company. He would head the new division of hardscaping and decks. Jeff Atkins would be his driver.
Emma sat like stone, her mouth gone dry, her pulse fluttering in her throat. She supposed one could die of shock, couldn’t they? She felt an urge to get away, run from the room as fast as possible, but had no strength to carry it out.
The remainder of the evening passed in a painful haze of suppressed emotion, frightened, fluttering hope that was as uncertain and unsafe as a new hatchling. She wavered from joyful anticipation to life depleting despair.
