by Emma Miller
She looked away.
“I also need to try to explain how it was. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, but looking back, I think I was too young to get married. We were too young. I thought I was ready, but as the day of our marriage got closer, I began to have doubts.”
“About me,” she said quietly. “Whether I was the right one.”
“Ne. Never.” He took her hand. “It was always about me. At the time, I wasn’t positive I could live the Amish life. If I had the faith. Honor, I didn’t know if I had the strength to be the kind of husband you deserved.” He squeezed her hand. “I never doubted my faith in God, but I wondered if we were clinging to old ways too long when the rest of the world had moved on. And when it came time to go to the wedding that morning, I just couldn’t...” His voice cracked and his eyes teared up. “I couldn’t do it.”
She raised her head and looked at him. He was afraid of what he would see in her eyes; he hadn’t dared to hope for the sympathy, the compassion he found there.
“We were young,” she said. “Me, especially. I had no idea what being a wife really meant. Not until I married Silas and found out.” She gave him her other hand, and they sat there for a few seconds, not speaking, just feeling the warmth and security of each others’ hands. “Thinking, back, I wonder if we’d just—”
The door at the top of the cellar steps abruptly slammed shut, interrupting her. Then they heard the latch slide into place and the sound of a child’s laughter.
Luke got to his feet. “What’s going on?”
“Justice would be my guess,” Honor said, sounding amused.
Luke reached the top of the steps and tried the door. “Locked.” He banged on the door. “Hey!” he called. “Let us... Let me out!” He glanced down at Honor. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.” She pressed her lips together. “Unless I miss my guess, my little troublemaker is at it again.”
He chuckled. “When you think about it, it is pretty funny.”
She flashed him a smile so full of life and hope that it nearly brought tears to his eyes, a smile he’d been praying for all these years.
“I suppose it is,” she agreed. “At least, it will be if someone lets us out before we become the scandal of the county.”
“Right.” He turned back to the door and rapped sharply. Seconds later, he was rewarded by the click of the latch and Sara’s face in the doorway.
“I asked you to bring up cider,” Sara said smoothly. “Not to lock yourselves in.” She peered down to see Honor picking up the pitchers of cider and bringing them up the stairs. “Hurry along. We’re just sitting down to the tables, and you don’t want to miss silent prayer.”
Luke met Honor halfway and took both pitchers from her. As they passed from hand to hand, he met her gaze. There was a twinkling in her eyes that made him think he might have accomplished what he hoped to today. Now that she was ready to forgive him, he was ready to bring up the possibility of courting. But not today. Today, he’d have to be content with the memory of the feel of her hand in his and her beautiful smile.
* * *
There was a last-minute flurry of activity before the sit-down meal: babies reunited with their mothers, preschool children seated at small tables with teenage girls to assist them, older boys separated from their sisters and cousins, and the best seats found for the elders. Satisfied that her little ones were all cared for and didn’t need her, Honor allowed Rebecca to usher her to a table of young women near the kitchen. Honor had offered to help with serving, but Sara refused her.
“All the food is on the tables,” Sara had answered. “Plates have been fixed for the toddlers and Grossmama Yoder. The rest can help themselves. Now, you just sit, eat and enjoy.”
Rebecca’s husband, Caleb, called for grace, and everyone hushed their chattering and lowered their heads. He didn’t deliver a prayer, but he said a few words of welcome on Sara’s behalf, reminding the guests of the significance of Epiphany after everyone had kept the traditional moments of silence. “Sara is so pleased that you could all be here to share Old Christmas with her,” the young preacher concluded. “Now, let’s give credit to the cooks and this good food, and eat.”
As plates of turkey, roast pork, beef, bread and vegetables were passed around, Honor couldn’t help but notice that Luke was seated on the end of the younger men’s table, facing her. Rebecca, seated beside her, kept up a lively discourse with her half sister, Grace, another sister Leah, and their cousin Addy. Honor knew Addy because she was Aunt Martha’s daughter, and Addy and her husband owned a butcher shop in Dover. Addy was expecting another baby sometime soon, and Honor had seen Aunt Martha fussing over her.
“It’s not like this is your first,” Rebecca said to Addy. “You had no problems giving birth once before, and look at Honor here. She’s had four and is none the worse for wear.”
“Ya, I know, I know. It’s not me who’s worried,” Addy replied. “It’s my mother. I’m sure it’s because I’m her only daughter. But then, Gideon is nearly as bad. The other day, he was fussing because I carried in a tray of scrapple. Honestly, I feel fine, and my midwife says everything looks perfectly normal.”
Honor took a forkful of mashed potatoes, glanced up and met Luke’s gaze. He smiled at her, and she averted her eyes, but not before she smiled back at him. Talking to him in the cellar had been nice. As much as she’d told him that she didn’t want to discuss their breakup, it had made her feel better to hear him admit that it had been his fault.
She took a sip of cider and toyed with her coleslaw, turning her fork around and around and staring at her plate. In all fairness, she had been the one who pressed him for the wedding. She should have known that he wasn’t as enthusiastic as she was about marrying, even after he’d agreed. He’d even suggested they wait another year while he worked and saved more money. But she had been young and immature and had insisted, because she’d been infatuated by the idea of being a wife. She’d wanted to be able to call herself Luke’s wife, but looking back, she realized that she’d had no idea what the role really meant. She’d wanted to marry him, and she’d wanted to do it that fall, not the next. So she had to accept some of the fault.
“Honor?” Grace held a saltshaker in her hand. “Could you pass this to Violet, please?”
“Atch, of course.” Honor realized that she’d been lost in her own thoughts. She made an effort to pay closer attention to her tablemates and resolved not to keep stealing peeks at Luke. What if someone noticed? They might get the wrong idea. Making her peace with what had happened between her and Luke was one thing. It certainly didn’t mean that she was interested in him. She didn’t want to invite curiosity. Bad enough that Sara might have some notion of matching the two of them. Sara, she could deal with. But she didn’t want to encourage Luke to think that he had a chance with her, because he didn’t. Absolutely not. It was impossible. End of subject.
But not the end of the repercussions of her time alone with him in the cellar.
When the meal was finished and being cleared away, Aunt Martha cornered Honor and insisted she step into Sara’s office so that they could talk without being overheard.
“I really need to pack up the children,” Honor protested. “Baby Anke—”
Martha cut her off. “Your Anke is fine. Greta has her. What’s the girl for if not to take some of the load off you? I’ve told my son-in-law—my Dorcas needs a girl to help her.”
Honor nodded. When Aunt Martha said Dorcas, she meant Addy. Apparently, when Addy had met her husband-to-be, he preferred her middle name, so she’d asked everyone to call her Addy instead of Dorcas. Most people had, other than her mother. But then, Aunt Martha rarely did what people asked her. She had her own mind that was pretty much set in concrete on how things should be done.
Aunt Martha latched onto Honor’s arm and clung to her elbow with a death grip. For a woman in her sixt
ies, she was surprisingly strong. Tall and gaunt, with a sharp nose, recessed eyes and bony chin, Martha may have looked frail, but she was far from it. “You just come in here,” she insisted. “Sara won’t mind. You need to hear this. It’s my duty as your mother’s friend to tell you what people are saying.”
Honor glanced around the room, caught sight of Sara and grimaced in a silent plea for help. Sara chuckled and threw up her hands as if to say, “You’re on your own.” Seeing her last hope of escape fading, and not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary Honor allowed the older woman to tug her into the office.
Once inside, Martha twisted around and used one hip to shut the door before planting herself solidly in front of it. From inside her voluminous skirt pocket she produced a much-folded and wrinkled sheet of newspaper and waved it in the air. “You haven’t seen this, have you? I know you haven’t. You’re much too smart to ignore something like this.”
Honor reached for the paper, but Aunt Martha pulled it back. “Shocking, really,” she pronounced. “Although, considering the source, I don’t suppose any of us should be surprised. What Sara can be thinking of, I’m sure I don’t know. I thought she had more sense of decorum. Of course, she’s not really a Yoder, you know. Just a Yoder by marriage. Her family doesn’t have a lot of goot German stock, not like the Yoders.”
Honor thought she recognized the paper in Honor’s hand as being part of the Delaware State News. “There’s an article about Sara?” she asked.
Martha’s mouth drew into a small pucker before she launched into another harangue. “Sara? Why ever would you think it was Sara? I’ve no bone to pick with Sara—other than her dubious choices in young men to marry off to our girls.” She huffed. “Ne, not Sara. Luke. Luke Weaver.”
Honor’s brows knit. “The article is about Luke?”
Martha rested a hand on her hip as one shoe tapped the hardwood floor impatiently. “Honestly, Honor. Are you paying attention at all? Naturally, he wanted to keep it a secret. We take the paper. My Reuben always reads the paper after breakfast. And I’d used it to line the bottom of my egg basket, just as I always do. But then my Dorcas came by to get some extra eggs. She wanted to make a pound cake for Gideon. Dorcas makes the loveliest cakes. Anyway, she used up the last of the eggs, and then she saw it.” Triumphantly, Martha held out the page. “There he is. Mystery cowboy, my eye. That’s Luke Weaver. Dorcas recognized him right off. See for yourself.” She pushed the news sheet at Honor.
Honor took it, went to Sara’s desk and spread the page out, taking care to smooth the wrinkles. “It says this man saved the other passengers and the driver when the bus went into the water. The paper calls him a hero.”
“The photograph. That’s the real sin. And him probably bragging about his deeds and trying to take credit.” Martha scoffed. “Probably exaggerated. That’s what the Englisher do in their news. Everything is made to be bigger and worse than it is. Don’t you remember when those two ducks got run over on Route One? The paper that day read Doomsday for Local Wildlife!”
Honor reread the news story and then scrutinized the photo. There was no doubt in her mind. The picture was of Luke, but where the Englishers had gotten the idea that he was a cowboy, she had no clue. “Surely, saving all those people is a good thing,” she ventured.
Martha looked unconvinced. “You should never have let him do that work on your house. Not after what he did. Not him being what he is.”
“And what is he?” Honor asked. Everyone in Seven Poplars knew that Martha often had her own interpretation of events and sometimes facts. One was wise to take what she said with a grain of salt. Still, that was Luke’s photo, so there was some truth to the event.
“A deceiver.” Aunt Martha waggled her finger. “A man whose word can’t be trusted. And a man who enjoys being made a fuss over.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Luke I know,” Honor said.
“Make no graven image. That’s what the Bible tells us,” Martha continued, ignoring Honor’s comment. “And that.” She pointed at the news page. “That is a graven image.”
Honor considered the photo. Luke looked wet; the brim of his hat was drooping. But even as bedraggled as he was, he still looked pretty fine. “Maybe he couldn’t help it. Maybe the English just took his picture without asking. It happens. Remember the Beachy twins at Spence’s Auction last summer?”
Aunt Martha’s eyes when round. “You aren’t considering courting one of the Beachy twins!”
Honor was suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m not courting... Luke and I aren’t...” she began, and then added, “Luke’s just doing carpentry work for me.”
“I wouldn’t let him set one foot on my farm, if I were you,” Martha warned. “After he shamed you by leaving you on the day of your wedding. Shamed your family. All that creamed celery that we spent days preparing. I can tell you, it was a long time before your mother could hold up her head at quilting bees.”
“I didn’t know about this,” Honor said as she glanced down at the news story. “He didn’t say anything.”
“And would he? He’s sneaky, that’s what he is. Luke Weaver is a sneak. No proper match for you. Your mother would turn over in her grave, you courting him again.”
“But I’m not courting Luke.”
Martha folded her arms. “Thank Providence for that. No telling what further trouble and shame I’ve saved you.”
Honor folded the paper and handed it back to Martha, but the older woman shook her head.
“Ne, best you keep it. Show it to him. See what he has to say for himself.” She reached for the door handle. “And while you’re at it, ask him about his brother.”
“What about his brother?” She knew that Luke had at least one older half brother, but she’d never met him.
“A lot he keeps hidden, I’d say. And everyone knows about that brother. He left the Amish to go to Nashville. A singer.” She nodded to emphasize her words. “With one of those country-and-western bands. Maybe he’s the one who lured Luke into pretending to be a cowboy.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” Honor protested weakly. “I’m sure there’s some mix-up...a mistake.”
“Oh, there’s a mistake, all right,” Martha said. “It was when Sara Yoder brought Luke Weaver to your house.” She yanked open the door. “And now it’s up to you to send him packing.”
Chapter Seven
It was late when families finally set aside their game boards and loaded sleepy children and the elderly into buggies. Greta had found a new friend, Zipporah King, a cousin to Susanna Yoder’s husband, who had recently moved to the area. Zipporah and Greta were the same age and shared many of the same interests. When Greta had begged to have Zipporah come home to spend the night, Honor was pleased. Freckle-faced and giggly, Zipporah seemed just the remedy for Greta’s homesickness.
“I’m seeing you all safely home,” Luke had said firmly. “This is no hour for women and children to be on the road and going into an empty house alone.”
With so many chaperones, Honor felt it was only sensible to accept his offer. Despite her concern over the newspaper article and Aunt Martha’s warnings against Luke, Honor hadn’t been looking forward to entering the dark farmhouse. For safety’s sake, she’d left a battery-powered lamp on, but there would be the gloomy barn to face when she put away the horse.
As often as Silas had made her grit her teeth and pray for patience, she missed his solid presence and his protection. It might be a foolish fear for a woman grown with a flock of children, but she’d always been a little afraid of the dark.
As they turned out of Sara’s long driveway and onto the road, it began to snow again. A thin, pale covering of snowflakes frosted the road and the dried grass on either side.
“This is nasty weather,” Honor said. “I hate to think of you walking back to the mill in this. Maybe we should drop you off and then
go the rest of the way on our own.”
“Ne.” Luke shook his head, closing his gloved hands more tightly on the reins. “I’ll see you inside with heat and light before I leave.”
Honor felt a small twinge of relief. She’d tried. If he had to walk two miles home, it was on him. “You could take the horse,” she suggested. “And the buggy.”
“I could,” Luke agreed with a slight nod. “We’ll see what it’s like after we get you and the children settled. We had a lot of snow in Kansas. Far more than this. And tonight is hardly a blizzard. It’s barely freezing.”
It felt colder to Honor. It was good to snuggle down under the blanket and let Luke drive the horse. Anke was already fast asleep, and Honor could feel her daughter’s warm breath on her cheek. For once she felt calm and all seemed right in the world. Honor rocked her baby and uttered a silent prayer for this precious child and the others murmuring in the back of the buggy. How she loved her children. Until she became a mother, she’d not really known what love was. She would do anything to protect them, make any sacrifice.
Ahead of them was Samuel Mast’s buggy, and behind them were some of the large Beachy family. More than a dozen buggies rolled and bumped down Sara’s driveway and then separated to continue on home. There were no cars in sight. It was close to midnight, far too late for the children to be awake, but everyone had been having such a wonderful time at Sara’s party that no one had wanted to be the first to leave. Tomorrow, for those who had church services in their districts, there would be yawns and sleepy eyes, but good memories. After all, Epiphany came but once a year.
“Let’s sing, shall we?” Luke said. And then to her, quietly, he said, “If we can keep the children awake until we get them home, they should be easier for you to get into bed.”
