Wife on His Doorstep

by Patricia Johns

  “Do you think you might try again to make it work with her?” Thomas pressed.

  “No.” Amos shook his head. These men were both young, and they’d married women who were well-matched to them.

  “She came back, though,” Noah said. “She could have left again if she didn’t care.”

  “I think she does care,” Amos admitted. “She wouldn’t have agreed to stay and help Mammi if she didn’t, but it doesn’t change the complications between us. I tried to fix things a year after she left. I wrote her some letters, and I went to speak with her father.”

  “And?” Noah asked.

  “And...it didn’t go well. Her father thought I was beneath Miriam and he said that he’d encourage her to go back to me if I could prove I was a better provider than I’d been,” Amos said.

  “A better provider.” Thomas’s lips turned down.

  “I had the carpentry shop, and I was building it up,” Amos said. “That wasn’t enough for a Schwartz, it seems.”

  “Did Miriam know what he said?” Noah asked.

  “I told her. She defended her father. Even when that man was fully in the wrong, she would defend him and insist that I respect him. I couldn’t keep fighting and pushing for something that would never work. I told her if she wanted to come home, she knew where I was. She never came.”

  “Until now,” Noah said softly.

  “She came for some papers,” Amos said with a shake of his head. “Not for me. It was Mammi who asked her to stay. We know where we stand, Miriam and me, and we don’t need to keep breaking our hearts afresh every decade.”

  The men fell silent. Amos didn’t have any reassurances to give to Thomas and Noah.

  “You two married the right women,” Amos said. “I made mistakes, and so did Miriam. But you two can learn from us, and love your wives well. Don’t let bitterness take root in your marriages—do whatever you can to keep things sweet between you.”

  “It’s good advice,” Thomas said quietly, and they all seemed to sink into their own thoughts.

  Patience was the first one to come back into the kitchen with Rue at her side. Patience slid a hand into the crook of Thomas’s arm and the couple exchanged a sad look.

  “We’d best get home,” Thomas said, and he shook hands with Amos and then Noah. “Rue here needs her bed.”

  As if on cue, Rue’s mouth cracked open in a big yawn and she rubbed her eyes.

  “Yah, of course,” Amos replied.

  “I’ll go get our buggy hitched, too,” Noah said. “Are you okay tonight, Amos?”

  “Yah, I’m fine,” Amos said. “The doctor gave Mammi pills to help her sleep, and Miriam is here, so...”

  Noah and Thomas both looked toward Amos at mention of his wife, but this time there was just sad acknowledgment. The best of intentions weren’t always enough.

  * * *

  When the buggies were hitched, Amos watched as they made their way out into the evening dusk, their headlamps bouncing as they went over some bumps and headed up to the main road. Noah and Thomas would be fine—they had wives to comfort them, and kinner to remind them of the next generation. This difficult time would be a little gentler for them because of the women at their sides.

  “Are you okay?” Miriam asked, and it jolted him out of his reverie.

  “Yah.” He nodded.

  “Mammi’s sleeping now,” Miriam said. “She seems comfortable.”

  Amos looked down at Miriam and let his gaze move over her face. He wanted to remember her like this—when she’d stayed for a little while to help them.

  “Thank you for this,” he said. “I’m not sure how I’d be dealing with this without you.”

  “Someone else would be here—a family member from Ohio, one of those women who were here tonight, perhaps.”

  “Still, it was you who was here, and I’m grateful,” he said.

  Miriam smiled at that. “You’re welcome.”

  She passed him and headed to the counter. She began piling up dishes, and Amos joined her. They started the water in the sink, and Amos got a dish towel to dry while she washed.

  “People are going to talk now that I’m here,” Miriam said.

  “Yah,” he agreed. “They already are.”

  “Oh?” She glanced up at him, and he noticed the wariness in her eyes.

  “Mostly they want to know why we aren’t together,” he said. “They like you.”

  She rinsed a bowl and handed it to him. “What did you tell them?”

  “That we’ve gone through all of this before, and we don’t need to do it again every decade,” he replied.

  “I like that.” She cast him a tired smile. “That’s a good answer.”

  “Do you still not want kinner, Miriam?” he asked. “Even at this age, when we don’t have much time left to make it happen?”

  Miriam sighed. “I’ve seen specialists. I was having some medical issues, and they were connected. I asked about the likelihood of me suffering from the same problem my mother and sister did—it was curiosity mostly. They said they recommended that I not get pregnant. That wasn’t a problem. I wasn’t with my husband, anyway, was I?”

  She rinsed another bowl, then a plate, and piled them on the dish rack next to him.

  “So you were right in being scared when we got married,” he said.

  “Yah.”

  Amos was silent. He’d spent a great deal of time and energy trying to convince her that she didn’t need to worry and that they should start their family. He’d been so sure that he’d been right, too. Apparently, that had been foolish on his part.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I don’t think I took it seriously.”

  Miriam shook her head. “It’s fine.”

  But was it? If he’d reacted differently, would they have found a way to stay together? He’d been so sure that she was just overreacting to a family tragedy. He’d known he should have taken her more seriously in general—at least, that was the conclusion he’d come to over the years. When a woman said she wasn’t happy, a man should take that as seriously as a fire alarm.

  “If I hadn’t pressured you to start a family—” he started.

  “Don’t do that to yourself, Amos,” Miriam said. “This wasn’t about kinner. We could have found a way to adopt—you certainly did.”

  “Then what was it about?” he asked.

  “We’re very different, you and me. And I didn’t realize how different when we got married. I mean, would you have really wanted me involved in Redemption Carpentry?”

  “I built up that business from nothing,” Amos said. “I started it in my shed in the evenings while I worked a day job at a factory. I worked until I could barely stand some nights, getting a job done so that I could keep my reputation. I didn’t need help, or advice. I didn’t need you reporting back to your daet to have him judge me from Edson.”

  Miriam nodded, but didn’t answer.

  “Are you saying you wanted to help out at the business?” Amos asked. “That would have made you happy?”

  Miriam turned and fixed her gaze on him. “I’d have liked to be the manager.”

  Of his shop. She gave him a rueful smile.

  “Right now, I have a strip mall to lease out and plans for a business to start up,” Miriam went on. “I won’t have to ask permission to run it as I will, and that makes me happy. I’m my father’s daughter, Amos. I have business in my blood, and I want to see what I can do when I’m not being held back by well-meaning men.”

  “Like me,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Maybe. And like my brother.”

  “You think you’ll do better than your brother?” he asked.

  “I know it.” She didn’t sound like she was bragging, either, just factual.

  “Your father seemed to want you to take on a more fem
inine role,” he countered. “Why else would he not give you any more in the will?”

  “I agree,” she said, and rinsed another dish, then pulled a fresh pile of dirty dishes into the sink. “He did seem to want that. But I don’t.”

  Amos sighed and took another dish to dry.

  “So stop beating yourself up about all those years ago,” she said, and she smiled over at him. “Even if you’d been a little more sensitive back then, I’d still have driven you crazy.”

  “Is that supposed to comfort me?” He chuckled.

  “Yes,” she said, and she smiled. “Oh, Amos. We’re ten years older, ten years wiser, and life hasn’t gotten any simpler, has it?”

  “It doesn’t seem like it,” he agreed.

  “If I had met you under different circumstances, I think you and I might have been friends,” she said.

  “You think?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Actual friends,” she said. “No threat of marriage on any horizon. I think we might have debated things and disagreed and stomped off...and still respected the other’s opinion. Maybe if we had neighboring shops or something.”

  “Would you have married a different kind of man?” he asked.

  A richer man was what he meant. A more successful man.

  “Me?” She laughed softly. “I wouldn’t have been marriageable anymore, Amos. I refuse to have kinner, and I’m too stubborn in everything else. No, I would have stayed single.” She glanced up at him. “You would have married, though.”

  Miriam was right. He would have. He’d have found a sweet woman who wanted babies and family and faith...and he would have loved her dearly for all of his life, and been grateful for the home he went back to every day. And the deeply ironic thing is that even if he’d married a different woman who would have made him happier, he would have thought back about the serious daughter of that Amish businessman and remembered the depth in those dark eyes... Even if he’d never married Miriam, she would have been in his head.

  Miriam rinsed the last dish and handed it to him, then pulled the plug and dried her hands.

  “Let me show you to your room,” Amos said.

  What they might have done no longer mattered. They’d locked themselves into this marriage, and no amount of what-ifs made any difference at all.

  * * *

  The next morning, Miriam stood at the kitchen counter with individual containers of hot stew in front of her. Amos had left early for work since he’d wanted to finish up a project, and he’d eaten a small breakfast with the promise that Miriam would bring them a hot lunch later in the courting buggy Amos kept for Mammi’s use. She and Amos would also take the opportunity to go to the bank’s safe-deposit box and check for those documents. She’d feel better when they were in her possession once more.

  She was already feeling rather domestic in her duties here at the house, but her mind kept skipping ahead to the carpentry shop. She was curious about it—the kind of business Amos had built for himself.

  “How well does the shop do?” Miriam asked Mammi, who was seated in her comfortable chair pulled up next to the window.

  “I wouldn’t know exactly,” Mammi replied. “Amos doesn’t tell me those things.”

  “Right...” He wouldn’t. That was the men’s world, and they took care of those burdens alone. “But the business has a good reputation around town?”

  “The best,” Mammi replied. “Those men are very skilled. Amos made all the furniture in this home.”

  Miriam smiled. “Yah. I remember. Just before we married.”

  “That’s right,” Mammi said. “Amos’s shop is known for their beautiful work. You should be proud of that.” Mammi cast her a meaningful look.

  “It isn’t my work to be proud of,” Miriam replied. She knew what Mammi was getting at—trying to give her a personal connection here. It wasn’t so simple to patch things up, though.

  “Where do they advertise their business?” Miriam asked. “On the local radio? In magazines?”

  “They don’t. They hardly need to,” Mammi said. “Besides, most Amish people around here don’t trust ads. They trust friends and family. That’s how you spread the word—let it go naturally.”

  That didn’t apply to the Englishers, though—how could they hear about the shop if there were no ads? Englishers would travel for an Amish-run shop that delivered quality goods. But it wasn’t her business—literally or figuratively.

  Miriam dropped her gaze. “As long as the business is doing well. That’s all that matters.”

  “Well...” Mammi paused, seeming to measure her words. “I do worry sometimes...”

  “About what?” Miriam asked.

  “I mentioned those customers that are giving Amos trouble about paying,” Mammi said. “Most people are honest and willing to pay the agreed price, but some aren’t.” Mammi lifted her gaze. “Some push and pressure and complain so much that a decent man like Amos, who is dealing with a sick grandmother, might just give in.”

  Mammi stared at Miriam hopefully, and Miriam met her gaze, frowning. Mammi had apparently picked up more than she wanted to readily admit. The men’s responsibilities might not be the women’s business, but everyone was affected by them.

  “What’s going on?” Miriam said.

  Mammi sighed. “I shouldn’t meddle. I know that.”

  “But it’s bothering you, all the same,” Miriam said gently.

  “The order they’re working so hard to complete today—that is the one that hasn’t been paid in full, and the customer was late in getting them the down payment,” Mammi said. “Amos has been particularly worried about it. I overheard him talking to the boys—sorry, Noah and Thomas—and they all agreed it was a problem. It’s a big enough order that if they don’t get paid, they can’t pay back some of their own creditors.”

  “How big is the order?” Miriam asked.

  The number that Mammi said made Miriam suck in her breath.

  “And you think they won’t pay?” Miriam asked.

  “Amos thinks so,” Mammi replied. “Me? I just listen to them talk. But with my illness, I’m not sure Amos is at his best. If they don’t get paid for this one, it’ll be hard for Amos. Very hard. I know this isn’t what matters at a time like this—money certainly isn’t a faithful person’s priority—but Amos has worked too hard to have his business driven under by unprincipled people. I’ll be with Gott, but he has to face the coming months. He’s a man with ideals, and he lives by them...but I worry.”

  “What would I do about it?” Miriam asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mammi said, and she shrugged weakly. “Maybe nothing. But could you perhaps pray on it while you’re driving out to deliver their lunch?”

  * * *

  Miriam took the courting buggy down the still-familiar roads that led to the town of Redemption. The afternoon was warm, and Miriam couldn’t help but enjoy the grass-scented breeze. Bees buzzed around the wildflowers that grew up in the ditches at either side of the road, and beyond the barbed-wire fences, cows grazed and looked up at her passing buggy with large, liquid eyes.

  Mammi had asked her to pray...

  Lord, I feel like I haven’t prayed enough to ask for Your guidance. I came out here to find the documents, and I didn’t even bother asking what You thought of it. And now I feel like I’m getting entangled in Amos’s life all over again, and I can’t tell if I’ll only make things worse.

  Because when she left the first time, she’d ripped both of their hearts to shreds, and she’d promised herself she’d never do that again. Whatever they’d hoped marriage would be, they’d both been wrong. But in her own defense, she’d gotten a lot of advice from older married women telling her that if she just followed expectations, all would be well. A good man—any good man—would be a good husband, she’d been told.

  Just don’t nag him.

 
That little piece of advice had come from a very happily married aunt, and it had turned out to be the most difficult to follow. Was it nagging to tell him her opinion about things? Was it nagging to point out what she’d learned from growing up with an entrepreneur father? Was it nagging to mention when he could save some money, or take advantage of a deal? Even if it wasn’t, that never seemed to do well for their relationship. Amos had been sensitive about his shop and about her father’s opinions about him, and if she had to be honest, Daet had been rather terse and curt. But he was like that with everyone—and they’d respected his words because he was a man who knew what he was talking about.

  Except for Amos. Amos had taken everything so personally, and he seemed to expect things from Daet that others didn’t. And from her, too...

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better wife, Lord,” she prayed aloud. “But maybe I can help him now...in his time of sorrow. Maybe You can use me to ease his burdens a little bit, and maybe make up for not enough praying before I married him.”

  Because if she’d prayed hard back then and listened intently, God would have found a way to show her that this marriage wasn’t His will. She was sure of it.

  The town of Redemption had grown since she’d last lived here, and there were more Englisher tourists than she remembered, too. A group of women stopped on the sidewalk and took a picture of her passing buggy. She smiled and nodded at them, and they beamed back at her. If Edson could draw in more of the tourists, she could make use of this amount of passing foot traffic on a sidewalk...

  But this wasn’t about her, it was about Amos. Her own business plans could wait until she got back with her documents. Maybe Gott had brought her to Redemption for a reason... Maybe he needed her for a little while more than he realized.