Amos was silent for a moment, and then he added, “I’ve done well with my business, I’ll have you know.”
He needed her to know this—that he wasn’t some floundering fool, no matter how those unprincipled Englishers had made him look. He might not be the man to make her happy, but he was a man.
“Hmm?” Miriam’s mind must have been elsewhere, because she looked over at him, mildly confused.
“I did well with my business,” he said. “Since you left here, I’ve built up a three-carpenter operation. I’m well respected, and I pay my employees well. I believe in that, too—making sure Noah and Thomas can support their families on one job. I don’t want them to have to look for work on their evenings in order to make ends meet.”
“That’s really good,” she said with a gentle smile.
And he felt like a fool for even mentioning it.
* * *
Miriam’s mind was on those documents as she made her way back to the buggy parking lot. If she couldn’t find the document that signed that piece of property over to her, she would be Amos’s problem. That hadn’t been a joke earlier. Japheth had the official sales documents from when their father acquired the commercial property, and there were no copies of the papers that signed it over to her.
Was this her father’s plan to send her back to Amos, after all? It didn’t seem likely. Daet had been frustrated with her choice in husband. He might have liked Amos more if he’d been more deferential to Daet. But Amos was a man who stood tall—he was respectful, but he didn’t take advice easily, and he didn’t seem overly impressed with Daet’s accomplishments.
Not that Daet had wanted Amos to be in awe of him exactly. But Amos could have tried harder to win him over. Instead, Amos had simply gone about building his business the way he wanted to. With Daet’s advice, that carpentry shop could be three shops by now. But whenever Miriam had suggested that her father might have some ideas to help him, Amos would freeze up and refuse to hear her.
Miriam reached the buggy and stroked the gelding as she came up toward his head to remove the feed bag. She walked him to the water trough to let him drink before the ride home and waited as he did so.
“Miriam Lapp?”
Miriam turned to see a woman shading her eyes. She stood just behind the fabric shop, then she waved. It was Fannie Mast, one of Miriam’s friends from that first year of marriage. She wished she could just duck out of sight, but she’d been spotted now. Miriam waved back.
Fannie headed in her direction, walking quickly with a smile on her face.
“Miriam!” she said as she arrived and enclosed her in a hug. “You’re back! Praise Gott! We’ve all been praying for you and Amos to reconcile, and I have to say, my faith had gotten weak on the subject—”
“It’s good to see you, Fannie,” Miriam said.
“When did this happen?” Fannie asked, shaking her head.
“It...hasn’t,” Miriam said with a wince. “I’m here to find some paperwork, and I’m staying long enough to help Mary in her time of need.”
“What time of need?” Fannie frowned. “Is she all right?”
“She’s dying,” Miriam said softly. “She doesn’t have much time, and she asked me to help her until...until...”
Fannie’s eyes misted with tears.
“Oh...” Fannie breathed. “I had no idea...”
For the next few minutes, they talked about Mammi’s illness and all the sadness that came along with it. Mary Lapp was a beloved member of the community, and everyone would want to help her, including Fannie.
“So you aren’t home to reconcile?” Fannie said softly.
“No...”
Fannie nodded and swallowed.
“How are you doing, though?” Miriam asked.
“I’m good,” Fannie said. “We have four children now—two boys and two girls.” She smiled. “When you and I met, I was pregnant with Adam, and Silas was making our first cradle out in the workshop, remember?”
“I never did meet your son,” Miriam said.
Silas was Fannie’s husband, and they’d been quite newly married when Miriam and Fannie had met and struck up a friendship.
“Time has certainly marched on,” Miriam said. “That’s wonderful. Gott has blessed you.”
“I’ve worried all these years...” Fannie paused. “We used to...vent...to each other...”
Miriam knew what her friend was referring to, and she batted her hand through the air.
“Fannie, it’s fine. We used to complain about our husbands to each other. Your secrets are safe,” she said.
“We were wrong to do that,” Fannie said. “I never breathed a word of it, except to Silas, of course—I tell him everything. But we should never have spoken of them that way. They’re good men—honest, hardworking, faithful. We never should have complained about their messy ways or the times they were thoughtless. I wasn’t a perfect wife, either, you know! And after ten years of marriage, I have a better appreciation for the difficulties of that first year.”
Miriam felt a wriggle of guilt.
“Fannie, we might have complained to each other,” Miriam said. “But we also encouraged each other. You made me feel stronger—”
“Strong enough to leave him?” Fannie asked seriously.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Miriam replied. “Fannie, you fell in love. Silas adored you for years before he was old enough to court you, and you both fell in love with each other.”
“So did you and Amos,” Fannie countered.
“No,” Miriam admitted. “We wanted to. We thought we would after we got married. We saw such wonderful potential in each other, but it just...it never happened. We drove each other crazy. We thought if we arranged things just right, we could have what you and Silas had—what other couples had. We wanted it, but we were wrong in getting married as quickly as we did. If we’d taken our time, we’d have seen the problems before we said the vows. So stop blaming yourself—this wasn’t your fault. You made my life sweeter for being in it. I promise.”
“You didn’t last a year,” Fannie said.
“Almost a year,” Miriam said, as if that distinction even mattered.
“Can I tell you something?” Fannie said. “This is important, and I have been thinking about it the last ten years. I’ve been asking Gott to forgive me for my role in the breakdown of your relationship with your husband.”
“Fannie...” Miriam said.
“The first year is the hardest,” Fannie went on. “It just is. A wife will be upset because her husband isn’t acting the way she expects him to act, and she might think that means he doesn’t love her well enough, or that he’s being selfish, or that he’s choosing to ignore what she needs in the marriage. But that is seldom the case. Marriage is like any skill—like canning or quilting or gardening. It takes time to learn.”
“Yah, I could see that,” Miriam said uncomfortably. She wasn’t looking for marriage advice, but it looked like Fannie was intent on giving it.
“That first year or two of marriage is incredibly hard, and no one talks about that,” Fannie went on. “The older couples just give you your space to figure things out between you. But I had to change, too. I had to learn how to bend for Silas. I was just as stubborn as he was!”
“What changed things for you?” Miriam asked.
Fannie was silent for a moment, then she sucked in a breath. “When you left.”
“Oh...”
“Yah. When you left Amos, I felt just sick. The thought of leaving Silas made my stomach hurt to even think about, and it rattled me back to my senses.”
So her life had been the morality tale to shock Fannie and Silas into each other’s arms. Miriam wasn’t sure she even wanted to know that.
“And then when Adam was born, we looked down at him, and we knew that we had to do better in our m
arriage...for our family,” Fannie went on. “We sat down and we talked things out. I said what hurt my feelings, and he said what hurt his, and we both promised to do our best not to hurt each other ever again.”
A baby—the one thing that Miriam wouldn’t give Amos. It was bitterly ironic that a baby was their answer, but maybe that was appropriate. Silas and Fannie had been in love—the real kind of love where they got kind of mushy around each other. Amos and Miriam had been married—and love hadn’t found them yet. It was all out of reach for them.
“I’m glad you sorted it out,” Miriam said, and she felt a lump rise in her throat.
“That first year is hard,” Fannie repeated. “If you’d waited longer—”
“I wasn’t having kinner,” Miriam said.
“I know you said that, but—”
“Doctors advised against it,” Miriam said curtly.
“Oh...” Fannie nodded quickly. “I’m so sorry, Miriam.”
But she was a mother of four children, and she’d never know what it was like to be a woman without them. Some sympathy didn’t count for much. Back in their early days of friendship, they’d both been newly married and on equal footing. But children changed that dynamic between them. Fannie was a mother, and Miriam was not.
“It’s all right,” Miriam replied. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
They were both silent for a couple of beats. Fannie kicked a little rock across the dusty ground.
“You said you and Amos weren’t in love,” Fannie said quietly.
She wasn’t going to let this go... Miriam had agonized over it for long enough, and she’d answered so many questions in her own community over the years. She didn’t want to discuss it any longer!
“We weren’t,” Miriam said firmly.
“We sometimes tell ourselves stories to make ourselves feel better,” Fannie said.
“The fact that we didn’t love each other doesn’t comfort me, believe me,” Miriam said with a sigh.
“You need to know this, Miriam. When you left, Amos was crushed,” Fannie said earnestly. “Really crushed. He lost weight—we all worried about him, and Mary cooked all she could to fatten him back up again... But he was just...empty. Until he took those boys in, and then he had someone to care for again. They brought him back to life.”
Miriam swallowed, silent.
“It broke his heart when you left him,” Fannie went on. “So you claim you didn’t love each other, but I daresay that Amos loved you.” Fannie smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. “I’d better get back. I left the kinner with my mamm while I went for errands, and the littlest one, Priscilla, was just wailing when I left, so I need to get back.”
“Of course,” Miriam said.
“I’m glad I saw you,” Fannie said. “And I’m going to be honest with you—I’ll be praying that you and Amos reconcile. I won’t be praying behind your back.”
Miriam smiled faintly. “It was nice to see you, too.”
When Fannie left, Miriam got up into the buggy and flicked the reins. She was eager to get away from here, back out onto open road where there was no more threat of meeting well-meaning old friends.
The balance between Miriam and Fannie had certainly changed. Back when they’d been confidantes, Miriam had been the stronger one of them. Miriam had been a few years older, she’d had a stronger personality, and she’d come from a family that had been very successful. Fannie had been younger, meeker, and she’d looked up to Miriam in a lot of ways. They’d both been new wives, and somehow, Miriam had been the “expert” on life.
Fannie didn’t seem to look up to her anymore... She was now the mother of four—with both marriage experience and advice. Miriam was the one who’d failed.
The horse moved onto the road, and she urged them toward the traffic light. It was green, and she leaned forward to look both ways as she came to the intersection, and then flicked the reins as they continued forward.
Forward—always forward. That was how she lived her life.
Fannie had said that Amos had been heartbroken. And while her own heart squeezed in response to that mental image of big, strong Amos losing weight and growing thin, it didn’t have the effect that Fannie would hope.
Miriam wouldn’t come back home to Amos, because she knew something that Fannie refused to accept—Miriam and Amos weren’t good together. And if she came back the way Fannie was praying for, then she would only end up breaking Amos’s heart all over again.
She did care about Amos’s happiness. She did...enough to never attempt to reconcile. He deserved some peace.
Chapter Five
Amos headed back into Redemption Carpentry, a frown on his face. Miriam’s opinion of him had always been a sensitive spot for him. Back when they’d gotten married, he’d wanted her to see the able provider he could be, but all she ever seemed to see were the places where he might be able to improve.
The ridiculous thing was, he was the most successful he’d ever been right now. His business was doing very well, he had Noah and Thomas working full-time with him and he was well-respected in the community. Amos had nothing to be ashamed of, yet faced with his own wife, he still felt like he had something to prove to her. And every time he tried to show her what he’d accomplished, it fell flat.
If he were smart, he’d just stop trying.
Amos headed through the empty showroom and into the back shop. Noah and Thomas were both bent over some sanding, and they looked up when he came in.
“Is our customer’s truck still back there?” Amos asked.
“No, they left,” Noah replied. “Are you sure about sending them off like that?”
“Not really,” Amos replied, and he felt a wave of irritation. “Miriam said that her father had dealt with people just like them, and this was the way to handle it.”
“And she’d know?” Thomas asked, squinting.
“She’d know how her father handled things, yah,” Amos said as he put his hat onto a peg on the wall.
“That’s a lot of money to be playing with,” Thomas said. “If the buyer doesn’t come back—”
“It’s a lot of money to play with if he decides not to pay us the full amount, too,” Amos replied. “She’s right. If they decide not to take the order, then we’ll sell the pieces individually. We’ll get paid for it, just a little more slowly.”
Still, he’d been anticipating that large check—he couldn’t deny it.
“Wollie Zook put in an order for a kitchen storage cupboard,” Noah said, turning back to his sanding.
Wollie Zook was a friend of Noah’s back when they were kinner, and Wollie had gone English some years ago when he married an Englisher girl. They had four kinner of their own, and now they were living in the Amish area again.
“So Natasha is really converting to Amish?” Thomas asked.
“Yah, it would seem so,” Noah said. “Last time I was there, she was in a kapp and apron. Her mother-in-law was teaching her how to sew dresses for the girls.”
Amos let out a low whistle. No one had seen that coming—when a man went English for a woman, he didn’t normally bring his whole family back with him.
“It’s not easy for her,” Noah went on. “Natasha is an English speaker, and the Dutch isn’t coming very naturally to her. She’s trying, though.”
“How can she do the baptismal classes if she can’t speak it?” Amos asked.
“Wollie went with her at first and was translating, but that was disruptive,” Noah replied. “So the bishop is doing that particular baptismal class in English for her sake.”
“That’s nice of him,” Amos said.
“If you want to bring someone into the fold, you have to make room for them,” Noah said.
“Amen to that,” Thomas murmured, and Amos glanced at the younger man. Thomas was sensitive about making a welcoming
place for Englishers—his daughter was an Englisher girl and Dutch was her second language, too.
If they wanted to bring Wollie Zook back into the Amish community, then they had to make room for Wollie’s wife. She was so very English...everything about her was different—the way she spoke, the way she stood, the way she looked at people so directly. The way she parented was just...louder. An Amish mother could murmur a remonstrance and have her child obey, but Natasha could be heard giving a lecture to her kinner all the way from the road.
“Patience is teaching her some basic Dutch,” Thomas said. “But Rue keeps trying to compete with her, and I don’t think it’s fun being shown up by a five-year-old.”
Amos chuckled. “Maybe she just needs friendship.”
Noah and Thomas both nodded at that.
“This might sound crazy...” Noah looked up. “But I think that Miriam and Natasha might actually get along. I think they both could use a friend.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Thomas agreed. “Sometimes the oddest combinations can make for lifelong friends.”
Amos rubbed a hand over his beard. Was Miriam lonely? The thought tugged at his heart.
“She hasn’t been back in Redemption for years, right?” Noah said. “Does she want to connect with any old friends?”
“She’s been avoiding them,” Amos admitted.
“Then she might appreciate a new friend,” Thomas said.
“She’s not staying,” Amos reminded them. “She’s here for a couple of weeks, and then she’s going back.”
Still, the thought of his wife’s potential loneliness had softened a part of his heart. She’d always been a little bit on the outside of things. When they were married, they’d been arguing a lot, which meant that she didn’t have that soft, comforting home with him. She had a few friends, but she didn’t know anyone well—the friends she’d grown up with and her family were in Edson. Add to that, she was so different—something he only really noticed properly after they were married. She was stronger, more focused, more stubborn than the other women seemed to be. Miriam was more of everything.
Wife on His Doorstep Page 6
