A Merry Heart

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  He removed his straw hat and nodded. “I came to pick up Mary Ellen, but I wanted to talk with you first.”

  “Is there a problem?” Miriam asked, stepping back into the schoolhouse.

  When Amos and his daughter entered the room, he motioned to the flowers on Miriam’s desk. “I see you got the heartsease. Do you like ’em?”

  “They’re very nice.” Miriam, feeling a bit dizzy, sank into the chair behind the desk. “Is there a problem?” she repeated, knowing that her patience was waning fast and might not hold out much longer.

  Amos shook his head. “No problem. I just came by to. . . uh. . .offer you an invitation.”

  “Invitation?” Miriam stiffened on the edge of her seat. She hoped he wasn’t about to ask her to go somewhere with him.

  “I was wondering—that is, Mary Ellen and I would like you to go on a picnic with us on Saturday afternoon. We’re planning to go to the lake, and—”

  “It will be a lot of fun, and we’ll take sandwiches and cookies along,” Mary Ellen interrupted. “Pappy said he might bring some of his homemade root beer. It’s real tasty, and I know you’d like it. The cookies won’t be homemade, but I’ll pick out some good ones at the store. . . .” The child babbled on until Miriam thought her head would split wide open.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I—I really can’t go with you on Saturday,” Miriam said, when she could finally get in a word edgewise. She pushed her chair aside and stood, then moved quickly toward the door, hoping Amos would take the hint and leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going home.”

  At first Amos stood there with his mouth hanging slightly open, but after a few moments, he took hold of Mary Ellen’s hand and went out the door.

  As Miriam watched them go, she noticed the look of rejection on Mary Ellen’s face. She knew she’d been rude to them and hadn’t even bothered to thank Amos for the flowers, but her head hurt so much, she’d barely been able to think. Placing her hands over her forehead and leaning against the door, she prayed, Dear Lord, please take away this headache—and if it’s possible, remove the horrible pain in my heart that never seems to go away.

  I

  Amos glanced over at Mary Ellen, who sat in the front seat of the buggy beside him, wearing a scowl on her face. The child was obviously not happy about her teacher’s refusal to join them for a picnic on Saturday, and he felt bad about that. However, it was a relief to know that his daughter was still capable of frowning, since she normally smiled even when things didn’t go her way.

  Amos hoped Mary Ellen didn’t take Miriam’s unwillingness to join them in a personal way. He was sure it was him Miriam didn’t care for, not his daughter.

  I wonder what she would have said if I’d told her the truth about William. He shook his head. No. I don’t want to hurt her any more than she’s already been hurt.

  They traveled nearly a mile before Mary Ellen spoke; then she turned to face Amos and said, “Pappy, do you think maybe Teacher don’t like picnics?”

  “Most people enjoy picnics, and I’m sure Miriam does, too.”

  “Then how come she didn’t want to go with us on Saturday?”

  “I can’t rightly say. Maybe she’s made other plans for the day.”

  Mary Ellen tipped her head, as her eyes squinted into tiny slits. “Then how come she didn’t say so?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Amos answered as honestly as he knew how. If he could figure Miriam out, he might have been able to get through to her by now.

  “Some of the kinner at school think Teacher Mim is mean, but she’s never been mean to me.”

  “ ‘Teacher Mim,’ is it? When did you start calling her that?”

  She shrugged her slim shoulders. “It just popped into my head this minute.”

  “Jah, well, you’d best not be callin’ her that at school, because she might not like it.”

  “How come?”

  Amos gritted his teeth, unable to offer his daughter a responsible explanation.

  “Pappy?” the child persisted. “Why can’t I call her ‘Teacher Mim’?”

  “She. . .uh. . .might not appreciate it, Mary Ellen.”

  “Would it be all right if I asked her?”

  “Sure.”

  “And if she says it’s okay, then can I call her ‘Teacher Mim’?”

  “It’s fine by me if it’s all right with her.” He reached across the seat and took hold of Mary Ellen’s hand. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

  She offered him one of her cheery smiles. “Can we talk about the food we’ll take on the picnic?”

  He grimaced, no longer in the mood for a picnic. “How about if we go to the farmers’ market on Saturday instead? I could rent a table and try to sell some of my homemade root beer.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Jah, sure.”

  “Okay then.”

  Amos wasn’t sure if Mary Ellen really wanted to go to the farmers’ market or if she was merely giving in to what she thought he wanted, but he decided to leave it alone.

  I

  Anna was in the kitchen, peeling vegetables over the sink, when Miriam arrived home from school, and she felt immediate concern when she saw her daughter’s face. It looked paler than goat’s milk, and her eyes appeared dim. “Sit down, Miriam. You don’t look so well.” Anna left her job at the sink and pulled out a chair at the table. “Are you sick or just tired?”

  “A little of both.” Miriam placed a pot of pansies on the table and dropped into the chair with a groan. “I have another one of my sick headaches. They seem to be happening more often these days.”

  Anna went to the stove and removed the teakettle filled with boiling hot water. She poured some into a cup and dropped a tea bag inside, then placed it in front of Miriam. “Drink a little peppermint tea to settle your stomach, and then go upstairs and lie down awhile.”

  Miriam nodded. “That sounds nice, but what about supper preparations?”

  “I think I can manage on my own. Anyhow, someday after you’re married, I’ll have to do all the cooking without your help.”

  Miriam released a sigh and took a sip of her herbal tea. “I have no plans to marry, Mom. Not now. Not ever.”

  “My, what lovely pansies,” Anna said cheerfully, feeling the need to change the subject. “Did one of your students give them to you?”

  “Mary Ellen Hilty brought them. She said they were a gift from her daed.” Miriam grimaced as she made little circular motions on her forehead with her fingertips. “It was another one of his tricks to gain my approval, that’s all.”

  “Miriam, please don’t be so harsh. I’m sure Amos means no harm. I believe he likes you, and he’s no doubt been lonely since Ruth died.”

  “I’m sure he is lonely.” Miriam slowly shook her head. “He came by after school today and invited me to go on a picnic with him and Mary Ellen this Saturday. I suppose he thought the flowers would pave the way.”

  “Did you accept his invitation?” Anna asked hesitantly yet hopefully.

  “Of course not.” Miriam pushed the chair aside and stood. “All he wants is a mother for his child and someone to do his cooking and cleaning.”

  Anna reached out and touched Miriam’s arm. “I’m sure Amos wants more than that. He needs a friend and companion, just as you do.”

  “No, I don’t!” Miriam’s voice broke, and she dashed from the room before Anna could say anything more.

  I

  Nick McCormick hurried across the parking lot of the Lancaster Daily Express and had almost reached his car when his cell phone rang. “McCormick here. Can I help you?” he asked after clicking it on.

  “Nick, it’s Pete. I was on the phone when you left your office, but I wanted to tell you about your next assignment.”

  “Already? I was just on my way to do a piece on the fireman who saved the kid who’d fallen in an old well, like you asked me to do.”

  “I still want you to cover that, but I’d like you to go to the
farmers’ market in Bird-in-Hand on Saturday.”

  “What for?”

  “As I’m sure you know, tourism has started in Lancaster County, and I thought it would make a good human-interest story to have an article and a couple of pictures of the Amish and Mennonite people who shop at the market or sell things there.”

  “Can’t you get someone else to do it?” Nick asked as he opened his car door. “I’m supposed to have Saturday off, and I’d planned to drive into Philadelphia for the day.”

  “Marv Freeman was going to do the piece,” his boss said, “but he’s come down with the flu, and it’s not likely he’ll feel up to working by Saturday.”

  Nick pulled his fingers through the back of his hair and grimaced. Walking around the farmers’ market trying to take pictures of people who probably didn’t want to be photographed was not his idea of fun, but he would do it in order to stay on the good side of his boss. Pete Cramer seemed pleased with his work these days, and if he played his cards right, in the future he might be given bigger and better stories to cover. “Yeah, sure, Pete,” he said in an upbeat tone. “I’d be happy to go to the farmers’ market on Saturday.”

  I

  Miriam stood in front of her bedroom window, trembling from head to toe. Why doesn’t Mom understand the way I feel? Why does she keep coming to Amos’s defense? Can’t she see that he’s not interested in me as a person? He only wants a mother for Mary Ellen.

  She leaned against the window casing as she thought about the eager look she had seen on Mary Ellen’s face after Amos mentioned going on a picnic. But the child’s expression had quickly changed to one of disappointment when Miriam said she couldn’t go.

  Miriam moved away from the window and over to her bed. I hope Mary Ellen didn’t take it personally. It’s not her I don’t want to be with, it’s her daed. She sank to the edge of her mattress with a moan. Sooner or later, Amos was bound to realize there was no hope of them getting together. If she kept turning him away, eventually he was bound to look for someone else to be Mary Ellen’s mother. At least she hoped he would.

  Early Saturday morning, Miriam and her family decided to go to the Bird-in-Hand Farmers’ Market. While none of them would rent a table in order to sell their wares, they all agreed it would be fun to browse and visit with many of their neighboring Amish friends and relatives.

  The sun gave promise of a warm day, and as Clarence Smoker, their Mennonite driver, drove his van into the market parking lot, Miriam wiped the perspiration from her forehead and groaned. She hoped this summer wouldn’t be as hot and humid as last summer had been.

  Papa climbed out of the van first, then helped Mom down. As the two of them started toward the market building, Miriam stepped down, followed by Lewis. “I’ll be inside soon,” he said, nudging her arm. “I want to speak with Clarence about givin’ me a ride to my dental appointment in Lancaster next week.”

  “Jah, okay. I’ll go on ahead.” Miriam hurried toward the market and was halfway across the parking lot when she stumbled on a broken beer bottle someone had carelessly tossed on the ground. Her legs went out from under her, and she landed on the shattered glass. She winced and struggled to her feet, hoping no one had seen her calamity, and wondering what the nasty bottle had done to her dress and knees.

  Suddenly, Miriam felt two strong arms pulling her to an upright position. She looked up and found herself staring at a tall English man. His sandy blond hair was neatly combed, and he wore a pair of sunglasses.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, bending down to pick up the broken bottle.

  Miriam’s face heated with embarrassment. “I. . . uh. . . I’m fine, really—thank you.”

  He whipped off his sunglasses to reveal clear, wide-set blue eyes. “Your dress is torn, and I see blood showing through it. You’d better let me see your knees because they might be cut up pretty bad.”

  His resonate voice was as impressive as his looks, and Miriam had to tear her gaze away from him. “I—I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” she stammered. There was no way she was going to lift the hem of her dress so the man could see her knees.

  Miriam glanced down at her soiled skirt and rubbed her hand against it, as though in doing so it might take away the red stain and ugly tear. She took a few tentative steps and cringed but determinedly went on.

  “At least let me offer you some assistance.” The young man put one arm around Miriam’s waist without even waiting for her reply. “I’ll walk you to the building. I assume that’s where you were heading before your little accident?”

  “I was, but I can make it there on my own.” Miriam shook herself free from his grasp.

  He smiled, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth and a boyish grin. “I didn’t know you Amish ladies could be so liberated. I figured you might like to have a man look after you.”

  “I’m not liberated, but I don’t need looking after.” Ignoring the sharp pain in her knee, Miriam hurried on ahead.

  The man continued to walk beside her. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Nick McCormick. Pretty catchy name, wouldn’t you say?”

  Miriam made no reply, nor did she make any move to shake his hand.

  “I make it my duty to rescue fair ladies in distress.” He reared his head back and laughed.

  Despite her best efforts, Miriam found herself unable to keep from smiling. At least she thought it was a smile. She smiled so seldom anymore that she couldn’t be sure.

  After a few awkward moments, she finally took his hand and gave it a quick shake. “I’m Miriam Stoltzfus, and I’m sorry if I seemed rude. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up to my family.”

  “You’re married, then?”

  She shook her head. “I was speaking of my parents.” Miriam wondered why she was answering this man’s personal questions. It was none of his business who she was here with or what her marital status was.

  “I see. Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me a guided tour of the place.”

  “A guided tour?”

  “I’m a photographer for the Daily Express in Lancaster. I’ve come to take some pictures for a cover story about the Amish and Mennonite people who are here at the market.”

  Miriam eyed the camera bag hanging over his shoulder. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed it before. Her body stiffened, and the familiar frown was back on her face. “I have no intention of acting as a tour guide so you can photograph my people. And in case you aren’t aware of this, we don’t pose for pictures.”

  They had reached the market, and Nick dropped the broken bottle into a trash can and opened the door, letting Miriam step inside first. “I’m afraid it’s my turn to apologize, Miriam. In spite of what you say, I am aware that a few Amish people do allow pictures to be taken, especially of their children. I can see that you have your guard up for some reason, and I’ve obviously offended you by asking for your assistance. Please accept my apologies.”

  “It’s of no real consequence. I get my feelings hurt a lot these days,” Miriam said with a shrug. “Good day, Mr. McCormick.” She turned and limped off in the direction of the ladies’ restroom.

  I

  Nick watched until Miriam disappeared; then he turned in the opposite direction. He wished she would have been willing to show him around or at least talk to him long enough so he could get some information about her. Was she here to look around? Did she work at one of the places selling hot dogs, hoagies, or pretzels?

  He thought about waiting until Miriam returned from the restroom but decided against it. She’d been anything but friendly during their encounter in the parking lot, so it wasn’t likely that she would be willing to tell him what he wanted to know.

  Not wishing to waste more time, he made his way down the aisle closest to him. English vendors selling craft items and souvenirs ran the first two booths, so he moved on until he came to a root beer stand run by an Amish man with dark br
own hair cut in a Dutch-bob. A young girl sat on the stool beside him, reading a book. When Nick stopped in front of their table, she looked up and said, “Would ya like some root beer? My pappy makes it, and it’s real tasty.”

  “Please excuse my daughter. She thinks it’s solely her job to sell our root beer.” The Amish man motioned to the jugs sitting on the table.

  “It looks good, and I might come back for some on my way out,” Nick said, “but right now I’m on a mission.”

  “What’s a mission?” the child questioned.

  “Mary Ellen, never mind. Go on back to your reading,” her father admonished.

  “That’s okay; I don’t mind her questions.” Nick pulled a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I’m a reporter for the Daily Express, and I, too, like to ask questions.”

  The Amish man’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re here to do a story?”

  Nick nodded. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About the farmers’ market or about the Plain People who are here today?”

  “Both,” Nick said. No point aggravating the man if he was opposed to him doing a story on the Amish.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, to me and many other Englishers like myself, the Plain life is kind of a puzzle.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’ve heard it said that you Amish want to live separately from the world, yet you integrate by selling your wares right along with the English here.”

  The Amish man nodded.

  “I understand some of your men serve as volunteer fire-men, working in conjunction with the English firefighters.”

  “Jah, that’s true. We’re willing to work with others outside our faith and have congenial relationships with them, but we still remain separate by the plain clothes we wear, our simple transportation and farming methods, and our restrictions on the use of media among our people.”