Elijah pushed open the side door and chill, morning air rushed around him, bracing him against whatever it was he kept feeling for this woman. She was blind to her father’s faults, and perhaps that was even understandable. But it didn’t help him. Whenever he was around Sadie, he found himself opening up to her, longing to be understood by someone in this blasted community. And was it so stupid of him to want that from her? Except he wasn’t planning on staying, so what was he trying to do here?
Sadie came outside behind him, the door banging shut. Elijah turned, and she rubbed her hands over her arms, but her eyes still flashed fire.
“So tell me this, Elijah. If you resent my father so much, why did you take this job?”
“Why do you think?” Had she forgotten so much about him already?
“The money?” She sounded embarrassed to even say it.
He laughed bitterly. “It factors in, believe me. But as I told you before, I promised your brother I’d make sure you were okay.”
“And I am.” She straightened her spine as she said the words.
“Are you?”
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Color infused her cheeks and she dropped her gaze. She wasn’t okay. She was scared—and while she’d always been cautious in the past, she’d never been afraid.
“The only difference between you and I, Sadie, is that I’m willing to do something if I’m not happy. That’s it. No husband is going to solve your problems. If you don’t take charge of your own life, someone else will do it for you.”
She was no better than he was, no purer or more righteous. She was just more afraid.
Chapter Eight
The next afternoon, Elizabeth and Amos Hochstetler caught a van carrying various Amish travelers back to Pennsylvania. Sadie stood outside as they loaded their one small suitcase into the back of the van. Samuel stood next to her, his little hands clutched in front of him. But Sadie’s mind was still fixed on Elijah’s words: If she didn’t take charge of her own life, somebody else would do it for her—the right husband wasn’t going to solve her problems.
And while she agreed with the sentiment, the wrong husband would only add to her problems, and she couldn’t make that mistake, either. But she couldn’t just shake off what he’d said. Elijah had been willing to do something to rectify his situation, and she might disagree with his choices, but at least he’d done something. Was she stagnating here?
“Dawdy has to go?” Samuel asked plaintively.
“Yes, Sammie.”
The boy had bonded with his grandfather over the last couple of days, and as much as Sadie wanted to be enough for her son, she was struck with how important men were in her little boy’s life. Mammi was all fine and good—Samuel had sopped up all that extra attention like biscuits and gravy—but his dawdy had filled Samuel’s little heart to overflowing. Dawdy had given him wooden horses.
“Come give Mammi a hug,” Elizabeth said, turning back toward them. Samuel permitted himself to be squeezed once more, and then Elizabeth turned her attention to Sadie.
“You’ll find a good Amish husband, won’t you?” she asked softly. “A man who will raise that little boy right.”
“The Lord will lead,” Sadie said, and Elizabeth pursed her lips, then gave a curt nod. What Amish woman could argue with divine leadership? It was a righteous conversation ender.
Even the most honorable and noble of Amish husbands could be obstinate, illogical, and moody. And, just because those sacred vows had been said before God and everyone they knew, it didn’t mean that behind closed doors he would open his heart. It didn’t mean that he could fill hers, either. Good Amish husbands were men—nothing more and nothing less.
“Travel safely,” Sadie said. “We were so glad to have you with us these last two days.”
“You’ll come to see us, too,” Elizabeth replied with a warm squeeze of her hand. “And I will introduce you to some nice young men.”
Sadie had no doubt—she’d been put on matchmaking notice. But she was in no hurry to visit her in-laws, either. While she needed her family and her community, she was tired of being pushed around by them—always doing what would make her appear to be a “good woman.” Even the best of women could end up with a miserable marriage, and then she’d be alone enduring it.
The van pulled away, and Sadie stood somberly watching as it turned onto the main road and disappeared behind some trees. She looked down at Samuel then, and gave him a relieved smile. The pressure was off for the moment, and it was just her family again.
“Dawdy gave me horses,” Samuel said sadly.
Sadie reached down for her son’s pudgy hand. “Let’s go inside and start supper.”
* * *
The next day was a service Sunday, so the morning was busy with getting ready to leave the house all together. Chores were completed as efficiently as possible, breakfast was eaten, and then Sadie dressed her son in his crisp Sunday best.
Sadie and Rosmanda got into the back of the buggy, with Daet and Mamm in the front. Sadie wore her sky-blue wedding dress—as did all the married women, and it was nearly as bright and new as the day she’d married Mervin, except for the waistline that she’d had to let out since Samuel’s birth.
Samuel settled on his mother’s lap as they jiggled their way down the road toward the Yoder farm where service would be held this week. Usually, service Sundays brought Mervin to mind more sharply than other days, considering her attire, but today, her mind kept moving back to Elijah. He was determined to go back to Chicago, and she shouldn’t care so deeply what he chose to do. But she did. And then there was his certainty that her father would bend. It irritated her. The Amish life was one of discipline, but it wasn’t the dictatorship that Elijah made it out to be. Leadership was necessary for any community, and Elijah had never tolerated authority very well.
Sadie sighed, looking out the small square window as a car crept past them, the Englisher occupants straining to get a look at her. She pulled back, out of their view.
Samuel was more cuddly than usual, and when she placed a hand across his forehead, he felt a little warm. Not dangerously warm, but it was noticeable.
“How are you feeling, Sammie?” she asked.
“Good.”
Fair enough. Maybe it was nothing. It was summer after all, and maybe his church clothes were overheating him a little. She blew across his head, trying to cool him a bit. It would be a long day—it always was when trying to keep a small child quiet during service.
When they arrived at the Yoder farm, they parked their buggy with the others, and the horses were unhitched and taken out to the pasture to graze. The Yoders had a meeting barn that stood empty most of the year, except for just after harvest when they used half of it for hay bales. The congregation mutually owned some benches that were carried by cart from farm to farm on meeting Sundays. The cart was left at the farm where the service had just been held, and it was that family’s responsibility to hitch up the cart and bring it to the next farm the following service day. It was an old, reliable system.
Sadie talked with a few friends, a sister-in-law, and a cousin, outside, before the service was set to begin. Samuel, who usually liked to run with the bigger boys, stayed close to her side, her apron clutched in his grasp.
“You’d better play now,” she told him. “You won’t be able to later.”
Sammie ignored the warning and popped a thumb into his mouth.
When it was time to go into the barn, Sadie settled herself on the women’s side, on one of the community benches next to Mamm. Mamm was looking down at her hands, likely in silent prayer. Samuel didn’t want to sit beside Sadie, so she pulled the boy onto her lap. Sadie’s friend Hadassah sat on her other side, drawing Samuel’s attention with her smiles and by holding his hand. Sammie loved attention, especially from women. Rosmanda sat a row back with some of her friends.
The men’s side was directly opposite them, and Sadie scanned the familiar faces as she always did, spo
tting her uncles, some younger cousins, her oldest brother, Amos, who still lived within the church district, and her father, seated far to the right on the front bench. And just behind her father sat Elijah.
She wasn’t the only one noticing Elijah, either. Elijah Fisher was a curiosity. He was no Rumspringa youth back home after a few weeks of learning the hard way that the Amish life was preferable. He was a grown man who’d been gone for enough years that most people had written him off as already halfway to hell. He’d lost that gangly quality he used to sport, and now he sat with broad shoulders and a cleanly shaven face to show his single status amid all the bearded, married men. He sat with his knees wide apart, resolutely still, his black service hat slightly crooked and his expression brooding and introverted.
“Elijah Fisher is still here,” Hadassah said quietly, nudging Sadie’s arm.
“Yah.” What more was there to say?
“If he came back, he’ll stay,” her friend went on.
“He isn’t baptized,” Sadie whispered back. “So don’t go getting ideas—”
“With the right incentive, he will be.” Hadassah hadn’t always been this forward, but the years had plodded on without any proposals, and even the most demure Amish girl could be pushed to the limit at the prospect of Old Maid status. “He works on your farm, doesn’t he?”
When Sadie looked over at her friend, she saw that Hadassah’s gaze was fixed on Elijah, and a small smile curved her lips. Hadassah wasn’t an overly attractive girl. She was thin and pale with prominent teeth. But that look in her eye left no question about her intentions.
“He does,” Sadie said, eyeing her friend, and then glancing to see if Elijah had noticed the attention. He licked his lips, then pursed them slightly, deep in thought by all appearances, and Sadie could see why he drew her friend’s eye. He had always been cute in that way that relied more on personality and self-confidence than it did on the bare building blocks, but he’d matured into something more rugged over the last nine years. He was a mixture of strength, muscle, and vulnerability, and watching him from across the barn in service was different from working with him side by side. In service, he wasn’t only hers to dismiss.
“Is he going to the hymn sing tonight?” Hadassah asked.
“I wouldn’t know.” The words were more curt than she’d intended, and Hadassah startled, then looked at Sadie.
“What?” Hadassah whispered. “I know he was out in the world, Sadie. I’m not stupid. But he’s also single and gorgeous, too. Not all of us got scooped up so quickly as you did.”
A single man wasn’t to be sneezed at in this community, and Sadie understood her friend’s perspective. Hadassah was twenty-three and single. Most of the single men were younger than her. It was time to take anyone who would have her—even a risk like Elijah.
“I’m not the only one,” Hadassah murmured, keeping her voice low. And Sadie followed her friend’s gaze to see two other young women staring at Elijah with bold curiosity. Sadie dragged her eyes away from them as Samuel whimpered and rubbed at his eyes with his fists.
“He’s a danger,” Sadie murmured. “He’s not so settled in our ways as he looks.”
Hadassah deserved a warning at least. The younger woman might not see it, but a bad husband was worse than no husband—and this man had no intention of even staying in Morinville.
Sadie put a hand over her son’s head once more. Samuel’s forehead was still overly warm, and his cheeks were flushed. He wasn’t feeling well.
“I’d settle him into our ways myself,” Hadassah said with an impish smile. “Shoofly pie and a girlfriend? He’d come home to me, I can assure you. I’d be ever so agreeable.”
Elijah was going to have no trouble getting female attention, appropriate or not—pious or not—and that realization piqued her more than she liked to admit. After all Elijah had done, a few grudges were in order, but he was male and single. That’s all some girls needed.
An elder with a hymnal in hand rose to his feet and made his way to the center of the stage. It was time to begin the song service, and as everyone stopped their whispering, Elijah’s gaze suddenly snapped up, and Sadie found his dark eyes drilling straight in to hers. He hadn’t searched the faces to find her—he’d simply looked up into her eyes and held her there as if nailing her to the spot. Her heart did a little jump.
Samuel started to cry plaintively, and Sadie rose to her feet. She’d have to bring Samuel out of the service and find some shade and water. He hadn’t been sick in a couple of years. He was a hearty little boy, and this sudden fever worried her.
“Sadie!” Hadassah tugged at her apron.
“I’ll be fine. You stay in service,” Sadie whispered, assuming her friend meant to lend a hand with Sammie.
“Tell Elijah to come to the hymn sing,” Hadassah whispered back, then her attention moved back to the men’s side of the barn.
Sadie didn’t answer, and she edged past the knees of the women, Samuel clinging to her neck with clammy hands. She patted his back soothingly, and as she escaped the benches, she glanced back to see the two other girls who had been staring at Elijah now watching her with a mixture of curiosity and something slightly sharper in their clear gazes. They’d noticed Elijah’s intense stare, and she was no longer just a young widow in the congregation. She’d just become competition.
There was a small part of her heart—a petty little part—that sparked. She wasn’t to be disregarded yet. Widowed, perhaps, but still in the ring.
“Mamm . . .” Samuel whimpered, and she turned her attention to her son.
She shushed him softly, her lips pressed against his head, and headed out of the barn to allow the other worshipers to continue without disruption.
* * *
Elijah wasn’t listening to the hum of voices around him. Men were murmuring to each other—greetings, a few conversations kept quiet out of respect for the day. Across the center of the “stage” where the preachers would speak, the women sat in rows of muted-color dresses. Purple, blue, and some pink for the younger women who weren’t yet married. He could still remember how scandalized he’d felt when he’d walked into a Mennonite church for the first time and found himself seated shoulder to shoulder between two women.
Elijah sucked in a breath, straightening his back. This would be a long service—three sermons, normally, plus the singing and some lengthy prayers. But he wasn’t thinking about worship—his thoughts were fixed on the argument he’d had with his father the night before. Elijah told his daet that he’d been thinking of going back to visit Absolom for a day—just to check in on him. He hadn’t mentioned his offer to bring Sadie with him. His father had been upset.
“Daet, you know I’m not staying.”
“You could stay, son. You could. The Lord brought you back—”
“YOU brought me back! I came to help out, Daet, but this isn’t my home anymore!”
Elijah was doing his best by everyone, but he couldn’t just slip back into Amish life. It wasn’t so easy as that. His father—and the bishop, too, for that matter—saw it as a choice between right and wrong, but it was a lot more complicated than that. Elijah wasn’t afraid of eternal damnation for staying away, but he was afraid of crushing himself down for so long that he turned into an angry, hard, bitter man. He had one life to live, and he believed that he’d be held accountable for it. He also thought he was capable of a whole lot more than the Amish life would allow.
His father had suggested that he might find a nice girl to get to know . . . but the sharp looks he received from the other men, including Mr. Yoder, Hadassah’s father, were dissuading enough. He was a threat—and he understood why they felt that way. He glanced toward the women’s seats once more, and he noticed both Hadassah’s doe-eyed stare and Sadie carrying Samuel toward the door.
Elijah tugged at his collar, the air hot and thick. An elder cleared his throat several times, then began singing the first few words of a familiar hymn, and the congregation quickly joined
in. Hadassah’s lingering looks were making him more and more uncomfortable—and the singing didn’t seem to distract her any.
Elijah rose from his seat and edged around the outside of the bench area. The men’s voices rose together in song, and Elijah felt his breath coming more easily as he left the crowded seats behind him, heading for the door. He wasn’t following Sadie, exactly, just escaping. As he stepped outside, the warm, fragrant breeze swept around him in a welcome embrace. He just needed to breathe.
Sadie walked across the grass ahead of him, Sammie propped on her hip. She reached the pump and heaved the handle to get a few splashes of fresh water in the tin bucket. Then she dipped the corner of her apron into the water and put the boy on the ground. She knelt down to wipe his face. Sammie kept trying to climb back into her lap, his cry surfing the warm wind. Sadie gathered the boy up into her arms again and dipped her hand into the bucket instead, stroking water through his hair.
She looked alone. That was the best way to describe her. Many a woman took a child outside for similar reasons, but never had a woman looked so utterly bereft as Sadie did, balancing her child on her knees and using her own apron to wipe him. He sighed, then headed in her direction.
“Is Sammie okay?” Elijah asked as he approached.
“He’s not feeling well.” She dipped her hand into the bucket again. “I noticed he was warm just as we were leaving. I should have stayed home with him. I just—” She sighed, not finishing her thought.
She’d been lonely for her community, no doubt. She’d wanted to see her friends. He understood that well enough. The Amish only met to worship together once every two weeks, so this was a time that people looked forward to.
Sadie used the corner of her apron to wipe Sammie’s head again. Elijah pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He gave the pump a good heave, and put the cloth underneath the icy gush. He wrung it out, then laid it over Samuel’s forehead. The boy stopped crying as the cold cloth touched his skin.
“Thank you.” Sadie sank down to the wooden platform and leaned her back against the pump. She raised her gaze to meet his. “Why are you out here?”
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