Important? It’s essential.
We’re a community oriented society. No wonder my granduncle became so...eccentric in his last years, I reflect now, shut off as he was from other people, even if that was his own choice. It’s the loneliness, the isolation, that drove him to such bizarre behavior. The same is true for Rebecca, as far as I can tell.
But I’m not going to let that happen to me, and certainly not to my husband or children. We’re going to be a healthy, happy, thriving part of this community and that (as they say) is that.
And I have other reasons: When we are welcomed as a new little family, I’m certain that my family will also be more readily accepted. It only stands to reason. Despite the troubles I’ve had with my family, and a strong urge I feel to break away from them completely, I’m driven by an even stronger urge to cling to them in these changing times. Perhaps it’s a throwback to my insecure, unhappy childhood, or just the pangs of loneliness I feel being wrenched away from them.
But they’re my family, and I love them, and I want them back.
What can I say?
But the first week after the invitations went out, the question really became, What will they say?
Only two people have responded that they’d attend: Simon’s friend Jessup and his family, and an old man called Leopold, who is a friend of Gramm’s. The community is making it painfully clear that we are not to be accepted, that they’re not coming to our wedding.
It must be me! I reason, and of course this is so. Simon’s one of them, there’s no reason they’d refuse his invitation. I’m the wild card. I’m the variable.
I’m the one they hate. Me and my whole family, because they have presumptions, assumptions, gossip and rumor and small-mindedness. Their hearts are small and hardened against us.
But this isn’t a terrible shock in any case.
“I suppose Lilly’s not the only one who won’t be coming,” Simon sighs.
I set my hand on his upper arm. “I’m sorry about that, Simon. I guess what’s happened between us has kind of spoiled your friendship with Lilly. That’s really too bad.”
“It’s too bad for her, y’mean. Looking back, I don’t think the friendship was ever really that strong. If it was, it would have survived this. I don’t suppose it’s even right that she come.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Men, I have to reflect. Even the best of them seem to know absolutely nothing about women.
I say, “I’m not going to tell you she’s my favorite person in the world...”
“Favorite person? You know as well as I do that she’s the one who set the kids gossiping about Rebecca, spreading those rumors that made them giggle like that, push Rebecca over the edge.”
“But it’s not her fault that Rebecca was so close to the edge to begin with, and Lilly couldn’t have known how her little chicanery would play out. It’s important that she be invited, Simon. I have to show that I’m above her level of behavior, that I’m better than that.”
“And better than her?”
After a moment that tells me more about myself than I want to know, I have to admit, “Not better, bigger.”
He smiles, and I return that loving little gesture. “It's a moot point anyway. She’s the last person who will come, but there’s not a lot of people in line ahead of her, who also won’t be coming.”
We sit in the humid hatred of their invisible rebuke. One at a time and yet all at once, we’re being rejected by the people of our community, of Simon’s community. I feel terrible for putting him in this position, remorse for letting him sacrifice his entire world for me, everything he is and everyone he knows.
I never wanted that.
“Forget them then,” Simon says. “We’ll get married somewhere else, we’ll move!”
And now it’s just what I’ve created, despite my contrary intentions. “Simon, this is your community, you have roots here!”
“I don’t care, Hannah. If they reject you, I reject them, that’s all there is to it.”
“No,” Gramm’s croaking little German accent says behind us as she shuffles into the room. “You no go, you stay!”
Simon and I try to smile, and it’s not difficult. Gramm is so plucky, so strong despite her age and frailty, it’s easy to be impressed by her. And it’s easy to underestimate her too.
“But Gramm,” Simon offers respectfully, “if they don’t...”
“No!” Gramm says, her lipless mouth in a small, wrinkled frown.
The lingering silence tells me that neither Simon nor I are about to refute her, and we can only wonder if anybody will have the strength or the sheer moxie to try.
We won’t have long to wonder.
The next night, Gramm takes us to the house of Olaf Thompson, where the town elders have their weekly meetings. In the dim glow of the portable lights (battery power courtesy of the Thompson’s considerable generator), the men sit at a long table and mutter and murmur the course for the community, humbly steering the path we all must follow.
Or so they think.
Gramm leads us in, her age and stature quickly quieting the mumbled objections to our unannounced appearance. But Gramm doesn’t show any interest in what they have to say. She’ll be doing the talking.
“What you do?” she demands of them, her voice gravelly and angry, loud and strong and a little bit intimidating. “You tell them, don’t come!”
Olaf shakes his head, “Not at all, Mrs. Troyer, not at all. We’ve all heard of your grandson’s upcoming wedding...”
“Then you come!”
Olaf stops, not simply because he is interrupted, but because he’s not certain of how to proceed. They look at each other, at these doubting and dubious old men, then back at us. “Please understand, there are...questions of decorum...Is this really a good time for a celebration, with young Miss Schroeder in such a delicate state?”
You mean because we’re mad? I want to say, that’s why you won’t accept us, that’s why you’re turning against your own and rejecting Simon, and his gramm, whom you’ve known your whole lives. You selfish, stupid, shortsighted old fools!
Of course, I keep silent, which is probably just as well. I’ll probably come off sounding nuttier and nuttier, the way I started to back at Simon’s - back at our house, I caution myself. Better to keep my mouth shut and be thought a maniac, than to open it and remove all doubt!
We’ve got Gramm to do our talking for us, and she’s more forceful and impressive and will ultimately be more effective than I could ever be under these circumstances. But I look forward to learning from her, to becoming the kind of person she is. I want to be strong, like her. I want to be respected like her.
And I will be.
But until then, I stand by Simon, to support him and to be supported by him, the way it should be between two people who love each other; between any two people who love each other, including siblings, parents and their children.
Everyone.
But Olaf doesn’t seem to see it that way, and Gramm seems to know it. And she doesn’t like it. “These two,” she says, pointing at us behind her, “their love is true, is from God! You fight them, you fight God!”
Olaf and the other elders exchange worried, dumbfounded expressions. “We’ve no personal objection to them getting married, but there is a matter of...”
“You go!” Gramm barked at them, stiffening them in their chairs, wood creaking beneath them. “You show God you no fight! You show this town that you no fight, then they no fight!”
I stand with Simon, trying to keep a smile off my face. There’s so much I want to say, but it feels better just to say nothing and enjoy the transformative powers of this beautiful old woman. She’d brought me back from the cusp, and she is about to do the same thing for my family and, in a very real way, the entire town.
Because if they can’t accept us, me and Simon as a family, then they’re turning against their own. It won’t be long before the entire community is fragmented, warring, diffused and
divided, and this is not what God wants.
And, little by little, Olaf and the elders seem to recognize this as well.
Olaf says, slowly at first, “Well, it was never a matter of refusing to go, Mrs. Troyer, of course not. We, um, we simply hadn’t returned our express intentions to attend, and our gratitude for your warm invitation.”
Gramm straightens up a bit, old hands resting at her sides.
Simon says to them, “We look forward to seeing you all there. There’ll be plenty of room for everyone in town. You’ll spread the word, won’t you?”
The elders look nervously at each other, then at Gramm, then smile at Simon and me. “Yes, of course. And congratulations again on your blessed event. We know your family will be a pillar of life here in Lancaster County.”
Indeed, it came to pass within the next few days that more and more notices came in that the people of Lancaster would be attending the wedding of Simon Troyer and Hannah Schroeder, almost everybody in town, in fact.
Except for three.
* * *
Looking back, I wish I’d been there when the kids from Rebecca’s class finally persuaded Lilly into taking them to our farmhouse. They’d organized it among the parents once the kids made a big enough stink.
So they all wind up coming up the driveway in a line of carriages, several kids in each. They form a big group in front of the door and, under Lilly’s unwilling guidance, begin singing.
Unfortunately, the song Lilly chooses for them to sing is the traditional wedding song. Luckily, they sing it in German, giving it an Old World feel I imagine my Daed appreciating:
“Gelobt Sei Gott im hochsten Thron / Der uns hat auserkoren / Hat uns ein schonen Rok antan / Das wir sein neugeboren.”
But the other side of that coin is that Daed is quick to pick up on the insulting nature of the lyrics, given the circumstances:
“Praised by God in the highest throne / who has chosen us / Has put a beautiful garment on us / That we would be newborn.”
Not that it isn’t a beautiful sentiment; it is, and quite well chosen. And Rebecca, who speaks German herself, would no doubt appreciate the effort and the pretty words.
But having been married, it was my daed who recognizes that these are from the wedding song, and he sees the insult before anything else, even if it isn’t intended (by Lilly alone, of course).
Which it is.
I chuckle even now to imagine that moment when my enraged daed, feeling tricked by a cutting insult by way of an elaborate hoax, comes charging out of the front door, swinging an axe handle and screaming at those kids like some kind of maniac. I can almost hear those screams as they scatter, and when I picture Lilly’s terrified face and hysterical shriek, I can’t help but smile just a bit.
She shouldn’t have tried to use it as a chance to twist the knife, that was bound to bounce back at her, and it has nothing to do with me. I did my best. If she’d learned her lesson it would have been better for us all, Rebecca especially.
But at least I did what I could. And that’s really all that any of us can do. The rest, others have to do for themselves.
* * *
The wedding takes a solid week to prepare. Gramm and I spearhead the cooking and baking, along with a few friends of hers and one or two volunteers from the local wives brigade. The turkeys have to be killed and cleaned, potatoes peeled and mashed, endless balls of dough for hundreds of pie crusts, biscuits, dinner rolls. I was so busy with all of that, I had to be sure to allow enough time to prepare the cake batters and fillings for no fewer than three different flavors of Whoopee pies: regular, double-chocolate, and cinnamon.
Meanwhile, Simon is leading the men, Abram among them, in placing the dozens of long picnic tables out in the back, setting up the awning for shade, cutting the firewood. Amish weddings usually have seven or more individual seatings and serve food more or less continuously for most of the day and evening. And even with this considerable layout of tables, our wedding will be no different.
We want to serve as many members of the community for as long as we can. And our wedding is just the start.
Abram comes into the kitchen, dirty and sweaty from a long day of chopping wood, for a glass of lemonade. I pour it for him happily and stand proudly while he drinks it. I’m so proud of my brother, but I don’t want to embarrass him by telling him so.
“Hey, I’m really proud of you,” I say to him anyway, inspiring the head- and eye-roll any teenager would offer.
Finally though, he pushes through his embarrassment with, “I’m proud of you two, Sis. And I’m happy for you too.”
I almost want to break out crying tears of joy, but there is still a lingering sadness between us that stops up my happiness.
And not for the first time.
I say, “Any news from the folks? How’s Rebecca doing?”
Abram seems to think about it for a moment, head rolling again as he shrugs. “She’s all right, it was just kind of a one-time thing, I think. I hope. She’s just getting a lot of rest, stays in her room.”
“You think that’s good for her?”
“Not really,” Abram says, “but what can I do?”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “You’re already doing everything you possibly can, Abram. Some things people have to do for themselves.”
I don’t quite believe this: I know a lot of things people simply can’t do for themselves. That’s why God gave us each other, to help and support and love one another, and to help us do the things we can’t necessarily do for ourselves. But I did say some things to Abram, not all things, and this is true. There are some things we have to do for ourselves, and some things we need help from others to accomplish.
More and more, I am coming to realize that one of the keys to life’s great secrets is to know the difference between the two.
I ask Abram, “Any news on their willingness to come to the wedding? They’re still invited, they know that?”
“Yeah, yeah, they know. The more people in town start talking about it, the more they know it. But that doesn’t seem to make them like it.”
“They still blame me for what happened to Rebecca?”
After a long, quizzical silence, Abram shakes his head, but has to stop himself. The answer wouldn’t be easy to understand for most adults, I realize, never mind a teenager. But I love him for trying.
Abram says, “Yes, well, no, but...” I give him time to collect his thoughts. “I think they want to blame you for what happened to Rebecca, but that’s just because they don’t want to take the blame themselves. But anyway, I don’t know if that’s why they won’t go. I think...I think maybe they’re ashamed of the way they’ve treated you, and now that you’re a part of the big community, they feel like they never will be, maybe that...maybe that they don’t deserve to be?”
He asks it as a question, but I know this is because it is a truth he recognizes but doesn’t quite understand. Why should he? Abram is far too good a person to ever succumb to, or even fully comprehend, such lowly human behavior.
Unfortunately, I know the world will have plenty of opportunities to enlighten him as to these wicked ways, and this sad occasion isn’t even the first.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We decide to part with Amish tradition in a few small ways for a few various reasons. We don’t want to wait until November, so our day falls in early September. We decide to have our wedding on a Wednesday, the same day of the week we first met.
The big day finally arrives, and even in the midst of all the frenzy and baking and table setting and dish cleaning, I actually manage to greet some of our guests as they arrive.
Our guests.
I feel perfectly comfortable in my blue wedding dress, and Simon is very handsome in his dark suit and white dress shirt, his face still clean shaven but about to lose that aspect forever, starting the following morning (barring anything unforeseen).
We stand with Gramm at the front porch as town elder Olaf Thompson arrives. He is very
quiet and courteous, shaking our hands and smiling.
And he’s not alone.
Besides his wife, who looks very much like him, Olaf stands with a tall, handsome man in his early twenties. “My nephew Beau,” he says proudly to introduce him, “from over the county line, in for the wedding.”
“Beau,” Simon says, “how many years has it been?”
“Too many, Simon. I’m so happy for you both.”
Nice young man, I say to myself. Handsome. Tall. Nephew of the town elder. I know he’s unmarried by his clean-shaven face, but that doesn’t make him necessarily available (for Rebecca, of course).
I say, “Beau, we’re so glad you’re here. Pity you couldn’t bring your girlfriend.”
Beau offers up a nervous little chuckle.
Olaf answers for him: “At twenty-three, he still has not found the one. I wonder if we’ll ever have such a wedding as this for him.”
“Be of good faith, Mr. Thompson,” I say, “May your priests, Lord God, be clothed with salvation, may your faithful people rejoice in your goodness.”
“2 Chronicles,” Olaf says, “6:41.”
They nod and smile and walk past us into the house. As we turn to greet our other guests, Gramm and I share a secret little wink.
A few minutes later, Jessup arrives with Lilly, their families trailing behind them. “Hope we’re not late,” Jessup says. “Seems two Musketeers don’t travel any more quickly than three.” We share a chuckle.
Mirthlessly, Lilly says to me, “Thank you for having me in your home, Hannah.”
“Lilly, it’s our home,” I say, leaning lovingly against Simon. “And you’re like family to Simon, you’ll always be welcome here.”
Lilly tries to smile, and I must confess it feels good to know that it’s not easy for her. I want to welcome her into my home, and for her to feel welcome. But if she can’t manage that, I’m happy enough to let her take responsibility for it.
I did the right thing, and I really do feel good about that.
And feeling good is what the rest of the day is about. We enjoy the minister’s sermon, in as much as it is meant to be enjoyed. We listen, we reflect, we pray. After the sermon we are called up to stand before our community, where we vow our love to one another for the rest of our lives. We do not kiss during the ceremony.
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