by Jerry Eicher
Mary’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“Goot morning,” Leon bellowed up the basement stairwell, and Mary jumped.
“Goot morning,” Lavina hollered back. “The wedding bells are ringing across the fields.”
“That they are,” Leon agreed, and came up the steps to give Mary a bright smile.
She looked away as her face burned with a rush of heat. Leon had overheard their conversation. She was certain. When she snuck a glance at him a moment later, he was grinning like a cat that had gotten into the butter.
Across the fields, Marcus met another buggy pulling into the Yoders’ driveway. The first rays of the sun had burst above the horizon, flooding the yard with a promise of brilliant sunlight to come.
“Good morning,” he greeted the elderly cook.
“I’m running a little late,” Wauneta grumbled. “Don’t tell me I’m the last of the cooks here.”
“I wasn’t counting.” Marcus dodged the loaded question.
She looked around. “Well, I’m not the first one, that’s for certain, and on Silvia’s wedding day. I’m glad your mam has finally made up her mind.”
“Mam’s happy with her choice,” Marcus responded with a smile.
Wauneta wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and bustled up the sidewalk. The woman had lived alone in her children’s dawdy haus* since her husband’s passing a few years ago. He couldn’t remember exactly when. Those were things blocked out of his memory. They reminded him too much of his own loss. At least Monroe Miller had lived a long life, and seen his children to full maturity.
Marcus ignored the pain that throbbed inside of him. He undid the tugs and led the horse forward to push the buggy into line. He shouldn’t think about Dat this morning, on the day that Mam planned to take another husband. He had enough problems accepting the change. John Beachy could never be his real dat. That place was already taken. Maybe Mam had waited until now to wed so he wouldn’t have as much of an adjustment? This way, he would never have to live in the same house with a new man sitting in Dat’s place at the head of the table. Planned or unplanned, Mam had given him that much. Maybe the Lord’s grace had guided Mam without her knowledge? That seemed possible. Still, he worried about his younger siblings. This was a lot for them to adjust to, too.
Marcus moved towards the barn, leading the horse, lost in his thoughts. This place would be his next week. The rest of the family would move, after Mam had spent the week alone at John Beachy’s home. There were no honeymoons in the Amish world, but newlywed couples usually had the privacy of their homes without children present. Since this was not the case, Mam would be given a little time with her new husband before the two families were united.
Things would not be easy from there, but Mam and John would manage. They fit well together. He had to admit that, even with the ache of Dat’s parting still in his heart. Mary was right on that point. The hurt was there, and he was paying attention now. If that helped, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps Mary was stirring up more trouble than she was doing good? He still wondered in moments like this.
Marcus pushed open the barn door and stepped into the flood of lantern light.
Mose appeared, coming back from taking another horse to the stalls. “Is that the last cook?”
“I don’t know. Wauneta seemed to think so.”
Mose grinned. “That woman is always the last one to arrive. She’ll be late for her own funeral.”
Marcus managed a chuckle.
“I’m going in for breakfast,” Mose informed him. “Before the real rush starts.”
“I’ll be right after you.”
He took Wauneta’s horse back to the stalls and tied him to the wooden railing. The barn would swell with horses in an hour or so. They would have to take the overflow out into the barnyard and down the side fences.
Men from the community would take over this task after breakfast. Both of them had duties for the day, which required their presence in the house well before the service began. They were part of the kitchen detail, which would help the cooks move the food out to the serving area this morning and wait on the tables after the ceremony.
Marcus checked the tie rope before he moved away from Wauneta’s horse. The last thing he needed on this busy day was a loose horse in the stalls tormenting the others and causing a general ruckus right in the middle of the preaching time. Things would be done decently and in order on Mam’s wedding day, even if he was hurting.
Marcus left the barn and shielded his eyes against the brightest of the sun’s rays. There was not a cloud in the sky, a sign no doubt of the Lord’s good favor. But on the other hand, many couples had wed on rainy days and had experienced long and blessed lives together. He would be with Mary today. He had been trying not to think about how they would relate for those long hours together. Would there be embarrassment? Mam had asked Mary to serve as a table waiter, and he had been the logical choice as her partner. The memory of Mary’s sweetness, standing beside him that rainy morning near the schoolhouse stove, still lingered, and he couldn’t understand that. The flickering flames had been to blame, he had told himself a thousand times to no avail. He would not object if life consisted of smooth sailing, but he knew better. Dat’s death had driven home that point. Tragedy was usually just around the corner.
Mary was an aberration, a vanishing vision, and he didn’t want that. He had never wanted unreal living. He couldn’t give in to temptation now, not after the time he had spent waiting for the Lord to bring a proper woman into his life. If he gave in, his temperance would go to waste. Mary wanted, deep in her heart, some other kind of man. What kind, he didn’t know, but Mary would be unhappy with him once the flickering flames died down, as they always did. Mary would be miserable, in fact. He was certain.
Marcus entered the house to find the usual bustle on a wedding day. Women were flittering about everywhere, with dough-covered aprons and rolled-up sleeves.
“Breakfast is in the basement,” Wauneta hollered at him, waving her arms about.
Marcus gave her a warm smile. The woman might have arrived last, but she immediately made herself the center of activity. He peeked into the kitchen.
“Can’t go down that way,” Wauneta informed him. “Use the outside basement steps.”
Marcus retreated, pausing on the front porch. A figure hurried across the fields toward him. He stared, longing stirring in his heart. Mary was too far away to notice his attraction. He would be working around her the whole day, so he had to lasso his emotions into submission.
Marcus tore his gaze away from the approaching figure, shimmering in the glow of the rising sun’s rays, and rushed down the basement steps.
* Part of a home or a separate house designated for elderly parents to live in on the adult children’s property.
CHAPTER 20
AS THE CHURCH SERVICE CONTINUED, MARY SAT BESIDE MARCUS ON the hard backless bench. Bishop Mullet was about to conclude his sermon, if the clock on the wall was a proper guide. Only fifteen minutes remained until twelve o’clock. With so much scheduled after the marriage vows were spoken, weddings weren’t supposed to drag past the noon hour, even if the bishop in charge waxed eloquent with his sermon.
Mary snuck a quick glance at Marcus. His face was impassive, as it had been for the entire morning. She was certain he had fled into the basement as she approached the house early that morning. If she had known he would be grumpy, she would not have agreed to serve as a table waiter today. Not when the duty entailed the whole day spent at Marcus’s side. They might not be a couple, but couldn’t they at least be friendly toward each other?
Mary forced herself to listen to Bishop Mullet. “Man and woman were created by the hand of God Himself,” the bishop was saying in his measured manner. “The Almighty fashioned out of clay the figure of the man, and blew the breath of life into him. When Adam lived, the Lord declared it would not be goot that he should be alone. A search was made for a companion among the beasts of the field, but none was found. S
o the Lord God placed Adam into a deep sleep, and out of his side took a rib, and from the rib the Lord God made woman, who would be a helpmeet, a hand to hold his, a mind to think with him, and a support in the darkest hours of his life. Marriage is a holy and sacred institution, for it comes from the mind of God Himself. We are called to keep our marriages pure and undefiled before the eyes of the Lord. That is our most urgent call, and I believe our brother and sister seated before us today have taken this weighty burden into account when they have agreed to walk the rest of the days the Lord God may give them, together.”
Bishop Mullet paused to catch his breath and focus on John and Silvia, seated in front of him. Mary snuck another glance at Marcus. His face was tense, and his hands were clasped tightly. The man was suffering. She had forgotten about that aspect of this day. Marcus’s mam was replacing his dat. Of course he was tense. She should comfort him, not criticize. Did she dare? What would Marcus do if she reached for his hand? They had touched before. Marcus should not object, and he’d understand what she meant by the gesture.
While Mary hesitated, John and Silvia stood in front of Bishop Mullet to say their vows. Marcus’s eyes were fixed on the hardwood floor, his face like stone. She was correct in her conclusions. The man was burying his feelings deeper than the bottom of the sea. Mary moved her hand slowly. He flinched when she slipped her fingers into his hand, but didn’t make a sound. She leaned closer, until their shoulders touched. She moved her fingers across his calluses, finding the rough spots scattered among the tenderness of his palm. She caressed them with her fingertips. He didn’t move. She dared glance up at him quickly. There were tears on his cheek. Marcus was crying?
His fingers finally responded to hers. He traced the outline of her hand, cautiously at first, as if he trod on dangerous ground. Somehow Mary understood. She was a world he knew nothing about, even feared, a part of his heart that had been frozen and locked away for years. More tears appeared on his cheeks, dripping onto their hands. He held hers as if he never planned to let go.
John and Silvia finished their vows and took their seats again. A song number was given out, and the first note filled the air. Mary’s fingers stayed in his as the music drifted through the room. When the last note died, Marcus pulled his hand away. Mary gave him a warm smile, and mouthed, “How are you doing?”
He didn’t respond, as the service concluded and the line of table waiters stood to exit. She stayed by his side. He wasn’t angry. She was sure of that. Marcus was hurt by the circumstances of life, and she was here to comfort him. That made a lot of sense. She wouldn’t allow herself to think beyond this moment.
Marcus was conscious of little else but Mary’s presence on the walk across the yard to the barn loft where the meal would be served. Several of the couples in front of them were laughing and exchanging pleasantries after the completion of the three-hour church service. Any words stuck in his mouth, even as the memory of Mary’s hand in his, back there on the church bench, burned in his mind. The circles of warmth from her fingers had reached deep into his heart, into places he didn’t know existed. His chest throbbed with the pain and the joy at the same time, in some strange swirl of emotion that left him dizzy.
“Thanks for being here today,” he said into the space between them. He didn’t dare glance at Mary.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sorry for what you are going through.”
He wanted to reach for her hand again, but he didn’t dare. “Mam is married,” he said instead.
“I know it’s not easy for you,” she whispered.
How did Mary know? The tears stung, as they had during the service.
“Thank you for your kindness,” he said as the line swept into the barn loft. The couple in front of them leaned towards each other for a moment, their eyes shining with happiness, but they were dating. He did not have that sort of relationship with Mary.
“It will get easier,” she said, walking close to his side. There was more she wanted to say, but this time she held back. He didn’t need a lecture right now.
He gulped, and followed the others as they entered the curtained-off section of the barn loft. The cooks were busy, intent on their tasks, with kettles and pots sitting everywhere. Marcus paused along the wall, and Mary did likewise. He could feel her presence so near, and yet so far.
“There will be plenty of food, looks like,” she whispered.
He released the air from his lungs. “Yah, there will be.”
Wauneta appeared and waved her arms about. “Table waiters eat quickly,” she ordered. “Back here. There isn’t much time.”
Marcus let Mary lead the way this time. It seemed right, somehow.
They seated themselves, and a quick prayer of thanks was offered. The food was placed on the table in front of them. Mary pulled the bowls close and offered them to him. He filled her plate first.
Her smile was coy. “Not too much.”
“You need to eat,” he answered.
He took his time, allowing the magic of the moment to fill him: her hands holding the bowls, her face so close and so open, the chatter of the room around him.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
He managed a smile. “Yah, I’m okay.”
“You sure?” They began to eat.
“I feel better now.”
She looked very skeptical.
He couldn’t tell her why. Your touch is healing. That seemed quite inappropriate. How were such words spoken to a girl? To Mary, in particular?
“I guess I’m relieved that I don’t have to move over to the house with the rest of my siblings,” he managed instead. “But I’m kind of worried about them, too. They’re used to having me around, you know?”
“You won’t be far away.”
“It feels like I’m avoiding something.” He gulped down his food. “Like I’m running away.”
“Perhaps you’ve been responsible for them long enough. Your mam wants you to live your own life, to have your own family.”
“That is in the hand of the Lord,” he said.
“We can still take steps in the right direction. Like buying the farm and living there. That’s a start!”
“That is its own form of pain.”
“Maybe? But better.”
He nodded. “You have a different way of looking at things.”
“I’m right,” she said with a knowing smile.
“I’ll have my hands full with the farm.”
“You’ll do just fine.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No. I believe in you.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“I will say what I want to say.”
He laughed. He liked that about her, her confidence.
“Come.” Mary reached for his hand. “The others are leaving and we have to help.”
He tripped on the bench on the way up, and disentangled his fingers from hers. She was beaming up at him, and he let her lead the way again.
Mary paused at the curtain into the dining area with Marcus close by her side. She nearly hugged herself with excitement. Their relationship was moving forward, and Marcus was not objecting. She was breaking through his defenses to someplace beyond.
She had seen his heart today, and what she saw was tender, kind, caring.
“Let us give thanks for this noon meal,” Bishop Mullet announced from the tables set up on the other side of the curtain.
Everyone bowed their heads, and Mary reached for Marcus’s hand during the brief prayer. He didn’t let go until the amen was pronounced. He also didn’t look at her, but that was okay. They lined up at the serving table to get their plates of food.
“Potatoes and chicken plates are right here!” Wauneta was directing traffic.
Mary filled her hands, and Marcus did likewise. She stilled her emotions before their venture into the other side of the curtain. She must not show too much joy. Marcus had not agreed to anything. The man might hold h
er hand, but that was still far, far away from a formal date.
“Ready,” Marcus stated more than asked.
“Ready,” she said, and they marched out together, plates in hand, with bright smiles on their faces.
Marcus was smiling on his mam’s wedding day. She had gained a greater victory than she had dared imagine possible.
Marcus tried not to trip on his own feet as they swept across the barn loft to their assigned table.
“Anybody want food?” Mary sang out in the sweetest voice he had ever heard.
The magic was back, the light and lofty feeling he had experienced beside the flickering flames that rainy morning. Mam’s wedding day had brought them back, the day he had first held a girl’s hand in something more than friendship. He wasn’t in love yet. That wasn’t possible. He was swept up in the magic of a wedding day. How else could he explain this feeling?
Marcus set his plate on the table. “There you are. I have the potatoes and Mary has the chicken.”
The woman in front of him appeared not to hear a word. She was beaming up at them. “What an honor. This table is being served by the loveliest couple in the whole community. Both of you practically glow with happiness.”
Marcus smiled and nodded. He didn’t dare glance at Mary, as cold waves washed over him. Was Mary objecting? The community had long viewed them as a couple, but there was something official about the words today. He whirled about without checking and made a beeline back to the curtain, with Mary behind him, obviously struggling to keep up.
He feared a sharp rebuke from her lips once they were safely out of sight. He took his place in the line and squared his shoulders to wait.
“Your mam has a most lovely wedding day,” she said.
He dared sneak a glance at her.
“There is hardly a cloud in the sky,” she said with the brightest smile. “I peeked out when we dropped off the potatoes and chicken.”
“It is a nice day,” he said, and forced himself to breathe evenly. Mary was not objecting, and he was seeing her for the first time as his girlfriend. Someone he could love. The world would never be the same.
