Though Mountains Fall

by Dale Cramer

  No matter what promises she’d made on the day of her baptism, did her family or her church really have the right to demand such a price? How could she have known then—on the day of her baptism, as a seventeen-year-old who had lived all her life in Salt Creek Township—that she would one day be forced to move to Mexico, or that such a man as Domingo Zapara even existed in the whole earth? Only Gott knew such things.

  And where was Gott now?

  She wandered along the face of the ridge, oblivious to her surroundings, and she was more than halfway to Emma’s house before it dawned on her that this was where she’d been heading the whole time. Emma would know. She was the second wisest person Miriam knew, and in this case Emma had a distinct advantage, even over her father.

  She was a woman.

  Levi was on his planter way down by the main road. Focused on his work, he didn’t see Miriam. She heard the sound of a baby screaming in pain and hurried down to the kitchen garden where she found Emma squatting on the ground with Clara, picking at the toddler’s fingers. Clara wailed louder when she saw Miriam.

  She knelt down to help, scooping up the child and holding her still for Emma.

  “What happened?”

  Emma glanced up. “I edged the garden with prickly pear cactus to keep the pests out, but it got poor Clara instead. She didn’t know not to grab it.”

  Three-year-old Mose stood back, glowering from under his hat while infant Will lay nearby in a wooden wheelbarrow, sleeping soundly through the whole ordeal.

  “Best way to learn, I guess,” Emma said as she plucked the last of the spines from her baby’s fingers, then hugged her close until the wailing turned to snuffles. Five minutes later the child was playing in the dirt with her brother and Emma was heading toward the house for a fresh diaper.

  Miriam stayed with the children, watching them torment an ant lion. Staring at nothing she tumbled back into her tangled, bleak thoughts. She didn’t hear Emma return.

  “Where are you?” Emma asked over her shoulder.

  Startled, Miriam glanced at her, then looked away again, shaking her head.

  “What’s wrong, Mir? You can’t hide it, you know. I saw it on you when you first came up. It’s in your shoulders, your eyes—”

  “I’m going to be married,” Miriam moaned, fighting back tears.

  Emma took her by the shoulders and spun her around, but Miriam refused to meet her eyes. Emma’s head tilted, confused at first. An announcement of marriage wasn’t usually cause for grief. Then her eyes widened and the diaper flew up to cover her open mouth.

  “Oh, Mir, I’m so sorry,” she said, drawing Miriam into a tight hug. “It’s Domingo, isn’t it?”

  Miriam nodded against her sister’s shoulder.

  “Poor child,” Emma said. “Oh, what you must be going through.”

  Emma held her for a minute, saying nothing, just holding her tight. Finally she backed away and dabbed at Miriam’s face with the diaper.

  “It’s just too cruel,” Emma said. “You never had a chance, did you? You’re suffering, and will suffer more, over something you cannot help.”

  Miriam blinked. “You knew?”

  “That you were in love with Domingo? Of course.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  Emma shrugged. “To me, jah. To others—I don’t know. But marriage?” She shook her head. “I can never read Domingo. I wasn’t sure how he felt about you, and I never dreamed he would ask you to marry him.”

  “He loves as fiercely as he fights,” Miriam said.

  Emma lifted her chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Miriam’s head tilted forward a bit and she glared, hard, from under her eyelids.

  “Right,” Emma said, smiling. “Dumb question. Why would you face the ban if you weren’t sure.”

  “Such a terrible, heavy price. How can I bear it?”

  “Do you have a choice?”

  “No.”

  “Then you will bear it. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  “How can you say that? To be put out from among my family, my people?”

  “Oh, Mir, you’ll still see your family. They’ll still talk to you. Just because you can’t sit at the same table—”

  “Even that. The very thought of it chills me. The dinner table is the center of our lives together.”

  “But it’s not like you can’t see them or talk to them. I don’t know about Dat, but I will wink at the ban.”

  “Then they’ll ban you, too.”

  “Psh, no they won’t. I know how much I can get away with.”

  Emma was smiling now. She always knew what to say.

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Jah,” Emma said, “and so will the rest of the family, sooner or later. You’ll see.”

  “But why?”

  “Love. Your family loves you, Miriam. Listen, the ordnung is a good thing, but it’s not greater than Gott. Gott is love, and love forgives. I have already forgiven you, and I know my father’s heart. He will forgive you too, in time.”

  The next morning Miriam saddled a horse and rode over to the house on the back side of San Rafael. The house belonged to Kyra and her two young sons, but Domingo and his mother lived there as well. Domingo’s mother greeted Miriam at the door, her face still aglow from Domingo’s announcement. She kissed Miriam’s cheeks, hugged her and called her mi hija preciosa—my lovely daughter. Uncle Paco and Aunt Maria were there too, waiting to meet her. Paco was tall like Domingo and bore a striking resemblance to him but for the short hair and full mustache. Maria was a plump little woman like Mamm, but full of mirth, her hair tied back in a tight bun, just beginning to gray at the temples. She laughed at everything and was giddy with the news of her nephew’s betrothal.

  Gripping Miriam’s face in her chubby hands, Maria beamed. “Domingo, I see why you chose this one. She is beautiful! Like Kyra,” she said, casting a glance at Domingo’s sister and bursting into laughter, “only younger, and not so feisty!”

  “Uncle Paco and Aunt Maria will be our sponsors for the wedding,” Domingo explained. “Our padrino and madrina.”

  “Sponsors?” Miriam had never heard of such a thing.

  “Sí, it is custom. They will help us in many ways. The madrina will help you with your dress and the planning of the wedding. The padrino drives everyone to the church and gives away the bride.”

  This was something of a relief. Knowing absolutely nothing of an Englisher wedding, let alone a Mexican one, she was delighted to learn she would have an official guide.

  “Today we will go with you to the magistrate’s office for a license, and then we will all go visit the priest,” Paco said.

  Maria took Miriam’s arm and spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. “The priest will ask you a few silly questions, a mere formality. But I am the one who will teach you the things you will need to know if you are to be married to a Zapara.” With a mischievous glance at her husband she added, “It is a vexatious path you have chosen, my child.”

  ———

  Riding arm in arm with Domingo in the back of Paco’s cart, Miriam began to relax and sink into her new world. Basking in the warmth and acceptance she felt from his family, for a time she was almost able to forget her impending departure from all she had ever known and loved.

  Domingo leaned close and whispered, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She studied his eyes—steady and confident. There was no fear in him, no regret, only compassion. He knew what she was going through.

  “Sí,” she said. “I am certain.”

  Over the next few weeks she spent every spare moment in San Rafael with Kyra and Maria, fretting over a thousand wedding details and giggling over a thousand family secrets. Already they had made her a member of the family, and it was a joyous time. But at the end of the day she returned to her father’s house in Paradise Valley, where a gray mood lay heavily on the Bender home. Mealtimes remained silent
and grim, as if her family were already mourning, as if she were already banned. For the time being she could still eat at the table with the rest of them, but the future loomed over them like a dark cloud.

  ———

  One night, when she and Rachel lay awake after the others had dozed off, Miriam rose up on an elbow and spoke softly to her sister.

  “Rachel, I wish we could talk. I know this is hard on you, but—”

  “It’s hard for us all, Miriam.” Rachel turned to her in the dark. “Not just me, but Mamm, Ada, Barbara, Leah—even Harvey can’t stand the thought of losing you. We’re your family, Mir. Think of all you will lose!”

  “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” Miriam whispered. “And think of all I will gain. I wish you could have been there, at Los Pericos. For two weeks I walked and talked with Domingo in a place as lovely as the Garden of Eden, and it was wonderful. No matter what tomorrow brings, I will always remember those days as the best and brightest of my life. Rachel, I love this land. I love these people. I love teaching the Mexican children—another thing Micah wouldn’t have me do, by the way. I love Domingo, and I love his family. I could live here forever.”

  “You could live here forever,” Rachel countered, denting the mattress with a forefinger. “Without breaking all our hearts! Mir, when I wanted to go back to Ohio for Jake, you were the one who made me stay. You remember what you said? Family! You said family is everything, and now you’re going to run off with Domingo and abandon your family?”

  “There’s more to it than that, Rachel. Gott has led me here. He led me to teach the children and gave me the gift. He led me to Domingo through a dream, and Domingo to me the same way. I have found the life I was born to lead—a pearl of great price—and if Gott led me to it shall I not follow, even if it costs me everything?”

  Rachel was silent for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was choked with tears. “Miriam, I am part of the everything you will lose,” she said.

  Miriam slid an arm around her sister, laid her head gently on Rachel’s shoulder and whispered, “I want you to promise me something.”

  “What.”

  “When I am gone—after I’m married and gone from here—I want you to promise me that you will always be my sister.” She rose up to kiss Rachel lightly on the cheek. “No matter what. Always.”

  Rachel didn’t answer. Full of hurt, she turned away and burrowed into her pillow.

  They were the longest days of Caleb’s life, full of dread and waiting. He kept himself busy with work, and thanked Gott there was plenty of planting to do. Every morning he watched in silence as one of the young men climbed the ridge behind the house and another left on horseback for the western heights to keep a lookout for bandits. The men had worked out a schedule for the sentries, and so far the women didn’t even know about the looming threat. If they did, none of them had said anything.

  The company of federales Montoya promised them had still not arrived, and with every passing day Caleb’s anxiety grew. What if the bandits attacked before the troops came?

  Then there was Miriam. On the days she wasn’t holding school in the buggy shed she would ride off to spend the day in San Rafael. She was already halfway gone, her chores divided among siblings as she slipped away to another world.

  In the evenings he would often find time to go up and sit on his rock alone, partway up the ridge where he could look over his valley and all the lives, the farms, the busyness and work, ten families toiling and carving out homesteads here, because of him. And now, more than ever, he wondered if he had done right by bringing them here.

  Gott’s will could be a burdensome thing.

  Sunday morning, a church day, and the others were all out doing chores an hour before daylight. Miriam had the upstairs bedroom to herself for a while, a rare and piercingly lonely circumstance for a girl with a large family on the day of her wedding. She dressed herself in her best dress and kapp, the only Amish clothes she would take with her, and perhaps the last time she would wear them. She was ready to go when she heard the padrino’s horse and carriage arrive to pick her up. After one last long look at the spare dresses and kapps in the drawer she slid it shut and left them behind. She would not be needing them now, and one of her sisters could make use of them. A small drawstring bag containing her scant possessions hung loosely from one hand as she went down the stairs. Only Mamm and Ada were in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

  Mamm glanced at Miriam, at the bag in her hand, then her attention turned quickly to her frying pan. Ada looked up from cracking eggs and gave Miriam a big smile, oblivious.

  Miriam laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “My ride is here,” she said softly.

  Mamm nodded, once, without looking, her hands busy turning salt pork. “Go on, then.”

  Miriam waited a beat. Mamm swallowed hard, fighting back tears, but she was biting her lip and it was clear she would say nothing more. Miriam gave Ada a hug as she passed, and said goodbye, though it was never clear whether or not Ada really comprehended what was happening.

  Uncle Paco was waiting for her out back by the corral fence. He’d borrowed a fancy open-top carriage from somewhere, low-slung with a little entry gate in the middle, and plush upholstered seats. Pausing beside the carriage in the predawn stillness Miriam could hear her father’s hayfork scraping the boards up in the barn. He’d gone there on purpose to avoid this moment. He would have heard the carriage come. They all would. They knew why Paco was here, and yet they all stayed out of sight. Not one of them came to see her off. Not even Rachel.

  Miriam’s heart was breaking. Rachel had not said a word to her, not even so much as a goodbye. If this was a taste of what lay in store, she didn’t know if she could take it. In exchange for everything that awaited her she could bear to be shunned by all the world, but not Rachel.

  Please, Gott, not Rachel.

  Her padrino was decked out in his wedding clothes, tight knee-breeches and a trim waist-length gold-trimmed jacket over a ruffled white shirt. He grinned widely and made a grand gesture of offering his hand to help her up, and then he took his seat, pulled the reins and turned the carriage around.

  As the carriage rolled slowly past the house Miriam sat ramrod straight with her hands folded on her lap, eyes forward, refusing to look back. The future was all that remained now. But just as the horse broke into a trot at the top of the lane she heard footsteps, someone running hard, gaining on them. Paco must have heard too, because he looked over his shoulder and pulled up short.

  Rachel caught up with them and stood holding the side of the carriage for a second, panting, and then jerked open the little door and climbed up onto the padded seat opposite Miriam. Gripping her shoulders, Rachel leaned close and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Foreheads touching, she locked eyes with her sister and whispered, “No matter what. Always.”

  Then, without another word, she jumped down out of the carriage and disappeared into the darkness.

  Chapter 5

  Kyra’s little house became the center of a whirlwind once Miriam arrived. The men, already dressed, waited outside while the women took over the entire house to get themselves ready. Kyra and Maria swept Miriam into the back bedroom and fitted her into the same white cotton dress Kyra had worn on her wedding day, the same one her mother had worn. The loose-fitting dress was decorated around the yoke in intricate red Aztec patterns, embroidered near the bottom with a ring of red roses the size of her hand. They let her hair hang loose and full down her back. Leaving her face exposed, they draped her head and shoulders in a sheer lace mantilla veil, secured by a wreath Kyra had woven for the occasion out of delicate little vines salted with tiny white blooms. They put white satin shoes on her feet and filled her hands with a thick bouquet of white flowers.

  When they went outside to load into the carriages, Miriam came last. Watching Domingo’s face, the other women parted to let him see his bride, and the first glimpse took his breath away. Broad-shouldered and erect in his fancy j
acket, with his hair tied back, his regal bearing didn’t change when he saw her, but he swallowed hard, and for an instant Miriam thought she saw tears in his eyes.

  It was a fine spring morning, yellow and purple wildflowers dappling the fields, cactus beginning to bloom, and birds swarming through air scented with flowers and ringing with songs and laughter as the wedding procession wound its way into the hacienda village and up the narrow streets to the church.

  Two little girls sprinkled flower petals in front of them as Miriam’s padrino escorted her up the church steps alongside Domingo. Father Noceda met them there on the portico, and the crowd in the churchyard fell silent as the ceremony began.

  Miriam’s departure left a hole in Rachel’s heart, and she sat through services in the Bender barn that morning stiffly, listening without hearing. Perched on the backless bench behind her mother, Rachel knew she wasn’t the only one thinking of Miriam. Mamm sighed deeply every minute or two and kept a handkerchief at the ready the whole time, occasionally dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Again, she had eaten hardly a bite of breakfast. Mamm’s dresses hung loosely on her these days, and Dat worried about her. She endured church with a sullen, vacant look in her eyes, staring at nothing, as if she were watching Miriam’s wedding from a distance.

  Miriam’s wedding. Even the words sounded disjointed and ironic to Rachel. When they first came to Mexico, of all the Bender girls except Ada, Miriam was the one with the slimmest hopes of ever finding a husband. Rachel, on the other hand, already knew whom she would marry, and yet in the absence of a minister three years had passed without the opportunity. Now here she sat, nineteen and still single.

  And Jake wasn’t in church this morning, another disquieting sign. There had been rumors whispered between the women for the last month. They knew something was going on because every day a couple of the younger men would disappear on horseback before dawn and return at dusk without saying where they’d been—a different pair every day. They did this even on Sunday, a breaking of the Sabbath that Rachel had never witnessed in her entire life. Esther Shrock had finally gleaned from her son that the fathers had assigned sentries to the heights on the north and west, but he would say no more than that. If the men were frightened enough to post lookouts on Sunday it could only mean that whatever was out there threatened the lives of everyone in the valley.