Following Your Heart

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “I’m so sorry about this,” Susan whispered.

  Teresa shook her head and followed them to the front door.

  “This can’t be helped,” Mamm said over her shoulder. “Now come, we have to go.”

  Susan caught sight of her daett bringing Toby out of the barn as they walked across the front porch. He looked old and weary, and this morning perhaps even more than that. Likely they all looked worn out with the night they had been through. Teresa must have cried herself to sleep across the hall, the muffled sobs still audible when Susan awoke near midnight. For long moments she had stood in front of the bedroom door before returning to her own room. Sometimes sorrow needed to be cried out alone. If Samuel had been crying she would have gone on in, but he seemed the only undisturbed one. Now she held Samuel close to her chest. He gasped for breath when the blanket over his face shifted sideways and the wind blew over his face. Susan pushed the blanket back, holding it down with her hand.

  “This is how life is,” Mamm said, pausing to help Susan up the buggy steps. “We all love Teresa, but she needs to get used to how we live. There really is no other way.”

  Susan said nothing, wondering how Mamm could be so cold. Yet when she looked up, Mamm’s eyes were also brimming with tears.

  “I know. It’s difficult for all of us.” Mamm reached over to squeeze Susan’s shoulder. “Now we really can’t be late or this day will be even harder than it already is.”

  Settling into the seat, Susan pulled the buggy door shut and pushed the blanket back from Samuel’s face. His eyes stared into space, his hands still under the blanket.

  “Da Hah will see us through this,” Daett said from the front seat as he slapped the reins gently against Toby’s back and the buggy jerked forward.

  Susan looked out of the small side window. Teresa was waving to them from the front porch, her hair worked loose from her kapp, the thin strands flying around her face. Susan waved back but Mamm stared straight ahead as they rattled out of the driveway.

  They turned north, the bouncing of the buggy settling into a steady rhythm. Susan watched Samuel’s face. A half smile played on his face. Perhaps Teresa was right, and her son would make a perfect little Amish boy. But even if that happened, Samuel would grow up and know he was different. He always would be simply because his mother wasn’t Amish. The other children would know, and they would say the things that children say. And Mamm and Daett couldn’t keep Teresa around forever. They were getting older themselves by the day. Susan shivered, drawing the buggy blanket up over her knees. Samuel looked at her as she pressed back the tears.

  In front of her Mamm turned around. “Now, is the baby sitting with you or me?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that yet,” Susan said.

  “Nor had I with all the mess going on since last night,” Mamm said. “Oh, why can’t some people just be sensible for once? There would have been nothing wrong with Teresa coming with us this morning.”

  “We must not question the ways of our ministers,” Daett said, his voice rumbling in the closed buggy. “Sometimes God speaks through their hearts as well as ours.”

  “Then how can there be such different things spoken?” Mamm shot back.

  “Da Hah has His way of bringing them together,” Daett said. “We must wait until Da Hah shows the way.”

  “Then I hope He hurries,” Mamm said. “I can’t take much more of this in my old age.”

  “If Susan hadn’t gone rushing off to the Englisha world with her troubles,” Daett said, “we wouldn’t be going through this.”

  “Don’t say that,” Mamm told him. “She’s sitting in the backseat.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that,” Daett said. “But it’s something that needs to be said.”

  “It was because of Teresa I did come home,” Susan said. “I wasn’t going to tell you that, but I think I should. You owe my presence here to Teresa.”

  “Your heart would have brought you home in its own good time,” Daett said. “It does for all of us. We can never be other than what we are meant to be. But I do wish you had settled this matter about leaving again before you returned.”

  “You shouldn’t say that,” Mamm spoke up. “Susan is home now, and that’s gut enough for me.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right,” Susan said, a catch in her voice. It was true, and it might as well be said. Perhaps this was not the best morning to be saying such things, but broken hearts seem to spill things out easier than whole ones.

  “Then there’s the matter between you and Thomas, which is far from settled,” Daett continued, still not done with his lecture.

  “It’s settled as far as I am concerned,” Susan responded. “I want nothing to do with Thomas.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Daett said. “I was hoping you would get things worked out. I am not that young anymore, and I really do need help on the farm. Mamm and I should have started building a dawdy haus this fall already.”

  “So you want me marrying someone I don’t love?” Susan asked.

  “Ach, you love Thomas well enough,” Mamm interrupted before Daett could answer. “It’s just your broken heart needs time to mend. You are getting things mightily confused, Susan. That’s what I say.”

  “Thomas fell in love with Eunice, with my best friend,” Susan said. “Tell me why I should trust him again.”

  Mamm didn’t answer, and Susan looked down to see Samuel staring up at her with wide-open eyes. She had to keep her voice down or the baby would start bawling. That was all they needed when they pulled into Deacon Ray’s front yard. How ironic that church was at his place today. Well, it served him right. He had kept Teresa away, and so they show up with her baby. Let him chew on that grass blade for a while.

  “Sometimes we have to make the choice that is the right one,” Daett was saying. “Even when our hearts are hurting and wanting something else. I don’t know what all you learned out there in the Englisha world, Susan, but it couldn’t all be gut. I advise you to forget anything you were told and submit to the ways of our people.”

  “And take Thomas back just like that?” she asked. “Even when he’s got his heart set on Eunice?”

  “You’re wrong on that point, Susan,” Mamm said. “The boy looks about as loyal as they come.”

  “You say that because you want to see me married off!” Susan shot back. “That’s why you can’t see what’s in front of your own eyes. He was kissing Eunice! The boy is not fit for me.”

  “We should not think too highly of ourselves,” Daett scolded. “I’m afraid for the thoughts that sometimes come out of your mouth, Susan. They speak of pride and self-exaltation. Thomas would make a gut husband for you.”

  “I’m not changing my mind,” Susan said. “And as for leaving again, I’ll have to see what happens. The way people are treating Teresa isn’t helping much. Everyone ought to be ashamed of themselves.”

  Mamm turned around in her seat. “Look, Susan,” she said, “you have to hold that tongue of yours. I know how much you like your friend, and I know some of what you went through to bring her here. My heart goes out to you and to Teresa. But that is not what everyone else is seeing. They are seeing only Samuel and wondering about a young woman who shows up with a baby but no husband. They’re piecing together why she’s alone.”

  “Yah, and that’s wrong of them,” Susan said. “At least in the Englisha world people give girls like Teresa a second chance. They don’t judge her harshly.”

  “Ach, so now comes your praise for the Englisha world,” Daett said. “I can only hope things will get clearer for you the longer you’re back home.”

  “Okay, enough of this,” Mamm said, taking control. “You can preach about the Englisha some other day, Menno. We are almost there, and thankfully we aren’t late. So Susan, who will keep Samuel during the services?”

  “I’ll keep him,” Susan said, looking down at his little face.

  “I don’t think so,” Daett said. “I think it’s best if Mamm keep
s Samuel with her.”

  “Are you afraid the people will think he’s mine?” Susan asked.

  “Nee, it’s just not proper. It will be best if Mamm keeps the child,” Daett asserted.

  “I think he’s right,” Mamm agreed. “It will be more proper, and the people will feel better about it.”

  It was sad, but it was true, Susan thought. And it might help Teresa in the long run. If they saw Mamm with the baby, they would think she approved of Teresa in some measure.

  “Whoa!” Daett called to Toby as he pulled the horse to a stop at the end of Deacon Ray’s walk.

  Susan pushed open the door and waited until Mamm got down and came over to her side of the buggy. She handed Samuel to her before climbing down herself. With the blanket protecting Samuel’s face, they went up the walk to the house. Behind them the buggy clattered on toward the barnyard.

  Miriam met them at the washroom door, reaching for the bundle in her mamm’s arms.

  “So you did bring him!” Miriam whispered. “I heard the news, and I thought ‘Mamm will still bring the child, as sure as I know her.’ ”

  “It was the mother’s idea,” Mamm whispered back. “And Teresa is the girl’s name. This is little Samuel.”

  More women’s faces appeared in the kitchen opening. Susan smiled at them before taking off her shawl and bonnet. Mamm carried baby Samuel into the kitchen, shaking hands and greeting the women as she went. She looked just like she must have looked years ago when she arrived at church with her own children. Samuel was getting the best of treatment, Susan thought as she followed Mamm around the line of women.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The four ministers came down the stairs, their heads bowed, as singing filled the house. Bishop Henry was in the lead, with Deacon Ray at the end. They seated themselves on the bench between the kitchen and living room, the line falling into place with order and grace.

  A visiting minister rose to his feet, clearing his throat. His eyes swept over the congregation, and he clutched his hands together on his chest beneath his lengthy beard. “Dearly beloved brothers and sisters in the Lord, we have come together again on this our Lord’s most holy day to refresh and encourage our souls unto holiness. I hope our hearts are all drawn toward heaven this morning and to the home that lies on the other side.”

  The minister paused, lowering his eyes to the floor as if to ponder the implications of what he had said. He cleared his throat again and quoted from Psalm 29: “Give unto the LORD, O ye mighty, give unto the LORD glory and strength. Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name…”

  Menno watched the minister’s face, trying to draw his thoughts away from Teresa’s baby across the room. The child stayed quiet, which was gut. What wasn’t gut were the thoughts rushing into his mind. Thoughts that hadn’t come while he was at home and should have been gone forever a long time ago. He had made his peace with the past, had he not? He had left behind the world and all its lusts. Had he not begged forgiveness from Da Hah many times? Had he not wept tears of regret? Why today, then, did seeing the baby in Anna’s arms bring back what should have been forgotten—and indeed had been forgotten for so many years? His thoughts were too shameful to speak of. One expected such sin from the world’s people, and from those who were weak among his own people. But he had not been known as a weak man. And yet he had been.

  Yah, but there was forgiveness. There had to be. There was forgiveness for every other sin known to mankind. Even for murder, and he had not murdered. Pulling his thoughts back to the visiting minister, Menno kept his eyes on the man’s face. What a gut job the minister was doing this morning. They could use new voices like him, speaking to them from time to time, warning against sin, and making valiant efforts to hold back the temptations of the world.

  Moments later Menno’s eyes wandered toward Teresa’s baby again. Why should he be thinking of the baby now, or of Teresa? They had been here all week, had they not? Was it coming into the Lord’s presence on His day that was causing this? Was the fear of Da Hah awakening what had been dead for so long?

  Yet he had been coming in the Lord’s presence for all these years, and there had not been this problem in his heart. No doubt the decision had been correct in keeping Teresa away from the gatherings. Look at what just having her child with them had brought into his heart. Perhaps it would be best if even the child were kept away. But such a thing seemed so wrong and would never be agreed to anyway. There were limits to where Bishop Henry would allow this to go.

  Menno pressed his eyes together, rubbing them. Somehow he would have to live through this, but how? The emotions rose like a mighty wave in his chest, threatening to show on his face. That awful moment from the past rose up to stare into his eyes. He had sinned greatly. What if Anna knew? Or his daughters? Or Deacon Ray? It was too painful to consider.

  But the child he had fathered so long ago had not lived. The Englisha girl had assured him herself. There was nothing for him to worry about, she had said. She had lost the child before it ever moved inside of her.

  He had come home to the community from his service in the St. Louis Hospital, thankful that he was spared the worst of his sin. He was thankful to be accepted again by his people without anyone finding him out. He was thankful Da Hah was gracious and slow to anger. He had meant the girl no harm. And she had also been willing, had she not?

  Perhaps he should have confessed to Old Bishop Bender back then, but it had seemed unnecessary since the child had not been born. And few questions were asked of Amish boys returning from their alternative military service. Was it not enough that they had withstood the temptations of joining the wars of the world and served in hospitals instead?

  The pain of her beauty stabbed at Menno even now. Yah, she had been beautiful. A sheer vision of glory in her white uniform and short skirt. How he had longed for her, after growing up around girls and women wearing dark colors and long dresses. Could he be blamed for having fallen hard? Yah, he could…But he had repented, had he not?

  Few people at the hospital had known he was Amish. He wore the same garb the other laundry people did, so there was really nothing to give him away unless it was his accent. That had been hard to conceal, as it had been for the other men who grew up speaking Pennsylvania Dutch.

  An Amish man from Iowa worked at the hospital in the same department but on another shift. Here and there among the vast hospital were other Amish boys, but only one from his home community. Benny John Ray—known as Deacon Ray now. And he had never found out. Menno had made sure of that. And even if Benny had, there was a code of silence they kept among themselves about their time in the city. Were they not all aware of how hard the world was pulling on their hearts? So they freely granted each other the forgiveness they desired themselves. Was such forgiveness not Da Hah’s way? He sighed as his thoughts went back in time.

  The woman came past his station often before he dared speak to her. He practiced English for hours at the apartment, trying to get his accent muted. Finally, after several weeks, he gathered his courage. “Hi, Carol,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said, not even slowing her brisk walk down the hall.

  The next day he tried again. “Hi, Carol.” He smiled his best.

  She slowed down long enough to glance at him. “You’re one of those Amish boys, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know that?” he asked. “Do I have hay sticking out of my hair?”

  She laughed. “I didn’t notice any hay, but they told me we had some of those—what do they call them? Objectors of the war. I thought you might be one of them.”

  His face fell. “Do you have a problem with that?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t,” she said with a relaxed smile. “I’m very much against the war myself. I’m glad to hear there are people willing to stand up for what they believe. You must come from a proud people.”

  He smiled. “My people do not think in those terms.”

  After lingering for a few seconds she said, “Well, I’ve
got to be going.”

  He watched her until she turned the corner of the hall, her white uniform framing her slender figure. He saw her again a week later.

  “We’re having a get-together downtown this Saturday,” she said. “I thought you might like to come.”

  He stood up straight, meeting her dark-brown eyes. They sparkled with excitement. “Of course,” he said. “Where is it?”

  She tilted her head. “You don’t have a car if you’re Amish. I know that much about you.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “But I can hire a taxi. I can pick you up. That is, if you wanted to go together.”

  She smiled. “Why I don’t I pick you up in front of the hospital Saturday evening at six?”

  “I’ll be there,” he said. And then she had disappeared like a dream from which he was sure he would soon awaken. Was this not the world the preachers warned us about for so many years? Was this not the pull the dark one used to tempt a man’s soul down the wide and fallen road? Yah, it was. But he had been too excited and curious to pull himself back.

  On Saturday morning he went out and purchased an Englisha pair of jeans and a dark shirt. At least it wasn’t bright red or green. I must keep some Amish sanity, he decided. On schedule, she picked him up in front of the hospital in her car. He climbed in, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. It sounds like the clanging of chains, like the closing of a lock upon my soul, like a bell warning of eternal damnation, he thought. But then he lost himself in the sound of her voice, in the brightness of her smile, and in the toss of her beautiful hair.

  “Have you heard of the Beatles?” she asked as she drove through town.

  He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair.

  “I doubted if they’d come to Amish country yet,” she said with that sparkle in her eyes.

  “What do they play?” he asked.

  “Music that makes people feel alive and full of goodness and virtue.”

  “Must be something,” he said, his mind on her hands. They were spread out as she gripped the steering wheel and made the turns on the streets.