Finding Love at Home (The Beiler Sisters)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Debbie fled into the darkness toward Emery’s buggy. She caught a brief glimpse out of the corner of her eye of Mildred climbing into Alvin’s buggy. Debbie didn’t slow down when she arrived. She pulled herself into Emery’s buggy and scrunched down on the seat. “Get me out of here!” she whispered.

  Emery stared at her. “Have you seen a ghost?”

  “Worse,” Debbie managed. “Mildred Schrock just climbed into Alvin Knepp’s buggy for everyone to see.”

  Emery grunted. “Sorry about that.” He kept his horse in line for the driveway as they crept past the girls at the end of the sidewalk.

  Debbie pulled her bonnet forward and ducked her head out of sight. “Don’t stop, please.”

  Emery clucked his tongue in sympathy. They whirled out of the lane and onto the main road. Emery must think her the biggest failure in Snyder County. The girl who thought she’d become Amish, only to fall over her two big feet and land flat on her face. Emery was so solid, so sure of himself. He’d never understand. Debbie slid even further down on the buggy seat.

  Emery gave her a sideways glance. “Don’t let Alvin get you down.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she shot back. “You didn’t just see your rival climb into your ex-boyfriend’s buggy the Sunday right after he dumped you.”

  “That would be difficult,” Emery agreed. “I just think there’s plenty of life still open in front of you. Your life isn’t dependent on what Alvin does.”

  Debbie couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “Emery, I’m an Amish girl now, and I will be twenty-four next spring. Even if I wanted the attention of another man, which I don’t right at this moment, what are the chances for me?”

  Emery laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s all I’m saying. Cry a little maybe. But the morning always comes again.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Debbie muttered. “And I’m not crying.”

  Emery gave her a quick look. “He’s surely worth a few tears?”

  Now she would weep and bawl, Debbie thought. And right in front of Emery. He didn’t seem to mind as she pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose.

  “Like I said before, I think Alvin’s making a big mistake.” Emery smiled at her.

  Debbie sat up straighter. “Thanks, but that doesn’t solve my problem.”

  “You’re available for Paul Wagler now.” Emery’s voice was even.

  Debbie flinched. “Did you have to bring him up?”

  “Sorry.” Emery clucked to his horse. “Just trying to help.”

  Maybe she should ask him about Ida’s wild idea. She still hadn’t settled on a firm no, not after Ida had rocked her firm resolution to leave the man alone.

  Debbie cleared her throat. “Ida wants me to be a witness with Paul for her wedding. Do you think I should?”

  Emery’s head jerked around. “I thought you didn’t care for the man.”

  “I don’t. But Ida thinks the gesture would be nice for Paul. Help him back on his feet and into the community and all that. She claims the event doesn’t mean anything. That Paul wouldn’t read anything into it.”

  Emery gave her a sweet smile. “It would be nice of you. I don’t see where any harm would be done. But don’t encourage the poor man if you don’t plan to follow through.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Emery. I’ll think about Ida’s suggestion a bit more,” she said.

  They pulled into their driveway. Emery smiled again when she climbed down to help him unhitch and held the shafts for him.

  “Want me to help you put the horse away?” Debbie asked.

  He laughed but didn’t answer. Emery no doubt knew anything was better than imagining thoughts about Alvin and Mildred together on the couch in the Knepp’s dawdy haus. Maybe in a way she should be thankful that Alvin had brought things to such a clear end. Perhaps it was better if her dream died a sudden and merciful death. Otherwise in the months ahead she would have been left to wonder whether there could be a chance their relationship might resume. In her head she’d felt like it wasn’t possible, but the heart doesn’t always listen to reason.

  Tears sprang again to her eyes, and Debbie made no attempt to wipe them away. She gazed up into the cloudy sky. So much was over, but no doubt more was to come. Maybe her feelings for Alvin would dribble away in the months ahead. But how did one just walk away from love—or perceived love? She had thought her feelings were real, but apparently she’d been wrong. That was almost an easier thought to bear. Yet it didn’t lessen the pain. Was this what Ida had gone through with Melvin’s loss? No, a death was much worse than what she was experiencing right now, and yet in some ways this was a death. Her hopes must now change, her vision of the future must change, and her expectations of what life would hold must change.

  Debbie glanced toward the barn to see Emery reappear. He pulled the barn door shut behind him. He’d already caught sight of her still beside his buggy, so there was no use in rushing to the house to avoid being seen. Emery would know she’d dawdled and was mourning her loss. She decided she didn’t care if he knew. His presence soothed her, and he’d already seen the worst of her breakdown when she climbed into his buggy. No doubt she’d made more of a display of her emotions than even she knew.

  “Still thinking of Alvin?” Emery teased, coming to a stop near her.

  “Maybe, but mostly about how to go on. Seems like everyone else can do it. Ida, for example. With all her losses, how was she able to turn her heart so completely around and love again so soon?”

  Emery winced. “Don’t ask me about Minister Kanagy or Ida’s affections. Not all of us are such self-sacrificing individuals.”

  “So you think that’s all it is? Ida’s being self-sacrificing?”

  His answer came at once. “Nee, Ida’s genuine to the heart. It just goes with that type of person, I suppose. You shouldn’t try to be like her though.”

  Debbie laughed but it sounded hollow to her ears.

  Emery took a step toward the house, and Debbie fell in beside him.

  Changing the subject, Debbie said, “So you really think I should be a witness at Ida’s wedding with Paul, even though I will never accept his attention? You said that being a witness with him on Ida’s wedding day didn’t have to mean anything.”

  He gave her a quick smile. “I’m glad you’re not interested in Paul. That leaves things open for me.”

  Shocked, Debbie almost stopped walking. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  Emery continued nonchalantly. “And be assured that being matched up as a witness isn’t a big deal. Couples do it all the time. Wasn’t Ida a witness with Paul at Verna’s wedding?”

  “She was.” Debbie kept a step behind him. “I always thought they should end up together.”

  Emery gave a short laugh. “You should know by now that Cupid doesn’t shoot very straight arrows around here.”

  Debbie drew in her breath. “How do you know about Cupid? That’s not something an Amish man would say.”

  He grunted. “I heard the story of Cupid in my rumspringa time. What there was of it.”

  “Most men would forget,” she said.

  Emery held the front door for her.

  Debbie pasted on a smile as she stepped inside. She greeted Minister Kanagy and Ida with a “Gut evening.”

  “Gut evening,” Emery echoed at her shoulder.

  Ida and Minister Kanagy nodded and smiled. They obviously wanted to be alone, so Debbie gave Ida a quick smile and followed Emery up the stairs.

  Inside her room, Debbie lit the kerosene lamp and stared at it for a long time before she got ready for bed. Life would go on, she told herself. And she would go on with it. Her heart would mourn when it had to, but it would also heal. She might love again, but she wouldn’t concentrate on that right now. She would remember what she already loved—this place, these people, their way of life, their faith. And Emery. He’d driven her home tonight and laughed and teased her like he always did. He’d even joked that he might wish
to fill the hole in her heart. That was so kind of him.

  Thirty

  Debbie held perfectly still on the hard wooden church bench. This was the most comfortable position at this late hour she could find. The constant adjustment of her position did little to ease the ache that had begun to seep through her whole body. The clock on the living room wall said three, and Bishop Beiler had been preaching for two hours straight now. She’d grown accustomed to the three-hour Sunday morning services, but a service of an equal length held in the afternoon upset any equilibrium she thought she’d developed. But she didn’t complain. She’d looked forward to and longed for this day. She would enjoy the day fully. Her first Communion Sunday was finally here.

  Even an occasional glimpse of Alvin seated in the unmarried men’s section failed to upset her. He didn’t look happy in the least. Debbie pushed the pleasure back that had leaped up inside of her earlier. The sight of Alvin in distress wasn’t something she should rejoice over. And whatever the cause, it certainly couldn’t be due to any trouble he might be having with Mildred. The girl appeared way too pleased for any trouble to have developed in that department. And Debbie wouldn’t play that game anyway. If Mildred had won Alvin’s heart, Debbie would consider it done fair and square. She’d move on with life regardless how much the loss of Alvin still smarted.

  At least she didn’t feel much heartache today. And a breakdown of tears right in the middle of the church service would be a disaster. Thankfully, Mildred had the decency to stay out of her way. Even during the noon meal, when each family had spread out in a section of the house to eat, Mildred had managed to stay completely out of sight.

  It had been two weeks now since Alvin had cut off his relationship with Debbie. The days seemed longer than that, and yet they didn’t. In a way it felt like only yesterday that Alvin had left with his parting salvo: “I think we’d better part ways.”

  Obviously, Alvin had decided on his own that they couldn’t be together. Perhaps that hurt as much as anything—her failure to win his heart. She’d never experienced anything like this before. Always out in the Englisha world she’d been the one who held back on relationships. Now she was the recipient of similar treatment. And it stung. Debbie would likely be left high and dry when it came to finding a husband among the Amish—unless she wanted to consider Paul, which she didn’t. There were no other unmarried men in the surrounding districts she had the least interest in. True, one could pop up at a wedding or walk in as a visitor. Such an occurrence wasn’t uncommon. There could be an unexpected flash of love between their hearts. But she doubted if love at first sight would be her lot. She’d certainly never experienced anything like that before. It didn’t fit her. She wasn’t one who was easily swept off her feet. Even her attraction to Alvin had grown out of another love—that for the Amish community, she realized.

  Debbie shifted on the bench. She really should pay attention to Bishop Beiler’s sermon. He was near the part of the story where Jesus suffered in the garden of Gethsemane. The bishop appeared tired; as well he should after, so far, a two-hour sermon. She’d be ready to drop in her shoes. But then she wasn’t a minister or used to public speaking.

  “And now our Savior entered one of the greatest hours of His trial.” The bishop spoke in a steady voice. “The disciples gathered around Him as they entered that garden. But our Savior only took three of them—the ones He’d grown the closest to—further in, that they might be with Him. And so began His sorrows that night, as even those whom our Lord loved the most couldn’t stay awake to pray with Him.”

  The bishop paused to look over the congregation. “How many of us intend to walk with Da Hah regardless of how great the trial may be? And yet like those three men, we find our flesh failing us. We must take courage in this story, both in the compassion of our Lord toward the weak and in His strength to complete the journey. In that lies our hope and salvation.” The bishop’s voice rose in triumph. “Our Lord was able to travel all the way to the cross to bear our sins and to wash them with His own blood. For only through His precious blood can we have hope of obtaining forgiveness of our sins and inheriting eternal life. Thank Da Hah that His Son became our Redeemer, that through His name we can be called the sons and daughters of the Most High.”

  Debbie listened as the bishop worked his way through the rest of the story: the tears Jesus wept in the garden, the arrest, the trial before Pilate, the whipping at the hands of the soldiers, the crown of thorns squashed on His head, the condemnation, the long walk to the cross, those hours of suffering, and His last cry where the Savior commended His Spirit to God.

  Bishop Beiler paced for long moments with clasped hands before he continued with the story of the resurrection on Sunday morning. Debbie thought his face almost glowed as he spoke of how the women found the tomb empty and of their wild rush back to tell the disciples of the discovery. And no one believed them!

  A smile played on the bishop’s face. “This can be a lesson to us. Sometimes our wives see things that we men haven’t seen, and we must be open-minded enough to listen. Da Hah may have revealed to them what lies hidden to us.”

  A few of the older men across the room nodded, probably remembering instances when such things had happened in their marriages. Debbie supposed Amish men, just like other Christian men, did need the reminder from time to time of the importance of their wives’ counsel. She’d never seen Bishop Beiler run roughshod over Saloma’s opinions, but she knew it wasn’t unheard of in other marriages. She had only to think of Minister Kanagy seated on the front bench to believe him capable of such a thing. But from what Ida claimed—if she could be believed—even Minister Kanagy had a kinder heart than he let on at times.

  Bishop Beiler wrapped up his sermon and called for the bread and wine. Deacon Mast appeared in the kitchen doorway as if he’d waited long for this moment. They all stood for prayer, and the congregation members remained on their feet afterward. From the corner of her eye, Debbie saw Alvin sit down. Then she remembered Alvin had said he had to “voluntarily” stay back from communion. None of it had made a lot of sense at the time. She supposed she didn’t understand everything about Amish church maneuvers yet. But Alvin must be surviving his voluntary humiliation if he could date Mildred Schrock so openly and so quickly.

  Bitterness ran through her, and Debbie whispered a quick prayer. “I’m sorry, Lord. I don’t want to harbor unforgiveness in my heart for Alvin… or anyone.” The bitterness seemed to fade, and Debbie took a deep breath. If Alvin wanted Mildred Schrock as his frau instead of her, she must not hold that against him. She just wished he’d been man enough to come out and say so instead of going through all that mumbo jumbo about church problems. But then Alvin probably knew more about such things than she did. She must allow for that possibility, and she must forgive.

  Debbie gathered her thoughts as Deacon Mast came down the aisle of the unmarried women’s section. The deacon broke off pieces of bread from the loaf in his hand for each member. No one had gone over this part of the service with her. Ida or Saloma would have if Debbie had thought to ask, but there had been too much activity recently. Debbie watched out of the corner of her eye as each girl ate the piece of bread given to her and sat down at once. That was different from what she was used to. In her parents’ church everyone waited until the entire congregation could eat together.

  Debbie took her piece of bread, put it in her mouth, and sat down. She chewed the bitter taste of the unleavened loaf. This was most appropriate, she thought, and so unlike the delicious flavor of the usual Amish homemade bread. They were to remember what the Lord had suffered. Bitter bread made a whole lot of sense.

  Debbie caught sight of Alvin’s mournful face. As she watched, his face brightened considerably. His gaze had focused on the unmarried girls’ section, and he was exchanging looks with Mildred. Her smile had obviously reached his heart.

  What did Mildred have that she didn’t have? The thought raced through Debbie’s mind with a sharp sting. Was tha
t what Alvin had referred to when he’d rambled on at their last date about being “tired of trying, of dreaming big things, of…” What had he said? “I just want to be a simple farmer… to live in peace and raise my family in the community like I was raised.”

  Alvin had meant he could do that with Mildred. Debbie didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. She’d been rejected for not being good enough. She hadn’t supplied the stability Alvin wanted. She would never be a true Amish woman even if she sat and ate unleavened bread for the rest of her life.

  The tears stung as they flowed, but Debbie left them alone. If people noticed, they would think she was crying over the joy of participating in her first communion service. What a disgrace this is! Shedding tears over a man at this most sacred moment. Maybe she was nothing but a fake. Hadn’t she wondered this same thing in those first days when she’d moved into the Beiler home? Maybe she ought to just get up right now and run out. She could let everyone see that Alvin had been right. There would at least be the satisfaction that she’d make one man really happy. Alvin could then congratulate himself for the rest of his life over his wise choice of Mildred over her.

  Debbie took several deep breaths. This was only her exhaustion speaking. These feelings of utter failure would soon pass. She knew they couldn’t be true. If she needed any proof, she had only to think of Bishop Beiler’s confidence in her. He might not know all her secret thoughts about Alvin, but she didn’t think that would make much difference to the bishop.

  Bishop Beiler’s call for prayer brought Debbie out of her thoughts. She stood and remained on her feet with the others when the prayer was completed. The cup of wine was soon handed to her, and Debbie took a sip. When she sat down, the first thought that crossed her mind almost made her burst out in laughter. That had been real wine—and quality stuff at that. Wherever the deacon had shopped, it hadn’t been cheap. Now that was unexpected. Her parents’ church always used grape juice. Her mom, for all her worldly ways, would pass out in horror if she was asked to drink anything else in church.