Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel

by Tricia Goyer

  The quilting continued in silence, the women puncturing the quilt, reversing their needles and raising to the ceiling in unison.

  The conversation picked up again, as each woman shared her garden plans. Excitement for spring planting was evident.

  "I found some seed for baby eggplant and they were wonderful gut," one of the ladies mentioned.

  "Do you have any extra seeds? I can do a trade," another commented.

  Marianna kept her head bowed over the quilt, making her stitches as perfect as possible. Maybe they'd forget she was here. When the woman next to her cleared her throat and leaned closer, she knew it didn't work.

  "So Marianna, do they do much gardening in Montana?"

  Heat rose to her cheeks. "Ja, of course. Would an Amish woman be an Amish woman without a garden?" She laughed, but noticed that no one joined her. "Of course, the growing season is much shorter. They don't start planting until the snow melts off the Rockies, and that can be as late as June. Mem had a small garden, and the neighbors down the street had a greenhouse. They gave Mem some starter plants—"

  "Were they Englisch friends?" Mrs. Troyer's question resonated with disapproval.

  Marianna patted her kapp. "Ja, but I don't see how that makes a difference."

  Her words stilled the motion of the women's hands. Marianna glanced up and noticed needles hung in the air, as if frozen in time.

  Marianna's fingers picked at a stray thread on the quilt.

  Mrs. Troyer eyed Marianna. "It doesna matter?"

  "They're good people, Christian people. I learned a lot from them. I've learned about God in new ways."

  The room was so silent she could hear Mrs. Over's dog lapping up water in the next room.

  "Learned about God from the Englisch?" Mrs. Troyer's voice rose in pitch. "I have never heard of such a thing."

  "Maybe you should spend time with some Englisch. I learned more about what a personal relationship with Jesus means. I learned it's more important to accept Him into your heart and life than it is dressing a certain way." She thought of Ben. "In fact, the faith of some of my new friends inspired me. One of the greatest things I learned was the importance of reading the Bible for myself."

  Mrs. Schmucker's, the bishop's wife's, voice fell to a disdainful purr. "Don't you think it's prideful to say you know a better way?"

  "I understand the importance of not being prideful, really I do, but being a Christian woman, don't you think you should read the Bible for yourself? If God took the time to have His message to us written down, do not you believe we should read it? That's all I'm saying, really."

  Mrs. Schmucker's eyes widened. "You're judging me, and more than that, disrespecting a bishop's wife!" She rose, moving away from the quilt and turning her back on Marianna. "I don't know how you think there's a place for yourself in this community. And if you do stay, your confession will be long."

  Marianna looked at her hands. "I believe that would be true of all of us if the impurities of our hearts were known."

  Gasps erupted around the room.

  What had she done?

  A hollow sensation filled her. She grew hot, unable to breathe. Surely it wasn't her they were talking about. And certainly she didn't answer as she had.

  Fear coursed through Marianna's chest. She covered her lips with a trembling hand, and then stood, straightening her shoulders muscle by muscle, her eyes never leaving Mrs. Schmucker's face. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. I do not wish for you to believe those words were directed to you." She swallowed back tears. "I know in my own heart there are struggles I need to bring before God. Each of us has struggles."

  "Speak for yourself." Mrs. Troyer crossed her arms over her waist. "Some of us know how to be more self-controlled in our word and deed."

  "Ja, I am sorry. I best be going." She turned to Mrs. Over. "Denke for inviting me. I'm sorry to ruin your afternoon."

  Lynn Over nodded, but didn't speak.

  "If you take the buggy, I'll ride home with one of my friends." Aunt Ida's voice was no stronger than a squeak of a mouse. Marianna looked to her aunt's face and then scanned the room. The women in the room had pity for her aunt.

  Pity that poor Ida Sommer should have such a misguided and rebellious niece.

  "Thank you, Aunt Ida. I'm sorry for the trouble." Marianna stood and hurried out of the room, out of the house. Tears blurred her eyes as she rushed to the buggy.

  Nothing would ever be right again.

  The beautiful spring day had mocked her on her buggy ride home. Now Marianna sat heavy on the couch. Why had Aunt Ida's friends treated her so? They'd always taken so kindly to her. They'd been Mem's friends too. She'd known them since she was a child. When had things changed?

  Maybe they hadn't changed. Perhaps it was her changes they despised so.

  "God, I want to know You more. I want others to know You—know Your Word as I'm jest starting to."

  A hint of peace calmed the emotions whirlpooling in her heart, and she tucked her stockinged feet under her. Marianna crossed her arms over her chest, pulling them tight, and then leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the untilled field out the window. Would things continue this way even after she married Aaron? She supposed if she tried to share the importance of the Bible and reading God's Word for oneself that they would. She supposed if she returned to the young woman with no interests other than her home and no convictions beyond the Ordnung that over time they'd once again welcome her back into their fold.

  "The more like them I am, the more I'll be accepted," she muttered to herself. "If I model myself in their image rather than the image of Jesus Christ . . ." she let her voice trail off.

  Not able to sit in the quiet house any longer, Marianna adjusted her kapp and headed outside for a walk. As she got to the door she nearly turned around, looking for Trapper to follow. Her chin quivered thinking about how far away her dog was—how far aware those were who really cared.

  She hurried down the steps and then headed toward the orchard once again. She'd spent simple days there, playing with her brothers and friends without a care in the world. She walked past the orchard and found the small valley that separated Aunt Ida's place from the neighboring farm. Marianna walked down the sloping hill and into what some would consider a gulch. The ground was soft and in shady spots patches of snow still clung. At that moment she wished it were May, not March, and that wildflowers were scattered across the fields. Their spots of colors would have given her hope. Even after hard winters, the most delicate wildflowers reemerged.

  Marianna continued on, knowing that no one could see her in this place from the gravel road. And isn't that what valleys in one's life were—a time when one felt unnoticed, unloved?

  She lifted her eyes to the sky, hoping for warm sun. Instead, she noticed gray clouds drifting across the plains.

  Maybe she should hitch up the buggy again, go to see Aaron. They saw each other three days a week at least. Usually he came to Aunt Ida's house for dinner and they'd talk until his yawns overwhelmed their conversations. Yet what would he tell her? Would he be upset that she'd caused such a stir?

  She lowered her head and kicked at a clump of dirt, then allowed a sad smile. She wouldn't be surprised if he showed up at her house instead. It wouldn't take long for word to get around on what she'd done. Who knows, Mrs. Zook could already have alerted him.

  The first drop of rain hit her on her cheek, but Marianna barely noticed. When had everything gone so wrong? For a moment she considered what things would be like if Levi hadn't written her. Would Aaron have stayed in Montana? Would they still have plans for getting married?

  She thought about going back, but she knew that wasn't the answer. Naomi had another few months of pregnancy yet, and she'd already committed to staying until the baby was born.

  Wait.

  The word came as a gentle whisper. It's wasn't an audible voice, but more like a stirring in her heart. She didn't know what she was supposed to wait for, but she did know she wasn't
supposed to run.

  More raindrops fell, and Marianna turned back to Aunt Ida's house. She needed to apologize to her aunt—really apologize. She also needed to figure out how to live this life she'd chosen. She couldn't spend the rest of her life knowing she should live one way but conforming to another. She needed to find her way out of the gulch—the valley—she found herself in.

  Marianna hurried up the front porch steps and peered through the screen door. She hoped Aunt Ida was still at the quilt circle, but she was not in luck. The older woman was seated at the long wooden table writing a letter. Her aunt paused as Marianna opened the door and entered. Aunt Ida glanced up under lowered eyebrows, and Marianna guessed the letter was about her. When Aunt Ida slid it between the pages of the dictionary, she knew it was.

  Aunt Ida stared at the rain outside. "I see it started putten down."

  Marianna nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. "Ja, just a sprinkling of rain."

  Aunt Ida continued looking at the water falling from the sky as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  "I'm sorry, Aunt Ida." Marianna approached and sat across from her.

  "I know. It's your father's fault. For making you go."

  Marianna opened her mouth to explain that moving to Montana wasn't a bad thing, but she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

  "I'll make dinner tonight if you'd like." Marianna rose and moved to the kitchen. "I can use the rest of that ham and—"

  "No need. I ate plenty at the sewing circle."

  Marianna headed to her room. Where should I go? What should I do? There were evening chores—she would do that. But tomorrow? What did she have to look forward to then?

  It's not about what I want. It's about my commitments, she reminded herself. To Naomi and Levi, to Aaron, to God.

  For somehow in the valley she knew what He was asking her to do. To look to Him. To wait. She didn't know why, but did that matter? In the Amish community she'd grown up learning her life wasn't her own. There was no time she understood better than at the present.

  She just wished she had even the smallest sense of hope that everything would work out in the end.

  Dear Journal,

  I'm sorry I've been neglecting writing within your pages. It's not that there hasn't been a lot on my mind. It's more that I'm afraid to commit my words to paper. If I tell the truth of what's going on inside me—what I'm thinking about, dreaming about, wishing for—then my words could be found by someone I love and hurt him deeply.

  It's not that I'm meaning to hurt no one. It's more that my mind's having a hard time forgetting what I left behind. Who I left behind.

  My focus needs to be on what I have in this place. I found a special spot today by a leafless tree and I felt God speaking to my heart. If God can speak to me in that spot, He can speak to me anywhere. I learned that in a new way. And if anything . . . that's worth jotting down.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aaron looked up at Marianna's window as he strode up to Ida's house. Work had taken him longer than he'd expected, but as soon as he heard Mem and Dat talking about what had happened at the sewing circle, he knew he had no choice but to head over.

  He needed to talk to Marianna.

  Having been in Montana himself, he understood where she was coming from, but Marianna had to know that if she continued with her words—with her attitude—that she wasn't just going to make things hard for herself, but for him. With Naomi's pregnancy now evident, folks were already talking about Marianna's family. He just hated to see it go any farther than it already had.

  Aaron took a deep breath. Should he tell her he'd read the Bible she'd given him a couple of times? He had to admit he was surprised by how much he enjoyed it, but as he lifted a hand to knock on the door, Aaron knew he wouldn't say a word about that. They needed to handle one issue at a time.

  Aunt Ida opened the door and welcomed him in. Did he see relief on her face?

  "Come, Marianna's just made some cherry cobbler. I told her I wasn't hungry, but I'm glad now that she didn't listen."

  "Aaron." Marianna said his name as a whispered breath. She hurried over to him and took his hands in her. "I'm so glad you came."

  She clung to him as a lifeline, and Aaron noticed a deep longing in her gaze. For him to hold her? Maybe. For her to be held? Yes.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder and winked. She smiled, understood. Later, out of Aunt Ida's view.

  They sat around the living room with their bowls of cobbler. Marianna's leg pressed against his, and he couldn't help but smile.

  "I'm so glad to see you two together," Aunt Ida said after taking a big bite. "There were so many of my friends who believed you would stay in Montana and marry an Englischman. My friend, Bertha, told me that since Levi left the Amish maybe you would too. I tried to argue, but she said that history proved her point. Not only now but during your mother's time."

  Aaron watched as Marianna's throat contracted, and her cheeks brightened with color. "What do you mean?"

  "Surely you know, don't you?" Aunt Ida leaned closer. "She almost left the Amish too. Thank goodness your mem came to her senses. Thank goodness Levi did too."

  Marianna set down her fork on her plate. She leaned back against the couch. Aaron eyed her. Was she going to cry? Mrs. Sommer loving an Englischman? It didn't seem possible, but from the look on Marianna's face, it had to be true.

  Aunt Ida stared at Marianna's plate. "You're not coming down with a fever, are you?" She reached a hand and touched Marianna's cheek. "You didn't eat much."

  "It's been a long day."

  Aaron was going to wait until they were alone to discuss the situation, but from the hopelessness in her eyes he knew he had to speak.

  "Mari . . . At his whispered word, she glanced up at him with those gray eyes he loved so much. "Don't pay them no mind, Mari." Aaron reached for her hand. "They are just busybodies and they don't know what they are talking about."

  "The problem isn't with their facts. It's how they use them," she said, trying to act as if tears weren't going to overwhelm her.

  He reached over and took the plate from her hand, placing it on the side table. "You're going to take their side?"

  Marianna lowered her head. "Neither my mother nor I are innocent. There have been friendships—" She looked away. "Mem and I haven't protected our hearts as we should have." She rose and turned her back to him and pressed her palms against the windowsill.

  He approached her and placed two hands on her shoulders. Why won't she turn around?

  "Don't go there . . ." He wasn't sure if he was saying the words for her or for himself.

  "I did have feelings for an Englischman, Aaron. My Mem did too."

  "And now?"

  "Mem's been married for twenty-five years. I believe her commitment speaks for her heart."

  "And you?" The words came out on a whisper.

  She turned to him and looked into his eyes. "I know you're the right one for me. I care for you, Aaron. Just be patient with me as I try to figure out how my changed heart fits into this old life."

  Dear Ruth,

  The purpose of this letter is to call your attention to some questionable things that have been taking place with Marianna. I am not sure what teachings she received in Montana, but to speak with her one would believe they're talking to an Englisch woman.

  Of course I must start by saying that I do not write this letter to point a finger. As a child of God I cannot boast of anything except His grace. I write not of my personal observations, but write from the heritage of faith from our Anabaptist forefathers that is over four hundred years old.

  Marianna seems the same pleasant young woman as the one who left, yet after she visits homes I've heard people talking, and today she boldly disagreed with the bishop's wife! Marianna shares about reading the Bible and praying and listening to God. She talks as if she knows more than the bishops—knows more than our ancestors who taught us our ways. We follow a heritage of faithfulness. Shou
ld we turn our back on the way we've been taught? Who are we to say our personal ways are better?

  Rumor has it that you will be coming to Indiana soon. Perhaps you are moving back? I am thankful for that. I think everyone needs adventure in her life and I'm sure you enjoyed your time in the mountains, but it will be good for you to return. After seeing the changes in Marianna more than one person has noted their concern for the rest of your children—and for you. There is a reason why our ancestors have chosen to live together in community. Outsiders have greater influence than we think and sometimes their thinking becomes our own when we do not guard our hearts and minds.

  Aaron Zook has been understanding, but I am worried he won't stand by her for long. What young man will want a young woman as set in her harmful ways as that?

  Thankful for all God's mercies,

  Ida

  Ruth folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope. Then she tucked it into her jacket pocket and glanced around the general store. Where was Abe? The store was full today. The gray clouds had cleared and the sun filled the sky. It was enough to get folks out and about. She nodded and smiled at the Peachys and the Vontragers, who strolled by and filled shopping baskets.

  Ruth blew out a heavy sigh. If only the news from Shipshewana were brighter. The changes in Marianna worried her. Not that Marianna had grown to love God more—not that at all. But how folks back home treated her. If their Indiana Amish friends and family resented one thing, it was change. Folks built their lives on tradition. They centered their heart on things staying the same.

  Ruth bit her lip. What was Marianna saying . . . and to a bishop's wife no less!

  She spotted Abe in the dining room. His shopping basket was at his feet and he was enjoying a cup of coffee with one of the Amish bachelors and an Englischman who ranched down the road. Last year when she and Abe arrived, she'd never imagined such a thing. Now, it seemed normal—