by Tricia Goyer
Anger.
How dare they talk about Naomi that way—as if she were the only Amish girl to find herself in this situation.
If Marianna were brave, she'd confront them—point out their poisonous tongues. But she was anything but brave.
"I feel so bad for her parents." Mrs. John's tone dripped with self-righteous pity. "The poor Sommer family has already faced so much. Imagine if it were your daughter, trouncing around talking about God in such a prideful way. A shame."
Their words hit like a fist to her gut. Her? They were talking about her?
Marianna blinked back tears. What was she was doing here? She hadn't tried to be difficult. She was trying to share hope and joy in God—what was so bad about that?
The women left, and she waited another few minutes before she exited. She kept her head lowered as she walked to the table and sunk into the booth.
Naomi sipped on a glass of water, but from the look on her face it was clear she wasn't comfortable either.
Marianna reached out and touched her hand. "Why don't we head home and make our own lunch? The food isn't that good here from what I heard, and we don't need to waste money on that."
Naomi nodded and a relief crossed her face. They hurried out, eyes fixed on the door. Let people say what they want . . . Marianna knew that God saw things differently. He loved Naomi's child, too, even though in the world's eyes it was more of a topic of gossip than a celebration of life.
But right then and there Marianna decided to change that. They could talk about her. They could point fingers at Naomi. But as much as Marianna was able, she would make certain this child felt special and loved.
Aaron woke up in the night and sat up in the bed. A child's cry had woken him, and it wasn't until he'd jumped out of bed that he realized it had been a dream. The cry, that is, not the child.
The child was anything but a dream.
From the first time he heard about Naomi's pregnancy, he'd wondered. Yet when Levi's note to Marianna said he and Naomi were getting married Aaron assumed—was even relieved—the baby wasn't his.
Out of nowhere came a hot fist of anger. Aaron turned and punched his pillow. Why hadn't Naomi told him? Fear plowed through his brain, and he felt as if his whole world had been tipped to his side. What if Marianna finds out?
He couldn't let that happen. He replayed the moment she entered the small room he'd built at their cabin. He'd imagined their child there—his and Marianna's. And now?
Should he pretend nothing had changed?
Would it be possible to let another man raise his son or daughter?
What if Naomi is lying? How did she know for sure the child was his instead of Levi's? Most importantly, did Levi think it was his child?
Aaron didn't know what to think or what to do. He lay back in the bed and pulled his covers to his chin.
Hurt replaced the anger. Worried tagged along next. If Marianna hadn't moved, none of this would have happened. He just hoped this wouldn't ruin everything.
He closed his eyes and knew that he would do what he had to do. Nothing would keep him from the woman he couldn't live without. And if holding on to Mari meant ignoring the fact that the baby Naomi carried was his . . .
So be it.
Chapter Fourteen
Ben rose and noticed the tour bus wasn't moving. It must have stopped somewhere in the night. Where were they? He didn't have a clue. His head was foggy, and he stumbled toward the front in search of the coffee he smelled.
Greg Jackson, his backup guitarist, held out a cup of Starbucks.
Ben nodded, taking the cup. It was French roast with a bit of cream and sugar, just how he liked it. He took a sip and though it hit the spot, it couldn't compare to coffee back at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. Memories, memories, they stung his heart as he swallowed, then sat on the sofa next to Greg.
The morning light hit the man's face, highlighting dark circles.
Ben took another sip. "You're up awfully early."
Greg chuckled. "Man, are you kidding? Out late."
Ben's eyes widened.
"Yeah, missed the bus but my date gave me a ride. Thankfully we only went seventy miles last night."
Maybe he should talk to the man, tell him it wasn't cool how he messed with women's emotions at every stop, how he took advantage of them and left them emptier than before. It wouldn't matter, though. Ben had given the same lecture a dozen times. He'd even talked to Roy about it. Roy had talked to the guys but it did little good.
Ben picked up his Bible and headed to the back where his bed was. With each step he felt it coming—the thick throat, blurry eyes. The emotions welled up and he sat on his bed and pulled his knees to his chest.
God, what am I doing here? I'm not doing anyone any good. I feel my soul being stripped away.
He opened his Bible to read, but the tears blurred on the page. Then the tears came and with it a heavy sob that was so loud it probably woke up the rest of the guys.
He was alone.
Useless.
He wanted out, but for some reason he felt God telling him to stay.
God . . . I don't want this life any more. Can't You put me somewhere else? Anywhere else?
He laid back in bed, telling himself it wouldn't hurt to be twenty minutes late to rehearsal for once. And then he just lay there and prayed. He prayed for himself and the other band members. He prayed for his friends back in Montana. He prayed for Marianna, that she would continue to seek God wherever she was. That's what really mattered.
He also prayed that if God's plan was for her to be with Aaron, that God would bless that union. Bless them.
That prayer stung the most.
His prayers carried him through the day. The concert was a joy that night. And he was still smiling when he went out for hamburgers with the guys after the concert.
They went to one of those chain restaurants that was a mix between Denny's and the local bar. He glanced at the wall lined with old junk—a child's tricycle, an old baseball mitt, a watercolor of Elvis. Who was the genius was who turned garage sale finds into decorations? He smiled to himself when he realized God did that—turned the useless into a good find.
The other guys had joined him. Not one had headed off with a pretty girl at his side. That was something to celebrate. They ordered hamburgers and talked about what they were going to buy with all their cash once the gig was up. It was hard to imagine his songs—mostly one song—could support a dozen people on the road.
"Babe alert." Joe Smink poked Ben's rib cage.
Ben turned to see what Joe was talking about, even though deep down he knew he shouldn't.
The woman's long-legged stride, knowing smile and eyes fixed on him, telling Ben she'd been at the concert. He always knew when woman were. They approached with fixed gazes that made him feel as though the price of their admittance also paid for his heart—at least for one night.
Ben squirmed in his seat wishing he'd just gone back to the bus.
The other band members' hungry eyes scanned the woman, from her low-cut top to her pointed heals. Still, her eyes fixed on him.
"Hey, can I join you?" The woman slid in to the vinyl booth before Ben had a chance to respond. "I was at the concert. It was great. I heard you before, Ben Stone, years ago, but I have to say I enjoyed you even more this time."
"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "I can't believe you paid to see me . . . twice."
The woman laughed and extended her hand. "I'm Tasha."
Ben took her hand, soft, warm. Her long fingernails were painted red. The first thing Ben thought of was that the woman hadn't worked a day in her life—not Amish work anyway. Things like cooking, baking, sweeping, washing. He missed Marianna's trimmed nails and calloused hands.
"Listen. I was wondering if you were up for going for a drive? I don't live far from here."
One of the guys wolf-whistled, and heat rose up Ben's cheeks. The strength he'd gained from this morning was still with him. He could s
ee through her. See that she had a hole the size of Texas in her heart and was hoping for him to fill it. Or at least try.
He smiled at her. "You're a nice girl, but I'm really not interested. If you want to have dinner with us I'll buy you a burger."
Snickers sounded around the table and this time it was the woman's face turning red.
She lifted her nose and narrowed her gaze. "No thanks, Ben Stone." She spit his name. "Sorry I bothered you."
The woman rose, turned, and strode away. The band members' laughter followed her.
Instead of feeling good about what he'd done, Ben felt horrible. The way he acted wasn't kind or godly. He lowered his head, wishing he could rewind and try that again. "Man, that was dumb."
Greg turned to him. "Change your mind?"
"Yeah, that was dumb." Joe added in. "You might want to run after that."
Ben slid from the booth and rose. "I know I did the right thing, but I should have treated her better." He could see the woman striding across the parking lot with long strides. Her head was lowered. She paused by the side of a sports car with her hands dangling at her sides. Without looking back at the restaurant she got in the car and drove away.
How many lonely people had been in the audience tonight? How many had walked away with no more hope than they'd walked in with?
He tucked his hands into his jean pockets. "I'm heading back to the bus. I'll catch you guys later."
"What about your hamburger?" Greg pointed to the waitress who carried a full tray their direction.
Ben pulled out a twenty from his wallet and tossed it onto the table. "One of you guys can have it. I'm not hungry anymore."
Dear Marianna,
I've lost track of how many letters I've written. It has to be a dozen at least. I still don't know when I'll be giving these letters to you. Or if I ever will.
Lately I've been thinking about children. It seems silly I know. Your life is occupied with other things—other people. There is no date for our wedding (even though I wish it were so), but I cannot stop from thinking about how you would be as a mother.
My own mother is kind, but distant. She's quicker to point out what I've done wrong than what I do right. My artistic talents—she thinks they are nice but would rather have me work a real job. I know you are not like that. I have seen you with your younger siblings. I've noticed the way you listen when they talk to you and the way you snuggle them on your lap.
Of course the most important thing you have that you can offer your future children is your faith. You are an example of all that is right and good. You don't take your role as an Amish woman lightly. I respect that. In fact, seeing your example has made me consider my own faith more.
Sometimes we do the things we do, and serve the way we serve, because of what we feel is right. And then sometimes we see others and they show us new ways. They remind us of the faith of our forefathers . . . and live in a way that brings to mind why those things should be remembered. Your steadfast faith has been an example to me, even if you didn't know it.
Written with the pen of the man who sees your faith and considers his own in a new light.
Chapter Fifteen
Naomi sat up in bed and gasped for air. A strong, knotting contraction pulled her breath from her lungs. Her eyes spread open and she searched for light. Instead, darkness spread in every direction. The room was dark. The night beyond the window was dark, and she still had two and a half weeks to go before the baby was due.
She opened her mouth to call for her mother—to try and tell her that the contractions had come, but a moan escaped her lips instead. When the pain ebbed, she relaxed back into her pillow to catch her breath. Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away.
It was then she knew it wasn't her mother she needed. It was Levi and Marianna. She needed Levi's strength. She wanted Marianna's prayers.
She slipped on her robe and slippers, lit the lantern in her room, and tiptoed outside with the lantern swinging in her hand. The spring air was warm and it smelled of damp soil, fresh grass, and rain. The rain would come, she just hoped it wouldn't come too hard before the midwife was fetched.
She hurried to the dawdi haus, the glow of the light guiding her steps. Rocks bit through the thin bottoms of her slippers, but she ignored the pain. Her heart pounded with the realization that the time had come. The baby would soon be here!
Her lower stomach knotted up again. "Levi!" Her lungs struggled to fill, so intense was the pain.
She placed the lantern on the porch and braced herself against the door. The pain peaked hard and tight. Her fist pounded on the wooden door and a squeak escaped her lips.
She heard fumbling from inside and a minute later the door opened. Golden light bathed Levi's face, and she fell into his arms.
His heartbeat pounded against her cheek, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her up. "Is it time?"
She nodded. "Ja."
He led her into the house, through the living room and to his bed. Before she lay down he stripped the dirty sheets and remade it with clean ones the midwife told them to keep on hand. She sat down on the edge of the bed and wiped the sweat beading on her brow.
Levi studied her with concern in his gaze. She attempted to offer him a slight smile, but she could tell he could see right through it.
"The midwife. I need to go get her."
"Levi!" Naomi's fingers wrapped around his night shirt. "Don't go."
Levi studied her, and then he took her hand. "This is happening faster than I thought it would. I won't go. I promise. I'll send Marianna."
Naomi looked to the window. "But that night's so dark."
"She'll be fine. She doesn't have to go far."
Another contraction hit and Naomi turned to her side, covering her face with her hands, trying to breathe. Levi leaned closer, making soothing circles on her back. A minute later the pain released and Naomi's body relaxed. Without a word Levi rose and hurried to the extra bedroom, pounding on the door.
He returned a few minutes later and stroked a hand over her hard, round stomach. "Marianna's on her way, but if the baby comes too quickly we'll be fine." He winked. "I'm an expert at birthing calves and colts."
"Do not think that makes me feel . . . better." Another contraction began, and she closed her eyes. "Just pray." Her voice was breathy and low. "Pray for me and this baby."
He lowered his head and she trusted he was indeed praying. When the contraction stopped, he rose and hurried to the washbasin. Returning, he wiped her brow with a cool, damp cloth.
She reached for his other hand and gripped it. She could never have done this without him here! How did she ever deserve a man who would stand by her in such a way, with concern for her and not for himself?
She didn't want to know where she'd be if Levi had left, walked away.
Another contraction came, and she was almost grateful, for she didn't want to imagine life without him—not for a moment.
Marianna hitched up the buggy quicker than she ever had before. With a hasty motion she pushed the lap robe to the back and with a flick of their wrists they were on their way.
She knew from experience that most first-time labors took their sweet time, but she questioned if that would be Naomi's case. The pains seemed to be coming close together. She set the horse at a quickened pace.
There was nothing she could do but pray as the buggy carried her forward. Back in Montana they had a phone in their shed. How useful that would have been to just ring up the midwife. Useful, but a "trapping of the world" according to her bishops.
The steady clip-clopping of the horse's hooves stilled from the urgency of the moment. There was no such thing as speeding when it came to driving a buggy. One could only go as fast as the horse was prepared to go. As she settled back into the seat, the quietness carried her thoughts to God.
Her first whispered prayer for a safe delivery for Naomi was followed a prayer for Ben. At first she questioned why this name entered her thoughts, but the Lo
rd's ways—she knew—were His own.
Wherever he is, Lord, be with Ben. I'm not sure why you've placed this burden on my heart, but let him know that You are there for him, and let him know there are others who still care. If he questions the place You've put him at this moment, may Ben find the answer in You. If he wonders if You still have a plan, find a way to assure him You do.
The words came as soft whispers, and as she prayed Marianna realized that the things she was praying for Ben were things that burdened her own heart. She too needed to know God was there and others cared. She questioned the place she was at. Did God still have a plan? Was she still in line with it?
Am I just trying to put my problems on Ben? Or is he going through the same things as I am? Does he have the same questions?
Either way she knew that didn't matter. If Ben needed strength for those things, so be it. If not . . . well, prayers sent up to God never went to waste.
She noted the midwife's house up ahead and her mind was stirred back to the present. She'd be an aunt today. A new life was always something to celebrate no matter what else happened—even if the things she prayed for never resolved as she thought they ought.
Ben sat on the bed in his bus and pulled the guitar out of his suitcase. He strummed for a few minutes. God . . . why? Why did You bring me here? Why make me a star. Because I know that's from You, Lord . . .
The image of that woman who'd tried to pick him up at the restaurant drifted into his mind. She'd seen him in concert not once, but twice. Obviously she saw something she liked. The only question was, had she seen any difference in who he was now and who he'd been then?
