“I will do my best. What else?”
She pulled the baby closer. “A room with a lock.”
He set the pad on the railing. “I’ll give you the master bedroom.” He couldn’t stand being in there. It smelled of Florence and lost love. “But you won’t need a lock.” He moved to the empty space beside her. “If you agree to marry me, we will work together, doing our best to be a good team for the children’s sake, but I won’t ask that of you. I promise.”
Her shoulders slumped as she seemed to relax all over, and a faint smile lifted her lips. “I’m a hard worker.”
His eyes misted. He had just acquired the impossible—a full-time, live-in caregiver for his motherless children. A weight lifted from his soul. “I can see that.” He hated to push her, but he had to know. “How long do you think it will take to square this plan with your family?”
“We only need to go through the church. Your Daed is a bishop, ya? He needs to talk to Nat, my bishop. That’s all. After they’ve talked, if I get on the phone and say it’s what I want, Nat will agree to it and inform my family. My family will grumble among themselves, but they won’t push back against a man of God.”
Amish women were realistic, but Rose took the cake. He was sure that kind of practicality would serve her well in the years to come. “I think we could give your Mamm and Daed time to get here for the ceremony.”
“No need.”
He studied her. She didn’t want her Mamm here to help with the transition? To hug her and assure her she was doing the right thing? “A visit is bound to help them feel better about where you’ll live and—”
“They’ll be fine…other than missing a set of hands.” She held the baby close, watching her. “I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want you to invite my Mamm here. Not before we’re officially wed, when she’ll have no more say over my life.”
If Rose didn’t have a good relationship with her Mamm, and clearly she didn’t, had desperation and grief tricked him into thinking she would be a good stepmother to his children? A week of helping others take care of them was very different from being on her own with three little ones—two in diapers and one barely out of them. But Joel needed her, and there wasn’t time for second-guessing.
Maybe her not having to return home was the one thing Joel had to offer her. That, kindness, and the right to be friends with that Elise woman. He wondered if she would come to regret making only those simple requests.
Three years later
Shafts of light came through the shop windows, making the fine particles of sawdust look a bit like rolling fog. Joel breathed in the thick aroma of cedar as he cut another strip for the hull. He slid the handsaw back and forth, trying to keep each movement smooth despite the hardness of the wood. The handcrafted canoe business couldn’t be any better—whether he was in this shop on his property, at the shipping warehouse near the train depot, or working at the small store in Hinton on Bluestone Lake.
Rose was the reason his business hadn’t gone under after he lost Florence, and now it flourished, but Rose would never accept any credit for his success. After Florence died, he couldn’t think, and he just wanted to sit and stare into the distance. It took him ten hours to do what he’d once done in two. But Rose was a patient and encouraging woman, supporting his efforts no matter how paltry they were. She hadn’t been demanding, only determined to help him carry his grief.
The dinner bell clanged four times, pulling him from his thoughts and letting him know that food would be on the table in forty minutes. Rose would ring it twice more before dinner was on the table, because she knew his tendency to lose track of time when working. Actually, she seemed to know everything about him—every fault and strength—but even his worst shortcomings didn’t seem to bother her. He finished cutting the long piece and set the strip on his workbench.
His children’s laughter caught his attention, and he moved to the open doorway. Fall had arrived, and colorful trees dotted the land. Crisp air hurried here and there while his children played tag in the yard.
“Mama, help.” Grace giggled as she ran as fast as her three-year-old legs could go, trying to tag her oldest brother.
Rose hurried out of the house, a kitchen towel draped over one shoulder, a smile beaming brightly as she pointed a finger at Mose. “Oh, think you’re fast, huh?” She scooped up Grace and held her face forward and then took off running toward Mose and Levi. All three children chittered with laughter as Grace tried to tag Mose from Rose’s arms.
Joel would never understand why Florence had to die so young, but he was grateful every day that God, in His mercy, had brought Rose to them. Despite Rose’s abusive childhood, she was thoughtful and kind. Still, he knew that parts of her were shattered and fragmented. They’d talked about it, and even though she hid the pain and distorted thinking from that trauma as much as possible, they manifested themselves, mostly in her inability to allow any emotion that wasn’t positive.
They had both talked at length about their pasts. Other than Florence, no one had ever known him as well as Rose did. But her insecurities ran deep, and she often thought he was angry or displeased with her, even when he told her the opposite. That was her Achilles heel. She was unable to accept any praise as heartfelt or to believe she was worthy of being loved.
He hoped to be the same blessing to her that she was to him and his children, but he had to walk lightly. Although she could talk about the sadness and pain of her past, when present events made her sad or angry or hurt her, she withdrew without telling him why. He simply had to accept the wall she put up between them. In the home where she’d grown up, apparently any negative emotion was forbidden, so she’d spent more than two decades burying, hiding, and fearing those feelings. Maybe one day when something hurt her or angered her, she would finally trust him enough to let him see it. That’s what he prayed for.
Grace reached down again from Rose’s arms and tagged Mose. He tried to tag Grace again right away, but Rose turned her back to him, put Grace’s feet on the ground, and sent her running for base while blocking Mose from reaching her.
Joel chuckled, taking in the antics as if they were a show.
He did love Rose. How could he not? She had saved him from himself and saved his children from being motherless. Still, the journey to this point hadn’t been an easy one.
When they began their marriage, it’d been awkward and uncomfortable. Having a complete stranger become a lifetime housemate had been far more daunting than it probably sounded to others. His and Rose’s idiosyncrasies were enough to be constant sources of stress. Unlike couples who had fallen in love and wanted to marry, they couldn’t rely on fond memories or recall the good qualities that had drawn them to each other, because there were none. They’d had no choice but to learn quickly to accept each other in a peaceful manner. They’d had to trust each other, even though neither had earned it. They’d had to learn how to work together because parenting three children under five demanded skilled and patient teamwork.
The first year they were married, Joel had been so grief stricken he hardly talked. But they inched through the uneasiness of being strangers, and despite his dysfunction and long work hours, somehow they became stable partners, and he learned to breathe again.
The question on his mind of late was how could he show his love if she couldn’t accept it. There had to be a way.
One thing he did know—Rose had nothing to call her own, no private joy that wasn’t connected to serving him and his children. She slept in his and Florence’s former bedroom. She lived in Florence’s former home and raised Florence’s children. Joel longed to give her at least one thing that she would enjoy that was all hers. But getting her to do something, such as a hobby, for the sheer joy of it would be a tough sell. He might have a better chance of selling canoes in a desert.
With Mose now chasing his younger brother, Levi, while Grace clapped, Rose moved to the clothes hanging on the line. The sun bore down, and she didn’t have on her broad
-brimmed hat. He removed his straw hat and strode toward her.
She walked down the line, feeling various garments, removing some and leaving others. She spotted him and smiled.
“Hi.” He set his hat on her head. “Bright sun, no humidity. You’ll burn quickly.”
Did she know how much he enjoyed her company?
“Denki.” She nodded and passed him the few dry items she’d removed from the line. “How goes the canoe building?”
He held out his arms like a forklift, waiting for her to add more clothes. “Good. I took your idea about using four strips of all dark wood at the bow.”
“Does it look good?”
“Very. Care to see it?”
“Absolutely.” She jerked the clothes from his arms, walked to the basket, and tossed them in. She turned toward the children. “Don’t run toward the road. Got it?”
Mose paused, saluted, and took off in the opposite direction from the road.
Joel and Rose walked toward the shop.
Three years ago, in the first week of November, when Grace was barely a month old, Rose had planned a camping trip. He’d thought she was nuts, but she said she had always wanted to camp and ignored him as she continued to pack camping equipment and food.
Despite her insecurities she trusted her gut about certain things—like getting milk for Grace by finding Elise, who had La Leche experience—because she believed that God was giving her instructions and that ignoring them would be disobedient. But he hadn’t known those things about her then. When everything was in the rig for the camping trip, she put his children in too, little Grace in an infant seat, secured to the carriage bench with leather straps. Rose was determined to go, and he could join them or stay home.
Frustrated and concerned about her judgment, he had no choice but to go with her, so he climbed in. She drove about five miles to a campsite, and he helped her set up. After dinner and s’mores around a campfire, Rose took Grace and two-year-old Levi home with her for the night. Joel was left there with a very excited three-year-old. The next morning when Joel woke, he understood why Rose had pushed him to go camping. He’d slept. Something about the fresh air and not being inside the home he’d shared with Florence allowed him finally to sleep more than an hour before bolting awake. It was the first of many regular camping trips Rose planned. After a year of camping when time allowed, Rose and the two younger ones began staying the night, the girls in one tent and the boys in another. He discovered that he, Rose, and the children loved camping.
In her quiet, funny, imperfect ways, Rose spent two years beckoning him to join life again, to soak in the joy and milestones of his growing children, to once again taste the food he put in his mouth, to appreciate each season—snowfalls and skating on icy ponds, summertime campfires and fishing in the creek, and long hikes in the fall.
Friendship, respect, and family made life worth living. But beyond those things, she was odd. A loner who liked superorganized closets, drawers, and cabinets but would make forts out of the living room furniture and enjoy the children’s messy playroom.
They went into the workshop, and she walked over to the canoe that he’d almost completed rather than the one he was sawing strips for. Her hands slid over his work, and pleasure filled her face. “Joel, it’s perfect and beautiful.” She walked around it, her fingers gliding across the gunwale until she was near him again. “It’s as if each canoe is more stunning than the one before.”
“Denki. Most of the intricacies of the special designs were your ideas. Maybe you should try your hand at building one.”
She laughed and held up one arm, poking her biceps. “I’d never get one piece of wood sawed.”
“I could do that part. We could build one together. I think you’d enjoy doing something different, something other than housework and taking care of the children.”
She shook her head, and he saw insecurity creep into her features. “I’d only slow you down, and nothing we made would compare to what you do on your own. My only skill outside of the home is kennel cleanup.”
The answer to his question smacked him in the face. Why hadn’t he realized this before? Elise had a kennel on her property, and when Rose visited her, they often spent time in the kennel. Rose always enjoyed her time with the veterinarian and came home gushing about the dogs—old ones as well as puppies.
“Okay, kennel it is.”
Rose stopped admiring the canoe and looked up. “Pardon?”
“I want you to pick one day a week and spend the whole day at the kennel. Mose will be in school, and Mamm can keep Levi and Grace.”
“You don’t even like Elise.”
“That’s not true. I do like her.”
Rose raised a single brow, questioning his statement.
“Okay, you’re right. I don’t enjoy her personality that much, but because you like her, I like her.” It had taken him some time to figure out what it was about Elise that Rose liked. The woman had strong opinions about everything—from when the children needed new shoelaces to what Rose should feed them for breakfast—and she shared them all the time. She was well educated and seemed to think she knew more than Rose about everything, and he didn’t like that. But then he realized that Elise’s outspoken ways somehow helped Rose connect with the thoughts and feelings she repressed. Rose often disagreed with Elise’s opinions, but hearing Elise’s ideas seemed to help Rose sort through her own thoughts on the matter. She truly enjoyed it.
Joel shuffled forward until he was toe-to-toe with his wife. “Would you do this for me? I take and take, and I want to give you something all your own. Go to the kennel one day a week. Enjoy it as a hobby.”
“That’s nonsense. I won’t spend good work time on a hobby.”
He removed his hat from her head, revealing her reddish-brown hair that was partly covered by her prayer Kapp. “Please.”
She studied him. “But…”
“I’ll help you with the house.”
“You do that already.”
“I can hire help then.”
“Joel, stop.”
He tempered his frustrations. “Would you submit to my desire in this as your husband?”
She lowered her chin, looking chastened, but nodded. “Of course.”
He hated to push that on her, but if she’d begin going, she would be pleased he’d done so. “Rose, it’s only one day a week, and it would be something you would enjoy.”
“I can hardly get laundry done each week. How could I commit to every week?”
“Okay, you’re exempt when unavoidable things come up.”
She seemed leery but nodded again.
“Ya?” He grinned, pleased to finally get her to agree to do something that was just for her. And it’d only taken three years.
One year later
The crisp smells of December filled the air as Rose stood near the driveway, scrubbing clothes on a washboard. She doused her husband’s white Sunday shirt with more detergent and rubbed the stains against the washboard. Her stinging hands inspired her to think a series of colorful but unspoken insults about the wringer washer that was sitting in the house, refusing to work.
“Mama!” Levi yelled. “Look.”
She grinned. “Ya, that’s good.”
Since they’d lost their Mamm, Rose had come up with a name the children could call her that felt very mom-like without using the name Florence had gone by.
“No, Mama. Really look,” Levi yelled.
Still scrubbing the stains, Rose looked up. Levi hopped off his scooter, spun it around, and jumped back on it. At six years old, he still wanted her attention and approval. She hoped to hold on to his sweet innocence for as long as possible.
“Now I’ve seen you do it twice,” she teased.
All three children were on scooters, riding in circles on the driveway. The boys were on two-wheelers, speedily going into the grass and then back to the top of the asphalt driveway, but four-year-old Grace had a three-wheel scooter, and she liked the s
mooth and easy ride of the driveway.
Clarabelle mooed softly from her stall. As much pet as milk provider, she probably wanted to come out and play with the children.
Mose sped past Rose, splashing through the watery mess. Maybe she should’ve set up her wash on the driveway rather than beside it. The ground under and around her was now a muddy mess after hours of water trickling from the wash and rinse tubs. She’d created a mudhole without meaning to.
Looking into the dark puddle, she worried that it served as a reflection of the thoughts that kept bubbling up. She’d been positive she could ignore the dull ache inside her chest. And the unfamiliar jealousy that warred inside her. And the sadness at her husband’s waning interest.
She drew a breath and looked up, hoping to find some solace. The trees on her beloved rolling hills of West Virginia were stripped. The colorful fall foliage with its gorgeous shades of yellow and red was gone, whisked away by autumn’s winds and pelting rain. But there was equal beauty in the bareness. Some years the land was covered in a thick layer of white by this time, and since Christmas was only six days away, the landscape would surely glisten with its first snowfall soon.
He had found her attractive for a while, hadn’t he? Not so very long ago she’d thought they were heading in the right direction—the less lonely direction.
Yesterday Rose had heard the preacher say “nothing lasts forever.” In her mind it evolved into It won’t last forever. The words kept playing in her head last night, getting louder as her house got quieter. What was the it that wouldn’t last forever? Her loneliness? Her hopes? Those same words—it won’t last forever—were still with her when she went to bed. But while it was still dark, she awoke suddenly. She checked the ticking clock on her bedside table: 5:20. And then she heard a woman’s voice. Rose had darted out of bed to look out the window, her heart in her throat. In the moonlit darkness she saw her husband and Gertie Mae Yoder leaning against the side of the new addition to the house as they talked. What was she doing here?
The Angel of Forest Hill Page 3
