Mary's Home

by Jerry S. Eicher

  I’m sorry to break this to you in this way, Willard, but perhaps it’s for the best. I’m seeing someone else. Don’t worry. You don’t know him. Don’t blame yourself. We weren’t meant to be. The best to you, and I hope you have many blessed years doing what the Lord has called you to do.

  And just like that, Carlene was gone. Willard had already scheduled a speaking engagement the next month in her father’s church, and he had manned up and kept the date. He knew he would have to face her—somehow, even with the pain that blossomed in his heart. He had cared for her more deeply than even he had realized. Carlene skipped the meeting, and he had stumbled through the performance. She had been wiser than he had been.

  Carlene’s father had patted him on the back afterward. “The Lord will be with you. These things happen, son. Don’t lose heart.”

  But he had. He hadn’t dated these past two years. There had been opportunities—small signs of interest that seemed to indicate an open door—but Willard had held back. Maybe he should have asked a local Kenyan girl to be his wife. The thought had occurred to him a few times.

  Willard whacked at another piece of log in front of him. His heart wasn’t in marrying in Kenya, either, even though there were a number of unmarried women in Tambala’s church where he attended services. Any of them would have accepted an American man without a second thought. They would love him in their own way, but his heart wouldn’t be settled.

  But an Amish girl? That was worse! A thousand times worse! Foolish on top of everything—and wrong! Willard’s ax flew as he warmed to the task in front of him. Every reason why he should reject his grandmother’s matchmaking efforts brought a fresh spurt of energy.

  After a while, his grandmother appeared in front of him wrapped in her long winter coat. “Arguing with yourself?”

  Willard paused. “Something like that.”

  “I have a suggestion.”

  “No thank you, Grandma.”

  “Mary has a sister,” she continued, undeterred. “Her name is Betsy. She would be on our side. I can drive up to the Yoders’ home with the car and pick her up on some pretense. I know the family well enough. Betsy could come down for an hour or so, and we could talk.”

  “I’m not doing things like that,” he muttered. He set up another log and brought the ax down with a loud crack.

  “I’m just trying to help, Willard. You can’t let this opportunity slip away.”

  “I know how you feel, Grandma.” Willard gave her a thin smile. “But I’m sure Mary has dreams of love and family within the community. I would be quite the bubble buster, don’t you think?”

  “And you had your dreams for your life with Carlene. What would have been more natural than a preacher’s daughter in the mission field? But the Lord had other plans. Don’t say no, Willard.”

  He propped up the next log. “You make it sound as if the door is already open. Mary is from a medieval community of people. She wouldn’t want me.”

  “You are only delaying. Can I reach out to Betsy?”

  He didn’t answer as he split another piece of wood.

  “If you don’t like my suggestion, then what is yours?” She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders.

  He noticed her shivering and escorted her back to the house. “Okay, I’ll go down to the co-op and talk with Mary myself. Where are the keys?”

  “On the kitchen wall where you left them.” Her smile glowed. “I knew you’d do the right thing.”

  “What am I supposed to say to her?”

  She patted him on the arm. “You’re on your own with that, but the Lord will go with you.”

  “This is way too dramatic,” he muttered. “There must be an easier path.”

  “I can drive you to the co-op.”

  He silenced her with an upraised hand. “I’m going.”

  He grabbed the keys and hurried out of house. At the car door he paused to brush wood chips off his jeans. Maybe he would appear more like an Amish man if he left the fresh shavings on his pants. Willard snorted at the thought and climbed into the car. Moments later he arrived in front of the small co-op.

  No buggies sat in the parking lot, but there were a few cars. What did he expect? A private audience with Mary? This was more than awkward. His first date with Carlene had been the epitome of smoothness. He had walked straight up to her, smiled, and whispered, “Any chance I could take you out somewhere tonight?”

  Destiny had been on their side. They had fit each other like a hand and a glove. Whereas this was… Willard grunted and climbed out of the car, and then walked the short distance to the front door. When he entered, a small bell on a chain chimed above him. Mary looked up from behind the counter, and her mouth fell open.

  “Sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “I need bulk food products,” he teased. “Lots of them.”

  Her lips moved, but no words came out.

  He glanced around. The other customers appeared occupied at the moment, so he leaned forward. “I will be speaking about Kenya tonight at the Grandview Baptist, my grandmother’s church in town. Would you and your sister like to come and listen?”

  “You know Betsy?”

  “Grandma does. I didn’t think you would want to come alone. I can pick you up at your house if you wish.”

  Alarm filled her face. “Oh, you shouldn’t.”

  “But you would come? I’m not a great speaker, but Kenya is an interesting subject. How about it?”

  She looked as if she wanted to say something, but her lips moved soundlessly.

  “I would love to have you come.” He gave her his best smile. “Think about it.”

  “I…I can’t promise.”

  “But you will think about it?”

  Her face blazed.

  “Please do,” he whispered. “I would love to see you there, but don’t run out without speaking with me. Okay?”

  She stared at him in silence.

  “It’s at seven thirty,” he added. “I won’t speak that long.”

  He left the store and didn’t look back. There! He had done what could be done. Mary wouldn’t show up, and this would end where it had begun. In other words, nowhere.

  But what if she does show? he wondered. His heart quickened as he walked back to the car.

  TWELVE

  Betsy slammed the washing machine shut with a clatter, but the sound was muffled by the loud roar of the motor in the enclosed basement. A flexible steel pipe ran from the muffler, across the wet concrete floor, and out through a small window situated high on the wall. The faint smell of exhaust fumes still hung in the air, and Betsy fanned her face with a wet washrag. Not that this did much goot, but the effort seemed to help a bit. Someday she would have a nice washer to work with that ran quietly and didn’t threaten to suffocate everyone in the vicinity. Such Englisha machines could run in an upstairs utility room. What a life that would be, she dreamed to herself. No more basement washing.

  “Betsy!” Mamm called from the top of the stairs. “Are you about done?”

  “Yah,” Betsy responded. “I’m going out now and have one more load afterward.”

  She could imagine her mamm sighing, but the sound would’ve been swallowed up in the racket. Betsy could sigh too, but what was the use? Her life continued to waste away as she washed clothing in an old machine and then carried every stitch outside to hang on a wire clothesline. Her success with men, Amish or Englisha, had amounted to zero.

  “What am I doing wrong?” Betsy muttered as she stepped out of the basement. “Why can’t I find a decent Englisha man who is interested in me?”

  Betsy glanced up at the heavens, but no answer came from that direction. Clouds had been gathering all morning, which foretold a chilly afternoon. There could even be a late afternoon snow this time of year. The weather changed easily in the shadow of the Adirondacks. If she had completed the wash before dawn, the clothes would be dry by n
ow. But she had helped with the men’s chores in the barn, and then she had worked on a new dress on the sewing machine—a bright green one with frills attached. She hadn’t wanted Mamm to see the fancy dress, so Betsy had wasted time stuffing the material under a pile of clothing every time Mamm walked past the sewing machine.

  Betsy was not a goot Amish woman, so why did everyone try to make her one? Mary was another matter. Mary was the perfect Amish woman on the outside, but her heart wasn’t Amish. Betsy had always known this, but who listened to her? Everyone wondered why Josiah had dumped Mary for Susie, but it was no mystery to Betsy. Josiah was unreliable, but he had understood Mary. However, true to his character, he hadn’t been man enough to admit the truth. Josiah would have been the laughingstock of the community, so a simple breakup was the easier answer. Now he was out of the picture, and Mary must be helped. They should jump the fence together.

  Betsy sighed and hoisted the basket of wet clothes into her arms. Jumping the fence with Mary was not going to happen. She wrestled open the rickety basement door with one hand and went through with her back pressed against the frame. A blast of wind greeted her, and she bent her face sideways. She set the basket down at the clothesline and glanced toward the horizon. There was no sign of snow clouds, just the wind that had picked up after breakfast. With a clenched jaw, she pinned the clothes on the line and scurried back inside the basement door with the basket in one hand.

  “Betsy!” Mamm called from the top of the stairs.

  “Yah, coming.” Betsy made her way up the stairs and forced a smile.

  “Help me here in the kitchen,” Mamm said. “You have a few moments to spare.”

  Betsy bit back a retort.

  “And your new dress can wait until the wash is done,” Mamm continued. “If we run late, supper must be started. That comes first.”

  “You’re right.” Quarreling with Mamm wouldn’t help, and Betsy needed to reform her ways. “Sorry about the late start with the wash.”

  “The men appreciate your help in the barn, so don’t blame yourself.” Mamm hesitated. “I know about the frills on your dress. I wish you wouldn’t fuss with them, but I also had a rumspringa once. Regardless, I’ll keep saying it until you hear me. Everyone has problems, but there is nothing out there for us or for you.”

  So Mamm knew about the fancy dress? Did she know Betsy was changing dresses at the Fort Plain gas station, and then removing her kapp once she was away from the community’s eyes? Betsy had pushed things lately, ever since Josiah had proven her opinion of him correct. Didn’t she deserve some credit for judging him rightly?

  Then again, why press a sore point? Betsy carried a handful of dishes over to the sink. “What did you do on your rumspringa in Lancaster, Mamm?”

  Mamm shrugged. “Just the usual, I suppose.”

  Betsy took a deep breath. Surely this was a wild guess. “Were there any Englisha boyfriends?”

  Alarm filled Mamm’s face. “Is that what is going on with you, Betsy? Are you seeing an Englisha man?”

  Betsy laughed bitterly. “I wish, but I’m not.”

  Mamm stared at her, obviously unconvinced.

  “I’m not,” Betsy insisted. “We gather at the gas station in Fort Plain. I ride with Enos, and we travel with the other Amish young folks who are there. Occasionally, Englisha people are involved, but not in that way for me.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t go out anymore,” Mamm said. “It’s time you ended this and settled down. You are setting a bad example for Gerald.”

  Betsy set her jaw and didn’t answer.

  Mamm paused before speaking again. “You’re not thinking about jumping the fence anytime soon, are you?”

  “Mamm, please,” Betsy begged. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Look at the example Mary is setting in her sorrow,” Mamm chided.

  “And look how much goot that’s doing me.”

  Desperation filled Mamm’s face. “So you are thinking about jumping the fence.”

  Mary should be, Betsy almost said. Instead, she grabbed another handful of dishes as Mamm lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. The pending waywardness of her youngest daughter had overcome Mamm’s nerves. Household work could wait.

  Mamm clasped her hands on the tabletop. “Listen to me, Betsy. I was once young. I understand your temptations. I really do.”

  Betsy nodded and continued to work. Agreement was the best choice at the moment.

  “I…” Mamm paused. “This is difficult to say, but I dated an Englisha man in my rumspringa.”

  Betsy dropped a dish on the counter with a clatter. The plate tilted on the edge, and she lunged to stop its fall before it shattered on the floor.

  “I know that’s difficult to believe,” Mamm continued. “I was foolish and thought my heart could be trusted, but I was very wrong. Thankfully, your daett got my attention in time, and he persuaded me to return before I did something I would have regretted for the rest of my life. I would have made a terrible mistake if Kenneth hadn’t loved me. ‘We are not made for that life, Mandy,’ he told me. I’m so grateful I listened to him. I soon loved your daett as he loved me. I’m ashamed of my past, and I’ll always be.”

  Betsy clutched the dish in both hands.

  “Don’t be too shocked. Take courage in what I told you, because you can also change. In so many ways you remind me of myself, Betsy. I was dashing and reckless and lived for the moment. That wild heart of yours can be changed, just as mine was.”

  Betsy caught her breath. “You really dated an Englisha man? Did you love him?”

  Mamm glanced down at the tabletop. “I had feelings for the man, but that is not a memory I cherish. True love is doing what is best for one’s soul, regardless of one’s feelings. Kenneth showed me that so plainly.”

  “Then you didn’t love Daett when you married him? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I am not saying that!” Mamm said sharply. “I truly loved your daett.”

  “But you didn’t love Daett the way you loved the Englisha man?”

  Mamm shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand me, Betsy. I am trying to warn you. I told your daett I might need to tell you this story soon, and he agreed that I should. We have nothing hidden from each other. That is the way of love, Betsy.” Deep concern drew creases across Mamm’s brow.

  “The washer!” Betsy exclaimed. She made a dash for the basement door.

  Mamm rose to her feet, but she didn’t follow Betsy downstairs. Betsy still couldn’t believe that Mamm dated an Englisha man and likely fell in love with him. There is hope for me yet, she told herself as she bounded down the steps.

  Mamm was right. Betsy did take risks. Not that she was in love with an Englisha man. At this point she loved only the Englisha lifestyle.

  Of course, she could always wind up like Mamm. An Amish man could show up someday to take her heart in his hands. Maybe Ronald Troyer, who had never shown his face in the community again… No, that was foolishness. Ronald was a notion more impossible than finding an Englisha man to love her.

  Betsy lifted the lid and plunged her hands into the soapy water. She gave the switch on the wringer a thump, and the pins began to roll. Each piece of clothing was pressed flat, and the water flowed back into the tub. With the basket full, Betsy made her way outside again to pin the wet clothes to the line. She checked the first batch, but everything was still damp. If the sun didn’t break through the clouds soon, she would have to set up lines in the basement and fire up the furnace. That would push the day of washing into the evening hours.

  Betsy hurried back inside, where she left the basket on the basement floor. She drained the water out of the tub and shut down the roar of the motor. Then she pushed the washer back to its place along the basement wall and made her way up the stairs. She looked around, but Mamm was not in sight, and the counter was still stacked with dirty dishes. She busied herself, finishing quickly. Now that Mamm knew about the frills, she could work faster on the dress
. Back in the sewing room there was still no sign of her mamm. Had she gone to weep in her room or pray for her youngest daughter?

  Betsy pressed her lips together and sat down at the sewing machine. The white lace around the dress collar was forbidden by the Ordnung, but this dress would not be worn at the Sunday services. Betsy lifted it for a better look. She would appear dashing, as Mamm doubtless had in her youth. She was her mamm’s daughter.

  But falling in love? Betsy had yet to cross that bridge. She couldn’t imagine herself in love. Mary had been there, starry-eyed over Josiah’s attentions and planning her future home. Betsy wanted a man to care about, but there wasn’t one yet. In the meantime, she would occupy herself with thought of an easier life—plus adventure, travels to distant lands, and fancy dresses that weren’t hand-sewn.

  Betsy sighed and dropped the dress onto the sewing machine, where she worked the foot pedals furiously. She had a long way to go before she could experience most Englisha things. She didn’t have a job that paid a wage. Mamm had seen to that. A paying job for her wild daughter would only push her in the wrong direction. That was Mamm’s way of looking at things.

  Betsy stopped her sewing when she heard someone coming up the driveway from Duesler Road. Was Mary home? She wasn’t due back until five or so, but the clock said the time was only a little after three. Betsy leaped up to make a dash for the front door. As soon as she stepped outside, she spotted her sister. “Is something wrong?”

  Mary wouldn’t look at her as she pushed past. “I came home early. There weren’t many customers with the storm moving in.”

  Betsy glanced toward the Adirondacks. She now saw that snow clouds were forming.

  “You must need help with setting things up in the basement,” Mary continued.

  Betsy caught up with her sister. “That is why you came home?”