She glanced at him when she finished. Willard was staring through the windshield at the road. “Was it that horrible?” she whispered.
He turned his head. “You wrote that today?”
Mary looked away. “Yah. Why?”
“Thank you,” he said. “That was nice of you.”
Mary wasn’t sure what else to say.
He tried to smile. “I appreciate the words more than you could know. Life is kind of rough there.” He reached over to touch her hand. “Thank you, Mary. That was the kindest thing a woman ever said about me.”
Silence filled the car as they drove out of town.
“That was also nice poetry,” he said. “Well put together and with the proper feeling. Thanks for reading the piece to me. I am humbled to be the first man upon whose ears your sweet words have fallen.”
“Don’t tease me, Willard,” she managed. “I didn’t mean the poem the way it clearly sounded. I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be,” he said. “Can I have it?” He held out his hand for the piece of paper.
What could she do? His blue eyes pierced hers, and their fingers brushed. A jolt went all the way through her.
She gave him directions to her house. As soon as he had brought the car to a stop, she opened the door and bolted up the driveway. She didn’t look back on the race up to her front door.
“What is wrong?” Betsy asked in the entryway.
“Nothing! Willard brought me home,” Mary said, continuing her mad dash up the stairs.
SEVENTEEN
Willard sat at the breakfast table and scrolled through the news headlines on his smartphone. An earthquake in Chile and warfare in the Middle East dominated the list.
His grandmother set a plate of eggs in front of him. “Any news from Kenya? Or are other things on your mind this morning?”
“Ean and Daisy are handling things fine.” Willard managed a smile. “I should be back before long. But you never know when trouble will rear its ugly head.”
Mrs. Gabert seated herself beside him. “Can you ask the blessing?”
Willard bowed his head without answering and led out, “Dear God in heaven, thank You for this food, and for my grandmother, and for the morning You have given us…”
“Amen,” Mrs. Gabert echoed when he finished. “You forgot one thing, though. Mary Yoder.”
“I’m supposed to give thanks for her?”
Mrs. Gabert chuckled. “Sounds like I was right. You two are in love.”
The sight of Mary bolting up the driveway toward the house last evening replayed in his head. He had her poem in his pocket, the paper already wrinkled from the many times he had read her words. His protest died on his lips.
“See, Willard? You should accept the ways of the Lord.”
“The Lord?” The words exploded out of his mouth. “You want me to fall in love with a girl who will only reject me…who is impossible to reach…who belongs to another world…who…” Willard’s hand flailed through the air in hopeless circles.
“A true sign of the Lord’s doing,” Mrs. Gabert concluded with a pleased smile. “Great things must come out of great faith.”
“Faith! Love! Me! Her!” Willard sputtered. “What you are saying is impossible, Grandma. I should catch the next plane back to Kenya and leave this foolishness behind. I will soon have the funds I need. Beyond that—”
“You like the girl.” Mrs. Gabert handed him a plate of toast. “Am I not right?”
“As in…”
“Don’t overthink things, Willard,” she chided.
“I’m not going to stop thinking,” he retorted. “I did that once, and look what happened.”
“The Lord gives when the Lord takes,” she reminded him. “And in double portions, usually. Nothing is impossible for Him. Remember that.”
Willard grunted and didn’t respond for a moment.
“You should invite Mary and Betsy to your talk tonight in Palatine Bridge. Pick them up and take them out to eat afterward. That would be a step in the right direction.”
Willard groaned. “You never stop, do you?”
“Not when I’m right,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Tell me about your time together so far. You went down to the store last night to drive her home.”
Willard looked away.
“Come on,” Mrs. Gabert prodded. “I’m right, am I not? You find her interesting.”
“She read me one of her poems.” He hesitated before handing her the paper. “Did you know that Mary was a poet?”
Mrs. Gabert read silently. “I didn’t, but I’m not surprised. The Amish are talented, even in the arts. Is this poem about you? Sounds like it.”
Willard studied his plate. “I don’t think Mary knew or thought about… Or maybe she understands the impossibility of a relationship between us. The best thing would be to end this once and for all by leaving.”
His grandmother was undeterred. “I think you’re wrong.”
“A man in love with right…” Willard quoted from memory, the words seared into his mind.
“Mary read this poem to you?”
“Well, I asked her to. Not knowing what it was, of course.”
“You two are getting along great without my help.”
“Don’t let your imagination run away, Grandma.”
Her smile appeared. “Let me get this straight. We have an Amish girl reading an intimate poem to a man she hardly knows. I don’t think I need much imagination for this love story. The truth is plain enough to see.”
“You really think I should take this risk? To say nothing of Mary…if she even would?”
“Is having your heart broken again your concern, Willard? You know that any love will break your heart eventually.”
“I’m sorry.” Willard reached across the table to touch his grandmother’s hand. “You miss him, don’t you?”
She wiped away a tear. “Your grandfather was a handsome fellow, Willard. You remind me of Benny in many ways. We were married for almost fifty years. I thought we would make the magic number, but we fell a few months short. Wonderful years, though. You should take the chance while you have it. There is only one Mary in the world. Perhaps you didn’t come on furlough for the reason you thought you did.”
“Your faith is great, Grandma, but…”
She patted him on the arm. “Follow your heart, Willard, and don’t think too much.”
“About the pain? Or about the devastation this would cause Mary? You know how the Amish are.”
“Don’t waste time wondering what could be or could’ve been. I’m not going to force you. This is your choice, but I’ll keep praying for you. I’m just an old woman speaking out of her memories and wishing Benny were here.”
“I know you loved my grandfather.”
“I did love him, and your parents and you. I’m sure our love was only a shadow of the love the Lord has for His people. We can’t see that too well except when His love is reflected in the faces of those our hearts are made one with.”
“Maybe you should give the talk tonight.” Willard chuckled. “The offering plate would be filled to the brim, and I could go back to Kenya next week.”
Mrs. Gabert wiped away another tear. “You’ll do great, dear. And you’ll make the right choice with Mary. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.”
Willard gave her a skeptical look.
“Okay. I won’t, but I’ll try,” she said.
Willard smiled. “I know you will, Grandma. I was teasing. And thanks for breakfast.”
Mrs. Gabert’s face lit up. “Are you going down to see her now? She walked past here an hour ago.”
Willard laughed and retreated to the guest bedroom without an answer, but he sobered at the sound of a horse’s hooves beating on the street pavement outside. He pushed aside the drapes to follow the slow movement of a buggy. A bearded man with a black hat sitting low on his brow drove the horse. The man studied the front porch as he passed, as if he thought danger lurked
inside.
The buggy turned at the street corner, but the sound of hoofbeats lingered in the air. The Amish were not psychic, so the man couldn’t know about Willard’s conversation at the breakfast table with his grandmother, but the sight of the buggy reminded him of the impossibility of his situation. Mary was devoted to her faith and her community—a community they did not share.
“Don’t overthink,” his grandmother had said.
But how could he refrain from thinking? Every nerve in his body shouted for thinking—reasonable, logical, sensible thinking. He liked Mary Yoder. Who wouldn’t? They both knew recent heartbreak, but broken hearts were known for their poor choices. Neither of them could trust their heart, let alone each other. They were headed for ruin or worse if he pursued her. Even if Mary agreed to attend the meeting tonight, choosing to love a non-Amish man would mean walking away from everything she had ever known.
Willard paced the floor. He more than liked Mary. The woman fascinated him. The depth of her soul was visible in her brown eyes. Their clearness masked no evil. She was a woman who had not walked the dark paths of the world, a world he knew well from his work in Kenya. Granted, life in the States was sheltered, but Mary’s life went beyond that. She had a purity of heart that he had not encountered before. Carlene had come from a Christian home and had been a woman of virtue, but she had rejected him once his calling to Kenya had become a reality. Carlene had found him lacking, and the experience had been painful for him. The hurt would be worse if he were foolish enough to approach Mary again.
Willard glanced out the window at the empty street. The sound of the buggy had long faded from the air. He should be wise and give up any thought of Mary Yoder. She would be a pleasant memory, her words a balm to his soul, and that would be enough. He would find some other woman to marry someday, one from his world.
But could he walk away from the challenge without even trying? Grandma knew him well and had known the point to stress. What if? What could be if their love were allowed to flourish and grow?
A smile filled Willard’s face. The task would be difficult—perhaps impossible. But he would try. He couldn’t do anything else and live with himself. In the end, the matter was in the Lord’s hands. What a miracle if a woman like Mary would love him, would come to walk by his side in Kenya. Her compassion would go into action on behalf of Nairobi’s street children. Her words of faith would speak to their injured hearts.
Willard stopped himself. He was overthinking and daydreaming at the same time.
When he exited the bedroom, his grandmother looked up from her chair in the living room with a smile on her face.
“Don’t say I told you so,” he said.
“I never would, Willard,” she replied, with a twinkle in her eyes. “But I hope she says yes.”
Willard grabbed the car keys from the kitchen wall and went out the front door. In the driveway he paused, his gaze turning in the direction the buggy had gone. Why not walk this morning? The weather was better, and Mary often went past on foot. He was used to moving about on his own steam in Kenya. Maybe he was half-Amish himself?
Willard set out down the street at a brisk walk. He navigated the crossings without mishap and arrived breathless in front of the food co-op. Two buggies were parked nearby, one of them doubtless the stern-faced Amish man who had driven past grandmother’s house earlier. There was no way he was going inside at the moment. With a determined stride, Willard headed up the street. He needed the exercise, and he deserved this rebuke. This is what came from acting without thinking.
A small sign pointed to the Fort Plain cemetery. That was a logical place to while away an hour or so. He hadn’t been back since his grandfather’s funeral. With quick steps Willard arrived at the large, double entrance pillars with complementary smaller ones on each side. Tall trees and the well-maintained grounds beckoned, and Willard found the correct path on the other side of the mausoleum. He slowed to approach the graves and knelt in the grass before the first headstone. A faded bouquet of roses lay nearby. His grandmother had been up here not too long ago.
Benny H. Gabert, he read silently. Beloved father and husband. May you rest in peace from your labors.
Willard stood and moved toward other stones, getting down on his knees again. To him they were names without faces—Howard and Pricilla, his father and mother. He loved them, he knew he did, and he had loved them before they were taken—for reasons a young heart could not understand. Many memories of them had disappeared, but love had filled his life. Grandma and Grandpa Gabert had seen to that, until one more face had vanished. Willard had loved, but not as much as Grandma had loved these people.
Death was a foe, but love and hope were still alive in Grandma’s heart. And Grandpa Benny and Mom and Dad were together in glory somewhere, waiting for their loved ones to join them.
In the meantime, in the here and now, impossibilities boggled the mind. Life must have been simpler in Grandma’s day. Willard stood. Times changed, but he couldn’t help that. The will of the Lord was the will of the Lord, and one could not choose. One only accepted.
He retraced his steps down the hill to find the parking lot at the co-op empty. The Lord’s guiding hand had provided Willard an opening, Grandma would claim. He would leave such lofty thoughts to those more mature in the faith.
Mary glanced up when he stepped inside. At least she didn’t appear displeased. “Goot morning, Willard,” she greeted him. “Can I help you?”
He hesitated. Should he make a purchase to make his visit seem more causal? Her smile began to disappear.
“I…I thought perhaps you would be open to another invitation.”
“Yah?” She waited with no rebuke on her face.
“Would you consider coming to another talk I’m giving tonight? You and Betsy? I could pick you up and take you home afterward. I’ll even throw in supper.” He attempted a smile.
“The talk is about Kenya?” Her gaze was intense.
“Of course. I don’t know about much else.”
Mary nodded. “Pick us up, then. Betsy would enjoy the evening out, and I’d be glad to learn more about Kenya.”
“I’ll see you at six thirty,” he said before retreating out the door.
EIGHTEEN
That evening Betsy set the supper dishes on the table while Mary fiddled with the lid on the soup kettle. Mary had been much too quiet since she came home from the co-op. Betsy glanced toward her sister and took a guess. “Did Willard visit today, by any chance?”
Mary’s face colored. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. He invited us to attend another meeting on Kenya, and I accepted.”
“You did?” Betsy didn’t hide her delight. “At what time?”
“Willard is picking us up at six thirty, and he’s taking us out to eat afterward.”
“Mary!” Betsy shrieked. She glanced wildly at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s five thirty, and supper is almost ready.”
Before Mary could respond, Mamm’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Did I hear something?”
Mary busied herself again with the soup kettle, and Betsy’s thoughts spun. Mary was in love with Willard, but Betsy’s exuberance was not going to further the result she wanted.
“What’s going on?” Mamm glanced between the two of them.
Betsy took several deep breaths and planted a serious look on her face. “Willard invited us to attend another meeting on Kenya, and he’s taking us out to eat afterward. I think we should accept.”
“You and Mary?” Mamm’s gaze flickered back and forth again. “When is this meeting?”
“Tonight.” Betsy grimaced in apology. “Mary just told me, and I really want to go. This kind of education on the suffering people of the world doesn’t come every day.”
Mamm regarded her skeptically. “What about your regular rumspringa outing tonight? You never skip that.”
Betsy grasped for straws. “Maybe I’m improving?”
“
You’re not falling in love with this Willard fellow, are you?”
“Of course not!” Betsy pasted on a bright smile. How could Mamm be so blind?
“I guess you can go,” Mamm allowed. “An interest in Kenya is better than the things you normally do on a Friday night.”
Mamm disappeared, and Betsy hugged herself. Where had her inspiration come from while under such stress?
“Thank you,” Mary whispered. “I didn’t know how to approach the subject.”
“I’m happy it worked out. Now let’s get supper ready for the rest of the family.” After a quick look toward the empty kitchen doorway, Betsy did a little dance on the vinyl floor. “Oh, Mary! We’re going out to eat with Willard Gabert tonight.”
“It’s a meeting about Kenya,” Mary muttered.
“You are so wunderbah.” Betsy gave Mary a big hug. “I am so excited for you.”
“I am learning a lot about Kenya,” Mary retorted. “Maybe Stephen will be interested in what we learn. At least I’ll have a ready topic of conversation on Sunday evening.”
Betsy stared. “You…you didn’t!”
“Yah, I accepted a date with him,” Mary deadpanned. “I haven’t even told Mamm.”
“Stephen Overholt!” Betsy muffled her shriek with her apron. “What is wrong with you, Mary? I told you. I warned you!”
“Don’t scold me.” Mary shook her finger at her sister. “This is for the best, and I’ll have something to occupy me. Stephen can use my help.”
Betsy calmed herself. If Mary wanted to burn her hand twice in a row, there was no use trying to talk her out of it.
“It’s strange how the Lord works,” Mary mused. “I get to learn about a subject that deeply grips my heart, while at the same time I can help a man improve his life. How mysterious are His ways.”
You have lost your mind, Betsy almost said, but she stifled her words. Mary’s dreamworld was worse than she had imagined.
Mary dipped out the soup into a smaller bowl. “Maybe we should eat with the family before we leave.”
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