Mary's Home

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “We are doing nothing of the sort,” Betsy shot back. “Willard is taking us out for supper.”

  Mary made a face. “But we shouldn’t eat too much. It might not be goot manners.”

  “You won’t be eating much, believe me. Not in the shape your nerves are in.”

  “I’m perfectly fine.” Mary drew herself taller. “I know I shouldn’t have accepted Willard’s invitation, but I couldn’t resist.”

  “You did the right thing,” Betsy encouraged her. “Now, call out to the barn that supper is ready.”

  Mary nodded and went to the mudroom door, where she hollered out, “Supper!” at the top of her voice.

  There was no answer from the barn, but there never was. The men’s ears were attuned to the news, and they never missed the call.

  Mamm had come in to finish setting the table when Mary came back from the mudroom.

  “We’re going up to our bedrooms to change before supper,” Betsy told her. “Willard’s coming at six thirty.”

  Mamm appeared ready to say something, but she must have changed her mind. Betsy gave Mary a sly glance, and Mary followed her upstairs. “Let Mamm break the news to Daett,” Betsy told her.

  Mary nodded and appeared grateful. “You are much better at this than I am.”

  Because I have more experience, Betsy almost said. But why rock the boat? Was Mary ignorant of what they were doing? Apparently. Mary entered her room at the top of the stairs without looking back, and Betsy continued down the hallway to her bedroom. She changed into a Sunday dress and found Mary waiting for her when she stepped outside. Mary was similarly attired in her best Sunday outfit.

  “Ready?” Betsy asked with a smile.

  “We have to look our best for the important event,” Mary said, as if her dress needed a defense.

  Betsy took her sister’s arm. “You should enjoy your time with Willard tonight. Don’t forget that.”

  “Betsy,” Mary chided. “He’s an Englisha man. We can only be so friendly.”

  “Just relax and talk to him,” Betsy told her. “Now come.”

  Mary looked at her strangely as they went down the stairs, but Betsy ignored her. Mary could pretend, but Betsy was the one with her feet rooted in reality. How strange to think that what she had dreamed of was happening to her sister, who didn’t want the love of such a wunderbah man like Willard. But the world was a crazy place. She already knew that.

  Daett looked up when they walked into the kitchen. “So what is this I hear?”

  “Going out to another talk about Kenya,” Betsy chirped.

  “In your Sunday dresses?” He eyed them from top to bottom.

  “Women,” Gerald muttered from his place at the table. “They have their priorities mixed up.”

  Betsy nearly jumped when Mary snapped, “That is so wrong of you to say!” Her sister was not known for her outbursts.

  Gerald appeared similarly stunned. “What’s wrong with Mary?”

  “Children,” Daett chided. “Getting dressed for an Englisha church service shows proper respect.”

  Gerald sniffed. “Do you girls have your money ready? I told you how these things go.”

  “There’s Willard now,” Betsy sang out. Thankfully, the man had shown up at the right moment.

  “Have a goot evening.” Mamm bid them goodbye with a wave.

  They left the house through the mudroom door and headed down the walk toward Willard’s car. “I hope you know what a big favor I’m doing you,” Betsy said out of the side of her mouth.

  “Thanks,” Mary whispered back. “I wouldn’t get to hear more about Kenya without your help.”

  Mary missed the point, but Betsy wouldn’t press it. Willard waited beside his car with a big smile on his face.

  “What an honor,” he said. “How many men from my world get to escort two lovely Amish women to his talk on Kenya?”

  Mary had red streaks up and down her neck, which Willard appeared to graciously ignore.

  “The honor is ours,” Betsy told him. “We are being escorted by the most handsome of hosts.”

  “You flatter me.” Willard grinned. He held the back door open. “But thanks, Betsy.”

  Obviously she was supposed to climb in. Mary began to move, but Betsy stopped her with a touch on the arm. Much as she would have loved to sit with Willard, that was Mary’s place as the woman in love with him—a fact that would remain unmentioned at the moment.

  “You should sit in front,” Betsy told Mary, in case she didn’t get the hint.

  Mary’s blush grew deeper. She had been in Willard’s car before, but maybe having her sister along made things worse. Perhaps it rubbed salt into the wound in Mary’s heart.

  “So where are we going tonight?” Betsy asked from the backseat as Willard and Mary fastened their seat belts. Mary still hadn’t said a word.

  Willard backed the car out of the Yoders’ driveway. “I’m speaking at the Valley Alliance Church. It’s located closer to Fort Plain than Palatine Bridge, but Palatine Bridge is the address. Nice church.” His smile grew. “I am so pleased you girls could come tonight.”

  Mary appeared ready to say something, but she was in no condition to utter a word.

  Betsy rushed to speak. “Mary is so into Kenya that she has interested me. Isn’t that something? Maybe we can go to more of your talks. How often will you be speaking?”

  “Just while I’m over here on furlough, which isn’t much longer. The fund-raising is coming along great. Thankfully, there are many churches interested in the work. American Christians have kind hearts and giving wallets.”

  “When are you going back?” Mary’s voice squeaked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Willard responded. “Depends. But in the meantime, where do you girls want to eat after the talk?”

  “You really don’t have to take us anywhere,” Mary spoke up. “Hearing about Kenya is the important part.”

  Willard nodded, apparently uncertain how to continue.

  Betsy spoke up. “Don’t listen to her. We haven’t had supper.”

  “Well, that decides it.” Willard seemed to relax. “I thought maybe you had changed your minds, which I could understand. You have such wholesome Amish food, and I am…well, not a total stranger, I guess.”

  “Mary can’t wait to visit a fancy restaurant,” Betsy said, making Mary gasp.

  Willard glanced between them. “You are teasing, I assume.”

  “A little.” Betsy laughed. “But I know that Mary hasn’t been out to eat in ages, goot Amish food notwithstanding. Can you take us to Delmonico’s Italian Steakhouse, near Utica?”

  Another gasp came from Mary. “Betsy! That’s not polite.”

  Willard’s grin grew. “I would be honored, Betsy. And I asked because I wanted to know what you like. I take it from your reaction that you know this place, Mary?”

  “Faintly,” Mary managed. “It sounds expensive.”

  “You are both worth expensive,” he said.

  Mary was blushing again as they turned into the church’s parking lot. True to Willard’s word, the building was only a few miles south of Fort Plain.

  “Shouldn’t we be investing money in the Kenyan glue boys instead of fancy restaurants?” Mary protested.

  “Well…” Willard paused. “I guess you do have a point, but—”

  “I would feel so much more comfortable someplace that’s not expensive,” Mary continued. “I appreciate your wanting to spend money on us, but—”

  “This evening is important to me,” Willard insisted.

  “It’s just us.” Mary glanced toward Betsy. “We aren’t extravagant.”

  “I think—” Betsy began, but Willard stopped her with a shake of his head.

  “We’ll eat where Mary will be comfortable, even if I believe the money would be well spent on both of you.”

  “Thank you,” Mary whispered.

  How could Betsy get a moment alone with Willard? She needed to speak to him. Obviously, no girl had ever t
urned down his offer to eat at a fancy restaurant. Mary meant no offense, but Betsy couldn’t explain fully in her sister’s presence. The poor man appeared totally confused.

  “Can you wait a minute in the car?” she asked Mary. “I want to speak with Willard alone.”

  Mary hesitated but nodded. Betsy stepped out of the car, and Willard followed. She turned to face him once they were far enough away that Mary couldn’t hear. “I hope you’re not offended, Willard. Mary—”

  He held up his hand. “Not in the least, Betsy. Just surprised and impressed. Mary is obviously a woman of deep faith and conviction.”

  “And she’s in love with you.” Betsy rushed the words out. “That’s what I want to say.”

  “In love with me?” Now Willard was turning red. “Are you sure?”

  “Yah, certain, and I think you like her, which is goot. I’m on your side, but I have to tell you something so you don’t get discouraged. Mary is bound to mention someone this evening, which could throw you off.”

  Willard waited as Betsy caught her breath. “Mary has just accepted a date from an old bachelor in the community, someone she doesn’t even like.”

  Willard tilted his head. “I thought you said—”

  “I know. Mary accepted the date under the pretense of helping the man, who does need help. Mary is kind like that, but I believe the real reason is that she’s trying to mask her feelings for you.”

  “That sounds complicated. Are you sure about this?”

  “Certain as the day is long!” Betsy declared. “But we must go and get her. She’ll become curious soon.”

  He glanced back at the car. “What am I supposed to do with this information?”

  “Court her, and don’t give up.”

  “You think that would work?”

  “I want Mary to have a decent husband. That’s what you would be, and she cares about your work. After what she’s been through, she deserves a chance at love again. Not with someone like that old bachelor Stephen Overholt, whom she’s not going to marry anyway.”

  Willard studied her. “And what about the community’s reaction? Could Mary deal with that and still keep her faith and dedication?”

  “Win her heart, and she’ll be yours,” Betsy retorted. “That’s all I know.”

  NINETEEN

  Thirty minutes later, Mary shifted in her seat as Willard strode toward the speaker’s podium. This church service was similar to the other one they had attended. She had never dreamed the day would come when she would attend Englisha church services, but this was during the week and for a goot cause. She was here to learn more about Kenya.

  Mary focused on Willard’s face as he shook hands with the pastor and was introduced to the congregation. Betsy gave her a pinch on the arm and a sly smile, but Mary ignored her. Of course her sister would think Willard a worthy love pursuit. Willard was handsome, for certain. Betsy had spent a long time talking with Willard earlier, apparently over Mary’s refusal to eat at a fancy restaurant. Maybe she should have indulged Willard’s and Betsy’s wishes. She still could, but the decision felt wrong. How could she enjoy a fancy meal when she knew that Willard was spending money that could be invested in better ways?

  “Good evening, everybody,” Willard said from the podium. “I’m glad to see all of you out tonight. I’m Mrs. Gabert’s grandson, and I’m staying at her house in Fort Plain while on furlough. I’m also the director of a mission called Agape Outreach, stationed in Nairobi, the largest city in Kenya. But first, on less serious matters, I have brought two Amish friends with me tonight, Mary and Betsy Yoder. Please help them feel welcome.”

  Willard paused and grinned as several of the congregation turned to nod their heads and whisper, “Good evening, and welcome.”

  “Smile,” Betsy spoke in Mary’s ear. “And wave.”

  Heat flushed up Mary’s neck. She had been blushing all evening, but this attention was embarrassing. She managed the smile, but she could not bring herself to copy her sister’s cheerful wave to the whole congregation. Betsy was acting more like an Englisha woman than an Amish one, but Betsy was still on her rumspringa.

  “Isn’t he just the charmer?” Betsy whispered in her direction.

  Mary didn’t respond. One didn’t whisper in church, and if Willard was a charmer, that was exactly what she didn’t need. Josiah had exhibited all sorts of charm, but he had never shown any interest in Kenyan glue boys or in much of anything other than himself. She could see that plainly now after the man had jilted her. No, Betsy was wrong. Willard had a sense of humor, but he was no charmer. Willard had character.

  He gathered the congregation’s attention to himself again. “Let me get right into the stories about the work I do. I can think of nothing that better captures the burden of our mission than what happened the evening I showed Ean and Daisy Messer around town. This couple is taking care of the mission while I am gone. After driving the streets all day, we stopped to eat supper at a nice restaurant in Nairobi. The place caters to tourists and Americans, of course. The food is excellent. As we ate, Ean, Daisy, and I were catching up on news from home and their long-term plans for Kenyan missions. We exited the restaurant afterward to see one of the glue boys seated across the street from the restaurant. The boy was on the sidewalk, clutching a glue bottle in his hands. His vacant stare was fixed on the restaurant door, watching the rich, happy, well-dressed people coming and going. The three of us stopped in our tracks.

  “‘That’s what we’re talking about,’ Ean said. ‘Right before our eyes.’

  “I agreed. There the boy was, watching the real world go by, with longing on his face but with hope stripped away, knowing that he was not part of the life that bubbled in front of him. His world was the haze of glue-induced phantoms, a world where hunger is dulled and pain is vanquished by delusion. The boys’ brains become impaired by the fumes of glue. The damage is irreversible, which is why early intervention is so crucial. Detox for these young boys is not nearly as difficult as it is for heroin addicts or other drug users, which is why we keep open doors at the mission. The boys can leave or stay. Some leave, but some return once they have a taste of home, family, trust, good food, and the comfort of loving human beings.”

  Willard paused, and Mary glanced at Betsy. “I have to go to Kenya and visit,” she mouthed.

  Betsy nodded as Willard went on. “The mission offers other opportunities for the children. In one case, a small child became separated from his parents while they visited Nairobi. One of the older street children brought the boy to us, and we began an intense search for his parents by placing ads on the radio. The task was almost impossible, as we knew, unless we could pinpoint where the child was from. Kenya has two official languages, English and Swahili. Beyond that, sixty-eight languages are spoken in the villages and hamlets scattered across the countryside. The child spoke a few words, and with the help of local people, we were eventually able to narrow our search to an area north of Nairobi. By the grace of the Lord, we found the parents and facilitated a joyous reunion. Everyone expressed many thanks to the mission, as you can imagine.”

  Willard kept speaking, but Mary’s thoughts were still on the image of the boy seated on the sidewalk outside the restaurant in Nairobi. She had lost so much when her dream of a home with Josiah ended, but hope had not died. She still had a chance at love once the Lord opened the door. There would be dinner around the supper table, Scriptures read in the living room, and affection for everyone. There were people in the world who did not have such hope. Tears trickled down Mary’s cheeks as Willard concluded his remarks and the offering plate was passed. She dug in her satchel and handed over forty dollars, the last of her paycheck from the co-op.

  As she placed her gift in the plate, she knew money could not buy hope for the boy seated on the sidewalk. He was past the point of help. Even love would not reach him—not with a brain destroyed by dreadful glue fumes. Could God work miracles? Wouldn’t Jesus, who knew how to heal leprosy and drive out demons,
know how to fix a body destroyed and broken?

  There must be something else she could do. But what? Quilts and blankets were a start, but how empty the gesture seemed in the face of such need. The service ended, and smiling people shook Betsy’s and Mary’s hands and thanked them for coming. Mary tried to smile, but her face felt as if it were frozen.

  Willard’s worried face appeared above hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Your story moved me deeply,” Mary managed. “That boy sitting on the sidewalk outside the restaurant…”

  “Now you see why I am in Kenya,” he said, sober faced. “I appreciate it that you understand.”

  “I don’t think I understand it fully, nor can I do anything,” Mary protested. “I’ve lived an awfully sheltered life.”

  “I know the feeling,” he said, “but to echo C.S. Lewis, the works of the devil will not be allowed to rob heaven of her joy.”

  “That’s deep,” she said with a brief glance at him. Betsy for once walked silently behind them.

  “It’s an answer that satisfies me,” he said. “And believe me, one struggles when working in such horrible conditions. How is it right to laugh, or even live, in the midst of such suffering? Yet to surrender joy, peace, and hope in our own lives is to surrender what does not belong to the enemy.”

  “You thought this up by yourself?” Mary asked in a hushed tone.

  Willard chuckled. “The mission field drives one to his knees—and to read the authors who have walked in difficult places. Others have pointed the way.”

  “I am still impressed,” Betsy said as Willard opened the car doors for them and they climbed inside.

  Willard seated himself and fastened his seat belt before he asked, “So where shall it be, Ms. Yoder? The choice is up to you.”

  Obviously, the question was directed toward Mary. She blinked. She had forgotten about the promised dinner date.

  “Or do you want me to take you home?” Willard asked. “Either way is fine. Grandma has some snacks in the cupboard, I’m sure. I won’t starve.”