Mary's Home

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “Don’t complicate it, Stephen,” Mary scolded. “Would you travel to Kenya with me and visit the glue boys? If we were married, of course.”

  He grunted. “I guess that would be, at least for some people, an interesting trip.”

  “But would you go?” she insisted.

  “I suppose, if you want to know for certain, I would not.”

  “Then see? That’s my point. You need a frau who thinks like you do and fits your life.”

  “And you fit this Englisha man’s life?”

  “That’s not what I mean, Stephen. Please don’t even say that.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t understand. Not well, at least. I am a simple man who thinks about his farm, house, and kinner, of course, though I am getting old in that way.”

  “You could marry a widow who already has children,” Mary suggested. “If she fits your life and the two of you fall in love.”

  He appeared pensive. “What is this ‘falling in love’ you keep speaking of? How does one fall, or is it, feel in love?”

  Mary smiled. “Either way works, I think. Falling in love or feeling in love—it happens.”

  “But we were, earlier at least, or that long ago, speaking of being practical, and yet…”

  “I’m so sorry. This is confusing,” Mary admitted. “Maybe I did bite off more than I can chew.”

  “Oh, no, not in the least. I mean, not for a moment, don’t think that. This is very helpful, just being with you, Mary. Hearing you speak is very helpful and useful to me, if I may tell the truth.”

  “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere, Stephen. I’m sorry.”

  His face fell.

  Mary calmed herself. “Okay, let’s try something else. Most women like it when a man speaks directly when he has something to say. Can you practice that?”

  “Like…” He shifted on the couch, the last cookie in his hand. “I don’t know, not really, what you mean.”

  “Just say what you have to say, Stephen. Forcefully! Without going around in circles.”

  Mary closed her eyes for a moment. Visions of Josiah’s handsome faced danced in front of her. The man was brief and even sharp at times, always sure of himself. Her heart pounded at the memory of him seated beside her on this couch those long months ago. But what an awful thought to have about another woman’s husband.

  Mary brought herself back and opened her eyes. Stephen stared at her, his cookie gone from his hand. She had apparently spaced out in front of him.

  “Did I say something?” Her head spun.

  “You were thinking about someone?”

  “I’m sorry about that. I was in a dreamworld, but…What you just said was very good.”

  He appeared puzzled.

  “That last sentence. That was simplicity itself. You said, ‘You were thinking about someone?’”

  “I don’t know what you mean, not quite, about the question. Is that what I said?”

  Mary sighed and hurried on. “Let’s talk about Lavina. She is a widow with three children. Let’s use her as a concrete example because I think she would fit you perfectly. On some Saturday night, you could drive into her lane, tie up, and knock on her front door. What would you say when Lavina answers?”

  He appeared lost in thought.

  “Try something.”

  “Goot evening, Lavina,” he began. “I’ve come, at least it seems I have, after seeking the Lord’s will—”

  She stopped him. “No. Just say something simple. Once.”

  “Goot evening, Lavina,” he tried again. “Have you got a minute?”

  “That’s perfect!” Mary clapped her hands. “So Lavina smiles and holds open the door. You step inside, say goot evening to any of her children who are standing nearby, and ask…” Mary rolled her hand.

  “Could I, perhaps sometime—”

  “No.” Mary took a deep breath. “Just one straightforward sentence. Why have you come?”

  “Could we speak in private, Lavina?”

  Mary smiled. “That’s goot. So she sends the children away, and you sit on the couch…” Another hand roll.

  “Could I take you home from the hymn singing sometime?”

  “Okay, progress.” Mary hugged herself. “But not quite. You’re both older, and I would suggest you simply plan to have your dates on a Saturday night. On Sunday evening, Lavina would have to find a babysitter, and that would complicate things. Think simple, direct, and practical.”

  “I would like to, if it’s okay with you, sometime, get better acquainted with you.” He smiled to the imaginary Lavina. “Perhaps I could visit on a Saturday night, if you don’t mind.”

  “That was pretty goot, even with the extras,” Mary mused. “So maybe this doesn’t matter. Just ask the woman what you just did, and she will agree readily. I can promise you that.”

  “You think so?” He grinned from ear to ear.

  “I’m certain,” Mary assured him. “Now how difficult was that?”

  His face clouded. “But what about, if I dare bring up the point, the Lord’s leading? I haven’t prayed or spent time on my knees, not even for an hour about Lavina being my frau.”

  Mary held on to the couch with both hands. “You really must be practical, Stephen. Lavina would make a great frau for you. She would love you, and you would fall in love with her ways. Would you think about it?”

  “I suppose so. And now I will be practical and leave. Is it okay with you, if we, maybe in two weeks or so, do this again?”

  “How about three weeks?” she said as he stood.

  He nodded and slipped out into the night. Mary didn’t move until the sound of his horse’s hooves clomped out of the driveway.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Willard crept into the kitchen in the early morning hours to find his grandmother seated at the table with a hot cup of tea steaming in her hands.

  “Good morning, Willard.” She greeted him with a smile. “Give me a minute, and I’ll fry eggs and bacon for you.”

  He made a face. “I was hoping I wouldn’t disturb you. Cold cereal is fine.”

  She stood and walked toward the refrigerator. “I need something to do, and you’re not disturbing me. Remember that!”

  “Okay.” He gave in and settled into a chair. “I guess a warm breakfast would be delicious. Did you hear me come in last night?”

  “Not enough to disturb me. How were the meetings?”

  “No complaints. There’s lots of interest over the Christmas season, and the funds are coming in. I should be ready to fly back to Kenya on schedule after the first of the year.”

  She lowered her eyebrows at him. “You know you are far from ready to go back. There’s the matter of that sweet Amish girl. Have you made contact with her lately?”

  “Grandma, you know that’s not going to work. Carlene rejected me, and we were on the same page.”

  She took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. “You have enough faith to run a mission in Kenya. You can trust the Lord for the money you need to do that, but you cannot trust Him with your heart? Let me show you what that girl has already done.”

  “You were going to fry eggs for me.”

  “That’s not funny, Willard. Come!”

  He followed her to the back bedroom, where two stacks of blankets were piled on the bed.

  “Look at these, Willard.” She unfolded one and ran her hand over the stitches. “Exactly what I assume you ordered. Nothing fancy, yet each thread done with precision and care. Even love, I would say—deep love and devotion. You need to pursue this girl, Willard. The Lord is in this.”

  He winced. “Not to be disrespectful, Grandma, but mentioning the Lord’s will at this point is manipulation.”

  “Perhaps that is pushing things. But you can’t go back to Kenya until this door has closed firmly. Right now it’s wide open.”

  A wry look crossed his face. “I’d say it’s more like a closed door that you are trying to push open.”

  She ran her fingers over t
he small blanket again. “I am not giving up on this, Willard. I’ll go cook your breakfast, and then I want to hear your plan. Just look at these and tell me you are not moved deeply.”

  “By a blanket?”

  “You are not that blind,” she chided gently. “Just hurt. But this woman will bring healing. She will be an honor to you.”

  “Grandma, breakfast.” He tapped her on the arm. “Eggs and bacon.”

  “I was just waxing eloquent.”

  He joined in her laugher. “I always thought you a practical person.”

  “I am practical,” she huffed. “Pursuing Mary Yoder is the height of practicality.”

  “Eggs and bacon,” he said, and they laughed again.

  Willard followed her to the kitchen and stood by the stove, heating the pan for the eggs while she brought out the bacon and turned on another burner.

  “Just think,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “You could wake every morning to an Amish breakfast on the table. What greater blessing could a man want?”

  He grinned. “Now that is practical.”

  “Am I being persuasive?”

  “Not really, but tell me what I could do. How does a man pursue an Amish girl?”

  “You do want to.” She glared at him before she plopped the bacon pan on the stove. “Let’s keep that point straight. Your faith is weak. That’s the problem.”

  “More like my experience with women,” he retorted. “The worst thing one can do is love them.”

  “Do you think the Lord’s love for us brought Him only joy? There is pain, Willard. I won’t deny that, but this girl will not let you down. I know her too well. Plus, she is Amish.”

  “That is the problem, Grandma.”

  “That is both the problem and the solution.”

  “There you go,” he muttered, cracking eggs into the pan.

  “So you agree on that point?” She glanced at him.

  “An Amish woman as my wife?” He laughed. “I’m not agreeing to anything.”

  She sighed and fussed with the bacon in its pan.

  “Her sister gave me the inside scoop.”

  “Oh?” Interest flickered on her face.

  “Kind of. If you can believe her.”

  Silence filled the kitchen. Then, “Willard, don’t leave me on pins and needles.”

  He grimaced. “Betsy told me that Mary shares my feelings. That I shouldn’t take no for an answer. Something like that.”

  “And you still doubt?”

  “More like hurt, Grandma. It’s not going to work. Why put us both through this?”

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try. Do you want to live with that?”

  “There you go again.” He turned over the eggs. “The pain of rejection or the pain of what if. Not much of a choice, I would say.”

  She huffed in exasperation. “I’ve said what I have to say, Willard.”

  “Okay, I’ll speak with Mary this morning at the co-op. If nothing else, I’ll do it to please you.”

  “That’s better.” She smiled.

  He lifted the eggs out of the pan one by one. “Should I take roses? There’s a flower shop in Little Falls, isn’t there?”

  “You shouldn’t take flowers, Willard. She’s still Amish.”

  “Doesn’t that prove my point? We’re worlds apart. Now I’m ready to give up before I’ve even begun.”

  “Just talk to her. Something will come to you. The Lord will guide.”

  Silence fell again as they carried the food to the table and bowed their heads in a short prayer of thanks. They ate, each lost in thought.

  Willard cleared his throat. “I walked up to the gravesites the other day, before I invited Mary to the meeting in Palatine Bridge.”

  “You grandfather and father were great men.” Grandma’s smile was soft. “You will be the loving kind of husband they were, Willard. You take after them.”

  He didn’t respond, and she didn’t seem to expect him to. They finished eating, and then Willard gave her a quick, “I’ll see you later,” before going out the door.

  Willard knew his grandmother would pray for him. She was investing a lot in this match for some reason. Perhaps out of her compassionate heart for him, or more likely because of Mary. If Grandma thought highly enough of a woman to put in this kind of effort, he had better listen.

  He walked past the car and down the street. The air had warmed with the early morning sun, and his coat was enough to cut the chill. Mary must have walked down this morning to her job at the co-op. He hadn’t heard the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on the pavement going past the house, but he might have tuned out the sound. The blasting horns and racket of Nairobi’s city life immunized one to unusual noises.

  He had to get back to his scheduled duties at the mission. Work was its own salve for the soul. Life was lonely, even when he was surrounded by an abundance of people and activity. His heart still ached, and he couldn’t deny it. Willard hastened his steps. Grandma’s faith stirred him. He had once held that faith in his heart, only to have the rug jerked out from under him. Carlene changed her mind and rejected him for someone better, more suited to her, more established in the professional world.

  The missions had cost him love, yet he wasn’t bitter. He walked alone, and he’d intended to continue that walk to the best of his abilities—and now this. He had to admit that Mary was interested in Kenya. That was plain to see. Was she interested enough to leave her faith, her community, her family, and her buggy? He sighed. Mary was a woman of deep faith. That much he knew.

  He steeled himself before crossing the street to approach the co-op. The parking lot was filled with several automobiles. He could walk on up to the graveyard and come back later. On the other hand, buggies might have arrived by that time. Better that his own people overhear a whispered conversation with Mary than bearded Amish men.

  Willard slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The fresh smell of packaged bulk foods greeted him, along with the sight of neatly organized shelves. Mary faced the other direction, deep in conversation with one of the customers. Willard turned the corner and studied the packaged nuts in front of him. There were peanuts, salted and unsalted, cashews, both halves and wholes, and pecans of various grades. The shelf continued to his right. A gourmet chef would find what he needed here. This was a store of humble origins with plenty to offer. Not unlike the Amish themselves, or Mary. Grandma was right. A man who could win Mary’s heart would have won a jewel. Deep down he knew that, even while doubt screamed in his face.

  “She’s Amish.”

  “She won’t love you.”

  “Even if she does, Mary will reject you!”

  “Wouldn’t things be worse than before?”

  “Probably,” he muttered into the empty aisle.

  He wanted to bolt out the door, but he didn’t. Instead, when Mary passed by the end of the aisle, he followed her to the counter.

  She finally faced him. “Willard! What are you doing here?”

  He motioned behind him. “Just browsing through what you have to offer.”

  She obviously wasn’t convinced. “You shouldn’t be here. Not when…”

  His gaze followed hers toward the other customers. “They don’t care. And yes, I have ulterior motives.”

  “What if a buggy drives in?” Fear flickered on her face.

  “They don’t know who I am.” Inspiration stirred. “Also, I can help you today. Stock the shelves.”

  “Willard!”

  “I can.” He smiled his brightest. “Just show me what needs to be done.”

  Mary appeared pale, but she led him to the rear of the store. “I guess I could use the help. There’s the brown sugar. It can be measured into five and ten pounds bags, and…” She pointed to the large burlap sacks. “We sell the bags faster than I can keep up.”

  “Happy to help,” he chirped. He eyed the scales hanging from the wall.

  “We always add a little extra to the sugar bag. There should
be no doubt, you know.”

  “Of course not. I’ll make sure.”

  “And the tie strips are over there. Right near at hand.” She pointed. “Make sure they are turned extra tight, so no air can get in.”

  “Grandma showed me the blankets this morning, Mary. Thank you. They are absolutely beautiful and exactly what I wanted.”

  She colored and bolted back to the counter, where a customer waited. This was a strange courtship. More like a dance without a song, but maybe he simply couldn’t hear it. An Amish tune, no doubt, and he was tone-deaf to the melody. What would an Amish man do if he wished to court Mary? Willard had no idea. Perhaps work hard? That seemed the logical answer. They likely didn’t say much to one another.

  Willard busied himself and had a small stack of bags ready when he heard footsteps behind him. “Am I doing it right?” he asked without turning around.

  Mary picked up a five-pound bag, turned it in her hands, and pulled on the tie strip. “Yah. It’s perfect.”

  “Just like me,” he teased.

  Mary didn’t laugh. “What are your motives, Willard?”

  “Are you still dating that Amish man?”

  Confusion filled her face. “Did Betsy tell you?”

  He nodded.

  “I suppose she told you other things?”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You know this won’t work, Willard.”

  “But you would want it to?”

  She appeared to tear up. “Willard, I am confused. There are things in my heart that shouldn’t be there, but even if they were true and right, what my heart wants is not the question. There are things more worthy of our devotion than our own desires.”

  “This is true.” He ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m not trying to make trouble for you.”

  “You are not trouble, at least not to me. I don’t want to seem standoffish, or… Please, Willard. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Can I help you today? What is the harm in that?”

  Hesitation flickered again. “Well, I could use the help.”

  “There you go!”

  “But—”

  “Just show me what I should do, Mary.” He smiled his brightest. “I won’t bite.”