Mary's Home

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Mary wondered if she could find such happiness outside the community’s warm embrace. How could Stephen be right? But at least his heart was honest. She knew him well enough to know that, and it had taken great courage for Stephen to speak so boldly. Her vision of home had always been wrapped up in her feelings for Josiah or another Amish man, not Willard Gabert. She was grateful that Willard hadn’t shown his face since the Sunday services. Maybe these feelings in her heart would blow away like the storm clouds that scurried across the sky. Willard was honorable and true, a man worthy of her affections, but they were from separate worlds. Willard knew this. He would not be back. She should be happy, but she wasn’t. She missed him terribly. He was Englisha, and she knew better, but those rebukes felt hollow in her heart.

  Willard touched her as Josiah had never done. He was what Josiah had never been—a man of integrity. Why must he be an Englisha man? An automobile pulled into the parking lot, and Mary closed the co-op door to hurry inside to dry her tears. She did little but rush around of late, running from things—from the shame of her forbidden desires, the hurt and pain they would cause, and the rebukes of her community. Yet her running seemed to accomplish little. Could she face what her heart was saying for once and listen without interruption?

  Mary pasted on a smile as the door opened and two women entered. She wondered if they were out-of-towners because she had never seen them before.

  “Can I help you?” Mary inquired.

  They both smiled a greeting.

  “We’re just looking around,” one of them said. “We heard about the store from a friend and decided today was the day to investigate.”

  “With a storm brewing over the Adirondacks?” Mary forced a laugh. “I may have to close early.”

  “We won’t be long,” the woman assured her. “But plans are plans, and you aren’t far off the interstate.”

  “That’s true,” Mary agreed. She retreated to the counter.

  The two picked up a shopping basket and inspected the rows of shelves with intense exclamations and whispered words. When they passed the end of the aisle, the basket was half full, so the women must have been pleased with what they saw.

  Mary’s thoughts drifted. She hadn’t written poetry in a while. The distractions had been too severe, or perhaps she had awakened from her dreamworld. Wasn’t poetry an excessive indulgence of emotions? One could build dreams that never did come true. Kenya, the land where Willard was to return to soon, was a place of heartless honesty. How did one write poetry about ruined lives and broken bodies?

  Her dream of home had never included violence, yet Willard lived in a brutal place. How did one raise kinner in such conditions? The dangers were almost too much for adults. The community would do what they could with prayers and blankets, but Willard took the biggest risk. He walked alone. What would the woman who stood by the side of such a man have to go through? She would need courage and strength. She would need a firm faith in the Lord. Such a woman must have many virtues, which disqualified her.

  Mary gave a little gasp. What thoughts to have. Of course she was not qualified. Willard needed an Englisha frau to stand by his side. Such a woman would know how to build a home in a strange land. Mary was a simple woman raised on a farm, one who knew how to run a cash register at the local co-op but had no experience in healing bruised lives. Willard was too goot for her. That was the truth!

  Mary managed to focus and smile as the women came around the final aisle with their basket filled to the brim.

  “What a wonderful place!” one of them gushed. “I can’t believe we haven’t heard of this co-op before.”

  “The Amish haven’t been here that long,” Mary demurred. “Maybe ten or fifteen years.”

  “You are such an industrious people!” the other exclaimed. “We are blessed to have you in our area.”

  “Thank you,” Mary told them as she rang up their purchases.

  They paid with a check and exited with one last look around. “We’ll be back,” they chorused together.

  Mary waited a few moments before she opened the co-op door to peer outside. The storm had increased. Frequent squalls blasted across the treetops and settled fresh snow on the streets. There was little expectation of new customers stopping in today. Did she dare? She wanted to see Willard. Maybe they could straighten things out with a last goodbye before he left for Kenya—if he was still at Mrs. Gabert’s place. The least she could do was hurry and seize a last chance to see him. How foolish she was acting, but if she didn’t…

  Mary closed the door and swept the counter area clean before she exited. Danny Boy looked up at her when she entered the barn, as if he were surprised.

  “I told you we might leave early.”

  But what if someone found out? She told herself this was only a stop in at Mrs. Gabert’s place. She should have checked on the woman earlier, but she hadn’t amid the kerfuffle with her emotions.

  Mary untied Danny Boy and led him outside. Minutes later, the horse was hitched to the buggy, and she guided him out to the street. Danny Boy blew his nose but trotted along eagerly. A warm barn awaited the horse, and they would be home soon. Somehow she would continue to resist Willard’s charms, even if he was honorable and decent to the core—a true giant of a man with a heart that could be touched by the needs of hurting and injured people. She might admire him for the rest of her life, his memory a treasure she would never forget, but…

  “No, I can’t!” Mary proclaimed out loud. “I never can!”

  But she still turned into Mrs. Gabert’s driveway. If there had been any sign of Willard, she might have driven on, but what sign could there be? Willard wouldn’t be out on the porch in this kind of weather. The man never loitered anywhere. He was too occupied with helping people in need. That such a man had even noticed her was a great honor.

  Mary turned her face into the wind as she tied Danny Boy to Mrs. Gabert’s lamppost beside the garage. The blaze of red up her neck and into her cheeks was from the cold, not her embarrassing thoughts. At least, Mrs. Gabert would think so.

  Mary wrapped her coat tighter around herself and made a dash for the front porch. She knocked, and Mrs. Gabert opened at once. “I thought I heard someone. Come in, Mary. Welcome. It’s been a while.”

  Mary tumbled inside with a blast of snow following. “Goot morning. How are you?”

  “Just fine.” Mrs. Gabert chuckled. “You look well yourself. Are you on the way home from the co-op?”

  Mary caught her breath. “Yah. I decided to call it a day before things get worse.”

  “The TV says there will be a blizzard by the morning,” Mrs. Gabert observed. “Would you care for a cup of hot tea?”

  Mary hesitated.

  “Come on,” Mrs. Gabert told her. “You have that much time to spend with a lonely old woman.”

  Where’s Willard? The question lingered on Mary’s lips, but she bit back the words in time.

  “I’ll have to microwave the water,” Mrs. Gabert said with an apologetic look. “No slow boiling like you’re used to. I don’t want to keep you long.”

  “I’m sure that will be fine,” Mary assured her.

  She didn’t have enough experience to know what microwaved water tasted like. That’s how much she knew about the Englisha world. And here she thought…

  “Are you okay?” Mrs. Gabert asked.

  “I’m fine,” Mary chirped.

  Mrs. Gabert set a cup of hot water and a box of tea bags on the table, and then she settled in her chair. She faced Mary with a soft smile. “You’re not fooling me, dear. What is wrong? You’re flushed. Are you sick?”

  “No, just troubled. Where’s Willard?” To cover her embarrassment, Mary selected a tea bag and began dunking it in the hot water.

  “So that’s it,” Mrs. Gabert mused. “I’m not surprised, but I had almost given up.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Mrs. Gabert laid her hand on Mary’s arm. “Love is nothing to be embarrassed a
bout, dear. Willard is still here. He’s speaking at a church in Utica tonight. He drove up this morning because of the storm. Now that he has spent Christmas with me and raised the funds he needs, he will be flying out tomorrow morning to Kenya.”

  Mary looked away. “Oh.”

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Gabert assured her. “I understand.”

  Mary tried to smile and took a long sip of hot tea. “So how are you taking the cold weather?”

  Mrs. Gabert made a wry face. “Like usual, with aching bones, but let’s talk instead about you and Willard.”

  “We shouldn’t!” Mary rose to her feet. “I shouldn’t have stopped in…I mean, I should have checked on you, but… Oh, this has to stop! It can’t be.”

  “Did Willard disturb you by visiting your services last Sunday?”

  “No. Yah. I mean, I wouldn’t call it disturbing. Our deacon and his frau were quite impressed with Willard. I thought maybe…oh, it’s awful to say this, but I figured Willard was up to something, like placing pressure on me. But Rachel talked to me afterward about Willard’s honorable intentions. He only wanted to thank the community for their help and to see if that could continue. He didn’t show up at the co-op all week, so Rachel was right.” Mary ended in a gasp. There, she had said the words, and now Mrs. Gabert knew. Relief flooded through her.

  Mrs. Gabert’s hand reached for hers. “I knew you two were made for each other from the start, Mary.”

  “No!” Mary gasped. “Willard is leaving tomorrow. That’s what you said.”

  Mrs. Gabert’s smile was soft. “I’m sure a phone call would take care of that. Willard can postpone his flight for a week or whatever time is needed until you two have had time to talk. If he knows you stopped by, he’ll be here in the morning.”

  “No! This cannot be!”

  “You do love my grandson, don’t you?” Mrs. Gabert’s question was gentle.

  “Yah. No. Oh, what a mess!” Mary wailed. “I love him much more than I once loved Josiah. I know what a wunderbah honorable man Willard is, but he’s Englisha like you. I can’t leave the community! I can’t!”

  “Maybe you should take one step at a time,” Mrs. Gabert suggested. “Let me call Willard, and you can come back tomorrow afternoon once the storm has let up. Or on Sunday if the roads are not too bad. Will you, Mary?”

  “Oh!” Mary moaned. “How can I do something so awful as jump the fence? That’s what will happen! I will be excommunicated!”

  “You’re here,” Mrs. Gabert comforted her. “Your heart is leading you, is it not, Mary? Right through your fears? Because Willard loves you, dear, as you love him. You two could bring healing to each other, and only the Lord knows what the full reach of your lives would be in Kenya. Say yes, Mary. Say yes to happiness if nothing else.”

  “My happiness? That’s what I’m not supposed to think about if it involves an Englisha man.”

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Gabert’s hand pressed on hers. “Maybe the community will be more understanding than you think.”

  Mary shook her head and sighed. “They will not. But you are right that I must speak with him. Do you think Willard would be willing to postpone his travel plans?”

  Mrs. Gabert’s smile was tender. “In a heartbeat, dear. This is more than he ever dared dream would happen.”

  Mary gulped down the rest of her hot tea and whispered, “Thank you. That was goot.” Then she bolted out the front door.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The following morning, Willard stood next to his grandmother’s living room window. He watched as the snowplow barreled down the street and out of town. A plume of soft flakes lingered along the roadside long after the machine had vanished from sight. Behind him, his grandmother’s Christmas tree still twinkled in the corner.

  “Do you think she will come?” Willard asked without turning around. He had followed a similar plow into Fort Plain after his talk at the church last night in Utica. The flight plan change had not been cheap, so the more support he could drum up, the better.

  “I told you she would,” his grandmother replied from the kitchen table, her cup of coffee between her hands. “Sit down and relax, Willard.”

  “Maybe I should walk up and see her.”

  “And undo all the excellent work you have done?”

  “I wasn’t trying to trick her,” he protested. “I wanted to thank the Amish, and I was ready to leave Mary in peace.”

  “Have faith, son,” Mrs. Gabert chided. “You two are meant for each other.”

  “That’s what you keep saying.” Willard turned on his heel to fill a mug with coffee. If he had not already developed deep feelings for Mary Yoder, he would never have agreed to this plan. The whole thing still seemed impossible. An Amish woman as his girlfriend, his future…

  Mrs. Gabert regarded her grandson with a smile on her face. “Mary will be a wife unlike any you could have imagined. The Lord has rewarded you for your loyal and faithful service since Carlene left you.”

  “Grandma, please,” Willard begged. “Mary is coming down to talk with me. That’s a step, but I’ve been to their church services. Theirs is another world, believe me.”

  “And that world is here,” Mrs. Gabert said as a soft knock came on the front door.

  Willard leaped to his feet, but Mrs. Gabert waved him back. “Let me open the door and welcome her in, and then we can chat around the table. Mary will be more comfortable that way.”

  Willard waited as Mary entered the house. She didn’t look at him as his grandmother helped her out of her snowy winter coat. Mary undid the knot on her dark scarf and stole a glance in his direction. He waved, and her cheeks grew even rosier. He stood and took a tentative step in her direction. Mrs. Gabert scuttled toward the bedroom with her wraps.

  “Hi, Mary. I am glad you came down. In fact, I’m delighted. Are you okay?”

  “The walk wasn’t bad,” she said. “I told Mamm I was coming to check on your grandmother, which is partly true. But I can’t stay long.”

  He reached for her hand. “I can’t say how sorry I am for the trouble this is causing you, Mary. It was only after I came to your services that I realized how deeply this affected you.”

  “I know. I believe you,” she whispered. “You are a man of honor and integrity.”

  He grinned. “Have you written another poem about me?”

  She managed to smile. “No, but you deserve one. A better one than I can write.”

  “I don’t think so. Do you want to sit at the kitchen table? We can talk there.”

  “Of course she does!” Mrs. Gabert exclaimed from the bedroom doorway. “And I will leave you two alone. I will find my way upstairs and entertain myself in the sewing room for a few hours.”

  “A few hours!” Mary gasped.

  “Or however long you wish to stay,” Mrs. Gabert assured her. “I fully approve of you visiting, but I know that you have to live with the consequences.”

  “Yah, I will,” Mary agreed, but she still moved toward the kitchen table.

  Blessings to you, his grandmother mouthed to him. He smiled his thanks and then followed Mary. His grandmother’s footsteps faded on the stairs behind him.

  “So…” Willard pulled out a chair and sat across from her.

  “Did you want me to visit?” was her first tentative question.

  “Mary, of course, with my whole heart! Why else would I have changed my flight? I have…I know I have pushed our relationship too fast and without enough thought of what the consequences would be for you, but let me simply say that I greatly long for our relationship to grow. Perhaps in the future you would become very precious and dear to my heart. You already are, but I don’t want to assume too much. The cost for you will be very great. I fully understand that now.”

  Tears formed in her eyes. “Do you really mean that, Willard?”

  “Yes, Mary, I do.” He reached for her hand. “With my whole heart. This has been my grandmother’s doing at the beginning, but we have long moved beyond t
hat. That day I spent with you at the co-op—you don’t know how wonderful that was, how peaceful, how much I need such days in my life. You are so much more than I can put into words.”

  Her fingers moved in his. “That’s so goot to hear. I never thought I would say that, or even think it, Willard. I’ve been running away ever since I met you, and I don’t want to run anymore, even if it hurts. I want to trust a man again, one that I care about. That was difficult and almost impossible after Josiah, but no longer. You may be Englisha, but you make the road easy, even pleasant to travel.”

  He shook his head. “Trust me. I’m not all that great. I have my own fears, plenty of them, yet they grow calm when I am with you.”

  She regarded him steadily for a moment. “What are your fears with me? That you would be left alone again? That I would draw back if the road became tough?”

  He glanced down at the kitchen table. “Something like that.”

  She looked away. “I was afraid to come down today. Maybe you shouldn’t trust me. You’ve already wasted a lot of money canceling your flight.”

  “I’ve already been repaid in full, Mary. Even if I never see your face again. Your courage moves me deeply. You are greatly loved in your community—which I cannot be a part of, so you would have to walk away into a new world. You are the one who will pay the greatest price. My fears are small change compared to what you’d have to endure.”

  Tears began to fall. “Josiah never said anything like that. He took my love and my kisses freely.”

  “Mary, you don’t have to go there.” His hand tightened in hers.

  “I want to go there,” she protested. “I want to remind myself of why I am here.”

  “But—”

  She hurried on. “I know how that sounds, as if I’m running away from my past. I really am not. I just want to know that this time things are different. I don’t trust my heart…not as I once did.”

  “I don’t blame you, and I’m not asking you to leave the community if you don’t want to.”