Mary's Home

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “Whoa there,” Mary called to Danny Boy.

  They bounced off the street and came to a stop near Stephen’s buggy. She might as well face him head-on.

  “Goot morning,” Mary said with a smile.

  “Goot morning.” He nodded. “Can I speak to you inside?”

  Stephen had tied up his horse, so he was planning on a long conversation. What if Willard arrived in the meantime with his grandmother’s car? Would he know enough to drive on past if a buggy was parked in front of the co-op?

  “I guess you can,” Mary replied.

  She climbed down from the buggy. Stephen unhitched the horse for her, but he stayed behind when Mary led Danny Boy to the shelter behind the co-op. Once inside, she stroked Danny Boy’s neck and clung to his mane. Both of her hands shook, and her heartbeat raced. Mary jumped when Stephen cleared his throat by the shelter door, and she let go of Danny Boy to face him.

  “Sorry, I mean, I didn’t intend, to startle you,” he said. “Maybe this is the place, the logical place, at least, to say what I have come to say?”

  “Have you changed your mind?” she managed.

  He shook his head. “I have come to speak, one more time, to tell you that I know I was right in what I said the other Sunday. I have prayed, all night sometimes, since I spoke with you, and my heart is settled, Mary. I feel very, very deeply that you must accept the love that the Lord has sent your way. I am leaving tomorrow, if the Lord wills, for a long stay in Lancaster. I cannot, really cannot, find peace to begin a serious relationship with Millie until I have said this again.”

  Mary stared at him. “You are sure, Stephen?”

  “I know what you are thinking. I am Stephen Overholt, the slow one, the one who could not have what his heart loved. But that has changed, Mary. I owe you a great debt—one that, in all my years, I can never repay. Praying for you is the least, the very least, that I can do. And I have prayed. I have given thanks for Millie’s love, and for you, for what you did, I mean.” A tear trickled down Stephen’s cheek. “You should accept the love of this Englisha man. You really should.”

  “I’m thinking about what to tell Willard,” Mary whispered. “You are very kind. Did you come down this morning just to tell me that?”

  “I did. It seemed very important, heavy on my heart, to tell and encourage you to choose the right way.”

  “Thank you, Stephen. I am searching. That’s all I can say for now. I hope that satisfies you.”

  He nodded. “I’d best be going. The Lord bless you greatly.”

  Mary stared at the empty shelter doorway for a long time. Stephen had a tender heart, which she had known for some time. But was the man right about Willard? Twice Stephen had come to her with the same advice. He thought she should leave the community to be with Willard.

  Mary took slow steps out of the shelter. Thankfully, there were no cars in the parking lot, and she would have a few seconds to collect her torn emotions. What if she did decide to follow Willard to Kenya? Several roadblocks stood in her way. For one, Mamm and Daett’s approval; second, what the community would think; and third, leaving the life she had known and loved her whole life.

  Was there some way her choice could be made easier? Maybe she should take a trip over to Kenya with Willard and test the ground before making a final choice. Wouldn’t that be for the best? Betsy would go along if she asked. Once Mary was on the ground in Nairobi, Willard might see that she was the wrong frau for him. Or she might come to her senses if this was the kind of temptation the community warned about.

  Such a journey would be highly irregular for a baptized Amish girl, even if Betsy came along. Amish people stayed off of planes unless they had no other choice. Suspicions would be stirred, even though no one besides Betsy and Stephen knew of her love for Willard. If she told Willard this morning to leave and never come back, she could save her reputation, her honor, and perhaps her goot sense.

  Mary unlocked the co-op door and lit the gas lanterns. The sun had risen hours ago, but the soft glow of warm light comforted her. She needed illumination at the moment, whatever light she could find. Her life would be forever changed if she took the opportunity Willard offered her. But perhaps she was way ahead of herself. He must be struggling with the same doubts she did about the wisdom of their relationship. He had been betrayed before by a woman he loved, and his heart must be seared in ways she couldn’t imagine. That he had pursued her to this extent was a credit to the man’s courage. Everything about her screamed of failure, yet Willard had been so kind yesterday afternoon, so gentle and understanding.

  “I have been around your people most of my life,” he’d told her. “I know the risks, but I want to know you better, Mary.”

  She clung to the counter for a moment. She wanted to see Willard again. He had said he would come past this morning. Mary peeked out of the co-op window at the sound of a car in the parking lot, but Mrs. Gabert and Willard were not inside. Had Willard changed his mind? He wasn’t like that.

  “Goot morning,” Mary greeted the customer.

  Another one came in a moment later, and the morning advanced with no sign of Willard or Mrs. Gabert. A few Amish people arrived from a district to the south of Fort Plain. They were from a different Ordnung and had always regarded the folks who’d moved from Lancaster with suspicion. If she caused a scandal by jumping the fence after her baptism, their fears would only worsen. This was what life in the community was like. You were connected to others, and your decisions affected them. You couldn’t control that.

  Mary forced herself to smile. “Can I help you?”

  “Yah,” one of the Amish women replied. She returned Mary’s smile. “We heard you had pecans and walnuts on sale and might be able to get peaches in early this summer for a reasonable price.”

  “Ah, I think we can,” Mary told her. “I’ve only been here for two summers, and it’s a little early in the year yet to know what fruit we can get in.”

  “I understand,” the Amish woman replied. “But you do have the pecans and walnuts in bulk?”

  “Yah, they are over in the front aisle.”

  “Do you have fifty pounds of each in stock, of goot quality?”

  Mary’s head spun. “I’ll have to check.” She turned and paused. “You can come with me.”

  The Amish woman followed Mary and examined the bagged nuts. “They look goot,” she declared. “I’ll take everything you have.”

  “Ah, let me get a cart.” As Mary hurried out of the storeroom, she almost ran over Mrs. Gabert, who waited in the aisle.

  “Is this a bad time?” Mrs. Gabert asked.

  Mary searched the store in either direction. “Is Willard here?” she whispered.

  Mrs. Gabert lowered her voice. “He’s at the cemetery. Let me help you until the store is cleared, and I can handle things after that.”

  “Okay,” Mary agreed. She came back pushing the cart, and Mrs. Gabert followed her back to the storeroom. “This is my helper for the day,” Mary informed the Amish woman.

  Disapproval flickered for a moment before the woman smiled. If the woman knew Mary was about to head out for a meeting with an Englisha man, she would not be smiling. Mary kept her gaze on the floor as they loaded the bags of nuts in a cart, and then the Amish woman paid for them at the front counter.

  “I’ll help you load them,” Mary offered.

  She pushed the cart outside and loaded the bags into the open car trunk.

  An elderly Englisha man sat in the driver’s seat and called out of the car window, “I’d help you, but getting in and out of this vehicle takes a lot of effort.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you,” Mary told him.

  They loaded the bags, and the Amish ladies climbed in. The elderly driver gave her a wave and a smile before he drove off. Mary pressed back the tears. She needed that touch of kindness at the moment.

  Mary stared down the road until the car vanished from sight. When she returned to the co-op, Mrs. Gabert was with a customer in the bu
lk candy aisle, prattling away. “I don’t know these Amish cooks personally, but I can assure you that anything made by the community women is worth any price you pay. In fact, these prices are quite low, if you ask me.”

  Mary couldn’t keep back a smile. Mrs. Gabert was a born saleswoman. She made the best of any situation, and improvised if she had to. That was one reason Mary had considered a relationship with Willard—because of his grandmother. Mrs. Gabert had opened the door, but no amount of sales talk could have compelled Mary to walk through unless her heart desired what lay beyond.

  Maybe the Lord had known this from the beginning. Maybe her dream would have been crushed if she had married Josiah. He’d never understood her the way Willard obviously did. What if she had been on the wrong road, and this was the only way to correct her path?

  Mary kept a smile on her face as she checked out six bags of bulk candy at the counter. Mrs. Gabert kept up a steady chatter the whole time and held the door for the woman on the way out.

  “How did I do?” Mrs. Gabert inquired once the store was empty.

  “You are quite something.”

  Mrs. Gabert smiled. “Thank you, dear, but you had best go. Willard is waiting. Do you know the way?”

  “I do.” Mary pulled on her coat and slipped out the back door of the co-op.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Mary paused for a moment at the twin pillars of the Fort Plain Cemetery entrance. Where was Willard? Ahead of her, the snow was light on the ground beneath the trees, with well-shoveled paths between the drifts. Was she to search for Willard across the extended grounds? Mrs. Gabert hadn’t been clear on the details of where he might be.

  Mary slipped around the open gate rail and behind the concrete structure. As she walked around the trees, Willard appeared among the gravestones with his back turned, apparently lost in contemplation. She approached and called his name.

  He turned and smiled. “Mary. You came.”

  “Of course.” She stilled her breathing. “It’s peaceful up here.”

  He nodded. “No interruptions. No buggies coming by. Can I show you something?”

  She followed him across the snowy ground, and he motioned with his hand. “My grandfather, Benny. My mother, Pricilla, and my father, Howard.” Willard stooped in front of his father’s gravestone to trace the name with his finger.

  Mary moved closer and laid her hand on Willard’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

  He looked up into her face. “Ten. They left me with my grandparents that evening for a date in Utica. The state police found a dead deer a hundred feet from the place where their car went through the rail and into the river canal. The fall alone, and the water…” Willard’s voice trailed off. “They didn’t let me close to the scene that night, but I went on my own when I could. The rail had been fixed. The new pieces blended in with the old, and the trees were bent and struggling to grow back. Grandpa did what he could to fill dad’s place, but he had already raised one family. It wasn’t fair, but then life isn’t fair.”

  Mary’s fingers dug into Willard’s shoulder. “Your grandmother never told me the details.”

  “Grandma wouldn’t.” His eyes were moist. “She prays and does what she can, but the big things belong to God. I’ve never heard her say that in so many words, but that’s how she lives.”

  “Is this why you wanted to meet me up here?”

  He nodded and stood. “We should start here, if we are to begin, Mary. I don’t want to hide anything, even though it hurts. I don’t want to pretend. I care a lot about things, maybe too much. It’s best if you know that.”

  Mary looked away. She would be a blubbering mess soon. The pain on his face cut deeply into her soul. She thought Josiah had caused her a great sorrow, but compared to Willard, she had suffered little.

  “What did your grandma have to say about Carlene? When you…when she…” Mary stopped. She had no right to these questions.

  Willard’s smile was tender. “I’m glad you asked. No secrets, right? So here goes. Grandma didn’t approve of Carlene, but she told me the choice was mine. I was the one who would marry her, and that was Grandma’s final say in the matter. When the relationship ended, she cried more than I did.”

  “Mostly tears for you, I suppose.” Mary reached for his hand, and Willard didn’t pull away. “She cares a lot about you.”

  “I know. She’s the closest thing to a mother that I have.”

  “Were you close to your mother?”

  Willard shrugged. “I don’t know how to rate mother and son relationships. Dad and I were close. Mom never interfered. She was there when I needed her. Smashed finger, bruised knee, hungry stomach. I miss them both a lot.”

  “Did you ever bring Carlene up here?”

  A smile played on his face. “Come to think of it, I never did.”

  Mary squeezed his hand. “Then I am honored. Thank you.”

  “You are?” He glanced down at her.

  “Yah. Family is important, and community and sharing.”

  He winced and looked away. “I am not part of your community, and I can never be. Maybe that’s why I’m really up here, to make myself face what you are losing. I don’t think I should ask that of you because I can never come your way, Mary. I have said that before, but I want to make that very clear again.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do? The cost to you?”

  She pressed her lips together. “You are more important than my pain. That will go away.”

  “I don’t know if I like that, Mary.”

  She looked up at him. “Did Carlene promise you a lot of things?”

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “Yes, and I believed her.”

  “Is that the hardest part? Believing that I would pay so much to love you? When the cost was too much for someone else?”

  “So you do understand.”

  “Maybe, Willard,” she whispered. “I don’t know. I’m not promising. I’m doing. I want to come on a trial trip to Kenya with you. Let me see if I fit, and if you like the fit. I’m sure Betsy would accompany me.”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “So that’s what we are, two broken pieces that seem to fit? What if we can’t see clearly enough through our tears to tell?”

  “Or the pain of our hearts?” she added. “At least we are honest, Willard. You have asked the same questions I have.”

  He nodded. “That is true, but I have only a heart to lose—one that’s already broken. Not much, I would say, compared to the life you would lose in the process. Have you thought about that?”

  Tears stung. “More times than you know. Yet I am here.”

  “Bravery, stubbornness, determination…”

  “Maybe…I like you?”

  He hesitated. “You would change your life on that, Mary?”

  “And you would trust me after Carlene?”

  “Yours is the greatest cost.”

  “To marry a woman who does not love your life’s work is a burden no man should be asked to bear.”

  “Is that what I was spared from?”

  “I did not mean to offend you, Willard, but would you hold her failures against me?”

  “I am not worthy of you, Mary. That’s the problem.”

  “So let me come to Kenya with you. Let’s ask our questions there. I can put things back together with the community if it doesn’t work. And then you would know, wouldn’t you, if marrying me will work for you and the mission?”

  “And you would know too. This is not a one-way street, Mary.”

  “I know.” She held on to his hand. “Let me love you, Willard, as I love your work, your passion, your care for others. Trust me enough to take me with you so I can see it for myself. Will you do that?”

  His gaze rested on the tombstones in front of them. “This is not how our conversation should be going, Mary.”

  “You are wrong on that,” she insisted. “Very wrong.”

  A hint of a smile crossed his face. “So you
want to come to Kenya, to the dirt and grime of Nairobi, to see the missionary in action?”

  “To see your heart in action, Willard,” she corrected. “To see more of you that I can love.”

  “You will be honest about Kenya?” Doubt flickered on his face.

  “And you will show me the worst?”

  They laughed, the sound tinkling among the bare treetops.

  “It seems we do have some trust issues,” he allowed.

  “You know how much I already love Kenya and your work there,” she told him. “I have already taken great risks with the community. I do not speak out of thin air, Willard. It’s just that…”

  “It’s okay. I don’t doubt you, and I will believe you, even if you decide that Kenya is not right for you. But will you be able to come back and mend fences with that deacon of yours? You can blame me, I guess. Tell him I lured you into danger, tempted you into the world.”

  She faked a glare at him. “You pulled the wool totally over Deacon Stoltzfus’s eyes with your visit to our services. You are a charmer, Willard.”

  His eyes twinkled. “I was being perfectly honest. I wasn’t trying to entrap you in the least.”

  “Yes, you were.” Mary lowered her eyebrows at him. “You are a very naughty boy.”

  “So you do care about me a little bit?” Willard teased.

  “I’m not going to answer that. You already know too much.”

  Their laughter echoed against the foothills.

  He sobered and faced her. “To win your love and affection, Mary, your devotion above all, would be a dream beyond my wildest dream, because dreams are about the imagined, and I have never imagined you. I dare not think about you too much. You are a mirage, I think, or a vision would be a better way to describe you—one that might disappear in a moment, never to return.”

  She bowed her head. “What am I suppose to say to that? Do you want promises? I don’t have them. They failed me with Josiah. I am just here, willing to take the first step with you and leave the rest to God. Is that goot enough?”