Reason number two why he and Emma shouldn’t be together: Emma was quiet and calm, through and through, while Gabe was only quiet on the surface. She was Halfway’s schoolteacher and he had always thought of school as a large pen that kept children corralled during the best hours of the day. Even in the dead of winter, Gabe would not have locked a cow or a horse into the stables for the day. Why was it done to children everywhere?
Reason number three …
The thought faded as the young people wanting to be baptized filed into the barn. They moved up the aisle in a line, heading toward the center section near the minister’s bench.
Remy passed by, looking a little jittery as she smoothed her white apron. Next came David Fisher, followed by Gabe’s cousin Abe.
Then he saw her, dressed in black, her eyes shining like a lantern in the dark.
Emma.
All the logic in the world couldn’t keep him from loving her.
Black was such a solemn color, but Emma sparkled in it, her skin milky white against the dark fabric. A lump thickened in his throat when he recognized that it wasn’t just the way she looked that made her so beautiful. It was Emma’s spirit shining through that stole his heart over and over again.
A beacon in the night. How her eyes did shine!
With so much light inside, Emma would find her way. He had hoped they would find their way together, and it crushed him to think of her moving ahead without him. She would be a full-fledged member of the church now. A grown woman.
She would find her way, even if it meant leaving him behind.
THIRTY
Emma focused on a shaft of sunlight falling on the aisle in the crowded barn. As each candidate for baptism passed through it, she imagined that it was Gott’s light shining down upon them. Stepping into the light herself, she pursed her lips and prayed for Gott’s blessing.
Although the congregation was facing the ministers at the front of the room, there was no mistaking Gabe King from behind, with his broad shoulders, hair the color of wheat, and that casual way he tilted his head, as if he saw something no one else noticed.
That was one of the things she loved about Gabe—his very different view of things. His surprising comments made Emma laugh, and his slightly crooked view made him stand out from the other young men in the district. Gabe was very much an individual, his own man.
And at the same time, that quality was yet another reason to stay away from him.
Emma sucked in a tiny gasp of hope and nervousness and sadness when she passed by his row. Most girls would have taken offense to see their beau go running when she arrived, but Emma knew it was too hard for Gabe to face her. She wanted to think they still had a chance, that someday in the future Gabe would come to understand and accept the core values of their community. Gelassenheit was the foundation of Amish culture. It was all about submitting to a higher authority. Although it was rarely talked about, folks recognized it as the cornerstone of their faith.
Today, Emma would be asked to “give under” the authority of the church. Unnergewwe was what they called it in Pennsylvania German. Emma knew that it was a humble person who found fulfillment in serving the community. The qualities that she had nurtured in herself, submission, obedience, and simplicity, these were the values of their community. Sadly, she knew that Gabe didn’t have much use for such things right now.
Had he always been that way?
As Emma took a seat on one of the benches in the center of the barn, she wondered if Gabe was nursing a secret wound—something deep in his heart, hidden from his family and friends. This was the time when a fella his age was moving from boyhood to the responsibilities of a man. Was Gabe being held back because he didn’t have a father to show him the way, to lead by example, just as Emma did with her students? Emma had once talked with her sister Elsie about how Gabe must have suffered, losing his parents so tragically.
“It must have been a terrible shock,” Elsie had said that night when they’d stayed up late talking after the lights were out. “All of a sudden, and to know that they were murdered …” Elsie’s voice had trailed off on a wistful note. “Such a heartbreak. At least when our mamm died, we had some warning. She was sick for a long time.”
“And to think you remember that,” Emma had said. “You were barely seven when she died.” Emma had been nine, a little more aware of the details of her mother’s illness. Some memories were vivid in her mind. She had been picking strawberries the day Mamm came home from Doc Trueherz with the news that her heart wasn’t working properly. And then there was the surgery at the hospital with its shiny floors and antiseptic smells. Everyone in the family had traveled there and stayed in the waiting room, for days, it seemed. Emma remembered falling asleep next to Elsie on the couch in the waiting room, her arm around her little sister as they huddled close.
“It’s times like that—the darkest, saddest times—that’s when Gott bonds people together,” Elsie had told her. “Mamm’s death brought us close.”
“But Gabe didn’t get close with anyone when his parents were killed,” Emma had said. “He got real quiet … like a turtle pulling into his shell.”
Elsie had agreed. “From what I can tell, you’re the only person really close to him. Ya, he spends time with his cousins, but you’re the person he talks with. You’re his buddy.”
Emma wanted to be Gabe’s best friend, but she saw them moving farther and farther away from each other. Her students looked to her for a good example—faith in action—and she would not let them down. And now, with her baptism, she would go forth with a humble heart to serve her family, her students, and her community.
While Gabe sneaked off to ride motorbikes. Oh, why didn’t he put those boyish things behind him and start thinking about their future?
Emma blinked back to attention in the warm air of the barn. Preacher Dave was beginning the Anfang, the opening sermon, and here she was wallowing in worry and memories. As she often told her scholars, it was time to open her eyes and ears to knowledge … and to the wonders of Gott’s love.
THIRTY-ONE
Annie was holding hands with her mother when Deacon Moses tipped the cup over Hannah’s head, sending water running through her tightly bound blond hair and onto the white organdy cape Annie had worn for her own baptism.
Little Hannah was now a grown woman, a baptized member of the church.…
Annie turned to Lovina, whose eyes held a certain peace and contentment. Mamm lifted their joined hands to her heart and squeezed tight, and Annie smiled, sharing Mamm’s joy.
It was a good thing to see the baby of the family taking this vow, though it did make Annie feel old to be watching her sister come of age while she herself was like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud of eternal courtship.
Lovina sniffed, then pulled her hand away to retrieve a hankie from the bib of her apron. They were tears of joy—Annie knew that—and yet, it made her want to cry, too.
Biting her lips together to hold back the wellspring of emotion, Annie turned to her left, where little Levi sat sandwiched between her and Rebecca. His eyelids drooped and his head wavered from side to side on his shoulders. Rolling her eyes, Rebecca put an arm around his shoulders and pulled the child against her, and his eyelids drifted closed.
The sight of mother and child snuggled together warmed Annie’s heart, and she tried to imagine herself sitting through church with a son or daughter at her side. How she longed to hold a babe in the crook of her arm or pull a little one close to give comfort! The yearning to be a mother had swelled inside her over the past year or so, and she had let the feelings of affection flow to her young nephews. Her sisters had been grateful to see their children loved and cared for. But now, with little Mark gone, she worried that she was coddling Levi too much. Smothering him. “Dear Annie, you need a babe of your own!” Rebecca had teased, not knowing how very true her words had been.
Annie let her gaze pass over each of the young people kneeling in the center section of the barn. Altho
ugh it was a solemn moment, tears of joy filled Annie’s eyes at the sight of these young people beginning their journey in the faith.
Bishop Samuel, Deacon Moses, and Mary Yoder, the deacon’s wife, stood over Dave Fisher, whose head and face were now wet with baptismal water. The three moved on to Remy, who knelt next to Ben.
Annie saw that Remy’s hands, pressed down against her dress, were trembling. The poor girl was nervous. Well, that was no wonder, with Remy being new to the community and new to the language, too. Annie wished she could place a gentle hand on Remy’s shoulder—just a small bit of encouragement. But baptism was the time when young people had to stand on their own two feet and pledge their faith to Gott. This was Remy’s moment to stand alone and make her promise.
The congregation was silent as Mary Yoder untied the ribbon of Remy’s black head covering, revealing hair as bright and shiny as a new copper penny. Remy would always stand out among the Amish.
Laying his hands on Remy’s head, Bishop Sam spoke. “Upon your faith, which you have confessed before Gott and these witnesses, you are baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Mary Yoder helped Remy replace the head covering, then extended her hands to help Remy to her feet. There was a holy kiss, and then the ministers and the deacon’s wife moved on to the next young person.
Annie dared a quick glance over to the men’s section by the granary, where the men’s broad-brimmed hats hung. This time her heart didn’t ache at all when she spied Adam. Gott was healing her heart.
Her gaze landed on Jonah, who was looking intently toward the front. Was he watching the baptism, or admiring Hannah? With his dark hair and smoky dark eyes, Jonah King was a handsome man. Seeing him around the family farm, she had noticed how his eyes seemed to penetrate right to a person’s heart. He was a good farmer, very handy to have around. And lately she had enjoyed talking with him. Jonah King was a very good match for her sister.
Elizabeth Mast was the last to be baptized. There was a quiet note of patience in the air as the bishop cupped his hands above her head, and the deacon poured water into them. As it brimmed over and trickled into her hair and face, Annie thought of how only Gott had the power to make a heart brim over with love. She wanted that for her younger sister and Jonah.
She wanted that for herself, too. Nothing would fill her heart more than a loving husband and a houseful of children who would be raised in the simple ways of the Amish, taught to be good Plain folk.
But that would have to come later, since there were no available young men in sight right now. Sometimes her heart ached with loneliness, but this was where Gott wanted her to be right now. Like Mamm always said, she was going to bloom where she was planted.
A little girl sitting in front of Annie yawned, and a wave of weariness came over her. Ya, the service was long, but the baptism ceremony was a good reminder of why they were all here—so many people working together to make up one community of faith. And now Hannah was a member, too. Mamm must be pleased. Annie looked at her mother beside her, praying that one day, she, too, might have a daughter who joined the faith.
THIRTY-TWO
Jonah lifted the mallet and swung it down with all the force his muscles could conjure. Chopping wood helped to release the pent-up regret that stuck to him like a burr on a sock.
Each time he swung the mallet, he hit on a question.
Had he mishandled things?
Why didn’t he go to Annie directly and tell her how he felt?
Should he have come forward years ago when she was pining for Adam, who was off during his rumspringa?
It was useless to drag all the questions and what-ifs through the mud again. It wouldn’t change the way Annie felt toward him.
He swung the mallet, driving the steel wedge into the log. Another strike and the fat log split into three pieces. As he tossed the smaller logs into the bin, his sister Mary came round the side of the house with the wood scuttle.
“It’s good that you’re doing this. Now that it’s cooler, I’ve been lighting the woodstove in the morning.” In the hot summer months, they used only the gas stove in the kitchen, but this time of year, Mary started a small early fire to take the chill from the air and percolate coffee.
“And we’ll need some more wood split if we’re going to burn a bonfire for the singing tonight.” He put the mallet down and went to the woodpile to help Mary load the bin.
“About the singing.” Mary paused, as if suddenly remembering something. “Annie told me that she and Hannah would be here tonight. She asked me if you ever spoke about Hannah at home, and from the way she was talking, it sounded like she’s still got you and Hannah matched up.”
Jonah groaned. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“I kept your secret, Jonah. I didn’t say a word about it to Annie. But you didn’t either.” She shook her head, confusion clouding her eyes. “What’s keeping you back? You go to work on their farm nearly five days a week. You’d think that somewhere between mending the roof and making hay you’d manage to spit out the truth.”
“I’ve tried, really. In so many ways, I’ve told her the truth. But Annie can’t seem to hear it, with all the notions swirling around in her head.” He shook his head. “Matchmaking for her little sister, and somehow I got caught in the middle. And you know Annie. When she starts something, she doesn’t let go until it’s finished.”
Mary sighed. “So Annie still doesn’t know? Dear Jonah! You can’t let this go on any longer.”
“I want Annie to know the truth … how I feel. But every time I bring the conversation around to that, she goes right back to talk of Hannah. I’m not sure I can get her to hear me, short of telling her flat out that I don’t favor her sister.”
“If it’s true, and it’s not meant to be hurtful …” Mary shrugged. “Maybe that’s what you need to say.”
Jonah looked toward the heavens in dismay. “And Annie will never speak to me again.”
“She’ll forgive you eventually. But this has gone on long enough.
Annie needs to know the truth, and if it doesn’t come from you, if she figures it out some other way, that would be even worse.”
Mary was right. Jonah knew that, but it didn’t make facing Annie any easier. Without speaking, he hauled a fat log onto the stump and tapped the wedge into a small crack. Most folks would have assumed the conversation was over, but Mary knew him well. She wrapped her bulky sweater tighter, giving him time.
Finally, Jonah pounded the wedge until the log split. “Maybe I’ve let it drag on, but Annie has become a friend. Many times she’s started talking with me while I’m working, and she’s easy to talk to.”
Mary nodded. “And you don’t want to lose that friendship. You’re thinking she’s going to be upset with you when she learns the truth.”
“Ya.”
“Most likely, she’ll be angry, but I don’t see a way around it, Jonah. And the longer you let this go, the worse it’s going to get.”
He nodded. “I’ll do it tonight,” he said. “I’ll tell her. Even if I have to sing it across the table.”
Mary’s eyes opened wide. “Now, that would make for a singing folks would never forget.”
The moon was a pale orange circle in the sky. As carriages began to arrive for the singing, Jonah lingered in the shadows outside the barn. It was a more public spot than he liked, and many couples and groups greeted him on their way into the barn. They’re probably thinking that I’m being a good host, he thought. In truth, he was waiting for Annie to arrive. Mary had been right; he couldn’t let this go on any longer.
At last he saw them—Annie and Hannah sat side by side in an open buggy that clopped down the lane. He stood his ground, a knot in his throat. He was sorely tempted to escape into the barn and take a seat, just like any other singing, but he stood his ground. It was time to get this over with.
He moved toward the buggy as it slowed. Young folks knew to take their rigs to a field around the
side of the barn and tie them up to a wagon where the horses could graze. Jonah headed that way to confront Annie, but the buggy pulled to a stop and Hannah jumped down and hurried right smack toward him. He had no choice but to stop.
“Jonah … how are you this evening?”
He squinted at her, wondering if this was something Annie had told her to say. Most of Hannah’s conversation seemed forced and stale, and he suspected that Annie fed her the words.
“Did you know I was baptized today?” she asked him, her pale brows lifting.
“Ya. Welcome to the congregation.” He kept his tone even, though his patience was running out and his eyes were on the field behind her, watching the Stoltzfus buggy head over to the hay wagon.
“So now we’re both baptized.” Hannah’s tone wasn’t as enthusiastic as her words sounded. “That’s one more thing you and I have in common.” She tugged one of the strings of her prayer kapp, then began to wind her finger in it. “Annie says you and I have a lot in common.”
He swallowed hard. “I know Annie thinks that way. But to tell you the truth, I think you’d be better off with a younger fella.”
Her lower lip jutted out as her mouth formed a pout. “You don’t think we’d be a good match … you and I?”
“What would you want with an old man like me?” He kept his voice steady, not wanting to ruffle her feathers but determined to speak his mind. “You’re a good and kind girl, Hannah. Lots of fellas here would be happy to take you home in their buggies tonight. I’m just not one of them.”
She squinted up at him. “So my sister doesn’t always know best.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I never thought you favored me much. That’s what I told Annie.”
He stared at her. “Is that so?”
“Ya, I told her that a few times. You and I have been tripping over each other, but that’s all. Still, you have been spending a lot of time around the house. More than most hired hands. That’s why, when Annie started to talk about you, I figured there was something to it.”
A Simple Autumn: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 18
