by Leslie Gould
But it was Ben’s turn. He grinned. My heart sank. He knew it too.
Quickly he said, “Dictophile. D-I-C-T-O-P-H-I-L-E.”
I grinned. He’d taunted me with that word about a year ago, calling me one. But it was the wrong answer for this question.
Her voice matter-of-fact, Teacher Cally said, “Incorrect. Beatrice?”
“Logophile,” I answered.
Ben groaned.
I continued. “L-O-G-O-P-H-I-L-E.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ben said, as his head fell into his hands. I knew he was embarrassed that he’d assumed he knew the word—instead of figuring it out.
I stood there and beamed until I saw my father with his eyes cast down in Shohm. He loved me unconditionally. I always felt special to him, validated by him, but that last spelling bee was the one time I felt I’d disappointed him.
It turned out to be the last spelling bee the board allowed at our school. Obviously Ben and I were both too competitive and too prideful. No one cared if we loved words and dictionaries.
No, the school board members were much more concerned with our souls, as they should have been, than who won the eighth-grade spelling bee.
Ben reminded me the next day that overall we’d actually tied.
“Jah,” I answered and then said, “But I got the last word.”
Tears filled my eyes as I closed my journal. I’d gotten the last word in the eighth grade and now too. But it wasn’t what I’d wanted—not at all.
The next day Hope went with Martin and her Dat to Hannah’s house to get ready for the wedding, while I managed things on the home front. None of the boys had come to work because they, too, were helping over at the Lapps’ horse farm. The plan was to use the barn, one of the biggest in the county, for the service and the meals. That would take a lot of sweeping, dusting, and mopping of the cement floor to get it ready. I was thankful to be taking care of babies and not mucking out stalls.
When Hope and her Dat arrived home, way past dark, she said Molly had been there too. “I told her I didn’t think Nan would be able to make it tomorrow. For sure Cate won’t.”
I nodded.
“But it would be nice if Nan could be there,” Hope said.
I thought so too. After all, Nan was Hope’s aunt.
“Anyway,” Hope added, “Molly said she had an idea.”
I smiled. That was my sister. She always had an “idea.” I was certain it had turned into a “plan” by now.
We went to bed as soon as we could, because we needed to be up by four to get over to the Lapps’ farm so we could help with all the final details. I didn’t sleep well that night, but Hope did—and that’s what mattered.
When we rose, we dressed in our work clothes and packed our wedding clothes. As I retrieved my brush from my bedside table, I slipped the poem from Ben inside the pocket of my work apron. I didn’t want anyone snooping while we were gone—not that anyone would. Still, it made me feel better to have it with me.
I patted my pocket as I turned to grab the garment bag. Hope was watching me.
My face warmed, even in the icy chill of the unheated room. “We’d better hurry,” I said. We’d eat breakfast at the Lapps’ house with all the others who would gather to see to the last-minute details. All I needed to do was hitch Thunder to the buggy and we’d be on our way, along with Hope’s Dat. Bob would come later.
When we reached the kitchen, the lamp was already lit and Mamm and Edna, along with Nell and Ivan, sat at the table, their hands wrapped around mugs of coffee. Hope’s Dat and Bob sat with them.
“Mamm!” I rushed toward her, giving her a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re going to watch the babies,” she said, “so Nan can go to the wedding.”
“Ach,” I said. “Molly did come through with a plan.”
Mamm and Edna nodded in unison.
“What about you?” I said to Nell. “You’re going, right?” After all, she was Hannah’s Aenti.
“Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We just dropped Edna and your Mamm off.” She stood, followed by Ivan. “Don’t you just love a wedding?” she asked him, rhetorically, of course.
He nodded. Ivan used to be talkative before he married Nell. Not anymore—but it seemed to suit him just fine.
“I want everyone to be as happy as we are,” Nell said to him, a twinkle in her eye.
He smiled. “So do I, dear.” Then he told Hope and me that we could ride along with them.
“Do you have room for my Dat?” Hope asked.
“Of course,” Ivan answered.
Hope had suggested long ago that maybe her Dat and my Mamm would fall for each other once they met. That was the last thing I wanted. Mamm still loved Dat. She always would.
So I couldn’t help but smile when William said to Edna, “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
Edna blushed and then managed to say, “I feel the same way.”
“I’ll see you after the wedding,” he said to her, pushing his chair away from the table.
“We’ll be here,” she replied, a smile spreading across her face.
The wee hours of the morning whizzed by as we ate breakfast and then helped with the finishing touches for the wedding. As we worked, the stars shone brightly in the cold early-morning darkness, and when the sun began to rise, it was evident the day would be sunny. Thanksgiving was only a week away, but it seemed the day would get fairly warm, much like those endless Indian summer days of October.
An hour before it was time for the service to start, Hope and I headed up to Hannah’s room, where our garment bag hung, to get dressed. Hannah and Molly were in the room too, laughing and joking and taking their time. Molly, because she was married, wouldn’t be one of Hannah’s sidesitters—her sisters would—but she was still the one that Hannah wanted with her before the service.
I, on the other hand, dressed quickly. After I tied my fresh apron, I took the sonnet from my work apron and slipped it into my pocket. Once again, when I turned, I caught Hope watching me. She smiled a little and turned away. Had she opened up the scrap of paper earlier in our room? I wasn’t about to ask her now.
The barn was the perfect place for the service. It easily seated five hundred people, and the Lapps had rented heaters to keep it cozy. The barn was so big that they’d been able to set up the tables at the far end.
We waited in the tack room until it was time to march in. Through the single window, I caught sight of Mervin and Martin under the trees, both wearing their aviator glasses and looking rather handsome in their new suits. Ben stood with them, a shock of his hay-colored hair sticking out from under his new black hat. They laughed about something, but then Ben’s smile faded as he looked my way. Had he seen me?
I stepped away from the window.
When we met the boys at the back of the barn before walking down to be seated on the benches at the front, the twins had their glasses off and looked very serious, as they should have.
The service was like any other Amish wedding—first the hymn singing, starting with “Das Loblied.”
“O Lord Father, we bless thy name,
Thy love and thy goodness praise. . . . ”
Next was the Scripture reading and then a long sermon given by Bishop Eicher. Finally, the two couples stepped forward and the bishop married them, followed by prayers by the father of the grooms and fathers of the brides.
Afterward the bridal couples and sidesitters sat at the Eck tables, two corner tables, and were served, along with the first seating of guests. Nan and Bob ate with the first group, sitting with Hope’s Dat. Nan seemed a little lost without her babies and as soon as she finished, she hugged Hannah and Mervin, then Hope and Martin. For once she was done eating before Bob and went back to tug on his sleeve.
He stopped by the Eck table and said he’d take her home and then, if things were going well, come back to help with the cleanup.
After we’d finished eatin
g, the couples mingled with the guests, thanking everyone for coming. I wandered outside to get some fresh air and then on toward the house. Some of the Youngie had started a game of volleyball on Hannah’s parents’ lawn. I wore my cape over my dress, but the sun had warmed the day enough that I barely needed it, and after a while I took it off, spread it on the ground, and sat on it. A few minutes later, Molly joined me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Great,” she said. “I was tired those first few months, but now I’m feeling fine.” Molly turned toward me. “Have you decided about Montana?”
I shook my head.
“But you don’t really want to go, do you.”
I exhaled.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have tried to force you. Mamm’s right. You need to make your own decision.” She patted my hand.
“Denki,” I said.
“So what will you do?” She leaned back, her hands behind her. “Since things didn’t work out with Ben.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Keep working for the Millers.” I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Maybe move to Montana after that.” There really wasn’t any reason not to.
She smiled.
It wasn’t like I could buy the bookstore, not with Ben working there. Of course, I could fire him. But I suspected the Schmidts were thinking of selling it soon and moving in with one of their children, and I imagined they’d offer it to Ben first.
“If you don’t come, I’ll miss you terribly,” Molly said. “More than anyone.”
That was hard for me to believe. “Not more than Hannah,” I couldn’t help but say.
“Ach, of course more than Hannah. You’re my sister. We’ve been through so much together. No one else understands me the way you do.”
A pang overtook me. I leaned against her shoulder.
She patted my head. “It’s true,” Molly said. “And I’m guessing I’m starting to understand you better too.”
Before I could answer, she nodded toward the pathway. Ben came toward us, holding something in his hand. “For example . . .”
My face grew warm. Maybe Molly did understand me more than I knew. She knew I pined after Ben—but she hadn’t tried to force me to sacrifice my principles.
I leaned toward her. “I’ll miss you,” I said. “Much more, I’m sure, than I can imagine right now.”
A commotion on the path caught my attention. Martin and Mervin had rushed to Ben’s side and grabbed for whatever it was in his hands. Hope and Hannah stopped behind them. In a burst of action, the boys spilled out onto the lawn and rolled right in front of us. I stood quickly, to protect Molly.
“Got it!” Mervin said, popping up from the ground with Ben’s journal.
Mervin opened it and, as Ben sprawled out on the grass as if defeated, began reading,
“It lies not in our power to love or hate—”
I rushed at Mervin. He turned his back to me, twirling around as he did to keep away from me, and kept on reading:
“For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win . . .”
I managed to pretend to go one way and then cut back, snatching the book from him. Not much was sacred in this life, but one’s journal should be. Ben was on his feet now, and I handed it back to him.
Mervin stood empty-handed. “Did you write that, Ben?”
“Of course not. Christopher Marlowe did.” Ben winked at me, causing a fluttering in my chest. It was the poem he’d read from my book that night over a month ago, after he’d walked me to the back door from the greenhouse.
Ben handed the book back to me. “Read what I wrote after the poem.”
Curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the journal.
“Last page,” he said.
I flipped to the back.
After the poem, he’d written: I want Bea to win. I’d do anything for her. Even move to Montana—without her—if that’s what she truly wants.
The hummingbird in my heart returned, flapping against the walls of my chest. I looked up and shook my head at Ben.
“Keep going,” he said.
Silently, I read, I think winning means loving, and I know I love her more now than I ever have. God showed me what a fool I can be, so quick to judge. I know what I’ve gone through makes me appreciate myself less—and her more.
I glanced up at him again. For the first time in my life I was speechless. But it didn’t matter because Hope was at my side, digging in my apron pocket. Before I could react, she had the sonnet in her hand.
Ben grinned. “I recognize that,” he said.
“I’ll read it,” Hope said, scanning the poem, her mouth turning downward. Finally she said, “Well, how about if I just read the last of it.
“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
Hope made a face. “Whatever that means.”
They all laughed as Hope handed the paper to Ben. Then she clapped her hands together as she looked at me. “You two really are a match.”
Ben read the paper and then stepped closer to me. “Is this true?” he asked as the others lost interest in us and wandered away. Molly followed, most likely to give us privacy.
“Is what true?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what he was referring to.
He held the paper up and pointed to the top, reading, “‘I’ve never felt such harmony. Such jubilation. Such anticipation . . .’” He blushed as he read, his tongue tripping over, “‘Bea plus Ben equals Love.’”
I inhaled, sharply, thankful the others had drifted away.
“When did you write that?” he asked.
“After our trip to the bookstore and coffee shop. The night you helped with the Tropplis.” I winced. I’d meant to say Bopplis.
“Oh,” he said, reading more. He pointed to the bottom of the page. “And when did you write this?”
“Night before last.”
He read it out loud, “‘If only. . . .’” Then he looked at me again. “Do you mean it?”
“Theoretically, I meant it when I wrote it.”
“Oh,” he said, refolding the paper and handing it to me.
My heart skipped a beat. Who was I trying to fool? He loved me—more now than he ever had. And I still loved him.
“But now I mean it sincerely.” I met his gaze. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to trust God with Ben Rupp.
He wrapped his hands around mine, the paper wedged between, and then pulled me close. For a moment we embraced, but then, as if we both remembered at once where we were, we stepped away, inhaling in unison.
My eyes filled with tears, and a wave of emotion came over me, as if I’d just had a good cry—one that had lasted two weeks.
“Ach, Bea,” he said.
For a moment everything stopped as we stared at each other. Then as I dried my eyes, he said, “Would you come around to my buggy with me?”
I nodded, yanking up my cape and following him.
When we reached the buggy, he pulled me around to the side facing the woods, away from the barn, and he took me in his arms. He kissed me on the forehead first and then, finally, my mouth. The wings—Flikkels—of my heart beat frantically, and then it was as if they took off in flight.
When the kiss ended I met his eyes. “That was my first kiss,” I said.
“Mine too,” he whispered.
The hug that came next was far more intimate than the kiss. Finally I stepped back and smiled up at him.
“What?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
He hugged me again.
I nestled into his arms. “It’s just that I’d thought love had fled.”
“No,” Ben answered. “It was only waiting.”
“Cate to
ld me that a happy ending depends on where the author decides to end the story.”
“Ach,” Ben said. “I’m so thankful God gave us another chapter, because”—his eyes met mine—“I love nothing in the world, except God, as much as you.”
Later, after supper, as Ben and I drove away, he called out to Phillip. “Get yourself a wife!”
Phillip stood at the entrance to the barn. Down the path was Jessie in the midst of a group of girls. Phillip shifted his gaze to her.
Ben nodded. “Exactly.”
As Phillip headed toward her, Jessie smiled. Ben took my hand, squeezing it gently as he drove me on home to the Millers’.
Chapter
24
Mamm and Mervin finalized the sale of the farm a month later. She sent Molly and Leon off to Montana with a check as a down payment on the ranch they intended to buy. Then she stayed with Edna until March, while Love stayed with me at the Millers’.
Phillip and Jessie published their wedding in the middle of December and were married in early February. Martin began working full-time with his Dat, and the twins made plans to expand our flower farm over to the Mosiers’ property. Phillip kept working for Bob, and along with Pete, trained a whole new crew.
I didn’t hear anything, good or bad, about Don. He never returned to Lancaster. I hoped for the best for him, and that he’d made peace with those in Ohio that he’d hurt too.
I worked for the Millers for the next six months, until Nan and Cate were strong enough to take over the care of the babies with help from Hope. Martin’s Mamm was still plenty capable of running their house, so Hope continued to help the Millers three days a week.
My friendship with Hope grew over the months, and with Molly gone Hannah and I grew closer too. She invited me to our old farm often, saying she always wanted me to feel welcome. And I did.
Hope’s Dat and Edna corresponded for a couple of months and then, to the surprise of no one, married in March, before Mamm went to Montana. Edna gladly moved to New York, promising to visit when she could. Although she’d never have children of her own, she now had thirty-two grandchildren—and counting. Hope and Martin were expecting by the end of summer.
