Fields of Corn

by Sarah Price

  When the meal was over, Shana cleared their plates, poured more coffee, and proudly presented her still warm cherry pie. "What a surprise," Emanuel allowed himself to say as he noticed the gleam in Shana's eye when she set it before him. Then, handing him the knife, she waited for him to cut the first piece.

  The crust flaked off as Emanuel cut into the pie. Jacob took the first piece, his eyes large and his fork in hand. Shana turned back to the sink, stacking the supper dishes. When she went back to the table, both men were staring at each other but quickly looked away as Shana sat down. She raised her coffee cup to her lips. Slowly, Emanuel took another bite of his pie and Jacob followed. Neither spoke.

  Quietly, they finished their pie. Jacob stood up, smiled his appreciation at Shana, and then said to Emanuel, "Tomorrow at eight?"

  Emanuel walked with him outside. From the kitchen window, Shana saw Emanuel bid Jacob good-bye before disappearing into the barn to clean the cows' stall. He was gone for over an hour, more than enough time for Shana to clean up the kitchen. She was putting away the last plate when Emanuel returned. He poured himself another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Shana wipe the sink.

  "Shana," he started. She folded the towel neatly and hung it over the side of the sink. "Did you want any coffee?"

  "No thank you." She glanced at the pie. "What should I do with that? Put it in the refrigerator? I don't want it to spoil."

  Emanuel's eyes crinkled, as he laughed, "No need to fear that. It should keep for quite a long time."

  "Emanuel! That’s not very kind.” When he continued to laugh, she put her hands on her hips. “What's so funny?"

  He placed his cup carefully on the counter and opened the utensil drawer. He took out a fork and stuck it into the pie. Then, he lifted it to her mouth. Reluctantly, for she tended to shy away from sweets, Shana took a bite, confused by Emanuel's actions. Her eyes widened and she forced herself to swallow the salty piece of pie. The tears welled in her eyes and she ran out of the kitchen, sobbing hysterically.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, hiding her face behind her hands when he came upstairs. His heavy footsteps sounded outside the bedroom and she heard the door creak as he pushed it open. Patiently, he knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his and pulling them away from her face. "Anyone could have made that mistake, Shana."

  "I can't do anything right!" she whined, her shoulders heaving from her sobs.

  "That's not true. You made a wonderful supper, Shana."

  "You were late and everything was overcooked and dry!" she cried. Emanuel gently laughed, wrapping his arms around his horrified wife. Falling against him, she laid her head on his shoulder, her tears staining his dirty shirt. "Why can't I understand?" she murmured, clinging to him as though afraid to let go. It felt good to finally have his attention.

  Emanuel forced her to release him. He smoothed the tears off her face with his thumbs as he started down into her watery eyes. "What do you mean you don't understand?"

  Sniffling, Shana chewed on her lower lip. "I always say the wrong thing and I can't cook the foods you like and I get upset when you ignore me and..."

  He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "I don't ignore you, Shana."

  "You do!" she cried out, the tears streaming down her face. She felt foolish crying but she couldn’t stop the emotion from pouring out. "This is supposed to be our honeymoon, our adjustment period, and you act like we've been married for years. You don't kiss me hello or good-bye or compliment my efforts. You don't want to spend any time with me or..."

  Emanuel hushed her again, this time by lightly kissing her lips. When he pulled back, he stared into her eyes. "I do want to spend time with you, Shana, but I have work I must do. A farmer cannot leave his farm nor ignore his work. Come summer, perhaps we can take a vacation, visit your family, or go to a beach. Until then, I promised Jacob I'd help him since we gave him such short notice. Would you have me go back on my word to Jacob?" Through her tears, she shook her head. Emanuel kissed her again. "I love you, Shana. When I fail your expectations as a husband, remember it'll take me time to conform to your ideals."

  He held her hands, staring into her eyes. The tears stopped falling from her eyes as she suddenly realized that, throughout their short courtship, Emanuel had never actually told her he loved her. Not the way he had just said those three words to her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Shana hugged Emanuel, wishing that their life together could always be like this moment, together, alone, and understanding the other. Later that night, after they had made love and Emanuel slept, his head upon her shoulder, she wanted to cry again. She loved Emanuel but, she realized, she hated the non-expressive culture to which he had been born and she had just married.

  Chapter Twelve

  Those first several weeks, Shana quickly found herself adapting to the new routine in her life. Every morning at five, Emanuel slid out of bed and dressed in the dark. Shana usually darted in and out of sleep, listening to him move around the bedroom. Several times, she arose with him and helped milk the cows. She knew that he appreciated her help, especially since twice each day, he had to milk the cows and clean the manure out of their stall. Any help eased his burden of caring for the animals that contributed to their livelihood.

  Some days, she couldn't bring herself to leave the warmth of the bed and he'd end up milking the cows alone. On those days, she waited another two hours before dragging herself out of the bed and into the cold. After a quick steaming shower, she'd hurry downstairs to the kitchen. The kitchen was already comfortably warm, Emanuel having started the kerosene heater. After brewing a fresh pot of coffee, she'd make Emanuel a large breakfast, usually consisting of fluffy scrambled eggs, fresh bacon, occasionally burnt toast, and a cup of black coffee.

  "You're up," he teased as he walked into the kitchen one morning. He washed his hands in the sink. "Thought I'd have to come pull you out of bed this morning."

  "It's so warm under those blankets. Didn't think I was going to get up."

  "Ja," he started. "Don't think I wouldn’t have considered joining you." He reached for the towel she playfully flung at him. Wiping his hands dry, Emanuel watched Shana set the table. "It's getting colder out there every day. Getting harder to milk the cows alone."

  Shana bit her lower lip and made a silent vow to herself. She had to force herself to help him. All of those cows were hard for one man to handle alone. Yet, her days had begun to fill up with her own chores. Cleaning the house took longer without the luxury of Englische products like Pledge and Mop-n-Glow. Three times a week, she spent the entire day just washing floors and windows, dusting and straightening up. Everything seemed to get dirtier quicker on the farm. Indeed, Emanuel had not been lying when he said that her days would be full.

  "Plans for today yet?" he asked.

  Shana carried the coffee pot over to the table and set it down on a hot pad. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Vell, tobacco's all hung so I thought to mend some of them fences in the pasture. Maybe you could help."

  They both sat at the table, Shana waiting patiently for Emanuel while he bowed his head in silent prayer. When he finished, he smiled at her then reached for the eggs. Shana sipped her coffee. "Thought I'd take a trip to the laundromat this morning. Need to wash some clothes, don’t you think?"

  Handing Shana the bowl of eggs, Emanuel frowned. "No need for a laundromat. There's a washer here."

  The disapproving look in Emanuel's eye had not gone unnoticed. He had the same look whenever Shana slipped on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to help with the morning milking or work in the barn. She had seen the piece of machinery that Emanuel called a washer one day earlier that first week. At first, she had thought it was junk that had been left behind. Now, she knew otherwise.

  "I suppose I could do the laundry here," she replied as she relented.

  The frown faded from his face as he bent his head to eat before his food got cold. Half an hour later, Shana stood in t
he washroom, a pile of dirty clothes at her feet. She stared at the ancient metal washtub and wringer. For a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating an escape to the laundromat. She had known she would have to give up certain luxuries from her world, but they hadn't seemed so important before. Finally, with a determined sigh, Shana filled the washtub with soapy water, watching the bubbles foam up to the edge of the tub before turning off the hose.

  She picked up a pair of Emanuel's dirty workpants from the pile and dipped it into the washtub. Suds trickled down the side of the tub. She frowned then took the wet pants and rubbed them against the old fashioned washboard. One of her fingernails caught on the metal and broke. Wincing, Shana quickly withdrew her hands and stuck her finger in her mouth. Stepping away from the washtub, Shana eyed it with hatred while feeling admiration for Katie who, for all her life, had used this ancient piece of machinery for her entire family. Yet, at the same time, she felt sorry for Katie and all Amish women for never having experienced the convenience of modern laundry facilities. Above all, she felt sorry for herself for having known the convenience but willingly had given it away.

  Determined to succeed, Shana dipped her hands back into the cold, soapy water and began to rub Emanuel's workpants against the washboard. Then, after rinsing them under the pump, she wrung them out in the old fashion wooden ringer. She hung them over the line Emanuel had strung diagonally from corner to corner in the washroom. Although she questioned how clean they really were, Shana took a step back, her hands placed evenly on her hips as she evaluated the dripping wet pants.

  "Piece of cake," she said to herself before she continued washing the rest of her clothes.

  She had just hung up the last piece of clothes to dry on the makeshift clothesline strung from corner to corner in the washroom when Emanuel opened the door and walked in. He smiled at her, pleased to see that she was managing. "Vell, look at you! You figured out how to work it, then?" He wiped his feet then walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

  "Three fingernails later, yes."

  "Maybe after dinner you'd like to help me with that fencing."

  Shana bent down to wipe some water off the floor. Her own clothes soaked, Shana realized she had probably spilt more water on herself and the floor than on the clothes she had just washed. "Oh Emanuel, I totally forgot about the midday meal!” She smiled apologetically. “Let me change my clothes and I'll heat up some soup for you."

  He was already seated at the table, glancing through the day-old newspaper, when she hurried back into the kitchen. He looked up at her and smiled, despite the fact that she wore jeans. "Thought we might ride into town tonight."

  "Oh?" she replied, her back toward him as she hastily prepared dinner. She hadn't left the farm since her arrival and a ride into town sounded more like a night in Manhattan.

  "Couple of things I need at the store and maybe you could do any shopping you need."

  "Perhaps we could stop somewhere to eat, Emanuel. That way I'll be able to help you all afternoon with those fences and the milking." She glanced at him over her shoulder, hoping to see him nod in approval. But as she faced him, her smile faded from her face and, drying her wet hands on a towel, she walked toward him, both supper and supper suddenly forgotten. "Emanuel, you haven't shaved today, have you?"

  "No," he answered, his own eyes troubled.

  "You aren't planning to grow a beard, are you?"

  "Shana," Emanuel said softly, disapproving of the tone in her voice.

  "You needn't grow a beard to let the world know you're married. You're wearing my ring," she said anxiously.

  The look in his eyes darkened. "That is not the only reason we grow beards after marriage, Shana," he murmured but the underlying tone in his voice warned her that she was trespassing on forbidden ground.

  "Who are 'we'?" she asked, her temper flaring. He didn't answer her. "You are not Amish, Emanuel," she retorted slowly. "Growing a beard will not make you Amish. I don't think you need to be reminded of that fact."

  He sighed. "I told you, Shana, before we married that..."

  "I know what you told me, Emanuel," she interrupted. "But I did not marry the Amish. I married you. While we both have to conform to find a happy medium, you have to realize that you cannot have me and pretend to be Amish as well," she argued, trying to keep her voice soft and gentle rather than harsh and reprimanding. But her anger could not be hidden and the look in his eyes told her that she had hurt him with her words.

  They ate in silence, Shana too aware of his downcast eyes and her own trembling heart. Her appetite lost, Shana pushed her plate back and watched him, hating the silence as well as her fear. Prior to their marriage, she had laid awake many nights, fighting the increasing anxiety that Emanuel would not be able to abide by his bargain. Now, the shadow of the Amish covering his face, she realized that with each second of silence that passed, he was gathering strength from his upbringing by shutting her out. In her world, man and wife could speak openly to each other. In Emanuel's, a good wife was an unopinionated wife. She had crossed the line and his disappointment showed.

  After dinner, they walked out to the pasture, Emanuel several steps ahead of her. He avoided her eyes and began to work, repairing a section of the rotting fence. When needed, Shana jumped in, holding up the section as he hammered it into the ground. An hour passed and the sky darkened. Before long, a light sprinkling of snow fluttered to the ground. Emanuel raised his eyes to the sky and his brow creased together. He worked quicker but, as the snow fell harder and covered the ground, he tucked his hammer under his arm and reached for Shana's hand.

  She took it, surprised by his unusual display of affection. Holding hands and giving kisses were for the privacy of the home where curious eyes could not see. Far from displeased, Shana walked next to him, a new energy in her stride. She did not want to fight with Emanuel but they had both agreed before they married to conform to each other's ways. And while she understood his refusal to own a car and use electricity, things he had been without all of his life, the mustache-less beard so typical of the married Amish men crossed her line.

  The rest of the snowy afternoon, Emanuel did his bookkeeping in the kitchen while Shana sat down to write a letter to her family. The kitchen grew darker as the afternoon passed and Emanuel lit the kerosene lantern over the table. He wandered to the window and pushed back the sheer curtain. "Snow's falling good, now. Reckon we won't be making that trip into town after all."

  "Why's that?" she asked, slightly disappointed. She hadn't left the farm since she had arrived and had begun to look forward to the shopping trip.

  "Dangerous with the buggy." He dropped the curtain and stood for a long moment with his back to her. Shana wondered if he had something on his mind, most probably about their earlier discussion. And, at that moment as he stood there, his curly hair just hanging below his collar and his suspenders tight against his shoulders, she realized that they were worlds apart, even if they had joined their worlds in marriage.

  "Emanuel?"

  He turned and looked at her. He remained silent then, as though his chain of thought broke, he smiled and walked to her side. "There are two things the Lord gave man over the other creatures. He created the ability for man to think. The other is the ability to love." Emanuel knelt before her and took her hands in his. "I thank Him daily for these gifts, along with all the other wonderful things He created. And I thank Him for sending you to me."

  "Emanuel," she whispered, startled at this sudden introduction of his religion to her. In all those months together, he had never openly offered her any insights into the religious aspect of his upbringing. It startled her and, as his words sunk in, frightened her for she suddenly realized that there was another side to the man she had married that, not only did she not know, had a stronger effect on his life than his love for her.

  He shook his head for her to let him continue. "There is a reason for everything He does and we must learn to live by His decisions. If He had not wanted
our love, He would not have allowed it." He hesitated, giving her hands a slight squeeze. "Had I been baptized, our marriage could never have happened unless you had converted, and even then, that would have created some problems. I cannot ask you to convert to the Amish way now. But you cannot ask me to convert to your ways."

  "I thought our love would be enough," she said softly.

  "We have our love but we have His love, too. By trusting in Him, all things will be right, Shana. You must understand that and believe that."

  "I do," she mumbled, uncertain as to whether that was true. He kissed her hands and stood up. A smile crossed his lips but it was an unusual smile, so unlike his typical mischievousness that lit up his face. This smile was an inner smile and Shana knew that he was content. Even though his little talk had left her feeling more frightened and alone, apparently Emanuel had eased his own mind and had found that inner peace that lingered over every Amish man's home.