Holding a Tender Heart

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Ida said, “I’m not so sure what he’d say.”

  Verna ignored Ida’s gloominess. “Has someone perhaps…?”

  Ida laughed. “Paid me attention? Hah! Now that would be the day.”

  “Ida, you mustn’t think like that! There’s someone out there for you. I know there is!”

  Ida jumped to her feet. “What in the world am I doing? My wash isn’t done yet.”

  Verna watched Ida dash off to go upstairs. Some man had paid attention to Ida. She was sure of it. But who could it be? Should she inquire further? What gut would that do? She couldn’t help Ida beyond making sure there was no further kafuffle with Joe. Well, she would do exactly that, Verna decided.

  Ida appeared with her hamper full of dirty pants and shirts. “Almost done!” she said as she continued her dash toward the basement stairs.

  Something was definitely bothering Ida. She was acting quite strange this morning. Verna finished the last of the dishes and slipped into the living room. Mamm was on the couch knitting. The whirr of Lois’s sewing machine rose and fell in the distance. Verna wished to speak with someone about Ida, but Lois had the door closed. She probably didn’t wish to be bothered. But this was important, and Mamm probably wouldn’t know the answer to her question.

  “I have to speak with Lois,” Verna announced as she motioned toward the sewing room.

  Mamm raised her eyebrows but didn’t offer an opinion.

  Verna opened the door and quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  “What?” Lois asked not looking up from her work.

  Verna waited until the next line of thread was finished. “Something about Ida bothers me this morning, Lois. Has a man been paying her attention?”

  Lois looked up. “Ida? She has been asked to be taken home?”

  “Nee, I’m asking if you noticed anything, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t ask me. How would I know? Don’t bother me now. I’m trying to focus.”

  “Then focus on my question,” Verna insisted. “Have you seen anything?”

  Lois groaned but stopped and took a few seconds to think. “No one except Paul Wagler. But he flirts with everyone.”

  “Yah,” Verna allowed. “But I thought Paul was giving Debbie the most attention. Unless I miss my guess, Ida’s got someone in mind, although who it is I can’t imagine.”

  “You never know.” Lois looked down and her sewing machine whirred again.

  Lois didn’t know more than she did, Verna decided. She opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her. She walked into the kitchen and slipped out the washroom door. Ida was outside placing clips on the line to hold the last load of clean clothes to the line. Verna grabbed a few clips and held them in her mouth as she reached down to pick up a pair of Emery’s pants and pin them to the line. She turned to Ida. “You might as well tell me what’s bothering you. I know something is.”

  Ida wrinkled her face. “I’m just worrying, I guess. Like everyone does sometimes. You know, about what life holds. Maybe after a few years this single life will get better.”

  “My, you’re morbid!” Verna said before laughing. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. Look at me—I’ll be twenty-five before long.”

  “Yah, and married by this fall, if I don’t miss my guess. Has Joe kissed you yet?”

  Verna figured her cheeks were turning into flames of red about now. She took a deep breath. This wasn’t how she wanted the conversation to go. Ida’s words troubled her, and not just because she’d never talked about such things before.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Ida interjected, a little red-cheeked herself. “I suppose I shouldn’t be thinking about such things.”

  “Well, he hasn’t,” Verna admitted. “And, yah, I’m hoping for a fall wedding. But it takes a willing man, you know.”

  “Oh, he’s willing enough,” Ida said.

  “Do we have to have such plain talk?”

  Ida laughed. “You’re the one who started it, remember?”

  “But there is someone you’re interested in, isn’t there?” Verna pushed.

  Ida took a moment to answer. “Yah, if you must know. But I think it’s just on my part. He would never give someone like me a second glance.”

  “But he has given you one?” Verna glowed. “Tell me, Ida, who is he?”

  “Calm yourself.” Ida’s face burned red. “It’s nothing but my imagination. And that’s all it will ever be.”

  “But you must not say so, Ida. Look what has happened between Joe and me. Even after the awful kafuffle we had.”

  Ida laughed bitterly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then speak plainly for once. I’m tired of beating around the bush.”

  Ida’s face flamed again. “If you must know, it’s Paul Wagler. Are you happy now?”

  Verna gasped. “Oh, Ida, no!”

  Ida hung her head. “Yah, I’m afraid so. My heart has gotten ideas of its own, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Verna dropped the shirt she held into the hamper. “You must get this out of your heart at once, Ida,” she scolded. “There’s not a bigger flirt around than Paul.”

  Ida groaned. “You think you’re telling me anything new? If Paul would only settle down with someone maybe I could get him out of my mind. But he keeps flitting around like a bee between flowers. And my heart beats faster hoping that one day I’ll be one of those flowers—like maybe the last one.”

  “Has he given you any reason to hope, Ida?”

  Ida shrugged. “A smile here and there while he’s stealing glances at Debbie. Now there’s a flower he’s landed on. Clinging to it is more like it.”

  Verna reached up to clutch the clothesline. “Ida, please don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

  Ida laughed. “Jealous of Paul’s attention? Yah, but not of Debbie. She cares nothing for the man.”

  “And you know this?”

  “Yah. Debbie has told me.”

  “Does she care for another Amish man?”

  Ida wrinkled her face. “You can ask Debbie about that. I promised not to spill her secrets.”

  Verna sighed. “I’m not worried about Debbie. She can take care of herself. It’s you I’m worried about. This is never going to happen, Ida. Not with Paul.”

  Ida didn’t say anything more because there was nothing more to say. The two finished hanging up the clothes and walked toward the house.

  “I’ll be happy with what Da Hah has given me,” Ida said at the basement door. “It just takes me a while to adjust. Seeing you and Joe though…I have to admit it…makes things worse. I don’t want to spoil your joy, Verna. Believe me! I’m very happy for you.”

  “I believe you.” Verna gave Ida a hug.

  Ida, holding the empty laundry basket, hugged her back with one hand. “We’ll always be sisters,” she whispered. “And when you bring your little bobblis home, Verna, I’ll love them like my own.”

  Verna stared off into the distance. “You don’t know yet what Da Hah has in store for you, Ida. He never gives anything we don’t need.”

  “Then this may be what I’m needing—the single life.” Ida tried to look happy. “I will pray Da Hah’s presence carries me through my life even if I never have a man to hold me in his arms.”

  “Oh, Ida.” Verna wrapped her sister in another long hug. “You mustn’t say such things. Soon you’ll have both of us crying.”

  “I know.” Ida took a deep breath, gathering herself together.

  “I will pray for you,” Verna whispered as they went inside.

  Mamm looked up at them with a strange expression, but she didn’t comment as Ida headed upstairs and Verna remained in the kitchen.

  Twenty-Three

  Three weeks later, on a late-July evening, Debbie walked toward her parents’ place with a bag of freshly baked bread swinging in one hand. Supper was finished at the Beiler farm, and the evening stretched out in front of her. They’d e
aten early even though Emery was still in town on an errand.

  “He can eat when he comes back,” Saloma had declared. “I’m not keeping Daett waiting.”

  Debbie felt a glow inside as she thought about the memory. Her time with the Beilers was going so well. Still she checked in briefly with either her mom or dad at irregular intervals. Tonight warranted a prolonged visit. Not that anything special had happened. She simply wanted to stay in touch with them. There was no reason to make them feel she’d abandoned them even though her mother had wanted her out on her own and making her way in the world.

  Debbie had done that, although in a strange way from her mom’s perspective. Hopefully her mother would eventually get used to her daughter’s choices. Her mother likely hoped even now that this phase of her life would soon be over. Well, it wasn’t a phase. She was more convinced than ever that Amish life was right for her. Her cooking skills, with Lois’s help, were progressing slowly but well. They had a cake and even pies planned for this week. Lois said she’d make the crusts though. That was the hard part about pies, she claimed. And Debbie could easily believe that after she watched Lois’s nimble fingers form pie dough into its proper shape. Then she’d formed little creases all along the top edge that looked miraculous. Debbie would learn how to do that someday. She would have to if she wished to be truly Amish. These were things that came more easily if one was born into such a life. Even Verna and Ida could handle pie crust, though neither spent much time in the kitchen.

  It wasn’t fair really. The few times Debbie saw her mother cook was when she stirred premixed batter from store-bought cartons. It was cheaper that way, her mother had always claimed. But now Debbie suspected there was more to it. It was also faster and easier. But she had much to be thankful for, she told herself. She would have to remind Mom of them if the chance came up, though it was unlikely her accomplishments would mean much to her mom. A wonderful thing like Bishop Beiler’s acceptance of her wouldn’t signify anything to someone in the world. She wouldn’t understand why that was a big deal. Then there was the help she gave the Beiler family with Lois. Lois had almost ceased her talk about the wunderbah Englisha life. Of course, Debbie’s mom would think that point a complete negative. Neither would she understand her daughter’s desire for Alvin Knepp’s attention. Not that she’d received any…yet. On this, Debbie had been a complete failure. Maybe she’d thought too highly of herself. How did she think there was even a chance she could waltz in and gain an Amish man’s confidence?

  The Amish believed pride was one of man’s greatest sins. And she was, no doubt, guilty of that one. Paul Wagler, on the other hand, teased her every chance he had. She was quite irritated with the man. Verna claimed he acted that way with all the eligible girls. But Debbie wasn’t so sure. When she caught his gaze on her during the Sunday preaching, he would suddenly look away. Yes, there was plenty of interest from Paul. And that was just another failure on her part, although how could she have prevented it? Paul created his own attraction. He was also the one who kept Alvin away, she suspected. In fact, she was sure of it even if there was no way to prove it. Why else had Alvin suddenly stopped his Saturday habit of borrowing tools from Bishop Beiler? Did Alvin’s no longer break? She doubted that. The Knepps wouldn’t have improved their farming ways that rapidly.

  No, the situation lined up too well. Alvin had seen her and Paul laugh and joke together that Sunday night a few weeks ago and had lost his courage. Alvin thought she cared for Paul. In retrospect she should have been more careful. But how was she supposed to know how Amish men thought? And how did one deal with someone like Paul? In her experience, if she ignored him it brought more attention than if she snapped back at him.

  Well, she’d better think about something else lest her long face cause her mother to think she didn’t like her new life. Debbie turned in at her parents’ driveway and knocked twice on the front door before walking in. Her dad caught sight of her first and called over his shoulder, “Callie! Come see what the cat dragged in.”

  “Oh, Dad!” Debbie gave him a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “What have you got there?” He peered at the loaf of bread. “Did you bake this, Debbie?”

  “Yes!” Debbie allowed her face to glow.

  The approval on her dad’s face warmed her heart, so she gave him another quick hug.

  He deliberately made a long face. “I thought you might have brought supper with you.”

  “Oh,” Debbie cooed, “I should have.”

  Her dad laughed. “Now, sweetheart, I was just teasing. Come in and sit down. You’re staying a while, aren’t you?”

  He wasn’t teasing on the subject of food. Debbie would have to remember that and cook an Amish supper for her parents again. All by herself this time—once Lois had trained her well enough. They might be the perfect people to practice on.

  Debbie followed her dad into the living room. Her mother looked up from her newspaper.

  “Hello, dear!” her mother greeted, ignoring the loaf of bread.

  “Hi, Mom.” Debbie bent over and gave her a quick hug before sitting down on the couch across from her. She could sense her mother was still uneasy with her new life. But she was still her daughter however Amish she became. And tonight she was wearing one of her “Englisha dresses,” as the Beiler family called them. She was trying to make things easier for everyone. Someday her complete change to Amish life would arrive and must be faced, but tonight was not that moment.

  “I see you still speak English.” Her mom looked over her glasses at Debbie.

  “Now, Mom, I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch that well. I still barely understand it.”

  “So, how are you getting along over there?” her mother asked, motioning in the direction of the Beiler residence.

  Debbie smiled. “They’re very nice people, Mom. You ought to visit sometime.”

  “Yes, I suppose I ought to.” Her mother glanced away.

  Was she hiding a tear? Debbie wondered. “Mom, you did want me to move out, remember? It’s nice that you do miss me.”

  Her mother nodded. “A little, but let’s not go crying all over the place. I’m too old for that.”

  “She’s quite sentimental…underneath,” Debbie’s father offered.

  “I know.” Debbie got up and gave her mother another hug.

  Callie squeezed back this time. “So tell me, are you really enjoying it over there?”

  “Yes, I do like it. Very much.”

  “And the new life?” This came from her father.

  “I love it, Dad. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “I thought so.” He regarded her for a moment. “Well, I’m glad to hear it then.”

  “Mr. Fulton says you wear Amish dresses to work,” her mother said. “Have things really gone that far?”

  Debbie shrugged. “I’m experimenting. And no one is complaining at the office. The dresses are very nice and presentable, although not the latest styles. I’m not scaring off any customers.”

  “Your mother was just making an observation. She meant no harm,” her dad interjected.

  Debbie nodded. “I guess I’m jumpy on the subject. The Beilers are accepting me without any complaints. And I’ve been going to church with them every Sunday in full Amish dress, which includes a head covering they call a kapp.”

  Her mother’s smile was thin. “Any prospects yet? Any interest by that young man you mentioned?”

  “Mom! Besides, I haven’t joined the Amish church. No Amish man would take a chance on a girl who’s not of the Amish faith. And I’m not…yet.”

  “Good-looking girl like you?” Her father grinned. “I’m sure they’re lining up.”

  Her mother smiled. “And a woman with a college education. They ought to line up around the block!”

  Debbie laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not a plus in their world. In fact, I never hear the Beiler girls mention my education to anyone.”

  “Surely they don’t hold that ag
ainst you?” Her mother appeared thunderstruck.

  “It’s just not important in their world, Mom,” Debbie replied. “They have other priorities.”

  “Like having babies every year.” Her mother snorted. “That’s a really lofty goal.”

  Debbie frowned. “You don’t have to condescend, Mom. They’re precious people. And large families are part of their belief system and are needed to help them farm.”

  “As women’s liberation is part of mine,” Callie said, shuffling the newspaper in her lap. “Well, now, let’s talk about something sensible. I’m sure you didn’t come over here to prattle about having babies.”

  “I’d love a slice of that bread Debbie brought, Callie. We have butter and jam in the refrigerator, don’t we?”

  Her mother sighed. “Depend on a man to bring the subject back to the ‘important’ things of life. And yes, Herbert, there’s grape jam…and plenty of margarine…not real butter though. Remember your arteries.”

  “Bread like this,” he held the loaf up, “seems to warrant real butter and homemade jam.”

  Callie sighed. “Now look what you’ve done, Debbie! He’ll want home-baked bread every day of the week.”

  “Maybe I can bring some more often,” Debbie offered.

  “You’ve really learned how to bake?” her mother asked. “You’re probably better at it than I am.”

  “I’m trying, Mom. That’s all I can say at this point.”

  “I imagine that’s an admirable skill in your new world,” her mother said. “To me it harkens back to caveman days.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I’ll move over to her caveman world,” her father said, returning from the kitchen to wave around his piece of jam-smeared bread.

  “He even talks like a caveman!” Callie sounded exasperated. “But here we are, arguing with each other when you’ve come to visit, Debbie. Here, stand up so I can get another good look at you.”

  Debbie did a slow turn in front of her. “Mom, I’m still the same person.”

  Her mother ignored her comment. “There are little changes here and there. Things only a mother would notice, I suppose. But you’re happy. That I can see.”