by Sarah Price
“Who is that?” At Miriam’s overly exaggerated question, five heads wearing stiff black prayer kapps turned simultaneously to look in the direction of Miriam’s gaze.
On the other side of the room, just outside the open doors, a young man and woman were standing. The young man, probably no more than twenty-five, seemed to look around the room as if inspecting the people. A soft smile played on his lips. With dark curly hair, he was quite the handsome man, that was for sure and certain. His clean-shaven face with sharply defined cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes seemed to have caught the attention of several unmarried Amish women. And he clearly knew it.
By his side, the woman waited for him to guide her to the group of women. She was as equally beautiful as he was handsome, her dark hair framing her heart-shaped face and her pretty heart-shaped prayer cap accentuating her facial features. Her dress was a bright pink, a variation of the standard colors and one that wasn’t normally worn in Holmes County. It made Fanny’s dress look dowdy and pale in comparison. Fanny glanced around and noticed that she was not the only person watching the woman and she knew that, if the men were admiring her beauty, the women were admiring her fabric.
As for Fanny, she could only wonder at the gleam in the woman’s eye. She seemed to tilt her chin just a little too high, something that gave her somewhat of a haughty look. A look that made Fanny uncertain if she would like this newcomer.
“Yes, who are they?” Julia echoed, clearly as taken with the young man as Miriam was.
Remembering her discussion with Elijah, Fanny suspected that she knew exactly who they were. What surprised her, however, was that her cousins did not. While it wasn’t like Elijah to gossip, she had thought he would have shared her news from the other day with the rest of the family. From both Miriam and Julia’s remarks, Fanny realized he hadn’t. And she couldn’t imagine why.
“They’re the Coblentzes,” said Barbara, one of Miriam and Julia’s friends who stood in the circle of young women. Her eyes brightened, clearly elated to provide an answer to the question on everyone’s mind. “They’re staying with Bishop Yoder.”
Miriam raised her eyebrows. “Whatever for, then?”
“I heard he’s their onkle,” another woman responded.
“Nee,” Barbara countered. “Bishop is their brother-in-law.”
It was Julia’s turn to express her incredulity. “I hadn’t realized the bishop’s fraa had siblings. They’re awfully young, don’t you think?”
“She’s their half-sister.” Barbara lowered her voice. “We met them when the bishop remarried. Don’t you remember?” Neither sister did, as a matter of fact. “Anyway, they’re from Lancaster County. Gordonville, I reckon.”
“Lancaster County?” Miriam stared at the two newcomers with even more interest. “I’ve never heard of Gordonville.”
Fanny, however, perked up. Not only was Lancaster County where her brother, William, had been sent to live with her father’s older brother Aaron, but Gordonville was also the very town!
“That’s a long way to visit.”
“Five hours or so, I reckon,” Barbara said.
“It’s a wonder that they are here!” Miriam straightened her shoulders and reached up her hand to ensure her hair was neatly tucked under her kapp. “What could possibly be of interest to them in Mount Hope?”
The group of young women continued to whisper back and forth, speculating why the brother and sister were visiting their half-sister in a town so far away from their home.
Fanny did not join the discussion, not wanting to be a part of their gossip, but she couldn’t deny that she was more than curious about the newcomers, at least as far as Elijah was concerned. If Elijah was acquainted with the Coblentz siblings, why weren’t Miriam and Julia? But it wasn’t a question that she felt comfortable asking, just as she didn’t want to contribute to their circle of hearsay and speculation.
Fanny never could quite find her voice around Miriam and Julia’s group of friends. It wasn’t that they were unkind; truly the opposite was true. However, Fanny never felt that she was considered an equal in their eyes. Over the years Fanny never had been very talkative with any of them, preferring to remain in observant silence rather than participate in inconsequential conversation. She found their discussions irrelevant, anyway—talking about who might be courting, who might be getting married, and who was misbehaving.
One of their favorite discussions—and the one that most irritated Fanny—was whispering about the latest person to be reprimanded by the bishop. Whether it was a young man caught keeping a cell phone under the seat of his buggy or a young woman found with makeup in her bedroom, the young women loved to chatter amongst each other about the details. The worse the infraction, the more they talked, especially Miriam, who always acted horrified—a fact that amused Fanny, since gossip was also a sin.
But Fanny knew better than to laugh or say anything that might possibly draw attention away from Miriam.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a hush fell over the gathering, and Fanny knew that the bishop and preachers had entered the house, a signal that the service was about to begin. One by one, the bishop and his preachers greeted each of the women, shaking their hands and saying “Good morning” before they continued down the line. Miriam and her friends quickly found their place at the end of where the older women were already waiting. Worship could not begin unless everyone greeted each other. Fanny quietly stood at the very spot, knowing that, as usual, the greeting would be quick and usually without the bishop even looking at her. His attention, undoubtedly, was on the service, not the greetings.
After the church leaders took their seats, the women found theirs before the men would enter the room.
Since the worshippers were separated by gender and sat in order of their age, Fanny sat on the hard bench between Katie Troyer and Anna Mast, the former two months older than Fanny and the latter just one week younger. Despite her feeling shy around nonfamily members—something that she just couldn’t seem to overcome, no matter how much Elijah tried to coax her out of it—she sometimes enjoyed the three-hour respite from Miriam and Julia’s company.
In fact, most Sundays when Elijah, Miriam, and Julia went to the evening youth singings, Fanny remained at home. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go with them; it was merely that she preferred to stay by herself. Besides, when everyone was home and she tried to find time to write her correspondence or to read the Bible, Naomi would interrupt her. Since Naomi’s husband had been the bishop, she had felt qualified to offer her own interpretation of a particular passage. Without complaint, Fanny would quietly shut the Bible so that she could appear respectful as Naomi continued her long-winded discourse.
But when Elijah, Miriam, and Julia went to the youth gatherings, Martha often retired early—Fanny was always on hand to willingly assist her aunt, who seemed to grow weaker and less capable with each passing day. With Martha in bed, Naomi had no reason to come over from the grossdawdihaus unless she was visiting with Timothy. Fortunately he too often retired early for a long night’s sleep, especially since he awoke early for the morning milking.
Now today in church Fanny sat between Katie and Anna, listening to Bishop Yoder as he gave the first sermon. As he preached about the sins of worldliness, Fanny felt a bit of relief. With Timothy having left for Pinecraft, there would be no one to scowl at conversational chatter or scold anyone who laughed while he read Scripture before supper.
She felt someone nudge her arm. Startled from her thoughts, Fanny refocused her attention on the worship service and realized that the congregation had begun to sing the second hymn, Das Loblied. Without referencing the black chunky hymn book in her hands, she let her voice join the other members as they sang the hymn of praise to God:
Oh God, Father, we praise thee
And thy kindness glorify.
Which though, oh Lord, so mercifully
To us anew has shown.
And hast us, Lord, together led
&
nbsp; Us to admonish through thy word,
Give us grace to this.
The short hymn usually took over twenty minutes to sing, each syllable of every word sung in harmony to its own tune—a tune that had been passed down from generation to generation. The result was a chant-like song, so reminiscent of the stories that Fanny read in the Martyrs Mirror, a book that chronicled the persecution of the Anabaptists from the early 1500s to the late 1600s. The same songs had been sung back then, a lifting of voices to sing the glory of God during their time of worship.
As the congregation sang the last line, Fanny glanced across the heads of the older women seated before her and scanned the faces of the men who sat on the opposite side of the room. She noticed Elijah way in the back of the room, and for just those last few minutes, she watched him as he sang. She almost imagined that she heard his voice over all of the other men singing. His attention was focused on the place in the front of the room where Bishop Yoder had stood preaching just twenty minutes earlier.
Then, as they sang the last word, breaking it down into syllables, she saw something that surprised her: Elijah was glancing toward the women. She started to smile, knowing that he would catch her gaze, and even though his face would remain serious, his eyes would sparkle when he saw her.
They usually did. He was, after all, her best friend and greatest champion.
Over the years, since she had arrived at the Bontragers, Fanny had become quite adept at reading faces. Perhaps because of her inherent shyness and frugality with words. Perhaps because of her own genetic makeup. Among some of the more conservative Amish families, vocal outbursts and conversations involving anything beyond simple community matters or the impact of the weather on a family’s God-given stewardship of their plot of land were still considered superfluous and inappropriate. So reading faces had become second nature to her, a skill stemming from the force of habit.
Today Elijah’s eyes sparkled, but Fanny quickly realized that they sparkled at someone else, for he was not looking at her. Instead, his gaze fell upon someone else, a someone who was seated on a bench in the row before Fanny’s and whose prayer kapp was heart shaped. Fanny’s smile quickly faded and she leaned forward, just enough to see Mary Coblentz, her back straight and proper with her face turned toward the spot where the second preacher began the longer sermon of the worship service. If she knew that Elijah was sparkling at her, however, she did not let on.
Still, Fanny’s heart quickened against her chest as she realized, without any second thought, that Elijah’s interest was awakened by the mere presence of Mary Coblentz.
Fanny realized that, over the years, Elijah must have asked his share of young women to ride home in his buggy. He was, after all, twenty-four years of age. But young men often took women home without becoming serious. They merely offered a friend a ride or just wanted to get to know someone a little bit better. The idea of Elijah becoming serious with someone, of taking courtship to the next level, was an eventuality that Fanny had never really considered, at least until now. He was blatantly not listening to the preacher and shamelessly sparkling at a young woman.
Fanny felt her shoulders slump, and suddenly the pine bench felt harder under her backside, causing her to fidget. If Elijah married, surely their special friendship would come to an end. After all, any godly husband would take care of his wife before others; a wife was second only to God, and that meant Fanny would lose the very person she considered her best friend in Mount Hope. The idea of that made her feel just as melancholic as Martha always acted.
Almost ninety minutes later, when the worship service came to an end, Fanny tried to slip away. She didn’t want to see any more of Elijah’s face riveted upon pretty Mary Coblentz, especially since he did it with such blatant interest and curiosity. His attention to this newcomer to the community was not welcomed by Fanny.
However, as usual, Naomi caught sight of Fanny standing alone, and never one to miss an opportunity to assign some task to her, called her name aloud: “Fanny! Fanny Price!” as she waved her hand and beckoned for her niece to join her.
Obediently Fanny did as Naomi instructed.
“You should help your cousins setting the tables, Fanny,” Naomi said, her voice carrying a sharp tone as if reprimanding her for not having thought to do so without being told. With Naomi everything she said sounded like a reprimand, at least when it was directed at Fanny and especially when it had to do with Miriam.
Fanny glanced over her shoulder. The men were assembling the tables, slipping the legs of the benches into wooden trestles and converting them into long tables for the fellowship meal. Already there were eight young women hurrying to put plates, utensils, and glasses along both sides of the makeshift tables.
“I think there are enough people helping, Aendi,” Fanny said softly.
“But Miriam complained of a headache just after service,” Naomi quickly replied. “It’s best if you help her, Fanny. You know how she gets when she has headaches. She needs to rest so she’s better in time for the singing tonight.”
Headaches. It was always headaches with Miriam, and while no one else seemed to notice, Fanny observed that Miriam’s headaches conveniently happened when she was not getting enough attention. Fanny glanced around the room and noticed a small group of young women who, because there were more hands than work, were not busy with the food preparation or setup of the tables. At the center of that group stood Mary Coblentz.
Standing closer to her, Fanny could see the true extent of Mary’s beauty: flawless skin, sparkling blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face framed with her dark brown hair, which she kept tucked under her pretty, heart-shaped prayer kapp. She certainly wasn’t one to work outdoors, that was for sure and certain.
Naomi glanced over her shoulder to see what had caught her niece’s attention. “Ah, ja! The bishop told me that they were expecting guests.”
Fanny looked away, a faint blush covering her cheeks at having been caught in her not-so-secret observation of Mary.
“It’s so delightful to have new young people to share their experiences with our own youth,” Naomi said, more to herself than to Fanny. “And such wunderbarr gut people as the Coblentz children. Their parents were here not so long ago.” She paused as if trying to remember just how much time had passed between now and then. “Five years? Mayhaps it was six. That Mary was well behaved and mannerly even back then. A fine and righteous woman, for sure and certain.”
Fanny refused to look back at the young woman, knowing that it was wrong to automatically dislike her based on her conflicting feelings for Elijah. Perhaps it was the level of compliments or, even more likely, the source of them, but Fanny knew she did not care for that woman one iota.
Naomi noticed that Fanny was not paying adequate attention to the newcomer, or, perhaps even more irritating, to her ramblings about her. “Have you met her, then? Mary Coblentz?” she asked in a sharp tone.
Fanny shook her head.
“Hmm,” Naomi said, the noise coming from deep within her throat. “She’s pleasant enough, I reckon, but clearly not suited for farm life. Bit too white in the cheeks for my taste. And I’d wager that her hands have not one callus on them!” She glanced at Fanny and quickly added, “If betting weren’t a sin, of course.”
Of course.
Without another word, Naomi turned her back to Fanny. Seeking to distract herself, Fanny hurried to help Miriam, who was helping to set the tables.
“Oh, Fanny,” Miriam said, a hint of relief in her eyes but with a dearth of sincerity in her voice. “Danke for relieving me. I have such a headache.”
Fanny did not respond. Instead, she simply shook her head and took the silverware tray from Miriam, holding it so that Julia could place the knives and spoons beside the plates.
“It is so warm, don’t you think?” Miriam said, fanning herself with her hand. She glanced around the room as if looking for something. “I reckon I could use a glass of cool water.”
Fanny didn’t have
to look; she sensed that Miriam had walked away. Curiosity got the best of her so she glanced over her shoulder, not entirely surprised to see Miriam walking right past the group of women—a route that conveniently took her near the place where Henry stood with the bishop—as she headed into the kitchen.
“You should come to the singing tonight, Fanny,” Barbara said. “I heard that those two new people, that Henry and Mary Coblentz, are going to be there.”
“Ja, Fanny, you should,” Julia added.
There was something light about Julia’s tone that caused Fanny to turn around and look at her. She too seemed to be more interested in what was happening in the direction of Henry Coblentz than setting the table.
“Nee, Julia,” Fanny replied, jiggling the utensil tray just enough to let her know that she was waiting for her cousin to continue setting the table.
“Kum, Fanny,” Katie added, nudging her arm. “You haven’t been since early summer!”
With the three of them staring at her, Fanny had little choice but to smile and nod her head. Besides, with Timothy not home as of late and Naomi busy elsewhere, Fanny could write her letters anytime, with no fear of any intrusion. “Mayhaps,” she finally answered. “I’ll speak to Elijah. See if he takes me . . . ” She left the sentence unfinished, knowing that Elijah would be more than happy to take her. It was who would bring her home that actually had her worried.
It was, indeed, typical of the young men to bring along siblings or friends to these singings. This was a special occasion for them to harness their carefully groomed horse to the family buggy—or in some cases and if they were of marrying age, their open-top courting buggy. These singings had been an accepted tradition amongst the Amish since generations long gone. Even the most conservative members of the g’may approved of these activities as a necessary yet proper way for young people to interact and socialize with the ultimate goal: to create a matrimonial bond.
Raising families was both their God-given right and their obligation. To bring home a particular young woman was, to some, a declaration of intent on the part of a particular suitor. Should she turn down the offer, the matter was considered settled once and for all without additional complications, pleas, or unnecessary overtures. That did not mean, however, that the young lady’s acceptance of the trip back home was tantamount to giving her absolute consent, but that she would favor the opportunity of considering a particular young man as her future lifelong partner.
