Thursday's Bride

by Patricia Johns

“This is for your mamm and daet,” she said.

  “Yah. I got that.”

  Rosmanda sighed and grabbed the other breast strap off its hook on the wall and headed for the other horse.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said briskly.

  “I’m not some helpless woman,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m trying to contribute.”

  “Yah. So am I,” he shot back.

  Rosmanda worked on harnessing the other horse, and he could see the white of her kapp over the horse’s back as she worked. Levi attached the shaft from the buggy, and then headed around the horses’ heads to the other side. He lifted the shaft for her and held it in place while she did the buckles. Her fingers trembled as she worked, and he eyed her uncertainly.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine. Have you eaten?”

  “What is it to you if I’ve eaten?” A mist rose in her eyes, and she blinked it back. “Never mind. Yes, I’ve eaten.” She turned and fixed him with that dark stare of hers. “We need a truce.”

  “What, an agreement to act like a civil family?” he asked with a short laugh.

  “Yah.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “It would be good for both of us. We don’t need to draw any unnecessary attention toward ourselves. I haven’t been easy on you, I know. And you haven’t been easy on me—”

  “Me?” he retorted. “I haven’t done anything to you! I’m trying to help my daet, and you’re angry that I’m here. I think I’m clear on how things stand.”

  “You keep mentioning . . .” She swallowed. “When I first came to Abundance, I didn’t behave like a proper young lady.”

  “You kissed me.” A roguish grin spread over his face. “Repeatedly. And you liked it.”

  “That.” Her expression darkened. “I’m not that woman anymore, Levi.”

  “I’m not exactly offering to rekindle things,” he retorted.

  “If you’ll stop bringing it up and just let it . . . die . . . then I’ll do my best to let things go about Wayne.”

  Her voice was tight, and he could tell that letting things go would be no easy feat for her. But those memories that wounded her, meant something more to him.

  “Remembering your relationship with me is embarrassing,” he said.

  “It wasn’t a relationship,” she said curtly.

  “Then what was it?” he asked, shaking his head. “I brought you home from singing, we’d go driving together, we’d do all that kissing you hate talking about . . .”

  “We weren’t courting—officially.” She licked her lips. “And it was a long time ago. I’m not that young woman anymore. I’ve been married, I’m a mamm, and I’ll carry on with the dignity of a proper woman. It’s mean of you to keep bringing it up.”

  “Right.”

  She didn’t say anything else, but she was watching him. He sighed.

  “And you’ll stop blaming me for Wayne’s death, then?”

  “I’ll—” She paused. “I’ll never speak of it.”

  But she wouldn’t actually stop blaming him. He smiled bitterly. She was nothing if not honest. “The Bible talks about people keeping up appearances that don’t match what goes on inside. Something about whitewashed tombs, I believe.”

  She didn’t take the bait. “I won’t be meddling with what’s going on inside of you, either, but we both want fresh starts here, I think. I want to forget about my earlier mistakes . . . as do you.”

  And Levi had been her mistake. That was abundantly clear. He felt the stab of those words, but he couldn’t pass up her offer here. She was willing to make things more comfortable for them both, and since they didn’t have much choice but to deal with each other, he’d be a fool to pass this up.

  “And we’ll . . . act like friends, then?” he asked.

  “We’ll act like friends,” she agreed. “We’ll . . . be nice and civil and act the way people expect family members to act toward each other.”

  They’d act a part. She was right, it would make things easier for both of them. Except it wasn’t really acting for him. He did care about her. He did want to help. Apparently, it was more difficult on her side.

  “Fine,” he said curtly, and he led the horses forward, the buggy rolling smoothly behind as he brought it through the covered shelter and out into the sunlight. Rosmanda waited until he brought the buggy to a stop before she approached it again.

  “Thank you, Levi,” she said, and just for a split second he saw the old Rosmanda in her eyes—the hesitant young woman with a heart longing to be filled.

  Levi held out his hand and she took it just long enough to get up into the buggy, and then she tugged her fingers free of his grip. He looked up to see his mother looking out the screen door with a baby on each hip. She met his gaze, her expression serious.

  Mamm was nervous about sending them off together, it would seem, and he wasn’t sure he blamed her. This family was far from the Amish ideal. He met his mother’s gaze for a moment, then Levi pulled his attention back to the buggy.

  “What are we supposed to talk about, then?” he asked as he hoisted himself up onto the seat next to her.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Before Wayne swooped in that one night and drove her home from singing instead of Levi, Rosmanda and Levi had found plenty to talk about. She’d been funny with a quick sense of humor and a way of noticing details that he’d admired. She’d liked to hear his funny stories about his family and his overly serious brother—until she’d married that overly serious brother and whatever had been brewing between them stopped dead.

  “We used to be able to talk to each other,” he said. “And I don’t mean to bring up any past unpleasant memories for you, but we’d almost counted as friends.” She’d almost counted as a whole lot more than a friend. “Maybe we could . . . pretend that we’re friends, after all,” he suggested. “I don’t see how that would tarnish my reputation too badly.”

  She shot him a sharp look and he grinned in return. “I mean, a man has to think of how these things look, but . . .”

  “So funny,” she muttered.

  “It shouldn’t be too miserable,” he said. “I’m actually quite nice. Given the chance.”

  She eyed him for a moment.

  “To make this easier on everyone, I agree that we should get along,” she said.

  Exactly how hard would this be for her? She made it sound like punishment. And a small, petty part of him wouldn’t mind driving her a little crazy with friendliness. She didn’t want to talk about the bigger issues? Fine with him. There were a few things he’d rather not face right now, anyway.

  Levi flicked the reins and Rosmanda turned toward the house and waved at her daughters as the buggy rattled forward over the gravel drive. She leaned forward to see them as the horses plodded on, and then she leaned back in the seat with a sigh.

  Rosmanda was a widow and a mamm, and she’d always been a step above the likes of him. He was the kind of man who couldn’t put his heart aside for the greater good—a general disappointment to the Amish at large. And she’d been the reason he drank.

  But it was time to stop this, and grow up. He couldn’t keep ruining his own life because of a woman. Even this woman.

  Chapter Five

  Rosmanda adjusted herself on the wooden seat and turned her attention toward the passing fields, but her mind was still on that letter. She’d burned it, so until Jonathan showed up—if he even did—her secret was safe.

  Would he come? That was the question that hammered in her chest. Had he meant it, or was that letter the result of a maudlin moment after a fight with his wife?

  It would ruin her if her past with Jonathan ever got out. She’d already decided to write to her daet so that he could visit Jonathan and Mary and fix things before they got out of hand. Jonathan had five children . . . why would he leave them? A few years ago, she might have been flattered that she was such a draw for that man, that he’d
abandon everything to be with her, but after a marriage of her own, she no longer found it flattering. The truth of the matter was, Jonathan was a coward. He wasn’t drawn to her—he was drawn to any exit that might provide a few creature comforts. And he seemed to think she could be counted on for that.

  She swallowed down the rising bile. She’d thought she was rid of Jonathan when he got married and she moved away. She’d hoped she was rid of him. . . .

  The thought put a bitter taste in her mouth. A letter to her daet was the only solution she could think of so far. That, and to try to come to some sort of agreement with Levi so that her short lapse in judgment with him could be buried as deeply as possible, too. She was no longer that woman, and there were two men who needed to know it.

  Her stomach roiled as the wheels rattled over a bump in the road, and she reached forward to steady herself.

  “You look sick,” Levi said.

  Rosmanda swallowed back the rising bile again. “I feel sick.”

  Levi reined in the horses, and he looked over at her uncertainly. “Should we turn back?”

  “No. It’s just the motion.”

  Rosmanda moved toward the side of the buggy and eased down to the ground. She felt better with solid earth under her feet, and she sucked in a breath of crisp air. Her legs were trembling, and she halfway wished she could just vomit and get it over with, but the human body didn’t work that way. She inhaled a shaky breath as her stomach calmed.

  “Rosie—”

  “Don’t call me Rosie. . . .” But she didn’t have the strength to snap at him. The words came out in a breath instead, and she closed her eyes, trying to soothe the queasiness in her stomach.

  “Rosmanda, then,” he said. “Are you okay? I mean, really. I know there isn’t a lot of love lost between us, but I do care.”

  Rosmanda looked up at him. He sat in the buggy still, the reins loose in his hands. He looked so broad and strong, so comforting. Or he would if he were any other man. But that had always been her problem—turning to the wrong men to mend her broken heart. And Levi was most definitely the wrong man.

  “I’m tired, and the motion got to me,” she said.

  “Is this new?” He eyed her uncertainly.

  Yah, it was new. It came with the knowledge that her carefully re-created life was about to be ripped out from under her because of one cowardly man who couldn’t face his family responsibilities. That was what made her stomach feel sick, but she had to get this under control. She had to keep moving, because there was still hope that this scare was just that—a scare.

  She took a few more deep breaths. Her stomach had settled.

  “I’m better now.” Rosmanda took hold of the buggy and hoisted herself back up. Levi’s dark gaze stayed pinned on her while she got herself settled again.

  “Yah? You sure?”

  She forced a smile. “Positive. We’d better get moving.”

  Levi flicked the reins and the horses started forward again. Her stomach behaved this time, and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the horizon ahead of them. The road was empty, and it was possible to believe that there was no one for miles around, but that was only a trick of the imagination. Anyone could come over the hill ahead at any moment. Anyone could come up from behind them. Anyone could see something and jump to a conclusion. Reputations mattered because they were the difference between a respectable life in the community and being branded as “the wrong kind of woman,” who was treated like a threat to every home around. Amish women protected their marriages. Fiercely. If the women rejected her, she’d be as good as shunned.

  “Does Ketura still live with her brother-in-law?” Rosmanda asked.

  “Yah. Josiah and Anna are getting on in age, though. So Ketura’s doing more of the housework for them, and keeping up with her sewing in the evenings.”

  Rosmanda had never been out to see Ketura, since Ketura always came to them at family functions and was sent home with baking and leftovers from the meal. The fact that she always left laden down with food suggested a certain amount of pity from the family—perhaps just the fact that she was a widow. It was highly possible that Rosmanda should prepare herself for the same treatment.

  “Are you going into town?” Rosmanda asked, turning toward Levi.

  “Now?”

  “No—later, I mean. Tonight, or tomorrow, perhaps. Are you going into town? Will you pass a mailbox?”

  “Yah, I could pass a mailbox tomorrow, I suppose.” He shot her a curious look. “Why?”

  “I need to write a letter to my father,” she replied, and her voice trembled at the mention of her daet. “And I want to mail it as soon as possible. And with the babies at home, it’s hard for me to just get away to run an errand.”

  “Ah.” He flicked the reins and the horses trotted a little faster. “Sure. There’s the mailbox at that corner store. I can pass there for you after chores.”

  “Thank you. It would mean a lot to me.”

  “That’s what friends do, right?” he asked, but when she looked over at him, he was staring straight ahead, a solemn look on his face.

  Maybe it was just for appearances, but right now appearances mattered a great deal. Tomorrow morning would have to be soon enough for her letter to be sent. It would take another two days for the letter to get to her parents’ farm, if nothing went wrong en route. And hopefully, Jonathan wouldn’t be able to get away from Morinville quite so easily.

  * * *

  Ketura lived with her late husband’s brother Josiah and his wife, Anna, an elderly couple living on an acreage just outside of the town of Abundance. As the buggy rattled up the drive, a curtain moved, and then the front door opened revealing a bent old woman whose white hair was almost the same color as her kapp.

  The yard was a little overgrown, and an elderly man appeared around the corner, a pitchfork in one hand and a wool knit sweater thrown over his Amish clothing. It wasn’t until Levi had reined in the horses and they’d gotten out of the buggy that Ketura appeared at the side door, her apron stained from cooking and a tendril of graying hair loose about her face. If it weren’t for her graying hair, Ketura could pass for a woman in her mid-thirties. She had a slim figure and an easy smile.

  “Oh!” Ketura said. “What a nice surprise!”

  Levi reined in the horses next to the house, and Rosmanda got down.

  “I’m such a mess,” Ketura went on. “I’d rush off to clean myself up, but you’ve seen the worst of it now. I’m making a leftover meat pie, if you’re interested.”

  Levi started to unhitch the horses. Josiah headed off in that direction to lend a hand, so Rosmanda wouldn’t be needed. She pulled the basket from the back of the buggy, wielding its awkward weight more cautiously than Levi had needed to do. She turned back toward Ketura and followed her into the house.

  “For you,” Rosmanda said, handing over the basket.

  “Really?” A smile broke over Ketura’s face. “This is very kind of you all. It never goes to waste, I can tell you that. And Josiah does love Miriam’s shoofly pie. Anna gets a little jealous, I think.”

  “I get jealous now?” Anna said, coming back into the kitchen, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

  “Just a little bit,” Ketura said, and Rosmanda laughed.

  “Then we should cut it now,” Rosmanda said. “And Anna should have the first piece.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t . . .” But Anna peeked under the cloth and pulled the pie out with knobby, weathered hands. “It does look good, though . . .”

  This house had been an Englisher house once upon a time, because there was a tall electricity pole outside, the wires cut off and coiled up. The inside of the house had that latent Englisher feel, too, with electrical plugs along the walls and above the countertops.

  “So, how is everyone?” Ketura asked, reaching for some plates in the cupboard.

  “Oh, fine . . . fine . . .” Rosmanda attempted to sound cheery. “My daughters are crawling and even starting to pull up on furnitu
re.”

  “Already?” Ketura nodded. “They’ll be walking soon.”

  “I hope not too soon,” Rosmanda said and Anna laughed at that.

  Rosmanda helped in cutting and serving pie and Ketura put the baked goods away in another cabinet. She folded the cloth and put it into the basket—neatly ready for Rosmanda and Levi to take away with them.

  “And you?” Ketura asked, fixing Rosmanda with a frank look. “How are you getting on?”

  The question was so pointed that it took Rosmanda by surprise. She licked her lips, then shrugged. “As well as I can, I suppose.”

  “Yah. I understand that.” Ketura smiled gently. “It’s hard to lose a husband.”

  Ketura had lost two, so she truly did understand that hole in a woman’s heart.

  “I actually wanted to . . .” Rosmanda stopped, unsure if she should bring this up so early. Perhaps it was better to let Levi broach the subject. But Ketura seemed so friendly, and she seemed to care.

  “Yah?” Ketura pressed. “You wanted to . . .”

  “I wanted to ask you to show me how to do what you do,” Rosmanda said. “How to make some money off your quilts and things. Because I need to contribute to our household with a little extra money—I know it’s crass to even speak of, but I’m not needed as much around the house, and I have my girls, but I need to do something more.”

  Ketura set some forks on the table, passing one to Anna first, and then to Rosmanda. She set two more places for the men, but she didn’t touch the piece of pie in front of her. Had Rosmanda gone too far?

  “It isn’t easy,” Ketura said at last. “It’s hard work. You’ve got to be able to sew fast if you’re going to make it worthwhile. And there are enough Amish log patterns and basic block quilts at the markets in Abundance that you won’t get a high price for those. What can you sew?”

  “I’ve been working on a quilt this winter,” Rosmanda said. “It’s just a rag quilt of leftovers, but I’ve chosen the colors so that they look like a tree in autumn—yellows and reds and orange.”

  It was a grieving quilt of sorts . . . the work she pored over when her heart ached so deeply that she thought it might truly break. It was a tree in autumn because it reminded her of her autumn wedding . . . that day that she began her life as a wife to a good man. It was a personal quilt . . . but she recognized that it was also quite good.