Beside Still Waters (A Big Sky)

by Tricia Goyer

In a strange way Aaron liked that about Marianna too. Well, not that she was sad, or that that sadness framed her life. Rather, that on some days—most days when they were together—he could make her smile. It gave him a sense of accomplishment. Made him think that if he could achieve that, well, the rest of his dreams were in reach, too.

  Marianna took a deep breath and the pounding of the hammers on the barn's frame matched the rhythm to the words thumping in her skull: Montana. Montana. Montana. She wiped her brow and turned her attention to the small gathering of toddlers playing in a large sandbox. Small bare feet wiggled in sand still damp from the morning rain.

  She sat on the grass by the sandbox, making sure everyone played together nicely while their mothers prepared lunch and their fathers worked. Already the shell of the barn was up, and she had no doubt that by tonight a metal roof would grace the top, reflecting the evening light.

  "Do not pour sand on your brother's head," she said to two-year-old Helen Ropp. Helen was one of the neighbor children she watched every afternoon. Helen's lip quivered as it always did when she was reprimanded, even though Marianna had used a gentle tone.

  As the second oldest of five children—not counting her sisters gone from them—tending to the little ones was a task Marianna did well. She couldn't remember a time when she wasn't diapering, comforting, scolding.

  "Tell me again why you can't say what's bothering you?" Aaron hunkered down next to her, removed his straw hat, and wiped his brow with a red handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. He stretched his arms to his little cousin, and Elijah scurried into his embrace.

  More than anything Marianna wanted to turn, to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. It was bold for Aaron to approach with so many neighbors around. No doubt seeing him next to her would start all types of rumors.

  "Who said anything was wrong?" She plucked a blade of green grass and twirled it between her fingers, trying to act natural. Trying not to let any onlookers witness how much Aaron's nearness unnerved her.

  "I saw it when I went to your buggy. You'd been crying. Either that or you were about to start."

  He knelt next to her, tossing a yellow ball back into the sand box, much to Elijah's delight. Light-haired Elijah squirmed from Aaron's arms, chasing the ball.

  "Just a disagreement with Dat. He—" She dared to glance to Aaron out of the corner of her eye. "He has a strong will and when his mind is set on something, no one can change it."

  "Does it have to do with moving? You're not leaving are you, Marianna?"

  Her head jerked his direction, and her eyes studied his. She opened her mouth and then closed it. What could she say? If she answered truthfully she'd be disobeying her father. And she couldn't lie.

  "Don't answer that. I can see it is the problem."

  "But how did you know?"

  "Yer Uncle Ike gave me a ride to town the other day. He was talking about Montana as if God placed a bit of heaven on earth." Aaron glanced behind him, eyeing the men lining up for lunch. "There are some folks around here that don't like that talk."

  Marianna looked around and noticed many eyes on them. Aaron's behavior—the fact that he'd approached her and was spending time with her—was no doubt noted by many.

  "Yes, speaking of talking, I don't think that's why yer here. Don't the Yoders have a barn that needs to rise?" She forced a laugh. "You don't want to neglect your duties, do you? Go get yerself a plate. Maybe we can talk on Sunday night yet. You'll be at the singing, won't you?" It was Tuesday, and her mind made a mental countdown of the days until then.

  "Ja, and I'll be at church, too. Suppose I'll see you both places." He offered a quick wave to the children, then moved a few steps to the lunch line. It was only as he paused and turned back that Marianna realized she'd been watching him go. He noticed, too.

  "Oh, and Marianna?"

  "Ja?" She placed a hand to her warming cheek.

  "Your secret is safe with me. Although if I have any say, you'll be staying right where you are."

  "By this sandbox?" She stood and straightened her skirt, running her hands down the thick fabric.

  He laughed, and her heartbeat doubled at the sound of it. The sun brightened, the day warmed.

  "No, you don't have to stay there." Aaron pointed to the ground beneath her lace-up black leather shoes. Then he swept his hands, motioning to the land, the sky, the community of people beyond them, and the men lining up for food. "You have to stay here. Don't you dare go anywhere, ja?"

  She laughed as he hurried forward. The men always went first, eating quickly before they went back to work. The women and children would be next. Filling their plates and then sitting in collective groups on picnic blankets, spreading out across the yard. The voices of women talking and children playing rose in volume as the men neared, as if the groups were trying to outdo each other.

  The men strode toward the food line with smiles and laughter, happy the work had gone well. The small ones noted the gathering of men, assembled and quieting for prayer. And the children, too, bowed their heads.

  "Vella Still Halta," the bishop said loud enough for all to hear. Let's be still for prayer. Marianna bowed her head and prayed a silent prayer for the meal, as was tradition.

  When an appropriate amount of time passed, Marianna turned to the children. "Helen, Ellie." She called each one by name. "Brush yourself off. We're going to be eating soon, are you hungry?"

  "Ja!" Ellie clapped her hands and then brushed them together to wipe off the sand. Helen did the same, and the other little ones got the idea that play was over.

  Their voices chimed together like little birds squawking. "Eat?"

  Just as the adults had worked hard, the children too had been busy—hard at work with their play. Creating fields in the sandbox, using sticks as teams of horses making rows. Some of the little girls had also made flower gardens, plucking dandelions from the grass and standing the yellow flowers up in their own little plot of sand.

  Watching them, Marianna was reminded of when she was their age and her favorite thing to play had been horse and buggy. She and Levi had done so often. Sometimes they used rocks and sticks. Other times they were the horses. And once . . . Marianna bit her lip. She'd been the buggy and her brother had been the semi truck.

  At the time she'd thought it was her scream, as Levi tackled her to the ground, that had upset her mother. But as she'd grown older, she realized it was the game itself that had caused so much pain. Or rather, it had resurrected a pain that had been there for quite some time. That was the last time she'd played horse and buggy. Her mother's sobs had not calmed the rest of that day, and Marianna never wanted to risk that again.

  "Good children. Are you hungry? Would you like some bread and peanut butter? Maybe some cookies, too?"

  Small heads bobbled and smiles brightened faces.

  Marianna lined up the toddlers, preparing to take them to their mothers, when she spotted Mem serving up large pieces of pie. Her mother's smile lit her face as she handed a plate to Aaron. His smile mirrored Mem's, and then he turned, both of their gazes fixing on Marianna. She waved, not knowing what else to do, and then looked away. She again focused on the small ones, making sure they still followed. And as the bright sun warmed her kapp, a new hope sprang up in her heart. Her mother wouldn't allow them to leave when Aaron's interest was so evident. The goal of every Amish mother was to find a good husband for her daughters. Mem wouldn't risk leaving now, would she? Marianna glanced back again and noticed Mrs. Zook talking to her mother.

  Marianna quickened her pace, urging the little ones to follow, knowing the only proper thing to do was find a way to talk to the older woman before the day's end. Marianna didn't know Mrs. Zook well. They'd exchanged small talk at church and socials, but perhaps she should make an attempt to get to know Aaron's family better.

  Ten minutes later the children were under the care of their mothers, and she held Ellie's hand as she joined the women who were lining up for lunch. The grass was so
ft under her footsteps as she neared Mrs. Zook. Marianna approached from behind. Mrs. Zook was huddled with a few other older women, and their eyes were fixed at a long table where the men were sitting.

  "Do you wonder why he's returned?" The gray-haired woman from a neighboring community studied the women around her. "Some say he's been spending too much time with the Englisch and they're corrupting his ways."

  Others joined in. "My husband says they saw him reading an English Bible in his buggy. Is he trying to be smart or something? Thinking he knows more than the bishop?"

  "Maybe Ike has come for a wife, but I don't think it's likely."

  Marianna's hand covered her mouth—they were talking about her uncle! She took a step back, preparing to walk away, but not before she heard Mrs. Zook's response.

  "There is not a pot so crooked that there isn't a lid to fit it. There has to be a woman desperate enough."

  Laughter followed the woman's comment, and Marianna no longer felt like eating. Ellie looked up at her, her little brow creased, and she pointed to the long wooden tables laden with hot dishes, salads, the fruit tapioca Mem had brought, and loaves of homemade bread. Ellie's question was clear: When were they going to eat?

  Marianna had heard talk like this before. Sometimes at the small Amish store or other times in their sewing circles. But during those times the ladies had been talking about other people. Now they spoke of someone she didn't know well but felt she ought to defend.

  It was as if a dozen sewing needles pierced her heart as she heard the woman's laughter again and realized it was at her uncle's expense. She made a small plate of food for Ellie and sat her next to Mrs. Ropp and Helen.

  "Is it okay if Ellie eats next to you?"

  Mrs. Ropp burped her baby at her shoulder. "Yes, of course. Find yourself something to eat and take a break from the young ones for a spell."

  "Denke." But despite her word of thanks, Marianna didn't feel like eating. She lowered her head and hurried in the direction of the sandbox, where the children would be returning after lunch. Sometimes the children disagreed, not wanting to share or to play nicely. Sometimes they called each other names, but they hadn't yet learned to pierce each other with carefully calculated words. Children were learning, adults should know better.

  She wove through the bodies of men rising to get back to work and women cleaning off the tables, refolding picnic blankets, gathering plates. The sun grew warmer, and she fanned her face.

  "There you are."

  Marianna felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Aaron standing there. It was the second time he'd snuck up on her.

  "I've been looking for you." He ran a hand down his cheek and it was then she noticed the slightest amount of blond hair on his jaw line. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. Aaron must have noticed her recognition, and he pressed his lips into a tight smile. Amish men didn't wear a beard until they were married, and yet some young men started "practicing" before—growing out a shadow of facial hair as they got closer to the transition in their lives.

  "You've been looking for me? Do you, uh, need me for something?" She placed a hand to her neck and was surprised to feel the beating of her heart under her fingertips.

  "I've been thinking about it, and maybe waiting until fall to go on a date is too long. I was thinking I could drive you home this Sunday. After the youth sing, if you don't mind."

  "No, I mean yes. Yes, you can drive me home, and no I don't mind." Marianna felt a tug on her skirt and looked down to see Ellie clinging to her leg.

  "Essen mit mir?"

  Marianna should have known the little girl wouldn't be happy unless she were sitting with her while she ate.

  "Ja, ja." Marianna took her sister's hand.

  "So, I'll see you Sunday then, if not sooner." Aaron straightened his shoulders and then hurried toward the other men heading back to work. She couldn't help but notice an extra skip in his step.

  "Sunday, then." She whispered after him, then gave in to the tugging of her hand and moved back to the lunch table. A new hope bubbled up inside her with each step. Maybe news of this would fix everything. After all, who would take their daughter away from such a promising future? Such a perfect Amish young man.

  Dear Journal,

  I had to start a new notebook today because the other one is full. In between the journal pages are also my letters I've pulled out from the June-Sevenies circle letters. Sometime I'll have to go back and read through them, seeings how so much as changed in the years my friends and I have been writing. We've moved on from talking about our first quilts and how the boys at school were so bothersome, to marrying some of those same boys and setting up house.

  In my last circle letter I spilled the news that Aaron has asked me out on a date. I should be getting the envelope around again. I'm always eager to read what everyone else said, but sometimes it's insightful to read what I wrote the previous month. Things tend to change quickly around here.

  I can't sleep tonight because I'm thinking about Sunday. Trying to figure out what in the world I could talk to Aaron about on the drive home. We haven't talked much—been doing mostly lookin' at each other. I could ask about the herd he's building, but that might make him feel as if I'm questioning if he's a good provider or not. I could ask about the house he's building, but maybe if I did he'd think I'm already hanging my curtains in his window. Maybe we can just talk about his art. I haven't heard much about it lately. When we were kids, not a day went by when he wasn't sketching some creature when he should've been doing math equations.

  I also can't sleep thinking about this move. I hope Dat's words are more clouds than rain.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Marianna opened her eyes, then scanned her room. The only glimmer of light was a beam of moon penetrating through a sliver of curtain that she hadn't fully closed. She'd tried to fall asleep for hours, and nothing worked. She'd hummed to herself, tried to count back from one hundred, she'd even written in her journal, which usually helped her mind wind down. But not tonight. Maybe it was the light that bothered her—or at least that was a good excuse.

  Marianna sat up in bed and reached for the window curtain, tugging it closed all the way. As in all Amish houses, the curtains were white, but at age ten she'd convinced her father to install two hooks to hold up an extra blanket over the window. She'd lied to him, telling him that the light from the moon had kept her awake. But the truth was that when she was small, her mother had said her sisters looked down on them from above. That might have been comforting for her mother, but Marianna hadn't liked it one bit. What would they think of her sleeping in their bedroom. In their bed?

  Her first dresses had belonged to her sisters. Her dolls too. It was only later she realized that might have been the reason her mother had looked away when Marianna tried on her "new" dresses. Had refused to play dolls with her. Had made excuses when Marianna wanted to be tucked in at night.

  "I want this time to be for just me and my girl," Dat had said as he unfolded the quilt and laid it over her. Yet she could see the truth in his gaze. He hadn't fought for this time. He'd accepted it as his. And she tried not to let it bother her as she could hear Mem in the other room, reading to the boys.

  But that was long ago . . . Marianna turned to her side. Dat hadn't tucked her in for five years at least, and now it was only occasionally she heard Men reading to the other kids. Marianna tucked the pillow under her chin. That didn't mean the empty void she felt inside had filled. She'd enjoyed her siblings, worked hard at her job, enjoyed writing her friends, dreamed about Aaron . . . but nothing could fill the hole the size of her mother's handprint, centered on her gut.

  Outside she heard the sound of a breeze rustling tree branches—and something else. A car perhaps?

  She rose, her toes curling against the cold floor, and went to the window to lift the curtain. She could see taillights in the distance. Could it be? Was it Levi?

  She didn't want to think about that now—about him leaving. She d
idn't want to think about her sisters, especially since she still lived in their room, slept in their bed. Instead, she thought of the day, and the conversation with Aaron.

  The barn raising had resulted in a large barn, filling the horizon, but even larger loomed Marianna's questions. Did Aaron like her as much as she liked him? Would she be around long enough to find out?

  She let the curtain drop and grabbed the battery-powered flashlight she kept on her dresser, then she walked to the trunk where she'd tucked away the quilt she'd worked on during the winter. It was white with an intricate pattern. She'd started hand stitching the pattern in brightly colored thread.

  Spring planting, caring for new baby animals, and her work at the Ropps and in their own garden hadn't allowed time for her quilt. The months to come wouldn't either, but it made her feel better to see she was farther along than she remembered. It had always been her dream to make a special quilt to give to her husband some day. Imagining Aaron accepting it as a gift—sometime in the future—made her smile.

  Her room and bed had never been her own. Her parents couldn't look at her life without remembering two deaths, but it wouldn't always be like that. Someday she'd have her own family. She'd care for a home and work hard to see her husband smile. She'd sleep under a quilt she made with her hands. And wake up to a curtain letting in morning rays from the sun.

  Marianna was returning the quilt to her chest when she heard a knock on her bedroom door. She rose and hurried to it, shining the flashlight beam out as she opened it. Twelve-year-old David stood there rubbing his eyes and brushing his blond bangs from his face.

  "Marianna, did you hear that?" He sounded half asleep.

  "Hear what, David?" Listening, she heard the wind pick up. "I think that's only the breeze in the trees."

  "No, it was a car. Someone was parked outside. It mighta been Levi." David's eyes widened, and the hope in his face caused Marianna's heart to ache. The oldest of the little boys, David had been Levi's shadow. They'd tended to the cows and sheep together. They both enjoyed playing checkers on cold winter nights.