by Sarah Price
But on that sunny June day, his hat in his hand and his broad shoulders straightened, Reuben had knocked on her door. When she answered it, she was more than surprised to see him standing there. Politely, he took a step backward on the porch and asked if he might have a word with her. Six months later, they were married.
“Not too expensive,” Reuben finally said, interrupting Rosanna’s thoughts. “Besides, he’s a good horse that will see Aaron through many years.” He paused, and she could tell that he was thinking about something powerful important to him. She gave him a moment. When he blinked and looked at her, he smiled his gentle and kind smile. “I’m his daed now anyway,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for him after all he’s been through.”
She didn’t compliment him on his sensitive handling of her son. It was not necessary to speak the words to him. Instead, she thought them silently and sent a prayer of thanks to God for sending this amazing man to her doorstep that Sunday afternoon just over a year before.
Reuben took a deep breath and removed his hand from the horse. “Now that I’ve shared my surprise with you, mayhaps you’ll share yours with me?”
“My surprise?”
He nodded and began to walk toward the door. “You are visiting for a particular reason?”
She shook her head as she fell into step beside him. “I wanted to enjoy this beautiful day,” she said. “And to see my husband.”
She glanced at his face and could see he was pleased. Her adoration of him often seemed to catch him off guard, a fact that made her love him even more. She knew that he had deeply loved his first wife, Rachel. Rosanna had been told that he had mourned her death for several years. But Grace was a different story. Rosanna knew very little about their short marriage.
“The haying?” Reuben asked.
That morning over breakfast, Aaron had announced that he planned to cut the hay, the second cutting of the season. The back field wasn’t overly large, and haying didn’t really require two people. But Rosanna wouldn’t leave Aaron home alone while he worked in the fields. Anything could happen—and sometimes did—on farms in the different Amish communities in Lancaster. One year a woman had fallen under the wheels of the baler. Another year a child was kicked in the head by a mule. No, Rosanna was not about to leave her son alone while he worked the fields. She made it a rule to stay nearby whenever Aaron used the mules and equipment. He was still young, after all.
“He finished it just after dinner. I helped a bit.”
Reuben tugged gently at his beard, staring at Rosanna as if he anticipated more to her story. When none came, he lifted an eyebrow. “Any issue with Gloria, then?”
The neighbor. No matter what Aaron, Rosanna, or Cate did outside, the woman watched. Often she stood on her property line, a cigarette in her wrinkled, age-spotted hand, her dark, beady eyes watching them surreptitiously while they worked. Whenever they came close to the back of the property, the part that bordered hers, she would suddenly begin her tirade about how the fencing was too close and against zoning regulations. Then she would toss her cigarette butt into the crops.
“No more than usual,” Rosanna sighed.
Reuben placed his hand on her arm and gently rubbed it. “You’ve tried your best to be a good Christian, Rosanna. We all reap what we sow. She reaps unhappiness, for that is all that she plants throughout her life.”
Rosanna didn’t want to talk about Gloria—not now, not ever. Whenever she dealt with the woman, Rosanna’s heart palpitated and her chest felt tight. Gloria was a miserable person. Over the years, it had grown increasingly hard for Rosanna to deal with her. And while God continually gave Rosanna the strength to ignore her, recently Gloria seemed to be attacking the family more often, which puzzled Rosanna. When Timothy had been alive and battling with the older woman, the conflict made sense. Now, however, it seemed as if Gloria were intent on being a nuisance to Rosanna and the children. But Rosanna knew that Reuben was right: both Gloria and her daughter appeared to live miserable lives in their small, unkempt house. Rosanna just wished they’d keep their suffering to themselves and not try to spread it around so much.
Changing the subject, Rosanna smiled as she said, “I missed you at dinner.”
Several times a week Reuben returned to the farm—usually unannounced—to surprise her for dinner. After a nice meal shared with Aaron, Rosanna, and Cate, Reuben would sit outside or walk down the lane with her to enjoy the beautiful spring air. Today had not been one of those days.
Reuben shook his head, an indication that he, too, had been disappointed. “Rosanna,” he said, his deep voice low and gentle, “we’re backed up here. Orders are two weeks out at this point. I fear I won’t be home for dinner during the week for a while.”
She knew better than to complain about prosperity. Reuben employed four Amish men and one woman from the g’may, all of whom needed well-paying jobs because farmland was scarce. Without Reuben’s business, five families would be struggling to put food on the table. And after Timothy’s issues with alcohol while he was employed by the Englischer, Rosanna was not a big supporter of Amish working outside of the community.
“I should be here helping you,” she said, looking around the breezeway between the shop and the stable. If only it were possible. The truth was that there was work to be done at home—that was where she needed to be. Between milking the cows, cleaning the dairy, tending to the house, washing the laundry, and doing her share in the fields, she didn’t have time to help out at Reuben’s harness store. At least she could take comfort in knowing that someone else was able to make a living because she could not work by her husband’s side.
“Nee, Rosanna,” he replied. “You do enough for everyone else. You don’t need this burden.”
She made a face. “That’s not true at all!”
He laughed, a sound that carried in the still air. “Not true, eh? I know you visit the widows on Wednesdays. And Ben Lapp was in here last week and told me that you stopped in to help his wife after she took ill.”
“Her allergies are dreadful this year,” Rosanna said.
Reuben nodded his head, his lips pursed as if trying not to smile. She knew what he was thinking. He teased her dreadfully about how much she helped so many in the community. She always had a reason—an excuse, he liked to say. But his teasing was only that. Unlike Timothy, Reuben took pride in her role as the giver of the community, the one many turned to in times of need.
“Well, they are!” she insisted.
“Ja, ja, Rosanna,” Reuben said kindly. “I’m sure they are.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “And you are the one to help whenever anyone’s allergies are bad or kinner are sick or parents are aging.”
He paused, tilting his head as he studied her face. She wondered whether he was noticing the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes or the streaks of gray that were forming at her hairline. It didn’t matter. She knew that he loved her just the way she was. “God blessed me with being one of those wounded birds that you happily take in, didn’t He now?”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she averted her eyes. Kindness was something she didn’t think she’d ever get used to receiving. “I never saw you as a wounded bird,” she managed to say, still avoiding his eyes. He made her feel twenty again, an age when life seemed so innocent and free, the future laid out before her.
Unfortunately, her vision for the future had turned out quite different in reality. Growing up, she had dreamed of marrying a godly man and bearing lots of children. She wanted to surround herself with the love and laughter that she had felt in her parents’ house as a child. In her dream, there was a farm with a white fence and purple martin birdhouses on tall poles that lined the driveway. Each night, the sun would descend in the sky behind the barn, the rays of light shining like beacons of God’s glory.
As it turned out, God had different plans for her.
“I was wounded, Rosanna,” Reuben said softly, his hand still on her arm. “You just didn’t know it.�
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As was I, she thought.
“Now let me get back to my orders and try to wrap up early tonight. I want to bring this horse home to Aaron. Surprise him after supper, ja?” With a final squeeze of her arm, Reuben dropped his hand and started toward the store.
“You’re sure you don’t need my help here, then?” She wanted to be a part of his work life so that she could share his burden and contribute to his success.
He turned back to her and shook his head, chuckling softly. “There you go again,” he said. “Offering to give of yourself to help others. Nee, Rosanna. Go home and enjoy your afternoon. Work on that quilt you started but never finished. Make me one of your delicious corn pies. This is your time, my fraa.”
With that, he lifted his hand and slipped through the door, disappearing back into the shop.
She glanced at the sky, wondering for a moment how she could just leave and head back to the house. With finished chores, she really had nothing to do. Could she truly just sit down and revisit that quilt she was making? That seemed selfish, time spent doing something she liked rather than helping others. After everything that Reuben had done for her, she wanted to do something for him to show her appreciation.
If he wanted a corn pie, she would certainly make that for him. It was a simple enough request. But she wanted to do more to say danke to the man who had single-handedly swooped down to save her small family from a future of despair and hard labor, to the man who had brought laughter and love back into her life, to the man who had built her up after thirteen years of being beaten down.
CHAPTER TWO
With the dishes cleaned and a cool breeze blowing through the fields, it was the perfect night to sit outside—just the two of them. Reuben sat in one of the white rocking chairs, the floorboards on the front porch creaking under its runners each time he pushed with his feet and rocked backward. The sound was a perfect rhythm for Rosanna to keep track of her stitches. One, two . . . creak. Three, four . . . creak.
She lifted her eyes from her embroidery, taking a moment for her vision to adjust. She was embroidering a linen cloth to sell at the local Amish store. She loved to embroider, creating sweet designs of irises and sunflowers. Even better, the tourists loved to buy anything embroidered: tablecloths, napkins, handkerchiefs. By selling her handicrafts to the local Amish-owned stores, Rosanna was able to further contribute to both her family and the community. It not only helped attract tourists to the area, it also enabled her to provide small donations to families in need when a crisis emerged. Last year she had donated money to hurricane victims. While she prayed that no disasters would happen this year, she knew it was God’s will, not hers, that would decide that outcome.
As she began to see clearly, Rosanna let her gaze drift to the barn, where Aaron was in the paddock, working with his new horse. Aaron’s surprise when he received Reuben’s generous gift had nearly made her cry. She had never seen her son so choked up with emotion. He hadn’t expected something so extravagant. Rosanna knew from past experience that an unexpected gift was the best kind to give.
Since Reuben had given him the horse, Aaron spent all of his free time with it. Every night he groomed the horse, currying the dirt in its coat with the hard, round rubber currycomb before brushing it down with a hard brush until all the dirt came to the coat’s surface. He did not voice his pride in the horse, but his eyes shone when he finished grooming and led it into the paddock.
Reuben had spent the first few nights showing Aaron how to work with the horse, lungeing it in big circles using a long line and whip. Rosanna had watched, her heart swelling at the sight of her son and her husband, both such gentle souls, training the horse together. Rosanna had listened as Reuben explained to Aaron the importance of making the horse alternate between large and small circles as he lunged, first at a walk and then at a trot. She noticed that Aaron hung on to every word that his stepfather spoke. His attentiveness to both the horse and to Reuben spoke volumes about his character as a young man.
Timothy would never have spent so much quality time with their son—time spent teaching him to be a man. An Amish man, Rosanna had corrected herself. For a moment, Rosanna had felt tears at the corner of her eyes, but she had known better than to cry.
Now, as they sat on the porch while Aaron worked with the horse in the paddock, a calm sense of peace descended on the farm. Rosanna felt the warmth of happiness fill her.
“So, I have an idea,” said Reuben suddenly.
“What’s your idea, Reuben?” she asked, turning her dark eyes in his direction.
He stopped rocking the chair; the floorboard was silent as he placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. Whatever was on his mind was something he had been pondering for a while. “You got me thinking last week when you stopped by the store,” he began, choosing his words carefully.
“I did?”
Reuben laughed. He always laughed at her reactions, especially when she was surprised that she might have offered something of value to him. After years of being told that she wasn’t good at anything, not cleaning or cooking or even raising the kinner, she always felt amazement whenever Reuben thought she was useful. Compliments had been few and far between in the years preceding their marriage.
“Indeed you did,” he affirmed, a tender expression on his face. “And during worship yesterday I made a decision about the shop.”
Intrigued, Rosanna tilted her head, resting it on the back of the chair as she watched him. “The bishop might say you were supposed to be thinking about God, not work.”
He laughed at her jest. “You mentioned about helping out at the shop.”
Helping out at the shop? Stunned into silence, Rosanna dropped her embroidery onto her lap and stared at him. Had he really been listening? Did he really want her help? There was nothing she would like better than to work with her husband at his store. Not only would it be nice to get away from the farm, but she knew she would enjoy interacting with other people during the day. For the past few years, she had felt increasingly isolated at the farm.
As if reading her mind, Reuben held up his hand, weathered from years of working with rough leather. “Hold on there, Rosanna Troyer. I can see what you’re thinking already.”
Her hopes dashed, she exhaled sharply and picked up her embroidery once again.
“Now I know you wanted to help out and all. And I sure do appreciate that offer.” He smiled, as if that could mend her hurt. “But I don’t want my fraa working down at the shop. Besides, you have enough to do here with the farm and house.”
She tried not to show her disappointment. She focused her eyes on the needle, thread, and material, hoping that her expression didn’t give away her emotions. It usually did.
“Now if the shop was located here on your farm,” he said, tugging thoughtfully at his beard, “I might have considered you helping out a bit. You could run in and out as needed. But we have a most unusual setup.”
No further explanation was necessary. She understood what he meant. When she had agreed to marry him, they had had a sit-down discussion about the living arrangements. She didn’t want to get rid of the farm, and he certainly wasn’t going to get rid of the shop. He did, however, understand that her house was a better place for them to reside, and without any argument, he agreed to move there instead of uprooting Rosanna and the children.
“So I decided to hire an office manager,” he said slowly.
That wasn’t what she had anticipated. In fact, it didn’t even make sense. With the quantity of orders increasing, he needed more workers in the back of the shop to fulfill them. “An office manager?” She tried to hide her disappointment with this unexpected announcement.
Oblivious to her thoughts, he nodded, his eyes glazing over. She always called that his business mode: his mind completely focused on work. “Ja, an office manager. I’m getting tired, Rosanna, but I’m not ready to sell my business. Not financially or mentally.”
This was the first complaint she had
ever heard from him about working. In fact, his reputation among the g’may included a high level of respect for his work ethic. That was one of the things that had so impressed her about him. Now he was saying that he was tired? Turning her attention to her embroidery, she knotted the thread she worked with and snipped the end with a small pair of scissors.
“You’re too young to retire,” Rosanna said.
He raised his eyebrows at her comment, but he did not contradict her. “I just wish I didn’t have to be there so much.”
She exhaled sharply again. “I thought you liked being there.”
For a moment, Reuben studied her while she worked. The sudden silence caused her to look up again. There was a shy expression on his face. “I’d like to spend more time here, Rosanna. Helping you and Aaron around the farm, ja?” He paused. “I never had a family before, and I’d like to enjoy it a bit.” Another pause before he added, “I’d enjoy being with you in particular.”
She blushed at his words and lowered her eyes, staring at the floor. Timothy had done everything in his power to avoid spending time with her, especially after Cate was born. He had wanted sons, lots of sons. When their second child was not a boy, he had said it was her fault. He had even accused her of praying to God for a girl instead of a boy. The image of Timothy refusing to hold his baby daughter still lingered in her memory as if it had happened just a few days ago.
Now she sat beside a man who wanted to spend time with her? She wondered if she deserved such a man and such happiness.
He watched her with anticipation, waiting for her response. She felt the emotion welling up inside of her. “Well, that would be right gut, Reuben.”
