Christmas at Rose Hill Farm

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  But when she tried to imagine going into the bedroom with him and undressing for him, to “enjoy her moments” as Lainey had said—though she had no direct knowledge of such couplings—the man’s face with whom she imagined enjoying her moments belonged to Billy Lapp.

  She had to take a deep breath to ease the pressure growing in her chest. At that moment a pain grabbed her gut, but she wished it away, telling herself it was only nerves.

  She wished the bishop would stop talking. Stop him somehow! Stop him! But she didn’t know how.

  And now because she had made a promise to Amos, she was going to go through with the marriage. For the rest of her earthly life.

  The bishop began to speak, stressing the importance of these vows. “They are not only vows between the two of you, but before God.”

  For a moment Bess closed her eyes, gulping, unable to swallow the lump of fear that suddenly congealed in her throat. Her knees were a pair of jellies. It was all happening so fast!

  And that was when Bess felt a loud whooshing sound in her head, so loud she barely heard the rest of Caleb Zook’s words. She saw Amos’s mouth move, answering Caleb’s questions, then she saw both Caleb and Amos look at her, a question on their face. Waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

  The tension built and Bess felt like the rope in a tug-of-war. She felt light-headed and nauseated and removed from herself.

  “Bess?” Caleb repeated. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  The pain in her gut wrenched her again, higher up this time, and she winced. She looked at Amos—dear, kind Amos, and then at Caleb—fine, noble Caleb. And then she pulled the apron up over her head and said, “I can’t! I just can’t!” She turned and fled to her room.

  Bess sat on the edge of her bed, crying softly. For the longest time, there was only silence down below, but now she heard the voice of Caleb Zook begin to quietly read Scripture. She wished everyone would go home and let her be alone, but she knew that no one would leave until it was clear there wasn’t going to be a wedding today. And there wasn’t. Not today, anyway. She needed time to think.

  And then she groaned. Everyone loved the wedding feast. She knew no one would leave, wedding or not, without being fed. It wasn’t the Plain way to let food go to waste, whether the bride was upstairs crying into her pillow or not.

  A gentle knock came at the door.

  “Yes?” she answered weakly, thinking Lainey had been sent up to talk to her and find out what in the world had happened to her.

  What in the world had happened?

  Amos poked his head in—thoughtful, considerate Amos. “Are you all right?”

  She had no explanation for him, no soothing response. “Not exactly.” She wanted to be left alone. But she was terrified of being left alone. Her legs felt like they were shackled. Standing up was an enormous effort. “Is everyone waiting for me?”

  “Yes. Can I do anything for you?”

  “I’m afraid the offal I had for breakfast already did it.”

  “So then . . . you’re sick?”

  Bess’s heart seemed to drop to the pit of her stomach. Her eyes met his directly as she wondered exactly what it was he was asking. But seeing the intensity there, the determination, she dropped her gaze to his chest, and she didn’t know how to answer. She drew a deep lungful of air. “I don’t feel at all well” and that was the truth. Bess watched as Amos grasped the back of his neck with one hand and dropped his chin onto his chest.

  Their gazes met momentarily. They searched for something to say, something to do, but there was only one thing to do.

  His voice was low and sure, easing her. “I’m going down to tell people that you’re not feeling well. Will you be okay?”

  Okay? she thought.

  The silence between them was unbearable to her. She looked at him, and he looked back without turning away, his eyes clear and sad. She searched them for something: reprieve, forgiveness, love? She wasn’t sure.

  Amos took a step toward the open door, halted, drew a deep breath, then spun and clasped her against his chest so hard, the breath swooshed from her lungs. Then he released her and went down the stairs to tell the guests the wedding had to be postponed.

  As she heard his footsteps descend down the stairs, Caleb’s voice stilled. She knew what was transpiring, as sure as if she were observing it. Every face—each one dear and loved, was turned to Amos for an explanation. Then she heard his baritone voice explain that Bess had become ill—something she had eaten—and needed rest. The tears she had been trying to hold back became a deluge. Without warning, she was overcome and dropped her face into both palms while sobs jerked her shoulders.

  The day had left her tired and miserable.

  Amos took a big breath of air before he reached the bottom step. As he walked into the living room, he sensed people leaning back in their chairs as if to give him a respectful distance, watching as he made his way toward the center of the room. He did his best to wave off concerns about him and Bess, assuring people that the reason she didn’t go through with the wedding was that she hadn’t been feeling well.

  He even sat down to eat the wedding lunch, a meal he normally found so palatable, now turned tasteless. When Edith Stoltzfus refilled his glass of water and said in a loud voice, “Better now than tomorrow,” Amos reeled to his feet, suddenly in a hurry to get away and sort out his thoughts. He made up a lame excuse about needing to check on a horse, fooling no one, and hurried to the pasture where the buggy horses stood in the cold. They lifted their heads as he neared them, but he walked straight past them, behind the barn, then broke into a run and took off through the fields. He heard the crunch of frozen snow in spots beneath his feet, saw the startled look on a pair of grazing deer as he ran past them, scattered a flock of wild turkeys.

  On any other day, he would have stopped and carefully observed signs of wildlife. This wasn’t any other day and he just kept running and running. Near the top of a small hill, he plopped down and sat on a rock, drawing deep breaths, as if recovering from having the wind knocked out of him.

  But then, he did have the wind knocked out of him. By this time today, he thought he would be married, sharing the wedding meal with his beloved bride, his Bess. Instead, he didn’t know where their relationship stood. Was it over? Was it on hold?

  He vehemently disagreed with Edith’s words: “Better now than tomorrow.” She made it sound as if there would be no tomorrow for him and Bess, and he refused to believe that could be true. He loved Bess and he believed she loved him.

  But had she ever said as much? Whenever he told her he loved her, she responded with a kiss or a squeeze of his hand. He took such an act as love.

  They had planned their wedding together—deciding which friends would act as attendants, where each would sit for the wedding meal. She had seemed pleased with the pale blue paint color for the apartment over the garage at Windmill Farm—their future home as newlyweds. Everything was going as planned . . . until Billy Lapp returned.

  Billy Lapp.

  Down through Amos’s memory drifted his own voice, when he had first told Bess he loved her and wanted to marry her. “We could live in the apartment over the garage at Windmill Farm. You could grow your roses in the gardens.”

  And Bess, hesitating. “Amos . . . I’m very fond of you . . . but—”

  “What if he never comes back?” Billy, he meant.

  Then Bess again, choosing as she always chose. “I want to give him a little more time. Please try and understand.”

  And Amos, wishing that Bess would long for him the way she longed for Billy.

  Was history repeating itself? Was it happening all over again?

  He felt a wary stiffness about his shoulders, as if he’d already guessed.

  Oh Lord, why did Billy Lapp have to come back? Why now? Then . . . What am I saying? What am I thinking? He was a friend he loved. A cousin. Nearly a brother.

  He felt tired, and in many ways, he felt defeated, b
ut he was still himself, Amos Lapp, so he went back to Rose Hill Farm to face his friends and neighbors. With a hope that Bess might come downstairs to seek him out.

  11

  The next day, Friday, midmorning, Billy stormed up the driveway of Rose Hill Farm and marched into the barn where Frieda stood in the cross ties as Bess brushed her down. “Tell me you didn’t do it. Tell me you didn’t leave Amos standing at the altar!”

  Bess blinked and looked again and it was still him. “Who told you?”

  “Maggie.” He frowned, hands on his hips. Maggie had actually called the Extension office and left a message for Billy: Billy Lapp! Bess left Amos at the altar. Come quick! “Is it true?”

  She didn’t stop brushing the horse’s long neck. “Maggie always tells the truth, even though no one ever believes her.”

  Billy dropped his head. “Why would you do such a thing?” He kicked a bucket so hard that Frieda skittered. The old horse’s ears sharpened to a point.

  Bess paused and dipped her head. “I . . . don’t know. Everyone thought I was sick, even Dad and Lainey. But the truth is that I just . . . panicked. I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “Amos is as good a man as ever lived and better than most. The best.”

  “I know he is.”

  “You’ll never do any better than him.”

  Their gazes met momentarily. Her eyes were so sincere and her mouth trembled as she stood a heartbeat away. Once again he was assaulted by a sense of things missed, a yearning, a desire to reach out and touch her, to hold her close to him. When her gaze dropped to his lips, his pulse beat thudded out a warning.

  He took a careful step back and pointed at her. “No. No way. Don’t even start thinking that you can bat your big blue eyes at me and I’ll buckle. It’s too late for us, Bess.”

  Her chin snapped up at the tenor in his voice. “What did I do?” she demanded angrily. “What did I do to ruin our friendship?”

  His jaw bulged. He glared straight ahead. Finally he bit out, “Nothing. You didn’t do a thing. Not a thing. Not a blessed thing.”

  Bess unhooked Frieda from the cross ties and led her into the stall, then swung the door shut behind the horse and latched the hook. She walked up to Billy. Her breath came in quick, driving beats. “Billy, why do you fight it?”

  His throat seemed to close. “I don’t know.” Yes you do, Lapp, he thought. Everything hung too heavy and silent between them. He slipped his hands into his coat pockets and did his best to look platonic.

  “Is it so hard to admit that you care about someone?” she questioned softly. “Would that be so terrible?”

  “It’s not going to happen, Bess. You and I . . . it’s never going to happen.” His voice was husky, gruff, as if the effort of expressing deep emotion snagged his words like barbs on wire.

  She reached for his left hand and turned it over, caressing it softly, drawing her finger lightly over his scar.

  For a moment he found it impossible to move. He closed his eyes to gain control, then jerked back and pulled his hand out of her grasp. “Bess, don’t.” He stepped away from her. “Go back to Amos. Make things right between you. He deserves that much.”

  She let out a puff of air. “He does. That’s true.” She looked away.

  He gave her a hard, thoughtful stare, then grabbed her shoulders to make her face him. “Don’t throw away your future.”

  Bess shrugged his hands off her shoulders and took a step backward. “I think that I just had a hope for a different future.”

  She turned to head out of the barn, and the door slammed abruptly, leaving an absence so profound it seemed to swallow Billy.

  Halfway to the farmhouse, Bess stopped and tipped her chin to the sky. Gusting winds had swept away gray clouds, leaving a wide swath of brilliant blue that was almost piercing. Her cheeks tingled, and then her eyes, and she knew tears weren’t far behind.

  It was partially, if not entirely, her fault that Billy left Stoney Ridge the way he did. When his brothers had insinuated that something was stirring between him and Betsy Mast, he had looked to Bess and saw that she doubted him, his honesty and integrity. It had lasted only a matter of seconds, but that’s all it had taken to turn Billy icy. She had seen and felt his withdrawal like a cold slap in the face. That look on her face was the final straw for him. Billy left Stoney Ridge without a glance back.

  She had known before he had reached the road that she had made one of the gravest mistakes in her life. She and Amos set out to find him, but every hunch, every lead, was a dead end. It was easier to find Betsy Mast living in Lebanon with her new boyfriend than it was Billy, and Betsy had no clue about Billy’s whereabouts. It was as if Billy didn’t want to be found.

  She could well imagine what he must have suffered after he left; loneliness and desperation sharper than physical pain. A vision of that scar on his wrist brought on a wave of nausea. She had only herself to blame.

  She would be expected inside soon, but first she needed to calm herself with sensible thoughts. She could hear her grandmother’s husky voice, “Mer muss es nemme wie’s gemehnt is.” Take things as they are meant to be. But how was this situation meant to be? A sudden wind made her shiver, so she took in a deep breath, then dipped her head and hurried across the yard to the kitchen door.

  Silence fell in the kitchen as Bess walked inside and hung her coat and mittens on the wall peg. She knew that Lainey and her dad, seated at the kitchen table, had been talking about her. About the wedding. About the non-wedding.

  Yesterday, they had been gracious to her, giving her plenty of space and time alone. Now and then, Lainey checked on Bess, brought her a plate of food that remained untouched on her dresser, but never questioned why she acted like a silly fool and ran away in the middle of the wedding ceremony.

  But that was yesterday. Today, they wanted answers. Her father sat at the kitchen table, a half-empty mug of coffee in his hands and an open newspaper fanning across the table. He looked up when she came inside. Lainey was washing breakfast dishes at the sink, the little girls played with tin measuring cups at her feet. Bess could feel their eyes on her as she crossed the kitchen to fill a mug with hot water from the teapot on the stove and add a tea bag. She’d just as soon get this conversation over with.

  Tea bag infused, she turned to face her dad.

  “You’re feeling better today?” he asked.

  The sight of her dad’s dark eyes, brows knitted with concern, nearly overwhelmed her. Against her will, tears sprang up again. “Much better.” She went to the table to sit down, and blew on her tea, then swallowed, buying time until she felt her emotions were under control. “Dad, I’m sorry. For all the work you and Lainey did to prepare Rose Hill Farm for the wedding. For all the cooking done by the relatives. For the benches that were brought in.” They were still all over the living room. “I am . . . so sorry.”

  He reached a hand out to cover hers, warmed from his coffee mug. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

  “All those people watching me . . . I . . . panicked.”

  Her father nodded, understanding. “I just wondered if . . .” His voice drizzled off and he exchanged a look with Lainey.

  “You wondered what?”

  “Was your panic really because of nerves?”

  She bit her lip. “I think so.” I hope so. “Amos and I, we’ll set another date soon. I’ll make it through the next wedding.”

  Lainey came to the table and sat down. “Bess, maybe you should hold off on setting a date. Take a little time to think it over. Be absolutely sure you and Amos are meant for each other.”

  Bess gave her a shaky smile. “There’s nothing more to think about. I just felt overwhelmed. You know how I can be. Next time I’ll know what to expect.” Her fingers were curling the edge of her apron. “At least I’ll be able to fix that iron mark on the dress. I’ll have to buy more fabric.” She let out a half moan and clapped her hands on her cheeks. “Everyone must have seen that burn mark when
I pulled my apron over my head.”

  “No one noticed,” Lainey said. “Or if they did, no one commented.”

  “Just Edith Stoltzfus,” Jonah said with a grin. “She noticed and commented.”

  And with that, Lizzie bonked Christy on the head with a tin measuring cup. Christy screamed and pulled Lizzie’s hair, Lainey jumped up to quiet the ruckus, Jonah finished the last swallow of his coffee and left the chaos of the kitchen to flee to the barn, as men do. Bess let out a sigh of relief. Everything was back to normal.

  Everything except for her and Amos.

  For the next few days, Amos stayed close to home, expecting Bess would come seek him out, explain what had happened during their wedding to cause her to panic, and set a new date. Hoping, hoping, hoping she would. But she didn’t.

  So he worked. And worked and worked. Sunup to sundown, he never stopped.

  The one who did come seek him out was Maggie Zook, fresh as a daisy from her nonworking days spent avoiding her father. She was worried about Amos, the way his mother was worried about him—but his mother understood what he was going through. Similar to him in temperament, she let him work out his conflicted feelings in peace. He knew Maggie wanted him to talk it out and share his feelings, but he’d never been good at that kind of thing.

  Maggie Zook, she was something else again. Forever babbling, bubbling. She sure didn’t know how to put a button on her lip. Spending time around her made him feel like he was bouncing from season to season: she was bright, bubbling spring, and he was deep winter.

  On Wednesday, Maggie stopped by Windmill Farm yet again and trailed along behind him as he did his barn chores. She was named well, he decided. A chattering magpie.

  He was cleaning the frog of a horse’s hoof in the middle of the barn, half listening, as Maggie stood nearby with her hands on her hips, loose strands of her curly brown hair tucked behind her ears, her glasses slipping to the end of her nose. “Do you think these glasses are too big for my face?”