by Anya Monroe
He looked so pleased with her, unaware of the nuances mothers had for the girls their sons brought home. She could distinctly recall the conversations her own mom had after her brother, Cedar, brought a girlfriend home. She’d hold the phone to her ear talking to a friend, recounting all the minuscule flaws of such-and-such girl. It was a role she’d avoided thus far in life, yet here she was, showing up unannounced at the most conservative house she’d ever set foot in.
She wished he’d be more direct, tell her how exactly to wear her hair or what not to say, but he gave only a few simple directives: don’t pull out your cellphone, and don’t speak at dinner unless invited to. He didn’t ask her to alter a thing about the way she dressed or spoke. He was the first person she’d ever known who didn’t want to change her.
The house had a long sweeping driveway and a large red barn with several white outbuildings. The home itself was bigger than she expected, two stories with shuttered windows everywhere. Green grass rolled over the small hill leading up to the homestead, and a well-maintained flower border edged the road leading to the house.
“You’re house is really fancy,” she said accusingly.
“Fancy?” he shook his head and laughed. “No, your house is fancy. I know the price of real estate in your neighborhood. And you have a cook, and a housekeeper, and what else?”
“A gardener.”
“I bet you have a gardener, too, no way does your mother and sisters do all of this upkeep.”
“Ja, Dad does hire help, lots actually.”
“So, you’re an aristocratic Amish family and didn’t tell me?” Marigold sighed as the driver pulled to a stop. “What other secrets should I know?”
“Well, I suppose the last thing I should mention is no touching. Not while we’re here.”
Marigold laughed, but she wasn’t surprised or concerned. She had no intention of being within five feet of Abel, already knowing this entire family would be scrutinizing her, the English girl who stole their golden boy.
The taxi left, leaving the pair on the gravel driveway. A small child stood, barefoot and bonneted, squinting her face in confusion.
“Who is she, Abel?” the girl asked.
“This is Marigold, a friend of mine.” Abel walked to her and swung her in the air. “How was my Ruthie?”
She giggled as her blue dress waved in the air like a flag.
“I caught three frogs yesterday at the back pond, and Dad said I could keep them, just not in the house.”
“That makes sense,” he said setting her down. “Don’t want croaking to keep you up all night.”
“Come, let’s tell Mom you’re home. She’s been expecting you all day, says she hopes you never leave.”
Marigold caught Abel clenching his jaw, but he just patted his sister on the head.
Walking in the front door, Marigold was hit with the smell of warm bread just pulled from the oven. The front room was simple and sparse and fine wood furniture wrapped around a large fireplace.
As bad as she felt for thinking it, she’d expected something dingy or grey, but sunlight shone through the large front windows, and the plank floors gleamed, as if well oiled. A row of hooks were at the front door and Abel hung his straw hat then smoothed his hair down, over his forehead, not the way he wore it at school, pushed away from his face. She walked to the far end of the room to look closely at beautiful doilies laid on the backs and arms of a few well-placed couches.
“Abel.” A woman her mother’s age came from where the baked bread wafted in the room. She had a small white bonnet on her head, two strings hanging behind her, and she pulled Abel into a hug, not noticing Marigold. “You’re home. Eli said you’d come, your dad will be so pleased you’ve returned.”
“Ja, I’m here for the shearing, just the weekend, Mom.”
A smirk crossed her face, “Ja, well, we’ll see won’t we?”
“I brought a friend, Mom, this is Marigold.”
A flash of confusion crossed his mother’s face, as if she surely believed this visit was a forever one, that he’d gotten the idea of English life out of his system after a few weeks at school.
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head, looking for an explanation.
While she waited, a girl Marigold’s age came around the corner holding a baby, and an older man, followed behind her. Another man, nearly identical to Abel walked in with a pregnant women at his heels. Suddenly the room felt very full. Marigold took a deep breath, not wanting to overwhelm them with information, but it was clear Abel didn’t see the frustration that flashed on everyone else’s faces.
“Hello, we just got in,” Abel said, greeting his family. “Let me introduce my right good friend, Marigold.” He smiled, calling her toward the family gathered around. “This is my brother, Eli, and his wife, Sarah. My sister, Bekah, with my baby brother, Jacob, and you’ve already met Ruthie. Of course, this is Dad and Mom, or Mr. and Mrs. Miller to you, I suppose.”
No one spoke, they just stared at Marigold, as if still unclear on why this English girl was before them. And Abel seemed disinclined to offer an explanation. Not wanting the awkward silence to cover them any longer, Marigold spoke.
“Hello, I’m Marigold. Marigold Archer.” She walked over to Mr. and Mrs. Miller, offering her hand. “So pleased to meet you both. Thank you for your hospitality. Abel assured me it would be no inconvenience to host me this weekend, I hope that’s true.” Marigold smiled brightly, her sincerity impossible to deny.
“How are you two acquainted, exactly?” Mr. Miller asked, accepting her handshake.
“Oh, we met at a coffee shop, I’d dropped my papers, and he helped. You’ve raised such a thoughtful son, Mr. Miller.”
The group didn’t respond, they seemed to not know what to make of the situation. The son, they hoped was the prodigal, returning home with a girl undeterred by their differences, their silence. They didn’t realize Marigold had spent her entire life being the outsider, being misunderstood. She didn’t have an eye bent on judgment.
“What is that delicious bread I smell?” she asked breaking the silence. “It’s much sweeter than the loaves I usually bake.”
Eli’s wife, Sarah’s, smile broke first, her eyes danced between her brother-in-law and this girl he brought home. “It’s Friendship Bread, would you like a piece? Dinner’s nearly ready, but surely you’re hungry after such long travels, ja?”
Marigold nodded, following Sarah out of the room, leaving Abel to deal with the wrath of his parents and siblings. She’d done her part to smooth things over, now it was his turn.
Chapter 6
Abel
“What is the meaning of this?” his dad asked, having pulled him out to the wide front porch. “Bringing an English girl home uninvited?”
“Ja, well she’s my friend and needed to get away for a few days, I was trying to be a true friend. Isn’t that what you’ve taught me?”
“Surely, kindness, but what sort of trouble is this girl in? Serious?”
“Oh no, she had a row with her parents, she needed to clear her head. The fresh farm air can do that, isn’t that so?”
“But you’re here to work, right? Not drive that girl around in your buggy? You’re here to help?”
“Ja, of course, tomorrow I’ll do all I can to serve you, Dad.”
“It’s too hard with you gone, son. I need you here.” His dad’s eyes were weathered, tired from his life of backbreaking work. It would have been easier if Eli had taken over the farm, but Abel couldn’t rely on his brother to solve his problems.
“I’m here now, let that be enough for one day.”
Abel walked back into the house with his dad, already anxious to get the weekend over with and head back to campus.
His mom prepared Abel’s favorite dinner of roast beef, green beans with bacon, mashed potatoes and giblet gravy, with chow-chow on the side. After bowing their heads while his dad offered grace, everyone dished up platefuls, hungry after a long day of work. It f
elt good to sit at the large family table again, especially having Eli and Sarah join them. He hadn’t expected to see anyone for a few months yet.
He watched as Marigold politely passed platters around the table and helped Ruthie, who sat beside her, butter a roll. Bekah eyed him from across the table, tilting her head at Marigold, clearly wanting details on the girl he brought home, but she quickly looked away the moment their eyes connected. She was still angry with him.
“The food smells delicious, Mom,” Abel said, ignoring his sister’s insistent looks. “I’ve missed your home-cooked meals.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, son. Perhaps I could write down a few simpler recipes for you to take back, maybe the cook at school would like to try one?”
“That would be nice, thank you, Mom,” he answered, not wanting to explain how big the dining hall was, how hired cooks didn’t make things to order. “Since I’ve been gone, I’ve realized I can hardly make anything besides boiled water.”
“That is because you belong on the farm, outdoors. Working,” Abel’s father said gruffly. “Not in the kitchen making coffee in a fancy pot.”
Abel coughed nervously then turned to his brother. “Is the soy bean crop coming along well, Eli?” Abel wanted to look somewhere besides his sister’s condescending glances.
“Pretty good, I got a new tractor last weekend at an auction. It was a good deal, and it’ll sure help loads come harvest.”
Their dad chewed his food without engaging with his oldest boys, and Abel knew this was his doing. Having spoken with him on the porch before the meal was unexpected, he didn’t expect to hear much else from him unless he moved back home.
“Marigold, do you have any siblings?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, one brother who’s twenty and a sister who’s seventeen. We’re Irish twins, just a year a part. She’s in Abel’s Honor Intensive this summer.”
“But not you?” Mom asked, suddenly interested.
“No.” Marigold flushed, and Abel knew she didn’t want anyone to ask the questions she disliked most, about what her plans for the fall were. That was the question all English kids cared about. What’s next?
But Marigold kept talking, surprising him. She always shut down when he’d tried having this conversation, she was an expert at steering things away from her. But here, while she stabbed a green bean, she seemed comfortable answering. “I’m not very scholarly, I even finished high school early so I could be done with it once and for all.”
“What do you do all day then?” Bekah asked, interested for the first time in the girl she must consider the enemy. After all, Esther was her best friend and she’d had her heart set on the two of them hitching up come spring.
“Umm, lots of baking and cooking. I knit and crochet a lot, too, blankets or scarves. In fact there’s this group of people in the city that meet once a month, and we go to parks and yarn bomb. Have you heard of that?”
“What in the world is that?” asked Sarah, smiling.
“We knit scarves and blankets and all sorts of things ahead of time, and then we meet at a city park or a bus stop or wherever, and we knit our pieces together around tree trunks and park benches.”
“Truly? You put them on park benches?” Dad asked her, curious at the story she told.
“Yes, like an underground knitting club. It’s silly, I know, but it makes people happy. Or at least it makes me happy.”
Abel watched her, realizing he’d never seen her around other people before. They had only spent time together in their own bubble. He was surprised at her ease with his stoic family who genuinely lit up in her presence.
He hadn’t expected this, though he should have, so many of the qualities he was drawn to about her were the things that reminded him of home. The baking, the knitting, the quiet nature. Watching her with his family, a small smile broke over his lips. In essence, being with Marigold in the city was like being home.
Ruthie laughed, covering her giggles with her pudgy hands. “You put scarves on the trees so they don’t get cold?” she asked in wonder.
“Yes, trees might get cold, especially in the winter,” Marigold answered seriously, causing Ruthie to erupt in more laughter.
“Well, that isn’t necessarily the most practical hobby, but I suppose in your free time it’s a nice way to brighten people’s day. Just imagine walking to the Bishop’s house and seeing his big Elm tree wrapped in yarn,” Mom said, laughing heartily.
By the time dinner was finished, everyone had relaxed, save for Bekah, but their conversation could wait. Mom asked Bekah to prepare the guest room for Marigold, and Abel carried her bags upstairs before meeting her outside to talk a bit before bed.
They stood on the wide front porch, awkward together for the first time.
“Want to sit?” he asked, pointing to the porch swing. Marigold nodded and sat, and he pushed his feet to propel them into the night sky. It was so much quieter here than the city, almost too still for him. Returning, he immediately found himself antsy, like he’d always been. His dreams stretched wider than this farm.
“You didn’t tell me a lot of things, Abel.”
“Neither did you.”
“What, you wanted to know about yarn bombs? That offends you, in a week of knowing me, that I haven’t revealed a random hobby to you?”
“Well, I don’t know, you just seemed so cheery tonight.”
“I’m cheery with you.” Marigold pointed out the truth, but not the full breadth of it.
“That’s true, but each time I’ve come to see you, I’ve shown up and you’ve been sad or lost or both.”
“But I am sad and lost. You are meeting me at a very uncertain time in my life. I’m trying to get away from the life laid out for me, and it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“I can hardly tell if you are talking about yourself or me.”
“I know. I just wish I’d understood a little more before I came, like how much your family needs you here.”
“Why? What would it matter to you?”
“I suppose it’s because I want to know you better. I want to see the scope of you, not just pieces.”
“That takes time, Marigold.”
“Do we have that? Because I got the impression that your sister Bekah wishes I never came.”
“Bekah has just lost her best friend and is mad at me for things that happened even before all that. It’s not about you, it’s about me not wanting what she wanted for me.”
“You can’t have me either though, Abel. I know you’re a guy, and not the most aware one at that, but I’m not Amish.”
“I’m on my Rumspringa, I can do what I please,” he looked at her solemnly. They both knew that what passed between them was more than a fling. What was happening here felt real, and that made everything more complicated, their different world’s all the more prominent.
“Not forever.”
Abel didn’t answer, not wanting to fight with Marigold, not while she didn’t understand what being Amish required of him. Requirements he didn’t really want to obligate, now or ever. He wasn’t ready to say that aloud.
“It’s been a long day, we should go to bed. Tomorrow I will be busy, and it’s not that I don’t want to visit with you, but I’m here for my dad. You’ll be okay with my mom and sisters?”
Marigold nodded, and they walked in the house quietly, knowing his parents were in the living room relaxing.
“Night, Mom and Dad. Thanks for welcoming me back this weekend.”
“Of course, son, tomorrow will be a right good day. Get lots of rest.”
They padded up the stairs, parting ways at the landing.
“Abel,” Marigold whispered, before turning into the guest room. “Can we be more-than-friends for as long as your Rumspringa lasts?”
“Of course,” he answered quietly. “We still have a game of twenty questions to finish.”
“We have six questions left.”
“Then we must be frugal.”
Marigold
The stress of the day before had dissipated, and although Marigold knew the family dynamics were rocky, they didn’t scare her. She was nothing if not familiar with unmet parental expectations.
Smelling fresh coffee, she got out of bed smiling and dressed for the day. She buttoned the front of her white linen dress, pulling a pair of ruffled calf-length bloomers underneath, and fastened a soft pink velvet vest over the top. She added a pair of well-worn leather boots, and completed the ensemble with milkmaid braids wrapped around her head.
She considered a string of vintage pearls but decided against it, remembering the unadorned hands and necks of the women last night. Following the smell of breakfast she found a bustling kitchen with pancakes being flipped by Bekah. Mrs. Miller set out jams, syrup, and a pitcher of milk on the kitchen table where Abel and Mr. Miller sat discussing the day’s work and crunching on bacon. A few men in Amish clothes came into the kitchen, asking for a word with the men, and Marigold stood at the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene before her.
“Marigold, you’re up!” Ruthie said tugging at her hand. “I saved you a place between me and baby Jakey. Come eat.”
Marigold sat down, and Abel offered her a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
“Good morning, Marigold,” he said, standing to pull out her chair. She saw Mr. and Mrs. Miller exchange a quick look before turning back to their tasks. She blushed, knowing they saw the attentiveness of their son toward her.
