by Anya Monroe
“Did you get a chance to speak with your parents?” he asked once there were at the top of the loft, bales of hay surrounding them.
“I did….” Marigold stopped her sentence short, and Abel realized she was upset.
“What happened?” he asked, seeing her eyes teem with tears, her small chin quiver, her tiny shoulders tremble. It was a thousand motions in a moment, her muscles moving at a speed impossible to stop. He put his hands on her back, drawing her close, wanting to catch the feelings spilling from her.
“Being here with your family. You. It doesn’t seem real. They are so kind and generous, and open minded.” Her voice caught on her words. “My mom is so clueless about me. So determined for me to be miserable.”
Abel didn’t tell her he felt the same way. That his dad had cornered him on his way from church, telling him that if he left again for school that the business would start to fail, that he needed his son’s help. That it was Abel’s duty to be here to assist. Abel didn’t mention the look of elation on the bishop’s face when he saw him walk into service. He didn’t mention the harsh words of disappointment when he explained he was here just for a visit, that his plans hadn’t changed. That he would be returning to school later that day.
Abel didn’t tell Marigold because it wasn’t his place to interject with his own experience. This was her struggle, not his. He could empathize though, because she said the words he felt.
“Maybe this summer is exactly what you and your parents need,” he said, reassuring her. “Maybe you all need a bit of space.” This was the mantra that continually ran through his head. Things will be different in eight weeks. In eight weeks he will be homesick, ready to take on the sheep farm. Take his kneeling vows. Begin his life as an Amish man. He wanted his prayer to come true, because it would be easier than choosing to leave for good.
With that in mind, Abel took advantage of the quiet barn and the family gone for the afternoon. He pulled Marigold to the hay spread across the wooden floor, and pulled her face to his. She kissed away the heaviness buried in his chest, the disappointment choking him like a snare. She kissed him and he kissed her, her hands ran up his chest and his hands ran down her back, and then farther still.
He had no intention of letting go.
Marigold
The first day at the farm, Marigold wondered why it had taken her so long to arrive at a place that fit her disposition so well. Abel was gone, but she didn’t feel alone. Bekah helped her understand the morning and afternoon routine, seemingly grateful to have another girl her age around.
Any hint of hostility she first gave Marigold was long gone. Bekah explained how each day they would make breakfast and then do dishes, followed with the daily chores, which was mostly gardening as they hired someone to help with the cleaning. After preparing the noontime meal, they would eat and clean up before taking a break.
Mrs. Miller gently explained that once everything was in order they could spend the afternoon in the yarn shed, and make a game plan for the business. She agreed to pay Marigold four hundred dollars a week along with room and board.
“That is much too generous,” Marigold said shaking her head.
“You’ll be helping with household duties as well, and that seems fair. Your parents are anticipating you having a real job, aren’t they?” Mrs. Miller smoothed her black apron down, not making eye contact as they discussed finances.
“Yes, but it is too much. Is Mr. Miller alright with this?”
“Mr. Miller and I are in agreement in most things, Marigold. This is one of them. You’ll be doing plenty of heavy lifting here, and hopefully the business is profitable. If it is, you may end up doing less in the house and more at the shop. If that is the case we can renegotiate your pay.”
Not wanting to argue with the Millers, Marigold agreed to the sum, knowing she didn’t really want their money. She was grateful to have a reason to be somewhere besides home, doing things she was good at.
Marigold didn’t mind doing the dishes alongside Bekah, or gathering vegetables for lunch. She relished working alongside a friend. Tabby would have never cared to spend her morning this way, it was always shopping and boys and the next new thing with her. But Marigold was tired of the next new thing, for once she wanted to enjoy the thing before.
After lunch, the girls decided to make a pie, and Marigold couldn’t imagine Lily ever discussing piecrust with her in the manner in which Bekah did. They had different opinions regarding the use of shortening vs. butter and they agreed to try a different recipe the next day. Somehow rolling the dough was all the more enjoyable when she shared the task with someone else.
While the blueberry pie baked Marigold went looking for Mrs. Miller. She found her in the shed, sorting balls of yarn in piles according to color.
“I haven’t seen a smile that big since Ruthie learned to climb a tree,” Mrs. Miller exclaimed as Marigold stepped inside the shed. “Bekah’s been kind to you then?
“Oh, absolutely. She’s very accomplished in the kitchen.”
“Isn’t she? My mother was that way, always making extra cookies for neighbors, or volunteering to bring meals to shut-ins in the community. Bekah has that same spirit about her.”
“I can see that.” Marigold mentally took note to ask Abel about his grandparents. Being here made her want to know everything about his family. “What were you working on in here?”
“Well, isn’t that the million dollar question.” Mrs. Miller tapped her fingers on the metal shelving. “I figured first thing we ought to do is organize this mess. It’s twenty years of yarn in here, and I haven’t even shown you the basement where I do the dying.”
“How often do you do that?”
“Most mornings, as long as Ruthie and Jakey cooperate. My load is light as you can see, with the girl I’ve hired to do the cleaning inside. I don’t tell many people about that, I’m not interested in being snubbed for shirking my duties.”
“Most Amish don’t have help?” Marigold lived a life of privilege, there had always been dry cleaners dropping off laundry or yard crews pruning bushes, a housecleaner making beds in the morning and wiping crumbs from the counter. If Marigold had to leave home after baking something, she’d return to a sparkling clean kitchen and sink. Not that she did that often, for she’d feel guilty over not doing her part.
It didn’t seem that Mrs. Miller felt that same sense of guilt. Marigold couldn’t relate to that, she felt guilty about everything, including making out with Abel at his parents’ house. She knew how inappropriate Mr. and Mrs. Miller would have considered the places Abel’s hands had been. She saw how Abel was similar to his mother. He didn’t care what other people thought.
“Most Amish women I know take a lot of pride in keeping their houses on their own,” Mrs. Miller continued. “I just know myself, and no amount of praying on my knees will change my disposition. Thankfully, the Lord has provided greatly for all our monetary needs, and in return I’m able to provide for members of our community.”
“And Mr. Miller?”
Mrs. Miller eyes softened, and she put down the yarn she held and patted Marigold’s arm. “I learned a long time ago nothing good will come from trying to force someone to be what they aren’t. Thankfully, Mr. Miller seems to agree most of the time.”
“Mostly?”
“Well, as far as Abel is concerned we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.”
Marigold didn’t ask any more about that, not interested in hashing about her sort-of-boyfriend with his parents. She was much more interested in the piles of yarn in baskets and shelves all around them.
“So we’re doing inventory first, right?” Marigold asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Miller said laughing under her breath. “I see you aren’t interested in topics that may be touchy. That is a good Amish trait, you’ll fit in nicely here.”
Marigold didn’t answer, but she agreed. She hadn’t felt this at peace with herself in forever. It felt good to fill her lungs and her heart with something besides dis
appointment. It felt good to no longer be constricted by stale air.
Here, she could breathe.
Chapter 8
Abel
The class had organized themselves in their designated groups, and they sat waiting for Professor Trape to begin his lecture. With eyes twitching and fingers drumming against the tabletops, the room consisted of twenty balls of energy waiting to expand.
Abel wasn’t the exception; he tapped his foot with the rest of them, watching as Professor Trape walked in the ancient room. With his strong jaw and even brow, Trape matched the austere quality of the Business School Hall, all high ceilings and hardwood floors.
Trape nodded to the room in his tailored sports coat and tightly cropped silver hair. Abel noted his bronze tie clip in the shape of a stallion. Strong and fast and sure. Swallowing, Abel looked down at himself more critically, noting his pants of inexpensive cotton and button down shirt that his own mom made for him last winter, in the slow, still days of snow and frost covered fields while the gardens rested.
“I hope you’ve spent the week discussing your strengths, possibly hiding your weaknesses, and coming here today prepared to begin an exciting and cutthroat seminar.” Trape looked over room, seemingly for the first time since the class began two weeks ago. His eyes rested on Abel, and he paused a moment too long before continuing. “The Business School here at Jamestown prides itself on pushing our Business Intensive students each summer. Here, you will either flourish or fail. And that begins now.”
Abel noticed Lily stiffen in her seat, and Lacey began rubbing the side of his neck as if massaging a sudden spasm. Jenna, in another cosplay rendition of The Twilight Princess, as explained by Marigold, doodled in her notebook so pointedly she dug her pen through the paper. The importance of this course intensified within moments.
“I trust you’ve all found a group of four? Is there anyone not in a group?”
No one raised a hand, and Abel’s eye caught Kiera’s cool profile. He silently offered a thank you for her insight on making sure everyone was more than prepared for today.
“Good, you can all clearly listen to directions, which isn’t the case with each year’s cohort. In groups of four, you will spend the next eight weeks learning how to work in a team, because only one group can get the highest mark. One group gets my recommendation. I suggest you listen to this lecture closely. Take notes, be the eyes and ears for one another.”
Trape took a stack of papers from his messenger bag, and began walking around the room passing them out, one by one.
“What is this?” Kiera asked looking at the paper, raising her eyebrows.
“It’s your first assignment as a group. Learn about one another. I figure you chose groups haphazardly, greedily, in desperation. Now is your chance to figure out what the people you are stuck with are made of.”
Sitting in a patch of grass in front of the Business Hall, the foursome pulled out paper and pens.
“Doesn’t this sort of seem like something we would do in junior high, meet in a group and BS about, like, our favorite food?” Lily whined.
“It could be worse, we could be stuck with Kiera and still have to answer the same questions,” Lacey pointed out, the collar of his pink polo upturned. Abel stared at it, once again conscious of his plain clothes. He hated how clothing; such a ridiculously prideful topic, even entered his stream of thought. Surely there were more pressing things to worry about.
But somehow all he was concerned with was fitting in with his study group.
And he couldn’t help but agree with Lily on this one. Ever since Professor Trape announced the way they could earn the recommendation, he’d felt a bit let down. He left his family, his community, for this? For trusting a bunch of people he didn’t know to pull their weight?
Jenna was already describing her favorite food, something about funnel cakes. Abel stayed silent, surely there had to be more merit to this assignment than fried dough topped with sugar.
“You okay, Abel?” Lily asked. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
“I’m with you, this seems so arbitrary.” His inflection indicated his frustration.
“I wonder what they’re talking about.” Lacey said, pointing to Kiera’s group sitting on the concrete steps of the Business Hall, the foursome loud and talking wildly with their hands. A few girls squealed. They clearly had already become life-long friends.
“Probably something predictable,” Jenna scoffed. “Those sorts of kids are so base.”
“Funnel cakes are equally predictable,” Abel shot back, causing Lily, Lacey, and Jenna to raise their eyebrows, sharing a look. A look that said, holy shit, the Amish guy wasn’t pulling stops today.
“Whoa, harsh much.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what’s your problem? This is a collaboration. We need to work together, part of that is getting to know each other, build trust, yadda yadda. Haven’t you ever worked on a group project before?”
Abel pulled off his straw hat and pushed his hair from his forehead with his hand. He hadn’t done a group project before. He hadn’t done any of this before, and it overwhelmed him. Yesterday he hadn’t wanted to stay at home where Marigold was. He had wanted to come back here, to this experience, but it dawned on him, all at once, how frivolous this was.
Home needed him. Home wanted him. Here he was under the scrutiny of professor Trape and his classmates. An outsider to everyone. And even though he’d been an outsider his entire life, never quite one of the cool kids back home – he knew his place there. There, he had a future.
Here he was wasting his time, stuck telling girls like Jenna his favorite season was winter and that his best childhood memory was skimming the lake for crawdads. He was better than this.
Marigold
The next afternoon Marigold went into town with Bekah, who needed lids for her canning jars. Bekah had run out while putting up some chow-chow the afternoon before. Chow-chow, Marigold had learned, was a staple at nearly every Amish supper. A pickled combination of bell peppers, cabbage, cucumber, carrots, and green beans.
Marigold thought it tasted good, though not familiar, with the side dishes Mrs. Miller supplied with each meal. At home, her dinners consisted of a protein and a vegetable, or maybe a salad as an entree. Here, roasted meat was paired with at least three or four sides, all handmade, all from scratch. All delicious.
“It seems early to be harvesting so many vegetables,” Marigold said as the twosome walked along the side of the road toward the general store. Quiet farms sprawled around them, and Bekah said it was just a mile and half to the shop. Marigold was used to walking long distances, having grown up in D.C.
“Ja, that’s true. But this year has been extra warm, all our crops are coming up early. It’s better this way, trust me. Some years everything’s done all at once, and the kitchen gets so hot with trying to put so many things up so fast.”
“Does anyone help? Or is it just you and your mom?”
“Usually Eli’s wife, Sarah, and her mom help, and then Esther, her sisters, and their mom come around, too. We all help one another, going round to each house until all the work is done. But this year it’s all different,” Bekah said.
“Because Sarah is having a baby?”
“Ja, and Esther’s gone. Without her in town I don’t suppose her mom will come around like before.”
Marigold was faced, once again, with how many things changed because of Abel’s choices. Leaving for school hurt his family’s business, and breaking it off with Esther caused his sister to lose her best friend and the whole family to miss out on a friendship with a neighboring family. She held her hand over her eyes to block the sun, and looked at Bekah.
“I can help. You know, be an extra set of hands,” Marigold offered.
“I’m not so sure about that, your hands are worthless so long as they’re constantly being used to block the sun,” Bekah said laughing. “We best find you a sunbonnet.”
Marigold smiled, shaking her head. “I guess that
would be practical.”
“You’re not much for practical clothes?”
“For a long time I tried really hard to be my own person. Like, go to extremes with my wardrobe, but last year I stopped. I got into some trouble, and it made me question who I really was. When I found my granny’s old trunk of clothes, I tried some on and they fit. Like perfectly. Like they were made for me. For the first time in forever something fit. Made sense. So I started making my own clothes, inspired from her pieces, and kind of figured myself out.”
Bekah had questions brimming in her eyes, but Marigold watched as she edged away from them, an Amish quality she was learning.
“You’re embroidery is really nice,” Bekah said, pointing to the poppies trailing around the neckline of Marigold’s red, knee-length, capped sleeved dress. “I’ve never seen it on dresses or shirts like you’ve done. I’ve only embroidered on dishcloths and pillow cases.” Bekah spoke openly, and Marigold appreciated it.
“I was nervous about what to wear here. I thought your family might not like the fact I’m not plain,” Marigold admitted the impression that gnawed at her when she came to breakfast this morning and felt the assessing eyes of the entire Miller clan. She hoped Lily had expedited her suitcase of clothes.
“Ack, don’t worry about that. Mom and Dad are bad Amish in that way. They aren’t so rigid like some other families. Though it might be different if Eli and Abel were living here with us. Young men in a household where a girl like you lived...”
“What?”
“I’m just saying eyes would be raised. Mom and Dad would never let the boys be around a girl dressed provocatively.”
“I get it.”
“But honestly, Marigold,” Bekah said as the girls took the final steps toward the general store. “Lots of English girls are much more worrisome than you. You dress very modestly, and you’re not at all flashy. You don’t even wear jeans! You’re the most Amish English girl, I’ve ever met.”
