Wonderful Lonesome

by Newport, Olivia

  Abbie spread a quilt out on the ground. The spot of shade Willem had spied was barely big enough for the two of them to sit beside a large bush, but she did not complain. They had not passed any more promising options, and at least it was a patch of green instead of unending brown dirt. Abbie still did not know the names of all the odd vegetation of the Colorado plain.

  She had used an empty fruit bushel to hold the picnic food. It had seemed like plenty in the kitchen, but out here it appeared sparse. Gratitude, she reminded herself. At the bottom of the bushel basket were two plates, and she handed one to Willem. They paused for a silent prayer. Abbie asked for the assurance her heart craved. Of Willem’s love for her. Of his faithfulness to the church. Of the only choice she could bear to hear him voice. She waited until she heard Willem moving before she opened her eyes.

  “Eat!” she urged.

  “This is quite a feast for a simple bachelor’s lunch.” Willem laid two slices of pork on his plate.

  Abbie let her breath out. Willem did not require fancy food. Why had she let herself fuss? She spooned egg salad onto his plate, and he selected a thick slice of bread.

  “I suppose I must eat my lunch before I can have cake,” he said.

  Abbie chuckled. Her own plate was still empty.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” Willem set his plate on the quilt and reached for the jar of apples and twisted off the cap.

  “Yes, I will.” She made no move to serve herself any food.

  Willem set down the apples. “Abigail Weaver, something is on your mind.”

  She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s plenty of time to talk. I want you to enjoy your lunch.”

  “I thought the purpose was to enjoy lunch together.”

  “It is.” Abbie reached for the egg salad and a slice of bread. “How long have you been thinking of making a road?”

  “It has always been in the plan, when I found the time. I might get started on it this year, but soon we will all have to start laying in coal for the winter, and that’s a lot of work.”

  “Will we have a harsh winter, do you think?” Abbie used a fork to spread egg salad around on her plate without moving any to her mouth.

  “Gottes wille.” Willem put a piece of bread in his mouth, chewed slowly, and swallowed. “Perhaps we should talk about whatever is on your mind.”

  “All right.” Abbie set her plate down and looked Willem in the eye. “If you had to choose between making your farm successful and staying with the church, which would you choose?”

  Willem did not shift position, but Abbie could see that he was moving his tongue over his teeth, first the bottom then the top.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  Come with you where?” Abbie felt her heart skipping beats.

  “Think of the life we can have together.” Willem put one elbow down on the quilt and leaned toward Abbie.

  “I don’t understand. Do you want to follow the Chupps to Nebraska?”

  He shook his head. “I want to make my farm work. We may be peaceable people, but I am going to fight for my land. Everything I have is invested there.”

  Abbie moistened her lips and set her untouched plate aside. “Then what are you saying?”

  Willem held her gaze with his green eyes as her breaths grew shallow. Finally he turned his head and looked to the horizon.

  “Would it be so awful to be Mennonite?” he said.

  “So you’ve made up your mind?” Abbie’s heart pounded. She had waited all this time for Willem because she never doubted they would one day be together—not until now.

  “I haven’t decided anything,” Willem said, his voice thick with earnest conviction, “except that I want this farm to work more than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

  More than you want me. The truth clanged in her mind like English church bells. “What has that got to do with turning Mennonite?” Abbie asked.

  Willem picked up a twig, snapped it, and flicked half of it away. “Noah Chupp’s decision to move away was disheartening to some of the other men.”

  “To the women as well.”

  “Noah did not think the settlement will succeed. What if he’s right?”

  “He will be right if we allow ourselves to think that way.” Abbie stood up, unable to keep her feet still. “We’ll fight this drought together. We will be all right. That’s what you always say.”

  Willem pulled his knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around them. “What if the threat is more than the drought? Bad weather is not the only thing that can break the back of the most determined of men.”

  “Willem Peters, you must not allow your mind to dwell on such things. We must encourage one another, now more than ever.” Abbie paced three steps away from the blanket and pivoted sharply to return, forcing herself to sit down and discuss Willem’s concern like a calm adult.

  “Not everything we first heard about Colorado has proven to be wrong,” Willem said. “It is a different kind of beautiful than Ohio or Pennsylvania, but it is the handiwork of God. We could have a good life here. You and me, together.”

  This was not the sort of proposal Abbie had always supposed she would eventually hear from Willem. His words were far too conditional. She eased pent-up breath out of her chest.

  “Why should we not have a lovely life here if we choose to spend it together?” she said.

  “Because the church may not be here, Abbie. You have to see how precarious the situation is.”

  “One family left. That changes nothing.”

  “It changes everything. The solidarity is broken.”

  “Perhaps Noah was not a true believer after all. Perhaps that is why it was so easy for him to leave.”

  “Easy?” Willem shook his head. “It was not easy. And I do not believe you could doubt the faith of a man like Mr. Chupp.”

  She flushed, knowing he was right about Noah.

  “The bishop of the nearest district has not visited in over a year,” he said. “We have had no visiting ministers in all that time. Noah was our best hope for a minister of our own. Adam Nissley’s notion that a minister will come from Kansas denies reality. People are discouraged. Even if their farms were flourishing, they would be longing for a real church.”

  “As do I.” Abbie laid a towel over the egg salad and started to wrap up the bread.

  “As do I, as well.”

  Abbie stilled her hands and looked at Willem. “Then what is our point of disagreement? Why were we talking about the Mennonites?”

  “Because the others may decide to sell their farms and move back to a thriving district, but I don’t want to go back. I only want to go forward. I want to stay here, no matter what. If I have to go to the Mennonites to do that, I would like nothing more than to have you with me, but I will not propose marriage under false pretenses.”

  Abbie began to stack dishes in the empty bushel basket.

  “You didn’t eat anything,” Willem said.

  “I have no appetite. You should take the food home for your dinner.”

  He reached for her hand. “The last thing I want to do is upset you, but I have to be honest.”

  Ruthanna sat on the lone chair in the yard, her hand on her abdomen. Beneath her touch the baby kicked, and her lips spread in a smile though no one was near to see it. For the third day in a row, Eber had risen at dawn. He had done the early morning chores, and when he returned, Ruthanna cracked one egg after another into the sizzling skillet and pulled fresh biscuits out of the oven. Eber guzzled coffee with a glow on his face she had not seen in many weeks.

  After breakfast Eber returned to bed for a long nap, but Ruthanna had been confident he would rise again bubbling over with tasks he wanted to accomplish around the farm. A poor crop was no reason to let the fences go untended, he said, and he was going to see about getting a couple of roosters and more hens. They could do more than eat eggs the chickens produced. They could raise chickens to see them through the winter and to shar
e with others who might have already begun to consume hens that stopped laying despite their tough meat. Eber and Jake had gone off together to cut a window in the back side of the barn. More natural light would allow Eber to create a workshop in an empty stall so he could begin building some decent furniture out of lumber he had stacked months ago, before he first fell ill.

  Ruthanna hardly let herself admit that she had worried Eber would not rally. He was so weak for so long. But during these last few days he was showing signs of his old self, and Ruthanna murmured one continuous prayer of thanks all day long.

  Jake approached, and she smiled.

  “You have been an angel of the Lord,” she said. “You brought hope when I needed it, and look at Eber now!”

  Jake nodded. “He is much better, but he is not as strong as he thinks he is. You must watch him carefully and make sure he rests. I look forward to hearing good news when I return.”

  Ruthanna stood, one hand on her aching back. “You are leaving, then?”

  “I believe it’s time. Eber wants to work his own farm again.”

  “But you’ll be back?”

  “I expect I will be coming more often. I am thinking of moving to Limon soon. If I am going to open a Mennonite church, I must begin making real plans not just talking about it.”

  Ruthanna’s throat thickened. “I am sure you will do well.”

  “You will always be welcome, you know.”

  She shook her head. “We have our people and our ways. I have faith that God will send us a minister.”

  Jake pointed over his shoulder toward the barn. “Eber is cleaning up. There’s a place in Limon where he can get glass for that window when he’s ready. I’ll help him finish out the day and then be on my way in the morning.”

  Somber muteness swathed the ride back to Willem’s farm. Abbie had run out of words, and Willem seemed to know that he should hold his. When he got out and handed her the reins to the Weaver buggy, she pointed to the basket behind her.

  “Please take it,” she said. “We hardly touched the food. There will be plenty for your evening meal.”

  “I’m sure your brothers would be happy to have it.”

  “But I want you to have it.” She heard an edge in her tone she had not intended and took a deep breath to restrain it. “Things are not so dismal that we cannot afford a token of generosity. Please enjoy the food. It would make me happy to know you have it, especially the cake.”

  He nodded and lifted the basket from the buggy. She did not look at him again as she nudged the horse forward, back toward the road that would take her to the Weaver farm.

  Rudy Stutzman was right.

  If Willem had to choose between his church and his farm, he would choose his farm.

  Even if that meant leaving her.

  Abbie felt foolish for all she had presumed in the last several years. Putting clean sheets on his bed and imagining the day it would be her bed as well. Cleaning the corners of his sitting room and seeing herself seated in a chair beside him, perhaps with a toddler at her feet. Imagining the joy of spending three days cooking when it was their turn to host their fellow Amish worshippers.

  In the beginning, they were fellow settlers facing a challenge that left little respite. On neighboring farms, of course the Weavers got to know the determined bachelor. Life on the Colorado plain toughened Abbie, made her feel grown up. And of course she was grown up—old enough to have married years ago in an established Amish district. When her eyes turned to Willem in something other than a neighborly manner, he was looking back at her. Abbie knew she would marry him someday.

  In all the episodes where she had let her mind drift toward a future with Willem, never had she supposed he was capable of turning his back on the center of her heart. Never.

  Willem loved the Lord. Abbie was sure of that. And he loved her as much as she loved him.

  But he would choose his farm. He would choose the Mennonites.

  As she turned into the lane leading to her family’s house, Abbie wiped the backs of her hands across her eyes and cheeks, trying to banish the heartbreak her family would see in her face.

  Daed met her in front of the barn. “How was your picnic?”

  “Hot. I should have known it would be difficult to find shade.”

  “I will cool the horse for you.”

  “Thank you.” Abbie handed her father the reins. “Daed, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know we have not been getting any new settlers because people back home have heard how difficult the drought makes everything. Is there another reason why no one wants to come?”

  “What do you mean, daughter?”

  “Did something happen? Something to cause division?”

  “We are a people of forgiveness.”

  “I know. But all this time without a minister—can it not cause doubt?”

  “Are you doubting, Abigail?”

  She was quick to shake her head. “I am confused, that’s all.”

  “Whether we have a minister, are we not still in God’s hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “And whether we have drought or rain, are we not still in God’s hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, my daughter, what is there to be confused about?”

  Abbie brushed dust off her skirt. This was her father’s way of saying what Willem always said. We will be all right. She trusted both her father and Willem, but standing in the blazing sun at that moment, she found scarce comfort. Would her father also say, “Whether you have a husband or not, are you not still in God’s hands?” She wasn’t sure.

  “Thank you for letting me take the buggy,” she said. “I’d better go see if Mamm needs some help.” Abbie gave her father a halfhearted smile and let him kiss her cheek.

  Despite all the chores awaiting her attention, and the heat that made her feel as if she were walking around in an incinerator, Abbie chose to walk through the fields to Rudy’s farm the next morning. She found him in the barn with the new calf.

  “How is she?” Abbie said when he looked up.

  “Healthy and happy.” He stroked the calf’s nose.

  “Good.”

  She watched his gentleness, never more evident than when he was caring for his animals. Abbie had thought to tell him that he had been right about Willem. Now the words caught in her throat.

  “I remember the first time I helped a calf feed,” he said. “I was about nine. My mamm thought I should stay out of the way, but my daed insisted I needed to learn. After that he let me help with all the new calves, helping them suckle at first and then weaning them and feeding them with a bottle.”

  It was a sweet picture. Abbie welcomed it into her mind. Rudy as a little boy, learning to feed a calf on a farm in Indiana, with his father watching over his shoulder and murmuring patient instructions.

  “I found a scrap I thought you might use in your quilt,” he said. “It’s just a bit of red. I’m not even sure why I have it, but if you still want it, I’m happy to give it to you.”

  She smiled. “Danki. Yes, I would love to have it.” His was the only square she had not finished cutting pieces for, waiting because she hoped he would find something to give her—and because it might mean he had surrendered his notion of leaving.

  He might have been right about Willem, but the moment when she wanted to give voice to his insight eased away.

  The number of winters Willem had spent in Colorado equaled the fingers on one hand. Even in mid-August heat, his mind was on the coming cold season. The hope of a crop was gone weeks ago. He needed to keep his animals alive and healthy and try not to get frostbite himself. In many ways the Colorado climate was more temperate than eastern Ohio had been, but it seemed that seasons could shift during a casual gaze at the horizon. Winds would gust, clouds would swirl in, and a winter storm would release its fury when only hours earlier the day had promised fall pleasantries. Willem would be ready whether that day came in mid-Se
ptember or late October.

  The last three weeks had not been wasted. Willem had picked through his paltry wheat fields, gleaning dry wisps that might contain seed to use next spring when he would try again. And he would try again. His pile of stones to mark off his back road had grown considerably. Though he might not get them all laid before winter, he was now able to estimate how many more times he needed to fill his cart, and he had taken his horses back and forth over the route he planned to tramp down the straggly weeds and make the rough places plain. But soon he would interrupt this task to begin gathering coal for the minimal cooking he did, warming his cabin for the winter, and selling to the English.

  Soft brown coal was in plentiful supply. All the Amish farmers lived within a few miles of a ravine where lignite coal was free for the digging. In places it was only a few feet below the surface, rather than thousands of feet down. Still, digging it out and transporting it to a useful location was tedious, backbreaking work, and because lignite burned quickly the homes required considerable supplies. A year ago Willem had discovered that many of the English around Limon were willing to pay someone else for this labor even if they had a vein on their own land. This year Willem had already made inquiries and committed to dig lignite for three families in addition to what he would need for himself. They would pay him either in cash or supplies. He preferred cash, a scarce resource among the Amish, but Willem had already parlayed his friendliness into a network of information about who possessed particular kinds of goods and who sought them. He was confident he could trade to get what he needed not only to survive the winter but also to make improvements on his farm that would last long into the future.

  Willem hated to see anyone so discouraged that they would give up on their farms, but even if all the rest packed their belongings and traveled eastward, Willem would remain.