by Miranda Rush
Amish Heart
By Miranda Rush
Text copyright © 2013 Miranda Rush
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
To my most amazing lover and eternal companion, David,
who has held my hand throughout this book
and many other adventures.
To my wonderful fans, connect with me:
http://MirandaRush.com
[email protected]
Twitter: @MirandaRush69
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
It was as if she had been slapped. She was being bartered as one would a horse at an auction. Rebekah Bontrager bit her lip, blinking back her tears as she went about the task of peeling potatoes for dinner. In all her seventeen years, she had never once disobeyed her father; it was not the way of her people.
However, the thought of marrying Ezekiel Yoder filled her with dread. It wasn’t that he was nearly twice her age, not even so much that he had four children to care for, his oldest child being only two years younger than she. It was an awful combination of things. It was his short, pudgy body with piggy eyes and hairs which protruded from his nose and ears. It was the way he smacked his lips while he ate open-mouthed. Most definitely it was his lack of warmth or seeming interest in her. To compound things, she felt trapped. She felt she was already his property and any idea she had of caring for the man she was to marry was gone. Her girlhood had come to an abrupt and jarring halt even before it had really begun.
Her father had noticed the slight trembling of her chin when he had first announced her engagement to Ezekiel.
“When I was a child, I thought as a child.” He had rebuked her sharply. “Now it is time to put away childish things, Rebekah.” Then, he and her mother more kindly reminded her of Ezekiel’s better qualities. Ezekiel possessed a large farm in their small town of Jamesport, Missouri, owned a wood working shop, and had a solid reputation among their people. He could provide for her nicely as well as take care of them in their old age. Rebekah was the third of five girls. Her mother had borne no sons which meant that her parents would be reliant upon their sons-in-law for support and help around the farm when they became too feeble to work themselves. Rebekah’s two elder sisters were married: the oldest one had moved out of state with her husband’s family and the other one was living with her husband’s infirmed parents as he could not himself viably support a family. Being that her brother-in-law’s parents were ill, they would always need him, making him unable to support Rebekah’s parents as well.
Numbly, Rebekah nodded in agreement. She had watched Leah, her sister closest in age, fall in love with her husband-to-be before the wedding and she had naively assumed she could have the same good fortune. But love was not a factor in choosing a marriage partner, not in their Community. She could not bear it but her only option was to accept Ezekiel and fulfill her duty as a woman. It was, after all, the Amish way.
At least Ezekiel would be able to provide well for her family and parents when they were old or unable to work. But he wasn’t that much younger than her mother. Perhaps my parents are counting on his oldest son, Jakob? Rebekah shuddered, remembering a time a few years back when Jakob had been caught in the Amish school nailing two mice to the schoolhouse floor during recess. A shriek from one of the younger children had brought them all running into the schoolhouse to find Jakob calmly squatting, hammer in hand, nails stuck in his teeth. A fiendish smile curled back his lips.
Mice were vermin and they were always setting traps to catch them, but Rebekah had pitied the ones that had writhed on the wood floor, broken but not dead. One mouse had nails driven in its spine and could not move its hindquarters. The front part of it was frantically attempting to scramble its pathetic body away. The other one was on its side, entrails pulled out from its frenetic struggle. It lay breathing heavily, its paws twitching senselessly.
Dark red blood edged the nail beds and the creases of Jakob’s hands. It soaked into the cuffs of his blue shirt and splattered upon his vest. Upon seeing the horror on the faces of the other children, Jakob’s grimace gave way to laughter.
Surely, Jakob was not who her parents were envisioning as support for them in their old age. Then again, perhaps he would outgrow his bestial sense of humor—if that’s what it was—as he grew older. If so, she should be thankful that he would be able to bear the load for her parents in the future. That should be enough for her.
Thinking about Ezekiel and his fifteen year old son did not soothe her. Damnable hell, she cursed inwardly. Not only was it not enough to provide a means for her parents’ retirement, it was cruelly unjust. It was impossible to get over the feeling of being bought and sold.
Hopefully, Ezekiel would be more charitable than his son.
A solitary tear escaped from her eye and trickled down her nose. Sniffing, she wiped it away with the back of her hand and continued peeling potatoes.
It would not be so bad had Ezekiel ever once been kind to her. Instead, when he came into the small grocery and dry goods store her parents owned, he was always cold and aloof. Why does he want to marry me anyway? Her brow furrowed, contemplating the question. He had never even spoken to her, other than to ask her if his order was ready or to ask for her father.
She pondered the possible reasons why he might want her. She kept the store spotless, helped her mother with the younger children, and was an irrepressibly happy person, loving to sing not just in Sunday meetings but most of the time. She could sew well and cook besides, having been taught by her mother. She knew her scripture and could cipher, having been trained by her father. But these were such ordinary things, things which any Amish girl her age would have mastered. It did not answer the question of why he would select her.
Having never studied herself in a mirror, Rebekah could never understand the reason why. She did not know her eyes were so blue they were almost violet. When she smiled, her eyes sparkled like sunlight on water. She could not see her rich copper hair or delicate frame and even if she could, she was too innocent to have any worldly ideas of how that would make any man want to possess her, even an Amish man who placed a high value on being plain.
Another tear snaked down her cheek. Heavily, she brushed it away and wondered if this is what her mother felt when faced with marrying her father. As long as she could remember, she had never seen them touch, even each other’s hand, and had only rarely heard them speak to each other with anything other than tepid tones. She saw her mother’s life as only one of servitude, a never ending cycle of: cleaning, cooking, laundry, and child rearing. She never saw her mother be anything less than gentle, and never saw her be anything more than patient. Is this all I have to look forward to? Then she was appalled as her inner Amish perfectionist chastised her: What are you doing questioning the ways of your people? You should be ashamed of yourself!
Yet, she could not push aside the whispers she had shared with Leah just a year ago, during Leah’s engagement to Hezekiah Miller. Leah had described Hezekiah’s kisses, soft and sweet. Will I ever be that happy? Now Leah walked weightily burdened with a child, due in three months. And while Leah demurely refused to speak in
detail of how the child came to be, Rebekah came to realize that more than kisses were involved; a lot more. Exactly what, she could not fathom.
On a recent visit with Leah at her husband’s family home, Leah smiled and placed Rebekah’s hand on her swollen belly. To Rebekah’s astonishment, she felt the strong movements of the baby kicking as she watched her sister’s face radiate serenity. I want that. She marveled at the emotion that had swept over her sister’s face. I know I want that. But she had no name for that. She knew it wasn’t something that she could experience by simply having a child, as her sister was doing. At this moment, she was filled with the hollow certainty that whatever that was, it was something that she would never attain. Not now. Not ever.
Rebekah moved throughout the rest of the evening as if anesthetized. She barely ate dinner. She helped to wash the dishes and then sat until dark nearly silent while crocheting lace with her mother and younger sisters. All the while they spoke excitedly about Rebekah’s upcoming wedding. It was to be in two months. There was so much to be done: letters to be written, a new smock to be sewn, sleeping arrangements within the Community for guests traveling from far away. They didn’t even seem to notice that Rebekah was not actively taking part in the discussion, only sitting with crochet hook in hand, and pretending a thin smile.
Her mind in shock, she kept whirling mental images around in her head. She had attended Church each Sabbath, and on two separate occasions she had looked over at Ezekiel to see him picking his nose. Rather than use a handkerchief as would anyone civilized, he had wiped his fingers on his good trousers. I wonder if he uses toilet paper and what other laundry problems I will find. She had stood close to him only twice: once in line at a wedding, and once at a funeral. She crinkled her nose in revulsion remembering his wretchedly sour body stench. Even at a wedding. Amish only took baths on Saturday night to prepare for the Sabbath—not washing the rest of the week—but it was customary to wash up some before an event such as a wedding or a funeral. Ezekiel also smoked, something that some Amish men enjoyed. He, however, did it so often that it had yellowed his teeth and made his breath vile. Rebekah did not care to entertain the thought of kissing that mouth, or getting close to that malodorous body.
Amish women were expected to not complain about their lot in life. Strict obedience to the men in her life was required: now her father, soon to be Ezekiel and one day, perhaps, should she be so lucky as to have a son, then he would exercise dominion over her. It was customary for Amish women to shoulder their burdens as Job did, simply trusting in the grace of God. Willing hands and a cheerful heart in all things were demanded of her. Rebekah must find a way to be happy about this. But try as she might, she couldn’t find anything to feel glad about.
For her lack of meekness, Rebekah felt terribly guilty. So she did nothing but sit with feigned interest as the rest of the household chattered loudly. Although the topic of conversation was something about which she was supposed to be jubilant, she felt more that it was a cataclysmic event happening to her. Yet, she did not dare to do anything but give a wan smile.
Only much later that night, when the house had fallen silent except for gentle snores, did Rebekah turn away from the sister with whom she shared a bed. Finally allowing herself to feel the weight of her emotions, she filled her pillow with hot choking sobs.
Chapter 2
Rebekah filled her basket with freshly picked strawberries and, after changing from her white bonnet into her heavy black one, headed down the road to Hezekiah Miller’s family home to see Leah. Happy, lucky Leah. Rebekah wished she could be Leah.
She walked along the road, oblivious to the warm April sunshine and the sharp gravel beneath her bare feet, and tried to bring to mind a sunny hymn to sing but could not think of any. She did not know what was worse: the apathy she now felt where it seemed a dense mass had settled all around her, or the uncontrollable grief she was engulfed in when she allowed herself to feel anything. At those times it seemed that if she allowed herself to cry, she would never stop.
Stop it, her inner Amish perfectionist chided sternly. Stop being so selfish. You’re not a little girl anymore. No, indeed, she was a woman and it was time she acted like one. After all, God’s law dictated docility. It required one to honor thy father and thy mother. Who was she to refuse or disagree?
In search of a melody which would not come, she hummed aimlessly to try and cheer herself up. Her mind kept going to images of allowing Ezekiel to kiss her . . . if he even wanted to kiss her. She thought of his wintry face and inwardly cringed. Will his hands be as cold as his eyes? She wondered. Does he ever smile? Then the worst: after we are married, will I ever feel like smiling again?
Consumed by her thoughts, she was carried by mindless feet to Leah’s door. Leah greeted her and graciously received the gift of the strawberries. Her gentle gaze never missed anything and she noticed the severe slouch in Rebekah’s demeanor but said nothing of it. They made light conversation while preparing the strawberries for the evening meal.
Later, while sitting on the front porch in the early evening sunshine embroidering pillow cases for Rebekah’s dowry, Leah asked, “What’s wrong?”
Rebekah had no hope of masking her emotions, not with her closest sister. Yet, lacking words, all she could do at first was heave a sigh and look away. She did not want to start crying again. When the danger of breaking down had past she told Leah she was engaged.
“Aren’t you happy with the good match Father has made for you?”
Rebekah twisted her lips to prevent them from trembling. Steadying her voice, she spoke with timid deliberation. “I am grateful for Father’s wisdom.”
Benignly, Leah pressed, “But you aren’t happy.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact. And being fact, it prevented Rebekah from being able to divert Leah’s attention from her despair any longer. In an outpouring of words and tears, she spewed forth all the despondency that she had built up from the time their father informed her of her engagement.
From the time they were very small children they were best friends and shared everything with each other: dolls, books, secret giggles about boys. Sitting now, over their needlework, nothing had changed. Rebekah opened now to her sibling and confessed her darkest of emotions, her revulsion, and her fears. Then, having poured it all out, she finished with a simple, “I don’t think he likes me.” It sounded weak, even to her ears.
Leah only smiled warmly and got her heavily pregnant body out of her chair to give Rebekah a hug, her laden breasts swinging loosely beneath her dress. “I am certain that when the two of you are able to talk, you will find that you have much to discuss. He likes you. You will see. Otherwise, why would he want you to marry him?”
Rebekah shook her head. What could she and Ezekiel have in common? He was almost her mother’s age. She had a buoyant spirit, and always had an easy smile and hello for everyone. Each time she had seen him, he scarcely spoke a word to her, and the ones that came forth were somber and detached. She saw no light in him.
“I don’t know.”
“How often have you spoken to Ezekiel?”
Rebekah frowned. She had known Ezekiel Yoder all her life. She had seen him every Sabbath when they met at a member of the Community’s house—a different member each week—to have Church. And of course she had seen him around town and at major functions. But they had never been children together. Even when she was a very small, he had been an adult. He had been married and with a family since her earliest memories.
The death of his wife Mary, a mousey wisp of a woman, had left him with four children to raise. His mother and older sister had moved into his home to help. Mother Yoder had always struck Rebekah as being an embittered person, often complaining—not the norm for an Amish woman. You are not to judge, her inner Amish perfectionist reprimanded her. Rebekah was unaware what would have made her this way. She seemed to rule over the children of the house with a tyrannical hand. The three oldest children were subdued around her but when not
under her hawk-like grip were likely to be unruly at best. The eldest boy, age fifteen, had a somewhat cruel streak of playing practical jokes on younger children and animals. The youngest girl, age four, when not under the thumb of her grandmother, proved to be only high-spirited, preferring to join the bigger boys in their games, rather than play with the little girls her age. The children, Rebekah had drily observed, were ill-kempt like their father, never looking washed and neat: even on a Sunday.
There had never been a reason for Ezekiel and Rebekah to speak except when he came into the store and then his words were clipped. Yet, his gaze was anything but short. In the past six months, she had often felt him looking at her, his swine-like eyes almost cutting through her. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve such attention. It made her uneasy, thinking she was possibly doing something wrong.
“We only speak when he comes into the store.”
“And how does he speak to you then?”
Tears welled up in Rebekah’s eyes once more. “Not rude, but not like a friend would.”
“But you don’t know each other well enough to be friends yet, yes?”
Rebekah nodded glumly.
Leah clasped her sister’s hand. “You see? You don’t even know each other yet. When you do, you will be friends, and you will see. He will like you very much.”
Yes, but will I like him? It was a question that she dared not voice. Rebekah looked down at her embroidery resting in her lap. Is he as much of a toad of a man as he seems? Then, she felt instant shame for having such judgmental thoughts. Her sister squeezed her hand and Rebekah looked up to meet her eyes.
“Give him a chance. Give both of you a chance.”
Rebekah nodded again, this time not as dispirited.
She walked home before twilight, pondering their conversation. Maybe Leah was right. Possibly all Ezekiel needed was a chance to show her his heart. Maybe he did care and was only shy. Perhaps he had some spark inside of him that she could not yet see. Maybe he could recognize the brightness in her, value it, and wouldn’t suppress it. It could be all that his children needed was someone to love and look over them. She chewed her lip in thought. If only these things were true it might make life bearable.
