by Miranda Rush
“My father is still looking for a driver to take us to Wisconsin next week.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll ask him about it,” he promised. Then, after what seemed to be an eternity, he dropped her hand and put the car back in gear.
***
Midnight found Rebekah on the road outside her house. The sound of her feet was overloud, even though she was not wearing shoes. Her breath was labored and her inner Amish perfectionist was in a frenzy. Are you crazy? Have you completely and utterly lost your mind? You don’t know this man and yet here you are walking out in the middle of the night to meet him and he may do—? Rebekah didn’t know what he could do. Whatever it was, it could be precarious, deadly even, although when Rebekah had looked into Nick’s eyes she did not perceive him to be capable of any harm.
She saw a shadowy figure beside a van. It must be Nick. Each footstep she took sounded a siren in her head, screaming at her to stop, to go back. Her heart beat loudly in her throat. Her legs felt like Jell-O, her mouth dry. She would not be able to speak. Rebekah paid no attention. I have to know why I feel so good around him, why I want to be near him. It can’t be a bad thing. It just can’t. She forced her body forward.
Nick stepped out of the shadows and took her hand, leading her to his van. She fairly shook from nervousness, yet tingled at his touch. Is it Nick that I am reacting to or just the promiscuous touches of a man who is not my husband?
“Are you cold? I have a jacket in the van.”
“No, I’m not cold.” Her hands were damp and it was hard to breathe. “I’m fine.”
He opened the passenger’s side door and assisted her getting in before getting in on the driver’s side. Once inside, he handed a small sack to her. It was cold to the touch. Inside she discovered a carton that read, “Sea Salt Caramel Gelato.” He produced two spoons with a wink.
“This is one of my favorites.”
She scooped up a big spoonful as she had just hours before and, closing her eyes, let it melt in her mouth, washing her taste buds in pure carnal delight. Nick noted her reaction and smiled broadly, spooning some up for himself.
In between bites they made conversation.
“I was never good at small talk.” Interesting. That means all the personal questions he asked of me yesterday were things he really wanted to know. “So forgive me if I come on too strong . . .”
He took another bite of ice cream, letting it melt in his mouth as Rebekah had done. She remained silent, waiting to hear what he had to say next.
“What would you want in a man?”
If he had thrown cold water on her, she couldn’t have been more surprised, not just by the question as much as why he might be asking it.
“Well, er—he would have to be kind. Intelligent. And we would have to be able to talk.” She thought briefly of Ezekiel and his sullenness.
“Anything else?”
“He would have to love children and be patient with everyone.”
“Hmmmm.”
She wasn’t sure what ‘hmmmm’ meant, so she continued.
“I would have to like him—no, it would have to be mutual.”
The corners of his lips curved up at that.
“And I suppose he would need a trade.”
“Yes, having a job is important. I can see that.”
She meant the question to come out with composure. Instead, it came blurting out. “Why do you ask?” Inwardly she winced, afraid he would tell her and afraid he wouldn’t. She took another bite of ice cream.
“Well . . . when Jenna died it really hurt me a lot. I guess I just emotionally closed down. So, not only am I completely out of practice here, but I have no idea how to do this with you being Amish.”
Do what? Her mind raced with possibilities.
He took two more quick bites of ice cream. He was gathering his nerve. Rebekah was just trying to breathe.
“We don’t really know each other very well, but what I’ve seen I’ve liked. A lot.” He said the last with emphasis. “I know you said Amish and non-Amish can’t date . . .” He swallowed hard. “The truth is, you make me feel things I never thought I’d feel again.”
Her heart felt ready to explode. He wants to court me! He likes me! Her inner Amish perfectionist was shocked into silence.
“Well, say something,” he urged.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you . . . like me, too?”
Her mind was staggering. It was as if she had lost her sense of balance. Get out of there! It can only lead to no good! She bit her lip in contemplation, ice cream completely forgotten. His gaze transferred to her lips for a moment, then back to her eyes where she once again saw the kindest eyes in the world.
She gave a slight nod.
“I think so.”
“You think so? Not certain, hmmm. Well, do you want to see me again?”
“Alone?” She was still trembling.
“I would like that. Would you?”
“You are driving my family to Wisconsin next week, yes?”
It took a moment to register in Nick’s eyes, but when it did it was a bright glow.
He reached over and took her hand. Her breath hitched once more at his touch.
“I can’t wait,” he said as he gave her hand a squeeze.
All the ice cream had melted. It didn’t seem like they had been out that long.
“I have to go.”
“I know.” He was resigned.
He reluctantly walked around to her side of the van and opened her door. Taking her hand in his for a moment, he brought it to his lips to kiss it. The feel of his soft lips on her skin sent bolts through her.
She walked back to the house with Nick.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Thank you for the ice cream.”
He stayed watching until he saw her go inside safely.
She crept into bed quietly and lay awake a long time berating herself severely. What in the world do you think you’re doing? You are marrying Ezekiel! Nick’s not even Amish!
She was torn, not knowing what to think. She only knew that she was beginning to hate Ezekiel and that she cared on some level for Nick. It was a jumbled up mess, not making sense and having no clear answer. Do I dare follow my heart? She teetered on the question. After some time, she told her inner Amish perfectionist to shut up and rolled over to sleep.
Chapter 6
“Smaller stitches!” Ezekiel’s mother hissed at Rebekah. “Your stitches need to be much smaller.” Rebekah looked down at the wedding quilt that the women of the Community were working on in dismay. To her eyes, her sewn work, while not perfect, did not look much different than Mother Yoder’s. My stitches may even be better than hers, she thought naughtily.
Mother Yoder had rolls and rolls of fat, greasy gray hair and Ezekiel’s piggy eyes. She possessed an air of malicious repugnance and a quick temper. For that reason, Rebekah had hardly ever spoken to her because she had found her too intimidating. And I’ll be living with her in Ezekiel’s house all too soon.
Rebekah pursed her lips together while moving the needle in and out, trying to make flawless stitches in the wedding quilt. The wedding quilt. My wedding quilt. A knot formed in the pit of Rebekah’s stomach. In a period of a few weeks from now, she and Ezekiel would be lying together beneath this quilt and he would . . . he would do what? Rebekah didn’t know and was apprehensive about finding out.
“Now, Mary was the most excellent seamstress. Her hand stiches looked like they were made on the Singer,” Mother Yoder motioned at the push treadle sewing machine in the corner. Uncharacteristically, she was extolling the virtues of Ezekiel’s late wife. “And she was the best cook. She could cook all of Ezekiel’s favorite meals and you know, my Ezekiel is very fussy about his food.” She looked over at Ezekiel’s sister Polly, who nodded vigorously in agreement. “I should know; I’m his mother. I taught Mary everything she knew about cooking. I taught her how to clean as well. Can you imagine it? She ma
rried my son not having the slightest idea how to cook or clean.” The women tittered.
Rebekah stared at her, mouth agape. Nicely said, now that she’s dead and not around to defend herself. The contemptuous thought came impetuously, but she did not push it away.
Polly, piped up, “And Mary was always very affectionate to Ezekiel, Rebekah. You’ll have to take care of his needs that way.”
Whaaa?
“And you’ll find out, men have very special needs.” Mother Yoder’s thick lips smacked with smug satisfaction.
Rebekah shrank. Oh dear God, it’s not as bad as I thought—it’s worse! She could see it, every day one demeaning comment after another, being compared to a ghost that, now revered, was probably despised while alive.
“Of course you’ll find out all about that on your wedding night.” Mother Yoder was mocking, hateful. Rebekah openly squirmed, causing Mother Yoder and Polly to cackle loudly.
It’s much more atrocious than I thought already. I will abhor Ezekiel’s touch and they will find it uproarious. I will have nowhere to hide, nowhere to turn, nowhere to go. I will be taking care of his children all day and his “needs” by night. And I will never get away from them, she thought as she regarded Polly and her mother.
Relief swept over Rebekah when one of the other women in the Community changed the subject, “I have good news! I am having a baby!”
Congratulations came all around. The new mother-to-be fairly glowed, saying, “We just found out last week.” Rebekah took into consideration the woman’s slender figure and asked, unthinking, “How do you know when you are pregnant?”
Mother Yoder and her daughter howled in ridicule, their great rolls of doughy fat jiggling on their faces and necks.
The pregnant mother ignored the Yoder women, and lowering her voice, answered Rebekah, “You are late with your monthlies.”
The women howled some more. Mother Yoder enjoyed it so much, she had tears streaming down her face and had to wipe them off with a bedraggled handkerchief.
“Oh Rebekah! You will have to give him a son right away. He’s expecting it!”
Rebekah’s quilting needle accidently found its way deep into her thumb. Jerking away, she left a small spot of crimson on the fabric.
“Don’t you dare bleed on your wedding quilt!” Polly exclaimed.
“Yet,” followed Mother Yoder, and they both screamed with laughter again.
Chapter 7
It couldn’t get any worse. In six weeks, she was to marry a man she despised and live with a family she loathed. There had been another family dinner with all of Ezekiel’s family that next Sabbath at the Bontrager farm. Ezekiel’s children ages 15 – 4 had sat sullenly throughout the meal, insolently surveying Rebekah, except for the youngest child, who halted beneath the sneering gaze of her grandmother, but her eyes peeked at Rebekah regardless. We might be friends, Rebekah had thought. But throughout the evening, watching the girl cower under mere glances, she knew that Mother Yoder would never permit such a friendship. Never.
And so, alone in the small grocery store the next morning, Rebekah buried her face in her hands and let lose the sobs that she had been storing up in the past two weeks. She cried for herself, for having to endure obliterating silences and disparagement for the rest of her life. She cried for having to stomach Ezekiel’s upcoming touch and kiss. Swamp breath. And she thought of his poor child, the little four year old girl who was having all the natural enthusiasm of a child ground out of her and Rebekah bawled even harder. We are prisoners, that child and I. We will be chained forever.
She truly attempted to stop herself. But once she had unleashed her grief, there was no way to shut it down. She heard her voice, now growing hoarse from her cries, but it seemed like the voice of another echoing in her ears.
Then, without warning, she felt strong smooth hands lift her head up gently and arms enwrap themselves around her shuddering frame. All at once, her face was buried in Nick’s hard, lean chest and she curved into his arms, her own arms folded up like wings in front of her and her hands falling lightly on his torso. She continued to wail even harder, her small body rocking back and forth with her sobs. She lamented the vicious trap she found herself in, the hopelessness and purposelessness she now felt, and the prospect of never being able to be comforted by anyone like this again. Nick stood and held her, letting her pain flow out upon his shirt.
As the ferocious grief was leaving her, she became aware of Nick gently holding her head against him, and stoking her back. How inappropriate, what would Father say? Even with thinking that, she dissolved under his touch, wanting it to go on indefinitely. At first his soothing made her feel safe, and then, as his touch moved to stroke her face, she felt her heart begin to gallop. She was keenly aware of his chest moving in and out, his fingertips on her check, the thu-dup of his heart beside her ear. If only my life were like this.
Nick bent his head close to Rebekah’s, while lifting her chin up and meeting her eyes, their faces only inches apart.
“Are you okay? No, of course you’re not okay; you’re bawling your eyes out. What is wrong?”
She shook her head, “I can’t—”
“I have to know! What in hell’s name has happened to you? What’s going on?”
Her face contorted and her voice threated to break again. “Oh, Nick! I’m getting married!” This brought about a new deluge of tears. Nick never released her from his hold, waiting for her to calm.
Finally, her terrible grieving filtered out. She pulled away looking at him then. His eyes were intent.
“So tell me.”
“His name is Ezekiel. I don’t want to marry him. He and his mother are terrible—”
“His mother? He comes with a mother?”
“And a sister and four children, but that wouldn’t be so bad if they were just a little bit nice.”
“You don’t want to marry this guy?”
“No!”
“Then why are you?” He looked genuinely confused and a bit hurt.
She sighed. The English are so different.
“I have no choice,” she said simply.
Rebekah saw something close to anger flare in Nick’s eyes. “No choice! Holy shit! That’s ridiculous!”
“It’s our way.”
“But,” he caught her hand, “it’s making you miserable.” He did not let go of her hand and she did not pull it back, content to allow this touch. No, happy to have his touch.
“You should not be marrying someone who makes you heartbroken like this. You need to marry, you deserve to marry a man who worships you and whom you love in return. Someone who wants nothing more than to touch you, to kiss you, to be with you every moment of the day and aches for you the minutes you aren’t together. You deserve to marry someone who can’t wait to see how another day is going to be with you and can’t imagine life without you, someone who knows exactly how lucky and blessed he is, because you . . . you are an amazing lady. You should marry someone who looks forward to growing old with you, and wants to hold you every day of your life together. You should marry. . .” he hesitated briefly, his eyes fervent, “. . . someone who is in awe of you.”
“I, uh—” she faltered. He’s not talking about Ezekiel. Is he talking about himself? Oh, dearest Father God, he is talking about himself. Now what do I do?
Flabbergasted, she withdrew her hand, speechless. Still just inches away from Rebekah, Nick moved closer and bent his head down towards her again. She felt his warm breath strike her cheek as his hand held her shoulder. He moved closer still, his mouth slightly open. He’s going to kiss me! Simultaneously, Rebekah felt panicked and giddy. So this is what it is supposed to feel like.
Abruptly they heard a woman’s voice outside the screen door and Rebekah backed away as if burned. The door opened and one of the English women from Jamesport walked in with her daughter.
“Hi, Rebekah. Do you have any fresh eggs today?” She was oblivious to the heat between Rebekah and Nick.
&n
bsp; “Yes, we do,” her eyes never leaving Nick’s. We almost kissed. He returned her gaze. We almost kissed.
“I will see you soon,” he told Rebekah as he turned to leave.
“Soon,” she agreed.
Soon. Not ‘next week when I take you and your family to Wisconsin.’ Soon. Rebekah mulled this over. Fervently hoping that soon would arrive hastily; wishing beyond wish that it could happen now.
Chapter 8
She had to wait three days. Three days. Days, which short in number they may be to some, dragged on for Rebekah nearly interminably. Seventy-two hours in which she was absorbed in her own thoughts, paying little heed to the happenings around her. She played the same mental images over and over again: Nick’s fingers caressing her cheek, his hand stoking her back, the heat of his eyes as he had bent low to—Rebekah was almost certain he had been about to kiss her. But she wasn’t entirely certain. And that doubt caused her agony. Part of the time she imagined what his lips would have felt like. The rest of the time, she chafed inwardly. Could she have been imagining it?
Along with these lines of thought she found herself knowingly comparing Nick and Ezekiel. The men were reversals of the other. One was tall, lean, and darkly handsome, almost beautiful, while the other was squat, ruddy, and despicable. One was considerate and gentle, the other cold, rude, and impassive. One was in love with her; the other wanted merely to possess her.
The thought of Nick being in love with her consumed her. It made being forced to marry Ezekiel that much harder to bear. It’s so unfair. Just weeks before my wedding Nick and I—what, fall in love? Is that what is really happening? She carefully considered the way her heart and breath skipped when he touched her and the pining she felt now separated from him for three days.
Then she tortured herself further. What if it is not love? What if I am mistaken?
