The thought spurred her into motion. Sylvia ran across the open ground toward the barn. Sticks, rocks, and the burrs that grew so commonly in that region dug into the soles of her bare feet, and vaguely Sylvia realized that she hadn’t really dressed in her haste to tell Vincent about the fire. But she couldn’t stop now. Vincent.
She did stop, when she reached what had been the entrance to the barn. The heat seared her skin. It felt as though surely the hair was being singed from her scalp. Fear froze her to the spot where she stood as she gazed into the flames that engulfed the entire building.
Then she saw him. A beam had fallen on Vincent’s leg. He didn’t cry out, but he was struggling to pull it from beneath the wood. It hadn’t caught fire fully yet, thank goodness. If it had he would be lost for sure. Lost….Vincent couldn’t be lost.
Sylvia took a deep breath and then started forward. Every step seemed to get hotter and soon she was afraid to take deep breaths. It felt as though the heat would sear her lungs away to nothing. Determination propelled her forward. One step at a time she moved forward. When she was almost to him Vincent looked up and met her eyes.
“Sylvia? Get out of here! Go!”
She didn’t answer. How could she, when she could hardly breathe? Rather than answer she let her actions speak for themselves. She continued moving toward him, one step after another. Only the knowledge that pausing between steps would leave her in the flames even longer kept her pace fast.
Fear showed in Vincent’s eyes, and understandably so. Sylvia’s first attempt to lift the beam failed. Though it wasn’t burning it was still unbearably hot to the touch and Sylvia instinctively pulled her hands back. Smoke burned her eyes, causing them to tear up…although some of the tears might have been born of fear and pain. She couldn’t stop though. Not while Vincent was still trapped. She quickly took off her dressing robe and used it to shield her hands from the worst of the wood’s heat.
Sylvia tried to lift the board first, but it quickly became apparent that it wouldn’t budge. Finally she began to push it. It would rake against Vincent’s leg this way, but that seemed like the least of his worries at this point.
Soon coughs wracked Sylvia’s small frame and a ring of white formed around her vision. Dizziness caused the world to waver before her, and she realized that if she were going to get Vincent out of here it would have to be now. Any longer and she would pass out. Then they would both perish.
With one final, desperate burst of strength Sylvia shoved the board. She felt a second’s relief as the board seemed to give way. Before she could free Vincent’s leg, though, the world went black. A brief feeling of dread filled her as she realized she’d failed before that too was lost to unconsciousness.
“Her name was Sophie, but you already knew that, didn’t you? She was…not beautiful. Not quite. She was…fragile, delicate. I think half the reason I fell in love with her was because I wanted to protect her.”
“She was sick…even in childhood she always fell ill, and it only got worse with age. Looking back it was obvious that she wasn’t destined for a long life. At the time I was younger, and convinced that death would never touch us. It did, of course. You know that part to, Sylvia.”
“Afterward I didn’t blame anyone but I…withdrew. I thought that if I just stayed alone then I wouldn’t feel that kind of pain again.”
The words penetrated the fog that had taken over Sylvia’s brain. It was Vincent’s voice, to be sure. And if she was hearing it then she must have survived…somehow. The last thing she remembered was being unable to save him. Then she fell. With an effort she opened her eyes. She struggled to sit up and felt Vincent’s strong hand at her back.
He gently helped her up and gave her a sip of water, pausing only for a moment as he arranged the cushions that he used to prop her up. Sylvia’s head throbbed a bit at the change in position but other than that, surprisingly, she seemed no worse for the wear. Once she was settled he kept speaking as though he hadn’t stopped to help her.
“I was wrong Sylvia. Being alone didn’t save me from pain. When you lost consciousness, when I thought that you would die in that fire…What were you thinking? You could have died!”
Sylvia replied, though the answer was obvious. “I was thinking that you were stuck in that same fire. At least I went into the blaze to save my husband. You, on the other hand…What would you have saved? A horse, perhaps?” Her voice was raw from the smoke she’d inhaled, but there was no mistaking the teasing tone in her voice.
“Well…yes. A horse. Only it turned out the animal had made it out the back at some point before the building collapsed.”
“I’m certainly glad that someone had some sense. Remind me to give my compliments to the horse.”
Vincent chuckled softly before he continued. “I think that I didn’t give you a fair shake Sylvia. Sophie was fragile, sickly…But you aren’t her. You proved your strength last night. And even if you were the weakest little slip of a think ever to exist…well…not wanting love didn’t keep me from loving you. It only kept me from enjoying it fully.”
“When I thought you would die in that fire with me…That was the only thing that gave me the strength to push that beam the rest of the way off my leg, Sugar. Loving you doesn’t make me weaker. It makes me…more.”
Tears formed in Sylvia’s eyes as her husband dropped to one knee before her. “Will you be my wife, Sylvia?”
“My darling husband,” she whispered softly, “I thought you’d never ask.”
The Amish Mail Order Bride
Chapter One
Abigail stood at the threshold of the log cabin that her father erected when he and her mother married, her hand shaking as she put it on the door. This was it. She was going to leave her home, where she'd grown up and spent the last twenty years of her life, and travel into the wild unknown. The prospect was scary--daunting even. But what was more daunting was the prospect of not leaving.
Her life was not a terrible life, but the constant toil of living in the backwards and primitive society that her Amish family embraced was suffocating. She had no free time, no real privacy, and no autonomy. To her, life was a gift from God to be lived out to the fullest--not to toil and sweat every day of her existence. Surely, there was something to be said about a hard day's work. She wouldn't deny that. Yet still, the unending labor on her family's farm was enough to motivate her to seek asylum outside of the insular Amish community in which she lived.
When the idea of leaving first popped into Abigail's head, an immediate wall formed between her and the possibility of starting a new life outside of her village. She was a twenty-year-old girl whose only skills were housekeeping and basic farm work. Her job prospects would be dismal at best if she were to try and make it on her own. Still, she did have one thing going for her--her looks.
Abigail received a very nice mix of traits from her rather unassuming parents. Though they looked homely enough, she hit the genetic lottery by getting the best that each of her parent's genes had to offer. Her face was heart shaped and full, with high cheek bones and a small nose, with full lips and almond eyes. Her body was slim and lean from the hard work she did on the farm, but it was not gangly. She had delicate hands and a fair complexion, and was overall quite pretty.
While perhaps Abigail wouldn't have won any huge awards for her beauty, she did find a way out of her community thanks to this fortunate set of traits she was born with. Taking a picture of herself that she had made without her parents knowing, she put out an ad, selling herself to be someone's wife if they would only support her. Shortly after putting this ad out, she received an eager suitor and was sent the money needed to travel to his location.
Still, even after receiving the money and therefore the freedom to leave, Abigail's legs would not carry her to the freedom that she so earnestly thought that she needed.
"What are you doing standing like that at the door, Abigail?" the thin, hard voice of her mother asked, coming behind her and giving her a curi
ous glance.
"I forgot where I was going," Abigail replied. She disliked lying, and so she was always bad at it. Still, her mother didn't question the lame response.
"If you'd keep your mind more focused on the here and now instead of all that daydreaming you're so fond of, then you wouldn't be as scatterbrained," her mother said. "Seeing as it's morning and you're already at the door, why don't you go milk the cows?"
The order given, Abigail nodded and went out to the barn. Her family had a very large barn. So large, in fact, that if it were only for her family, it would have been superfluous. However, her family shared this large barn with their neighbors, the Petersheims, since they lived close by and got along without any fuss whatsoever. This arrangement was beneficial because it meant that the basic upkeep for the place could be split into two parts and then further divided amongst the respective families. Yet Abigail didn't appreciate the advantages of sharing this barn with her neighbors, and a part of her dreaded making the trek out to milk the cows, because each time she went to the shared barn it seemed an inevitability that she would run into Jebediah.
This morning was no exception. When she walked in with the milk pail, Jebediah was tending to the horses. He was a tall boy with a ruddy complexion and plenty of muscles from his hard and endless labors. He was handsome enough--and rather nice to boot. However, he had two flaws as far as Abigail could tell. One, he fancied her despite her having no interest in him, and two, he seemed to be the dullest person that you could ever imagine.
His first flaw, Abigail did not blame him for. After all, he couldn't help it that he liked Abigail, no more than Abigail could help that she didn't like him. However, his second flaw was one that was intolerable to Abigail, and the unrepentant boring demeanor of his person was a plague that afflicted all of the members of her community, at least as far as she could tell. There was something about working from dusk till dawn and shunning everything that was fun and enjoyable in life that made a person dull--go figure!
Still, seeing Jebediah was not a terrible experience. He never made any unwelcome gestures towards her, unless his conversation counted. Yet just being around him inflamed in Abigail an insufferable sense of annoyance at his general person. The feeling could best be described as suffocating. Jebediah was kind, considerate, and plenty sweet, but he was just totally uninteresting to Abigail, yet she didn't know how she could possibly shake him off without hurting his feelings.
"Good morning, Abbey!" Jebediah said when he saw Abigail walk in, ignoring for a moment the horse he was feeding and waving to her with a warm smile.
"Oh, good morning, Jebediah," Abigail responded in a notably colder tone, yet Jebediah didn't seem to much notice. He just resumed the task of giving hay to the horses while Abigail started her own work.
A short time passed in which the only sound heard between them was the sound of the animals making their noises, buckets sloshing with milk, and hay rustling against itself. It was a strained and awkward silence in Abigail's mind, but whenever she happened to glance on Jebediah, he was wearing the same self-satisfied smile. She felt almost as if he were mocking her. No, not almost. What else would that smile be there for if not for mocking? She knew fine rightly that was the reason he was grinning away, so proud of himself. After all, what else could he have to smile about? Not his work. His work was as dull and monotonous as her own.
Once they had finished, Abigail was making the first trip inside with two buckets of milk, though two more would have to be brought in by her second trip. At least they would if it weren't for Jebediah finishing at that moment and choosing to help her in her labors by picking up the buckets and walking after her.
"Sure is a lot of milk, huh?" Jebediah asked, but in a cheerful way to say that he was happy that there was so much abundance.
"Yes, well, one of the cows got pregnant without our real wanting or wishing for her to, but it's not bad to have a little extra milk. We might even get to have ice cream as a treat thanks to it," Abigail said. That was one small blessing. She could almost always depend on a good meal to come from the kitchen, and even cross her fingers for homemade ice cream during times of plenty like this. Though her family was very conservative with everything--with rope or die or leather or candles, what have you, at the very least this conservation was reasonable. After all, how long can you save milk? So it was best not to waste it.
"I wish that would happen to us, but then again we don't got too many cows. Next time the fair comes along, we'll have to buy one," Jebediah said.
"Oh, no. Our cow had a girl. Your father should have a talk with mine, if you really need it. If you should buy anything, it's best to buy it from your neighbors if you can," Abigail said. After all, it would benefit both families. Hers would get a little money, and her mom might treat everyone to some homemade root beer with some odds and ends she could buy from the store with the extra money, and Jebediah's family could have enough milk once the calf could grow into a mature cow, provided they keep their other sows supplying.
"Really? Well, Pa would like to hear that. Thanks for tellin' me that, Abbey!"
"It's not a big deal, really," Abigail said dismissively. She didn't really want Jebediah's thanks. To her, she was just as well without it.
"Well, big deal or no, it helps," Jebediah said. As they got to the door, little Charity, Abigail's youngest sister, opened it up. She wasn't big enough to do very much, but she seemed jealous of people who could. So, she adopted the task of being the door opener for everyone coming in with a heavy burden, and she accomplished the task as though she had eyes at every entrance.
"Thank you, Charity," Abigail said, leaning over to give her little sister a kiss on the forehead, then she walked inside and on into the kitchen, setting the pails down on the table and getting out the jugs that her family usually put the milk in, along with a funnel. "And thank you, Jebediah," Abigail said as he put down the pails he was carrying.
"Oh, of course. Well, I'll see you around, Abbey!" Jebediah said as he left.
Once he was gone, Abigail just silently fumed about how smug he was. Sure, he was nice enough, but he was so annoying! Abigail just hated it, quite honestly. She hated everything about him, and all the others around her. Before pouring the milk, however, she pushed her thoughts about her dissatisfaction with her life out of her head and resolved that she would leave as soon as possible. Ice cream be damned; it wasn't worth this.
Chapter Two
Before Abigail really knew it, she had taken a generous offer from a friend to drive her to the town hall under the pretense that she had some work to be done there. Once there, she waited for the bus that came around noon, which always dropped off tourists on weekends, and hopped on, giving the driver his fare and taking a seat.
Once in her seat, she very carefully examined everything to do with the directions to get to her new husband's home. After committing that to memory, she put the papers away and just stared out the window as the scenery slowly flowed by.
As the bus left Amish country, so too did she. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret and sadness, and thought about returning back home. Of course, she didn't, and she wouldn't, but that pang was there. What would her mother say when she saw that only half of the milk had been stowed away in the jugs, and that Abigail hadn't even put them in the icebox? Would she badmouth Abigail and look around for her, yelling out that she was lazy and wretched? Or would she think the scene too strange and become worried about her daughter's safety.
Sad how Abigail didn't even know her mother well enough for a satisfactory answer to that question. Still, she wasn't sad that she didn't stick around for longer to get to know this family of hers better. If twenty years hadn't sufficed, perhaps it was just not for her to learn.
Abigail satisfied herself with the question by just pushing it completely out of her mind and focusing on the fact that she was finally leaving the little town and going into the wide world. She found it curious how there was no one grand event that pushed her
to making that decision; she just decided to go. She was more like a beast of burden who, as more and more was piled upon her back, quietly bore it all until finally there was too much. In that situation, the only options were to bear the torment and let her back break under pressure, or throw off the shackles of bondage and be done. She chose the latter, and was proud of herself for the choice, but as she watched the village where she'd spent her whole life, she felt a sour feeling in her chest.
Why was this? She should be happy to be leaving into a new life, yet she felt a physical pain in her chest. Was it because she didn't give her parents a proper goodbye? How could she? If she dared to do such a thing, she would never have been able to leave. Though she was twenty years old, her parents would have done everything in their power to keep her at home rather than letting her go out into the world. Perhaps they would even think they were doing the righteous thing by preventing their daughter from being hurt by the big bad world, but how would they know what was best for her? They were nothing like her. That was the reason that she found living in that community so intolerable. She was a free soul. She enjoyed having fun and being allowed to move about and do as she pleased. Now, she had no issue with putting in a hard day's work, but after work there should be play. At least, that's how she felt, and that's where her community strongly disagreed with her.
Chapter Three
When Abigail arrived to her husband's home--her new home--she couldn't have been more disappointed. Still, there would be little use in displaying her feelings openly, and so she masked them and went to the door of her new husband's residence. To call it a home could have been accurate depending on who was asked, but to call it a house would have been a gross over-exaggeration.
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