Amanda Weds a Good Man

by Naomi King

  Barbara’s eyebrows rose. “Let’s unhitch the buggy and sit for a bit,” she murmured. “Hannah Hartzler just had a miscarriage. It’ll be gut to unwind before I put supper on.”

  Abby sucked in her breath. “I had no idea she was in the family way again. And so soon after their Polly was born.”

  “Jah, that’s part of the problem,” Barbara replied with a sigh. “I’d warned her it was best to give her body several months’ rest after Polly’s difficult birth in May, but . . . well, husbands don’t wait very well.”

  Abby’s heart thudded. Here it was, the topic that had been bothering her this afternoon as she’d witnessed the emotions playing tug-of-war on Amanda’s face.

  The two of them went in Abby’s back kitchen door. As they sat down at the table with their tea, Abby’s throat tightened around a subject that was seldom discussed in Plain households.

  Barbara leaned forward. “Does it bother you that your friend Hannah has birthed three babies while you’ve remained a maidel?” she asked gently. “Your time for mothering will come, now that James realizes he loves you. And even though Sam wants me to set aside my midwifing, I wouldn’t for a minute miss out on helping with your babies, Abby,” she insisted. “No matter what the elders say, I believe my skills are a gift that God intends for me to keep using.”

  Abby’s cheeks burned as she gripped Barbara’s fingers. “Denki ever so much,” she whispered. “But we need to back up a bit . . . to the part about husbands not wanting to wait.”

  Barbara squeezed out her tea bag. She took a sip of the steaming brew in her mug. She’d had practice at waiting out her kids and patients, so there was nothing for Abby to do but blurt out her concerns. She couldn’t expect Barbara to read her mind.

  “Today when Jerome drove us to the Brubakers’, it was almost as though . . .” Abby paused, wondering how best to word her question. “While I believe Jerome had the best of intentions, taking all of us for a ride so Wyman and Amanda could have some time together, it felt like he and Wyman and James were plotting . . . without any regard for Amanda’s feelings. I was embarrassed for her.”

  Barbara’s lips quirked. “One thing we women don’t realize until after we get hitched,” she began, “is that men look at love and sex differently from the way we do. Seeing’s how Wyman has gone a couple of years without a wife, I suspect he’s making up for lost time.”

  Abby took a long drink of her tea, considering this. “Amanda didn’t look all that happy about what he had in mind,” she murmured. “Is . . . is it a husband’s right to have relations with his wife no matter how she feels about it? Do you think Amanda doesn’t like to—and what if I find out that, as much as I love James, I don’t enjoy the physical side of being his wife?”

  Oh, but it had cost her something to say that. Most Plain women considered such mysteries unmentionable. And because she had declared herself a maidel, her mamm hadn’t discussed the facts of life with her, beyond explaining the basics of becoming a woman. Barbara, however, didn’t seem the least bit dismayed about her question.

  “I suspect Amanda has had her hands so full, what with the wedding and moving and getting her girls and Jemima situated, that she’s too tuckered out to care much about sex.” Barbara smiled at Abby. “It’s quite a different thing, hitching up with someone who’s been married before. Especially with so many kids in the family.”

  “Jah, it seems the three little girls heard scary noises and climbed into bed with them last night,” Abby replied with a chuckle. “Understandable, since they’re sleeping in a new room with new sisters.”

  “I’m sure Wyman didn’t like it, though. That sort of interruption will cause problems if they don’t convince those girls to stay in their own beds.” Barbara stirred her tea, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Amanda—like all Plain wives—walks a tight line because our faith teaches that we should submit to our husbands. And just as I suspect Hannah Hartzler has gotten caught in the consequences of such submission, I hear the same story from a lot of women. They can’t talk about their feelings—their needs—with their men because a lot of husbands don’t believe there’s anything to discuss.”

  Abby set her mug on the table. Was this the sort of relationship she would endure once she married James? He had sat closer to her than usual in Jerome’s wagon, even in front of his family and the kids . . . as though he had been thinking about what Wyman and Amanda were doing. James’s kisses exhilarated her when they were alone together, yet Abby had no idea how she would react when her hair came down and her clothes came off. What if she wanted to hide in the bathroom? What if it hurt to become one with a man?

  “I believe, however, that James will be more understanding than most Amish men,” Barbara remarked. “We discovered how compassionate he was after Zanna accused him of getting her pregnant. Not to speak unkindly of your sister, but Zanna was freer with her affections than she should have been. No doubt James’s honor was tested to the limit while he was courting her.”

  “And even as devastated as James was when Zanna betrayed him and then lied about him, he controlled his temper. Forgave her and went on with his life,” Abby said.

  “You’ve hit on something, talking about control.” Barbara’s lips twitched as though she was about to reveal a secret. “For some fellows, sex is a way to maintain control of a marriage—keeping themselves satisfied and keeping their wives with child. They see it as a sign of manhood—and figure other men will think they rule the roost—if the kids stack up like stair steps.”

  Abby frowned. Would James expect her to have a baby every year? She sensed that another child was the last thing Amanda wanted right now . . . and while she liked Wyman Brubaker, Abby suspected he wasn’t a man who negotiated with women.

  “Part of the imbalance in a marriage comes from the way men and women look at love,” Barbara continued. “We females tend to follow our hearts, our emotions, while males are driven by their bodies, much like stallions and bulls are. Husbands can be terrified of showing their feelings because they think it’s a sign of weakness—a lack of ability to maintain control. So a woman’s best strategy is to train her man early and often. Especially in the bedroom.”

  Abby’s eyebrows flew up. She couldn’t imagine her brother Sam being trained by anyone. Had Barbara heard these details from her mother before she married? Or was there a grapevine between married women that Abby hadn’t been privy to? She could name a handful of her friends who seemed contented with their men as their marriages progressed beyond the rosy haze of being newlyweds, but she also knew women who seemed pinched and restrained . . . as though they had been yoked with wifely duties that chafed at their souls.

  Maybe she should ask what Barbara meant by training. James had reminded her more of a stallion this afternoon than the patiently affectionate man she had adored for most of her life. And while his kiss still tingled on her lips, it was frightening how quickly she had forgotten where she was—and how other folks could have witnessed the way she had given in to James’s persuasion.

  Barbara was smiling across the table at her, as though sensing her hesitant curiosity. “It’s nothing more than the Golden Rule, applied with a firm hand—so to speak,” she added with a little laugh. “If you show your man, in no uncertain terms, how you expect to be treated and then give him the same affection and respect, you’ve got a head start. But the woman has to establish this pattern right off, because once her man believes he’s in control, her cause is lost.”

  Abby blinked. This wasn’t the juicy secret she had been expecting. She’d been taught to follow the Golden Rule since she was a wee girl, after all.

  Barbara leaned toward her, her face lit by the lamp’s light. “It’s like the old saying, ‘what’s gut for the goose is gut for the gander,’” she continued in a low voice. “Or, I’ve heard the men say it another way, too. ‘If Mamma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.’”

 
Abby laughed out loud. “I can’t imagine saying that to—”

  “Ach, but you can’t tell a man you’re training him. That’s got to be your little secret.” When Barbara gripped her wrist, Abby felt her sister-in-law quivering with pent-up laughter.

  “You’ve never seen a woman confessing in church that she didn’t submit to her husband’s desires, ain’t so?” she continued. “That’s because no man will admit—to his friends, much less to his preacher—that he doesn’t have the upper hand in the bedroom, or in his marriage. Yet you don’t have to think twice to name fellows who don’t get every little thing their way.”

  Indeed, when a few men around town came to mind, Abby chuckled right along with Barbara. “I think I see what you mean.”

  “You’ll figure it out quicker than most, Abby, because you’ve had time to assess what you want in your life—what your gifts are, and how you should use them,” Barbara assured her. “And as for Amanda and Wyman? They’re both dealing with old habits and memories of their first spouses, to be sure. But if she’s not going to submit to Wyman’s every little whim, she’ll have to show him that right off. Nothing we can do for her but pray.”

  Abby cleared her throat. “That seems an odd thing to pray about.”

  “God already knows what goes on between husbands and wives. He won’t be the least bit embarrassed if we ask Him to bless our women friends with happiness and fulfillment.”

  Abby considered this carefully. While she believed in God’s all-powerful love, she had never considered how He watched over folks even during their most intimate moments. “I guess this whole matter of men and women isn’t really all that scary.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Abby,” Barbara murmured. “Too many women live their lives shackled by fear—fear of the unknown, mostly, because they can’t ask the questions that really matter. While we believe that everything in our lives is God’s will, I don’t agree that God wants us to be slaves to abusive husbands. But you can’t tell Sam or Vernon I said that.”

  Abby sucked in her breath. While her sister-in-law sometimes hinted at personal beliefs that didn’t match their faith’s doctrine or the Ordnung, this concept gave her something new to think about. “It’s like that verse in the Bible, ‘God is love,’ jah?” she murmured.

  “Exactly. And if we train our men to love us more, aren’t we showing them how to love God more, as well?”

  Oh, but saying such a thing in public would bring the bishop to counsel Sam’s errant wife . . . or would it? Wasn’t Vernon Gingerich the image of heavenly love come down to Earth?

  The clatter of an empty mug on the table brought Abby out of her deep thoughts. “I won’t keep you from your supper, Barbara,” she murmured. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve shared with me tonight.”

  Barbara hugged her warmly. “No matter what’s gone wrong with my patients, I always feel better after I’ve visited with you, Abby,” she murmured. “You have such a special gift, a light about you that inspires me to keep going even when I’m frustrated by attitudes I can’t change.”

  Abby closed her eyes, absorbing these words . . . such a balm to her soul after her embarrassing encounter with Sam. “We do what we can with what we’ve got, ain’t so?”

  “Exactly. And James is one lucky fellow to have you—just as I’m blessed to have a fine man like Sam,” Barbara said as the two of them started for the door. “The trick is to keep reminding ourselves of our blessings. Gut night, Abby.”

  “Jah, thanks again,” she replied as they stepped onto the porch. Then she gasped. “James! I had no idea— How long have you been sitting in my swing?”

  Barbara smiled knowingly. “You two have a gut evening, now,” she said as she started for the white house down the lane.

  James stood, looking nervous as he curved the brim of his hat in his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Abby,” he murmured. “But when I realized you had company, well . . . I just couldn’t leave until I said how sorry I was for upsetting you earlier. I—I got so caught up in my feelings for you that I couldn’t control myself.”

  Abby pressed her lips together. It wouldn’t do to chuckle at James while he was apologizing and baring his soul, but it made for a humorous twist that she and Barbara had just been discussing men and . . . control.

  “It was my fault, Abby.” James stepped closer, gazing into her eyes. “As I’ve been thinking back over the wagon ride and that kiss when Sam caught us, I . . . I realize that you’ve been trying to remind me how to properly behave in public—scooting away in the wagon, and then pressing your hands against my shoulder to stop that kiss—but I wasn’t paying attention. Too caught up in my own ideas, I was. And now I’ve shamed you in front of your brother.”

  His words had tumbled out in such a heartfelt rush that Abby couldn’t remain upset with him. And maybe this was a chance for some of that training Barbara had talked about. She leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms so she wouldn’t be tempted to grasp his hand. “Jah, even though we’re courting I’ve tried to keep my distance—”

  Oh, but his face fell when he heard that. When James swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Does this mean . . . you don’t want to kiss me, Abby? Maybe . . . maybe I really haven’t been paying attention—”

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way!” she blurted, grasping his arm. This training wasn’t as easy as Barbara had made it out to be. “I was just aware of—nervous about—how much touching we’ve done with other folks around. I didn’t know how to tell you,” she confessed in a whisper. “I was about to say something when you were kissing me at your place. But Sam beat me to the punch.”

  James let out a long sigh. “Jah, well, I should’ve taken my cue from Mamm during the wagon ride. She was giving us the eye, you know.”

  Abby smiled. Had there ever been a more considerate, contrite fiancé than James? Maybe he didn’t come across with the commanding, stern presence Sam or Wyman or other Plain men possessed . . . but she appreciated his gentler manner. And she knew James loved her as no other man ever would. “Well, we got through Sam’s lecture, and we both offered to confess. So it’s behind us now. But, James?”

  “Jah?”

  Abby almost suggested that they not kiss again until they were married—but she caught herself. As she gazed into James’s eyes, she saw nothing but love, for no one but her. And what would such a restriction prove? That she could say jump and he would say how high? He already dealt with a mamm and a sister who tested his patience, and Abby didn’t want to be like either Eunice or Emma.

  And whom would she be fooling? Now that she was courting James, after so many years when he’d had no idea she loved him, Abby adored his kisses. She just didn’t like being called out for them.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Never forget that I love you,” she said as she gripped his hands. “But the Old Order ways are clear about what’s permissible for unmarried couples in public, and we should respect them . . . at least until we’re in our own home, behind closed doors. Together for always.”

  His smile came out to play like the sun after a rain. “Together for always. I like the sound of that,” he whispered. “And jah, for you, Abby, I can follow the rules.”

  They stood for a moment in the day’s last rays of sunlight. James looked so ready to embrace her, but instead he squeezed her hands and then released them. “Consider yourself hugged and kissed, honey-girl,” he murmured.

  “You, too, James.”

  Abby watched him walk down Lambright Lane, waving when he turned to gaze at her as he reached the blacktop. With a contented sigh, she went inside and sat down at her table again. She raised the lantern’s wick, and then reread the piece she’d started for The Budget. Her head was full to bursting with ideas to pray over. A new confidence about becoming a wife filled her, and she picked up her pink eraser. The last line she’d written,
about Wyman and Amanda maneuvering their large family, seemed to point a finger at the newlyweds rather than opening arms to all who would read her column. As she brushed the eraser shreds from her paper, she got a better idea about how to finish her column.

  ... after a potluck dinner we gave his team some practice at controlling a heavy wagon on hills and curves.

  Most of us would live and love better if we, too, practiced controlling the loads—the burdens—we’ve hitched ourselves to. Like Jerome’s mules, we must learn how to keep pulling steadily uphill when our lives feel heavy, just as we must hold our own when our troubles threaten to weigh us down and run us over. Mules are wiser than we give them credit for. They know their places—their individual jobs—in the team. They trust their driver and depend on him for guidance.

  Christ tells us that His yoke is easy and His burden is light. Surely we’ll serve Him best if we let Him hold the reins, if we listen for His still, small voice, and if we love one another the way He loves us.

  Abby smiled. Finishing her column on an uplifting note always gave her a sense of satisfaction. When the words flowed so effortlessly, she believed God had been whispering in her ear. And wasn’t that a fine way to end an evening?

  After she recopied her piece and tucked it into an envelope, she doused the lamp. All things considered, her Sunday had been a gift . . . a day of exploring emotions, accepting responsibility for her actions, and gaining new insights into becoming a wife. Abby put on her nightgown and let down her hair. As she brushed it, she gazed out her bedroom window into the clear, starry night.

  Across the road at the Graber place, the light burned in James’s upstairs room. It made her smile to know that he, too, would look her way before he turned in. Even though their kissing in public had gotten them in trouble today, it tickled her that James loved her so much he couldn’t always control himself. And after they married, she would continue to show him how she wanted to be loved.