by Sarah Price
Mary frowned. “Books hold many treasures and should not be discredited as a leisurely pastime.”
“Oh, fiddle-faddle,” Lydia replied with a bored and dismissive wave of her hand. “Spoken like the true spinster teacher you will most likely come to be!”
“Lydia!” Lizzie gasped, a horrified look on her face.
There was no further time for rebuke as another horse and buggy approached from behind. It would do no one any good for a passing church member to hear them arguing, especially on the Lord’s Day. Lizzie narrowed her eyes and shook her head at her youngest sister, Lydia, secretly glad that she was a year too young to attend the singing that would follow that evening. While it was true that Mary’s sole dream in life was to be a schoolteacher, a dream that was about to come true in the autumn when she would assist at the local schoolhouse, to call her a spinster was a step way out of line, even for Lydia.
“Pardon me,” a voice called from behind.
Lizzie was too angry with her youngest sister to glance in the direction of the voice. However, she caught a subtle movement out of the corner of her eye. Jane had turned to look and immediately slowed down her pace.
“You headed to the Yoders’, then?”
It was a male voice. A young male voice. Lizzie forced herself to turn in the direction of the voice. Her sisters had all slowed down as an open-top buggy pulled up beside them. A young man with bright blue eyes and thick blond curls poking out from under his wide-brimmed Sunday hat smiled down at the ladies. His accent was a tad unusual and his dress clearly not from Lancaster. But he was Amish. That was for sure and certain.
Lydia and Catherine giggled, standing behind their two older sisters. It was Jane, however, who finally spoke up. “Ja, indeed. Church is to be held there today,” she responded, her voice soft and naturally demure.
The man removed his hat and ran his fingers through his curls. “Might you direct me? I’m not familiar, you see.” He paused then plopped his hat back on his head. “Charles Beachey’s my name,” he said, flashing a bright smile at all of the sisters, but his eyes seemed drawn particularly to Jane.
“Jane Blank,” she responded, dropping her eyes, aware of his obvious attention. “These are my sisters, Lizzie, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia.” When she glanced up and saw that he had nodded to the other girls but had returned his gaze to her, she added with a simple gesture, “We live over that hill there.”
“Mayhaps you’d show me the way to Yoders’, then?” he went on. “Seeing that we’re going the same place, and if you live over that hill, we would also be neighbors!”
Lizzie watched, amused to see the color flooding to her sister’s cheeks. When she realized that Jane was flustered and uncertain of how to respond, Lizzie stepped forward. “That’s a right gut offer, Charles Beachey. But I don’t reckon five sisters could fit in your buggy. However, the Yoders’ is just four farms down the next road on the right. You should find it simple enough.” She pointed in the direction of which she spoke. “Truly simple.”
He nodded his appreciation at Lizzie, understanding the appropriateness of her response. For one of the sisters to join him, a complete stranger, in the buggy would have been forward and certain to cause tongues to wag among the church members. Lizzie wasn’t certain if such behavior was acceptable in Holmes County, Ohio, but it certainly was not in Lancaster! Poor Jane, she thought, glancing over at her sister. Certainly she was embarrassed at having been put in such a situation.
“Mayhaps I shall see you sisters later, then? At the singing tonight?” He spoke to the five girls, but his eyes stayed on Jane. “Unless of course,” he continued with a glance in Lizzie’s direction, “Lancaster Amish don’t believe in singings?”
The good-natured tone of his question caused Lizzie to laugh. Clearly there were no hard feelings from their new neighbor Charles Beachey for Jane having declined his offer of a ride to church. He tipped his hat and slapped the reins against the back of his horse, clicking his tongue to motivate the horse to pick up its speed in the direction that Lizzie had indicated.
Lydia waited until he was a good distance away before she clutched at Catherine’s hand. “Have you ever seen such a handsome man?” she gushed.
Catherine giggled and nodded her head. “Those eyes! So blue!”
“Oh, why am I not old enough to go to singings yet!” Lydia lamented, dropping her sister’s hands in dramatic protest. “I think having to wait until I’m sixteen is simply ridiculous! Why should I sit at home while you four have all the fun?”
Lizzie began to pick up her pace, ignoring Lydia’s all too common complaints while Jane reassured her that her birthday in August would be there soon enough and, with it, plenty of years of singings and social engagements to follow.
Another buggy pulled up behind them. As they moved to the side of the road, Lizzie glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see another open-top buggy with yet another unknown young man driving, a woman at his side. They sat apart from each other, both staring at the road before them. If it weren’t for their solemn expressions and the fact that the man wore no beard, Lizzie might have thought that they were a couple. At best, she figured they might be courting, but there was something distant in the manner in which they sat in each other’s company that made her doubt that very much.
Lizzie paused as she walked, her eyes meeting the driver’s. The buggy slowed, for just a moment, as the driver assessed the five women walking along the side of the road. Yet, unlike the previous young man, this one did not stop to ask directions. His dark eyes flashed from beneath a wave of dark hair that covered his forehead. His black Sunday hat had an even wider brim than Charles Beachey’s. With a tilt of his chin, he tore his eyes from the women and stared straight ahead, not even acknowledging their presence with the customary nod or wave of the hand.
Lizzie watched the buggy pass by, curiosity in her eyes. Without a doubt the driver of that buggy was not from Lancaster. However, she questioned whether he was the cousin of Charles Beachey, for they bore no resemblance whatsoever. Instead, they were as different as night and day. Yet there was something about the man that intrigued her.
“Did you see her odd prayer kapp?” Lydia whispered. “So strange!”
“She must be from Ohio too!” Catherine replied eagerly. “I bet she’s a sister!”
“They both looked plain miserable! I wonder that!” Lydia added, clinging to Catherine’s arm as she gossiped.
“Why, he didn’t even wave!” Catherine complained. “What an unlikable man!”
“And a furrow on his brow!” Lydia added. “I bet he frowns, not farms, for a living!” At this comment the two girls burst into giggles and skipped ahead, leaving Jane, Mary, and Lizzie shaking their heads at the silly antics of their two younger sisters.
It was ten minutes to eight by the time the Blank sisters entered the Yoder farm’s workshop where the service was about to be held. Three families lived on the property, one who had started a farm equipment repair business five years prior. In order to work in inclement weather, John Yoder had built a large workshop that, during the spring, summer, and fall months, was perfect for holding Sunday service. With everything cleared out, the workshop easily held the two hundred members from the g’may as well as any visitors.
The sisters entered in single file, Jane leading the way and Lydia trailing at the end. They walked along the greeting line of women, shaking hands and leaning forward to be greeted by each of the women with a kiss on the lips, to signify their faith and friendship. When they reached the end of the line, they stood next to their peers to greet any remaining women who entered.
At less than two minutes to eight the bishop and ministers made their entrance, their expressions solemn as they walked along the line of women, shaking their hands and nodding a greeting at each and every one of them. When they had reached the end of the row where Lydia stood, the bishop cleared his throat, and the small group of church leaders walked to their seats at the center of the workshop, wh
ere rows of benches had been set, facing each other. As soon as they were seated, the eldest woman in the group led the line of elderly and married women to their seats on the right side of the room. When all of them were seated, the younger women of marriageable age followed suit. They were the last of the females to be seated.
The same procession, this time with the men, entered the room. First were the elderly, slowly and solemnly proceeding to their seats, followed by the younger married men who took their places on the left side of the room. When everyone was situated, the young unmarried men entered and filed into the back of the workshop, sitting where they could find a space. The room was silent, not a sound to be heard. Small children did not squirm or cry, despite the heat of the day prevailing in the enclosed workshop. As if on cue, all of the men removed their hats from their heads, placing them on the floor beneath where they sat. The men along the back wall stood and placed their hats on pegs that hung behind them, just above the row of windows.
And then the singing of the hymn began.
It started slowly, one man singing the first word of each line from the Ausbund hymn in lengthy, accentuated syllables, before the rest of the congregation joined in. Lizzie knew the hymn by heart, so instead of looking at the chunky black book that she held in her hands, her eyes skimmed the room. Her maem sat in the third row behind the elderly women and next to her best friend, Leah Lantz. Leah and Maem had grown up together, so it was no surprise that Leah’s daughter, Charlotte, was almost like an older sister to the Blank girls, despite their age difference. In truth, Jane and Lizzie considered Charlotte quite dear to them, akin to a sister and a right gut friend.
They had just started the second verse when the bishop and the ministers stood and proceeded to exit the room. They would convene in a separate area, discussing the two sermons for the day, one long and another shorter, and deciding who would give which. While this was happening, the rest of the congregation continued singing the hymn. The ten remaining verses of the hymn would take at least another twenty minutes to complete.
During this time two men and a woman entered the room. There was a momentary lull in the singing as eyes glanced in the direction of the disturbance. It was very rare for someone to arrive late to church, and everyone was immediately curious as to whom it might be. Unfortunately no one in the congregation recognized the three strangers. No one, that is, except the Blank sisters.
Charles Beachey smiled nervously while the other man and the woman merely lifted their chins and stared ahead, avoiding eye contact with the curious gazes of the congregation. There was a shuffling noise along the back wall where the men sat as someone slid over to make room for the two men on the bench. The woman, dressed in her maroon dress and white apron with her tight-fitting prayer kapp, hesitated before moving toward the back of the room where all the women were seated.
Lydia leaned forward and whispered to Charlotte, who sat next to Jane, “That’s the Beachey man.” She bumped Jane’s shoulder by accident. “He asked Jane to ride with him. He must have gotten lost after all, Lizzie.” She added the last part with a quick glance in Lizzie’s direction.
“Who’s that with him, then?” Charlotte asked back.
“Sssh!”
Two older women in front of them cast a short, disapproving glare over their shoulders in the direction of the whispering girl. Lydia stifled a giggle and sat back up, straightening herself on the bench while trying to figure out where they were in the hymn.
Indeed, the one gentleman was Charles Beachey. He seemed nervous as he removed his hat and slid onto the bench nearest the door. The tall man next to him was the complete opposite, confident as he removed his own hat and hesitating, just for a moment, before he took his place next to Charles. His eyes seemed to dart around the room, taking in the strange faces that were obviously trying not to look in his direction. So when he noticed Lizzie, staring at him with a raised eyebrow, he paused ever so slightly and dipped his head in recognition of her attention.
Mortified, Lizzie looked away, vowing to pay no more attention to the man sitting next to Charles Beachey. He was handsome, that was quite true. But his manner was haughty and proud. She knew that from just looking at the way he carried himself: shoulders straight back, chin tilted ever so slightly in a condescending expression, and narrow eyes that seemed to be assessing the room without seeing anything. Clearly, these Amish men from Holmes County, Ohio, were quite different from the Amish men who grew up in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
Jane nudged her sister, bringing her attention back to the singing. Leave it to Jane, Lizzie thought with warmth in her heart. Not a godlier young woman sat amongst the congregation. Many a young man had tried to court her, for she was beautiful as well as full of faith and goodness. Yet Jane was too bashful and shy to accept rides with the Amish men, a trait that made Lizzie smile in wonder. How on earth would she ever begin courting if she didn’t say yes to the traditional Amish way of initiating the courting process?
Then the first sermon began.
At the end of the three-hour long service the congregation stood for the final prayer. The women faced the wall behind them while the men did the same from their side of the room. Lizzie listened as the bishop bestowed his final words of faith and hope among the people in his district. She always tried to remember his inspiring words, words that she vowed to live by during the upcoming weeks between church services. Then, with a quick bending of the knee, the people turned back toward each other and sat while the bishop and ministers left the room.
Lizzie leaned over to Jane and whispered, “I wonder if the new men will help with the setup for fellowship.” There was a mischievous glow in her dark eyes.
“Lizzie!” Jane gasped under her breath. “Behave yourself!”
She laughed at her older sister and nudged her with her shoulder. “You watch. That tall one . . . I bet he’s too proud to help.”
Jane shook her head and clucked her tongue several times in a crescendo, disapproving of her sister’s words. But she allowed her eyes to linger in the direction of the two men from Holmes County, Ohio, curiosity getting the best of even her.
It took less than fifteen minutes for the young boys to collect the chunky black Ausbund books and stack them neatly in the crates where they would remain until the next service, while the men moved the benches and, by placing the legs into specially constructed boards, converted them into tables. The older women were already busy in the kitchen, moving about in what they liked to teasingly refer to as “controlled chaos” as they began to set plates of food onto the tables: cup cheese and pretzels, sliced cold cuts and creamy butter, fresh bread and applesauce, chow-chow and pickled cabbage. The two long rows of tables had more than enough food to satisfy the first seating of the congregation.
Lizzie stood by the kitchen door, out of the women’s way, for she knew that her job, filling the water for the men, would come after everyone was seated. The seating arrangements were always the same: The older men sat at one table and the older women at the other. Younger women with smaller children joined the first seating so that the little ones would not have to wait. The unmarried women would wait on the tables, replenishing any empty trays or bowls of food and refilling the water cups. Then, when the after-meal prayer was said, they would clear the plates, cups, and utensils and wash them for the second seating of young men and young women.
Lizzie discreetly scanned the room and noticed the two gentlemen from Holmes County standing in the rear of the room. They were speaking with the bishop. Or, rather, Charles Beachey was speaking with him while his companion stood by his side, his hands clasped behind his back and his chin tilted in the air. She couldn’t help but watch him for she had never seen someone with such an air of perceived self-importance. And immediately, despite her fascination, she knew that she didn’t care for him one bit.
“Lizzie, dear,” her maem said. “You fill the men’s water, ja? Jane, you help.”
Immediately Lizzie fought the urge
to roll her eyes, knowing that she should certainly not do so, especially at church fellowship. But she could see through her mother’s request. As always, Maem was pushing her girls toward the men in the hopes of finally planting that extra celery in the garden in anticipation of an autumn wedding.
The young women waited for the pre-meal prayer before they picked up the pitchers of water and began to make their rounds of the men’s table. As luck would have it, Charles Beachey sat on one side, while his dark, broody companion, sat opposite him. Jane reached for Charles’s cup to fill it with water, and he turned to thank her, his eyes sparkling and a genuinely pleasant smile on his face.
“Danke, Jane Blank,” he said.
She flushed at the attention, fully aware that he had remembered her name.
“I trust you shall be at the singing tonight, ja?” He didn’t wait for an answer but lowered his voice. “I would be honored to accompany you home afterward, if I might be so forward to ask.”
Lizzie paused, her hand lingering over the shoulder of his companion, frozen in midair as she stared at her sister in anticipation of Jane’s answer. How different, this man from Ohio! In Lancaster, courtship was private and kept that way until the publishing of the wedding announcement. Yet here was Charles Beachey asking Jane to ride home in his buggy in front of other men and even before the actual singing!
“I . . . ” She glanced around at the other men who were as stunned as Jane and Lizzie by the openly asked question. “I . . . I would be happy to,” she whispered.
Lizzie held back her smile, pleased with her sister’s response. There was something about Jane’s eyes that sparkled near this man. For a woman who was known to have rebuffed many a potential suitor, it seemed that Jane was clearly taken with Charles Beachey.
Chapter Three
THE BARN WAS lit with kerosene lanterns that hissed as they burned, reflecting bright light from their small mirror reflectors and emitting a nice area of warmth that countered the cool evening air. Lizzie stood with Charlotte and Jane, laughing as they watched the young Amish men play a round of volleyball, exaggerating their leaps and jumps in order to catch the attention of the young women. One man fell over a hay bale and, when he stood, had pieces of hay sticking out of his hair, causing a ripple of giggles from a group of girls who stood nearby. Good-naturedly the man merely plucked the hay from his hair and smiled at the girls.
