by Tricia Goyer
The rest of the day went by as normal. She’d baked. She’d waited on customers in the restaurant. When her cookies were in the oven, she even took time to help Edgar stock the store shelves.
As she worked, Marianna couldn’t believe how comfortable she’d become here working with the Englisch, serving them. They appreciated her hard work, and she found great satisfaction in seeing folks enjoy the special treats she baked. Like the weeks prior, this day continued on with no surprises. What did surprise her was seeing Ben again as the clock ticked closer to the time she got off. Seeing him enter the restaurant gave her a burst of energy as she helped Annie prepare the evening’s dinner.
“Hey there.” Ben approached the open door between the restaurant and the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb.
Marianna eyed the stream of cream pouring into the potatoes. Her face was flush from spending the afternoon cooking, but her cheeks warmed even more upon hearing Ben’s voice.
She glanced at him, feigning surprise. “Ben, hello.” She placed the carton of cream on the counter and let a smile curl on her lips. “Yer a bit early for dinner.” She took a deep breath in. “But it smells good, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not here for dinner.” Ben leaned his back against the refrigerator door. “I mean, I’ll probably be back to eat later, but that’s not why I stopped. The wind has picked up out there. It’s miserably cold.”
“You came here to give me a weather report?” Marianna picked up the hand masher and pressed in to the potatoes. Steam rose from the large pot, fogging the window and blocking the view.
“No, not quite. I came to see if you wanted a ride. I know you walk, and it’s only a mile, but . . .”
As his voice trailed off, she turned to him.
“It’s more than the cold. When the weather gets like this the roads are real slick. People don’t slow down as they should.”
Marianna pressed a hand against her hip. “Ben, I think you’re worried about me. I better ride home with you or you’re gonna be sneaking around my house tonight to see if I made it fine. And Dat doesn’t like sneaking much.” She continued mashing but kept her eyes fixed on his.
He opened his mouth and laughter spilled forth. “That’s one thing I like about you, Marianna. You say things how they are. There’s no chance for a man to flirt with you . . . to try to make you see things my way.”
“Flirting is nonsense.” She waved a hand in the air. “All that acting and pretending. I already know about you, Ben. You’re considerate—and determined. I’ll ride with you.”
“Okay then, thanks.”
Marianna looked at him. “You’re thanking me? I should thank you for your thoughtfulness.” She took a cube of butter from the counter and dropped it in the pot. “And, truth be told, I wasn’t looking forward to cold toes.”
Thirty minutes later when she got off, Ben held her elbow as he led her down the front steps of the store. He was right, it was slippery out.
Ben’s truck smelled like gasoline, wood shavings, and something sweaty, like dirty socks he’d shoved under the seat. Marianna climbed in and the wind shut the door behind her. The weather was picking up, and she didn’t mind the smelly truck if it meant she’d stay out of the cold.
In the driver’s seat Ben put on his seat belt and started the truck up. Tepid air blew from the vents.
“Thanks for the ride.” She folded her arms in front of her, tucking her mittens under her arms. “I don’t mind walking. Lately, it’s been my best time for prayin’, but I think that wind woulda blown me into the woods for good.”
“No problem.” He put the truck into gear and headed out. His tires slid as he pulled from the parking area onto the road—not that you could tell where one started and the other ended. All of it was white, icy.
“Gives me something to do. That’s the hard part of cold nights like this. I’ve read two novels in the past week and wrote a new song—”
The truck slid and Marianna grabbed on the dash. “A song? Really?”
“Yeah, nothing special. It’s, uh, never mind.”
She looked to him and watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. His cheeks looked red, and not from the cold.
Marianna couldn’t help but laugh. “Ben Stone, did you write a love song?”
“No, not really . . . well, sort of.”
“I want to hear it. Can you sing it?” The words were out before Marianna could stop them. For the Amish, playing musical instruments wasn’t allowed and singing, other than their church’s hymns, was also frowned upon. But at this moment she didn’t care. Her curiosity got the best of her.
“Better not. I’m still working on it.” He frowned. “I scribbled some notes.” He glanced at her. “Maybe when I get it figured out. And have my guitar.” He chuckled. “A guitar helps drown out my voice.”
Marianna didn’t mention that listening to him playing his guitar wouldn’t be the wisest thing for her to do. Not that she wasn’t allowed. She hadn’t been baptized into the church yet. Even if she listened she wouldn’t have to confess. It was something else. Even now, months after she’d listened to him play, tingles danced up her arms at the memory.
A small compact car passed, coming from the other direction. Ben slowed and pulled to the side, allowing the car more room. Marianna was thankful for the distraction.
A few minutes later they pulled into Marianna’s driveway. She placed her hand on the door handle. She’d like to invite him in but knew she couldn’t. Aaron was inside. He was new to these parts. He wouldn’t understand the friendships between the Englisch and Amish—especially between her and Ben.
Mem also wouldn’t be pleased. Marianna bit her lower lip, remembering her mother’s tears. She wondered again about the Englischman her mother once cared for but pushed that thought away as she turned to Ben.
“I would invite you in—”
Ben waved a hand. “No, don’t worry about that. I just wanted to make sure you made it home okay. Besides those potatoes looked good. I have a hankering. I’m going to head back to the store.”
“Ja, gut. Thank you, then.” She opened the door, pushing hard against the wind. “See you soon.”
Without another word she shut the door behind her and hurried to the house. As she got to the porch she turned and waved, but Ben’s truck already headed back the way it had come.
Marianna stomped her feet on the door mat and then opened the door and hurried inside.
“Mari!” Ellie ran to her.
“Well, look here. See what the storm blew in.” Dat smiled from his place near the fire. He sat in his favorite chair with The Budget in hand.
“Mari, you must be frozen.” Mem hurried up, cupping Marianna’s cheek with her hand. A puzzled expression filled her gaze when she felt warmth.
“Did you get a ride?” Mem’s voice was just a whisper.
“Ja, a good Samaritan picked up me. And speaking of picking up . . .” Marianna pulled off her wool coat, hanging it by the hook near the front door, then bent down and swept Ellie into her arms.
Her mother didn’t have to ask. Marianna could see her mother’s disapproval from her narrowed gaze. Mem knew who the ride was from. For someone who’d first called Ben “harmless” when they arrived in Montana, Mem didn’t seem to like him coming around any more. Not one bit.
Mem cleared her throat and looked to the sofa. Marianna turned, forcing a smile onto her lips. Part of her would rather be still driving around in an old, smelly truck with Ben than here with her family. With Aaron. But she couldn’t let them know that.
Aaron sat on the sofa, his leg up on a wooden bench Dat had brought down from upstairs. An extra pillow Marianna didn’t recognize propped up his leg. Something Mem stitched up today she supposed.
Charlie reclined on the floor, Marianna was so grateful his leg was healing, though she knew infection was the biggest worry now.
“So, how are our patients today?” Marianna moved to the living room. “Two bad legs,
ach.” She clucked her tongue. “What some people do yet to keep out of the cold.”
She smiled, noticing the brightness in Aaron’s eyes at seeing her. Back in Indiana that would have been enough for her to be walking on clouds all evening . . . but now? When did things change? Why did they have to? It should be easy to love Aaron, she’d done it for years.
He scooted up straighter, wincing. “Ja, gut. Not as much pain today. Wish I could be more useful.”
“I bet it’s hard.”
“My leg doesn’t hurt so much.” Charlie patted it softly as if trying to prove his point. “Aaron’s is much worse.”
“Aaron read to Charlie, helped him with his homework.” Mem called from the kitchen. “And he was a great extra set of arms with the baby. Don’t know what I’d do without him here.”
“So you are making yerself useful then.” Marianna pulled up a wooden chair and sat down next to him. “So have you drawn them any pictures yet?”
Aaron glanced up at her. “You remembered?”
“Are you kidding? Of course. I’ve always loved your sketches.”
“You draw, Aaron?” Mem stepped from the kitchen, looking at him. “Didn’t know that. You’ll have to show us some of yer artwork. Or draw us something special.”
“Best artist in Indiana.” Marianna patted his hand. “Now Montana, too, I bet.”
Aaron’s eyes fixed on hers and his strong hand closed over hers. Marianna tilted her head, looking at him. Her heartbeat quickened and her pulse drummed in her neck. Even though Dat sat not ten feet away, reading his paper, Aaron didn’t seem shy about this display of affection.
“Was work okay?” His voice held a note of concern.
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“Charlie told me about the Englischman on the train. How he tried to hurt you. It’s a good thing yer dat was there.”
“It wasn’t like that. Not really. And things are different here.” Even as she said the words Marianna remembered the man at the auction. He’d tried to hurt her too. That seemed like years ago, not months. The snow outside made it hard to remember summer had been here not too long ago, gracing the land with warmth, bathing it with sunshine.
“I don’t like you working, Marianna. Doesn’t seem right.”
“Just helping the family.” She tried to keep her tone light. “And if I’m going back to Indiana, I’ll need funds for the fare.” She didn’t want to think about how she’d already wasted money on a ticket she didn’t use.
“So you are coming back, then?” Aaron’s light blue eyes focused on hers. Sweat beaded on his brow, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the warmth of the fire or the pain. She resisted the urge to wipe it away.
“Well, I’ve always planned on going back in the spring.”
“Is that still the plan?” There was urgency in his voice.
Marianna bit her lip, not sure what to say. She looked to her father, but he pretended to still be reading. The bouncing of his foot on the floor proved he wasn’t focusing on the typed words. She doubted any news in The Budget could make him that nervous.
“I’m thinking about that. I imagine so, ja.” She thought about the tension she felt on the train. The tightness in her chest over going back. “But spring is still a long time away.”
“I’d like it if you did.” Aaron leaned his head back against the couch cushions. For someone in a lot of pain he suddenly looked relaxed. And the way his eyes studied hers soothed her. It was as if an intimate cord draped between them, uniting them. Marianna crossed her arms in front of herself, for some reason feeling bare before him. She’d never known such a gaze. He did not look at her, but into her.
“You have to see the cabin.”
She nodded and swallowed hard. It would be useless to speak. The words wouldn’t make any sense if she tried.
She looked down at his hand, still wrapped around hers. His hands were strong from hard work, but gentle too. His long fingers enveloped hers and his thumb stroked the top of her hand. She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, reveling in Aaron’s touch. When she opened them, her eyes met Aaron’s and a thousand needle pricks stirred within her—so many she thought she’d jump from her skin.
With her hand in his, those feelings for Aaron she thought long buried came back with a warmth the fire behind her couldn’t touch.
“I wish you would have told me Aaron was coming, that’s all I’m saying.” Abe looked to his wife, who lay in bed next to him, curled to her side.
“I told you why I didn’t,” she whispered. “I thought it to be a nice surprise.”
Abe sat with his back against the wall. Their lantern was set to low light and he had the Bible open on his lap.
“Not sure I needed to be surprised.” The angry words dropped from his lips. “You made me look like a fool.”
Ruth didn’t comment, and Abe guessed it was best she didn’t. If she said anything they’d continue deep into the night, the angry words building with each breath. They hadn’t fought that way in years, but he’d never forget how things used to be when they first got married. She’d always try to justify her actions, his anger would build, and soon they’d both be shouting. Thankfully they’d mellowed over the years. By the time Ruth was pregnant with Marianna, they’d been happy. After the death of the girls they struggled with their loss. Sometimes together—more often alone. He saw something else in Ruth’s gaze after that night that he didn’t understand. Guilt. As if their daughters’ deaths were her fault. If it was anyone’s fault, it was his. He was the one who fell asleep before the crossing.
Abe hadn’t seen Ruth’s blameful look in a while, and he was thankful. That’s why he knew he needed to drop this whole issue with Aaron’s surprise visit. He let out a low breath, telling himself that wasn’t what got him all riled up in the first place. It was Ben’s question that made him angry.
Would non-Amish go to heaven? Didn’t Ben know that wasn’t for Abe to decide? Men could not decide the fate of other men. That was up to God alone.
Yet the more Abe thought, the more he realized what Ben was really asking: “Am I good enough for your daughter?” Ben loved God, that was clear. He cared for others. He read God’s Word. Yet deep down in Abe’s heart, the answer was “no.”
Ben was not good enough for Marianna.
And that’s what bothered him. Because by making this distinction, he was doing the judging.
He was setting himself up as God.
CHAPTER TEN
The next day at work Marianna was in the office, looking for more labels for their packages of bread when Annie looked up from her computer and cleared her throat. Marianna grabbed up the labels and turned, looking to Annie. She wore a long blonde ponytail like she always did, and though the wrinkles on her face hinted she was older, the youthful brightness in her eyes made her beautiful.
“Marianna, there’s something I want to show you. I hope you won’t be mad.”
“Mad at you?” Marianna smiled. “I don’t think that’s possible. What is it?”
“Remember this summer at the auction? A friend of mine offered to take some photographs for me. She’s building a Web site for my store and I wanted to post them online. She gave me the original prints to look through.”
Marianna furrowed her brow. Whatever Annie talked about had to do with the computer. It meant nothing to her, so how could it make her mad? Marianna looked at the photos spread on the desk in front of Annie. There was a photo of the Miller’s gas-powered ice cream maker. There were many photos of quilts. And one photo of three Amish girls sitting on a bench. From the back all you could see were their dresses and kapps.
“One of the things my friend found interesting was the interaction between the Amish and Englisch. She got some great shots.” Annie held up a photo of an Amish girl, who Marianna recognized as one of the Shelter kids, handing an ice cream cone to a teenage boy with numerous tattoos and piercings on his face. “My friend’s from Kalispell—not here. She didn’t unders
tand about Amish not liking to have their pictures taken, especially their faces . . .”
Marianna put her hands on the desk. Oh . . .
“Do ya have a photo of me?” She leaned forward, scanning her eyes across the desk.
“Yes, it’s one of my favorites too.” Annie reached into the envelope and pulled out a photo. “I wasn’t going to use it on my Web site—you know, as a way to honor you.”
Marianna took a step forward. “May I see?”
Annie held it up. “Yes, of course.”
Marianna took the photograph from Annie’s hands, and for the briefest second thought Annie had been mistaken. Studying it closer, Marianna realized the beautiful Amish girl in the photograph was her.
She tilted her head. She’d never seen herself in such a way. She’d never seen a photograph of herself and only glanced briefly at herself in the mirror to make sure her face was washed and her hair pinned up under her kapp.
In the photo her chin was lifted and her mouth open in laughter. She held three quilts and her smiling eyes were slightly closed. Ben stood next to her, his eyes fixed on her face. He wore a smile, but there was more than that. The way he looked at her.
Well, Marianna had never seen such a tender look. Not between her parents. Not from Aaron. Did he always look at her like that when she wasn’t aware?
Marianna placed her hand on her chest and could feel it beating through her blue dress and black apron.
“It’s a nice photo,” she finally said, hoping Annie didn’t hear the emotion in her voice.
“I like it too, but you can see your face. I know that’s a problem.”
“Well, I am in rumspringa. I suppose that out of all things having a photograph of myself can be my wild attempt at running around.”
“Would you like that copy?” Annie looked up at her.
Marianna looked to the photo again, noticing the crowds of people in the background and the mountains in the distance.
