He looked across the little living room to watch Marge knit in her rocker. How soothing the constant rhythm of the needles, and contentment on her face. “You’re just glowing tonight.”
“Keep thinking about Jerry’s sermon. Those Beatitudes are taken very seriously by the Amish, but I didn’t understand them, really, until Jerry read the verses out of the Message Bible.”
“Ya, I want one. Always thought I was dumb, not understanding the version we had in church, back in the day.”
“I have a paperback,” Marge quipped, springing out of the chair before he could stop her. “I’ll just run upstairs and get it.”
Joe stifled a laugh. Marge wanted to make sure they were on the same page spiritually, so she was feeding him a repertoire of books. He wished she’d just relax and trust him; he believed in God, and was now a Christian, but he had spiritual baggage. His whole view of Christianity had been skewed by his dad, the one who deserved a gold medal for being a hypocrite. It was like he had to unlearn the concept of God all over, take the ‘lighting and thunder, hell and damnation’ God out of his head. How blessed the girls were to see God at a young age as a loving God. One who disciplined, but did it out of love. Love…he’d always missed that part.
When he looked up, Marge was standing over him, eyes wide. “Honey, what’s wrong? You in some kind of trance? Deep prayer?”
“Deep thinking, is all.”
She gently passed the Message Bible to him. “You read the Beatitudes out loud.”
“Why?”
The glow had returned to her face. “It’s romantic.”
“Romantic? Reading the Bible is romantic?”
She picked up her yarn again to knit. “It is. I feel more connected with you. It’s like God’s the glue in our marriage, drawing us closer together. Worked for Ruth and Luke.”
“We aren’t having problems anymore. I mean, we spat at times, but I think we’re okay.”
She looked up, eyes twinkling. “We’re fine. Can you read the Beatitudes? It’s where I put the bookmarker.”
He shrugged his shoulders. Happy wife, happy life, he’d heard. Clearing his throat, he started:
“You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
"You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
"You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
Joe stopped and slowly reread, you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought. Then he read it again, ignoring Marge who asked him to read on. “Marge, we’ve always been chasing something, don’t you think? New boat, the next vacation. But I’ve noticed the Amish don’t do that, most likely because they can’t. “
“They’re allowed to have boats for fishing, I know that.”
“But they don’t live for the next ‘big thing’ to happen. They’re content no matter what happens.”
“They keep their minds on things that are really important…spiritual stuff,” Marge added. “
Joe leaned his head back on his chair. “We came here to live off-the-grid, but it didn’t make things simple. You think we’re trying to buy peace?”
“If we are, it didn’t work!” Marge blurted, a little too loudly. “Sorry. I miss my conveniences too much.” She looked over at Joe sheepishly. “It’s hard raising a baby off-the-grid. I’m not doing cloth diapers…
Joe shot up so fast he lost his balance and tipped his rocker over.
Marge let out a howl. “That news knocked you off your rocker, literally.”
He raced over to her and scooped her out of her chair. “How long have you known?”
“As long as I can keep a secret from you, so under twenty-four hours. Took the test this morning, but we haven’t been alone all day.”
Joe cupped her cheeks and kissed her. “I’m going to be a daddy? And you a mommy?”
Marge laughed. “I need to confirm with a doctor, since it was a home pregnancy test, but I believe we are and am so glad, still in my thirties and all.”
“Almost forty,” Joe teased.
“In two years,” Marge said in an even tone, and then broke out into laughter. “Isn’t it funny?”
“What?”
“We both said we didn’t want kids, just pets. Granny said that was ‘plain foolishness’ and she was sure we’d have kinner, I mean children. Ach, the Amish have rubbed off on us in a wunderbar goot way, jah?
Joe chuckled. “Jah.”
~*~
Colleen grabbed Hezekiah’s hand and put it to her heart. The cool morning dew and the scent of the mossy woods around them, in her secret garden, her secret place to meet with God…was he answering a prayer? “Are you sure? I have a child. Are you ready to be a dad?”
He leaned down and kissed her. “Aurora’s a princess, jah? How could I not love a princess?”
Tears filled Colleen’s eyes; tears of joy for sure. But a restlessness frightened her. So many obstacles and she hadn’t known Hezekiah that long. Only since the spring, six months. But she’d finally felt at home, especially when she was in his arms.
“So, will you marry me? After you’re baptized?”
Baptized. To get to that point, she knew there was a narrow path in between, and like a tightrope walker, if she fell off, it could be hazardous to not only her, but to Aurora. Even though Ella had assured her that her grandma, Emma, would not let her be homeless again, no one really knew what living on the streets was like, so they couldn’t empathize with her fears.
The advice from Jerry and Janice was to go to school; an education was something that no one could take from her. And she’d had skills to live independently. But the Amish women were homemakers, something she’d always yearned to be. Was it her Amish heritage, or a lack of parenting in her own life that made her long for a permanent nest?
She looked up into Hezekiah’s pensive blue-green eyes. “I can’t believe you want to marry me. Are you really sure?”
“Well, this is a secret, jah? An Amish man can only propose to a baptized Amish girl. What I’m saying is, I want you to promise to be my wife after your baptized.” He ran his fingers through her honey-colored hair, and cradled her head against his chest. “Do you love me?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll wait, even if it takes years.”
Colleen pulled away and searched his eyes. “Years? It can take years?”
“Jah, it can. It’s a serious vow, to live within the Amish community. It’s like a marriage vow. That’s why people who leave after baptism are shunned; they broke a vow to God and their community.”
Years! How could she put Aurora through a long limbo? Put her in Amish school? Hold off on an education, paid for by the Baptists and financial aid? Was she just so star-struck with Hezekiah she couldn’t see? And what if… “Hezekiah, what if I’m never allowed to be baptized? Then where will you be? Still single? Be a bachelor for life?”
He lowered his gaze. “I know a few English who converted, and it took a year, from the time they met us to when baptized. They all said they needed to take the step, knew they were Amish deep down.”
“I need to talk to Emma,” Colleen blurted. “I mean Grandma.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“We need to prepare.” She pulled his face close to hers. “It’s the first step in being your wife. But I’m so afraid, and Emma helps me.”
Hezekiah cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I promise to wait for you, until I’m an old man, if you promise to be my wife.”
He’d wait for her forever? “How can you promise that?”
“Because I see you’re Amish in your heart, already, and it won’t be too long.”
Colleen bit her lower lip, trying not to smile. “I’ll say yes to marrying you, if we wed within two years. If I’m not accepted into the
Amish church by then, you’re free.”
Hezekiah picked her up and twirled her around. Their laughter echoed through the woods as the morning sun kissed the blue sky.
~*~
Granny rubbed her knees. This flu was harder to get through than she imagined. And Tillie was in the living room waiting to go on a birthday picnic. She felt her heart swell with love as she looked over at the canning jar filled with flowers set on her dresser, all picked by Tillie. Such a tenderhearted girl, similar to Nathan in many ways.
The news Jeb brought yesterday made her want to get up and jump for joy, if she had the strength. Nathan, always wanting to please, finally stood up to his mamm! As soon as she thought this, she quickly asked God to forgive her of any ill-will toward her daughter-in-law. But her own son had married a woman who didn’t let him rule the roost. Granny clenched her hands as memories of her urging him to move so far away threatened resentment to grow afresh. Nee, I will not. I will think the best, not holding a grudge, like the Good Book says.
She laid her head back on the pillow, fatigue overtaking her. What was wrong with her? Was she really sick or was this old-age? Her bedroom door opened, and she covered her mouth with the corner of her lap quilt, fearing it was Tillie and she’d catch the flu-bug. But she soon saw Jeb, and Fannie? Granny motioned for her to leave, being pregnant.
“I came by to help. Wanted to say hello,” Fannie said in the doorway. “Anything I can do?”
“Take Tillie on a picnic.”
Jeb held up a hand in protest. “She means help around the house. Lots of work needs to be done, and I can’t do it all.”
“But I promised Tillie.”
“Tillie can wait, jah? She’s not a spoiled Englisher.”
Fannie gasped. “Jeb, we have English friends in our knitting circle. They’re not all spoiled…or too pampered, like you think.”
Jeb groaned. “I’m sorry. We have Amish camp here again. And I’m praying my hardest Jonas makes it through.”
“He feels needed,” Granny said with a groan, holding her middle again. “Need to lie down. Fannie, can you wash trousers and dresses in your condition?”
“Jah, I’m feeling mighty fine.”
“Danki, I’ll return the favor.”
“You can do it today. Pray my mamm comes to circle tonight.”
“There won’t be one,” Jeb said, evenly. “She’s sick.”
“I’m well enough to sit and knit,” Granny said, almost in a whisper. “But I need rest right now.”
Jeb went over to feel her forehead again. “No fever. Goot.” He took her hand. “I’ll take Tillie on a little picnic for you, since you gave your word about it. Now, just rest.”
“Danki, Love.”
~*~
Jonas bowed his head as a bus full of Englishers unloaded. Jenny was by his side again, so eager to help. He was glad they moved Amish Camp to the afternoon, since he was much too stiff in the mornings.
Jenny leaned her head on his shoulder. “Opa Jonas, don’t be nervous. Just answer their questions.”
“Wish they’d just ask how a cow’s milked. Seems like folks ask about controversial issues.”
Jenny leaned back. “What’s that mean?”
Jonas groaned. “Things people disagree on, and I don’t like it.”
As the benches filled, Jonas said another silent prayer, and faced them with a smile. Janice got up and introduced him, and asked that hands be raised if you have a question.
An elderly man raised a hand and Jonas nodded. “Do the Amish here milk their cows using machines? I’ve been to Amish farms where they use diesel power to milk cows.”
Jonas thanked God for this question, and then shook his head. “Nee, we milk by hand.”
“So are you of a stricter Amish branch?”
“We’re Old Order Amish, not New Order, if that’s what your mean.”
The man readjusted his glasses. “This Amish farm I went to was Old Order, though. They said so.”
Jonas, again, was thankful, since he had a ready answer. “We’re broken down into Gmays, or church districts. There’s over twenty-some here in the Smicksburg Area. Each one has about two-hundred people in it, and they vote on a thing called the Ordnung, the English word for ordinance. In German it’s Verordnung, but we say Ordnung for short.”
“So each ‘little church’ has its own rules? How come?”
“Because we have to abide by them. We come together in the spring, when everything is new, and make new changes to our Ordnung, if needed. This past spring, I was dogged determined to have glass-enclosed buggies, since the bone cold winters are hard on my arthritis.”
Everyone leaned forward, eyes full of anticipation.
“But it was voted down…”
“That’s not very nice,” an elderly woman snapped. “I have arthritis and it’s painful. Don’t the Amish respect their elderly?”
Jonas’s jaw gaped open, stunned. Why so much confrontation all the time? He took a deep breath. “Well, if I got a glass-enclosed buggy, everyone would have to get one, and the expense was too much. So the bishop agreed that the Gmay would hire an English driver for me in the winter months. I was touched deeply, that the People cared so much to agree on that. English drivers are expensive.”
The audience’s tone soon cheered up. “That’s a wonderful story,” Janice said. “I didn’t know that. So, everyone votes, even the women?”
“Of course,” Jonas chuckled. “Why wouldn’t they?”
A lady with black hair streaked with chunks of blonde stood up. “Because most churches are run by men. Gets on my last nerve.”
“Well, all the ministers and bishops are male, but the women-folk feed us, and we want to eat,” Jonas said with grin.
But this made the lady sneer at him. “My husband helps cook at our church. Are you saying women are only good for cooking, cleaning…having babies? Barefoot and pregnant all the time?”
He felt his heart sink. “I lost my wife years ago. I think she did many goot things, not just cook. She was a wunderbar mamm, friend to many, helped me run our dry-goods store. We were what some folk call ‘two peas in a pod.’ And I miss her.”
The woman with blond streaked hair put her hand to her heart. “I’m so sorry for saying such a thing. Being so rude.”
“Well, you got one thing right; she ran around barefoot all the time.”
The crowd roared with laughter, and Jonas looked at Jenny, who just shrugged her shoulders.
“Another question?” Jonas asked.
A middle-aged woman sitting in between her two young children raised a hand. “I see carved pumpkins on the porches here. Why?”
Jonas didn’t know what a carved pumpkin had to do with anything. He looked at Jenny who just looked at the woman, baffled. “Well, it’s fun, for one thing. And we roast the seeds to eat. We don’t put faces or anything on them, if that’s what you’re wondering. The English do, but we make no image of man on anything.”
The lady outstretched her arms around her children, as if to protect them from something. “Do you celebrate Halloween, or think it’s the devil’s day?”
Jonas cocked his head back as if hit in the face. “Halloween? The devil’s day? Nee. I won’t give one day to that old serpent. My Bible says, ‘This is the day the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.’” Jonas lifted his hand crutch up toward the sky. “All days are God’s, at least in my book.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “But my question was, ‘Do the Amish celebrate Halloween?’”
Jonas felt dizzy with emotion. “Nee, we celebrate very few holidays, only Christmas, Second Christmas, Ascension Day, Easter and Pentecost. Although Thanksgiving is celebrated by many since they work for the English and have the day off.” He sighed. “Any more questions?” he asked, wearily.
An African American man put his hand up. “Are all Amish white?”
“We’re all German or Swiss, so our ancestors were Caucasian.”
“If someo
ne of color wanted to be Amish, would you allow it?”
Of color? Everyone had a different color. He must mean the color black. “Jah, it’s a sin to show favoritism. Some Amish have adopted children of other races. The kinner are raised Amish, but they have to decide to be Amish in their own mind. It’s a serious vow, but if they decide they want to live plain, they’re baptized into the church.”
The man’s brilliant white teeth made his smile seem all the bigger against his black skin. “Thank you.”
The air was crisp and windy, and soon orange, yellow, and red leaves danced over the people. The mood was a little lighter than the last few Amish camps. Was it that he was less nervous, or was he getting more acquainted with the English? He looked over at Jenny and nodded.
Jenny took the cue. “There’s apple cider on the porch if you want some. That’s free, but my mamm has pumpkin pies for sale, too.”
Janice stood up. “Thank you Jonas, Jenny. Anyone needing a drink or want to buy pies that are out of this world…I mean heavenly….please go over to the porch.”
Jonas leaned down and whispered in Jenny’s ear. “How’d I do?”
“You’re getting much better, Opa Jonas. And I like doing this with you.”
Jonas leaned his head on hers. “Me too, Jenny. Me too.”
~*~
Granny stared at the black alpaca, feeling too tired to wonder if she needed to decrease or not. She laid the half knit socks in her lap, and put her head against the back of her rocker. She looked over at Jeb, stirring the chicken soup, hunched over the large blue speckle ware pot. Jonas had shared that during Amish Camp a woman seemed to think Amish men didn’t cook or clean. Well, her Jeb did, and the aroma of sage, parsley and chicken broth made her mouth water. “Love, you didn’t have to make soup, but I’m thankful.”
“Not a problem at all. Chicken soup is still the best remedy for the flu.”
“And antibiotics, jah? It’s goot that Roman’s got it through his head he needs to take his heart medicine,” Jeb said with relief. “Don’t need a repeat of your daed.”
“Jah, taken too soon with his heart condition.” Granny looked down at the socks and rubbed the soft alpaca with her fingers. Sometimes it seemed like yesterday that her dear mamm and daed were alive. Gone home to glory. The sound of buggy wheels on gravel jarred her into reality, and she looked out the window. Hezekiah and Colleen in a buggy? What on earth?
Smicksburg Tales 1,2 & 3 (Amish Knitting Circle, Amish Friends Knitting Circle & Amish Knit Lit Cirlce ~ Complete Series: 888 pages for Granny Weaver Lovers and 30+ Amish Recipes Page 51
