Love Inspired June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Patricia Johns

  “You still have a husband,” he said.

  She smiled at him faintly. “In our way, I suppose. But not in the way anyone else would approve of. Fannie used to fight with Silas so bitterly. Did you know that?”

  Amos shook his head. “No. They seem so happy—”

  “It’s private, so you can’t say anything. This is a secret I’m telling you as my husband. She did the same with Silas,” she said. She knew Amos well enough to know that she could trust his discretion.

  “Okay...”

  “Apparently, they are happy now,” she said. “But when they first got married, they were like anyone else and they had to adjust to married life. Silas wasn’t very affectionate. He expected Fannie to do her duty, put the meals on the table, to clean the house and take care of the garden, and he never once thanked her for any of it. She was...” Miriam thought back to the young, newly married Fannie. “She was very sensitive, and kindhearted, and hopeful.”

  “What improved things for them?” Amos asked.

  “I left.” Miriam looked over at him.

  “No...” Amos shook his head.

  “I’m serious,” she replied. “I was a wake-up for them. I used to encourage her to tell Silas how she felt, and to stand up to him. He could be such a bully...”

  “And when you left, it scared them, seeing what could have happened to them if they carried on that way,” Amos said.

  “I think so,” Miriam replied. “That, and she no longer had me there to encourage her to revolt.”

  “Did you?” he asked.

  She felt some heat in her cheeks. “A little.”

  Amos chuckled softly. “No harm done. They’re fine now. They have all those kinner, and seem very happy when I see them on Service Sunday. Silas and I get along quite well.”

  “Is he...nice?” Miriam asked. “He didn’t seem very nice to Fannie back then. Is he kind? Does he respect her?”

  “Yah,” Amos said. “He loves her dearly, Miriam. He talks about her all the time. Fannie’s baking, Fannie’s singing, Fannie’s garden... You’d think there was only one woman on the earth.”

  So Silas had loved her... Was it possible that Miriam had been stirring up trouble for that couple when what Fannie had needed was a little encouragement? If so, she hadn’t meant to, and she felt truly sorry for it now. Back then, she’d thought that most women must be just like her—chafing at the restraints, eager to do more than women’s work or run a small shop, to wrap her brain around some new challenge that could really excite her. But that didn’t seem to be true. Most women in their communities loved their time at home, their time with their kinner, evenings quilting with friends...

  Other women were content.

  “I was foolish back then,” Miriam said quietly. “And Fannie now knows it.”

  “How so?” Amos asked.

  “I thought that Fannie was just like I was,” Miriam said. “I thought she just wasn’t strong enough to stand up to her husband and tell him what she really needed. I used to encourage her to have it out with Silas, to tell him what she really thought of how he acted toward her. I thought she deserved better treatment. Maybe the one she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to was me.”

  Amos was silent, but he cast her a sad look. Her strong personality had always been her biggest weakness, and there was no getting around it. It was what had kept her single in Edson, too.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Miriam said, and she pulled her hand back from his warm, comforting clasp.

  “You weren’t the terrifying storm you seem to think,” he said quietly.

  “No?” she said. “Then why didn’t anyone come after me to talk me into coming back?”

  There hadn’t been any women coming by to talk to her about forgiveness or to give her advice about making up with her husband. There hadn’t been any visits from elders and their wives to give some advice to a woman who’d run away from her husband.

  “Because your father was particularly imposing,” Amos replied, but he smiled as he said the words, taking the sting out of them.

  “That’s true,” she admitted ruefully.

  Her daet had certainly had a way about him. He could use a single look to cow an Englisher businessman trying to drive down a fair price. And he’d used that look in protection of his daughter.

  “Miriam, you were nothing like I expected,” Amos said. “But we’re okay. We’re both living happy lives. I’ve got Noah and Thomas, who treat me like family, and Gott has been good to me. I feel blessed with the life I lead. I really do.”

  Miriam looked over at him—the calm, content man she’d married. And she was so far from content, so far from happy with how her life had turned out. But if she’d learned something on this trip back to Redemption, it was that her own frustration couldn’t be put onto others.

  Her husband had built a happy life without her, and she couldn’t upset another life just because she felt unsettled and not quite fulfilled.

  “I’m glad,” Miriam said. “I’m going to take a walk, I think. I could use a little time alone.”

  Amos nodded. “Sure. Thank you for sharing the whoopee pie with me.”

  They stopped swinging and Miriam stood up. She needed to walk and pray, and see if she could find a portion of that trusting contentment that her husband had found. If Gott could give Amos that kind of peace, maybe He would grant it to her, too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next morning, Amos went out early to gather eggs from the chicken coop and then muck out the stables where their three horses were housed. The air was cool, and dew hung heavy on the grass and the small, barely sprouting garden plants. He paused at the outside row of pea plants and touched the coiling springs.

  He glanced back toward the house. There was a light on in the kitchen, and he saw Miriam pass in front of a window, her arms full of wood for the stove. He stood there, motionless, letting the moment wash over him.

  His wife was home.

  It felt strange...uncomfortably good. He couldn’t get used to this obviously. She wasn’t staying. But Mammi had been right that some help around here while she was so sick was incredibly welcome. Just recently, the outdoor chores as well as the cooking and what he could manage of the cleaning had fallen to him. Mammi’s health had started failing rather abruptly.

  The sun was peeking over the horizon, glowing pink in the mist that hung over the fields. Mornings like this one had always made him feel closer to Gott. He’d often thought about the fact that Gott had given them sunrises and sunsets. He could just as easily have created a world where the sun came up and went down with the same regularity and no fanfare. But Gott splashed the sky in color twice a day.

  And that same Gott, the one who loved them enough to give them beauty for the sake of beauty and did not make mistakes, was going to bring Mammi home one day soon. Amos trusted Gott, but that didn’t stop his heart from breaking. Mammi had been a beautiful spot in his life. She was like a splash of sunrise.

  The rumble of an engine drew Amos’s attention, and he walked toward the drive to see a pickup truck coming up to the house. He knew the vehicle well—this was Wollie Zook.

  “Good morning!” Amos called as he sauntered toward the truck.

  Wollie turned off the engine and hopped out. He was dressed in Amish clothes, which looked odd coming out of the driver’s side of a vehicle.

  “Good morning, Amos,” Wollie said.

  “How are things going?” Amos asked. Wollie wasn’t coming by for a chat, he was pretty sure. There was something wrong.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you all, but I’ve got a problem over at my place that I need a hand with.”

  “Oh?” Amos said. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s an axle on my buggy,” Wollie said. “It got knocked out of alignment going over a pothole, and I can see the problem, but I need a han
d fixing it.”

  “Is that why you’re back driving the truck?” Amos asked.

  Wollie’s face colored a little. “Yah, well... I didn’t have a lot of time. I wanted to come find you before I headed to work, and...”

  Some conveniences were hard to let go of. If Wollie were living a fully Amish life, he’d have walked to his nearest neighbor, not driven to his neighbor of choice.

  “It’s okay,” Amos said with a shake of his head. “I can help you out. How much time do you have before you leave for work?”

  “About three hours,” Wollie said. “My shift doesn’t start until ten.”

  “I can help you this morning. Noah and Thomas have keys to the shop—I can be a little late,” Amos said.

  “That would be great,” Wollie said. “Thank you.”

  “For sure.” Amos nodded again, and he eyed the younger man. “It’s not easy, is it?”

  “Coming back Amish?” Wollie let out a breath. “It’s supposed to be easy for me—I was born to this life. But it’s not as easy as I thought. I got used to things—Englisher conveniences that just saved time. Like the truck. I told myself I wouldn’t drive it again, but I kept it, just in case of emergency. I’ve got four kinner, after all, and Natasha is expecting again. We haven’t told anyone yet, so don’t tell people, if you don’t mind.”

  “Congratulations,” Amos said. “That’s great news.”

  “Thank you,” Wollie said. “But all my other kinner were born English, and...things can go wrong. I’m feeling cautious.”

  “Yah, I know,” Amos said.

  Wollie pursed his lips. “It’s not easy for Natasha, either. She’s been trying to use the woodstove that we had installed a couple of months ago, and she’s having trouble with it—burns just about everything she cooks. As for sewing—my mamm is still sewing my shirts for me, because it’s too much to ask Natasha to do.” Wollie dropped his gaze. “I’ve started to wonder if I was wrong to ask her to live an Amish life with me.”

  “Wollie, you married an Englisher woman who was willing to try to be Amish with you. That’s something extraordinary right there,” Amos said seriously.

  “True, that isn’t common, is it?” Wollie’s gaze flickered toward the house. “Your wife is back, isn’t she?”

  “Yah, for a little while,” Amos said.

  “Not for good?” Wollie asked.

  Amos sighed. “Our marriage is complicated. Be thankful for a wife who can live with you English or Amish. You are a blessed man, Wollie.”

  Wollie smiled. “Yah, I am.”

  His smile faltered. He looked worried.

  “Miriam isn’t really a homemaker,” Amos said. “So I don’t think she’d be the right one to teach your wife how to keep an Amish home.”

  “I think she needs a friendly face, more than anything,” Wollie said.

  Miriam had a soft spot in her heart for struggling wives, it seemed. “Maybe she’ll be willing to show her some basics. I mean, she’s a good cook...”

  “Do you think she might?” Wollie said. “I think my wife would appreciate the social contact. She’s so frustrated.”

  “I can ask,” Amos said, and felt a sudden wave of misgiving. Volunteering Miriam for something she didn’t want to do would only cause more friction between them. He was overstepping; he could feel it. But the words were already out.

  “Tell you what,” Amos said. “Let me finish up here, and I’ll come by your place. If she can help, I’ll let you know.”

  Wollie smiled and bounced the truck keys in his palm. “Thank you, Amos. I’ll see you later on, then.”

  Amos watched as Wollie pulled his truck around and headed back up the drive. He glanced toward the house. Wollie might have the challenge of trying to reintegrate his family into an Amish way of life, but at least he had a wife dedicated to staying by his side. Amos had a wife home with him for a little while longer, but there was an unrooted, unsettled feeling to this arrangement, and he envied Wollie just a little bit.

  Amos headed up the steps, and when he went inside the house and washed his hands, he saw Miriam cranking the windows open to catch the morning cross breezes. A pot of oatmeal bubbled fragrantly on the stove, and Mammi was already settled in the easy chair.

  “Was that Wollie Zook?” Mammi asked.

  “Yah, that was him,” Amos replied. He went over to where his grandmother sat and kissed her on the cheek. “How did you sleep, Mammi?”

  “Oh, as well as I seem to sleep these days,” Mammi said.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “I wake up a lot,” she replied. “But nighttime is a good time for prayer, Amos. When you can lie in the darkness and seek the Lord.”

  “Were you in pain?” he asked.

  “The medication helps with that,” she replied. “No need to fuss over me, dear boy.”

  He’d always be a “dear boy” in Mammi’s eyes, and the endearment brought a lump to his throat. He nodded and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Wollie needs a hand fixing his buggy,” Amos said. “That’s why he drove the truck.”

  Miriam looked up from the biscuits she was cutting out on the floured counter. “A truck?”

  “I know how it looks,” Amos replied. “Wollie left the community to marry an Englisher woman. They had a bad fire and started reconnecting with us again, and they’ve decided to try to live an Amish life. The problem is, his wife is Englisher, and she doesn’t see things the same way.”

  “She’s a good Christian,” Mammi said quietly.

  Amos looked back at his grandmother.

  “She is,” Mammi said. “I saw her at the grocery store once, and she was in line to pay with her kinner all in the cart, and talking and reaching for things, and...” Mammi shook her head. “But there was this woman ahead of her in line who didn’t have enough money to pay for her whole order, and she was going to start taking things out—things like milk and bread and meat. Things that would properly feed a family. And even though the Zooks lost so much in that fire, Natasha Zook handed the woman enough cash to cover her bill. Just handed it over. And when the woman said she’d pay her back, Natasha said not to worry about it. Just like that. And then she paid for her own order, and do you know? She had to put a few of her own things back because she didn’t have enough. Some of the treats for the kinner.”

  Amos stood there in silence. He hadn’t heard about that, and the thought of the good she’d done to that other woman, even though it meant she wouldn’t have enough for her own grocery bill, was moving. That was the kind of Christian love that their Amish community tried to show.

  “She’s a good woman,” Mammi said firmly. “And she’s trying hard.”

  “It sounds like it,” Miriam said quietly.

  “Wollie mentioned that, uh—” Amos cleared his throat. “He mentioned how frustrated Natasha is right now. She grew up English, so doing things our way is hard for her. Cooking on a woodstove is a real challenge, and so is sewing. She’s also lonely. I think she feels isolated. I—” He winced. “I know this is out of line for me to do, but I suggested that you might have enough time to help her—maybe just be friendly.”

  Miriam pressed her lips together. “I’ve got to be here with Mammi.”

  “Have her come here,” Mammi said. “Sometimes all the help a woman needs is a little kindness. Tell her to come visit us today, and we’ll show her how to do some basic sewing.”

  Amos looked over at Miriam. “Is that okay?”

  “Yah.” She nodded. “I’d be happy to show her a few things.”

  Miriam went over to the stove and stirred the pot of oatmeal a few times, then she pulled it off the heat and closed the damper on the stove. She moved with confidence around the kitchen, but he could see the sadness in her eyes.

  Amos crossed the kitchen to keep his words with her priva
te, and he lowered his voice.

  “I’m sorry that I offered up your time like that,” he said. “I knew it was too much the minute it came out of my mouth.”

  “It’s okay.” She shook her head and cast him a rueful smile.

  “Having you here—” He swallowed searching inside of himself for the words. “It’s been nice.”

  She looked at him, silent. He’d been expecting a joking comeback, or a roll of her eyes. Instead, she just looked at him.

  “It’s all too easy to fall into treating you like—” He dropped his gaze, not finishing.

  “Like your actual wife?” she asked softly.

  Amos looked up. “Yah.”

  Miriam picked up the pot with pot holders. “I am your wife, Amos. And until I leave, you can let me help you like a wife would do. If showing Natasha a few things will make things easier for you, I’m happy to do it.”

  She brushed past him with the hot pot of oatmeal toward the table, and he felt the old sadness come back. Miriam was being kind by helping out the way she was, but getting used to her presence, to this unnatural calm and peacefulness between them, wasn’t good for him.

  It would only hurt more when she left again.

  “I’d better hurry up,” he said. “I said I’d help Wollie with that axle, and then I have to get into work.”

  Sometimes it was better to focus on the day ahead instead of the hesitant, unrealistic hopes that had started inside of him.

  * * *

  Miriam had just finished pinning the last wet towel to the clothesline when a truck turned down the drive and came rumbling up to the house. Miriam recognized it from that morning—it was the Zooks’ vehicle. A blonde woman in Amish garb was driving, and after she parked, she opened the door and got out. She looked hesitantly toward Miriam.

  “Hello!” Miriam called, and she headed down the steps toward her. “You must be Natasha. I’m Miriam Lapp.”