Along Wooded Paths (17 page)

Dear Marianna,

I cannot believe I have to write you. I cannot believe you’re not at the house down the road. Seeing you leaving on that train was something like a bad dream. Unfortunately it wasn’t something I could wake up from.

This wasn’t how I had planned things. During the months I’d worked on the house, the story in my mind went so much different. I suppose I shouldn’t have kept that story to myself. Maybe I shoulda let you in on it sooner. Maybe things would be different now.

I’m not sure if I should tell you this, but as the driver took us away we stopped for fuel. We saw Levi there. He was sitting in his car staring at the train tracks. He musta still been there since the train went by. He didn’t see us, and I’m glad for that. He was leaning over the steering wheel crying as hard as that time his horse accidentally trampled on his new pup. Maybe this time—like the last time—he realized he was partly at fault. Everyone round town is talking about how his straying was one of the things that forced your folks to head out. Maybe they thought that being close to Levi would be a temptation for your brothers. The way I see it, a person’s gonna do what they’re gonna do. Just like you and I are determined to follow the ways of our ancestors and get baptized into the church, I think some folks are gonna leave no matter what we do or say.

But enough of that. I didn’t pick up this paper to share all my observations on life. Instead there’s a simpler message I want to share. I love you. I have for years. I shoulda done a better job showing that love, telling of that love, instead of building it with wood. Even now I wish I would have told you more clearer. I wished I woulda heard it from your mouth.

Even as I write this, I doubt I’ll put this letter in the post. For when I express my truer feelings, I’d like to look into your eyes. Maybe I’ll hold this back until you return to Indiana. Maybe I’ll hold it until I know it’s time for you to be mine again.

Love,

Aaron

Aaron blushed as he read his own words. How naïve he had been. Did he really think that this move wouldn’t change her? Did he really think she would be the same the day she returned as the day she left?

He held the envelope in his fingers. Half of him told him to give it to her—tomorrow even. And then they’d have time to talk. The other half weighed down those noble thoughts. What if, instead of drawing them together, it pushed them apart. If he pushed too hard or moved too fast, she’d run away. Or she’d close up and not let him know her true feelings.

A pain stirred in his gut when he realized it was possible that he’d leave without her—head back to Indiana alone once he was all healed up. She didn’t need him—not really. Not with the satisfaction she found in her family, the community, even her work.

Aaron tucked the envelope in his sketchbook. He’d decide tomorrow. Tears filled his eyes and after a few minutes he realized his leg ached. The pain consumed his limb and his whole body tensed because of it. He looked to the bottle of pain pills but couldn’t get himself to take one. He didn’t want to be weak. He refused to become addicted.

Aaron put his things in the dresser and then lay in bed, realizing his heart ached too. The pain wasn’t as sharp as his leg but there all the same.

His mind tried to think through how things would work out now, but no path he traveled down seemed as good as it would have been before the Sommer family had left. Aaron turned to his side and punched his pillow. The truth was, nothing would ever be like he’d planned. Things had changed. She’d changed. Even if he took her back to Indiana now, Marianna would always have the memories here. She’d understand more of what the world outside their community was like.

And that kind of knowledge never led to good.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sunday morning dawned, and with it Marianna’s anticipation of a slow-paced day. Their community only had church every other week, and this was an off day.

She snuggled closer to Ellie and pulled the covers up tight under her chin. It must be earlier than she thought. It was still cold, which meant Dat hadn’t been downstairs to get the fire going yet.

Marianna looked to the cradle and saw that Joy wasn’t there. Marianna had heard her baby sister crying in the night and barely remembered her mother coming in to get her to nurse. Mem probably kept Joy in bed with her to keep her warm.

She waited for a while, expecting to hear the stove lids rattle downstairs and Mem humming as she started breakfast. As Marianna lay there, she thought about the day ahead. She looked forward to sitting by the fire, hearing news from Aaron about folks back home, and maybe even playing with quilt blocks. She still needed to design a quilt and get to sewing it for Annie. Instead of getting a ride to Eureka, she’d purchased quilt squares from the craft room at work and now had to try to figure something out with those. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t have enjoyed spending the day with Ben. She would, and that was the problem. It also would have been a problem because everyone—Dat, Mem, Aaron—would have protested her doing such a thing. Perhaps they thought if she just stayed away from Ben, it will solve everything. That it would snuff out all the emotions in her heart.

Marianna listened to Ellie’s soft breathing. Last night things warmed up again after dinner. Uncle Ike and Annie were restored to friendly terms before the night was over. The most humorous part came when Uncle Ike gave Annie a ride home. Her little car had trouble getting out of the driveway. The horse did better by far, especially with the sleigh tracks Uncle Ike had attached to his buggy. That’s how the Amish did things in the winter around here, she’d learned. It reminded her of the old storybooks she’d read as a child.

It was romantic to see her uncle remind Annie to bundle up before heading out, and Annie didn’t seem put out by all the attention. Not in the least.

Marianna’s stomach growled, and not willing to wait any longer, she dressed and tiptoed downstairs, hoping to start breakfast before everyone woke. But as she stepped off the last stair, she turned and noticed Aaron already dressed and standing by the fire, preparing to get it going. By his side sat Trapper. Ever since Aaron arrived, the dog had decided Aaron needed his companionship at night.

Aaron put wood in the stove and then crumbled a few sheets of newsprint, setting it inside. He looked tired. And something else . . . worried, maybe?

“Are you okay?” She hurried to the small jar on the side table for a match. “The pain didn’t keep you up all night, did it?”

“Nah.” Aaron rubbed his leg above the cast. “Pain is pain. Just woke up early, that’s all.”

“I hope the bed’s comfortable.” She approached and bent down to pet Trapper.
She
used to be his favorite.

“
Ja, ja
.” Aaron looked up at her. “I wasn’t complaining. In fact, I’m still sorry I took your room. This isn’t how I planned things.”

Marianna glanced up at him, meeting his blue eyes, seeing his embarrassment. She sort of liked this Aaron. She’d always looked up to the Aaron who took charge, took matters into his own hands, provided, planned. But now, with Aaron not able to do much more than light a fire once in a while, Marianna saw again the tender boy she remembered from childhood. And his finger-combed hair added to the allure.

She wanted to know this Aaron better. Wanted to understand what had changed since she’d last seen him on the platform of the train station, standing strong and brave.

If only she could sit next to him and ask about what things had been like after she’d left. Not only things in their community. More than that. Things with his heart. His cabin. Naomi. How intimate had they been? Had it been more than friendship?

Instead, she moved toward the kitchen, and then paused, calling back over her shoulder. “Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried? I could do either.”

When he didn’t answer, she turned.

He got the stove going and then closed the door. Hopping on one foot, he moved to the sofa, sinking into it with a weariness she didn’t understand.

Then she noticed a sketchbook on the floor. And on top of it what looked to be a letter. Her eyes zeroed in on it.

“Did someone from home write?”

Aaron studied her for a moment, then reached down and slipped the envelope into his book. “Oh, no. I wrote something. Nothing really.”

A letter? To Naomi? Her heart sank. “If you’d like, I can take it with me to work tomorrow and mail it out.”

Aaron nodded and then cleared his throat. “Fried.”

She tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“I like my eggs fried, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. That’s how I like mine too.”

She turned back again and hurried to the kitchen. What was the letter about? Of course he’d written Naomi. It only made sense. That was probably why he didn’t want her to mail it—to see it. And if it
was
a letter to Levi’s old girlfriend . . . what did it say?

Aaron squirmed. From the look on his face, he had something important to talk to her about. She just wished he would come out with it already. If he kept this up he’d get her kapp strings all in a bunch as her mind spun with thoughts and worries.

She didn’t understand men. Aaron Zook might be talented at drawing, but he didn’t hide his feelings well. Why didn’t she realize that sooner? Maybe because back at home he’d been surrounded by what he knew best, doing what he did best.

And here . . . he seemed all out of sorts. She didn’t blame him. It took time to get used to a new place, new ways. Plus, there was the injury.

He had gotten used to having her around more. He hadn’t seemed to mind one bit—until today. Was he nervous because he wished he was with someone else?

Marianna bit her lip. If he didn’t come out with it soon, she was going to scream.

Marianna sat on the floor in front of the fire, her legs crossed and her skirt tucked around her. She started laying out the small snippets of fabric she’d bought at the store. She looked down at her gray dress with the colored fabric patterns spread over it. The reds, oranges, and yellows made her smile.

She placed a few more squares on her lap. What it would feel like to wear colors such as these? With a swoop of her hand she brushed them away, as if they were covered with ants.

How could she let her mind wander so?

“You’re working on a quilt?” Aaron leaned close, looking down.

“Well, I’m just playing with these now . . . I’d like to start one soon though.”

“If you’d like some help I can sketch something for you.”

“Really?” Marianna sat up straighter.

“My mem used to have me design quilts for her all the time.”

Marianna tightened her lips, holding back the giggle that threatened to break through. “
Ja
? I did not know that. I’ve always admired your mem’s quilts.” Everyone admired Mrs. Zook’s quilts for their color and style, and not once had she confessed that her oldest son was the designer of the patterns.

Marianna looked up at Aaron. Thankfully after breakfast his attitude had changed. He smiled now. Whatever had been the problem did not seem to matter any longer. Maybe he’d just been tired or in pain. At least, she hoped that was the cause.