Beside Still Waters (15 page)

The woman's mouth circled in an
O.
"It is okay, isn't it? I know you don't watch television, but I'm not sure what else is not allowed."

Marianna laughed. "Crayons are fine, although we make our own by grinding up flowers and mixing them with candle wax."

"Really?" The woman's eyes grew wide.

More laughter spilled from Marianna's lips. "No, I'm joking. We may not watch television, but we do like to color and draw." In her mind's eye she thought of Aaron and the amazing way his sketches captured moments of life that most people took for granted and looked past. She glanced out the window. A longing to see him again mixed with regret over what she'd said. She should have gone . . . should have seen the house. Aching rippled inside her, matching the swaying of the train.

Marianna and the woman talked for the next hour. The woman asked many questions about the Amish way of life, and she told Marianna how she worked as an administrative assistant for a lawyer.

"My boss is picking me up from the train station, and we're taking clients to dinner, that's why I'm dressed like this. If I had my choice I'd be wearing jeans. I just hate wearing dresses." The woman's face reddened as soon as the words were out of her mouth. "I'm so sorry. There I go putting my foot in my mouth again."

"It's okay. I don't mind. It's all I've ever known. They are comfortable, at least I think so."

It wasn't until her father ventured over to check on them that Marianna remembered she was talking to a stranger instead of a good friend. And an hour later, when they came to the woman's stop, Marianna was disappointed to see her leave.

"I'll be praying for your family and the rest of your trip." The woman rose and gathered up her things. She carried a bright red purse and a bag that looked like it was made from some type of animal skin with a striped pattern. Marianna looked down at her own simple paper sack with just a smidgen of envy. The truth was, she'd love to have a bag like that, but she'd never be able to use it. The women in her community kept a high standard and watched each other to make sure everyone dressed as they ought. She couldn't even leave the house without her clothes and kapp perfectly pressed. They'd notice a bag for sure and then confront her on her pride for having such a thing.

With a wave the woman disappeared, and it wasn't until she was already out of sight that Marianna realized she forgot to thank her again for the cookies and the color books.

As she sat there alone, she puzzled at the woman's words. She'd say a prayer? For her? For their trip? Marianna knew she should have thought of praying, but she hadn't. She knew God was with her, watching, protecting, but the woman made it seem as if joy could be found in the asking too.

For as long as Marianna could remember, prayers to God were said reverently, silently to one's self. Yet she couldn't picture that woman sitting quietly at a table in prayer. She pictured loud, exuberant prayers. And for the first time that seemed okay. Maybe God understood the woman's heart despite the way she lived within the world? Marianna hoped so.

Surely someone so kind was worthy of God's attention too.

Dear Journal,

Sorry for my sloppy handwriting. I really can't help it. I'm writing this entry from a train heading to Montana. First of all, I can't believe I'm leaving everything behind. I've lived in the same home for as long as I remember, and soon I'll be living far from everything and everyone I know. I'm not afraid of what I will find—well, maybe a little. Mostly I'm confused. Am I making the right choice? Will I forever lose my favor with Aaron? If I stayed we'd no doubt be married soon. Maybe by next year we'd be starting a family of our own. I never did get to see the house he built. He said he did it with me in mind. That confuses me even more. Maybe if he'd made his intentions known sooner, I wouldn't be traveling on this train so far from everything.

The train is cold and drafty, and I always have one or two kids on my lap. The other passengers stare. Mem and Dat seem to be trying to deal with things in their own way. As they sit quiet, I wonder if they're thinking of Levi. I bet it's hard leaving, sort of like giving up. I wonder if it's hard leaving the graves of my sisters. This morning Mem didn't know I was up, but I saw her out there, standing under the trees planted in memory of their lives. We haven't got rain in the last week and the leaves drooped. Seemed to be sad, too.

In the sadness, though, not everything has been bad. I met an interesting woman who helped me with the kids. It was strange in the way she talked about God like He was her friend—like she could just talk to Him whenever she liked. Her eyes sparkled and she looked different than I'm used to seeing. It wasn't just the Englisch clothes and makeup. She just looked full of joy. That's the only way I can describe it. I've never thought of the Englisch being like that before.

Well, I have to stop writing, even though my mind is full of thoughts. Josiah needs someone to take him to the bathroom and everyone else is asleep.

The gentle rocking of the train lulled Josiah back to sleep, and Marianna stroked the young boy's hair. She'd enjoyed the previous quiet hours on the train almost as much as she had the conversation. It was nice, just to sit and view the countryside and tell herself it was a short trip, and she'd be back in six months. She let herself daydream about dates with Aaron Zook upon her return, and about the house he was building on his father's property. She also thought about the letter she would write him when they got to Montana. A letter apologizing for her behavior and a reminder that he was the reason she wanted to return.

But as time passed, it seemed wrong to just be sitting there. She should have brought mending, or even the embroidery she'd been working on last year but hadn't pulled out lately. She couldn't remember the last time she'd thought about so many things. She replayed her last conversations with Levi, Aaron, Rebecca, even Naomi. Her thoughts pestered her more when her mind wasn't busy, and she didn't like that. Doing things was easier. She was most secure when her hands were busy with work. They wouldn't be busy with much for a while. They had to stop in Chicago yet and change trains and then a thirty-three-hour journey stretched after that. And with each passing mile she was reminded those were miles she'd have to cross again when she returned.

As she thought about it, it seemed strange someone else would be living in their house. She also thought of a few more things she should have packed. Things she regretted leaving behind.

Marianna trusted Martha wouldn't get in her trunk. It wasn't until these quiet moments on the train she remembered her old diaries were also kept there. Most of the journals were just daily tasks and stories she'd made up with friends, but there was one special journal in which she'd written letters to God, made up of questions of things she didn't understand—like why did they need to follow the way of their ancestors? And how come she'd been chosen to be born in this family? What if she hadn't? What if she'd never learned the narrow path to get to God?

Her father's snores sounded behind her. Why hadn't she ever thought to ask him these questions? For as long as she could remember, it hadn't seemed her place to ask. Her parents guided her, disciplined her, made sure she was on the right path, but they weren't there to answer her every question. Caring and providing for their family took most of their time. When she did ask, they told her that getting all the answers would lead to pride. She supposed it was true, and just as she learned to dress and act in certain ways, she'd grown to trust that it was better to do what was required without question. And the more she did, unlike Rebecca or Levi, the more she saw they were right. Life was easier, more peaceful this way.

Yet as a girl she hadn't been as patient or understanding. One night she'd even prayed hard that God would answer her questions back. She begged Him just to write down His answers in her book. She'd promised Him that she wouldn't tell anyone if He did.

The next day there were still blank pages, but that was the day she'd met Uncle Ike for the first time. He'd been living in Canada, but having him around brought fun to their quiet home. Uncle Ike had always been quick to go on a walk with her and talk about all the things she thought about. And even though he didn't always have the answers, it made her feel better to know he often asked the same questions.

Of course that was then. She hadn't had many conversations with Uncle Ike for a while, beyond ordinary talk of life around the farm. She was mad at him in a way. If he hadn't talked her father into moving, they'd still be living life as they always had. She'd be starting to date Aaron. She could be married by fall.

Laughter interrupted Marianna's thoughts, but not the joyful laughter of hours earlier. Instead the harsh laughter of a young man about Levi's age split the air.

He stumbled through the doorway from another car. His eyes scanned the passengers, then stopped on her. Marianna looked away, focusing out the window on the large fields stretching in every direction. The waves of green rippled in the breeze in swooping waves.

Ellie still napped, and Marianna snuggled her closer. The man neared, looking at them—at her. Charlie let out a small whimper at the man's approach and rose from his seat, scurrying back to their parents. Marianna wished she could do the same.

"So what are you?" The man's words slurred. "A pilgrim?" He laughed again, but Marianna continued staring out the window, though now she did so without seeing. The hairs on her arms rose, and her heartbeat quickened. She clung to Ellie. Maybe if she just ignored him, he'd go away.

"What are you girl, deaf? Don't you talk?"

Marianna glanced at him. "I'm Amish, sir."

"Dat!" Behind her she heard Charlie call, interrupting her father's snore.

"Amish? I thought you weren't allowed transportation. Aren't you supposed to be back on the farm? Washing down them cows and getting ready to milk. Or . . ." His face neared hers. He reeked of alcohol. "Or I can wash you down. What do you have under that bathrobe?"

"Dat!" Charlie's voice sharpened.

Marianna attempted to rise, holding Ellie tight, but the man was too close. She couldn't stand. Couldn't run. She felt trapped, like an animal in a cage. Her eyes scanned the faces of the other passengers, but they were no longer staring. All looked away. No one moved. No one helped.

Marianna craned her neck to look to her father. His eyes opened a little, and then widened when he saw the man. In seconds he was on his feet, rushing around the row of chairs toward her.

"Get your hands off my daughter." Her father was there in three long steps. His face reddened, and Marianna could see the vein in his temple bulge.

The guy lifted his head, attempting to focus on her father's face. "You going to make me?"

"If I need to." Her father balled his fists and jutted out his chin.

"Dat, no. I'm fine." Marianna touched his arm, but he brushed her hand away.

"You? You're gonna stop me? You're an old man, with a big Santa beard." The young man's laugh was far from pleasant. "Do you think you can take me?"

Her father straightened his shoulders. He didn't respond but took another step forward.

The man lifted his chin, eyeing Dat, then lowered his head and stepped back. "I don't think she's worth fighting for anyways.Pilgrim hat. Pilgrim dress." Curses flew from his lips, then the man stumbled through the doors to the next car.

Marianna let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She looked down to Ellie on her lap, thankful the girl still slept. She wiped the sweat that had beaded on her brow with her fingertips. Was this going to be a regular occurrence? Fear raced through her heart. Yes, they'd be living near other Amish, but unlike where she'd come from, they'd be the minority. What would happen next time if her father wasn't there?

Satisfied the man had left, her father sat in the seat where Charlie had been. He tried to act as if nothing had happened as he peeked over to see if Ellie still slept. She did, curled up with a small fist tucked under her chin. Dat reached a hand to brush a curl off her cheek, and it was then Marianna saw her father's hand was quivering.