Beside Still Waters (18 page)

"Everything smells so . . ." Ben's voice stopped, and she knew he realized what was happening. It was even clearer now that he hadn't been around Amish much. To have one meal shared together would have instructed him on their way.

But it wasn't Ben's fault.

Frustration tightened her gut, and when she opened her eyes, she cast a side glance at her father. Would it have been too hard for her father to have mentioned something? To say something as simple as, "We are going to pray."

Her father seemed oblivious to her disapproval, and as Marianna scooped a large cinnamon roll onto her plate she glanced from Ben to Annie—who was humming as she scrubbed dishes in the kitchen—and Marianna realized something. This was the first meal she'd ever shared with the Englisch. Back home their drivers ate by themselves in their vehicles. Looking around it bothered her that it was such a big deal. Why should she even notice such a thing? Didn't God love these people, too? Didn't He call her to love others as He did?

These new thoughts made her uncomfortable. In Indiana, where almost everyone she interacted with lived and believed as she did, she had no need to question these things.

Taking a big bite of the cinnamon roll, she felt even more unsure about this place they had moved to. Not only was she changing homes, friends, and community, but the walls protecting their personal lives had already been bulldozed over by the chuckle of a friendly driver and the quick hugs of a store owner. She felt vulnerable, unprotected.

And this was supposed to be better for her family?

Marianna swallowed. Grief pressed on her chest as she considered the loss of the place where she knew how everyone would act and where she felt safe. Even when their actions—like Levi's, like Rebecca's—weren't as she wished, at least she knew how to respond. She knew when to turn her back and when to hold on.

In a strange way, familiar conflicts felt far safer than a strangers' embrace.

Aaron tucked his hands into his pockets as he strode to his cabin. The sun had sunk over the horizon, but it was still light enough to see the grasshoppers jumping from the ground with his every step. He rubbed his eyes, and part of him wondered why he was even heading out here. He'd been up before dawn caring for his cattle. Then he'd gone to work at the Stoll's dairy only to come home to complete his dad's chores since his dad was working late at the mill. It seemed foolish to come. Marianna was gone. He'd have a house, but what good would that be without someone to share it with?

The fluttering of wings overhead told him the bats were already coming out for their evening meal. He spotted the roof of his house through the trees . . . Would Marianna come back as she said? The house should be finished in just a few months, but he wouldn't be able to move in alone. He needed someone by his side to care for their animals, help grow their food. To try to tackle all of it alone would be impossible. Aaron spit on the ground, realizing that if he couldn't make this work, he'd have to follow his dad's advice and work at the mill. He'd have no choice.

He hurried through the trees, deciding his only course of action would be to finish the house as planned and try to woo Marianna with his letters. If it came down to it, he could even hop on a train and go to Montana.

Aaron's steps paused as his cabin came into view. A light shone from inside, and he saw movement. Who could be there?

His footsteps quickened and then his heart leapt into his throat as he made out the figure of a woman. She wore the familiar blue dress, white kapp.
Marianna!

He broke into a run and laughter spilled from his lips. She'd come back. She'd returned.

"I don't believe it. You're really here!" He darted through the doorway. Then the woman turned and a face he didn't expect was smiling at him. She lowered her head, red tinting her cheeks.

"I didn't realize I'd get that type of welcome."

"Naomi?" He rubbed his forehead. What was
she
doing here?

"I'm sorry I came uninvited. I was visiting my cousin down the road, and stopped by at the chance you'd be here." She tucked a red curl behind her ear, then straightened her apron. "I can go. We can catch up another time." With quick steps she moved to the door.

"No, wait!" He reached out his hand, stopping her. His hand brushed the sleeve of her dress and she paused.

"I really didn't mean to be a bother. I"—Naomi lowered her gaze—"Well, when Levi left I remember how I felt. I just thought you'd need someone to talk to. I know his leaving was for a different reason, but it hurt just the same." Her lower lip quivered slightly, and Aaron stroked her arm, trying to comfort her.

"I imagine that was hard." He stood there not knowing what else to say. He'd gone to school with Naomi, too, but they'd never talked much. Everyone had expected her and Levi to get married, and that's why it had been such a shock when Levi left. Aaron's sandpapered heart seemed to bleed a little more as he thought of what Naomi had gone through.

"They're family. They've been through a lot." Naomi turned to him. "It's only understandable in a way that they'd have a hard time in relationships. I bet they're afraid to love after their losses."

"Well." He cleared his throat. "Marianna and I weren't in a relationship—not yet."

She walked to a sawhorse he had set up and brushed the sawdust off the top with her finger. "My ma tried to warn me. She said there were other boys in the community who were more stable, who'd provide a woman a good home." She stopped the movement of her finger and looked to him. "I didn't listen, and now my heart is broken in two."

Aaron didn't know what to say. Marianna wasn't like Levi. She was opposite, in fact. She followed the laws of their people and cared for those in her family first. If she hadn't been such a good Amish daughter, he bet she would have stayed. It was the one time he wished Marianna had a disobedient streak in her.

"Do you agree?" Naomi interrupted his thoughts. "Do you think it's because of their loss that they left us like that?"

"I'm not sure." Aaron shrugged. "I—I guess so."

"At least we have each other." Naomi stepped forward and lifted her head, looking into Aaron's face. "I'd hate to go through something like this alone."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Marianna stared out the van's door at the log cabin, realizing she couldn't imagine a place more different than their sprawling white farmhouse back home. The cabin was nestled into the side of a hill, just off a pothole-riddled dirt road. A flat area to the north of the house had a fenced-in section that looked as if it had once housed a garden. Now a thin layer of pine needles covered the ground. Beyond the garden was a clothesline, a small shed, and a barn. They were all made of logs and had a weathered gray look, proving they'd seen better years.

With squeals of excitement, the kids bounded from the van and raced through the front door. There wasn't a lock on it, Uncle Ike had informed them. No need really. One had to be more concerned about bears than thieves—an idea that didn't put Marianna's mind at ease.

Her mother followed the kids into the house, and Ben set to work unloading boxes from the back of the van. There wasn't a walkway to the house. Instead four steps rose from the damp ground to the wraparound porch. Her mother paused, turned, and looked at her.

"You coming?" Mem's face reflected a simple plea. Find a way to like it, her wide-eyed gaze seemed to say.

Marianna looked to her father and Uncle Ike. Instead of going to the house, they headed to the barn first. Something inside told her to follow them. The barn seemed safer. Fewer emotions were tied up with that. Also with Ben unloading everything into the house, she thought it would be easier for him if she just stayed out of his way. Or maybe it was easier for her. He was handsome, she admitted to herself, and he did have a wonderful way with her siblings.

Marianna followed her father and Uncle Ike into the barn first. He flipped on a light switch and electric lights buzzed on.

"The lights are powered by a generator." Uncle Ike flipped a switch. "The owners used to have a small milking operation here and they had vacuum pumps."

Marianna scanned the large stalls that were now empty of equipment and animals. Dirty straw littered the floor and the place smelled of dirt and mold. In one corner of the barn, a wheelbarrow was turned to its side. Near one of the stalls, a hole had been dug under the wall—most likely due to some type of creature that had wanted in. A squeak sounded behind her, and Marianna turned, but whatever had been there was already gone. Other animals had no doubt filled the space after the farm animals had left. She just hoped they'd be just as quick to move out as they had been to move in.

She walked to the dusty window and glanced outside . . .

What would her father do for work? There was a forest outside, not farmland. And surely there were no large mills in this area.

She glanced to Dat, wondering if he'd would be okay without the open land. Back at their ninety-acre farm he grew two acres of sweet corn, a half acre of beans, and hundreds of tomato plants. Just last month he'd planted three acres of red potatoes, or taters as he called them. How would he feel knowing that someone else would reap the harvest of his work?

"Tomorrow I'll bring over Silver." Uncle Ike strode to one of the far stalls, and she could see it was designed for a horse.

"Silver? Like the metal?" She moved toward him. "That's a strange thing to name your horse after."

"Actually, the owner told me she was named after a famous television horse from a while back. When I told 'em I still didn't know who that was, the man tried to explain the television show." Uncle Ike snickered. "It was only after he was going on a few minutes that he remembered Amish don't watch television." Uncle Ike looped his thumbs through his suspenders and leaned back on his heels chuckling.

"Really? He didn't know that?" Back in Indiana people in the neighboring communities knew the Amish rules as well as the Amish themselves. She'd been reminded of this as a child when she entered stores where televisions played.
"Just because it's there doesn't mean we indulge ourselves,"
her mother would always say.
"What would those watching us think?"
Mem always meant Amish and non-Amish alike.

"Well, I'm sure he had heard about the rule against televisions at one time, but that's something else I like about these parts." Uncle Ike used a handkerchief in his pocket to bat down some of the cobwebs that hung over the stalls. "People are people here. We are known more for who we are as individuals, not by our dress or our ways. His poor attempt at cleaning filled the air with dust, and he let out a powerful sneeze. Then, shaking his head as if to shake away the dust tickling his nose, he continued. "There's all types of crazy characters, and I don't get the feeling of
'us'
and
'them'
like I did back in Indiana."

Uncle Ike and Dat continued talking about some of the neighbors, and Marianna looked out the doorway. The van was gone. She felt bad that she hadn't said good-bye to Ben, but relieved that it was just their family again. She moved out the barn door toward the house, her shoes crunching on the dead pine needles from last fall. The needles made a carpet over tufts of green grass that attempted to poke through, and she made a mental note that raking would be a good job for the boys tomorrow, if they could find rakes, that is.

"Marianna." Ben's voice startled her, and she turned. He walked up the dirt road, hands in pockets. He waved as he neared. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to approach. Why on earth was she short of breath all of a sudden? She willed her heart to calm its wild beat.

She lifted her chin and looked behind him. "Yer walking now? Did you lose the van?" She cocked her head. "I've heard of horses running off but never a vehicle so large."

His head bobbed up and down.

"I borrowed the van from the Carashes. If you pass your place, they're right down the road."

"Are you walking home?" Marianna kicked her foot against the dry pine needles.

"It's a mile and a half to the school, and I live just a little beyond that. I offered to your mother to walk your brothers there to show them the way, and then I was going to drive them back. But before I forgot, I wanted to give you this." He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.