Beside Still Waters (5 page)

"There is not a pot so crooked that there isn't a lid to fit it. There has to be a woman desperate enough."

Laughter followed the woman's comment, and Marianna no longer felt like eating. Ellie looked up at her, her little brow creased, and she pointed to the long wooden tables laden with hot dishes, salads, the fruit tapioca Mem had brought, and loaves of homemade bread. Ellie's question was clear: When were they going to eat?

Marianna had heard talk like this before. Sometimes at the small Amish store or other times in their sewing circles. But during those times the ladies had been talking about other people. Now they spoke of someone she didn't know well but felt she ought to defend.

It was as if a dozen sewing needles pierced her heart as she heard the woman's laughter again and realized it was at her uncle's expense. She made a small plate of food for Ellie and sat her next to Mrs. Ropp and Helen.

"Is it okay if Ellie eats next to you?"

Mrs. Ropp burped her baby at her shoulder. "Yes, of course. Find yourself something to eat and take a break from the young ones for a spell."

"Denke."
But despite her word of thanks, Marianna didn't feel like eating. She lowered her head and hurried in the direction of the sandbox, where the children would be returning after lunch. Sometimes the children disagreed, not wanting to share or to play nicely. Sometimes they called each other names, but they hadn't yet learned to pierce each other with carefully calculated words. Children were learning, adults should know better.

She wove through the bodies of men rising to get back to work and women cleaning off the tables, refolding picnic blankets, gathering plates. The sun grew warmer, and she fanned her face.

"There you are."

Marianna felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Aaron standing there. It was the second time he'd snuck up on her.

"I've been looking for you." He ran a hand down his cheek and it was then she noticed the slightest amount of blond hair on his jaw line. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. Aaron must have noticed her recognition, and he pressed his lips into a tight smile. Amish men didn't wear a beard until they were married, and yet some young men started "practicing" before—growing out a shadow of facial hair as they got closer to the transition in their lives.

"You've been looking for me? Do you, uh, need me for something?" She placed a hand to her neck and was surprised to feel the beating of her heart under her fingertips.

"I've been thinking about it, and maybe waiting until fall to go on a date is too long. I was thinking I could drive you home this Sunday. After the youth sing, if you don't mind."

"No, I mean yes. Yes, you can drive me home, and no I don't mind." Marianna felt a tug on her skirt and looked down to see Ellie clinging to her leg.

"Essen mit mir?"

Marianna should have known the little girl wouldn't be happy unless she were sitting with her while she ate.

"Ja, ja."
Marianna took her sister's hand.

"So, I'll see you Sunday then, if not sooner." Aaron straightened his shoulders and then hurried toward the other men heading back to work. She couldn't help but notice an extra skip in his step.

"Sunday, then." She whispered after him, then gave in to the tugging of her hand and moved back to the lunch table. A new hope bubbled up inside her with each step. Maybe news of this would fix everything. After all, who would take their daughter away from such a promising future? Such a perfect Amish young man.

Dear Journal,

I had to start a new notebook today because the other one is full. In between the journal pages are also my letters I've pulled out from the June-Sevenies circle letters. Sometime I'll have to go back and read through them, seeings how so much as changed in the years my friends and I have been writing. We've moved on from talking about our first quilts and how the boys at school were so bothersome, to marrying some of those same boys and setting up house.

In my last circle letter I spilled the news that Aaron has asked me out on a date. I should be getting the envelope around again. I'm always eager to read what everyone else said, but sometimes it's insightful to read what I wrote the previous month. Things tend to change quickly around here.

I can't sleep tonight because I'm thinking about Sunday. Trying to figure out what in the world I could talk to Aaron about on the drive home. We haven't talked much—been doing mostly lookin' at each other. I could ask about the herd he's building, but that might make him feel as if I'm questioning if he's a good provider or not. I could ask about the house he's building, but maybe if I did he'd think I'm already hanging my curtains in his window. Maybe we can just talk about his art. I haven't heard much about it lately. When we were kids, not a day went by when he wasn't sketching some creature when he should've been doing math equations.

I also can't sleep thinking about this move. I hope Dat's words are more clouds than rain.

CHAPTER THREE

Marianna opened her eyes, then scanned her room. The only glimmer of light was a beam of moon penetrating through a sliver of curtain that she hadn't fully closed. She'd tried to fall asleep for hours, and nothing worked. She'd hummed to herself, tried to count back from one hundred, she'd even written in her journal, which usually helped her mind wind down. But not tonight. Maybe it was the light that bothered her—or at least that was a good excuse.

Marianna sat up in bed and reached for the window curtain, tugging it closed all the way. As in all Amish houses, the curtains were white, but at age ten she'd convinced her father to install two hooks to hold up an extra blanket over the window. She'd lied to him, telling him that the light from the moon had kept her awake. But the truth was that when she was small, her mother had said her sisters looked down on them from above. That might have been comforting for her mother, but Marianna hadn't liked it one bit. What would they think of her sleeping in their bedroom. In their bed?

Her first dresses had belonged to her sisters. Her dolls too. It was only later she realized that might have been the reason her mother had looked away when Marianna tried on her "new" dresses. Had refused to play dolls with her. Had made excuses when Marianna wanted to be tucked in at night.

"I want this time to be for just me and my girl," Dat had said as he unfolded the quilt and laid it over her. Yet she could see the truth in his gaze. He hadn't fought for this time. He'd accepted it as his. And she tried not to let it bother her as she could hear Mem in the other room, reading to the boys.

But that was long ago . . .
Marianna turned to her side. Dat hadn't tucked her in for five years at least, and now it was only occasionally she heard Men reading to the other kids. Marianna tucked the pillow under her chin. That didn't mean the empty void she felt inside had filled. She'd enjoyed her siblings, worked hard at her job, enjoyed writing her friends, dreamed about Aaron . . . but nothing could fill the hole the size of her mother's handprint, centered on her gut.

Outside she heard the sound of a breeze rustling tree branches—and something else. A car perhaps?

She rose, her toes curling against the cold floor, and went to the window to lift the curtain. She could see taillights in the distance. Could it be? Was it Levi?

She didn't want to think about that now—about him leaving. She didn't want to think about her sisters, especially since she still lived in their room, slept in their bed. Instead, she thought of the day, and the conversation with Aaron.

The barn raising had resulted in a large barn, filling the horizon, but even larger loomed Marianna's questions. Did Aaron like her as much as she liked him? Would she be around long enough to find out?

She let the curtain drop and grabbed the battery-powered flashlight she kept on her dresser, then she walked to the trunk where she'd tucked away the quilt she'd worked on during the winter. It was white with an intricate pattern. She'd started hand stitching the pattern in brightly colored thread.

Spring planting, caring for new baby animals, and her work at the Ropps and in their own garden hadn't allowed time for her quilt. The months to come wouldn't either, but it made her feel better to see she was farther along than she remembered. It had always been her dream to make a special quilt to give to her husband some day. Imagining Aaron accepting it as a gift—sometime in the future—made her smile.

Her room and bed had never been her own. Her parents couldn't look at her life without remembering two deaths, but it wouldn't always be like that. Someday she'd have her own family. She'd care for a home and work hard to see her husband smile. She'd sleep under a quilt she made with her hands. And wake up to a curtain letting in morning rays from the sun.

Marianna was returning the quilt to her chest when she heard a knock on her bedroom door. She rose and hurried to it, shining the flashlight beam out as she opened it. Twelve-year-old David stood there rubbing his eyes and brushing his blond bangs from his face.

"Marianna, did you hear that?" He sounded half asleep.

"Hear what, David?" Listening, she heard the wind pick up. "I think that's only the breeze in the trees."

"No, it was a car. Someone was parked outside. It mighta been Levi." David's eyes widened, and the hope in his face caused Marianna's heart to ache. The oldest of the little boys, David had been Levi's shadow. They'd tended to the cows and sheep together. They both enjoyed playing checkers on cold winter nights.

"I don't think Levi would come by this late."

"But last time I saw him in town, he said he'd come by and show me his car."

"David . . . not this late." Not with Dat home. She tried to redirect his attention. "It was maybe just a tourist who'd taken a wrong turn."

David's shoulders slumped and he lowered his head, staring at his bare toes.

"Tell you what"—she placed a hand on his shoulder—"tomorrow we can each write Levi a letter and then mail them. It'll be a nice surprise."

David nodded, but instead of lifting his face to hers, he turned and plodded to the room he shared with the other two boys. Marianna sighed. It wasn't much to offer, but at least—unlike their sisters—their brother wasn't dead. Although sometimes knowing Levi left to live among the Englisch seemed worse. The girls had no choice in their leaving. He, on the other hand . . .

Marianna closed her door and moved to the table she'd fixed into a desk. She pulled out paper and pen, deciding to start her letter now. But what could she say?

Levi, I never thought Mother and Father's hearts could break any further. I was wrong.

Levi, the little boys "play" Englisch when they think no one is looking. They've always tried to be just like their big brother.

Levi, how could you leave me with all the chores? Didn't you think I had enough to do on my own?

Although all of those were true, Marianna decided to start by writing what was heaviest on her heart.

Levi, I miss you, and if Dat has his way, I'll be missing you from afar.

CHAPTER FOUR