The Brethren (28 page)

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Prior to my marriage to Ben Martin, I donated my worldly English clothes to a women’s shelter and put away my art for good. After our wedding day, I was content to cook and bake and tend to my husband, as well as my flower gardens, which bring me such joy and a few raised eyebrows. Such pleasure

I find in mixing colors … and that’s putting it mildly!

Ben and I have joked between ourselves about which name he should use. But since he is more accustomed to one over the other, and since Benjamin is also a good, solid Amish name, Ben it is.

For the first few weeks and months after our all-day wedding service and feast, we made our traditional visits to relatives and close friends as newly weds, staying overnight on weekends and returning here to my father’s house on Monday mornings in time to help Mamm wash clothes. Sam was so kind to help Ben draw up blueprints for our very own home, which we built on some of Daed’s land. With Ben’s good Kentucky contacts, he’s been helping Irvin with the horse business, as well. So this past year since our wedding day, the Lord has opened plenty of wonderfulgood doors of employment for Ben.

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his

When I can, I still write to Lou. Her thoughtful wedding gift the framed painting of her cat, Muffin is a reminder of the months she spent here in Paradise. She and Sam still correspond by letter, Lou tells me, and talk quite often by cell phone, too, but there is no word of a pending courtship between them. I can still hope, can’t I?

After all, my brother Yonie surprised us all by starting to court Susie Esh’s little sister, with some convincing talk of joining church next year. Daed and Mamm are so pleased.

Often Ben and I walk down the road to what we refer to as “our bridge,” but it’s simply boards and stone, the best part of it being the swiftly moving creek beneath. It keeps us ever mindful of life, how it streams by in an awful rush if one is not careful to stop and listen … and honestly see.

Right following our first wedding anniversary, Daed surprised me but good, saying he’d been thinking about something for quite a while, insisting I go with him to visit Bishop Andy. So there I sat sheepishly in the man of God’s front room while Daed talked the bishop’s ears off, trying to convince him that since it was my painting that drew Isaac back home to the People, I should be permitted to use my artistic talents for the Lord God.

Well, I was beyond speechless. The two of them got up and headed out to the barn, leaving me alone, while the bishop’s wife busied herself in the kitchen.

Finally, when I felt my head might burst from holding my breath, hoping against hope and all this after I’d put my longing for art out of my mind Daed came back in and told me what they’d decided.

“There are certain conditions,” he began, and the

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thought of limitations had never sounded sweeter to me. On the ride back home, he described them precisely.

I was going to be allowed to express myself artistically, but I could never paint a portrait of a person. Not surprising! But horses grazing, peacocks strutting, and landscapes are all just fine to paint, provided I’m completely caught up on my domestic chores, as related to being a wife … and someday a mother. Only in the quiet at the end of the day, when all that needs doin’ is done, am I free to draw or paint.

So Ben has helped me set up a little studio in our house, and he is always welcome there, watching me stroke the page with a brush or smudge my finger against the canvas for that “just so” effect. Sometimes he even comes in and leans over to kiss me.

Oh, what I would have missed …

It is still a surprise to think of Daed sticking his neck out like that. I often recall Essie’s prudent words about letting go of something you love and what a joy there is in having it returned. In my case, it has come in a fuller measure than I’d ever dreamed possible.

So Ben was right all along; God does work all things together for good to those who love Him. I am so grateful to the Almighty for leading me to make the right choice.

For some it’s ever so hard to choose wisely. I know this from experience… and to my own shame. The memory of my willful ways, of learning to let go and watching what happens when I do, has been a journey to be reckoned with. I have gained the devotion of a kind and loving man, and the respect of my father and the People. I am happy to say the preacher’s daughter is truly home.

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Acknowledgements:

Typically novelists do not talk about their characters at least not while creating them. Now that the story is completely told and you are reading this final book in the ANNIE’S PEOPLE series, I’d like to say something about its characters, who continue to live on in my mind and heart. Just as Annie and Isaac became aware of their special friend’ ship as young children, I, too, have been blessed with the dearest of lifelong friends, who, in some cases, are also my relatives. I wish to thank each one for this precious gift. Some of these dear ones have also offered countless hours of research and fact checking on my novels, and although they have asked to remain unnamed, I am most grateful.

My editors are my joy and delight. Talk about friends! A tremendous amount of thanks goes to: Julie Klassen, David Horton, Carol Johnson, Rochelle Gloege, Ann Parrish, and Jolene Steffer.

Also, my first readers help me keep up this writing pace: Dave, my husband, and Julie, our daughter. Thanks not only for your keen eyes but for the delicious snacks, too!

Kudos to Dana Silva, who offered invaluable help with

327 foster care research, as did Kentucky state adoption specialist Martha Vozos. Blessings and appreciation to Hank and Ruth Hershberger, who carefully explained the process of Amish ordination, and Dawn Beasley, who helped research the setting. Many thanks to Rev. James Hagan, who, as a former policeman, answered forensics questions and contacted the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. Hugs to my teacher-sis, Barbara Birch, who meticulously proofread the final galleys, and to my uncle, Bob Hirschberg, photographer extraordinaire, who helped me “live” in the Maple Lane Farm B&B on Paradise Lane, featured in book two, The Englisher.

Heartfelt appreciation to my wonderful parents, Herb and Jane Jones, who faithfully pray as I walk the sometimes thorny path of my stories.

All my love and devotion to the dear Lord Jesus, who guides me in all things, heavenly and otherwise.