Chapter 3
C HAPTER 3
“S TUFFY IN HERE.”
Lizzie got up and went to the window to open it slightly. The sweet night air wafted through, a hint of lilac and the pure scent of budding peace roses. Lizzie caught the scent, the night reminding her of youth and past love, of Leroy and all the beauty of their relationship.
When she returned to her chair, Mary looked at the opened window as if the soothing scent would give her courage, then finally met Lizzie’s gaze, her own eyes wide with troubled thoughts.
“I just don’t know,” she repeated.
“Mary. Tell me.”
Mary sighed again, her hands reaching for a napkin, the twisting and folding already starting.
“Lizzie, what am I to do? Tonight, I went to a recital at a Mennonite church. A rather liberal one, I suppose you’d say. The singing was unreal. The youth were singing, the girls in beautiful dresses, their hair so styled, so pretty. The young men with their hair cut and . . . well, it was quite a picture. When the singing began, it touched a place in my soul. The experience was unreal. I was covered in goosebumps, the tears welled up before I could do anything about it. It was like a glimpse of Heaven. It was as if I was starving and I could eat delicious food. All of it, everything I wanted.”
She stopped, confused.
“Then why is that wrong? Why can I be touched like that if it’s wrong? How do we know it is?”
“Who told you it was?” Aunt Lizzie asked quietly.
“My father. My whole life’s teaching. My upbringing. Everything I have ever been told. Stay away from the wolves in sheep’s clothing. And, Lizzie, I was transported, carried away by the sheer power of their voices, until I heard this voice along the edge of my conscience, and I literally saw a snarling wolf dressed in a sheep’s clothing.”
Aunt Lizzie realized the thin ice she would navigate, the depth of Mary’s turmoil. She placed a hand on Mary’s anxious, restless ones, and said nothing.
“I’m so sick of my father’s voice in my head. I’m sick of living in constant guilt. I long to be free. When I was angry, when I came back and ran with the really wild youth, it was almost easier. The anger and rebellion overrode the guilt. I was strong. Now, I’m back to square one.”
“Mary, believe me, the Mennonite church and the singing wasn’t wrong. You felt the power of the Spirit, and that’s a good thing.”
“But how do you know? How do we discern spirits? My father says anybody who is out of the ordnung does not have the blessing of our Lord. He said that. He says it still. And I think I may not have the blessing, the way I dress, the way I own my own bakery with electricity, serving the English people in a fancy dining area. And now, because I am so far out of the ordnung , the devil has a hold on my life, and I’ll just slowly be led into perdition without being aware of it. Like Chester, he’s . . .”
Aunt Lizzie broke in. “Who’s Chester?”
“A friend. A man who comes for breakfast. It’s not like you think. We’re friends, nothing else. He wanted to interview me for a paper, but I said no.”
She lifted her tea mug, and Lizzie saw the shaking of her hands.
“Every single thing I do is wrecked by my father’s voice. Everything. And yet, I go against it. It fades into the distance, and I think peace will be attainable, and it all comes back full force eventually. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Mary.”
“I threw up when I got home. My body reacts to my crazy out-of-control thoughts. Isn’t there something I can take, some pill, that will help me?”
“Ach. Mary.”
In truth, Aunt Lizzie wasn’t sure. What was wrong and what was right for Mary? Who was she? A maverick, a nonconformist.
She opened her mouth, began tentatively.
“No, Mary, it wasn’t wrong. Not the church or the singing. Probably not your being there, either. I’m so glad you got to experience that. But you must know, in your conscience, what is right and what is wrong. If you felt guilty for being there with Chester, then likely it would be a good idea to let it be the only time.”
“We’re not romantically involved.”
“I know.”
Weren’t they? Hadn’t she felt the stirring of attraction at his profile in the light of the dashboard? Had she not been thrilled to ride in the expensive vehicle?
“But, Lizzie, I want a boyfriend. Someday I hope to have a husband. I don’t want to travel through life alone. Three times I did enjoy a relationship with a fine young man, and three times it ended.”
Her face took on a hard look, her eyes turned into dark orbs.
“It was my father. And the last time Jemima was as bad. I hate them both.”
“No, no, Mary. Please. We can’t go around saying such things. Unforgiveness is a cancer. It will bring you nothing but slow death, if left unchecked.”
“So now you’re on their side?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Mary, you’re not thinking straight. It’s getting late. We have church tomorrow.”
“I’m not going.”
“That’s your choice. But I believe we have visiting ministers from Ohio, so you may want to go. Perhaps there will be an answer in their message, just for you.”
“I doubt it. Every sermon is the same, and I don’t get much out of all that German.”
Lizzie’s eyes opened wide. Her eyebrows shot straight up.
“Are you serious? And when did this start?”
Mary shrugged her shoulders, the trace of a pout on her lower lip.
“I don’t know. I just know I’m confused. To be painfully honest, can you imagine me with anyone here in Lancaster? Who would ever ask me out? You know I thoroughly ruined my reputation when . . . things got really bad.” She thought of those desperate months when she’d sought relief in alcohol and drugs. No respectable Amish man who consider her to be wife material after that.
“Just pray, Mary. Ask God for answers. Ask Him to search your heart, to show you the way. He will.”
“Some days, Lizzie, I don’t even know who or where God is. I don’t read my Bible and often forget to pray. What does it matter? God barely knows who I am, let alone cares about me. I think I imagine God to be my father, maybe? Everything I do is somehow very wrong, not good enough, and I’m a sinner just waiting to be cast out. Out into the place where people go before they fall into the lake of fire.”
She paused.
“And another thing. I feel condemned when I read my Bible. As if a finger of accusation is pointing straight in my direction. In a way, I’m already cast out, away from my family, who are all much better than I am. I’ll never come up to their level.”
Oh my, the things from her heart. The tangled rope of misconception and fear. Aunt Lizzie was incredulous.
“Well, I’m glad you confided in me. And I’m hoping we can continue to be open with each other. But whatever you do, don’t make hasty decisions. And consider cutting off your friendship with Chester, whoever he may be. I’m not sure you can handle a friendship with a Mennonite at this point in your life. If you were more stable spiritually, I think it would be okay, but . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
Lizzie’s heart leaped as Mary suddenly lowered her face in her hands and began to weep, soft choked sounds that seemed to come from a wounded place deep inside of her. Lizzie felt disgust for her brother and his impeccable adherence to rules. Sometimes, she wondered if Mary would actually be better off spiritually if she cut all ties with her family. Could she really help the fact she was merely different?
Suddenly, a joy tumbled about in her chest. Yes. She had her own secret little army that would be called forth to battle.
She didn’t have answers for this complicated puzzle, but God did. He knew that all things worked together for good for those who loved Him, and her prayers would march right along, the banners flying, the feet marching in courageous rhythm.
She touched Mary’s shoulder, then rubbed the soft sleeve gently.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. God sees your tears, and everything will be fine. Go to bed now, and try to get some sleep.”
Unexpectedly, Mary rose, and with an unfathomable look, drew Lizzie into an embrace, laid her head on her shoulder with a muffled, “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
“No, no. Don’t be sorry.”
She held her at arm’s length, looked deeply into her swollen eyes, and said, “God cares about you, Mary. He cares much more than I can, and I love you so much. He loves you more.”
But Mary resolutely shook her head.
S HE DID GET up early, after a restless night, took a good, hot shower, and combed her thick red hair into neat rolls. Today she would wear blue, a deep cobalt hue that would complement her white cape and apron.
Here she was, no longer a teenager, wearing the virginal white cape and apron, and for how long? At some point she would need to accept the fact she was no longer part of being a rumschpringa and wear the symbolic black cape and apron like the married women, a sign of being a maiden lady.
Aunt Lizzie smiled at her, told her she looked really nice—there was just something about a blue dress with a white cape and apron that was appealing, and Mary felt the smile forming on her face.
A quick breakfast of Bran Flakes and bananas, and they rinsed their bowls, finished the coffee, and were out the door to walk the short distance to Aaron Riehl’s house to church.
The air was crisp and bright, the sun brilliant in all its spring glory as its warmth opened the rosebuds and warmed the freshly planted petunias after the chill of night. New growth was all around them—a mowed lawn, flowerbeds, the farmer’s fields lush with dew-laden alfalfa and swaths of tender rye.
Vehicles crawled behind horse-drawn carriages on their way to church services. The Amish population was so thick that there were numerous services scattered across a wide region.
Already, there were at least a dozen carriages lined up on the blacktop, with more people arriving on foot. Mary parted ways with Lizzie before entering the shop to find the single girls. She greeted them all with a warm handshake, a smile of recognition, before standing beside Anna, a girl she knew was close to her own age, one who asked her repeatedly to attend her group, the Bluebirds.
Anna was sweet, a tall thin girl who had worked in Aunt Lizzie’s bakery but who had always been shy, not part of the boisterous group who hung out together on the weekends.
“How was your week, Anna?” Mary asked, hoping to open a real conversation.
Anna nodded. “Good, I love my job in Annapolis.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “I cannot imagine traveling that distance three days a week.”
“We sleep. Talk. You get used to it.”
They shook hands with others, spoke of the beautiful spring day, and Mary was glad she’d come to church. She felt a part of this gathering, knew she was known as Mary from New York, but most of them were only dimly aware of the settlement in Pinedale Valley.
The plainsong rose and fell, the German words from the Ausbund without meaning, but she opened her mouth and sang, the rhythm and scales as familiar as the back of her hand. She had held this same thick Ausbund hymn book as a small child, and would likely hold it in church as long as she lived, singing the same slow tune her forefathers had written in prison when they were persecuted for their faith, incarcerated in a dank prison in Passau, Switzerland, along the Rhine river.
The Amish people cherished their heritage, although as time went on, more and more of the younger set saw no reason to stay, to drive a horse and buggy in this day and age, creating heartache among worried parents and division in families.
Mary’s mind wandered as she sang, wondering if God saw the good in this congregation, but also the good in the Hope Mennonite church? Why, if one was as acceptable as the other, was it so wrong to change? She would save thousands of dollars driving her own vehicle to the bakery every day rather than hiring a driver.
God is not mocked. We must reap what we sow.
The voice of her father broke through her musing.
She reached into the belt of her apron to retrieve a Kleenex, blew her nose softly to distract herself.
The message was inspiring, as Lizzie had promised. Encouragement flowed, and Mary was lifted up. She wondered how this minister and her father could both be labeled Amish when they held such different views, had such different approaches to life. She wiped tears and swallowed sobs as chills chased each other across her back.
Almost, she felt as she had in the Mennonite church.
But here, too, the man preaching was not really in die ordnung , his hair cut short, dark-rimmed glasses on his handsome face, his beard trimmed neatly. Or perhaps he was within Ohio’s set of rules, but back home in New York he’d certainly be considered liberal and “dangerous,” based solely on his appearance.
At any rate, she felt elevated, if only for a while, lifted out of the abyss of confusion. Did Jesus come for every single soul, even the ungehorsam , those who dared venture away from the narrow road their father set for them? Did He understand the frailty of humanity when He hung on the cross? According to this man, He did.
Perhaps, if she moved to Ohio, she could find peace. If she heard this kind of message every two weeks, she might feel differently about God, herself, the church . . . everything. She wished she could ask this young minister if he felt it was wrong to have felt such an uplifting at the Mennonite church.
And so her thoughts roiled, troublesome questions without answers. She got on her knees when the congregation knelt, she listened to the voice of the deacon announcing the place of services in two weeks, and she sang the last song with more enthusiasm than she felt.
After the men had set the tables, using the gleaming wooden benches on trestles, she helped spread clean white tablecloths, arranging platters of sliced homemade bread, small plates of butter, containers of spreadable cheese and peanut butter mixed with marshmallow cream and brown sugar and water boiled to a syrup, pickled cucumbers and red beets. Platters of ham, dried apple pie, and coffee completed the traditional light lunch eaten after services, a practice established many years ago.
Children dashed underfoot, women chattered, men stood in groups, visiting, waiting till it was time to be seated at the table, ministers first, then everyone seated according to age. Men and boys sat at one table and women at another.
Mary poured coffee for the minister from Ohio, but never spoke to him as she would have liked. That would be too bold, far too unconventional, unless she were speaking with his wife and he came along and joined the conversation. Mary was in awe of his wife, with that round, stiff, perfectly-fitted covering on her head, her dress, cape, and apron all the same color. She looked like a flower.
After the older men and women had eaten, the dishes were washed, rinsed, and dried before the younger folks had their turn to eat. A set of plastic Rubbermaid totes were placed side by side on a folding table, with another to set the clean dishes before they were whisked away to be put back on the table. Plates and bowls were replenished, more coffee poured, and Mary found herself across the table from one of her former friends, one who had married and moved to Lilitz, on the west side of Lancaster.
“Mary! You’re back?” she asked, her face open and frank.
“Yes, I am.”
“What brought you back?”
Mary shrugged. “My mother passed away. My father remarried.”
“You’re kidding me. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mary didn’t know what to say, so she nodded and busied herself spreading cheese on a slice of bread. She folded a slice of deli ham, adding a layer of bread and butter pickles before taking a bite.
“It’s fine now, but it was hard.”
She thought of her mother. Who had she been, really? Her father’s shadow. A hollow helpmeet with no reasoning of her own. Mary caught glimpses of her mother’s own thoughts only on occasion, at broken moments in time. Sometimes she felt she hadn’t had a mother, only two fathers, the one a quiet shadow of the other.
She felt an elbow in her side.
“Are you coming with me?”
It was Anna, her face pushed eagerly into her line of vision.
Glad to be away from the imposing questions, she followed Anna through the crowd, found Lizzie and told her she was going with Anna to her supper and singing.
Lizzie looked up at her, clasped her arm, and said she was very glad. Having her aunt’s stamp of approval felt good to Mary, especially after last night.
T HE DAY WAS sunny and warm, allowing the windows of the buggy to be lifted and secured. The doors slid back to allow the warm breezes to circulate. Anna’s brother Jonas was driving, a youth of eighteen or nineteen, his face pocked with acne scars, his brown hair cut short with a heavy tumble of bangs across his forehead. He was as outgoing as Anna was shy, so he kept up a steady flow of questions and didn’t hesitate to make his observances known. He was also the sloppiest driver she had ever had the bad luck to come across, the horse running in the ditch, then straining toward the middle.
He forgot to apply the brakes while heading down a steep hill until Anna reminded him. Then he stamped on them so hard they were thrown toward the opened window.
“Boy, these brakes grab!” he yelled.
“It’s not the brakes. It’s the driver,” Anna said in her soft voice.
He laughed, showing a row of crooked teeth. But there was an endearing quality about him, a refreshing lack of guile.
“You know, you’re not too bad looking for an old maid. You should come around regularly. I bet I could set you up with someone. Or I might ask you. What would you say if I did?”
He peered over at her with eyes alive with good humor, and Mary burst out laughing.
“I might just take you up on your offer.”
“Hey, yeah. Give me five.”
He held up a hand, and she responded with a firm smack. They both laughed, and Anna shook her head. “You know, there’s a bit of an age difference.”
“How old are you, Mary? Just curious.” Jonas glanced at her inquiringly as they pulled to a stop at the barn.
“Guess.”
“Thirty-five?”
When Anna punched him, he fell out of the buggy, laughing as he did so. He turned to greet a cluster of boys, and the girls climbed off the buggy and into the house.
“Sorry about Jonas.”
“He’s great. He’s like a breath of fresh air.”
“You got the fresh part right.”
The house was large, the kitchen bright and airy, a group of neighbors and sisters helping the hostess prepare vast quantities of meatloaf, some snipping vegetables for salad, others mixing sliced potatoes with sauce to pop into the oven. It smelled delicious, and in spite of having had lunch, her stomach rumbled. She would not speak of this, her consciousness about her weight like a pack on her back.
They greeted the women in the kitchen, found the bathroom, and freshened up before heading out to the volleyball games. Two games were in progress, the usual group of young people involved in getting the ball across the net. Mary took a look around and knew it would be a long evening. Everyone was so terribly young. The girl closest to her age was Anna, and she was a good five years her junior. She admitted to herself that she had come in vain hope of finding an interesting prospect, something to distract her from the magnetic draw of Chester Nolt and his church.
Had she become so desperate, wearing her vulnerability like a sweater? She felt her own blinded exposure, her need to be accepted and loved for who she was, coupled with the knowledge of the fact she could never find unending approval. Sooner or later, she would make a stupid mistake, and everyone would know she was Mary from Pinedale, completely out of her element.
Wouldn’t it be better to simply step away from the Amish altogether, to make a fresh start? If she went to another church, she’d be excommunicated and would never have to worry about her former life. She’d be shunned, and maybe the finality of that would be a relief.
An excitement crept into her, tumbling her stomach. She coughed, smiled at Anna with a sudden brightness. She was an adult. She was her own person, capable of making decisions on her own. Hadn’t she made a good decision about the bakery? It had proved to be more profitable than she could have imagined.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Jonas walked over and tugged her and Anna into the volleyball game. Soon she was caught up in the fierce competition for the ball. She had played volleyball often and well, so in spite of being a little rusty, she still had the ability to be a swift, calculated player.
A man who looked to be about her own age moved into the front row, swept his blond hair out of his face, grinned at her, and said hello. She blinked, swiped a hand across her eyes, and mumbled a greeting in return.
“Be ready for a mean spike,” he said, all tan face and wide smile with a row of white teeth.
The lawn tilted, righted itself. Every ounce of willpower was put into use as she concentrated on the game, kept her eyes on the fast-moving white volleyball, leaped, and sent it across the net, staying on her feet to do it again. She heard a few cheers and felt a rush of pleasure. Glancing at Jonas’s face, there was no doubt that he was impressed. When the evening sun was set behind the barn, the game was over, and it was time to start the hymn singing. She wondered if this was how Cinderella felt when the clock struck midnight. She’d genuinely had fun and had momentarily forgotten all her insecurities. But as they filed indoors, reality hit and she knew it was only a matter of time before these youth realized she was a fraud.