Chapter 9
C HAPTER 9
T HE HORSE LUNGED, THE BUGGY SWAYED, AND THEY CAREENED TO the left before he found his stride and moved into a glorious trot.
Mary was proud of the beautiful creature, proud to be riding behind a horse like this, receiving the stares of onlookers with a bright smile. What bliss, the parading of gorgeous horse flesh, a gleaming carriage and fancy harness.
What would her father say? He had his strong opinions of these modern-day horse sales and the deceptions of the devil, luring the plain people into a den of pride, a steaming cauldron of abhorrence.
His voice rang in her ears.
“You okay?” Steve asked, grinning at her.
“Sort of.”
He laughed out loud, then really looked at her, his eyes holding appreciation and something else.
“You’re pretty brave, Mary.”
She smiled, and kept smiling. Somehow, she couldn’t make the smile go away. It seemed as if when she tried, it only became wider, until she was laughing.
“Having fun?” he asked, looking over again.
“I could get used to this. Take some practice, though.”
A red stop light loomed, its red eyes glaring. Her heart leapt.
“Ready for this?”
“Not sure I have a choice.”
“Whup. Whoa, whoa there,” he called out, drawing back on the reins. Mary envisioned the horse literally jumping on the back of a stopped vehicle, creating thousands of dollars worth of damage.
She braced herself for the worst, but to her surprise, the horse stood—not perfectly, but mostly he stayed in place.
She was relieved to turn at the small ice cream place, find the hitching rack under a spreading maple tree, and climb shakily off the buggy. She looked up into Steve’s crinkling eyes and felt her knees turn weak.
“Not very many girls would ride behind a horse like that.”
She shrugged and bit her lower lip, allowing her eyes to linger on his. My, oh my.
“Come on, Mary. Let’s get some ice cream.”
He held the door for her, stood quietly while they both looked at the big menu hanging on the wall behind the counter, then stepped back and allowed her to order. She had a tall frosty root beer with vanilla soft serve, and he ordered a full meal along with the largest banana split available. Then it was out under the soft yellow pole lights, the heady swarm of insects, and the moist, midsummer heat coming off the pavement.
“Pardon me, but I’m ravenous. I tend to have bad table manners when I’m this hungry.”
She waved a hand and stayed quiet as he wolfed down one burger and half his fries. He offered them to her, but she felt self-conscious taking any.
He sat back. “Eat, Mary.”
“I have all this,” she said, gesturing to the tall glass.
“Nothing like fries and soft serve ice cream,” he said, smiling. She smiled back, but didn’t reach for his fries. “So, tell me more about your trip.”
She was hesitant, but eventually the whole truth was told, except for her new feelings about staying with the Amish. For a long time, the subject was avoided, replaced by lighthearted banter, the night sky turning darker beyond the realm of electric lights. Occasionally, the sound of a horse trodding by caused the Friesian to lift his head, whinny, and become more restless. Mary voiced her fear of letting him be tied for a long time.
“That’s all part of training him. You have to be a master.”
“Yessir,” Mary quipped.
He turned serious.
“Mary, can you tell me what you’ve decided?”
“About what?”
“The elephant in the room. In the parking lot, I mean.”
She averted her eyes.
“You said you were thinking about leaving the Amish. I know the trip was cut short, but did you have time to think about it more?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t think I’m leaving . . .”
“That’s good to hear, but you don’t sound very sure. Will you tell me why you were considering it?”
Mary hesitated. Steve spoke again.
“Mary, I like you. A lot. But I’m not leaving the Amish, and if you’re wavering, I . . . I need to know that.”
Mary’s hand shook only a bit as she stirred the melting ice cream into the tepid root beer. A thousand thoughts boiled and hissed in her head, a worrisome chaos of questions without answers and only a weak faith to support the shaking platform on which she stood.
Finally, she opened her mouth and words began tumbling out.
“My family is way, way plain. Ultra-conservative, very strict. I’m the only one out of the eleven siblings to be . . . well, like this. Normal. I’m kind of an outcast, a black sheep. Being here in Lancaster, dressing like this, owning a bakery—all of it is against my father’s wishes. So, I’m living in disobedience, and my father is quick to remind me of the dire consequences that await me. But when I look around at my family in Pinedale, I see no joy. Anytime there’s anything slightly joyful, it gets labeled as “sin” and stomped out. Is that really the way God wants us to live? I’d almost be ashamed to take you home to New York. The primitive way they live, the way they view the world, their interpretation of sin . . .
Now that she’d started, she found that she couldn’t stop. “I’m kind of a wreck, Steve. My stomach is a mess, and I can’t seem to do anything about it. Oh, and I’ve got scars all over my shoulder, side, and legs. An incident with wild dogs.”
Steve’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t want to interrupt her.
“I almost died from a drug overdose once. It was a really dark time. I’m clean now—haven’t used drugs or alcohol or anything like that since then.”
She took a deep breath, daring to look into his eyes, which were filled with concern, and yes, a little bit of shock. But surprisingly, she could detect no judgment on his face.
“I suppose, to find real peace, I must go back home and succumb to my upbringing, go live the kind of life my father wants of me.”
“But the law has no power to bring peace.”
“Of course it does. If I could give myself up and dress and live the way he thinks I should, God would bless me with peace. I’m ungehorsam , living in unrepentant sin. And sin cannot get into Heaven. God doesn’t allow it.”
Steve saw the road stretching before Mary, the road of salvation by works, with no grace in sight. He blinked back tears of pity, as chills raced up and down his spine. He had so many questions. Wild dogs? A drug overdose? But they faded into the background.
“I am the Way, the Truth, and Light. No man cometh to the father but through Me.”
He heard the words like a song in his deepest recesses, the part of him where the Spirit convened with the soul.
“No, you’re right, Mary. Heaven will be free of sin.”
“See? Everybody thinks I don’t know anything about these Bible things. I know a little.”
“Yes, you do, Mary. We all know only a little.”
She grasped at this straw with a certain desperation.
“You mean you don’t understand it either? Like, how does Jesus dying make any real difference if we still have to keep all the rules?”
Steve realized she had never really accepted the free gift of salvation. In her own way, she was still bringing a sheep for the high priest to slaughter for her sins.
He felt a deep pity well up again and had to restrain himself from reaching out and putting a hand on hers.
She told him, then, about the singing in Chester’s church, how close she’d felt to God, but actually . . .
And here she stopped and refused to say another word.
To press on would be futile, so after a few moments of quiet, he gently changed the subject, talking of his occupation as a builder, a side job of training horses, his five sisters who he adored. She listened, amazed that he wasn’t running for the hills after all she’d shared. Was it possible he wasn’t scared off by her past, by all her doubts and questions?
“Seriously, Mary, my sisters are the best. They think they’re going to find a wife for me, by hook or by crook. It’s so funny. You should see the girls they line up for me. A few of them are only sixteen or seventeen. It gets interesting.”
“I bet. Well, better not tell them about me. I’m not available.”
A silence fell, with only the jingle of harness rings and snaps, the slow-moving traffic and distant sound of voices. Insects whacked against pole lights and sizzled themselves to death.
“You’re serious.”
“I am. Listen, Steve. God’s blessing cannot rest on the ungehorsam , which is what I am. If I did . . . uh . . . you know, go with you, it would only turn out badly. It always does.”
He locked eyes with her, hoping she’d have a change of heart right then and there, but she did not. He sighed. “Okay, Mary, if that’s how you feel, then I’ll respect that. I won’t pursue a dating relationship. But maybe you’ll go for a ride with me sometimes, training horses. Just for the fun of having a companion, someone to talk to.”
“That would be cool. As long as the horses aren’t too crazy.”
“They won’t be. Knight is a little wild, but I trust him. I’d never ask you to do something I thought was actually dangerous.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
They rose together, put their paper products in the overflowing trash bin, and began the precarious work of getting in the buggy and safely into the line of traffic.
“Let’s go the back way. It will be more relaxing, if farther.”
“Oh yes. Good.” Mary answered.
They had to be fast, alert, until she held the reins, the neck rope was on, and he was in the buggy, but the transition to a back alley that led to Harrison Road was by far a better choice. The night air had turned cooler, but both windows stayed open. Steve began to hum a tune, then whistle soft and low.
Mary turned to him. “Are you always happy?”
He nodded. “For the most part. Some things make me grouchy. Like my socks turned inside out and mismatched. Or coworkers. I’m not always pleasant with the younger ones on Monday.”
“But you never get anxious? Like, totally unsure which direction you’re headed?”
“Can’t say I do.”
He resumed his whistling, and when he found her eyes on his face, he gave her a reassuring look, a wide smile that soothed her more than she’d thought possible.
The countryside was bathed in moonlight, the incredible height of the cornfields like small forests. Farms dotted the rolling land, ribbons of hay fields accentuating the corn. Traffic moved in an unending river of lights on the main highway, but on country roads, it seemed like a different world.
She felt better than she had for quite some time. If only she could shake the feeling of impending catastrophe, of being in the wrong place, and the fear of being counted among the ungehorsam . As she watched the glossy back and rippling mane and tail in the headlights, the darkened countryside and the steady drone of buggy wheels, she did feel a certain sense of wonder at God’s creation. He made this beautiful horse, made the rolling countryside and all its inhabitants. He knew the reaches of her heart and mind.
“Okay, Mary, here we are.”
“Oh, don’t drop me off at my house. It’s not easy turning around in that small place.”
“What did I tell you?”
She raised puzzled eyes.
“This is called training a horse. They have to learn to be obedient to their master.”
“Like us.”
He looked at her. “Well, not really. We have a choice, our own free will. Our conscience guides us, and there are a wide variety of consciences.”
“I don’t really get what that means.”
“No? Well, we’ll have lots to talk about on our next ride together. I look forward to it.”
Mary smiled. She kept smiling as she stepped out of the buggy, and smiled as she wished him a good night.
S LEEP DID NOT come easily. She relived the evening, allowing herself the luxury of imagining a relationship with a happy ending, a marriage with children, and love. Whenever she thought along those lines, she thought of the Eli Allgyer family in Pinedale. The child with leukemia, little Elam. The house so full of love. She remembered the gleam on the countertops, the shine like stardust in an otherwise average house, the sense of beauty and fulfillment when she was in their presence.
This was a great mystery, how they could live in this austere community and were nothing like the rest.
Would little Elam grow up to be comfortable in his environment? She had no reason to believe he would not. He would be happy, living out his childhood, content in the faith of his parents.
She thought again of the Mennonite singing, the youthful faces rapturous with praise. Such peace. So much loveliness. She wanted to be a part of something she could not name.
She reached for her Bible, hesitated. For others, Bible reading was a comfort. For her, not so much.
It was so full of contradictions and threats, filled with arrows turned straight at her ungehorsam heart, pointing out all the ways she should be making improvements. Her Bible stayed unread because she could not face all that condemnation.
B UT THERE WAS a new week, a new Monday to fill her mind with pressing duties, to be physically active and listen to the bleary-eyed adventures of the bygone weekend. She did take an active interest in these pretty young girls’ lives, but was always amazed at the fact they came from Amish homes. The difference between some of these girls and one brought up in homes called “worldly” was minimal indeed, but she always reminded herself she was not one to judge.
Her own upbringing had been austere, the boundaries her parents set for her absolutely suffocating, the walls surrounding her leaving barely enough space to breathe. The vast difference between these parents and her own was mind-boggling, the way they were both labeled “Old Order Amish.” Cars parked at home, sons coming and going as they wished, young men free to make their own choices. Most of them eventually replaced their vehicle with a horse and buggy, became a member of the church, married their girlfriend, and lived a decent Christian life.
In New York, there would be zero tolerance for the disobedient sons, who would be asked to leave the home if he owned a vehicle or a driver’s license, keeping the community pure of such worldly offense. Only on occasion would some young upstart attempt anything so brash, and usually, the disobedience was thwarted before a foothold had taken place, the praying mother and father convinced there was no hope for the soul of the rebellious, therefore instilling a deep and abiding fear of God into the wayward ones.
Caught in the crosshairs of the law, their conscience prodded into an uncomfortable crescent of damnation, the license and vehicle were confiscated, the horse and buggy brought into use, and peace was restored.
During her early teenage years, Mary moved in a gray area, never bad enough to receive the label of an outright lost soul, but not obeying, either. She didn’t own a vehicle or do anything despicable. Now she was fancy in her dress and owned a business using electricity and was subject to people of the world every single day. And yes, she had never quite obliterated the rebellion and resentment taking up residence in her heart. Was she truly a lost soul now?
She listened to Karen’s self-centered chatter, the sound of a siren’s high undulating wail from the street breaking through.
She measured coffee into a filter, filled the pot, and poured it into the top, noticing the foggy glass pot. Someone was not washing the coffeepots the way she had taught them, a drop of Dawn dish detergent, the bottle brush used only for the glass.
“Girls,” she called out.
Different levels of attention surrounded her, some wide-eyed stares, other suppressing a yawn.
“The coffeepots are looking greasy. A squirt of Dawn, a bit of hot water, and the only brush we have. Remember?”
Karen shrugged her shoulders, moved away, but LeAnna nodded.
Rose said, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, we just have to remember,” Mary said evenly.
The bell above the door tinkled, admitting Chester Nolt, looking extraordinary in a black suit, his hair gelled to perfection. Mary blinked, then moved across the dining room to his table.
“Good morning, Mary,” he offered immediately.
“Good morning. Will it be the usual?”
He reached out to touch her hip. She stepped away, heat spreading across her face.
“Not so fast. I must tell you of the death of my beloved grandmother, a saint in her nineties. Ninety-three. She went home to be with her Lord on Friday, so the funeral is today. She was very close to my heart, and I’m in sorrow.”
Mary looked into his brown eyes, saw the genuine grief, and felt a stab of sympathy.
“I’m sorry to hear it. You have my condolences.”
“Yes, yes, of course, dear Mary.”
There was an awkward silence, the “dear” swerving around recklessly, barely avoiding collision between them.
He pushed on. “How I would like to have you beside me at the funeral. I’m so alone for a man my age. You would be astounding in a black dress.”
For a blinding instant, the need to belong, to be praised and accepted in a circle of good Christian people was so strong it was almost physical.
She longed to be sheltered, loved, consumed in a family with the bounds of understanding and sympathy. She smiled down into Chester’s soft brown eyes, and thought she’d been harsh in her judgment of him. Everyone made mistakes, and he’d certainly had a disappointment about his occupation.
“Thank you for saying that, Chester. It is a compliment.”
“I would so like for you to meet my parents.”
“Maybe someday.”
“Soon?”
“I don’t know. Look, I must move on. Will you place your order?”
He looked impatient, then quickly rearranged his features to shine with complicity.
“I will wait forever, Mary.”
She wrote down his order and turned, almost stepping on a tall, blond young man’s shoes. Flustered, she looked up, the apology on her lips, to find herself staring into Steve Riehl’s crinkling eyes, the white teeth in the deeply tanned face.
“I’m sorry, Mary.”
He smiled as he reached out a hand to steady her. She swayed, consumed with a burst of gladness.
“Steve.”
“Yes. I finally came to see your bakery. This is amazing.”
“Thank you. Look, why don’t you find a table? I have to run this order back. I’ll get Rose to cover for me.”
“Sounds good.”
He looked around, then seated himself by a window. Clearly flustered, Mary slid the order into place, her breath coming in short puffs.
“Rose, would you cover for me? Section A? I . . . someone’s here. I need to talk to him for a minute.”
Her hands shook as she poured a mixture of coffee over ice, then joined him at the chosen table.
“You surprised me.”
“I had a dentist appointment up the block, so I decided to stop. How is your day going?”
“It’s Monday. Some tired girls.”
“I guess. Oh well, we were young once.”
Mary smiled, shook her head. “I was in New York, remember?”
He smiled back, met her eyes and continued to meet them. Everything faded away, and there were only the two of them sitting at this table in the golden light of the sun shining through the window, stardust and moonbeams mixing in with the wonderful kaleidoscope of rainbows and huge fluffy clouds. The only other awareness was the dull, thick thudding of her head, the soft, quick breaths escaping her body.
There was a space of golden silence as the spell was broken. She traced the marble pattern on the tabletop with her forefinger, and he gazed out the window before saying softly, “Mary.”
She swallowed, admitted the fact she was thoroughly shaken.
“I’m glad to be here, always glad to be in your presence. Forgive me for saying that, knowing you don’t want to hear it, but I am thoroughly impressed, for real. This little bakery is so unique, tucked into a row of old, well-preserved buildings. You must have a good business head on your shoulders. It’s so much more than I imagined.”
He looked around. “Whose decorating ideas?”
When she looked up from lowered lashes and said “Mine” with so much humility, almost a question to see if it was acceptable, he saw into the deepest recesses of her soul, the sight only the beginning of the patterned, mismatched puzzle of her being. He found himself teetering precariously on the edge of a cliff, knowing he would welcome hurling into space, a free fall of love, a flight of the senses.
But he had to stop, had to step back on safe ground, knowing one misstep would mean the loss of their friendship.
“You do have an eye for decorating. I like the way the antiques stand out against the white background. And these floors are the real deal, right?”
“We worked hard,” she breathed, sipping her iced coffee.
A shadow fell across the table. The sound of a throat being cleared.
“Excuse me, Mary.”
She looked up, to find herself pinned to the table by Chester’s reproachful stare.
“Yes?”
“I expect you would accept my offer to come to dinner at my parents’ house this Saturday evening, seeing as we were extremely close on our trip to Maine. I think our friendship has evolved to the point where we need to be in compliance with my parents’ approval.”
“But, Chester . . .”
“I’ll pick you up around six.”
And with no further conversation he moved away, the bell above the door tinkling its mocking little tone.
He saw her bite her lower lip, her brow furrowed as she struggled to contain her emotions. Instinctively, he stayed quiet as she breathed in, opened her mouth to speak, and thought better of it.
He waited.
“Steve, I’m . . . well, it’s not what you think.”
“Is that Chester?”
She nodded miserably, then burst out, “We weren’t close.”
He contained the viper of jealousy coiled in his chest, but Mary could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes.