CHAPTER 4
C HAPTER 4
T HE WEDDING TOOK PLACE ON THE FOURTH OF N OVEMBER ON THE farm of Lizzie’s daughter Ruthann and her husband, Dave. The day before there were scattered showers, enough to keep women dashing from house to the shop and back again, carrying bowls and roasters and utensils.
Steve and Mary washed celery from packing crates, stalk after stalk of it, with the n āva sitza (“beside sitters,” the bridal party). Since Steve didn’t have brothers, he chose a close friend and a cousin, while Mary chose two of Aunt Lizzie’s granddaughters, Ellen and Rosa, both only fifteen years old and absolutely thrilled to be n āva sitza . They carried the washed celery to the aunts and grandmothers, seated at a table with cutting boards and paring knives, who chopped it into small pieces for creamed celery.
Across the room at another table were the roascht-leid , whose job it was to butter whole chickens and put them in roasters to send home with workers to be roasted overnight. The chickens would be brought back very early the day of the wedding and snipped into small pieces with kitchen shears, mixed with prepared bread cubes, celery, eggs, butter, broth, fat, and the innards. Then they’d add salt, pepper, and seasoned salt, with the whole team weighing in on how much of each ingredient to add. The roascht-leid were highly esteemed, carrying a serious responsibility. Goota roascht (good chicken casserole) was extremely important, the crowning glory of the wedding dinner. Die drumbare leid were next in importance, the three church couples chosen to peel, cut, and cook the hefty stainless-steel kettles of potatoes, then mash them with plenty of cream cheese, butter, and salt, using handheld battery-operated mixers. Finally, two older, experienced church women were put in charge of cooking large kettles of gravy, fussing and stirring, following old recipes and doing themselves proud.
All the siblings from New York were there. Mary was surprised to see them joking and laughing, seeming to accept Steve. Mary had taken her own way, but they said, “let God be the judge.” They’d done their level best to guide and direct her and now it was time to give themselves up. Plus, they had to admit, Mary looked healthier and happier than she ever had before. Who was to say the blessing wasn’t there?
Mary chose a vibrant blue dress to go with the neat white cape and apron covering. Her red waves were sprayed into subjection, her brand-new covering fresh and neat. Steve stood beside her, blond, tall, his shoulders wide, his new mutza a tad snug across his back.
They greeted arriving guests, Steve quietly beaming. Mary was shy and only a bit nervous, buoyed by her newfound faith and at peace with her decision.
A perfect November day, they all said, a day when God’s blessing shone on all of Lancaster County’s many weddings.
And when Mary slipped her hand in Steve’s and stood in front of the minister, her voice was strong and steady as she produced her “ ya .” Yes, she would take this man, with her whole heart.
They returned to the two folding chairs facing each other, their eyes downcast, suddenly very shy on this sacred ground. But Mary felt ready and able to embark on this long journey of years with the one whom her heart loved. When she dared look up, he was looking directly at her, with so much gladness in his eyes, she had to give him a quick smile of her own happiness before lowering her eyes to the hands in her lap.
Oh, Steve. My Steve now, after all this time. Through all the trials and sorrows you were there, with patience and wisdom and so much understanding. I am truly blessed among women, and this I know in every recess of my being.
Her wedding day was a swirl of happiness and newfound faith. Steve’s steady presence beside her was all she needed as the gifts were opened and recorded in a notebook as an assembly of family and friends sang the hymns of marriage and faith Mary had chosen. The slow German hymns rose to the ceiling, filling the room with a mixture of voices, both low and high, a great swelling sound of praise for this day, for this love, for this couple God had joined together, and no man would put asunder.
The absence of parents was keenly felt, and mentioned in the sermon, discreet tears wiped. But Mary knew her father would not rejoice with the remainder of the wedding party, but with sad eyes would evaluate all the many ways in which the Amish were lowering their standards, weakening the fence through which the wolves would break. As Mary thought of this, she felt a wave of nausea. But quickly, she reminded herself that today was a time to rejoice, a time to love, to feel the love of God.
She genuinely enjoyed the remainder of the day, especially when the delicious evening meal was served, the youth seated as couples, paired with careful planning by Mary and Steve. Songs rose in praise to God, song leaders belting out the traditional German hymns set to English tunes, the youth joining in as they celebrated with the happy couple.
T HEY STAYED IN a rented apartment while they renovated their home, an ugly brick rancher that had been built in the sixties with frugality in mind. The bathroom was tiled in a peacock blue, with pink rows along the top, and the tub was an old porcelain green, with a line of rust spreading out below the faucet. The tile floor was chipped and broken. The kitchen was painted butter yellow and had a paper border of purple grapes along the ceiling. The linoleum floor had yellowed with age, a pattern like a road map of New York City.
They found a sturdy hardwood floor beneath filthy carpeting in the living room, which was exciting. But then there was a nest of wasps in the garage, and roaches in the cabinets and the basement, which was almost more than Mary could handle. But the exterminator was very effective, and soon the windows were replaced and the hardwood floor refinished. They spent their days planning, ordering materials, and went to bed at night with their heads filled with dreams. They imagined a new horse barn, landscaping, ancient overgrown shrubs removed, a patio in back, a front porch, a winding flagstone walkway.
And Mary was happy, caught up in the dreams of newlyweds, the promise of love that would only widen and deepen until no winds of adversity could shake it, certainly never uproot it.
She discovered Steve’s love of morning devotion, a reading of Scripture, sometimes a daily devotional book. Often, he read portions aloud to Mary as they sat at the breakfast table. Those little devotional books made her uncomfortable. Her father had always warned of these books, which were typically written by the English and could easily mislead the reader into worldly views.
For a while, Mary kept her concerns to herself, but one morning she could contain her fear no longer. “Do you have to read that silly book every morning?” she burst out, anxiety written all over her face.
Steve lifted an eyebrow, but then, wisely, decided just to listen as Mary told him her worries about the daily devotional from Guidepost magazine, how it could lead him astray, and wasn’t it better just to look to the church leaders for truth? Steve sipped his black coffee and watched the torment come and go, her green eyes like a dark shadow in one moment, alive with hope the next.
Finally, he suggested maybe she wasn’t used to hearing about the Bible in the English language, but that these devotions were still based on the Word of God.
“But my father . . .”
Steve felt irritation rising in his chest, but carefully set it aside.
“Yes?”
“My father always said many folks are led away from the narrow road, onto the broad, worldly one after they let go of the German. I think the German language is very important to staying true to the Amish church, and it makes me uncomfortable to hear you read verses of Scripture in English. It seems wrong, somehow.”
He took a slow breath, and then replied evenly. “Okay, Mary. If you feel that way, we’ll put aside these Guidepost devotionals and return to the German Schrift .”
He said these words softly, with the tenderness required for his struggling wife. And every morning, the German Bible was brought to the table, and he read the familiar verse in his gentle voice. And she crossed her hands in her lap, bowed her head, and absorbed the words often spoken by her father.
As she listened, sometimes she was taken back to New York, back to her days as a child, a questioning school-aged girl, whose limited view of life held her to the belief that blessings awaited doing right, and hellfire waited for those who did wrong. No gray areas, no mercy for any missteps until after punishment had been inflicted.
Yes, she had struggled for years, but had been baptized into the church, and promised to help build the establishment, to stay gehorsam (obedient) to the ordnung (rules of the church), to keep the devil at bay by her gehorsamkeit (obedience).
Somewhere in there, Jesus was a factor, but He still felt far off. Much more accessible, as well as understandable, was the concept of obedience. She still worried about how large her covering was, the width of her hemmed strings, the length of her dress and the size of her lepply , the piece of fabric sewn to the back of her dress at the waist. To appear humble, plain, in die ordnung , was a way of letting her light shine among the brethren. As a child, it had also been a way to fit in as one of Amos Glick’s daughters. She had peace, back then. Didn’t she? When had she lost it, gone her own way?
Oh, she’d gone so wrong so many times.
But she was forgiven, had a change of heart, been redeemed by the blood of Christ, right? How could she be sure? According to her father’s voice, you couldn’t ever be sure. You only hoped you were good enough to be counted with the sheep and not the abominable goats which were led to their fate.
As Steve read the German words in his gentle tone, she felt her stomach rumble and heave, the familiar increase of heartbeats. Her mouth went dry as the breathing rasped in her throat. She fought for control, exhaled long and deep.
Steve’s voice stopped. She raised frightened eyes to his.
“Mary, are you alright?”
“Yes, of course.”
But her face had gone pale, the freckles like thrown bits of soil. He said nothing, but kept his eyes on her face.
It was so soon after the wedding, so soon after her change of heart when she’d been redeemed, when she’d learned to cast her cares on Jesus, when he felt she had truly accepted Jesus as her Savior.
He whispered, “You don’t look good. Are you really okay?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He got up, glancing at the clock. His driver would be here any minute and the horse wasn’t fed, so he put a hand on her shoulder, bent to kiss her goodbye, with no response at all.
“Bye, Mary. Have a good day.”
He imagined a whispered goodbye, but couldn’t be sure.
She felt his absence, felt the cold wind on the barren plains of her soul, doubt like a landscape pockmarked with quicksand. She was afraid to get out of her chair, afraid to leave the kitchen. The sight of used dishes with fried egg on them served as a reminder she had to get up, go to work, take charge of her day. She bowed her head, tried to pray, but could not form sentences in her mind.
Here she was, in a rented apartment in Lancaster County, married to Steve. How was any of this okay in God’s eyes when she had once been so sure she was supposed to marry Bennie Lapp? No, she could not think these thoughts. She must control them, but how did one go about doing that?
She took a deep breath, then another, steadied herself, and rose from her chair, her knees like rubber. Oh God, where are you? Where is your strength ?
By sheer force of will, she gathered the dishes, carried them to the sink and ran water, added dish detergent, and fought despair with every ounce of her being.
T HAT NIGHT, SHE turned away from Steve, telling him she was sick from the scent of polyurethane varnish she’d used on the bathroom vanity. It was like ice water dashed in his face, but he allowed her space, lying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head and praying with the fervent words of the troubled.
No, his precious Mary was not alright, and hadn’t God shown him she wouldn’t be? But how long, how deep and wide were the times of being tested?
Love never failed, he knew, but the heat of the battle brought a sense of discouragement. Was he up to the task? He’d been so sure the battle was over, that she’d been saved from her churning, wearying mind.
He slept fitfully, dreamt long desperate dreams, and in the morning, rose without energy or fortitude to face anything. Mary was still asleep as he let himself out, went to the bathroom and stared at his unshaven, bleary-eyed face. He poked a forefinger against the mirror and told himself to shape up, pick up his courage and face the day.
He put bacon in the oven, stirred a batter for pancakes, made a pot of coffee, and opened the door of the bedroom wide enough to see if she was awake.
She was sound asleep.
He finished the pancakes, shoveled the bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate, poured juice, and fixed a nice tray, before taking it to her, saying, “Mary?”
She opened her eyes, and for a second, devastating anxiety crossed her features, before she smiled, shook her head, and told him he was spoiling her terribly. He arranged pillows behind her back and tucked her thick red hair behind her ear, as he adjusted the tray across another pillow on her lap.
“This is wonderful, Steve. Do you know this is the first time in my life anyone ever brought me breakfast in bed? My favorite, too. Pancakes and bacon.”
He watched her butter the pancakes, pour syrup liberally, take a bit, and close her eyes as she enjoyed the taste. Then she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, her green eyes heavy-lidded with sleep.
He loved her with all of his being, and the battle to help her suddenly seemed like nothing at all. He would gladly do whatever it took, gladly exercise every fruit of the Spirit to guide her to a healthy emotional state.
When she finished, he took the tray and set it on the dresser, then turned to find her regarding him with an unfathomable look.
“What is it, Mary?”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
She held out her arms, and he went to her, as the birds chirped and twittered their morning songs, heralding the arrival of a cold January day.
L IKE TWO CHILDREN , they slipped and slid through snow and ice, making their way to the unfinished house, and stood shivering as he inserted the key into the lock and burst gratefully into the warmth of the oil furnace-heated house.
“Grateful for electricity, for sure,” Steve commented.
“How long before we switch over?” Mary asked, an edge to her voice.
“Maybe a few years.”
“ Years? ” Mary’s voice carried an edge of shock.
“See how everything goes.”
Mary shook her head. The laconic regard to ordnung was astounding. He wasn’t worried about keeping the rules at all. She should have known this, and had, in fact, suspected it, but not quite like this.
“Solar’s expensive.”
“Solar?”
“Why sure. Everybody’s putting solar panels up.”
“Not everybody.”
He heard the edge in her voice, realized he was on thin ice.
“Probably not. Plenty of folks stick to the old way. Diesel-powered, compressed air, propane lights . . . but I don’t see why that’s any better, really. At one point, those methods were all new. We have to progress to some degree. Humanity always does.”
She shook her head. “But . . . my father says, said . . . nothing new should be allowed, ever. Stick to the old ways. That’s where the blessing lies.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something to pray about before we make a decision.”
She smiled her gratitude.
“In the meantime, let’s appreciate this blessed electric-powered heat.”
And she did, working side by side with Steve, applying paint and another coat of varnish, then standing back to survey the results of a soft white in the bathroom, a coat of bonding primer allowing them to paint over the hideous tiles. Steve had wanted to replace the tile work, but Mary felt that would be too extravagant. The medicine cabinet was replaced with a framed mirror from Lowe’s and the tub replaced with a large white one, which Mary worried was too expensive, though this time she kept the opinion to herself.
The new kitchen was finished in February, before Valentine’s Day, a perfect gift. The cabinets were white, with a small pine island in the middle, with white granite countertops, breathtakingly modern and stylish. Mary clapped her hands like a child, her eyes shining with joy and appreciation.
Oh, what fun she had, arranging her things on that beautiful countertop. A white kitchen was a dream come true—so clean, so fresh and new. She put her cookbooks on a wooden rack, arranged the glass canisters with wooden lids. Soon, she’d unpack her dishes and place them on the gleaming new shelves. She had to pinch herself to be sure it was real.
On moving day, Aunt Lizzie’s girls came with their husbands in tow, flocking into the house, their enthusiasm building with each room they entered.
“Oh, my goodness!”
“Mercy, but you guys worked!”
“Seriously, this is so cute!”
But the kitchen created the biggest stir. The girls shrieked and squealed and ran their hands along the white granite with appreciation.
Suze turned to her unsuspecting husband and announced that she wanted a kitchen exactly like this right away, thank you.
The only sadness of the day was the absence of Aunt Lizzie who would have been so happy to see Mary with Steve, being settled into her home, looking so excited, so into the moment.
They’d brought fresh cinnamon rolls, a pot of coffee, and a casserole to put in the oven for lunch. The men let in great draughts of cold air as they carried in the furniture, greeting Steve’s parents when they arrived later.
Towels and bedsheets were stacked in the handy cabinet in the new white bathroom, mirrors were secured to dressers in the bedroom, and the queen-sized bed was set up and clean sheets and quilts placed on it.
All Steve’s hunting and fishing items were put in the basement. The dehumidifier would have to stay. Mary’s brow furrowed when she heard it, thinking of the electricity it would take. But she soon forgot about it, caught up in the bustle of having her house established.
The finished result was heartwarming, cozy, and absolutely far beyond anything Mary could have imagined when they first set foot in the derelict hovel. Amid praise from her cousins and her mother-in-law’s kind words, Mary was lifted to the pinnacle of happiness, something she did not take for granted. All the anxiety, the doubts and rumbling words of her father, were swept away by the love of her family.
Ruthann said there was no way she could go home and be content, and Linda slapped her arm and said she should be ashamed of herself, look at where she lived.
“I know, but my furnishings aren’t as tasteful. This house is so . . . how can I say it? So put together. Just so cozy. You just want to stay here.” She flopped on the La-Z-Boy, pulled the lever on the side, and leaned back, before grabbing her covering and tilting it to the top of her head.
“I don’t know when they’re ever going to invent a recliner for Amish women wearing coverings. Sit on one, and smash, there it goes. It’s why I wear my dichly at home.”
Steve’s mother laughed, a sound like rippling water.
“I know what you mean. But those dichlin slide around on your head, too. Plus, for those of us with big ears, they are certainly not flattering.”
“We need to come up with a better idea for a covering,” Linda quipped, tipping Ruthann’s until she yelled, saying the thing was pinned to her head, in case she’d forgotten.
So the day ended on a lighthearted note, in spite of missing Aunt Lizzie. Steve’s parents wished them farewell and many happy days, his mother telling Mary to be sure to come spend the day whenever she felt lonely. She gave her a warm, sincere hug, promising to return soon with the girls.
The three cousins and their husbands wished them the same and offered a standing invitation to come visit anytime. Church was at Linda’s house in two weeks, they reminded her, telling her to mark her calendar. “I know it’s not your district, but please come,” Linda urged.
Mary felt a part of family, circled by a group of individuals who were full of love and generosity, accepting her without question. She was a kyotee frau , a woman with a husband, incorporated into a close-knit group of Amish people where newlyweds were honored. A new young couple in the church was a sure sign of the blessing from God.
Steve put his arm around Mary’s waist as they turned to go inside, and she took a deep breath and went into his arms, tired and smiling from the inside out.
As the stars were obliterated by gathering storm clouds, they slept peacefully that night, waking to a gray, windy morning, the furnace in the basement purring below them.
And God in His wisdom looked down from Heaven and knew the storm clouds were on the horizon for them as well, but His love was great. His strength would be sufficient through the darkest times when even the smallest bit of starlight was erased by the common trials of mankind.