5. Invitations and Expectations
INVITATIONS AND EXPECTATIONS
Thursday morning arrived with a sky so blue it looked like it had been scrubbed clean.
Elizabeth walked to the Fisher farm with Naomi strapped against her chest, the autumn air sharp and invigorating.
Leaves crunched under her feet, and somewhere in the distance, she heard the rhythmic clang of the forge—her father and Sarah already at work.
Naomi’s fever had broken before dawn. By the time the household stirred for breakfast, the baby was nursing peacefully, her cheeks no longer alarming.
Sadie had clucked over her, checked her forehead twice, declared it a teething fever and nothing more.
John hadn’t said a word about being in the kitchen at two in the morning, holding the baby against his chest in the lamplight. Neither had Elizabeth.
But she’d felt his eyes on her once across the breakfast table. Just once. And then he’d been gone—out to the barn, gone before she could so much as say guder mariye properly.
Two days until the wedding.
The thought sent a flutter through her chest—anticipation mixed with something else she couldn’t quite name.
When she reached the farmhouse, Hannah was already in the kitchen, surrounded by lists. Papers covered the table—crossed-out items, added notes, little sketches of table arrangements. Her sister’s face was composed, but Elizabeth could see the tension in the set of her shoulders.
“Guder mariye,” Elizabeth called, unbuttoning her cloak.
Hannah looked up, and relief flooded her features. “Ach, Elizabeth. Gut, you’re here. I’ve been awake since four going over everything in my mind.”
“Four?” Elizabeth set Naomi’s basket by the hearth and hung up her cloak. “Hannah, you need to sleep.”
“I’ll sleep Sunday.” Hannah pushed a cup of coffee toward her sister. “Right now I need to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”
Sarah emerged from the pantry with a sack of flour. “We haven’t forgotten anything. You’ve checked that list seventeen times.”
“Sixteen,” Hannah corrected. “And I’m about to make it eighteen.”
Within the hour, the kitchen had filled with women.
Sadie arrived with Mrs. Yoder, both of them carrying baskets of supplies.
The Lapp sisters came next, then Mrs. Stoltzfus and her daughter Mary.
Soon the kitchen hummed with purposeful activity—the kind of organized chaos that only happened when Amish women gathered for a common goal.
Hannah stood at the head of the table, her list in hand. “All right. Let’s go through this one more time.”
“Jah, one more time,” Mrs. Yoder said with gentle amusement. “Just like the last three times.”
Hannah’s cheeks colored, but she smiled. “I want everything to be perfect.”
“It will be,” Sadie assured her. “Now, what needs doing?”
Hannah consulted her list. “Hymn books—we need to count them and make sure we have enough. Last count was two hundred and twelve, but that was a week ago. Some might have been borrowed.”
“I’ll do that,” Mary offered.
“Gut. Tablecloths—they’re all washed and dried, but they need pressing. Every single one.”
“We’ll handle that,” Mrs. Lapp said, gesturing to her sister.
“The celery casserole?—”
“Already prepared,” Mrs. Yoder interrupted. “It’s in my cold cellar, ready to be brought over Saturday morning.”
Hannah checked it off. “Seating arrangements for two hundred and thirty-four people.”
“Two hundred and thirty-four?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Since when did it jump from two-thirty?”
“The Beachy family from the next district sent word they’re coming. All nine of them.”
Elizabeth watched her sister work through the list with admiration. Hannah had always been the organized one, the one who could hold a household together through sheer force of will and careful planning. But even Hannah looked slightly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what lay ahead.
As she poured coffee for the women, Elizabeth noticed something: Hannah’s hand trembled slightly, causing the pot to rattle against the cup.
Their eyes met. Elizabeth gave her a look that said: You’re doing fine.
Hannah took a breath and steadied herself.
By mid-morning, the work had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Elizabeth was washing dishes at the basin when Mrs. Stoltzfus asked, “Where’s Brian today? I thought he’d be here helping move the last of the benches.”
Hannah looked up from the table where she was organizing serving spoons. “He’s staying away until the wedding. It’s... proper.”
“Ach, jah,” Mrs. Yoder nodded approvingly. “The groom shouldn’t see the bride the day before. Old tradition, but a gut one.”
“Where’s he staying?” Mary asked.
“He’s helping the Zook family with their harvest today and tomorrow. And sleeping at the Dawdy Haus at the Miller farm.” Hannah’s voice was even, but Elizabeth saw her glance toward the window—as if she might catch a glimpse of him despite the miles between them.
“You miss him,” Elizabeth said gently.
Hannah smiled, a little embarrassed. “Jah. Silly, isn’t it? It’s only two days.”
“It’s not silly,” Sadie said warmly. “It’s love. And the waiting makes the wedding sweeter. Teaches patience.”
Hannah nodded, but Elizabeth could see the longing in her sister’s eyes. She wanted Friday to be over. Wanted to wake up Saturday morning and know that by evening, she’d be Brian’s wife.
The thought made Elizabeth’s chest ache with something she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Around mid-morning, Naomi began to fuss. She’d been content in her basket for an hour, but now she was making the particular kind of whimpering cry that meant she was uncomfortable and wanted attention.
Elizabeth dried her hands and lifted the baby, but Naomi’s crying only intensified. Her little face was red, her mouth working in distress.
“Teething,” Sadie said knowingly. “Poor bobbli.”
“She’s been like this all morning,” Elizabeth admitted, bouncing Naomi gently. “Nothing seems to help for long.”
“Here, let me try.” Sadie held out her arms, and Elizabeth gratefully handed over the baby.
Sadie walked Naomi around the kitchen, humming a hymn and patting her back with practiced rhythm. But Naomi continued to cry, her small fists waving in the air.
Sarah appeared beside them and made an exaggerated funny face—eyes wide, tongue out, eyebrows waggling.
Naomi looked at her aunt for one moment, then cried even harder.
“Well,” Sarah said, deflated. “That usually works.”
“Not today,” Elizabeth said, taking Naomi back. “I think she just needs to nurse and settle down. I’ll take her upstairs where it’s quieter.”
Hannah nodded. “Use my room. It’ll be peaceful there.”
Elizabeth climbed the narrow stairs to Hannah’s childhood bedroom, Naomi wailing against her chest. The room was just as she remembered—simple and clean, with a single bed covered in a blue and white quilt, a small dresser, and a window that looked out over the fields.
She settled into the rocking chair by the window and began nursing. Naomi latched on desperately, her small body finally beginning to relax. The crying subsided into occasional hiccupping whimpers, then into the deep, focused silence of a baby who was exactly where she needed to be.
Elizabeth let out a long breath.
The room was peaceful. Quiet. Below, she could hear the muffled voices of the women working, the occasional burst of laughter. But up here, it was just her and Naomi and the soft creak of the rocking chair.
She looked around the room, letting her eyes trace the familiar details.
This was where Hannah had grown up. Where she’d dreamed of her future, whoever it might be with.
Had she imagined it would be someone like Brian?
Someone from outside, who would have to learn their ways, who would always be slightly separate?
Probably not.
But Hannah had chosen him anyway. Chosen love over ease. Chosen the man who made her heart sing, even if it meant accepting complications.
Elizabeth’s mind drifted—unbidden but inevitable—to her own wedding to Eli.
It had been so different. Eli had been born Amish, raised in the community. Their wedding had been joyful, uncomplicated by questions of belonging or acceptance. Everyone had celebrated. Everyone had been happy.
And yet.
And yet it had all fallen apart anyway.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair. Naomi was asleep now, her small body warm and heavy. For a long moment, Elizabeth let herself imagine something she was afraid to want.
What would it be like to marry John? To wake up beside him every morning, to raise Naomi with a father who would stay?
The thought was so sweet it hurt.
But the kitchen the night before came back to her—the way he’d handed Naomi back as if his hands burned. The way he wouldn’t even let his arm brush hers.
She pressed her fingers to her eyes.
Maybe she was imagining all of it. Maybe she always had been.
She heard footsteps on the stairs. Elizabeth straightened, wiping at her eyes quickly, and began rocking again.
It was time to go back downstairs. Back to the work. Back to pretending everything was fine.
By early afternoon, the men had returned to the Fisher farm for final preparations. Elizabeth heard them before she saw them—voices calling to each other, the sound of boots on hard-packed earth, the creak of wagon wheels.
She was at the kitchen window washing dishes when they came into view.
Noah led the way, gesturing toward the canopy they’d erected two days ago. Levi was with him, along with Amos Stoltzfus, the Lapp brothers, and several other men from the community.
And John.
Always John.
He was carrying a length of rope over one shoulder, his hat pulled low against the afternoon sun. He said something to his father—Elizabeth couldn’t hear what—and Levi nodded, pointing toward the barn.
The men dispersed to their various tasks: checking table stability, reinforcing the canopy posts, organizing the benches that would be brought back Saturday morning.
Elizabeth’s hands moved through the dishwater automatically, but her eyes stayed on the window.