5. Invitations and Expectations #2
John moved with quiet efficiency, the way he always did. No wasted motion. No unnecessary words. Just steady, reliable work.
At one point, he straightened from checking a table leg and looked toward the house.
Their eyes met through the window.
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
For a moment—just a moment—neither of them looked away. The distance between them felt both impossibly vast and terribly small.
Then John turned back to his work, his jaw tight, his shoulders stiff.
Elizabeth’s hands stilled in the dishwater. Her heart was racing.
“You going to wash that plate or just stare at it?”
Elizabeth jumped. Sarah had appeared beside her, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Jah, you were. And he was staring back until he remembered he’s supposed to be pretending he’s not in love with you.”
“Sarah.” Elizabeth’s face flamed. She glanced around quickly, but the other women were occupied across the kitchen.
“What? Half the district can see it. Mrs. Yoder’s been watching the two of you like it’s the Sunday sermon.” Sarah picked up a dish towel and began drying. “Mamm used to say life is short and love is precious. You’re wasting both.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is exactly that simple. You won’t speak. He won’t speak. Meanwhile the rest of us have to watch the two of you act like a barn fire that hasn’t worked out yet that it’s on fire.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth almost laughed.
“There she is,” Sarah muttered, satisfied. “Now wash the plate.”
Before Elizabeth could respond, Hannah appeared. “Elizabeth? Do you have a moment?”
Grateful for the interruption, Elizabeth dried her hands and followed Hannah to the quieter corner of the kitchen.
Hannah’s face was drawn with exhaustion, but her eyes were bright. “I hate to ask, but... could you come back tomorrow evening? After supper?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said immediately. “Whatever you need.”
Relief washed over Hannah’s features. “There are tablecloths that still need final pressing. And I want to arrange the flowers fresh—if we do them too early, they’ll wilt. And there are a dozen small things I know I’m forgetting...” She trailed off, looking overwhelmed.
Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand. “I’ll come. We’ll take care of it together.”
“Denki.” Hannah’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out.” Elizabeth smiled. “What time should I come?”
“After supper? Maybe six o’clock? That’ll give us a few hours before it’s too late.” Hannah paused. “Sarah would come too, but Dat has that big order to finish—the gates for the Beiler farm. She’ll be at the forge late.”
“It’s fine. Just you and me. Like old times.”
Hannah nodded, looking comforted. “I’ll feel better once tomorrow is done. Once everything is in place and all I have to do is wake up Saturday morning and get married.”
“One more day,” Elizabeth said gently. “You can manage one more day.”
“Jah.” Hannah took a deep breath. “One more day.”
The afternoon wore on. The men finished their work and departed. The women completed their tasks and began gathering their things to leave. By late afternoon, only a few remained.
Elizabeth was helping fold the last of the dish towels when Hannah appeared beside her, looking thoughtful.
“Can we sit for a moment?” Hannah gestured toward the table, now clear of lists and supplies.
They sat, and Sadie, sensing this was a private moment, busied herself across the kitchen with Naomi. Sarah had already gone to the forge.
Hannah poured them each a cup of tea—lukewarm now, but still good. She wrapped her hands around her cup and studied Elizabeth’s face.
“You haven’t said a word about him all day,” she said quietly.
Elizabeth didn’t have to ask which him.
“I know.”
“Which means he’s the only thing you’re thinking about.”
Elizabeth let out a small, broken laugh and looked down at her tea. The surface trembled slightly.
“I’m not going to give you the same speech I gave you yesterday,” Hannah said. “I won’t. I know I already said my piece. But I want to say one more thing, and then I won’t push again until you ask. May I?”
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her voice.
Hannah set down her cup and leaned forward. Her eyes were soft but very serious.
“You survived losing Mamm. You survived Eli walking away from you. You survived being pregnant and alone and giving birth in a house that wasn’t yet your home.
” Her hand closed over Elizabeth’s. “You have already survived the worst thing that could happen, schweschder. There’s nothing John could say to you—yes or no—that would unmake you. ”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled. The tears spilled before she could stop them.
“The only thing I’m not sure you’ll survive,” Hannah said softly, “is staying silent another year. Another month. That is what worries me.”
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her mouth.
“I’m so tired of being afraid,” she whispered.
“I know.” Hannah squeezed her hand. “I was too. Until I wasn’t.”
“How did you stop?”
Hannah considered the question. “I didn’t. Not really. I just decided that being afraid with Brian was better than being afraid without him. Fear didn’t go away. It just stopped being the loudest voice.”
Elizabeth wiped at her eyes.
“I don’t want to just survive,” she said softly. “I want to live.”
“Then live.” Hannah’s voice was fierce with love. “After the wedding. After all of this settles. Take a breath and live.”
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Hannah pulled her into a hug, and Elizabeth let herself be held by her sister—this woman who in two days would begin her own new chapter.
When they pulled apart, Hannah wiped her own eyes and laughed shakily. “Ach, look at us. Crying into our tea like silly girls.”
“We’re allowed to be silly sometimes,” Elizabeth said.
“Jah. But not until after Saturday.” Hannah straightened her shoulders, becoming practical again. “Tomorrow evening. Six o’clock. We’ll finish everything and then I can finally stop worrying.”
“I’ll be here,” Elizabeth promised.
The ride home was quiet. Sadie had offered to drive the wagon herself, but John had appeared—as he always did—and taken the reins without being asked.
They rode in silence for the first mile. Naomi slept against Elizabeth’s chest, warm and peaceful. Sadie talked about the wedding, about how lovely everything would be, about how happy she was for Hannah and Brian.
John said nothing. Just drove, his eyes on the road, his jaw set.
Then the wagon hit a rut—deeper than expected. Elizabeth lurched sideways, grabbing for the side of the wagon to steady herself.
John’s hand shot out instinctively, catching her arm and steadying her before she could fall.
For a moment, his hand stayed there—warm and solid against her sleeve.
It stayed too long.
Elizabeth felt it. The half-second beyond what a brother-in-law’s steadying touch should be. The fraction where his fingers tightened on her arm before remembering themselves.
Their eyes met.
In the lamplight she saw it all—the careful composure cracking right down the middle. His jaw was tight. His chest was rising and falling too fast. And his eyes were not the eyes of a man who’d merely caught a sister-in-law from a fall.
“Elizabeth—” His voice came out low. Strangled.
She held her breath.
He didn’t finish.
His hand pulled away as if burned. He gripped the reins with both hands, knuckles pale in the lamplight.
“Es dutt mer leed.” I’m sorry. The Pennsylvania Dutch came out rough, almost broken.
“It’s all right,” Elizabeth managed, though her voice came out smaller than she meant it to.
But her arm still felt warm where his hand had been. And the air in the wagon felt thick—charged with everything they weren’t saying.
She didn’t dare look at him again. She kept her eyes on Naomi’s small sleeping face, on the dark countryside slipping past, on anything but him.
Beside him on the bench, John’s shoulders were rigid. Once, she heard him exhale carefully. Once, his free hand passed across his face and stayed there a long moment before dropping.
Sadie glanced between them, her expression unreadable. But she said nothing. Just folded her hands in her lap and looked out at the passing fields.
The rest of the ride was silent.
That evening, after supper, Elizabeth sat in her room with Naomi asleep in the cradle. She’d tried to read from the Ausbund—the thick hymnal that offered comfort and guidance—but the words swam before her eyes.
Her mind was too full.
Two days until the wedding. One day until she’d return to help Hannah. And then...
And then what?
She stood and moved to the window, looking out over the darkening farm. Below, she could see lamplight in the barn—John, checking on the horses one more time before bed.
She watched the light move, imagining him down there. Moving through familiar tasks. Alone with his thoughts.
Was he thinking about her?
Or was she fooling herself?
“Something has to change,” she whispered to the darkness. “After the wedding... something has to change.”
She didn’t know what that would look like. Didn’t know if she’d have the courage to speak or if John would find his own words first.
But she knew—with a certainty that settled deep in her bones—that they couldn’t keep going like this.
The lamplight in the barn went out.
Elizabeth stood at the window a moment longer, her hand pressed against the cool glass. Reaching toward something she couldn’t name.
And then, without quite deciding to, she was moving.