Rain pounded against the roof of Bishop Abram’s buggy shop. Martha stood near the open bay doors, watching it drench the earth, trying to put some rhyme or reason to Aenti Irene’s recent moods.
She’d seemed more bitter than usual as they’d prepared for church and had even thrown out a few disparaging remarks as they’d helped set out the Sunday luncheon. Try as Martha might to resist it, sometimes her own mood plummeted right alongside her aenti’s. Which was all the more reason for her to enjoy the few moments of solitude as she watched the storm and allowed her senses to focus on the sound and the smell of it. Reaching out her hand, water slicked down her palm, and she thought it felt clean.
“Playing in the rain?”
Martha smiled even before she turned to see Eli watching her. “It’s been many years since I’ve enjoyed a walk in the rain, but I will admit, I adore a good downpour.”
“I’m surprised you’re not visiting with the women.” Eli nodded toward the group of mothers and grandmothers and even great-grandmothers.
When she didn’t answer right away, he motioned toward two rocking chairs that were sitting on the bishop’s front porch. “We’ll get wet, but those look inviting.”
And indeed they did. Together they hurried across the yard and arrived on the porch, laughing and shaking water from their clothes. Eli didn’t push her to speak or explain herself. She liked that about him. That he allowed her to just . . . be.
The sermons that morning had been what she needed to hear. The first focused on loving one’s neighbor. She understood that her aenti was her neighbor in one sense and certainly that she should love her. It was liking her that Martha sometimes had trouble with. The second sermon had helped with that. “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.”
That word devoted, it had snagged her conscience and wouldn’t let go.
“I do care for her, you know.” She didn’t say her aenti’s name, and by Eli’s nod, she knew she didn’t have to. “It’s the devotion that is difficult.”
“In what way?”
“When I think of devotion, I think of a mother’s abiding love for a child.”
“Or a father’s.”
“Yes. I think of the way our youngie fall in love and become devoted to one another.”
“Certainly that is another type of devotion.”
“There are others?”
Eli rocked for a few minutes before answering. The rain continued to fall, soaking the ground and soothing the prickly points in Martha’s soul.
“It’s true the youngie are very devoted to one another,” Eli said. With his thumb he traced the grain of the wood across the rocker’s arm and finally looked up to meet her gaze. “And yet Charity is devoted to Jacob—that is an entirely different thing.”
“I suppose.”
“What they have is born of years of shared experiences, dreams, hurts, and hopes.”
“I had that with my husband, Melvin,” Martha said softly.
“It’s a blessing that you did.”
Martha pushed her foot against the porch’s wooden floor, setting her chair into a rocking motion. As they watched, one of the young boys dashed out into the rain, and two others followed. She guessed their ages to be between eight and ten. They hurried over to squat under the limbs of a tree, and it was then that she saw they each held a small paper boat, which they attempted to float.
“With Aenti, I appreciate that she has offered me a home, but I don’t understand her bitterness or why she is the way that she is.”
“It’s often difficult to understand one another.”
“Perhaps it is arthritis or some other health issue, but she won’t speak of it. She won’t explain herself.”
“Many times I’ve talked with Englischers who admire much of the Amish life, especially the way we treat our elders—with respect and courtesy.”
“Ya. It’s true that we do.”
“But whether a person is Englisch or Amish, as they grow older they often begin to feel unimportant, disconnected in some ways, even afraid as to what lies ahead.”
Martha considered Eli’s words. Would she feel that way in another thirty years? It was hard to imagine.
“I know that I should be devoted to her.” Now she turned in her chair and studied Eli. She appreciated that he was not judging her. It said much about his character, and that possibly he had endured a similar situation. “I want to care about her. I want things between us to be less scratchy.”
“I think that often devotion looks different in different relationships. It speaks of commitment to one another. There’s no doubt that you are dedicated to Irene. Perhaps you should give it time.”
“But I want our relationship to be better now.” Martha laughed as soon as she said the words. She sounded like a child. Some days she felt like one.
“We can’t always know what has injured a person in life, what has caused them to take the outlook they have.”
Something in his voice caused Martha to think they’d changed the subject. Was Eli talking about himself?
“But if we wait, if we are patient, a time might come when a person will change their outlook. If we’re devoted . . .” He smiled at her, hesitated, and then reached out and covered her hand with his. “Then we will be there on that day when they glance up and realize life isn’t as dark as they had imagined.”
Eli patted her hand, released it, and stood.
“Would you like me to walk you back?”
“I think I’ll stay here awhile.”
He nodded as if he understood.
Martha spent the next half hour watching the rain bless the fields, releasing the dozens of slights she’d committed to memory, and embracing her new life. It would be difficult to maintain a positive outlook—she understood that. In all honesty, life had never been particularly easy. Even with Melvin, each day had brought its share of challenges.
The rain lightened, and she walked back across to the barn. As she did, she couldn’t help thinking that perhaps in the midst of those challenges was where God often set His plan. Like the locations on Duncan’s map, those times—the bad as well as the good—seemed to always point to God and His will for their lives. She could trust that it would continue to be so.