Chapter Seventeen
HE MUST BE insane. Confessing that her values were changing didn’t mean it had ever crossed Julia’s mind to convert to Luke’s faith. Unlike those who followed their sister Anabaptist faith, the Mennonites, the Amish made no attempt to convert others. The Mennonites had missions in developing countries throughout the world, the Amish none. Bishop Amos had echoed others when he’d said, “There are many ways to find God. Ours is not right for everyone.”
Back in the workshop, Luke was accomplishing next to nothing. He felt foolish to have thought for a minute that she might consider becoming Amish, with all that encompassed.
She would have to move from her apartment. Give up her car, and her a woman who knew nothing about horses, far less harnessing and driving one. Give up her internet and her television and the electronic reader she’d confessed to owning along with all those books. Her vacuum cleaner. Her clothes—although, picturing her wardrobe—that she might not mind so much. Except she would also have to throw away her bras. Did she know that Amishwomen didn’t wear them? he wondered.
He was paralyzed, shaken, ja, ferhoodled, by a possibility that would never come to pass. It had hit him like a lightning bolt. If Julia converted to the Amish faith, he could ask her to marry him. He would teach her what she needed to know, understand her past in a way his brethren and even family couldn’t. She’d understand the forces that made him the man he was, too.
She already endangered his heart. Letting himself hope . . . ach, that was foolish.
And what made him think she would agree to marry him in any circumstances? He’d known since meeting her that she had suffered a terrible trauma, that she feared men. That she would likely never welcome a man’s touch, a man in her bed. He could be patient, gentle—but could he face a lifetime with a woman who shrank away from him, who lay rigid in bed only because he was in it with her?
Even if she felt ready, who was to say she’d choose him? He might be imagining the tension that stretched taut whenever they were together. If she’d been attacked the way he thought she had, what if he looked like that man?
At length, he forced himself back to work.
Given that he was alone, he chose to do finish work on a dresser, starting with an air sander, powered by the diesel engine he’d fired up first thing that morning. The necessity of concentrating was good; there was always a risk of gouging wood on a nearly completed piece.
Done with that stage, he wiped off sawdust with a rag and then shifted to sanding by hand, using a block and frequently running his fingertips over the wood until he was satisfied that every inch was as smooth as he could make it.
He thought this dresser wouldn’t be in the store long. He’d never intended to make a full bedroom set of this design. The lines were almost Shaker in their simplicity, yet with curves subtle enough to fool the eye. For once he’d done no inlay, thinking the grace and function spoke for themselves. He’d used walnut, a hardwood, and he intended the stain to be rich, not quite as dark as walnut had traditionally been stained. He was pleased with the piece, but no more. Doing good work was important, but this work was no better or more valuable than Jacob Schwartz’s, when he harvested a field of sweet corn that would sell for enough to feed his family, or Sam Fisher’s, when he completed a windmill to bring clean power—God-given power—to a farm or business.
Or Katie-Ann Kline, quietly acknowledged as the finest local quilter for making traditional patterns new again and for her tiny, even stitches. A modest woman, she would say she did her best, but there were many other women as talented. And then she would name them.
Luke wondered how much pride Julia took in her quilting.
By the time his father arrived, he had stained the dresser as well as a rocking chair and two quilt racks. Thanks to Julia’s idea, those were selling faster than ever before. The quilt racks didn’t take long to build, but the rocking chairs were another story.
He greeted his father and said, “All is well at Sol’s place?”
Eli grunted. “Yes, the harvesting is on schedule, but little thanks to me. I was so slow. Lucky that there were other men helping who knew better what to do.”
“We can all only help as we’re able,” Luke said automatically.
Another grunt suggested his daad was chagrined at being showed up by younger fellows. Luke hid a smile. Pride was something they all struggled with, one way or another.
“How does it go here?”
“I’m glad of what I accomplished, and Julia said she sold a blanket chest to a buyer in California and a dresser to a man who lives in St. Joseph but drove up here after being told our furniture was especially fine.”
Eli nodded, not bothering to deny the truth of that when alone with his son. “California.” He shook his head in astonishment. “Doesn’t anybody out there make furniture?”
“In factories.”
Daad snorted.
This time, Luke openly grinned. “I meant to speak to you. We need more rockers. Do you have any at home that we could bring in?”
“Ja, two or three, I think.”
Luke suggested the time might be coming when they’d want to hire someone else, but his father pointed out that with fall nearly here, Elam might be able to put in some time building rockers and quilt racks, if nothing else. It would be good because he could work at the shop in the barn at home rather than here. This room couldn’t accommodate another worker, and expansion couldn’t happen unless a store on either side went out of business—which was possible. One was a real estate office, and these days property was slow to sell in this part of the state.
He saw Julia only when they walked out together at the end of the day. To his relief, she made no reference to their earlier conversation. That evening, he waited for his first chance to unobtrusively speak to his sister. She’d been coming in the back door, and instead he backed her up and stepped out, shutting the door.
“Julia and I talked today.” Self-conscious, he tried very hard to make this sound casual while doubting he would succeed in fooling Miriam. “She’s interested in attending a worship service. If people believe I suggested it, you know what they’ll all think. But you’re her friend.”
Miriam lifted her eyebrows. “Did you suggest it?”
“I did,” he admitted. “She was telling me things I shouldn’t repeat, and it seemed the right thing to do, but an invitation coming from you would be better.”
Obviously startled, his sister said, “She isn’t considering . . . ?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “When do you remember an outsider joining us? She’s just curious.”
She studied him with familiar suspicion, but finally nodded. “I’ll invite her. Everyone knows she’s learning our language. With her help on the fundraiser and driving Lydia around, she’ll be welcome.”
“Good,” he said, satisfied. “Denke.”
A mischievous grin accompanied her “You owe me one” as she slipped past him and opened the door again.
Smiling wryly, he said, “I do.”
Thanks to his sister, he was getting off easy. He should have thought before he opened his mouth—but he was glad he had.
GRATEFUL SHE HAD over a week before her visit to the service in the Bowman family’s district, Julia had determined to cram the way she had as a freshman in college.
Most of that Sunday was otherwise occupied, of course. In the morning she went to church with Nick, just as she had every Sunday since arriving in Tompkin’s Mill. What else could she do? She loved her brother. Following him home afterward, she even baked a ham and made a huge potato salad that would give him leftovers for a couple of days. Their conversation was stilted, both trying not to resume the argument or last Sunday’s tension. He didn’t say a word about her Amish employers or friends, and she didn’t talk about the work she’d done for the upcoming benefit.
Telling herself it was so he wouldn’t have a full week to badger her, she also refrained from mentioning that she would be attending a different service the next Sunday and wouldn’t be here to cook a Sunday dinner for him, either.
She winced. Pure cowardice, something she’d have to overcome. She couldn’t wait until Saturday night to call and say, By the way . . .
Miriam showed up unexpectedly at Julia’s apartment Monday morning. Luke had dropped her off, she said; he was going to the hardware store and lumberyard for materials he needed to work on his house.
She handed over a heavy book, a copy of the Ausbund, the hymnal used in all Amish worship, from the most conservative branches to the most liberal. She’d forgotten it was in High German until she opened the cover and stared in dismay. Yes, she’d taken modern-day German in college, and then never used it again. That grounding might be helping her learn Deitsh, but this—!
“No need to worry,” Miriam assured her. “No one will expect you to know our hymns.” She explained that a man who had been named as the Volsinger started each hymn. “Ours is a cousin of Mamm’s—John Mast.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Julia promised.
“I wish you didn’t have to, but . . . we don’t sing like . . . like the music you hear on the radio.”
“I’ve read that.”
“After the hymns, at least one of our ministers will speak, maybe both, and Bishop Amos, of course. They don’t write out what they’re going to say, or plan, except the three of them talk it over right before the service.”
“The minister at the church I’ve been attending with Nick reads his sermons. I don’t know if he writes his own.”
Miriam looked puzzled at the idea that a minister might take his words, however wise and moving, from someone else.
After that, they practiced speaking Deitsh, greeting people, saying, “How are you?” and, “I’m well, thank you for having me here today.” Miriam also reported that the teenager injured in the car versus buggy accident had been released from the hospital.
“The driver is only seventeen. He went to see Sol to tell him how sorry he was. Lydia was there. She thought the boy meant it. He’s in trouble and may even go to jail. Englisch law, you know. He was driving too fast, and he killed someone. Sol forgave him, and the boy cried.”
“I wonder if it’s real to him yet that David isn’t at home with the other kinder.”
“That might be.” She fell silent. “It may not be the forgiveness she stumbles over as much as the loss.”
“I understand that.”
Matthew 6:14–15 was the linchpin of the Amish faith: For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
Forgiveness couldn’t come easily for anyone, but Julia had no doubt that it would lift some of the pain and burden otherwise carried—both for the person being forgiven, and for the one offering the forgiveness.
For the hundredth time she asked herself, if she were to come face-to-face with the man who’d raped and tried to kill her, could she forgive him? Truly, from the heart? Like every other time, she found she just didn’t know.
At least forgiveness wasn’t an issue for Miriam. Her Levi had died in an accident, from what Luke said. It was the loss of the man she’d loved that she hadn’t yet gotten over. Julia’s loss had been different—not of a person but rather a part of herself, the confidence that would allow her to lead a full life—but she couldn’t deny that she stumbled there, too.
Dear God, help me do better, she prayed silently, before she steered Miriam back to the practice conversations that sometimes had them giggling.
ON SUNDAY, JULIA was to drive herself to the Bowmans’ house, traveling from there with Luke’s parents, sister Miriam, and brother. The family buggy wasn’t large enough to include him and Abby, so they’d make their way on their own. Just as well, he told himself.
To his astonishment, Abby had grudgingly agreed to wear one of the dresses Grossmammi had made. But not the hat, as she called it. She shook her head, and kept shaking it.
Even with her passive cooperation, he found that getting her dressed took a lot longer than usual. He’d never had occasion to watch even his much younger sister get dressed, far less help her. How much easier it would be if he had a wife. An Amish wife.
He finally managed to pin the dress in place over her skinny body, feeling like a father who had just managed to secure a diaper on his newborn for the first time, and buckled to Abby’s insistence that she wear her saggy, holey pink leggings beneath the dress. Maybe no one would notice. She even consented to the apron, a shade darker than the dress. In fact, she seemed to like the apron. Progress was made, thank you, Lord.
Her fine hair acquired tangles every night, especially in back. He’d almost mastered the art of working those knots out without painfully yanking. Then he brushed it all back and achieved a single braid, albeit with fine tendrils already escaping. Finally, he held up the kapp.
“You’re sure?”
Head shaking, she backed away. “No. No!”
He sighed. “Okay, this time. But all Amish girls and women wear kapps. You’ll see again today.”
Her lower lip pooched out. Luke laughed, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her out to the buggy, where Charlie waited patiently, already in harness.
Once they reached the road, he clucked to the gelding and snapped the reins, asking for a brisker trot than usual. As a former harness racer, Charlie was happy to oblige. Not that they’d be late, but Luke had no doubt his family and Julia would already be there, and he didn’t want her to feel abandoned if Miriam got called to help with the meal, say.
When he turned into the long lane leading to Rudy Brenneman’s farm, large by Amish standards, Luke was met by three older boys. They waved him to park in line with as many as twenty other buggies, and after helping Abby down, he left them to unhitch Charlie and turn him out with the other horses. Normally, he’d have been carrying a dish Miriam or his mother had made to contribute to the meal that followed the service, but no one would expect him to have brought food. As it was, he held Abby’s small hand in his as they passed the other buggies—and, yes, there was his daad’s—and walked the last distance up the lane to the lawn that sprawled in front of a large, two-story white house.
Rudy had built a German-style barn, handsome and roomy, into a slope. The stalls were on the earthen floor, the entry from downhill closer to the road, while the plank floor above at the same level as the house would have been cleared today to accommodate all the members of their church district. He was too late, he saw immediately, to help unload the bench wagon or set up the benches. It wasn’t as if he didn’t take his turn.
Younger children were running around, women and older girls hustling toward the house with covered dishes or keeping an eye on the children, the men and older boys gathered in clumps to talk.
No sign of Mamm or Miriam . . . but there was Eli, speaking with several men of his generation. Surely Miriam and Mamm would have kept Julia with them, introduced her to the other women, made her feel welcome.
He had exchanged only a few words with a friend, when movement began toward the open doors leading to the second floor of the barn. Traditionally, married men entered first, sitting toward the front on their side of the aisle, followed by married women and the small children accompanying them to sit on the other side of the barn. Then came the turn of unmarried men and older boys, and finally unmarried women and older girls.
Luke had taken to joining the married men who were his contemporaries, and nobody had objected. Today he hung back, wanting to be able to keep an eye on Julia, who would surely sit with Miriam among the unmarried women. Best if Abby didn’t spot Julia until after the service.
Indeed, Mamm passed by with her sister and some friends, chattering and not seeing him. He and Abby took their turn among the boys and men who were at least a decade younger than he was, with only a few exceptions like Elam. In fact, Elam saw him and gestured to invite Luke to join him. Luke slid in, lifting Abby to his lap.
His brother’s eyebrows raised at the sight of her and he grinned. “Mamm will be so happy.”
“Except for . . .” Luke tapped the top of his daughter’s head.
She lifted her face to glare a warning at him. “No hat!”
“No hat. Today.”
Her satisfied nod made him smile and his brother laugh aloud.
That was the moment he saw Miriam and the woman beside her, on a bench across the aisle and only a row ahead of him. Julia stood out with that gleaming hair in a sea of white kapps. Both looked his way, Miriam smirking and Julia smiling, her face lit in the way he didn’t see often enough.
He’d been surprised in his one, earlier glimpse. She wore a loose, high-waisted dress that fell to midcalf, nearly the same length as the Amishwomen’s dresses. He wondered if she’d sewn it especially for the occasion. Out in the world, he’d have expected a dress of that style to have small flowers sprinkled against a background color, but this was a solid fabric in a hue that fell between peach and rust, a good choice with her skin and auburn hair. He felt sure the other women would have approved of the dress. He liked seeing her in a pretty color.
Maybe she wore more colors when she wasn’t working, but Luke doubted it. She hadn’t the day his family helped her move into that apartment, or when he’d seen her at the hospital. A tan dress, though, would have been ugly. He could imagine the women at the fabric store asking what she was buying it for, and gently and tactfully urging her to try this instead.
So far, Abby was making faces at Elam, returned by him. Some of the other boys around them were laughing. Not until a voice was loudly and ostentatiously cleared at the front did they remember where they were and fall silent.
John Mast stood and looked toward the back of the barn to be certain everyone had entered, then announced the first hymn. That one was his choice. The second hymn was always “O Gott Vater, wir loben Dich.”
O God the Father, we praise You.
His voice, strong and pure, rose alone to the heavens. The others joined in, including Luke. Even as he sang, he glanced toward Julia, wondering what she thought.
The hymns were chanted more than sung, the voices of the faithful blending into a slow, quavering prayer to God. Beautiful in their own way, handed down from countless generations of the faithful before them, Amish hymns were never accompanied by musical instruments. Some would describe them as sorrowful.
As a scoffing boy, Luke had rolled his eyes because even their hymns were sung slowly. Of course they were. Now, he heard less of the sorrow and more of the hope and God’s promise of salvation.
Julia wouldn’t understand the words, he realized. Why had he imagined she’d be moved by anything about this service?
Abby squirmed, and he adjusted her on his lap so that her head rested against his shoulder. She’d stayed quiet the past two services, but now that she’d found her voice, who knew?
He wished Julia’s face weren’t blocked by his sister’s head and white kapp.