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Jemima moved uncomfortably in the buggy seat as they drove back from town. It seemed to her that the tone of Mark’s silence had changed. On the way into town, his silence had been peaceful and relaxed. After their visit to the lawyer’s office, she sensed—something else.
After a while she turned to Mark and asked: “What?”
He looked away, out over the fields. To her relief, he didn’t ask what she meant.
“I hate to hear you talk about that Williams Englischer,” he blurted. “I hate to think of the two of you together.”
Something about the way he said it melted Jemima’s heart. Poor Mark! She reached out and grasped one of his hands.
“You don’t need to worry, Mark,” she told him softly. “I didn’t like having to talk about Brad Williams, either—I wish I’d never met him.
“If it makes you feel better—sometimes I really think that I hate him!”
Mark glanced at her, with a look almost like pain. “That’s what I mean, Mima,” he murmured. “It doesn’t make me feel better, because – that’s new. I’ve never seen you like that before.”
Jemima pulled back her hand and sighed. “That’s because no one has caused me so much harm before!” she replied.
“So that’s what it is, Mima?” he asked. “Anger? I need to know. Because every time you talk about him, you look – I don’t know – stirred up.”
“You’d be stirred up, too, if he’d done this to you!” Jemima answered tartly, and then almost gasped aloud—because she sounded so much like Deborah. But to her relief, Mark sputtered out a reluctant laugh.
“Fair enough. I know you have good cause to be mad at him.” He turned to look at her. “But I’d hate to think that he’d gotten to you somehow, Mima.”
Jemima raised her eyes to his and held them. “Why, Mark?” she asked pointedly.
He shrugged. “I just would, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
Jemima hoped that Mark would hear the disappointment in her voice, and understand what it meant. It was one thing to be reserved. But if you were a lover, sooner or later you needed to say so.
She toyed with the idea of just – telling him that. But instead, she lapsed into silence herself and gazed out over the cornfields as they passed.
When they reached the Christener farm, Jemima would have walked home, but Mark wanted to walk back with her. She tried to object – she felt guilty about interrupting his day – but he insisted. So she waited while he unhitched the buggy, and put the horse back in its stall, and returned to her.
They walked back the way she had come, though Mark did twitch his mouth to one side, and say that it felt strange to be in a field without a team of horses. Jemima laughed because it was funny, and when he held out his hand, she took it.
They walked back to her home hand in hand, as they had sometimes done when they were children, and to Jemima it felt natural and right. They said nothing because they didn’t need to talk to feel comfortable, but she enjoyed his company and knew that he enjoyed hers.
That was the thing about Mark: he was so easy to be with. He made no demands on her, and yet he was always there, sensible, strong and reliable. He made no attempt to entertain her, but she felt no need to be entertained. They just liked each other and were comfortable together, and it was enough.
When they finally reached the fence that bordered her parent’s farm, Mark lifted her in his arms and sat her down on the topmost rail of the fence. He held her there with his hands and looked into her questioning eyes.
“I think it was a wonderful thing you did, Mima. Giving all that money away to the Yoders, and the others. The man was right. That was very generous.”
Jemima smiled, and looked down, and went pink. Mark’s praise pleased her out of all proportion.
Because Mark had never been one to gush – when he praised you, he meant it.
“It’s your rumspringa. You could’ve spent all that money on yourself, on a car, or a trip somewhere, or lots of pretty Englisch clothes.” He raised a brown hand and brushed a tendril of hair back from her brow. “You would look so beautiful then, that no one could resist you.”
“Oh, Mark!” she sputtered and shook her head, but he didn’t back down.
“It’s true, Mima. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. The most beautiful girl I ever expect to meet. And not just on the outside.”
Jemima became very still. She raised her eyes to Mark’s, searched them, hoped that he’d say the words that should come next.
The dappled sunlight played over his shoulders, turned his hair to black silk tinged with blue. His eyes were dark as sapphires, ringed with a smudge of black lashes. He smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss her, soft and sweet and warm.
Jemima received his kisses gratefully, savored them for the precious things they were, rolled them over her tongue like a favorite taste. But to her disappointment, Mark still did not use his tongue to form the words she longed to hear.
He pulled back from her at last, and kissed her again just on the edge of her mouth, and played with her ear.
“I want you to ask you something, Mima,” he said quietly. “When all of this is over, and things have settled down, I’m going to come back to your house and ask you a question. I think you know what it’s going to be. I want you to promise me you’ll think about it, in the meantime.”
Jemima felt a strange sensation: love and exasperation, simultaneously.
Exasperation won—slightly. She spoke kindly but gave him an arch look. “How do I know what to think about, when you won’t even tell me what the question is?”
Mark smiled but shook his head. “Don’t play with me, Mima. I’m serious.” He looked up into her eyes. “Promise.”
Her exasperation melted. It was impossible to resist those beautiful blue eyes.
“I promise, Mark,” she whispered.
“It wouldn’t hurt, if you promised not to say yes to anyone else, before you talk to me,” he added, only half-jokingly.
Jemima met his eyes and smiled apologetically. “There are other boys who are asking me—questions,” she confessed. “It’s only fair you should know.”
He twisted his mouth down. “I’d have to be pretty dumb not to guess,” he told her wryly. “But I do have a chance, don’t I, Mima?”
Jemima looked up at him, startled. “Of course you do – Oh, Mark!” She took him in her arms and hugged him. “How could you think any different?”
She could feel him relax. He put his arms around her and kissed her one last time.
“That’s all I wanted to know, Mima,” he told her. And before she could answer, he had released her and had disappeared into the rustling leaves.
