Along Wooded Paths (20 page)

“It’s chilly in here, I know. This place isn’t very well insulated and it cost a few hundred dollars last month just to keep from freezing.”

“I’m warm enough, but do you have warmer clothes for Kenzie? That might help her feel better.”

Jenny glanced behind her and yawned. “Yeah, she does look cold, and she hasn’t eaten all morning. I bet she’s hungry too.”

“Cereal!” The young girl clapped her hands. Kenzie’s eyes were still focused on the television, but it was clear she knew what was going on.

“Tell you what.” Marianna moved toward the small girl, sitting at the end of the couch near her feet. “Why don’t you get some rest and I’ll take care of things here. Kenzie and I will have some fun, won’t we?”

Kenzie nodded, even though her eyes stayed focused on the television screen.

Jenny yawned again and moved down the hall to the back room. “Thanks, Marianna. I owe you one.”

The first thing Marianna did was to get Kenzie into warm clothes. The second, turn off the television.

Kenzie folded her arms over her chest, and her bottom lip popped out. “Hey, I was watching that.”

“I know, but don’t you want to help me make lunch?” Marianna stretched out her hand.

Kenzie shrugged. “I dunno how to cook.”

“Well, that’s perfect. I’ll show you.”

Marianna led Kenzie to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There were only a few items inside. She checked the cupboard and noticed there wasn’t much there. In fact there were more groceries in the bag than there were in Jenny’s kitchen. Marianna put the food away and then turned to Kenzie. “How about a piece of pumpkin pie?”

“We’re going to cook pie?” Kenzie clapped.

“Actually, no. The pie is already made. In fact, I changed my mind. Why don’t we cook another day. I’ll bring over some special things.”

Kenzie wrinkled her nose, and Marianna could see her disappointment.

She cut Kenzie a piece of pie and poured her some milk. Now . . . how to turn cleaning into a game? As she thought about it, something stirred inside her. Cleaning could happen another day too. What Kenzie would appreciate most was just time—time without the television on. Time to have Marianna’s complete attention.

“Kenzie, do you have any favorite games? Or toys? I thought we could play something while your mom slept.”

“Barbies?” Kenzie put down her fork and rushed to the small room just off the living room. She returned a minute later with two dolls in questionable attire. Marianna tried to ignore that for now. As she held the plastic figure in her hand she thought how different it was from the dolls she had as a child—the dolls Ellie had. Amish dolls wore simple dress and had no faces painted on their wooden bodies because Amish parents didn’t want their children to have a “graven image.”

“Hi, I’m Barbie.” Kenzie spoke in a squeaky voice as her doll bounced on the table. “What’s your name?”

Marianna did the same with her doll, making it look like it was walking on those strangely shaped pointy toes. “I’m Marianna.”

“Hi, Marianna. You’re a little Marianna just like the big Marianna.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Marianna.” Kenzie cocked her head. “Why do you wear that Easter hat on your head?”

Marianna held in her chuckle. She supposed Kenzie’s doll was talking to the big Marianna now.

“Well, it’s called a kapp, and every woman in my family wears one.”

“Is it to keep your head warm? To keep the snow from falling on your hair?”

“No.” She patted her kapp. “It’s pretty thin material. It doesn’t really keep my head warm.” How could she explain that the kapp was a prayer veil? They were supposed to “pray without ceasing” and “wear a covering on their head when they prayed”—hence, the kapp.

“It’s to make God happy.” Hopefully, that would suffice.

Instead of seeming satisfied, Kenzie scowled. “My mama doesn’t wear one of those. Does that mean she makes God mad?” Kenzie put down her doll and looked at Marianna. From the serious look on her face, this conversation was no longer play.

“No, of course not.”

“Mama says we need to love Jesus to go to heaven. Do I need to tell Mama we need a kapp like that too?” Kenzie pointed. “A hat that doesn’t keep you warm?”

Marianna studied the little girl’s face, and suddenly all she’d been taught seemed to shatter around her feet. Because she knew what she had to answer.

“No, you can love Jesus and not wear a kapp.”

All her life she’d been told her people were God’s chosen people, that following their ways was right and God was pleased by the way they lived. But did that mean that folks like Jenny or Kenzie had no way of pleasing God? Was the most she could ever offer them a few hours’ break and a piece of pie? But nothing to help with their eternal life?

If they believed in Jesus, like Jenny had told Kenzie, wasn’t that enough?

Marianna’s mind seemed as numb and heavy as the wet snow outside. She put down the doll. She no longer felt like playing.

“Hey, Kenzie.” Marianna held out her hand. “I have an idea. Instead of playing dolls, why don’t we read some stories for a while.”

“My Bible book?” Kenzie set her doll by the piece of pie and hurried to the living room, nearly tripping over an abandoned shoe.

“Yes, your Bible book.” Marianna rose and followed. What stories did Kenzie’s book hold inside? She had a feeling there was more truth in those pages than she’d heard from the bishops—mainly teachings on dress, and buggies, and traditions.

Marianna sat on the couch and Kenzie snuggled on her lap. A peace she hadn’t experienced in a while moved from her chest to her limbs. Maybe Marianna hadn’t come to Montana just to help her parents.

Maybe she was here to reach out to those unlike her too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ben walked into the prayer meeting, his heart heavy. It still troubled him that he hadn’t been bold enough to tell Carrie that Marianna was Amish. And coming back to West Kootenai—to the simple way of life—made him realize what he’d been missing.

Oh, he’d enjoyed being in the studio. He’d enjoyed dreaming with Roy, and brainstorming together to make his songs better.

But he’d missed this. He’d missed . . .

Home. If only he could hold on to how he felt here while he was with Roy. But it wasn’t easy. Sometimes . . . he felt like he changed when he was with Roy. Like he was giving up some part of himself to become successful.

Ben sighed as he stomped the snow from his boots. It wasn’t that he’d done anything wrong. It wasn’t that he planned on going the wrong direction, to live the wrong type of life again. He understood the path—and its dangers. He’d been there—accustomed to the crowds, the praise, the fans. He’d had Carrie at his side and spent just as much time at her apartment as his. He remembered all too well what it was to strive for more and more, to try to do better every time. He’d wanted to reach the next level—only to find out that once he got there, that too gave him no satisfaction.

Over the weekend he’d recorded his new song, and a few old ones he’d written that Roy wanted to give new life. Was he making the right decision? God gave him a gift—but was he using it in the right way? If he wanted to care and provide for a wife, he’d have to do more than drive people around and deliver furniture. The thing was, if Marianna didn’t fit in the Englisch world of West Kootenai, Montana, there was no way she’d fit in L.A., in a world of tour buses and recording studios.

Yes, he was making changes to get what he wanted. He just wasn’t sure that what he wanted would fit with the changes he was making.

“Ben, good to see you.” Ike approached and placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Heard you were out of town a few days. I was wondering if you would make it tonight.” Ike ran a hand down his smooth cheek, and Ben wondered why the man had never been married. Maybe he should talk to Ike about that.

“I couldn’t miss it. This is where I get fueled up for the week.” Ben removed his ball cap and his jacket. “I did have a little work to do down in Kalispell, but nothing that would keep me away. I’d drive across the state for this. I need it. I need folks’ prayers tonight.”

Ike nodded.

“Well, Ben, it sounds like you’ve come to the right place.”

Susan Carash reached her hand out for his coat. “Give me that snowy thing. I’ll hang it in the closet. Would you like some coffee? It’s decaf.”

“Got any of the real stuff? After this I’m going to be up for a while.” Ben strode into the living room and took a seat on the empty sofa.

“I can make some. Got work to do?” Susan closed the door to the coat closet.

“Yeah, you could say that. More like just fiddling with my guitar.” Roy wanted a few more songs. He’d convinced Ben to just play around—to see what would come out. Ben told him he would, and that he’d return to Kalispell in a few days.

As Ben watched the other folks show up and greet each other, his mind was on Roy’s statement that one more new song would finish off the project. Ben had tried to think of something on the drive up to West Kootenai, but there was no inspiration.

Then, right before he got to the Carashes’ house, he’d driven by the Sommers’ place. A single lantern had hung in the living room, casting a soft glow through the windows. His stomach knotted as Ben pictured Aaron sitting in there with Marianna by his side. Even now the lump was still lodged in his throat, and he wished the coffee would come so he could swallow it down.

Then, as softly as the snow falling on the window, words had come to him as he drove: “Sometimes light only shows me what I’m missing out on . . .”

But by the time he’d parked in the Carashes’ driveway, he’d already nixed that idea. Light to him was God showing him how things truly were. It was darkness that hid things. Hid the truth. He didn’t like the idea of casting light in a negative way.

More people piled in the house, all of them folks Ben knew. In addition to members of the Community Church he attended down the road, some Amish friends attended. Three families, with members of all ages, piled into the house—their cheeks especially rosy from the ride over. Some horses pulled buggies, others sleds. The men were the last to enter. They’d been outside tending to their horses in the new barn that the community had put up for the family.

Ben remembered the fear in the Amish folks’ faces when they first started coming to the prayer meetings. Not only were they assembling with Englischers, but the Englischers were praying aloud—something not encouraged by the Amish. Thankfully the Amish continued to come back, hungry for the interaction. Hungry for the connection with God. The cold winter outside the door and windows might be harsh, but warmth and love filled the room.

“Maybe the light’s showing what I need to see,”
the words played through Ben’s mind. “
It’s not what I’m missing, but what’s not to be.”

He opened his Bible on his lap and pulled a pen from his flannel shirt pocket, writing down the words on an old church bulletin. Yeah, those words made more sense. They worked—not for his heart, but for the song. At least it would give him something to play around with later.

In addition to two sofas, numerous dining room chairs and folding chairs circled the room. Sarah Shelter, Marianna’s coworker, approached and sat in the chair closest to him.

“Ben, good to see you. We’ve been missing you around the store.”

“We?” He tucked his pen back in his pocket and closed his paper inside the Bible.

“Me, the cinnamon rolls, and your favorite scrambled eggs.” Sarah chuckled.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working in Kalispell.”

“Good to know. Marianna’s been asking.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed. She studied his face as if waiting for a response. Ben did his best to hide his emotions.

“Yes, well, she’s probably worried about anyone out there driving on those roads—with what happened to her friend Aaron.”

“
Ja
, I’m glad he’s all right. Someone like Aaron is just who Marianna needs.”

Sarah opened her own Bible on her lap and flipped through the pages. From the look in her eye it was clear she was trying to protect her friend. He would have laughed out loud if the room weren’t already quieting for their time of prayer. How could Sarah think it was right for an Amish family to sneak out like this—to meet with the Englisch and pray with them—and yet also believe that an Amish girl and Englischman falling in love was bad?