Along Wooded Paths (28 page)

Marianna rose, wished Aaron a good night, and then hurried upstairs, joining Ellie in the bed. Unlike Aaron, she had questions. And complaints.

God, why did this have to happen? I know Ben is the one who pointed me to You, but why did my heart have to wander toward him?

“Take away my feelings for him,” she whispered into the night. “I want to do what is right, and having such feelings for an Englischman will only lead to pain for Aaron, my family, and . . .” Marianna sighed.

She wanted to believe it would lead to pain for herself, but she just wasn’t sure. Pain would come—caring for two men meant she’d have to decide. But she could not yet believe drawing close to Ben would bring as much pain as drawing away from him already caused.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Marianna sat at the dining room table with her grandmother’s quilt wrapped around her. She should have been warm. The woodstove was putting out plenty of heat. The quilt was thick and comfortable. She should be happy . . . but she wasn’t. She’d prayed last night for God to take away her feelings for Ben, but this morning they were there just as strong.

Ben is leaving. He cares for me, and he’s leaving.

Dat sat across the dining room table. Aaron must have gotten up early, dressed, and made his way to the couch, where he’d dozed off once again. The kids were still sleeping.

“Marianna, I want to talk to you.” Dat spoke low, she thought so Aaron would not hear if he happened to wake. “There are rumors. People in our community are talking.”

“I wondered when that would be the case. I’m sure not many young women have a suitor living under the same roof with her and her family.” Marianna’s voice was no more than a whisper. “You made it clear Aaron is sleeping in my room, but I’m not in it, didn’t you?” She tucked the quilt under her chin and rested her elbows on the table.

“That is not what they’re talking about. It seems that there’s been talk about you and Ben.”

Her heartbeat quickened just hearing his name. “I don’t understand.”

“People can see things, Mari.”

“See what? I’ve done nothing. I’ve hardly seen him. We rarely speak.”

“Sometimes looks, glances, speak volumes. More than words.”

Marianna swallowed hard. Tears filled her eyes. It wasn’t fair. She had been trying. She’d attempted to protect her heart.

“People need to keep their thoughts to themselves,” she spat. “Do they not have enough to do? Is the frigid weather so mild they need to put their tongues to work?”

Dat glanced out the window, to the snow and the mountains. “You know how it is. We all watch out for each other.”

“I know.” She folded her arms over her chest. “If you fall short of perfection, you’ll be trampled by good intentions or by gossip shared over the grocery store counter or with the movement of a needle in one’s hands. And no one seems to understand the pain of their words. The way they knead the heart, pierce it.”

As she sat there, she wished she hadn’t met Ben. Things would be easier. Then again, she wouldn’t have the relationship she had now with God.

Mem entered the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and joined them.

“Do you wish to end up a
maidel
?” Dat stroked his long beard. He glanced at Mem and then back to Marianna. “If you hold Aaron at arm’s length, that might be what happens.”

“There are worse things than being unmarried.”

“Is that what you think now? Just months ago . . .” Dat licked his lips and looked at Marianna again, then at Mem. Mem nodded. She was minding herself. From her gaze it was clear she wished she could grab Marianna up, take her to the front porch, and shake her out like a rag rug, attempting to shake out her foolish thoughts. Even though Mem stayed silent, her gaze bore deep.

Marianna looked away and focused on her sturdy black shoes sitting on the mat by the front door, realizing for the first time how much she disliked them. The thought surprised her.

Before, her plain clothes had always seemed like a blessing rather than a curse. She hadn’t needed to waste time deciding what to wear or worrying what others thought. Today, though, the sameness felt like a trap. Suddenly, her whole life narrowed down to this moment. She could either heed her parents’ advice and walk in the familiar path in familiar shoes. Or she could try to get a message to Ben. To tell him not to leave until they had a chance to talk—really talk.

To step out and explore who she could be, and how she could be loved.

Marianna crossed her arms over her chest. The words that threatened to break through surprised even her. “This is still my
rumspringa
. I haven’t joined the church. If I choose to dress different . . . or go without my kaap . . . isn’t that what this time in my life is for? Maybe walking another way for a time will bring me back stronger. Will help me know.”

Dat stood and turned his back on her. “You’ve seen the pain walking away has caused.”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. She stared at his back. The light blue fabric pulled tight against his broad shoulders. She wished he’d turn back to her, so she could see the expression in his gaze, but she supposed this is how things would be. Not only for this moment, but for life. To walk away from being Amish meant leaving her family. There was no way around that.

She thought about David, Charlie, Josiah, Ellie, Joy. She covered her face with her hands, even now smelling the baby lotion she’d rubbed all over Joy’s tummy and legs after her bath last night.

Levi had walked away one night—just packed a small bag, swung it over his shoulder, and walked out on the dark country road. Later she’d heard from Rebecca that friends had been waiting down the road by the stop sign in their car. The guys who’d picked him up were former Amish too. All of those guys had walked away from their lives and their families. Levi had only seen the kids once, and he’d never met Joy.

Did she really want that?

Her stomach tightened, pulling all her emotions into a tight knot. Then, as quickly as they tightened, they loosened again. It became clear what she had to do.

It’s not the worse thing to go through life without a husband,
she wanted to say, but she didn’t.

“Dat, listen.” She pressed her feet against the cold wood, curling her toes. “I know you care about me and want what’s best. I know the best is not Ben.” As hard as it was to say those words, she realized that was the truth.

Dat nodded and then turned back to her. He approached, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She looked to Mem and saw tears in her eyes.

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered. “I couldn’t walk away from everything.”

“Community is like an old coat, Marianna.” Dat squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not aware of its need until it’s taken away.”

“I know, Dat. I understand what you’re saying. I don’t want to leave everything for Be—” She paused, unable to say his name. “I’m committed to serving the people God birthed me into.”

“That’s a good choice.” Dat nodded. “They may not be pretty at times, but like that coat, they are functional, and they’ll keep you warm.”

Marianna thought about that as she rose and dressed, getting ready for the day. She could choose who to love. She could choose to dwell on the thoughts of what she was missing out on . . . or to love as she should. And would loving Aaron be so hard? She didn’t think so. She just had to be willing to surrender to what her heart had been pointing her to since she was a child.

While doing his morning chores Dat answered a phone call from Annie. Jenny had a large electric bill to pay and needed more hours, did Marianna mind not coming into work today?

Marianna would rather have gone to work. She mostly missed the walk there though the snowy, silent world. That was her best time to think, to pray. It was hard to do at home with the younger kids running around—with Aaron’s eyes on her. Yet Mem could use the help, so when Mem carried the large basket of washed clothes upstairs, Marianna joined her.

It took just a minute to hang the clotheslines across the room. They worked quickly to get the damp items hung before Joy started to fuss and Ellie got bored of coloring.

As they worked, Marianna’s chest still felt heavy. Ben was leaving. And she’d hurt Aaron. Deciding to love him was the easy part. Realizing she’d been failing in that area was harder. To walk away from one, meant turning to another. How was that possible? She thought about Mem and her confession weeks ago. Marianna bit her lip and turned to her mother.

Should she bring it up?

“Mem, I know we’ve had a full house, yet, but I’ve been wanting to ask. You said something a while ago about an Englischman . . .”

Mem’s hands paused with a clean diaper halfway to the clothes line. She glanced to Marianna, then pinned the diaper up. “Well, it’s nothin’ really.”

“Mem, I can see from your face that’s not the truth.”

Her mom took another diaper from the laundry basket, shook it out to straighten it, and then hung it. She did that three more times while Marianna waited. Just when she was sure Mem wasn’t going to respond, Mem pushed the basket to the side and sat on the bed, patting the mattress next to her. Marianna hurried over and sat.

“Marianna, I’m gonna tell you something I’ve never told another living soul.” She swallowed hard and looked at the pair of baby socks in her hands. “I was in love once before—or at least that’s what I called it. I’m not sure it was love, but the emotions were powerful enough.”

Marianna continued to finger a damp dishtowel, pressing it open on her lap and smoothing it. She held her breath, afraid to speak. She didn’t want to do anything to keep Mem from telling the story.

“My family, as you know, lives on the edge of the Amish community. Their farm was next—was close by.” Mem cleared her throat. “Mark was a good friend. He’d helped out when my dat became ill once. Our Amish neighbors helped too, don’t get me wrong. But Mark was there first thing in the morn to lend a hand. Then he slipped out before any of our Amish neighbors arrived. I cared for him, and when he confessed his love . . . well, I had to make a decision.”

Marianna had to ask. “But before that. Before you made the decision, did you question joining the church? Did you ever consider leaving, starting a life with him?”

Mem’s hand’s trembled, and she tossed the socks into the small wicker basket with the rest of the damp laundry. “I’d already joined. I was engaged to your father.”

Marianna’s body numbed as if her soul were lifting out of it, reaching for Mem, pulling her into an embrace. But her body didn’t move. Her arms hung heavy, as if they weighed a thousand pounds each. Her jaw dropped and told herself that she shouldn’t be surprised—everyone faced temptation.

“I did things I shouldn’t have. Things I ought to have confessed. But I refused. I was too proud. I didn’t want others to know what was in my heart.” Mem balled her fists and rested them on her knees. “It would have shamed your father too. He’s a good man. Didn’t deserve . . .” Tears came then, breaking through quivering lips. “I finally walked away, but it wasn’t easy. I didn’t realize once I gave away pieces of my heart it was almost impossible to get them back.”

“Mem, God will forgive you, if you ask Him.” The words came out of Marianna’s mouth before she realized. “The Bible says if we confess our sins to God He will forgive them. I do not know where those words are, but I’ve read them.” Yet even as Marianna said the words she felt conflicted inside. Ever since she was a child she knew the right way of confession was to go before the bishop, the church. Was she giving Mem bad advice? Were there other Scriptures the bishops knew that she didn’t?

Men placed a hand on top of her kapp, as if trying to keep it in place. Or perhaps trying to keep burning coals from falling on her head.

“It’s too late, Mari. That’s why He took the girls. I didna confess, and He found His own way to punish me for my sin.”

This time Marianna’s arms moved, reaching, pulling her mother to her chest. “Mem, no.”

Tears came then. Silent tears that wet Marianna’s shoulder. She wished Mem would just open up and let everything out. But like the good Amish woman she was, even in her grief she remained reserved.