Along Wooded Paths (30 page)

Ben strode up the stairs, down the hall, and to the media room. He walked in, almost expecting Carrie to be sitting in there. He let out the breath he’d been holding when he saw the room was empty. He wanted to talk to Carrie and make things right, but today was not the day. On the drive down to Kalispell he’d done the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

He’d faced the fact that things were not going to work out with Marianna. That they never would.

Now, as he moved through the media room, he found the studio door open. Roy sat at the soundboard, fiddling with the controls.

“Got some good news,” Roy stated flatly without looking up.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“My buddy in Nashville loves your song. He doesn’t want to wait for the complete album. He’s going to push it out there as a single and get folks interested in you. Should be hitting the airwaves around Christmas. He wants us to keep working on more songs. Maybe even consider a video.”

“That’s good news.” Ben sat in the chair next to Roy. “So why don’t you sound too thrilled?”

Roy glanced up and his eyebrows almost met in the middle. “Why don’t you guess.”

“Carrie told you we had a disagreement.” Ben rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“C’mon, Ben.” Roy stood, cursing. He turned his back to Ben, his fists balled at his side. “I’m not worried about my princess’s broken heart. That’s nothing new. She’ll mend. But what bothers me is this woman that you’re supposedly in love with . . . is Amish?” Roy turned around, narrowing his gaze. “Tell me Carrie made it up. If not, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. A chick with a bonnet. Tell me you’re not serious. How am I supposed to market that to your audience?”

“Listen.” Ben forced his words to remain calm. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”

“You
know?”
Roy pointed a finger at Ben’s chest. “I’ve already put up with your running away to the woods. Why? Because during your comeback tour, it’ll be a great story to tell. Fans dig that stuff. I’ve been patient as you’ve headed back up in those mountains to pray. Haven’t I been patient?”

Ben nodded. Roy could rant—he’d seen it before—but he wouldn’t interrupt. Roy needed to get it off his chest. All of it.

“Seriously, I don’t care if you hook up with some Hannah Montana wannabe. Fans will eat that up. They’ll want to see what you’re doing and who you’re with. But some Amish girl? She can’t even get her photo taken . . . and those clothes. No makeup?” He shook his head. “Please tell me that you’ve been considering this. You’ve changed your mind.”

Ben sighed. “Actually, I have.”

Roy’s arms dropped to his side and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then pressed it shut. It was obvious he still had half of his rant ready to go, but with Ben’s confession he wasn’t going to get the chance.

Ben leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. “You have to understand, I went into the woods for a simpler life. Someone like Mar—um—like this woman fits that perfectly. But I’ve realized it isn’t going to work. Our lives are too different. There is no way it would be possible unless one of us leaves our way of life behind.”

“So this chick’s out of your life?” Roy plopped back down into his chair.

“I still consider her a friend, but . . .” Ben wiped his hands on his jeans, trying to wipe the sweat off his palms. “I’m pretty sure it’s not going anywhere.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” Roy pressed his hands against his face. Then from between his fingers, laughter spilled into the room. “Last night I had a nightmare of girls in bonnets and aprons dancing in your video, but what scared me most was when I woke up and realized Amish can’t dance. It’s not allowed.” His relieved laughter continued, and Ben joined in, not because he thought the situation was funny, but because he told himself to pretend.

Pretend his heart wasn’t breaking.

Pretend he really cared about his song.

Pretend this is where he wanted to be. Right here.

Not sitting in the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery, watching Marianna hum his music unaware.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Marianna hurried toward the small, log schoolhouse. A thin trail of smoke wound its way out the silver stovepipe, corkscrewing up into the gray, dreary sky. She opened the door just a crack and slipped inside. The air was warm and moist. The creak of the door opening broke the silence, and a dozen heads turned.

The schoolteacher Miss Emma Litwiller was hunched over, helping a student at his desk. She lifted her head and turned. Her features softened when she noticed Marianna standing there.

Marianna slipped out of her coat. “Got off work early. Jest waiting for my brothers for some company home.”

Emma nodded, and Marianna sat down to wait.

She hadn’t worked more than five hours. She’d told Annie she wasn’t feeling well, which was the truth. The more it settled in her mind that Ben was gone, that they’d never be more than friends, the more her stomach ached.

Annie let her go home early. Yet, she didn’t want to walk home alone. To do that would be to let her thoughts carry her away. Besides, she had a good excuse for coming and waiting. It was Charlie’s first day back at school after his accident. Seeing that Charlie had his nose in a book—and didn’t seem to be having any discomfort—she turned her attention to the room, which was similar to their schoolhouse back in Indiana.

Colorful student artwork covered the walls. Arithmetic problems filled a chalkboard. Fourteen students from first to eighth grade sat in handmade desks. Emma’s homemade posters and lessons were also tacked up. Marianna looked at one closest to her.

Bees can sting, oh, this is true,

But bees can make good honey too,

And that’s the kind we have for you.

She smiled as she read the rest of the poster that talked about how to “bee” reverent, “bee” generous, “bee” thoughtful. It was just the type of poem she’d hoped to share with her children some day. She looked around. This was just the type of place and education she wanted them to have, which only confirmed she made the right choice.

“Class, please rise and we will conclude by singing
In der stillen Einsamkeitâ
,” Emma said.

“In der stillen Einsamkeitâ,”
Marianna repeated in a whisper. Her favorite. As the children stood and sang together, she joined in.

In quiet solitude,

You will find your praise prepared,

Great God hear me,

For my heart seeks You.

You are unchanging,

Never still and yet at rest.

You rule the seasons of the year.

And bring them in at their proper time.

Marianna replayed the last few sentences in her mind as the children finished their song. How many times had she sung that song. Hundreds? Thousands. She’d sung it in school at least a couple times a week as a child, but now . . . how easy to forget those words. Maybe God had led her to the school today for this reason—to remember.

The brush of butterfly wings tickled her heart. Then the feeling grew and turned, churning up emotion that refused to be frozen by the cold outside.
Never still and yet at rest
, the song said.

Are You speaking that to me, Lord? I’m busy with many things—work, my family. But since You told us to love and care for others, that’s what I’ve been doing. But inside . . . is it possible to have rest there?

Marianna thought of Ellie on Dat’s lap. Her little sister’s favorite way to snuggle was with her cheek pressed against Dat’s chest, close to his beating heart. Although Ellie lay awake for at least ten minutes before he took her to bed, her hands hung limp to her side. If her feet moved at all, it was in rhythm of the rocking chair. It didn’t matter what storm raged outside the window. The wind could howl. The trees creak and sway, but Ellie was in her father’s care.

The children sang the song again. Marianna joined them in singing the last two verses. Hearing her voice, a few of the children turned. They waved and smiled.

“You rule the seasons of the year. And bring them in at the proper time,” she sang again in a soft whisper. Like the year had its seasons, her life seemed to go in a similar cycle. Fall hit her hard and winter hadn’t come, but spring . . . maybe spring held new hope?

Earlier today she’d been sad to think of the snow melting, but the once-frozen snow would water new life. Her talks with God wouldn’t be wasted, even if she was not getting answers. Her prayers were useful, even if they were just being stored up until God was ready to use them to water the changes in her life, at the good and proper time.

She smiled. As much as she enjoyed spending time with her Englisch neighbors, she couldn’t forget who God brought her to first—the Amish community that cared for each other so well. That taught their children what was right and good.

She had to be thankful for that.

On the walk home the clouds were spread thin against the canvas of the sky. It was as if an artist had dipped the tip of his paintbrush in white and whooshed a light-handed yet broad sweep across the sky. She glanced to the red-nosed boys walking with her. Did they notice? Of course not. They trailed sticks behind them, drawing lines in the snow and making a competition over who could make the straightest line.

“Do you think anyone will follow our trail?” Josiah’s voice raised in pitch. “Maybe if they’re lost they can come, and Mem will give them something to eat.”

David nodded but didn’t comment. Marianna could almost see his response in his gaze.
If someone were lost, would our line make a difference? Especially a line in the middle of the road.

Marianna smiled, and then her lips fell. If only she had a clear path to follow on her own heart’s journey. Even a thin line nearly hidden in white snow would help. Would it lead her to Aaron, as she expected? Of course it would.

She just needed to remind her heart.

Aaron was alone downstairs when they entered the house. Mem was upstairs with the two younger children, and the boys decided to stay outside and work on their snow fort before it got too dark.

Marianna went to sit by Aaron on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Just writing home. My mem asked what my plans were. I was telling her as soon as my leg is mended, I’ll be heading back. Dat’s been having an awful hard time keeping everything running without help.”

Marianna nodded. “You know, I don’t think you should go back by yourself. I mean, even if the cast is off, you’re not going to be completely better. I was thinking when you do go back I should go with you. I can stay with Aunt Ida, and I’ve been wanting to look at that cabin anyways. I think it’ll really help with some of the decisions I have to make.”

Aaron’s eyes grew wide. “Really, Mari?” He took her hands in his and gently kissed the tips of her fingertips. “You’ve made me so happy.”

She smiled and pulled one of her hands from his, stroking his face. “I’m happy too, Aaron.” She spoke the words with a smile.

If only she truly felt them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Marianna’s knees pressed against the quilt frame. It was Saturday, quilt circle day. Mem sat to her right. Mrs. Peachy to her left. Eve and Hope sat farther down, lost in their own conversation. Across from her sat Sarah.

Marianna couldn’t count the number of hours she’d spent in quilting circles like this. She’d started when she was ten or so. Through the assistance of the ladies in the circle she learned how to sew, how to set pieces, how to do a running stitch, how to appliqué. She enjoyed the task, it was true, but she enjoyed the conversation even more. Here, she learned how to be an Amish woman. She listened to stories about chores, and family, and baking, and caring for kids. She heard about talk of husbands and tips on cutting expenses.

Quilting day was something she wouldn’t miss unless she was ill, and even then some women showed up with a fever. Men weren’t allowed. Even if a husband gave his wife a ride, he’d get out of there as fast as he could. The one time her granddaddy had come in—trying to get out of the cold and hoping to be sociable with the women—she’d thought for certain the women would chase him out with a broom. It didn’t come to that, but close.