Anna's Gift (10 page)

Anna fled the room with Samuel on her heels. “Grossmama thinks—” she began when they were safely in the next room with the sliding pocket door closed behind them.

“Is all right. I have a great uncle who thinks he is married to two women.” Samuel chuckled. “He's a hundred and two.”

“Is he?” Anna asked. “Married to two women?”

“Uncle Jay? He was married four times, but all of them have passed on.” His grin grew wider. “He insists he's married to his preacher's wife and an English woman who keeps the corner store.”

“She doesn't mean harm,” Anna explained, standing
in the hall beside him. “Dat was her only son. I think it's easier for her to let her go on thinking he's still alive.”

“Your grossmama doesn't frighten me,” he said. “I like her. And she's a smart woman. She said I would be a good husband for you.”

“I have not said yes, Samuel.”

“But you will.” He reached for her hand and she put it behind her. “It's just a matter of time. We will stand before the church together, Anna.”

“We'll see about that.” Her stomach felt as though she'd eaten an entire shoo-fly pie and then rolled down Charley's father's steep hill. Breathless, she led the way into the kitchen where Mam, Rebecca, Leah and Samuel's three girls were baking cookies. Irwin sat on the floor near the stove, pulling an empty spool on a string of yarn for Jeremiah to chase. Irwin had used a pen to make eyes on the spool, hoping the little terrier would take the toy for a mouse.

“Not much chance to talk alone with her, is there?” Mam asked with a chuckle. Samuel shook his head. “Maybe the two of you should walk across the field to Ruth and Eli's. Visit with them. I'm sure Ruth has the coffeepot on and they'd appreciate the company.”

“It would be nice to visit with Ruth and Eli and Miriam and Charley,” Samuel agreed. “But I'm not sure I should drop in with all my girls.”

Naomi laid the cookbook on the table and glanced back at her father. Her glasses were smudged with flour, but she was smiling. “We're making sugar cookies, Dat. They aren't ready yet, but Hannah said we could take them home.”

“Why don't you go on?” Leah said. “We'll watch them. It will give the two of you a chance to talk.”

“Alone.” Rebecca giggled. “Since you're courting.”

“We
aren't
courting,” Anna corrected.

Samuel shrugged. “I'm courting her. We're just waiting to see if she—”

“You should take her to the taffy pulling at Johanna's Wednesday night,” Leah suggested excitedly. “Anna's never had a fellow take her to a young people's get-together.”

“Taffy pulling?” Samuel looked unconvinced. “Will it be all the younger folk?”

“Oh, Samuel, I meant to ask,” Anna said, all in a rush. Suddenly she wanted to go to the frolic, and she wanted to go with him. “I would like that.”

“Then it's settled,” Leah said, clapping her hands together. “Anna should have fun, and you can always just watch, Samuel, if you don't want to pull taffy.”

Mam was handing Samuel his coat. “Now you two go on. It's broad daylight. You can certainly walk to Anna's sister's house without causing talk in the neighborhood.”

Samuel nodded. “If you're sure the girls won't be a trouble.”

“The girls will be fine. I'm sure Charley will want to show off those new animals he bought at the auction. And you and Eli always get on well together.”

“Anna?” Samuel looked at her, accepting his coat. “Do you want to walk to your sister's? It's cold out, and your feet—”

“I would like that, Samuel,” Anna interrupted happily. “And I have new boots. I'm not afraid of a little snow.”

Soon, the two of them were crossing the farmyard. Samuel's horse looked up from the shelter of the shed and whinnied. “I'll be back for you,” he promised the animal.

“See you in an hour or so,” Mam called from the porch.

Samuel waved and then he slowed his steps so that
Anna could keep up. “I never thought this courting stuff would be so hard,” he confided to her.

“Because you are older than me?” she asked.

He shook his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sturdy denim coat. “Because I've never done it before. My mother and father and Frieda's parents arranged my marriage. We didn't have to sit in the parlor across from old grandmothers or go to taffy pulls.”

She felt a stab of disappointment. “You don't want to go. It's all right. We don't have to—”

“Ne.”
He stopped and faced her. “We will go. You deserve to do these things, Anna. If this is going to work, we'll both have to make compromises. If you can, I can.”

“Compromises.” She sighed. “We need to make compromises.”

“And I will keep praying. As I told Roman, if God wants this match, nothing can keep us apart.”

Nothing but me,
Anna thought, as all her old fears and feelings of inadequacy bubbled up inside her.

He looped her arm through his and they began to walk side-by-side down the lane. “You're the woman for me, Anna Yoder,” he continued. “And I'll do whatever I have to, so that you will see the right of it.”

W
ednesday night's taffy pulling at Johanna's was every bit as uncomfortable for Samuel as he thought it would be. Giggling teenage girls and immature boys, like Elmer Beachy and Harvey Bontrager, did their best to attract attention with silly pranks and jokes. Donald Zook shook a bottle of soda pop and sprayed two of the girls, causing shrieks, and dashed around the kitchen, making Johanna threaten him with expulsion from the frolic if he didn't behave.

There were only a few young women of Anna's age. Leah, Rebecca, Miriam, Ruth and Susanna were present, but Ruth and Miriam were both married. Anna's cousin Dorcas was older than Anna, but she seemed no more an adult than the sixteen-year-olds. Although Samuel enjoyed every bite of the homemade donuts Anna brought, the entire candy-making evening seemed more suited to fun for his children than for teenagers.

It was little wonder that Samuel felt out of place. After all, he was a deacon of the church and an authority figure. It was obvious that the young people didn't want him here anymore than he wanted to be here. But Anna didn't seem to notice that the kids were obviously
subdued by his presence. She appeared to be having a good time, and that was why he had come. Why she'd wanted to be here, he didn't know. She seemed a woman grown next to these kids.

According to custom, Samuel hadn't brought her to the taffy pull, she'd come with her sisters. Usually, girls traveled to singings and frolics with their family members or friends. And if a boy asked a girl and she liked him, the two would quietly slip out of the house and ride home together.

Some Amish parents were liberal. Once they reached the girl's house, the pair might be allowed to sit up late in the parlor, talking or playing Dutch Blitz or other approved games. These dates were much less serious than courting, and were considered an accepted part of social life for those in their late teens.

Samuel was glad that he'd have a few more years with his own children before they entered their
running around
period. Other, more liberal churches allowed their young people a time of
Rumspringa,
when they were expected to experience some of the loose behavior of the English world. That was not the case here in Kent County. Thankfully, the bishops, preachers and congregation agreed that such freedom opened their children to too many dangers.

But as for himself, he was thirty-seven, a mature man with a family and responsibilities. And sitting at Johanna's table with buttered hands pulling taffy with Anna was a far distance from where he wanted to be. He'd long outgrown the taste for moon pies and popcorn balls, let alone the sweet bottled grape soda the kids seemed to favor.

Samuel wondered if he'd have been wiser to have simply refused to come. And for the first time, a small
doubt crept into his mind. Maybe courting a younger woman would be more of a task than he'd thought. Would Anna expect him to keep her company at the young people's singings and game nights?

He wondered if Hannah would allow him to come in and spend time alone with Anna tonight—provided there was any privacy in the Yoder household. He wanted to relax, to talk over his day with Anna, to just sit and look at her without being watched and judged by her family. He had liked the feel of her smaller, warm hand in his, and he longed to put his arm around her and sit beside her with her head on his shoulder. He wanted to inhale the scent of her hair and stare into her beautiful cinnamon-colored eyes. Oh, he was smitten, no doubt about it. He wanted to take Anna as his wife. But so far she'd kept him hanging, and the longer she hesitated to give him an answer, the greater his feelings for her grew.

As soon as Anna's pieces of taffy were stretched thin enough to suit her and were ready for cutting, Samuel excused himself and went out to the barn. Johanna's husband was there in his workshop, and Samuel thought that he could better spend his time having a long-needed discussion with Wilmer. Wilmer worked long hours on his construction job and often was away for days at a time. Although working close to home was best, Samuel couldn't fault the man for providing for Johanna and their two small children.

As he approached the workshop, Samuel caught the smell of tobacco. Wilmer had originally come from Kentucky, where some of the Amish still grew tobacco as a cash crop. Again, Samuel didn't want to judge. He'd experimented with smoking a pipe as a young man before he joined the church, but the practice was generally frowned upon. His role in the community as a deacon
was as advisor and counselor, but he couldn't insist that Wilmer give up his cigars. That was between Wilmer and his conscience.

“Run you out, did they?” Wilmer looked up from the chain saw he'd been oiling. “Never expected you to last this long with those crazy kids.”

“I feel a lot more at ease here in the barn,” Samuel agreed.

“Bunch of nonsense, I say, but Johanna would have it.”

“You know how young folks are. They need a little clean fun now and then. And Johanna and her sisters are a good example for the girls.”

Wilmer grunted and reached for his half-smoked cigar. He took a long puff and blew smoke through his nose. “I'd offer you a stogie, but I don't suppose you use tobacco.”

“I gave it up a long time ago,” Samuel answered. “Never missed it, either.”

“Well, to each his own, I suppose.” Wilmer waved toward an overturned peach basket and Samuel sat down on it. “'Spose you're courting one of those Yoder girls. Can't figure any other reason you'd be out on such a cold night.”

“I've a mind to have Anna.”

“Anna?”

“
Ya,
Anna. We suit each other.”

Wilmer made a sound of disapproval. “You'd do well to stay away from any of them, if you ask me. Hannah's too liberal. She spoiled the lot of them, and Jonas—when he was alive—wasn't much better. They don't know their proper place. Too mouthy for womenfolk.”

“Not that I've seen. Hannah's always seemed sensi
ble to me. She does a good job with her farm, and the school's never had a better teacher.”

“That's what I'm talkin' about. The bishop shouldn't allow it. A widow's got no business workin' outside the house. She ought to have enough to do at home.”

“She needs the salary from teaching to help support her family,” Samuel defended.

Wilmer snorted. “Should have remarried…long ago. The Bible says that a man is the head of the house. You know what I think? I think Hannah Yoder likes fillin' a man's shoes. She wasn't born Old Order, you know. Raised Mennonite. She's not Plain, and never will be as far as I can see.”

Samuel shifted on his basket. Talking about Hannah like this wasn't right, but Wilmer was family and he wasn't. Not yet, at least. Still, he didn't like what Wilmer had to say. He was beginning to think he was more uncomfortable in the barn than in the kitchen. He needed to turn the conversation to Wilmer, and he needed to do it without offending him. “Hannah is outspoken, that's true,” he admitted, “but we've never had a cross word, and she's been good to my kids.”

“You're not careful, she'll let them run as wild as she does Jonah when he's at her place. My girl, now, Katy, she's a sweet baby, but Johanna and her mother will ruin Jonah, given half a chance.”

Samuel knew Wilmer and Johanna's boy, a sturdy, ginger-haired lad, somewhere between the age of his own Mae and Lori Ann. The child had always been well behaved at church services, which was more than he could say for his own kids. Maybe if Wilmer had to father Rudy and Peter for a few weeks, he wouldn't be so quick to fault little Jonah. But Jonah was Wilmer's boy, and telling a man he was too hard on his own child
wouldn't make Wilmer any more likely to hear what else he had to say.

A single kerosene lantern gave off a yellow, wavering circle of light. Samuel noted that the bench was littered with tools and wire and bits of this and that. He hadn't been in Wilmer's shop in two years, but it had been a lot neater then. Wilmer had a lot of expensive saws and woodworking equipment, but careless treatment had left many rusting and gathering dust.

“We missed you at services the last two church Sundays,” Samuel said.

Wilmer concentrated on wiping the grease off his chain saw with a dirty rag. “Had something more important to do.”

“Nothing is more important than worship, Wilmer. If your spirit's heavy, it's best to go and talk to someone.”

“You?”

“Me. One of the elders, or maybe our bishop. Atlee's a sensible man with the gift of sharing the Holy Word. There's nothing you carry in your heart that can't be eased by the Lord.”

Noodle Troyer had told Samuel that he'd seen Wilmer coming out of a package store last Sunday with a bottle of what could only be spirits. And word was that some had seen Wilmer driving his horse and buggy home from Dover after dark on a work night in less than a sober state. Samuel didn't want to mention the alcohol. If Wilmer had a drinking problem, it was more than a deacon could handle. It would take the preachers, Bishop Atlee and the elders to help him. But the matter of Wilmer not attending church services, that was Samuel's responsibility.

Wilmer turned to give him a long stare. “Sometimes a
man has worries that plague him like mange on a dog. No matter how hard you try to ease it, the itch is still there.”

“All the more reason to take it to the Lord in prayer,” Samuel said. “And to reach out to the church elders for help. None of us can make it through the trials of this world alone.”

“Easy for you to say, Samuel. Farm the size of yours, big herd of milk cows. You've always been a lucky man. Not me. I work hard, but everything I touch turns to empty husks.”

“How can you say that? You've got a good wife, two healthy children, steady work and a community that cares about you.”

Wilmer's eyes narrowed. “You notice the color of my baby girl's hair?”

“Brown?” Samuel didn't know what Wilmer was getting at.

“Real dark, dark like mine. And the boy's hair is red.”

“Like Johanna's. All the Yoder girls are gingers like their father.”

“Umm.” Wilmer grunted again and turned back to his chain saw. There was silence for a few minutes until he glanced back. “She had to have one of those C-sections when Jonah was born. Where they cut the woman open to get the baby out. I expect I'll be paying off that bill until he's old enough to start school.”

Samuel remembered Johanna's emergency delivery. Since their people carried no insurance, like the English did, the church had rallied to help the young family with the expense of Jonah's medical bills. They'd held breakfasts and suppers and even a benefit auction. At the time, Samuel thought that the majority of the bill had been paid.

Maybe he was wrong. If it was money trouble that was worrying Wilmer, that was something that the commu
nity could do something about. Samuel would take it up with the bishop when next he saw him. Whether it was help for a barn raising or illness, the members of the church joined hands to assist their own.

“I'm sorry to hear that you're having a hard time,” Samuel said. “You should have spoke up sooner.” He stood up. The frolic would be winding down, and he wanted to get back in to Anna. “The church is here for you. I'm here for you.”

“Are you?” Wilmer's tone was flat. “Heard you're killing hogs next week. If you want to help, send over one. My smokehouse is as empty as last summer's jelly jars.”

“A pig?” Samuel nodded. “I'll be glad to let you have one. I'll send the boys over with the meat right after butchering.”

“Obliged.”

As Samuel walked away, he wondered why Wilmer's request made him uneasy. The gift of a hog to a neighbor in need was something that he'd done before without a moment's hesitation. Was it that he'd never particularly taken to Johanna's husband? The Bible said to love thy neighbor, but even a devout man couldn't be expected to like everyone. And he certainly didn't begrudge Johanna and the children a stock of winter's meat. He'd donate the pig and a front quarter of beef to the family, and he'd pray for Wilmer as well.

“He don't look nothin' like my girl,” Wilmer called after him. “The boy. Jonah. Not like any of my kin.”

Samuel shook his head and walked on. It wouldn't hurt to ask the Lord for a change in his own attitude. He needed patience and he needed to be more charitable.

 

Inside Johanna's house, Dorcas followed Anna into the bathroom and closed the door. The two washed the
sticky candy off their hands, reached for the towel at the same time and laughed. “Share and share alike,” Anna said.

“Are you riding home with him?” Dorcas asked in a low voice. On the far side of the door they heard one of the Beachy girls teasing Harvey and giggling.

“With who?”

“Who do you think? Samuel. That big barn of a man you had pulling taffy with you.”

“Ya,”
Anna admitted. “I like him, Dorcas. I like him a lot.”

“I know you do,” Dorcas whispered. “But it still worries me. I'm sorry that Mam did what she did, going to his house. She deserved what the twins did to her. Sometimes I'd like to do worse.”

Anna had to work hard not to smile. “I think she means well.”

“Maybe, but it doesn't seem like it to me.” Dorcas hung up the towel. “She told Samuel that I'd be a better match for him—right in front of me. I could have sunk through your mother's kitchen floor.”

Anna put her arm around Dorcas and hugged her. “Samuel would know it didn't come from you.”

“I wouldn't want this to come between us, Anna. Even if you do marry him.”

“It won't. You're my best friend and you always will be.”

Dorcas nodded. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

Anna swallowed, trying to dissolve the lump in her throat. “But you said…you said you'd jump at the chance to have someone like Samuel. Why shouldn't I let him court me if he really wants to? It would be wonderful, living close to Mam and my sisters, having my own home…taking care of Samuel and his family.”