Anna's Gift (5 page)

Naomi threw her a grateful look. “Please, Dat,” she begged.

Lori Ann was beaming.

“Well, if Anna doesn't mind. But you're getting past the age of playing with boys. Best you learn to keep to a woman's work.”

Anna rolled her eyes, but when she spoke, she kept her voice gentle and soothing. “Soon enough she will take on those tasks, Samuel, and joyfully, from what I can see. She's been a great help to you these past four years.”

“I can see I'm outnumbered,” he answered. “But I'll not have you spoil them beyond bearing. And little Mae is a handful, as Naomi can vouch for.”

Mae giggled.

Anna bent and lifted the child from the sled. “Nothing to laugh at,” she admonished. “You must respect your
father. You're not a baby anymore. Watch Lori Ann and see how good and helpful she is.”

Lori Ann's eyes widened and she nodded, pleased by the praise.
“Ya,”
she said. “You—you must mind Dat and—and not pull t-the c-c-cat's t-tail.”

Anna opened her mouth in mock astonishment. “You didn't hurt kitty, did you, Mae?”

Mae clamped her lips together and shook her head.

“Did so!” Peter said. “What she needs is—”

“What she needs is to get inside out of this cold,” Anna broke in. She eyed Peter, letting him know they didn't need his two cents' worth. “Come along, Lori Ann. Let's see if Susanna is awake yet.”

Samuel followed after her, not certain that Anna and the girls hadn't bamboozled him into letting Naomi stay outside against his wishes. It wouldn't be easy to court Anna with five children hanging on his shirttails, but they were his life and Anna had to know they were a “package deal,” as the Englishers liked to say. As much as he loved his children, he didn't want to allow them to become lazy or disrespectful. Naomi was nine, after all. He tried to remember his sisters at that age. Had they been running wild with the boys at nine?

They stepped up onto the porch and stamped their boots to knock most of the snow off. Then Anna got a broom and handed it to him. Slipping out of her galoshes, Anna carried Mae inside, leaving him to help Lori Ann.

“I—I—I l-like Anna, Dat,” Lori Ann whispered in his ear as he leaned down to pull off her boots.

“I like her, too,” he agreed, but he had to admit that he was somewhat troubled by what had just happened. The thought that if he married, his wife would actually have
more
influence on his children's behavior than he would crossed his mind. It was right, of course, but he'd
been used to doing things his way ever since Frieda had passed on. He supposed there would be adjustments he'd have to make, adjustments that he hadn't thought about. And Anna would have to make adjustments, as well. After all, the man was the head of the house, and Anna would have to learn to respect his wishes.

Not that she was the bossy type. Not his sweet, sweet Anna. Even now, when she'd gone against him, it had been asking, not telling. He wouldn't let her spoil them, for certain, but he wanted to be a reasonable man. He didn't want to give Anna the wrong impression that he was like her Uncle Reuben, who hopped every time his wife, Martha, said jump. But neither did he want to scare Anna off. After all, he was a lot older than she was—sixteen years, give or take some months. It wouldn't do for her to think he would be a stern and unyielding husband.

Susanna held the door wide. “Come in,” she called in her high, singsong voice.

Anna's little sister was smiling, as always, and Samuel smiled back. Of all of Hannah's girls, Susanna was the easiest. In some ways she was as wise as an old woman, and in other ways as innocent as Lori Ann. But no matter which Susanna greeted them, she always made him feel good inside.

“I'm going to get right to that painting,” he said to Anna, “but if these two give you a minute's problem, you call me or Naomi to deal with them.”

“
Ya,
Samuel, I will,” Anna said softly.

He set the frozen turkey in the sink, removed his outer garments and hung his gloves behind the stove to dry. “Sorry the bird isn't thawed. Roman brought it from the freezer at the chair shop. I didn't think about how long it would take to—”

“I'll manage,” Anna assured him. “Leave it to me.”

Samuel started right in on the second coat, and by the time Anna called him for dinner, he had finished three quarters of the room and his stomach felt as if he hadn't eaten for days. As he came into the kitchen, he walked into a wave of delicious smells: cinnamon, hot bread, chicken and dumplings, apple pie and more.

All of his children were already seated at the table, faces shining clean, hair slicked back and cheeks as red as cranberries. “No turkey,” Peter informed him.

“Chicken and dumplings,” Rudy said. “Turkey tomorrow.”

“Not that I expect you to come back tomorrow,” Anna hastened to say. “But I'll set it to roast tonight, and by morning it will be done. If you send the boys to fetch it, you can—”

Samuel felt his face grow warm. “I'll be back tomorrow,” he confessed. “Rather, some of us will. That bedroom floor and the hall need a fresh coat of that dark red. I've got a few gallons left from when I painted my place, and I was planning on—”

“I can't let you do all this work here,” Anna said. “You must have chores at home.”

“Not so many. Not this time of year, and I've got the two hired boys to keep busy. I'll be back to finish up tomorrow, unless you…” He hesitated, not knowing what more to say, not willing to hear her say she didn't want him here.

“Ya,”
Susanna pronounced. “Make nice for Mam and Grossmama and Aunty Jezebel.”

Anna put a huge bowl of mashed potatoes in the center of the table. “I don't know what to say,” she protested.

Susanna beamed. “Say thank you.”

“Th-thank you,” Anna repeated.

“Good. That's settled,” Samuel said, taking Peter's
hand for grace. “Now, I'm starving. Let's get to this good food before it gets cold.”

Dinner was every bit as good as the previous day's. He was a man who liked his food and Anna was one of the best cooks he'd ever known. Eating like this every day would be one of the real pleasures of having her as his wife. Not that he was marrying her for her housekeeping or her cooking skills, but a kitchen was the heart of the house, like a wife was the heart of the family.

By late afternoon, Samuel had finished painting the walls and gathered his brood for the walk home. The snow had tapered off, and there was not quite eight inches, but a good six, and it was so cold that it wouldn't melt anytime soon. Playing in the snow had tired his three oldest, and it seemed that Anna had kept the two little ones occupied in the kitchen all day. They were going home almost as heavily laden as they'd come, with a gallon of vegetable soup, biscuits and cinnamon buns for supper.

 

The following day, the three oldest stayed home to do chores and play in the snow, leaving Samuel with just the two youngest girls to carry along to Anna's house. To his relief, Anna and Susanna seemed just as pleased to see him, Lori Ann and Mae as they had before. And the house smelled of roasted turkey, just as Anna had promised. “I don't want to impose on you,” he said as they entered. “It's just that it's a lot to leave them with Naomi when she has work to do.”

“Nonsense,” Anna said. “You know we love to have them. Lori Ann was a big help with the cinnamon buns yesterday. And today she can help me with raisin pies.”

Lori Ann nodded excitedly.

“Mae's a little cranky,” Samuel said. “I think she
needs to go back to bed. She had nightmares again last night, and she was awake for hours.”

“Not to worry,” Anna assured him as she gathered Mae in her arms. “Susanna will make her feel better.”

“Don't want a nap,” Mae grumbled.

Samuel quickly escaped to his painting, leaving Anna to handle Mae. Getting his youngest adjusted was harder than he'd expected it to be. He loved her dearly, but it was hard to
like
the child when she whined and fussed half the time. And when she dissolved in tears, crying for his sister Louise, he felt completely helpless. It was so much easier to leave her to Anna and Susanna.

About an hour into his work on the floor, Anna came in with a steaming cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun.

He smiled at her and took a sip of the coffee. It was strong, just the way he liked it. “You're a wonder, Anna Yoder,” he said.

She stood for a moment, tall, her cheeks rosy, twisting her hands in her apron. “Samuel, I don't know what…” She trailed off, then looked up at him through thick lashes. Anna's eyes were beautiful, wide and brown and sparkling with life.

She looked vulnerable, so sweet that he wanted to gather her in his arms as he'd seen her do with his little daughter. He wanted to taste her lips, to smell her hair. He wanted to claim Anna as his wife before God and his church.

Wanting her so badly gave him courage. “Have you thought any more about what I said before, about courting—”

“Courting Mam,” she said, answering so quickly that he didn't get to finish.

“What?” He blinked, unsure what to say. Surely, she didn't think…

She nibbled at her lower lip. “Mam. You said you want to court Mam. Before… Didn't you?”

“Hannah?” His face flamed. “
Ne.
Not Hannah. What would give you that idea?”

“But you said—”

“It's
you
I want to court, Anna Yoder,” he said in a rush. “Not your mother. Not any other woman in Kent County. Just you.”

A
nna's eyes widened as she backed up to lean against the freshly painted wall of the bedroom. “Oh.” She felt as though she might faint. “Oh, my. I…I misunderstood. I was sure you said…but then…” She paused to catch her breath. “I thought I was mistaken…about what I heard.”

“You were, if you thought I said it was Hannah I'd come to court.” Samuel balanced the paintbrush carefully on the edge of the can, and came to stand in front of her. “Anna, I didn't mean to give anyone the wrong idea…but…it's been you all along I've been interested in.”

She couldn't wrap her mind around what he'd said, yet there was no doubt what he'd meant.
Samuel Mast had said that he wanted to court her.
Was she awake or asleep and dreaming?

“Anna.” He reached out to take her hand and she drew it back and shook her head.

“Give me a moment,” she said. First she hadn't been able to catch her breath, now she felt like she was breathing too fast. “It's…it's a surprise.”

Samuel folded his arms across his broad chest. The expression in his eyes grew serious and she saw his Adam's apple constrict. “A good surprise or a bad one?”

“I'm not sure.” She felt silly with him standing here towering over her, but she felt so addled that if she stood up she might faint—not that she ever had before. Samuel reached for her hand again and childishly, she tucked it behind her and shook her head. If he touched her, she knew she'd lose all ability to think clearly. “Why me?”

“Why not you, Anna? I'm older than you, that's true, but you're of legal age.”

“But all this time…I thought…everyone thought that you and Mam were going to—” She could feel herself choking up, knew she was going to cry. She never cried, but suddenly she couldn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes.

“Don't cry. Why are you crying? I thought you'd be happy.”

Anna covered her face with her hands. He'd been so happy this morning, and now she feared she'd angered him.

“I like your mother,” he persisted. “I admire her, but I've been thinking about you for a long time. I think we would make a good match.”

Samuel was saying words she wanted to believe, but her heart told her they weren't possible. She was what she was—the third daughter of a widow…the Plain Yoder girl…the
sturdy
girl. How could Samuel Mast choose her? He was handsome. He had a fine farm, and he was a solid member of the community, a deacon in the church. Any family would be proud to have him marry one of their daughters or sisters. He could pick and choose from all of the unmarried girls and young widows of Kent County, or any other Old Order Amish settlement in the country. Why would he pick her?

“But, your wife…” she stammered. “Your Frieda was beautiful.”

“
Ya.
She was. But she's gone, Anna, and I'm alone. Too long, I think. The children…sometimes they're more than I can manage.”

She looked up at him, barely able to string four words together. “I see why you need a wife. Everyone in Seven Poplars sees. But why me, Samuel?”

His face reddened. “We are both hard workers. You're a good cook, a good housekeeper.” He cleared his throat. “And…and a faithful member of our church. I think you would make me a fine wife.”

“I see.”
Good cook. Good housekeeper.
Honest words, so why did they cut into her like sharp thorns? Had she expected Samuel to declare his love for her?

“Tomorrow is church,” he said stiffly. “I want to…” He swallowed again. “Can I come for you and Susanna to drive you to service?”

“Ne.”
She shook her head. If they arrived in Samuel's buggy, everyone would notice. There would be talk. “
Ne,
Samuel,” she repeated, recovering some of her composure. “Not for everyone to see. You must give me a few days to think and pray about this. Church is at Roman and Fanny's. Not far for us to walk.”

He looked hurt. “You don't want to go to church with me?”

She wanted to squeeze his hand, to reassure him, but she was afraid to touch him. She couldn't trust herself. “Best if we keep this idea between us for a while,” she said. “To be sure it's what we both want.”

He took a deep breath and the lines around his eyes crinkled. “
Ya.
I can see that might be wise,” he said, “if you are not certain.” Disappointment puckered his mouth. “But not too long.”

So that he can choose someone else if I refuse him,
she thought. “Marriage is a big step,” Anna said, feel
ing better, but still not completely herself. “I need to talk with my mother.”

Samuel looked at the floor, then at her again. “So you will speak to Hannah about my proposal?”

Anna nodded. “Who knows me better than Mam?” She tried to smile, but was unable to cover her nervousness. “You have to try to understand. My doubts are not of you, Samuel, but of myself.” Her mouth felt dry. “It's just that it is so sudden.”

He nodded. “So you have said.” He turned, as if to return to his painting, but then stopped and turned back to her. “It's not my age, is it? I'm not a raw boy, but—”

“Anna! Anna!” Susanna shouted from the hall. “Come quick. Miriam and Charley! And Irwin!”

Jeremiah began to bark, and Anna heard the sound of voices in the kitchen. “Smells like roast turkey,” Irwin said.

Anna looked at Samuel meaningfully. “Just between us?”

He frowned and nodded. “Go and greet your sister and her husband,” he said. “I will finish this.”

With a sigh of relief, Anna hurried from the room. With Miriam and Charley back, the house would echo with good talk and laughter. They would be full of news of the auction and the people they'd seen. She would think about Samuel's request for permission to court her later. She would have time to think and to decide what was best for her and for him. She would need to pray harder than she ever had before.

If she said yes to Samuel, her whole life would change in more ways than she could imagine. She would leave her home to go to his…to be his partner and helpmate—to mother his
five
young children. It would be hard, but she would do it willingly, if only she knew for certain
that he wanted her for the right reason. But the fear that he didn't pressed hard on her heart.

Marriage was forever. The Englishers might separate or divorce, but never the Plain folk. If she said yes, she would be bound to Samuel and to his will so long as they both drew breath.

Again, his words echoed in her head.
“You are a hardworker.”

What he was saying was that theirs wouldn't be a love marriage like Miriam and Charley's, or like Ruth and Eli's. What if Samuel would be marrying her for her strong back and skill in the kitchen? Again, she thought of Johanna, her relationship with her stern husband, and the tears her sister shed when she thought no one was looking.

Anna didn't know if she could exist in a marriage like that. It would be like settling for half a loaf when she wanted the whole, hot and fragrant from the oven—when she wanted it so bad she could taste the sweet goodness of the bread on her tongue.

“Anna!” Her twin sister, Miriam, shook the snow off her coat, dropped it onto a kitchen chair and threw open her arms. “I've missed you,” she cried.

“And me?” Susanna demanded. Samuel's two youngest clung to her hands, giggling. “You missed me, too?”

“Ya,”
Miriam agreed, hugging first Anna and then Susanna. “The auction was fun, and I saw lots of cousins and friends. But Charley and I were ready to come home yesterday. We couldn't find a driver who was willing to head out late in the day, not with the weather.”

“And we bought three horses,” Irwin said excitedly. He had Jeremiah in his arms, and the little terrier was licking his face. “One is for me. Charley bought a horse for me.”

Anna looked to Miriam. “A horse? Charley bought Irwin his own horse?”

“More colt than horse,” Charley supplied. “He's a two-year-old, and he needs work, but if Irwin is willing to work with him, he'll come around and make a good driver.” He grinned. “Is that turkey I smell? We left early and didn't stop for lunch on the road.”

“Plenty for all of us,” Anna assured him. “Samuel brought the turkey. He's been helping out by painting, getting the bedroom ready for Grossmama and Aunt Jezebel.”

Miriam's brows went up. “Samuel? Samuel's been here painting?”

“Ya,”
Susanna said. “Anna broke the ladder and spilled the paint.”

“Shhh,” Anna said. “Remember what I told you.”

Susanna nodded. “You said not to tell about—”

“Later,” Miriam said, interrupting Susanna's tale. “I think these men are hungry. We should get dinner on the table and share our news later.”

“Amen to that,” Charley agreed. “I could eat a whole turkey, feathers and feet.”

“You usually do,” Miriam teased. Smiling, she shooed Susanna and the little girls toward the china cabinet. “Set the table,” she said.

Anna mouthed a silent
thanks
to her twin. Another second, and Susanna would have spilled the beans. The last thing she wanted was for Charley and Irwin to hear that Samuel wanted to court her. Irwin was as bad as Susanna for telling things a person didn't want told. She supposed little brothers were like that, and although Irwin wasn't really kin, since he'd come to live with them he'd begun to feel more and more like he was one of them.

But what was there for anyone to tell? Samuel had asked to court her, but she hadn't agreed, and she wasn't ready to share her secret yet—not even with Miriam.

 

The following day, Anna sat in the midst of her three sisters, closed her eyes and let the peace and beauty of the familiar hymn enfold her. Not everyone in the community had made it to services, due to the icy roads, but Roman and Fanny's small house was still packed to the walls with worshipers. Ruth and Eli had returned from their travels. Now only Mam and Grossmama, Aunt Jezebel and her youngest sisters, Leah and Rebecca, were absent.

Although, had the whole family been here, Anna didn't know where they would have found room to sit. The congregation was certainly growing, and that was a blessing. But if the church grew too large they would have to split, and Anna couldn't imagine not seeing Samuel and his children, all of her sisters, the Beachys, or all of their closest friends at services every other Sunday.

Bishop Atlee was offering the sermon this morning with the assistance of Preacher Uri Schwartz, visiting from Tennessee. Preacher Uri told about the Good Samaritan and used the story to elaborate on the importance of getting along with the Englishers while maintaining a distance from the outer world.

Anna shifted on the bench and tried not to look in Samuel's direction. Lori Ann had started off sitting with Susanna, but had tired of playing with her handkerchief dolly and had wiggled through the row of men to sit on her father's lap. Mae was in the kitchen with Johanna and another young mother, and Naomi was seated between Susanna and Miriam. Samuel's twins, always a handful,
sat directly in front of him, so that he could keep an eye on their mischief.

As much as she wanted to concentrate on Preacher Schwartz's sermon, Anna's thoughts kept drifting back to Samuel and their conversation the previous day. She'd slept only fitfully last night, for thinking about him. What was she to do? She wanted to accept his proposal; it was a dream come true to most girls. But was it just that? Something not real? A dream…or a mistake on Samuel's part? Whatever reason had caused him to seek her out, Samuel would soon come to his senses and see that it was a bad choice. That he could do better.

There must be a half-dozen other young women he could choose from in Kent County alone, all of them more attractive than she was. Sitting in the row behind her were Mary Byler and Amy Troyer, both unmarried and of courting age. Either of them would be suitable, and either would be thrilled to have Samuel propose to them. And they were both pretty.

It was all well and good for Mam to say that “true beauty comes from inside,” because her mother was beautiful. Her mother loved her, Anna knew that, but Hannah Yoder had never looked out at the world from Anna's eyes.

The congregation rose for a hymn and Anna stood with them. As she opened her book, she glanced at Samuel, only to find his gaze on her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt tingles run from her fingertips to her toes. Immediately, she averted her eyes and stared down at the Old German text, but moisture clouded her vision and a single tear drop fell onto the page.

Lord, help me,
she prayed silently.
Help me to be strong, to consider Samuel's proposal with both my head and my heart.

Susanna's off-key voice rose beside her and Anna reached over and squeezed her hand. Obviously, God hadn't meant for Ruth to remain home with Mam and Susanna, as Ruth had once believed. But maybe God meant for Anna to sacrifice having a family of her own to help her mother. She could be happy, living with her mother and her little sister, and tending to Grossmama and Aunt Jezebel, as well. She didn't need a husband and children of her own to fulfill her life, did she? Not all women were given the gift of children; her sisters would give her nieces and nephews to love and care for.

A final prayer ended the service. Men and boys began to file outside while the women flowed toward the kitchen to prepare to serve the communal meal. This was one of the best things about church Sundays. Anna loved making and serving good food to those she loved. She felt most at ease in the kitchen, and it never failed to make her feel useful to see that others were well fed.

“Anna,” her cousin Dorcas called. “Come down to the cellar with me and help fetch up the macaroni salads. Fanny ran out of room in the kitchen for all the food.”