Arms of Love (20 page)

He felt a clutch of fear in his heart.

He lifted her now-unresisting hands to his lips, but saw no flare of response in her gaze. “Lena,” he begged. “You must understand. I cannot—cannot explain why I must do these things.”

She drew a deep breath, then lifted her hands from his grasp to touch his face. His heart hammered against his chest as she traced his brows, his eyes, and the contours of his mouth.

“What are you doing?” He swallowed, confused by her actions.

“I would remember your face for always,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“ ’Tis not something that I would like you to forget.” He tried to joke, but her eyes stood like steady beacons, threatening rocky harbors and unknown currents.

“You will forget me,” she murmured, tracing the path of her fingers now with her soft lips until he felt he could scarce breathe or think.

“Never,” he gasped as she kissed his cheekbone, stretching to find the tender hollow beneath his ear.

She slid her hands to his shoulders. “You will forget me, Adam

Wyse. And you will be healed of what torments you—I have prayed it to be so, and God will honor my sacrifice.”

“’Tis better to obey than to sacrifice,’ ” he quoted, and moved to gently press his mouth against the fair skin of her neck.

She drew back with such abruptness that he nearly staggered.

“I do both, Adam Wyse,” she bit out, crossing her arms against her chest. “I both obey and sacrifice. And that was the last time you will touch me so.”

He stretched forth a hand as if to comfort her.

“
Nee
,” she snapped, whirling away. She looked at him once more, with all the fullness of her heart in her eyes, and then she lifted her skirt and ran, taking to the deer path as if pursued by wolves.

He stood by the stream, trying to think, to remember all that she had said, and then shook his head with a wry glance heavenward.

“Women!”

Chapter 16

R
uth rose early in the Sunday dawn to cradle Mary next to her breast and to allow herself to think for a few moments of the place she had come to . . . been led to, perhaps. She sighed as she shifted Mary’s slight weight for a burping. She did not want to dwell overlong on the thought of God, despite her words with Abigail. She still felt hurt and angry at moments, though those times were getting fewer. Her eyes drifted to her skirts, which were soiled with the week’s work. She had no other change of clothing and knew she’d have to go into town and buy something ready-made or else ask Lena for some fabric. She had a few coins that she had managed to save from the fire, but textiles and the like were at a high premium because of the war.

Today the family was to celebrate their worship, and although Samuel Yoder had asked her quite formally if she would like to join in, she wondered if it might not be better if she slipped away and did a bit of work outside. But then again, she’d been told by Lena that the Yoder family kept strict to the Bible’s admonishment to rest and do no labor on the Sabbath. She certainly did not want to put a foot wrong there. She sighed a bit and laid the baby in her cradle next to Faith, pausing to rub a hand over both downy heads—one blond and the other red. A strange companionship in some ways, but the peace that lay between the babes was also a fair enough portrait of the peace that she herself was finding in this Amish home.

She rose to prowl about the kitchen, pausing to study the window box herb garden that seemed to burgeon with life, like a miniature Eden. She let her roughened fingers trace anise and balm, bay and borage, as well as the taller fennel and hyssop. It was a wonder to Ruth, who had never had much luck with a garden, that Lena could have such abundance growing right at her fingertips. It was probably the mother, their
mamm
, as the children called her, who had been the true gardener. She, Ruth, was really an intruder in some ways, a stoppage for death’s hole in life.

She thought of Samuel Yoder’s blue eyes, now growing keener with each passing day, and knew that there were times when his wise gaze seemed to see right through her. It wasn’t a feeling she was entirely comfortable with, but it drew her just the same. She ran a finger down a tender leaf, then nearly jumped when the floor creaked behind her.

“I interrupt your thoughts, Ruth.” Samuel made as if to back away, and Ruth shook her head. She took in his black vest and clean linen, noticing that he had gained some slight weight in the days since his release.

“Nay, sir. Come, I will toast ye some bread in the fire, and there’s a new churning of butter from yesterday.” She crossed the room near him to lift the toasting tongs from over the fireplace, when he caught her hand with gentle fingers and then replaced the tongs.

“ ’Tis the Lord’s day, a day of rest for the body and spirit. You need not toast me bread, but I would have it fresh if you wouldn’t mind.”

Ruth’s face flamed against her will. First his gentle touch, and then an equally gentle scold. She doubted she would ever understand the ways of the Amish.

He must have read her face because he followed her in silence as she made for the bread she and Lena had baked the day before. The loaves sat on the breadboard, draped in muslin like babes resting beneath a blanket.

She hesitated before drawing a knife from the chopping block, wondering if this too would be considered work on the Sabbath, when Samuel surprised her with a husky laugh.

“Ya, cut the bread, by all means, Ruth. It is only the unnecessary that we consider labor on the Sabbath.”

She grabbed a knife with a
humph
. “Well, ye’ve sure got a body comin’ and goin’ to know what’s what around here.”

This time he laughed out loud, and she returned a smile. Just then she saw John standing at the edge of the room, his face stormy, and the smile slipped from her face. She understood the boy’s expression; it reminded her again that she was trespassing on a family who had just lost their mother, no matter her own losses. She tried to concentrate on slicing the bread as she heard Samuel speak.

“
Sohn
, come in and break bread with us.”

“
Nee
,
Fater
, I am not hungry. I would make sure all is prepared for today’s
family
worship.”

His emphasis on the word
family
caused Ruth to once more consider whether she should participate in the goings-on. She could always claim that Faith or Mary needed attention.

But Samuel spoke with quiet firmness to his son. “I am sure that you mean no offense to Ruth, my
buwe
, but Gott’s worship is for all of His family, whether they be of this family’s blood or not.”

“
Ya, Fater
. I am sorry.” John turned on his heel and walked away, not sounding the least apologetic.

Samuel Yoder made excuse for him. “He is young, Ruth.”

Ruth pushed the honey pot toward him. “He misses his
mamm
, that’s what. And I’m a sad substitute.” Then she went on in haste. “Not that I’m trying to fill yer wife’s place, sir. I just mean that . . . that I . . .”

Samuel patted her hand briefly with his large, work-worn one. “Peace, Ruth. I bid you peace. You are a blessing to this family. Sei se gut—please—remember that.”

Ruth turned away at the sound of the warmth in his voice, her eyes filling with tears at the kindness. The verse Lena had read floated vaguely across her mind and brought relief to her tensing shoulders. “I am for you . . .”

Lena sat on the backless bench and listened to the soothing words of her
fater
as he spoke in High German. He presided alone over the small service, as there was no minister or deacon there to preach.

They sang from
The Ausband
, and seeing the bewildered look on Ruth’s face, Lena reached out to touch the older woman’s hand. She supposed that the tuneless, foreign words would sound strange to someone who had never experienced such worship. Yet it was the imitation of the voices of the martyrs for the faith, the laments and praises that compelled the singing. Lena prayed that some of this heartfelt emotion would communicate itself to Ruth, despite the language barrier.

As she sang, Lena struggled to keep her thoughts from Adam. She had tossed and turned all night, thinking about her resolve from the day before and wondering if she would be doing the right thing by considering to marry Isaac. Even so, part of her brain argued that she need not marry anyone at present, but she knew what a load it would lift from her family to have the strength of two households joined in community. And what her
fater
had said made sense. She caught her breath and almost stopped mid-singing when she realized that for all her professed anger at Adam, it could only be the deepest love that would inspire such sacrifice on her part. Her eyes welled with tears, but she reminded herself that the possibility of Adam gaining more insight and peace with
Gott
was more than worth any sacrifice on her part. Still, she wondered if denying him, restraining his advances would truly turn his soul toward
Derr Herr
. For all that she knew him, could feel him intuitively to the fibers of her fingertips, she did not know all of his faith.

If she were to be questioned about it, she supposed that she would have to admit that Adam found Gott to be capricious at best, and this thought made her want to weep. She did not know Adam in the way she should most, from a spiritual perspective. Yet Isaac’s spirituality was like a steadfast light in the gloaming of life. She should respect the man for that, at least . . .

She nearly jumped when Abby touched her hand.

“Lena, it’s time for
fees wesha
,” her little
schwester
whispered. “And I want to do Ruth.”

Lena smiled and nodded, then bent to slide the shortened buckets from beneath the benches. John had filled them with water the day before. She glanced at her father and John, who were removing their shoes and stockings, then bent to do the same. Abigail had stripped off her things in quick order and was now working to help Ruth lift her skirts discreetly. Lena could not help but smile at the strange expression on Ruth’s face. The woman probably found them to be odd, but Jacob Amman, the founder of the faith, had long ago decreed that the service and self-sacrifice of
fees wesha
not be lost from the act of worship.

So the men washed each other’s feet while the women did the same. Then each would rise and kiss each other on the cheek with a holy kiss. Lena found it a beautiful symbol of submitting to loving one another through Christ. And as she gently cradled Abigail’s small, white foot in the bucket, she could not help but feel that
Gott
would give her the strength to serve, to humbly serve, Adam’s life by marrying his
bruder
. . . no matter the cost to her heart.