For Sure & Certain (13 page)

“Be like what? We go for you, for our children. If you don’t care about that, than why do any of this?” Her voice was straining now, and Marigold hated being the reason behind the pull. But even though it hurt, Marigold wasn’t going to give in.

“I hope one day you’ll understand,” she told her mom.

Marigold hung up the phone, unable to listen to the berating any longer. She needed a break from the constant criticism.

With a sigh, she dialed her sister’s cell number, second-guessing everything. For once she’d just like the support of her family.

Lily answered and Marigold explained the situation.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” Marigold bit her thumb anxiously. Calling Lily could easily be considered last resort.

“I thought you wanted to jump his bones. How will you do that if you’re living at his parents’ house and he’s living in D.C.”

“We’re going slow, if it’s meant to be, it will be,” Marigold said, recalling the conversation her and Abel had the night before. Visit once in July and once in August. Call when Marigold went into town. See what happens.

“Are you going to dress like them?”

“No, that’s actually why I’m calling. As much as I want an analysis regarding my summer plans, I mostly just want to know if you’d send me some clothes and my sewing stuff. I only packed for the weekend.”

“Oh, fine. But seriously this is way more sister bonding than I’m interested in. Consider this a one-off, are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Marigold said, and then she gave Lily a list of items to pack along with Abel’s parents’ address so she could send them. She wanted to ask if Lily would keep an eye on Abel, to make sure he was doing okay, but she didn’t want to step on Lily’s toes anymore than she already had. Apparently asking her sister for help was reserved for crisis situations only.

***

Abel and his family had left a few hours earlier for their church service, and Marigold opted to stay behind so she could get in touch with her family. Walking back into the house from the barn, Marigold noted how quiet everything was, no dinging from a cellphone alerting her of new messages, no whirring from a vacuum cleaner held by the housekeeper, no white noise from the un-said things between her and her mother and father. It was a relief to stand in such silence.

She put away the plates and glasses that had been drying on the rack from breakfast. Shutting the cupboard door, she looked around to see if anything else needed doing. But the Millers kept everything in order and there wasn’t anything left for her. Looking at the windup clock in the living room, she noted there still were a few hours before Abel and the family would return from the noontime meal that the community shared after their service.

Stepping onto the front porch with her knitting needles and a ball of magenta yarn, she hoped the familiar clicking would erase the conversation with her mother from her mind. She continued to work her way across an intricate shawl she hoped to wear come fall. Tiny rosettes peppered the pattern, a rose garden for her shoulders. It would remind her of spring during the cold months in D.C.

As her fingers moved with the needles in hand, she couldn’t imagine wearing such a heavy shawl now, for the summer heat was muggy and beat against her. The Millers’ home had no air conditioner, or anything generated by electricity. A fan would be useful and she wondered if they owned battery-operated ones that would be within the regulations of their religious beliefs. Not wanting to snoop around the house for one, she poured herself a glass of iced tea, cold in the refrigerator run by a generator.

Marigold went back to the front porch and sat on the steps, relishing the view before her. Rolling hills, a blooming garden, and enough livestock to be self-sustaining. Everything she needed was here, including an enormous cache of yarn in Mrs. Miller’s shed.

She couldn’t imagine finding a reason to leave.

Abel

While pulling up the long driveway in his buggy, he saw Marigold sitting on the front porch, her eyes raised to him. Wisps of hair flew out of her braid, and he knew she might need to button a few more buttons on her peasant blouse before his dad showed back up at home.

Not that he wanted her to change, but his dad wouldn’t be interested in being the center of gossip. Marigold exposing the rise of her breasts wasn’t going to help his mom’s cause, that was for sure and certain. He knew that Marigold staying here wasn’t so much a welcome decision on his dad’s part as much as a directive on behalf of his mom.

Abel knew some of the workings of his parents’ relationship; after all he had witnessed it for eighteen years. As much as his mother appeared an honorable Amish wife and mother, she was bent on doing things her own way, not easily conforming to the church’s standards of a woman.

She didn’t condemn Abel for spending his evenings doing schoolwork for so many years, or push his brother Eli into working the family business. She was progressive, but knew where and when to share her more liberal views.

At church she sat tight-lipped, refraining from gossip and idle chatter. Although she rarely joined quilting circles or canning parties held by other women in the district, she maintained a well-appointed household, and attended church service each week.

Abel’s father held domain over the successful business, and his mom never questioned his decisions there, they kept to their own spaces, giving one another enough room to find joy in their work. It was only where Abel was concerned that their territory overlapped.

Abel knew this because his decision to leave for Jamestown had been the topic of every single argument, clenched jaw, and huff around his parents’ house for the last few months. His dad wanted him to stay, his mom wanted him to go. His decision to leave caused a divide in his parents that he now shouldered.

He brought Marigold home and his mother wanted her to stay for reasons beyond him, but there was no changing her mind. Regardless, his dad wouldn’t be happy about it. Abel knew that her staying would create even more resentment between him and his dad.

But how could he explain all that to Marigold? This girl he’d known for a week, this girl who stepped out of a story book, who for some unknown reason dropped sweet bread crumbs as she walked, leading him straight to her heart. He wanted to follow her, even if it made little sense. Even if he ended up in a witch’s oven, burned to a crisp.

He wanted to have this story with her, but he also needed to go back to school. Staying home wasn’t an option, not after everything he sacrificed to get there. While his parents disagreed on what was best for him, he knew his dad modeled something important. He let his wife be her own person, he gave her space to decide what that was, and didn’t force his way on her like other men.

He didn’t want to tell Marigold she couldn’t stay here if she wanted too, but he watched this girl sit on the front steps, basking in the sun, and he wanted to pick her up and carry her away with him. Not to leave this place exactly, but to learn more about her. To learn everything about her.

As his horses clomped by, she waved brightly, her smile wide. She walked to the back of the house where he was leading the horse to the stall.

“You’re early,” she said. “I didn’t expect you for a few more hours.”

“I couldn’t stay there and eat when I knew you were here, alone.”

              “I see, so you wanted to be alone with me.”

              His cheeks flushed red, heat rose up his back as he took Marigold’s hands in his, finding freedom in being alone with her at his parents’ house. The barn was empty, the animals secured in their pens, the smell of the hay heavy in the warm summer air. They were alone, and he led her to the ladder in the back of the barn, leading to the loft where he swung from a thick rope with his brother as they grew up. He hadn’t been up there in a long time, not since Eli left for his life with Sarah.

              He watched as Marigold climbed the ladder, she carelessly held the hem of her dress, revealing her legs, her calves flexing as she moved. He followed close behind her, wanting to make sure she got up okay, and also just wanting her.

“Did you get a chance to speak with your parents?” he asked once at the top of the loft, bales of heavy surrounding them.

“I did….” Marigold stopped her sentence short, and Abel realized she was upset.

“What happened?” he asked, seeing her eyes teem with tears, her small chin quiver, her tiny shoulders tremble. It was a thousand motions in a moment, her muscles moving at a speed impossible to stop. He put his hands on her back, drawing her close, wanting to catch the feelings spilling from her.

“Being here with your family. You. It doesn’t seem real. They are so kind and generous, and open minded.” Her voice caught on her words. “My mom is so clueless about me. So determined for me to be miserable.”

Abel didn’t tell her he felt the same way.  That his dad had cornered him on his way from church, telling him that if he left again for school that the business would start to fail, that he needed his son’s help. That it was Abel’s duty to be here to assist. Abel didn’t mention the look of elation on the bishop’s face when he saw him walk into service. He didn’t mention the harsh words of disappointment when he explained he was here just for a visit, that his plans hadn’t changed. That he would be returning to school later that day.

Abel didn’t tell Marigold because it wasn’t his place to interject with his own experience. This was her struggle, not his. He could empathize though, because she said the words he felt.

“Maybe this summer is exactly what you and your parents need,” he said, reassuring her. “Maybe you all need a bit of space.” This was the mantra that continually ran through his head. Things will be different in eight weeks. In eight weeks he will be homesick, ready to take on the sheep farm. Take his kneeling vows. Begin his life as an Amish man. He wanted his prayer to come true, because it would be easier than choosing to leave for good.

With that in mind, Abel took advantage of the quiet barn and the family gone for the afternoon. He pulled Marigold to the hay spread across the wooden floor; he pulled her face to his. She kissed away the heaviness buried in his chest, the disappointment choking him like a snare. She kissed him and he kissed her, her hands ran up his chest and his hands ran down her back, and then farther still.

He had no intention of letting go.

Marigold

            
 
The first day at the farm, Marigold wondered why it had taken her so long to arrive at a place that fit her disposition so well. Abel was gone, but she didn’t feel alone. Bekah helped her understand the morning and afternoon routine, seeming grateful to have another girl her age around.

              Any hint of hostility she first gave Marigold was long gone. Bekah explained how each day they would make breakfast, and then do dishes, followed with the daily chores, which was mostly gardening as they hired someone to help with the cleaning. After preparing the noontime meal, they would eat and clean up before taking a break.

Mrs. Miller gently explained that once everything was in order they could spend the afternoon in the yarn shed, and make a game plan for the business. She agreed to pay Marigold four hundred dollars a week, along with room and board.

“That is much too generous,” Marigold said shaking her head.

“You’ll be helping with household duties as well, and that seems fair. Your parents are anticipating you having a real job, aren’t they?” Mrs. Miller smoothed her black apron down, not making eye contact as they discussed finances.

“Yes, but it is too much. Is Mr. Miller alright with this?”

“Mr. Miller and I are in agreement in most things, Marigold. This is one of them. You’ll be doing plenty of heavy lifting here, and hopefully the business is profitable. If it is, you may end up doing less in the house and more at the shop. If that is the case we can renegotiate your pay.”

Not wanting to argue with the Millers, Marigold agreed to the sum, knowing she didn’t really want their money. She was grateful to have a reason to be somewhere besides home, doing things she was good at.

Marigold didn’t mind doing the dishes alongside Bekah, or gathering vegetables for lunch. She relished working alongside a friend. Tabby would have never cared to spend her morning this way, it was always shopping and boys and the next new thing with her. But Marigold was tired of the next new thing, for once she wanted to enjoy the thing before.

After lunch, the girls decided to make a pie, and Marigold couldn’t imagine Lily ever discussing piecrust with her in the manner in which Bekah did. They had different opinions regarding the use of shortening vs. butter and they agreed to try a different recipe the next day. Somehow rolling the dough was all the more enjoyable when she shared the task with someone else.

While the blueberry pie baked Marigold went looking for Mrs. Miller. She found her in the shed, sorting balls of yarn in piles according to color.

“I haven’t seen a smile that big since Ruthie learned to climb a tree,” Mrs. Miller exclaimed as Marigold stepped inside the shed. “Bekah’s been kind to you then?