The Amish Bride (10 page)

Mammi
nodded. “The nearby Mennonite district was made up almost entirely of my aunts and uncles and cousins.”

“Mennonite?” I glanced across the table at Ezra. “I thought they were Amish.”

“No, my mother was the only one on her side of the family to change over to Amish. My grandparents and aunts and uncles all stayed Mennonite, as far as I know.”

“Oh.” My mind raced. That meant Sarah had been raised
Mennonite
but had ended up joining the
Amish
church instead. My exact situation.

“Why did she become Amish?” Zed asked, the first words he’d spoken since the meal began.

Mammi
tilted her head to the side. “That’s a good question.” She was quiet for a long moment, and then she said, “My father was Amish, so I suppose she did it because of him.”

My heart began to race. “Wait a minute.” I put down my knife and fork and let my hands fall to my lap. “Your mother joined the Amish church so she could marry the man she loved?” I looked toward
Mammi
as I said it, but my eyes met those of my mother instead, who gazed back at me with dismay. For a moment I realized the face she was giving me was the same one I had given Christy earlier, when she’d been talking about Ruth’s crush on Ezra under the guise of feigned innocence, as if she didn’t know such news would upset me. Christy hadn’t been fooling anyone then, and neither was I now.

Even as I felt my cheeks flush with shame, I couldn’t help but persist. “That’s really amazing,
Mammi
. Imagine that. A Mennonite woman falls in love with an Amish man, and their families don’t try to stop them from becoming the same religion and joining together in marriage.”

I shifted my gaze across the table to look straight at Ezra, but his face was tilted downward, eyes glued to the table, cheeks and forehead a vivid red. My first thought was,
Shame on him for being too chicken to support me in this moment.

My second thought was,
Shame on me for ruining a lovely gathering because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.

Clearing my throat, afraid I might suddenly start to cry, I pulled the napkin from my lap and excused myself, tossing it onto my chair and heading for the bathroom. Once there, I locked the door and just stared at myself in the mirror for a long while. I wasn’t wrong to want to marry Ezra and embrace his church. They needed to hear the truth, but maybe this wasn’t the place and time.

I knew my mother was probably furious, Ezra clearly mortified, and everyone else either scornful or disgusted or just plain embarrassed for me.

Eventually, once I had gained control of my emotions, I went back to the table. I was still torn between feeling half stubborn and half repentant, but no one seemed to notice either way. They didn’t watch me as I took my seat nor even pause in the conversation. Their discussion had moved
on to the topic of cheese making, and they continued with that as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Right or wrong about what I’d done, I was relieved to see that the moment had passed.

The rest of the meal, right down to Klara’s delicious blueberry cobbler made from filling she said she’d canned last summer, progressed smoothly.
Mammi
and Alice were tired by the time we were all finished and retreated to the living room, where they settled on the couch. I began clearing the table while Izzy and Christy took Mel and Mat upstairs to put on their pajamas, and Will, Uncle Alexander, Ben, and Ezra, with Zed tagging along, all went outside to check on one of the cows that my uncle thought was in preterm labor. I wished I could go with the men. I really didn’t relish the thought of having to face my mother just yet.

Ada soon disappeared, I assumed to check on the girls, leaving me alone with Nancy, Aunt Klara, and Mom. I just kept cleaning and ignored all of them until Nancy addressed me directly.

“So, Ella,” she said as she took a stack of dishes from me and lowered them into the sink of sudsy water, “what are your plans for working now that you’re done with school?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of babysitting, but I’d like to find a real job, any job. Then, once I’ve saved up enough money, I’ll be going to baking school.”

Mom gave me a pointed look but didn’t say anything.

I wasn’t as fortunate when it came to Nancy. “Baking school?” Her voice was incredulous. Amish women invariably learned to bake from their mothers and grandmothers. The thought of going away to school and paying a lot of money for it had to sound ridiculous to them.

“I’d like to be a pastry chef,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “But I’d settle for basic classes, if need be.”

Nancy and Aunt Klara exchanged one of those looks. Fanciful Ella—that was me. I returned to the table for another stack of plates. When I came back with them, Nancy asked if I planned to go away to school or if there was one locally I could attend.

“I’m looking into both options,” I said, retreating to the table for the glasses. I wasn’t about to tell her I wanted to leave Lancaster County or why.

Aunt Klara and Nancy began talking about a recipe that had been in last week’s
Budget
, the Plain newspaper all of us subscribed to, and I continued clearing the table. I’d tried the recipe they were talking about last Saturday. It was for a caramel pie. Aunt Klara said she thought it was too sweet. I kept my mouth shut, but I agreed. I was thinking about experimenting with it, maybe adding a chocolate-and-nut layer, perhaps make it resemble a sundae minus the ice cream. I tuned out the rest of their conversation as I thought about my recipe ideas, but after a while Ada came downstairs and began helping Mom dry the dishes while Aunt Klara continued to put food away.

At one point, they got on the subject of Zed’s ever-increasing height.

“He’s getting so tall and strong,” Nancy said to my mother as she slipped a plate into the rinse water. “I think he’s looking more and more like his
daed
all the time.”

There was an awkward pause, which caused Nancy to glance around, bewildered. “Did I say something wrong?”

I placed the butter dish on the counter, near the stove. “It depends on how many people in the room know who Zed’s father is.” Each woman’s face was expressionless. I turned to Nancy. “I think it’s unanimous. Up until a couple of weeks ago,
I
didn’t know. But it looks like everyone else did.” My eyes landed on my mother. “And did you hear that Mom and Zed saw him last night? Spent the entire evening with him. He’s moved back to Lancaster County, apparently.”

“Marta?” Aunt Klara moved quickly from the refrigerator to my mother, her arm around her shoulders in an instant. “What’s going on?”

Mom, in her typical fashion, stood statue still and answered, “Zed wanted to see Freddy, that’s all. Ella chose not to.”

I crossed my arms. “So now it seems there’s just one mystery remaining. And that would be, who is Zed’s mother?”

Instantly every face in the room went slack again.

“So how is Freddy?” Aunt Klara asked, turning her back to me.

“Don’t do this,” I stammered.

“Ella.” It was Ada’s sweet voice. Her sickening, annoying voice.

“Don’t ‘Ella’ me!” My hands landed on my hips. “You all know something I have the right to know. Don’t do this.”

“There are no ‘rights’ here,” Mom said, her head still turned away. “And now is not the time to discuss it. We’ll talk about it later.”

I spun around and stomped from the room as a wave of despair swept through me.

“I have to go. Tell Mom I’m walking home, would you?” I said to
Mammi
as I reached the door in the living room and slipped on my boots.

“Ella—” Alice was struggling to her feet. “It’s cold and wet out there, not to mention pitch-black.”

I nodded as I put on my cape. Mom would be leaving soon, but I wasn’t going to sit around in the dark, so to speak, any longer. Besides, I had my cell phone, which would serve as a flashlight.

Izzy and Christy were descending the stairs with the little girls. At least they hadn’t been present to see me humiliated.

Swallowing my fury for a moment, I kissed
Mammi
’s wrinkled check, gave Alice’s hand a pat, and then hurried out the front door. By the time I was halfway up the lane, using my cell as a flashlight, Ezra was calling my name.

Without looking behind me, I pulled my hood down farther on my head and marched on. In no time, his running steps encroached on me.

“Ella!” He was a little out of breath. “Wait! We need to talk.”

I waved my gloved hand, gesturing for him to leave me alone.

He was beside me now. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“It’s freezing out here.”

“Not like it is inside.”

“Come back and I’ll get the buggy. I’ll give you a ride.”

I shook my head and picked up my pace.

“I feel bad about last night,” he said.

I kept my head down.

“I didn’t explain myself very well.”

I lifted my face, meeting his eyes. “You heard
Mammi
in there, Ezra. My own great-grandmother was Mennonite, and then she joined the Amish church to marry her husband. It happened for them. It could happen for us.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“It was different back then,” he said. “Switching from Mennonite to Amish wasn’t that big of a change. They didn’t even have cars.”

“They did. It was nineteen twenty.”

Even in the darkness, I could see Ezra smile. “Maybe Model Ts. But no computers. Or baking school. And I certainly can’t imagine you without your cell phone.”

Before I could answer, Mom’s car pulled up beside us, and Zed rolled down the window.

“Let’s go,” he called out.

As I opened the back door of the car, Ezra tipped his hat toward me, the rain dripping off the brim.

“I’ll call you,” he said. “Tonight. I promise.”

I nodded curtly and climbed onto the backseat, realizing I’d said too much to him in the last two evenings, even for me. To counterbalance my deluge of words, I didn’t say a thing to Mom or Zed. The rain was coming down in torrents and, again, the windshield wipers were having a hard time keeping up with the sheets of water slamming against the car. Mom slowed and then finally pulled over under the willow tree not far from Aunt Klara’s. The defroster worked about as well as the stupid heater, and soon the car windows were completely fogged over. I leaned my head back against the seat.

Finally, Zed turned around. “Lydia Gundy,” he said, his eyelids heavy.

“What?” I sat up straight.

“Lydia Gundy was my birth mother.”

I gasped. “Will’s first wife?”

He nodded.

My mind was spinning. Lydia had been a patient of Mom’s, the one who had died during childbirth and nearly ended my mother’s career. Lydia had been Christy and Mel and Mat’s mom. How could she be Zed’s birth mom too? How could I have not known that all of these years?

“Everyone knows?” I was whispering.

He nodded again. “Even Lexie.”

“Ezra too?”

“Maybe.” He glanced at Mom.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

I sank down in the seat and crossed my arms. So I’d made an even bigger fool of myself in front of the Gundys than I’d thought. Worse, they had all kept this from me. I’d never felt so humiliated in all my life. My only hope was that Ezra didn’t know.

Because if he had known and didn’t tell me, I would never forgive him for that.

O
nce we got home, I changed into my nightgown and robe, waited for Zed and Mom to go to bed, and then sat down at the computer to reread the articles about the deaths of Lydia and her baby. No wonder Zed had accessed them that day.

I didn’t understand how Will and Ada and Ezra and everyone could pretend as if nothing had happened. Why were we still friends? Didn’t they feel the shame of all of this? Back before Lydia was married to Will, she had become pregnant by Freddy, my own father—while he was still married to my mother! At least Lydia had then given that baby over to them to raise as their own once he was born. But no matter how well things turned out in the end, the way it all started was still a major disgrace.