Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (19 page)

Aaron took a deep breath. Should he tell her he'd read the Bible she'd given him a couple of times? He had to admit he was surprised by how much he enjoyed it, but as he lifted a hand to knock on the door, Aaron knew he wouldn't say a word about that. They needed to handle one issue at a time.

Aunt Ida opened the door and welcomed him in. Did he see relief on her face?

"Come, Marianna's just made some cherry cobbler. I told her I wasn't hungry, but I'm glad now that she didn't listen."

"Aaron." Marianna said his name as a whispered breath. She hurried over to him and took his hands in her. "I'm so glad you came."

She clung to him as a lifeline, and Aaron noticed a deep longing in her gaze. For him to hold her? Maybe. For her to be held? Yes.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and winked. She smiled, understood. Later, out of Aunt Ida's view.

They sat around the living room with their bowls of cobbler. Marianna's leg pressed against his, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I'm so glad to see you two together," Aunt Ida said after taking a big bite. "There were so many of my friends who believed you would stay in Montana and marry an Englischman. My friend, Bertha, told me that since Levi left the Amish maybe you would too. I tried to argue, but she said that history proved her point. Not only now but during your mother's time."

Aaron watched as Marianna's throat contracted, and her cheeks brightened with color. "What do you mean?"

"Surely you know, don't you?" Aunt Ida leaned closer. "She almost left the Amish too. Thank goodness your mem came to her senses. Thank goodness Levi did too."

Marianna set down her fork on her plate. She leaned back against the couch. Aaron eyed her. Was she going to cry? Mrs. Sommer loving an Englischman? It didn't seem possible, but from the look on Marianna's face, it had to be true.

Aunt Ida stared at Marianna's plate. "You're not coming down with a fever, are you?" She reached a hand and touched Marianna's cheek. "You didn't eat much."

"It's been a long day."

Aaron was going to wait until they were alone to discuss the situation, but from the hopelessness in her eyes he knew he had to speak.

"Mari . . . At his whispered word, she glanced up at him with those gray eyes he loved so much. "Don't pay them no mind, Mari." Aaron reached for her hand. "They are just busybodies and they don't know what they are talking about."

"The problem isn't with their facts. It's how they use them," she said, trying to act as if tears weren't going to overwhelm her.

He reached over and took the plate from her hand, placing it on the side table. "You're going to take their side?"

Marianna lowered her head. "Neither my mother nor I are innocent. There have been friendships—" She looked away. "Mem and I haven't protected our hearts as we should have." She rose and turned her back to him and pressed her palms against the windowsill.

He approached her and placed two hands on her shoulders.
Why won't she turn around?

"Don't go there . . ." He wasn't sure if he was saying the words for her or for himself.

"I did have feelings for an Englischman, Aaron. My Mem did too."

"And now?"

"Mem's been married for twenty-five years. I believe her commitment speaks for her heart."

"And you?" The words came out on a whisper.

She turned to him and looked into his eyes. "I know you're the right one for me. I care for you, Aaron. Just be patient with me as I try to figure out how my changed heart fits into this old life."

Dear Ruth,

The purpose of this letter is to call your attention to some questionable things that have been taking place with Marianna. I am not sure what teachings she received in Montana, but to speak with her one would believe they're talking to an Englisch woman.

Of course I must start by saying that I do not write this letter to point a finger. As a child of God I cannot boast of anything except His grace. I write not of my personal observations, but write from the heritage of faith from our Anabaptist forefathers that is over four hundred years old.

Marianna seems the same pleasant young woman as the one who left, yet after she visits homes I've heard people talking, and today she boldly disagreed with the bishop's wife! Marianna shares about reading the Bible and praying and listening to God. She talks as if she knows more than the bishops—knows more than our ancestors who taught us our ways. We follow a heritage of faithfulness. Should we turn our back on the way we've been taught? Who are we to say our personal ways are better?

Rumor has it that you will be coming to Indiana soon. Perhaps you are moving back? I am thankful for that. I think everyone needs adventure in her life and I'm sure you enjoyed your time in the mountains, but it will be good for you to return. After seeing the changes in Marianna more than one person has noted their concern for the rest of your children—and for you. There is a reason why our ancestors have chosen to live together in community. Outsiders have greater influence than we think and sometimes their thinking becomes our own when we do not guard our hearts and minds.

Aaron Zook has been understanding, but I am worried he won't stand by her for long. What young man will want a young woman as set in her harmful ways as that?

Thankful for all God's mercies,

Ida

Ruth folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope. Then she tucked it into her jacket pocket and glanced around the general store. Where was Abe? The store was full today. The gray clouds had cleared and the sun filled the sky. It was enough to get folks out and about. She nodded and smiled at the Peachys and the Vontragers, who strolled by and filled shopping baskets.

Ruth blew out a heavy sigh. If only the news from Shipshewana were brighter. The changes in Marianna worried her. Not that Marianna had grown to love God more—not that at all. But how folks back home treated her. If their Indiana Amish friends and family resented one thing, it was change. Folks built their lives on tradition. They centered their heart on things staying the same.

Ruth bit her lip. What was Marianna saying . . . and to a bishop's wife no less!

She spotted Abe in the dining room. His shopping basket was at his feet and he was enjoying a cup of coffee with one of the Amish bachelors and an Englischman who ranched down the road. Last year when she and Abe arrived, she'd never imagined such a thing. Now, it seemed normal—

Right even.

How would they be seen when they returned? Would folks consider them changed too? She picked out some apples from the bin and placed them in her basket and nodded to herself. Of course people would notice. They
had
changed. Difference was they'd be packing up and returning to Montana. And Marianna? Ruth would jest have to pray harder for her daughter. But it would not be easy for Marianna . . .

To fit into an old world that her expanding heart and convictions had outgrown.

Ben slicked his hand through his hair. Why did he let Roy talk him into letting it grow?

"You look more artsy," Roy had said. "Like you fit in with the other musicians." The thing was, longer hair and the right clothes didn't make things even easier. He didn't fit in. He didn't feel comfortable sitting at the table with the concert planning team. They were all nice enough, but they didn't talk to him . . . they talked about him. About his songs, his schedule, his merchandise. They didn't know him. Could care less how he liked his coffee and had no idea that when he locked up his cabin, leaving inside the photo of he and Marianna, he'd cried. He was an image to them, a voice, a paycheck.

As if reading his thoughts, Roy slid a paper across the table. "Did you read this? Four hundred and thirteen stations have had your song as their top request in the last week! It's spreading. People can picture you there, Ben, in that cabin, hoping for what you don't have."

Bernice Nutzhorn, Roy's assistant, piped up. "More than that, they feel like they're there themselves. Even if they're in a relationship, the song makes them long for what they're missing out on. That's the mark of a true hit, one the listener can identify with. One that brings tears and a wistful smile." She tapped her red painted fingernails to her lips as if giving herself kudos for coming up with something so profound.

Yet her words were like a pinprick to Ben's heart. Since he'd grown closer to God, he'd wanted to point folks to a life of peace. Happiness was as fleeting as dandelion puffs carried on the wind, or icicles on a warming winter's day. Happiness couldn't be contained, protected. There was nothing peaceful about his song—or about the longing within him.

Roy steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on the table. "The concerts are going well. You've been on the road three months?"

Ben nodded. "Yes, with three more to go."

The room went silent and everyone looked to Roy.

"Actually, Ben, we wanted to talk to you about extending that. We were thinking sixteen more weeks. The venues are falling into place—in fact we're getting calls left and right."

Five sets of eyes looked at him. He'd done well with the traveling, the guys on the bus, the concerts. He enjoyed the fans, but . . . he missed Montana, the mountains and the people. Then again, could he handle being there with Marianna so far away, planning her wedding, starting a new life?

"The concerts are being set up in the Midwest—Illinois, Iowa, Indiana . . .

"Indiana?" Ben ran a hand through his hair.

Bernice flipped through some pages on her clipboard, stopping on one that was highlighted. "Yes, that's right."

Ben shrugged. He was a man drowning in a massive ocean, alone and desperate, and so he reached for the hand that was offered him, no matter how thin and weak it was. "Sure. Why not."

Roy rose, tossed his car keys in the air, caught them, and pointed to Bernice. "Set it up." Then with a parting wave to Ben he hurried out of the room. "You won't regret this, Ben. I have a good feeling about this one."