Last Bride, The (Home to Hickory Hollow Book #5) (22 page)

T
uesday morning, while dusting and redding up, Mandy noticed a new devotional book lying on the small table next to Sylvan’s side of the bed. It obviously belonged to him, because he’d written his name on the inside.

Thumbing through, she opened to a random page and was surprised to see yellow highlights on various lines, and in some cases, complete paragraphs. She read some of those same passages and quickly realized they portrayed an understanding and thoughtful husband, one pleasing to God.

She was astonished to think Sylvan was studying such guiding principles.
He must be taking the words to heart, too.
Several times here recently, he’d spent more time in the evenings with her, coming in from the barn earlier than ever before. And he was smiling at her more, too. This realization warmed her heart.

In the same moment, she felt sad, even remorseful.
Have I
made things hard for
my husband, considering I cared deeply for someone else before
him?

She carried the book across the hallway, cherishing her discovery, and leaned against the doorjamb of the vacant room where she prayed their baby might sleep and play one day.

Standing there, dreaming her longed-for hopes, she lost track of the hour.
A baby will draw Sylvan
closer to me,
she thought.
A baby will be God’
s blessing on us . . . make us a family.
Oh, she was ready and waiting with all of her heart.

Her older sisters came to mind. Mandy was glad she’d gone to see baby Michael Abram, so dear and trusting, though holding him had made her ache all the more for a baby of her own.
A little gift from
heaven.

Then, hearing her husband coming into the kitchen downstairs, Mandy quickly made her way back to their room to place his book on the small square table right where she’d found it.

Before dinner that noon, when Mandy went over to invite her to join them, Great-Aunt Elaine claimed she was completely satisfied to have her own meal in her own kitchen. “I’m making toasted cheese sandwiches and homemade tomato soup.”

Sylvan seemed pleased to have Mandy to himself today, surprising her by stating how happy he was, having his wife at home more often. “’Specially when you’re the best cook I know,” he said, blue eyes twinkling. His compliment took her off guard, but she rather liked it. He also seemed eager
to talk with her . . . and not just today, now that she considered it.

How on earth could a mere book work such wonders?

After the noon meal, Tessie Ann pulled on her boots, even though the snow had largely turned to slush. After the months of seemingly endless cold, she breathed deep of the fresh, almost-springtime air and raised her face to receive the sunshine as she walked up Hickory Lane toward the fenced-in cemetery, past where Mandy and Sylvan resided. She did not stare at her childhood home as fondly, not coveting it as much today. Rather, she kept her attention on beseeching God about her future and whether to accept Levi’s recent invitation. Why was this so hard?

Dat had mentioned at breakfast that today’s warm spell was to be only a short reprieve from late winter’s chill, because a cold snap was blowing in this very evening. It was a mighty good thing, too, considering the hog butchering would go better in colder temperatures. Most butcherings were done in mid-December or early January for that very reason.

“The Lord knows just what we need,” Tessie whispered, deciding she would not go with her parents to the Smuckers’ work frolic tomorrow. Reuben and his sweet wife, Sarah, would welcome her help, of course, as they would many others’, but Tessie wanted to catch up on some maternity dressmaking, and then possibly go over to see Dawdi Dave. She was fairly sure her grandfather would not venture out to the butchering at his age, but then, who could say?

The cemetery looked nothing like it had in the height of spring when they’d buried her dear grandmother. She recalled the leafy trees shimmering in a wide veil of new green—their deacon and his younger brothers had planted the trees years ago. Sadly, the People had buried two of their small children, as well, on that day last May, one of them Marcus’s aunt’s little straw-haired boy, seriously ill for all the days of his young life. Tessie had never witnessed so many silent tears. The scene came back to her as she opened the wide wooden gate and turned to latch it behind her.

She knew right where to find Marcus’s small white gravestone, but she avoided making a beeline there, though she was ever so drawn to it. This was the first visit she hadn’t cried so hard it was difficult to see where she was walking.

Locating her grandmother’s grave marker, Tessie peered down at it; the stone was darker than many that had been there for decades and longer. “I miss your comforting arms, Mammi Rosanna,” she whispered, smiling now at the lovely memory. “Do ya ever run into my Marcus over there in Gloryland?” She let the question hang in the air, knowing it was pointless to ask questions of the deceased. “If so, will ya tell him I love him dearly . . . and always will?” She let it go with that, lest she make a fool of herself to the cluster of robins preening and twittering on the nearby fence.

She moved along, past Great-Aunt Elaine’s husband’s clean white stone, recalling how comical a man Pappy Amos had always been. Green-eyed Pappy had been like a grandpa to everyone, including those he wasn’t related to even a speck. “My sister and Sylvan are lookin’ after your widow,” Tessie Ann said softly. “Doin’ a
gut
and loving thing by her, too.”
She let her gaze roam over to Marcus’s plot but still hung back. “So no worries . . . that is, if you even have any over in Glory. The bishop says all is joy, peace, and blessedness where the Lord Jesus is.”

Tessie took her time as she finally walked to Marcus’s grave, imagining a few more weeks from now, when this serene spot would burst into leaf, bidding winter good-bye. She could nearly taste the smell of fresh black earth and newly plowed soil.

“I’ve been talkin’ to the Lord a lot,” she said right out at her husband’s graveside. “Mamma says she thinks Levi Smucker really likes me, and quite a lot, too. Maybe even enough to marry me and help raise the baby.” Tessie had started more quietly, but her voice was more confident now as she went on. “I’ve told ya a-plenty ’bout this tiny sweet one growing inside me, Marcus. If it’s a boy, I’ll name him after you, my love. I hope you’re pleased and think this is as fine an idea as I do.”

She didn’t say more, her words drying up as she enjoyed the light breeze, the sounds of birds, and the awareness that the earth was holding its breath for the next season—the glorious season of rebirth.

Life,
she thought, struggling very hard not to let emotion overtake her, not sure she could manage to keep the secluded world of her and the baby and Marcus’s memory intact. Would Levi’s interest in her weaken it? she wondered. Tessie decided to try her best not to let it do that as she headed for the cemetery gate and home.

T
he cold blast, a distinct return to winter, swept in right about the time Mamma was putting the steaming hot food on the supper table—a big platter of roasted turkey and all the side dishes. She was quite chatty as she told Dat and Tessie Ann how she’d “had this hankering for some delicious turkey meat and thick gravy.” Naturally, Dat wouldn’t think of arguing with that.

Tessie could hear the wind roaring against the eaves and rattling the windowpanes at the north end of the kitchen as they all sat down together and bowed their heads for the table blessing—that reverent and elongated silence before they passed the food.

Waiting till her father had taken a few bites of mashed potatoes with plentiful gravy, seasoned as only Mamma could, Tessie said she had a favor to ask Dat. He looked up at her, his fork filled with moist turkey.

“I’ve been thinking . . . and I wondered if you’d relay a message for me,” she said. “To Levi Smucker.”

Dat’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he seemed to maintain control of his expression. “Be glad to.”

Her parents exchanged a glance, and now it was Tessie who tried not to smile. “Tell him I accept—he’ll know what that means.”

“All right, then,” Dat said.

The rest of the meal was taken up with talk of her father’s plans to help Nate Kurtz oil and repair some farming equipment before the Lord’s Day. “’Course there’s the hog-butchering workday tomorrow, too,” Dat said. “Should be quite a doin’s.”

“Maybe ya oughta reconsider going—help with cooking head scraps for liverwurst or some such,” Mamma suggested. “That way, ya can give Levi your message in person.”

“Honestly, ’tis better like this,” Tessie insisted as she enjoyed the scrumptious meal. She had no wish to belabor the point.

Thankfully, her parents let the matter be.

That evening after supper dishes were washed and put away, Mandy sat down with her embroidery projects. She was lost in thought when she heard Sylvan wander into the utility room, then the kitchen. He came over to the table and pulled up a chair next to her beside the heater stove, folded his arms, and leaned back, watching her. “My work’s all done for the day,” he said, sounding relaxed.

“So early?”

“Had some extra help.” He didn’t twiddle his thumbs like usual, or seem in any hurry to go and do anything else in the house, either. “Would ya mind if I dropped by to see your shop sometime?” he asked.

She stopped her work and looked over at him. “You want to?”

He smiled. “I’d like to see how it’s laid out—got an addition to plan, after all.”

“I’d like that just fine.”

“Well then, so would I.”

This pleased her down to her toes.

And for the longest time, they sat and just talked. Sylvan mentioned Preacher Yoder’s planned expansion of his general store. “He’s doing it real soon, even before summer. Wants to bring in more odds and ends of things.”

“It’d be nice if he’d stock bolts of dress fabric,” she said, surprised Sylvan was still listening and not yawning or distracted.

“I’ll put a bug in his ear, how’s that?”

“Denki.” She mentioned that she wanted to go over to Maryanna’s greenhouse sometime this week and pick up her garden seeds. “It’s already getting to be that time, ya know.”

He nodded and brought up the farmers who were itching to start plowing and cultivating the ground for summer’s crops. “There’s always a bit of competition to see who’ll get the mule teams out first.” He chuckled.

“Like we womenfolk, when we see who gets their washing out earliest in the morning,” she said, knotting off the last strand. “Why, I’ve heard of an Amishwoman in upstate New York who gets up before dawn to hang out a bunch of dry, clean clothes, trying to pass them off as already dry before the
other womenfolk even have time to get their washing out on the line. Wants to make it look like she’s won that week’s competition, I guess.”

Sylvan laughed heartily at that. “Not fair!”

She decided to put away her needle and embroidery floss for the evening. Mandy could not have predicted that she’d feel so comfortable with him. She was truly enjoying herself.

Sylvan leaned forward in his chair, startling her a bit, and reached for her hand. He cradled it in both of his and searched her face with his eyes. “I hope you know how much I love ya, Mandy.” His expression was earnest. “I truly do.”

She smiled back, speechless. Never before had he spoken to her like this, not even during their short courtship.

“And I’m sorry for treating you poorly, takin’ ya for granted.” He paused and looked down at their interlaced hands, then back up at her. “I could kick myself for not being mindful of your pain over . . . well, the past—you know what I’m talking ’bout.” He sighed, shaking his head. “That day you burned your old letters behind the woodshed . . . I should’ve . . .”

“Ach, Sylvan.”

“Nee—no, I wasn’t thinkin’ of you,” he admitted. “I was wrong, Mandy.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she rose to go and wrap her arms around his neck. “Oh, Sylvan . . .
I
was the one who was wrong,” she cried, cupping his face in her hands. “I was.”

He sat her on his lap, and they wept shamelessly in each other’s arms. “I want to be a better husband to ya. More than anything, I want to make you happy,” he said and kissed her when she raised her face to his.

She felt an unexplained joy in their embrace, a longing
she had not known. And their tears soothed their fragile hearts.

Not a lot more talking went on that evening, and later, after she’d turned off the small gas lamp on the dresser, Mandy recalled what Ella Mae Zook had once said to her.
“We oughta be thankful the Lord doesn’t answer
some of our prayers, jah?”

Mandy couldn’t help but smile at that, and as she looked over at her sleeping husband, she knew it was ever so true. With all of her heart, she did.

Very early the next morning, Mandy made Sylvan’s favorite breakfast of homemade waffles and fried eggs with Swiss cheese melted on top. Sylvan’s perpetual smile made her feel ever so lighthearted.

Mandy didn’t inquire about his work for the rest of the week but was anxious to share her own plans with him. “Tomorrow I’m going to clean this big ol’ house but
gut,
” she said, excited at the prospect. “Spring cleaning, you know.”

Sylvan looked up from his meal. “Ya mean you haven’t been cleaning
gut
before now?” He grinned at her.

“Well, not the way I will
this
week.”

“It ain’t our turn for Preachin’ service, is it?” He was becoming a tease—even winked at her.

She shook her head. “Our turn’s comin’ early next summer. Sometime around the end of June, I think.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he tilted his head, obviously enjoying the sight of her. “You look mighty nice today, dear.”

It was almost like Sylvan was seeing her for the first time, but how could that be? Blushing, Mandy felt like a teenager. Was she falling in love with her own husband?

She decided she would not only scrub and scour the main level of the house tomorrow, she would cook and bake, too, making Sylvan’s favorite foods.

When Sylvan hurried out to the barn to tend to a few things before they were to head over to the hog butchering, she went to sit in the front room. The sun shone in through the easterly windows as Mandy read from the Psalms, thankful for the transformation between them—and clear out of the blue, too. Truly, she could hardly wait to see her husband walk in the back door once again.

Later, once they arrived at the Smuckers’ big farmhouse, Mandy waved to Sylvan before she headed off to work with the womenfolk. With a wink, Sylvan waved right back.

He seems so
different.
Then she wondered if it was really all him.
Or have I changed, too?

“No matter,” she whispered to herself. “Mamma was right . . . love has come a-callin’ at last.”

Tessie hadn’t meant to be late for breakfast, but she’d overslept for the first time in years. When she walked into the kitchen, Dat and Mamma were already sitting at the table eating, their heads nearly touching. She paused in the doorway, her presence still unknown. She watched as they talked privately, the way two people do when they’ve known each other for nearly a lifetime.

Then Dat looked over at Tessie and motioned her in. “Kumme have some breakfast, won’t ya?”

“Plenty’s left over.” Mamma pointed to the skillet still on the stove.

“Your Dawdi’s been askin’ for ya,” her father said.

“Funny, I’d thought of goin’ over to see him while you’re at the butchering,” Tessie replied. “Is he under the weather, then?”

Mamma shook her head. “Just lonesome’s all.”

That makes two of us,
Tessie thought. “Jah, I’ll head over once I finish hemming a dress.”

She reached for a clean plate in the cupboard and dished up some scrambled eggs. Hesitating, she went to sit opposite Mamma, where big sister Miriam had always sat growing up, being the oldest of the girls. Tessie could see the hazy sunlight against the cold, stark trees from this particular spot, though she was surprised neither Dat nor Mamma seemed to mind that she’d rejected her usual place at the table.

Mamma looked over at her. “We’re prayin’ for ya, daughter.”

“Denki.” Tessie suspected who and what her parents were praying for.
No need to guess
about that.
And, too, her upcoming confession must be looming in their minds. She was ever so sure.