The Amish Clockmaker (25 page)

Clayton couldn't answer that.

He turned now to his bride as the minister concluded the wedding portion of the service with the exhortation to “go forth in the name of the Lord. You are now man and wife.”

After that they returned to their seats on opposite sides of the room for the rest of the service, which would take another few hours and would be similar to regular church on Sundays except for the smaller number of people in attendance. The entire time, throughout every sermon and song and prayer, three words kept reverberating in Clayton's head, over and over:
Man and wife, man and wife, man and wife.

Afterward, there were subdued yet sincere words of congratulations from the Beiler brothers and their wives, and slightly more robust congratulations from Clayton's six sisters and their husbands and older children. Maisie looked on him with far too much concern, and Joan as well, for that matter. He could see in their eyes that they thought he was making a mistake. Katrina, the one sibling who foisted on him the least amount of unwanted pity for his condition, seemed genuinely happy for him. His three other sisters wore expressions too difficult to read. All of them knew Miriam was carrying a baby that wasn't his. And all of them knew Norman and Abigail Beiler had asked Clayton if he would marry their daughter and that he had agreed.

The wedding meal was by design smaller and less elaborate than those held after fall weddings, but Clayton found himself enjoying it more this way. After a while, even Miriam seemed to relax and act like herself, though he noticed she barely touched her roasted chicken and didn't even sample the sweets and cake and other desserts that came later. He told himself that her appetite had waned because of the baby or maybe just the excitement of the day. What he wouldn't allow himself to think, no matter how many times his mind tried to go there, was that she wasn't eating because the very thought of being Mrs. Clayton Raber was making her physically ill.

Eventually, he excused himself and slipped away, needing to get some air and a little peace and quiet to process his thoughts. The meal was being served
out on the lawn, so he went around to the front door of the Beilers' home and managed to slip in without being seen by anyone in the kitchen. Stepping into a small side room, he lowered himself onto a nearby chair, leaned his head back against its padded upholstery, and closed his eyes.

Thankfully, the room was silent and still, and for a long moment he just allowed himself to grasp the fact that he was married—
married
—and not only that, but to the woman of his dreams.

Lord, is this why You didn't answer my prayer to take away my feelings for Miriam? Because You knew that eventually I would find myself in this position?
After a long moment, a wide grin spread across Clayton's face as he added,
Thank You, God, for always knowing and doing what is best. Amen.

He opened his eyes but remained where he was, listening to the sounds of distant laughter and chatter and clinking of silverware and dishes coming through the open windows from outside. Several rooms away, he could also hear a few women in the kitchen, clanking and banging and chatting, but even their noises were distant and muffled. It wasn't until he was about to get back up and rejoin the crowd that he realized someone was coming his way, two voices engaged in conversation, the sound growing louder the closer they came. With his bad leg, he couldn't exactly slip out gracefully, sight unseen, and his mind raced as he tried to think of how he could explain his presence in here when everyone else—including his beautiful new bride—was out there.

Fortunately, just as the two interlopers reached the room where he was sitting, they stopped short, slid open a closet just inside the doorway, and began pulling out boxes and checking their contents. It was two teenage boys, and from the sound of things, Clayton decided they had been sent here on a hunt for more drinking glasses, though so far all they were coming up with were extra tablecloths and silverware.

The boys were perhaps ten feet away from where Clayton sat, but they were so absorbed in their task—and their conversation—that they didn't even notice him. He decided to remain still until they were gone, hoping they would never even realize he was there.

Clayton couldn't remember the boys' names, but they were Miriam's nephews and cousins to each other. Maybe fourteen or fifteen, they were both on that narrow precipice between child and adult, where they could be admiring a girl one minute and catching crawdads the next.

At first, Clayton didn't pay much attention to their conversation itself. He
was more focused on the cracking of their adolescent voices as they talked. But then he heard one of them—the gangly one, all joints and long limbs—say something that made him start: the words “pity marriage.”
Pity marriage?
Had the kid really said that?

He must have, because the other boy immediately shot out a forceful “
Shhh!
”

“Well, that's what they're calling it,” the first one objected, his voice defensive but not quite as loud. “Everyone knows it's true.”

Clayton sat there, completely still, expecting the blood to begin boiling in his veins. But instead he found an odd calmness falling over him, as if he'd finally discovered the cure for his own insecurities. Yes, he may be a monster and a freak to the rest of the world—a man to be married only out of pity, never love—but at least Miriam Beiler had thought enough of him to unite her life with his. Necessary or not, that still said something, that perhaps he wasn't completely worthless after all. If these families gathered here today considered it a pity marriage, then that was their problem. One of the things he'd always loved most about Miriam was that she'd never ever once pitied him. And hers was the only opinion that mattered now.

Clayton was pondering these things when he noticed that the room had grown silent, and when he looked over at the boys, he realized they had spotted him. They were both frozen in their tracks, eyes wide, boxes in their arms and fear on their faces.

“Hey, Clayton. Been there long?” one of them squeaked.

He hesitated, wondering if he should let them off the hook or not. Perhaps not, he decided, given their ages. Perhaps it was time they learned to act a little more like men.

“Why do you ask?” he replied, sitting up in his chair and fixing his gaze on them.

The boys shared a glance but didn't reply.

“Are you afraid I might have overheard what you said? Because I did. And you should not have said it.”

The primary offender swallowed hard. “I didn't mean it.”

Clayton took in a breath and let it out slowly. “Didn't mean
what
? That your aunt married me out of pity?” he growled.

The second boy shook his head and blurted out, “We weren't talking about
you.
”

Clayton's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

That kid glanced at the other and then back at Clayton. “We were talking about her. Miriam.
You
married
her
out of pity. Because of… Well, you know. Somebody had to do it.”

And there it was, the familiar anger that began coursing through Clayton's veins. How dare these children speak of Miriam that way? How dare they speak of her at all? His head filling with a roaring sound, Clayton rose from the chair and took a wobbly step toward the boys, fists clenched at his sides. He knew full well how menacing his features could seem, especially when he was angry, and he used that to his advantage, leaning in close and speaking in a tightly controlled whisper through teeth clenched with rage.

“Don't you
ever
talk about my wife like that again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir—”

“Is something wrong here?”

The words came from someone else, and Clayton looked up to see the gangly one's father hovering in the doorway.

“Yes, there's something wrong here,” Clayton snarled. “Your son is repeating things he shouldn't say, things he probably overheard from someone else.”

The man's face hardened, but before responding, he patted the boys on the shoulders and told them to take out the glasses and that he would handle things here.

They didn't have to be told twice. Once they were gone, the man—his name was Perry, Clayton remembered, and he was Miriam's oldest brother—crossed his arms over his chest and suggested that Clayton calm down. But he said it in such a composed, condescending tone that it only made Clayton more furious.

“Calm down? Miriam is my wife. You and the rest of this family will speak of her with respect!”

Perry exhaled slowly, as if he found Clayton's anger tedious or boring. “What did my son say that has you so upset?”

At least Clayton had the presence of mind to lower his voice before giving his reply. “He called this a ‘pity marriage,' implying I married Miriam out of pity because of her… condition.”

From the guilt that flashed briefly across the man's features, Clayton knew exactly where the term had originated.

“Well, it's not being completely disrespectful if the kid's just stating the facts.”

Behind Perry, several faces appeared, nosy women from the kitchen who had come to see what was going on.

“Take it back!” Clayton growled. Party noises outside the window became quiet as those nearby strained to listen.

“Oh, come on,” Perry growled back. “I'm just telling you like it is. There is nothing to be celebrated about
this
wedding. Nothing. It's a joke.”

“Perry, I will not tolerate you speaking to Clayton that way.” Abigail pushed her way into the room past a trio of women. “If you only knew what this young man has done for your sister—”

“Abigail,” Clayton faced his new mother-in-law, his gut clenched with apprehension, “you don't need—”

“Let me get this straight,” Perry interrupted him. “The way you see it,
Mamm
, Clayton Raber is the
hero
in all this?”

“He… yes. Yes, he is,” Abigail stammered. “You
know
the child's not his, Perry,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

The man turned to Clayton, shaking his head. “Well, you sure got the better end of that deal, didn't you? It's a perfect arrangement! She's desperate for a husband, you're desperate for a wife, so why not throw it all together and slap marriage vows on it?”

Clayton's anger slowly drained from his body, and in its place shame flooded inside, more for Miriam's sake than for himself.

The thing was, as cutting and inappropriate as his new brother-in-law's words were, they held a few kernels of truth. Miriam had been in need of a name. Clayton had been in want of a wife. But the part Perry left out, the part he didn't know, was the only part that mattered. Clayton
loved
Miriam. And someday, God willing, she would come to love him in return.

T
WENTY

I
should have warned you about my brother,” Miriam said later as she and Clayton stood in the driveway and waved to their last departing guest. “I sometimes forget he was already grown and gone when my parents and I moved here, so you never got to know him. He's always been like that.”

As the last buggy went down the hill and out of sight, Miriam's hand dropped to her side, and for a moment Clayton considered taking it in his. But he refrained, not just because public displays of affection—even for a brand-new husband and wife—weren't common among the Amish, but also because he couldn't be certain Miriam would find such an action comforting.

At least the scene with Perry had ended about as well as could be expected. Among those who had heard the argument via the open windows had been the minister who had conducted the ceremony. As soon as things began heating up, he had gone out and retrieved Uriah from the tables in the yard and filled him in, and the bishop had immediately taken the situation into hand.

Uriah had told everyone to calm down and then he addressed them all as a group. His voice even and calm, he said that whatever may or may not have taken place prior to this marriage had been confessed and repented in private with church leaders, and that was sufficient given the
Ordnung
and its rules regarding nonmembers.