Along Wooded Paths Page 14

  “Marianna.” Kenzie cocked her head. “Why do you wear that Easter hat on your head?”

  Marianna held in her chuckle. She supposed Kenzie’s doll was talking to the big Marianna now.

  “Well, it’s called a kapp, and every woman in my family wears one.”

  “Is it to keep your head warm? To keep the snow from falling on your hair?”

  “No.” She patted her kapp. “It’s pretty thin material. It doesn’t really keep my head warm.” How could she explain that the kapp was a prayer veil? They were supposed to “pray without ceasing” and “wear a covering on their head when they prayed”—hence, the kapp.

  “It’s to make God happy.” Hopefully, that would suffice.

  Instead of seeming satisfied, Kenzie scowled. “My mama doesn’t wear one of those. Does that mean she makes God mad?” Kenzie put down her doll and looked at Marianna. From the serious look on her face, this conversation was no longer play.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Mama says we need to love Jesus to go to heaven. Do I need to tell Mama we need a kapp like that too?” Kenzie pointed. “A hat that doesn’t keep you warm?”

  Marianna studied the little girl’s face, and suddenly all she’d been taught seemed to shatter around her feet. Because she knew what she had to answer.

  “No, you can love Jesus and not wear a kapp.”

  All her life she’d been told her people were God’s chosen people, that following their ways was right and God was pleased by the way they lived. But did that mean that folks like Jenny or Kenzie had no way of pleasing God? Was the most she could ever offer them a few hours’ break and a piece of pie? But nothing to help with their eternal life?

  If they believed in Jesus, like Jenny had told Kenzie, wasn’t that enough?

  Marianna’s mind seemed as numb and heavy as the wet snow outside. She put down the doll. She no longer felt like playing.

  “Hey, Kenzie.” Marianna held out her hand. “I have an idea. Instead of playing dolls, why don’t we read some stories for a while.”

  “My Bible book?” Kenzie set her doll by the piece of pie and hurried to the living room, nearly tripping over an abandoned shoe.

  “Yes, your Bible book.” Marianna rose and followed. What stories did Kenzie’s book hold inside? She had a feeling there was more truth in those pages than she’d heard from the bishops—mainly teachings on dress, and buggies, and traditions.

  Marianna sat on the couch and Kenzie snuggled on her lap. A peace she hadn’t experienced in a while moved from her chest to her limbs. Maybe Marianna hadn’t come to Montana just to help her parents.

  Maybe she was here to reach out to those unlike her too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ben walked into the prayer meeting, his heart heavy. It still troubled him that he hadn’t been bold enough to tell Carrie that Marianna was Amish. And coming back to West Kootenai—to the simple way of life—made him realize what he’d been missing.

  Oh, he’d enjoyed being in the studio. He’d enjoyed dreaming with Roy, and brainstorming together to make his songs better.

  But he’d missed this. He’d missed . . .

  Home. If only he could hold on to how he felt here while he was with Roy. But it wasn’t easy. Sometimes . . . he felt like he changed when he was with Roy. Like he was giving up some part of himself to become successful.

  Ben sighed as he stomped the snow from his boots. It wasn’t that he’d done anything wrong. It wasn’t that he planned on going the wrong direction, to live the wrong type of life again. He understood the path—and its dangers. He’d been there—accustomed to the crowds, the praise, the fans. He’d had Carrie at his side and spent just as much time at her apartment as his. He remembered all too well what it was to strive for more and more, to try to do better every time. He’d wanted to reach the next level—only to find out that once he got there, that too gave him no satisfaction.

  Over the weekend he’d recorded his new song, and a few old ones he’d written that Roy wanted to give new life. Was he making the right decision? God gave him a gift—but was he using it in the right way? If he wanted to care and provide for a wife, he’d have to do more than drive people around and deliver furniture. The thing was, if Marianna didn’t fit in the Englisch world of West Kootenai, Montana, there was no way she’d fit in L.A., in a world of tour buses and recording studios.

  Yes, he was making changes to get what he wanted. He just wasn’t sure that what he wanted would fit with the changes he was making.

  “Ben, good to see you.” Ike approached and placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Heard you were out of town a few days. I was wondering if you would make it tonight.” Ike ran a hand down his smooth cheek, and Ben wondered why the man had never been married. Maybe he should talk to Ike about that.

  “I couldn’t miss it. This is where I get fueled up for the week.” Ben removed his ball cap and his jacket. “I did have a little work to do down in Kalispell, but nothing that would keep me away. I’d drive across the state for this. I need it. I need folks’ prayers tonight.”

  Ike nodded.

  “Well, Ben, it sounds like you’ve come to the right place.”

  Susan Carash reached her hand out for his coat. “Give me that snowy thing. I’ll hang it in the closet. Would you like some coffee? It’s decaf.”

  “Got any of the real stuff? After this I’m going to be up for a while.” Ben strode into the living room and took a seat on the empty sofa.

  “I can make some. Got work to do?” Susan closed the door to the coat closet.

  “Yeah, you could say that. More like just fiddling with my guitar.” Roy wanted a few more songs. He’d convinced Ben to just play around—to see what would come out. Ben told him he would, and that he’d return to Kalispell in a few days.

  As Ben watched the other folks show up and greet each other, his mind was on Roy’s statement that one more new song would finish off the project. Ben had tried to think of something on the drive up to West Kootenai, but there was no inspiration.

  Then, right before he got to the Carashes’ house, he’d driven by the Sommers’ place. A single lantern had hung in the living room, casting a soft glow through the windows. His stomach knotted as Ben pictured Aaron sitting in there with Marianna by his side. Even now the lump was still lodged in his throat, and he wished the coffee would come so he could swallow it down.

  Then, as softly as the snow falling on the window, words had come to him as he drove: “Sometimes light only shows me what I’m missing out on . . .”

  But by the time he’d parked in the Carashes’ driveway, he’d already nixed that idea. Light to him was God showing him how things truly were. It was darkness that hid things. Hid the truth. He didn’t like the idea of casting light in a negative way.

  More people piled in the house, all of them folks Ben knew. In addition to members of the Community Church he attended down the road, some Amish friends attended. Three families, with members of all ages, piled into the house—their cheeks especially rosy from the ride over. Some horses pulled buggies, others sleds. The men were the last to enter. They’d been outside tending to their horses in the new barn that the community had put up for the family.

  Ben remembered the fear in the Amish folks’ faces when they first started coming to the prayer meetings. Not only were they assembling with Englischers, but the Englischers were praying aloud—something not encouraged by the Amish. Thankfully the Amish continued to come back, hungry for the interaction. Hungry for the connection with God. The cold winter outside the door and windows might be harsh, but warmth and love filled the room.

  “Maybe the light’s showing what I need to see,” the words played through Ben’s mind. “It’s not what I’m missing, but what’s not to be.”

  He opened his Bible on his lap and pulled a pen from his flannel shirt pocket, writing down the words on an old church bulletin. Yeah, those words made more sense. They worked—not for his heart, but for the song. At least
it would give him something to play around with later.

  In addition to two sofas, numerous dining room chairs and folding chairs circled the room. Sarah Shelter, Marianna’s coworker, approached and sat in the chair closest to him.

  “Ben, good to see you. We’ve been missing you around the store.”

  “We?” He tucked his pen back in his pocket and closed his paper inside the Bible.

  “Me, the cinnamon rolls, and your favorite scrambled eggs.” Sarah chuckled.

  “Yes, well, I’ve been working in Kalispell.”

  “Good to know. Marianna’s been asking.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed. She studied his face as if waiting for a response. Ben did his best to hide his emotions.

  “Yes, well, she’s probably worried about anyone out there driving on those roads—with what happened to her friend Aaron.”

  “Ja, I’m glad he’s all right. Someone like Aaron is just who Marianna needs.”

  Sarah opened her own Bible on her lap and flipped through the pages. From the look in her eye it was clear she was trying to protect her friend. He would have laughed out loud if the room weren’t already quieting for their time of prayer. How could Sarah think it was right for an Amish family to sneak out like this—to meet with the Englisch and pray with them—and yet also believe that an Amish girl and Englischman falling in love was bad?

  “Welcome, everyone. It’s great to have you tonight. We can get started,” Devon Carash began. “Let’s start by asking God to bring to mind those who need prayer. You don’t need to state their need. You don’t even need to say their names aloud, but if you know someone who needs your prayers—your friendship—would you raise your hand?”

  Hands went up around the room. Some shot up like arrows, others tentative. Ben looked down at his Bible cover, considering all those with needs. Then, as he glanced up, a face formed in his mind’s eye. It wasn’t who he expected. Instead of Marianna . . . he saw Carrie’s face.

  Ben raised his hand. Devon looked to him and nodded, and he lowered it.

  As heads bowed to pray, Ben rested his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, and he pressed his fingertips into his forehead. Was he being sucked back into that relationship again? Carrie was beautiful, no doubt. She had everything going for her—her father’s money and her own personal drive. In Los Angeles she was never without friends, and while he liked that she volunteered to help with girls—something didn’t seem right. Even volunteering didn’t take up all of her day. Surely she didn’t spend the rest of her time just hanging out with her dad.

  So why is she really here? The question rose in his mind unbidden. He pushed away those thoughts and submitted himself to the fact that God wanted him to pray for her.

  She’s looking for something or waiting for something. Ben wasn’t sure which.

  As he thought about that, and as Devon began to pray for all the unspoken requests, Ben replayed the moments with Carrie in his mind. She’d been overjoyed to see him. She’d wanted to talk with him, cook for him. She’d smiled when she saw him, and talked with him—but what he saw in her eyes wasn’t attraction—well, at least not completely. It was safety. She felt safe with him there.

  Were there other things in her life that she felt were out of control and unsafe? Ben prayed there weren’t.

  Then, as they continued to pray, Marianna’s face came to his mind. Compassion moved from his heart to his lips. How hard it would be to explore a new relationship with God and be confronted with so many duties, so many questions about where life was headed. She must be confused. She was confused. She’d told him that—or had she? Maybe he’d just seen it in her eyes.

  He prayed for Marianna too. In silence. Other people prayed their prayers out loud. They prayed for children and parents and neighbors and friends. Still others read Scripture verses aloud, and as they did, God’s Word burrowed deep into Ben’s soul. One woman sang a song of praise, and though it wasn’t professional, it was beautiful.

  As the prayer meeting started winding down, a still small voice stirred:

  Just be a friend.

  It seemed too simple, but the words repeated.

  They both need a friend.

  It wasn’t until he was putting on his coat, preparing to head into the cold night, that Ben realized he hadn’t prayed for what he’d planned on praying for. He hadn’t prayed for his career. He hadn’t prayed for God to make him strong. He hadn’t prayed for a song.

  But that was okay. God knew his needs.

  He didn’t need to worry about who Marianna would choose. He didn’t need to worry if Carrie would ask more of him than he wanted to give.

  He’d be a friend and leave the results up to God.

  Dear Journal,

  I got scared today, real scared. It happened after I’d already gotten home. Jenny had been gracious enough to give me a ride home. She seemed rested and happy after her nap. I was able to clean up the house some, which I’m sure was a help, but mostly I just spent time with Kenzie.

  When Jenny dropped me off, I would have invited her in to visit, but Kenzie had fallen asleep in her car seat, and Jenny said she needed to get her home. The fear came when I walked into Mem and Dat’s home. They were just sitting down to chicken and dumplings, one of Mem’s favorite dishes to make for Dat. The boys had built a tower of blocks that I almost kicked over by accident when I entered the door. The house was warm and clean. There was laughter. Baby Joy was sitting on Mem’s lap smiling, capturing everyone’s attention. Aaron greeted me as I sat next to him with a squeeze on my hand. And then, as we bowed for silent prayer, fear splashed over my soul like a bucket full of ice water. I realized then that if things hadn’t changed so drastically I never would have understood what I had. More than that, I never would have understood what others didn’t have.

  Not once in my life before my move had I ever been in an Englisch person’s home, except for our neighbor down the road to use her phone. And for the most part that home had been exactly like ours. The same style. Clean and tidy. Sure, there were colored curtains and patterned dresses hanging on the line. There was a phone and electric lights and art hanging on the wall, but the difference wasn’t alarming.

  Yet being with Jenny today made me realize even more that the world is not like we know it. Sure, we hear stories. Our parents tell us what could happen, how we could end up if we leave our Amish ways, but I don’t even think they understand. Jenny’s not much older than me. She has a child. She has little money. Her house is cold. I shiver as I write those words. Not because I’m cold—although the woodstove downstairs is dying out and the draft is sure to come soon—but because I wonder how many Jennys are out there. I worry there is no one to care for them.

  Tears are coming now and I can’t explain it. All I wanted to do was marry Aaron Zook and live a simple life. Nothing about my life is simple now. Nothing will ever be simple again. For the rest of my days I’ll never forget walking through those doors, seeing the empty cupboards. I’ll never forget the stab of my heart when Kenzie asked if God thought her mama was bad because she didn’t wear a kapp.

  What if I’d never come here? I dragged my feet but still I came. What if I leave? Will anyone understand if I try to tell them? Or will they protect their ears as they gather their families close and keep the Englisch world far away.

  I wonder what Levi sees. My brother has lived in the Englisch world longer than me. When I talked to him about just wanting to marry Aaron and make a home, what had he been thinking? Did he wish he could take me by the hand and show me what I didn’t yet know? Or did he secretly wish he could return to the place of innocence? Did he envy me?

  This makes me think of my own siblings. David’s nearly thirteen, and before I know it the other kids will be at their rumspringa too. Will they, like me, already have their minds set on the Amish way or like Levi will they feel like they never belonged and leave all they know?

  I can’t decide what I’d rather have for them. Would I rather have them only hold memories of
the Amish world deep inside? Or would I rather have them know—know and understand heartache, cold, and pain? Do I want them to meet a Jenny and a Kenzie and understand the world in new ways? Understand God in a new way? I’m not quite sure.

  What does Aaron think of it all? At dinner as I shared about my day, I saw him squirm in his seat. Does he worry about me spending too much time with people not our own? Maybe it was just the pain in his leg that made him fidgety, but for some reason I do not think Aaron would do well in the same situation as I faced today. In fact, I don’t know what he’d think of Jenny, a woman with a baby with no husband around. My gut aches now, something else to add to my tears. It aches because the knowing makes me realize that even though reading Bible stories to one child is a start, there are far too many cupboards sitting empty this night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Climbing the store’s back set of stairs that Ben had finished building a little over a month before the snow started to fall, Marianna pulled a set of keys out of her pocket, lifting them to the porch light.

  As she moved the key to the handle, the door popped open. Marianna jumped back.

  “Marianna, come outta the cold, wouldja?” Sarah called in her familiar lilt.

  “What are you doing? I thought I was on the first shift.”

  “Ja, ja”—Sarah wiped her hands on her apron—“but I got me a ride. Jenny found me shivering, walking in the cold, and brought me in. Maybe we shoulda gone hunting the snow drifts for you too.”

  “Jenny?” Marianna scanned the dining room, then the kitchen. “Is she here? Is she already at work?”

  “Oh no. Today’s the day Kenzie was going to stay with her grandmother in Eureka. Jenny had to drive her there before work.”