Along Wooded Paths Page 9

  “She’s been here a few months, but that’s not why you came. Why don’t you get your guitar and bring it into the studio? I wanna see if you still got what it takes, kid.” Roy rose and rubbed his hands together. “And more than that, I always like a new project to dig my hands into.”

  Dear June-Sevenies,

  It seems the older we get, the longer it takes for our letters to get around. We used to think we were busy with school and chores but tending to homes and families—and jobs like I have—seem to be more work, don’t they?

  Maybe we’ll get back into schedule once the corn is harvested, the silos are filled, and the fieldwork has come to a close for all of you. Of course, here in Montana they run by a different schedule. Outdoor logging has slowed, but this just means the men have moved inside to their workshops. Dat and Uncle Ike have been building log homes. They took a break from that to make crutches for Aaron.

  Ja, ja, by now I’m sure all of you have heard of Aaron’s accident. Dat said it was published in The Budget. He’s mending on our sofa, and I do enjoy having him around. I won’t say no more than that. A lady never confesses the secrets of her heart.

  I wish I could describe what Montana is like. My words fail greatly. Enclosed with my letter is a postcard from the West Kootenai store. It’s a good shot of the mountains with snow, but the photo doesn’t do the area justice. Maybe next time ’round I’ll ask Aaron to sketch an image of the sky. I truly understand what this Scripture means, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge” (Psalm 19:1–2 NIV). The air is crisp and bright. Some days when I walk to work I’m sure I could reach out and tap it then watch it splinter into a thousand pieces like fragile glass.

  As for work, I like it greatly. There’s another Amish girl who’s a friend and an Englischer, but I don’t know her too well. Jenny is not much older than me and has a daughter of age four. She seems to have many needs, like a good winter’s coat, and I hope I can be of service. Did the Lord not say to help our neighbor? In these parts she’d qualify for that.

  Sending all my love and soon-to-come Thanksgiving wishes,

  Marianna

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jenny brushed her blonde hair from her brow with the back of her hand. “I’ve always wondered what it was like—to grow up in a home like yours, with a mother and a father. Hearing laughter.”

  Marianna paused rolling out the dough for the biscuits and glanced over at Jenny. It was early morning and their first customer hadn’t arrived yet.

  The girl’s statement was heartbreaking, but the way she said it—well, she spoke as simply as if she’d just told Marianna what she’d eaten for breakfast.

  “There was no laughter in your home?”

  “Sometimes, but not often.” Jenny blew a puff of air up toward her bangs, blowing them out of her eyes. She wore her hair up in a scarf—Annie always demanded hair be tied back in the kitchen—but a few strands of hair had slipped out.

  “That’s why I’m trying to make things different with Kenzie. There was more shouting than anything—my folks arguing about things that happened years before. They divorced when I was ten. I don’t think either of my parents knows what it means to forgive. Sometimes I wish I’d grown up Amish. I see the families that come in here. They care for each other. They smile . . .” She shrugged. “Like yours. I hope someday I’ll have a family like that.”

  “You have to know that we’re not perfect. It’s harder for some than others, but we try to obey God by caring for others.”

  “And when someone does something wrong . . . do you just forgive? Does it come as easily as it seems?”

  The way she said it, Marianna was sure Jenny thought of a specific thing. Did the young mom have someone she struggled to forgive? Kenzie’s father perhaps, whoever he was.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘just’ forgive. It’s a process. We confess our wrong. We try to understand the other’s point of view.”

  “And your parents taught you that?” Jenny continued rolling out her dough, trying to get it into the shape and thickness Marianna had shown her.

  Marianna had to think about that one. “Forgiveness wasn’t something my parents talked about. It was something they lived. Or at least tried to. I can’t really remember a time when I didn’t know that’s how I was supposed to act.”

  Marianna wanted to share more, but something inside kept her from opening up completely. And she knew what it was, much to her shame. She hated to admit it, but ever since Jenny had jabbered on about Ben in front of Sarah, she’d kept the young woman at arm’s length. Oh, she’d been nice enough. She’d carried on conversations and helped train her to the best of her ability, but deep down Marianna held back. She replayed everything in her mind before she spoke, making sure she wasn’t giving Jenny fuel to say more about her and Ben.

  Jenny picked up the biscuit cutter and started cutting circles in the dough. “You may not know, but I’ve been trying to do that, to model myself after you, Sarah, and Annie. Even before I started working here.”

  “Really?” Marianna glanced at the young woman, and the wall she’d built around her heart crumbled slightly.

  “Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to dress like you, but I try to smile when people talk to me, and after seeing you in the store speaking with such kindness to your younger siblings, I don’t yell at Kenzie as much as I did.”

  Marianna didn’t know what to say. Her heart warmed. Her hands stilled. She attempted to swallow down the shame, but it stuck in her throat. What if the situation were reversed? Would she have been willing to admit her faults so freely? Would she have been willing to look around for someone to model herself after and then work to do just that?

  Marianna took some of the dirty pots to the sink and ran water to let them soak, and out of the corner of her eye she watched Jenny work. As she watched, her heart softened like butter in a skillet. Jenny had been raised in a home very different from her own. She most likely didn’t understand how to hold back words or consider the feelings of others. It amazed Marianna that she’d been a model for someone. It made her want to do more for the young woman than just enough to prove oneself civil.

  Jenny finished cutting the biscuits, lifted them off the breadboard, and placed them on the cookie sheet to bake. They looked pretty good. Jenny was a quick study.

  “Like yesterday.” Jenny situated the biscuits on the cookie sheet so they were just the right distance apart. “I noticed Kenzie had torn the hem of her new shirt. I’d just bought it. It made me mad, but I didn’t yell like I would have before.”

  “Did you mend it?” Marianna turned back to her own dough. “I bet with a little mending it would be as good as new.”

  “Mending?” Jenny wrinkled her nose. “Like with a needle?”

  “Ja. What do you usually do with torn clothes?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Make Kenzie wear them that way. Either that or stuff them in the back of her closet.”

  Marianna nodded and smiled. This was a way she could help more. “If you like, I can help you with your mending. It’s really not a big deal. If you bring a garment each day, I could show you during a slow time—I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind.”

  “You would do that?” Jenny’s face brightened. “That’s so nice of you!” Then her eyebrows peaked. “But I don’t have a needle and stuff—”

  “Don’t worry. I have a small sewing box I could bring. In fact . . .” For a split second she’d been about to invite Jenny to the quilting circle. Then she remembered Jenny wasn’t Amish. She smiled at herself, not believing she’d almost made that mistake. Perhaps because most of her life she’d only been around Amish. Or perhaps because she was starting to see people as people. Marianna bit her lip. She wished she could invite Jenny, but the truth was she’d never seen a non-Amish person at the quilting circle. It would be awkward for everyone.

  “Were you going to say so
mething?” Jenny slid her sheet of biscuits into the oven.

  “Oh, I was just going to say that when Kenzie’s a little older I can teach her some simple stitching. I’ve already been thinking about starting with Ellie in the next year or so. Mem started training me when I was that age.” It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say, but it was a good idea.

  “That would be great. If you’re around, that is.” Even though they were the only two in the kitchen, Jenny leaned close and lowered her voice. “Everyone’s saying you might not be around in the spring, you know . . . since you might be returning to Indiana with Aaron.”

  “Everyone’s saying that?” Marianna folded her arms over her chest. Had Ben heard that too? If so, no wonder he’d been hanging around more lately—trying to get the facts for himself.

  “Yes, well I haven’t decided yet. And to tell you the truth I’m not going to worry about it. I’m gonna take one day at a time and jest enjoy my friends. I’m not committed to anyone, and I’m going to be thankful for those God has brought it my life.” Marianna’s heart settled as she said those words. She didn’t need to worry. She needed to remember that God would show her His truth, and His timing.

  “In that case, then, I have another request.” Jenny lowered her head and looked at her feet. “Would ya show me how to cook a turkey? I’d like to make one for Kenzie and me.”

  “Of course.” Marianna smiled. “I’d love to.” Thank heaven for the way she’d been raised—now more than ever. It wasn’t until she moved to Montana that she realized how blessed she was for her heritage.

  Then again. It wasn’t until she got here that she considered what it would be like to leave her Amish ways behind.

  Aaron squinted as he stared out at the sun’s reflection off the white snow. The brown of the tree trunks and deep green of the pine needles made the blue sky appear brighter.

  It was like the Bible story he’d learn as a boy, when Jesus brought sight to a blind man. Aaron understood the wonder of it now, more than he ever had. Looking out the window for the first time in weeks was like having new sight, and even though his leg ached he didn’t want to stop his staring.

  From his place on the sofa, the view out the window had only given him glimpses of the tops of trees set against the gray sky. Today, sitting next to the window, a completely different world radiated outside.

  His eyes scanned the panorama of snow, fields, mountains, trees. On a long branch that stretched over the barn two small finches danced and chattered, their song barely audible through the glass.

  “Charlie, can you help me out?” Aaron turned to the boy who was hobbling out of the kitchen after sneaking yet another cookie from the tin.

  Charlie glanced up, sheepish. “Sure.”

  “Could you fetch me my sketch pad? I left it in the top drawer of my dresser. And a pencil too?”

  Charlie nodded and hurried to Aaron’s room. Aaron could hear from the boy’s quicker movements that his leg was healing. Aaron only wished he would mend soon as well.

  Less than a minute later, Charlie emerged from the bedroom, sketchbook in hand. His eyes were fixed on the page in front of him. Aaron’s heart quickened. He’d sketched the picture last night before he put the book away.

  “Is this Marianna?” Charlie lifted his head and scrunched his nose, gazing at the sketch of a beautiful Amish woman sitting in a rocking chair before the woodstove.

  Aaron reached out his hand.

  “Oh, it’s just a picture . . . no one in mind.”

  Charlie paused and shook his head. “I’d think you’re fibbing yet. It is Mari. She always sits like that, and from her face it’s easy to see it’s her.”

  Aaron curled his fingers, giving Charlie the signal to bring the sketchbook closer. “Well, if I tell you it is, do ya promise to keep a secret?”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “Ja, I won’t tell.” He handed over the book and pencil and then smiled. “Are you fancy on her?”

  “Yes, Charlie, I am.”

  Charlie giggled. “You gonna marry her?”

  “I’d like to. I’m gonna ask, but you promise not to tell anyone, right?”

  Charlie bobbed his head. “I won’t tell.”

  Then he looked out the window and pointed.

  Aaron turned to look and saw that Marianna approached, her hands in her coat pockets, a smile on her face. She appeared to be enjoying the day. Aaron couldn’t stop from smiling too.

  “You gonna ask her now?”

  “No. I’m going to wait until the time is right.”

  Charlie’s brow furrowed. “I hope you don’t take too long. I’ve never kept a secret more than a few days afore.”

  Aaron shook his head and sighed, and then turned his sketchbook to a fresh page and began sketching the trees. “You have to, Charlie. I’m depending on you. It’s gonna take more than a few days. I guarantee that.”

  “But I don’t understand, why don’t you ask her now?” Charlie leaned his elbows on the window ledge. His breath fogged up the glass.

  “Well, I . . .” Aaron rubbed his temples. He’d planned on asking her quick like after he got here. He’d thought about it on the train ride over. He was going to spend time with her walking through the pines, and then he’d start giving her the letters he’d written over the months. They talked about his care more than he could speak. When he saw her response, well, then he’d know for sure. Then he’d be willing to risk his heart.

  Now, of course, they couldn’t go on walks. He couldn’t even get all dressed nice for her. Even though he managed to wash up everyday, his hair stuck to his head and needed a good washing. But they had been spending time together. He smiled. Maybe he should start letting her read some of the letters anyhow. Charlie was right, why wait?

  “You know. I can’t tell you when it’s going to happen, but it’ll be before Christmas, for sure.”

  “Christmas!” Charlie sighed. “That’s forever long.”

  Aaron chuckled. He’d make his intentions known long before Christmas. He just wasn’t going to tell Charlie that. Let him think it would take longer. Aaron didn’t want anyone to expect it coming as soon as it was.

  Especially not Marianna.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Marianna glanced up at her house. Two sets of eyes and two handsome faces watched her from the window. Both guys wore smiles. Large smiles, like they were waiting for something or had a secret they were eager to share.

  She hurried up the steps and laughter poured from her as she stepped through the door. “Aaron, you’re up!”

  He sat in a chair by the window, his casted leg extended out in front of him. He had a proud and excited look on his face, like David’s face the first time he hitched up the buggy alone.

  “Ja, my leg’s feeling better. Doesn’t throb quite as much when I get up and hobble around.”

  Charlie stood by Aaron, his hand resting on Aaron’s shoulder. His eyes were large and round, like Annie’s cinnamon rolls.

  “So what are you doing, Charlie?” One of his hands was bent behind his back. Did he have something in it? He had a secret, she could tell.

  “You hiding something behind your back?” She took off her coat, hung it, then stepped forward and eyed him.

  Charlie shrugged. “Jest another pencil. Uh, Aaron wanted to draw. I got an extra.”

  Marianna looked down at the page in front of Aaron with the beginning sketch of trees.

  Something was up.

  Aaron took the extra pencil from Charlie. “Yup, it’s a beautiful day. I wanted to catch the light coming through the trees.”

  Marianna removed her boots. “Oh, okay.” The lightness in her chest fell. She’d thought sure they had some type of surprise. “Where is everyone?” She tilted her head and listened for footsteps upstairs.

  “David and Josiah ain’t home from school yet. Mem and the little kids went to Carashes’, down the road.” Charlie leaned against Aaron as he talked. They were so comfortable with each other. “Said they needed to ge
t out while the sun shined.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She sat down in a chair at the dining room table, waiting and watching. A minute passed and Aaron was still looking at the pencil and paper in his hands.

  Something was up.

  She straightened. “You going to finish that drawing?” Aaron glanced up, his cheeks slightly pink. “I was . . . but since you’re here. Well, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “I got washed up pretty good, but I’ve had a hard time with my hair. I can’t bend down enough to wash it in the sink with this cast and . . .”

  “You need me to wash your hair? Sure, I can do that.” Marianna stood, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest. She looked around. The bathroom would be out of the question. There wouldn’t be enough room for both of them and his cast. And the kitchen didn’t seem right. She thought about the bedroom, but that didn’t seem appropriate.

  “Why don’t you lie back on the couch and lay your head over the end. I can put a basin of water there.” She moved to the screened-in back porch, where they kept their laundry supplies, and got the basin she and Mem used to wash small items. By the time she returned, Aaron had used the handmade wooden crutches Dat had made to hobble across the floor.

  “I can help too!”

  “Good idea.” She smiled at Charlie, thankful he was here. If not . . . well, it would have been too easy to let her mind wander. To pretend this was their home—hers and Aaron’s—and that she was caring for her husband.

  “Charlie, why don’t you run to the bathroom and get the shampoo and a towel.”

  Marianna filled the basin and heated the water on the woodstove. When it had warmed enough, she set it on a chair that she’d pulled to the edge of the couch. Aaron lay on the couch on his back and hung his head over the end. He looked up at the ceiling and she knelt next to him.