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  “I’ve been workin’ hard for Dat, saving up for our rent and a deposit on a small house once we’re married.” Titus’s face lit up at the telling. “We’re talkin’ about partnering at some point.”

  Maybe that’s why his Mamm wants us to live there for the first weeks of our marriage, she thought. Could that be? She pondered this as the parent sponsors called for the last half of the Singing to begin.

  After riding around Hickory Hollow for a while with Cousin Alma and Danny Lapp, Sylvia was delighted to be alone with Titus. He had been discreet about reaching for her hand earlier, but now that it was just the two of them, he slipped his arm around her, inching her closer as they rode along. “You seem happier tonight,” he said, kissing her cheek.

  She nodded, delighted by his affection.

  Titus talked animatedly about their “wunnerbaar-gut future together,” and when they came within a quarter mile or so of Sylvia’s house, he slowed the horse to a walk and let the driving lines lie across his knee.

  Turning to face her, he whispered in her ear, “Ich liebe dich, Sylvie. You know that, don’t ya?” Then, looking deep into her eyes, he moved closer and kissed her.

  The moment in his arms was so blissful, every care seemed to vanish.

  Our first kiss! she thought, wishing he might kiss her again, but he nuzzled his nose against her cheek instead.

  Then, picking up the driving lines, Titus signaled the horse to a trot.

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about us staying with your parents after we’re married, before we move into our own place,” she said.

  “Are ya havin’ second thoughts ’bout that?”

  “Well, only that it’s not what I’d expected.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Still, this is what my Mamm expects. And what can it hurt? The main thing is that we’ll be together.”

  She was puzzled by the dynamic between Titus and his Mamm. Why doesn’t he ask what I want?

  He changed the subject and talked about the kind of farmer he believed he would be, having been influenced heavily by his father’s work ethic and wisdom all these years. But even as he rambled on about his future dream of running his Dat’s big farm on his own someday, she stewed.

  “I’m wonderin’ what you’d say to this,” she said, disrupting his topic of conversation.

  “Sorry?”

  “Will we always live according to what your family . . . well, your Mamm wants?” For some reason, just getting the question out winded her.

  “I just think it will make her happy to have us there,” Titus said slowly. “And I want to do the right thing by my parents.”

  But what if that means ignoring Amish tradition?

  Much as she disliked the idea of departing from the norm, she did not say more about it, but when it came time to step out of his courting buggy, the memory of his fervent kiss earlier had started to fade.

  All during the next day, Sylvia recalled the strain between her and Titus last night. She felt it while she was cooking with Mamma and cleaning upstairs, and while picking strawberries with her brothers. Titus’s desire to stick up for his Mamm’s wants and expectations made her uneasy.

  Late that evening, after Sylvia had gone to her room and was in her duster, she heard the tapping of pebbles on her window and looked out. Below, she saw Titus with a flashlight, motioning for her to come down and talk to him.

  Raising the window, she poked her head out and said she would be down shortly, then closed it and pulled down the shade to dress. Fortunately, she had not taken her hair down, which made it possible for her to be presentable much more quickly.

  What’s he doing here? she wondered, rushing to pin her long apron over her dress.

  When she met him out in the side yard, he asked if she’d take a walk with him. And, curious to know what was on his mind, she agreed, and they headed toward the meadow, out behind the barn.

  “Since your Dat’s goin’ to Maryland, you know about the need for workers to help down there,” Titus began.

  “Jah, they’re leavin’ tomorrow morning,” she said, curious why Titus was bringing this up.

  “So, I got to thinking and decided to go, too. We could put the money to gut use, toward getting our own place.”

  He must be thinking that I’m not keen on staying at his parents’ home as newlyweds.

  “That’s fine,” she told him. “And it’ll give you the chance to spend some time with your future father-in-law.”

  Titus laughed. “I’ll enjoy that, for certain.”

  They walked a bit farther, Titus reaching for her hand. “I’ll miss ya, Sylvia,” he said. Then, stopping, Titus kissed her, but she only let him once.

  “I’ll miss ya, too,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Three

  Following breakfast the next morning, while Earnest was still sitting with his family at the table, he read a short psalm, then bowed for silent prayer before leaving for Maryland.

  Young Tommy seemed to take his leaving the hardest, staring over at Earnest, then coming to sit on his knee. Rhoda seemed unfazed, however, and who could blame her?

  Oh, but it pained him to leave her when she was still sorting through all this. Even so, he couldn’t have known this chance for extra work and money was coming—the timing of the construction job seemed providential in more than one way.

  When Earnest signaled the end of their silent prayer, he said good-bye to each of the children, then to Rhoda, reaching gently to hug her as they all stood. He was thankful she did not stiffen in front of the family.

  Sylvia inched back, as if worried he might approach her with a personal good-bye or a verbal reminder to keep quiet. Though this filled him with regret, he was mindful to spare her that.

  Then, clearing his throat, he picked up his suitcase and headed out the back door as soon as the passenger van pulled up. “I’ll be home before you know it!” Earnest called to them where they lined up on the porch.

  Sylvia was standing next to her Mamma, her mouth turned down, as low in spirits as Earnest had ever seen her.

  Just then, Tommy broke away and dashed down the steps, running to him and squeezing him around the waist. “I wish I could go, too,” he said, looking up at Earnest.

  “When you’re older, son.”

  A smile spread across Tommy’s face as he nodded, eyes brightening.

  “I’ll be in touch very soon, dear,” Earnest said now, looking at Rhoda, who offered a restrained smile as she raised her hand in a delicate wave.

  The next day, and the next, Sylvia juggled her chores with customers dropping by to look at her father’s beautiful clocks. And fourteen-year-old Connie Kauffman came in a pony-drawn cart with her little wind-up clock, too. Sylvia assured her that she would have her father look at it as soon as he returned from Maryland.

  “Titus went, too,” she said with a little grin. “Did ya know?”

  Sylvia merely smiled, not letting on that her big brother had been over here fairly late the night before he left.

  “I know yous are engaged,” she whispered, “so you can tell me.”

  “Jah, your brother told me” was all she said before showing Connie around the shop.

  Connie seemed drawn to the large grandfather clock in the corner. “Oh, would that ever look nice in our front room!” she exclaimed. “I’ll tell Mamm ’bout it.”

  “It’d be a wunnerbaar-gut present for Christmas, maybe,” Sylvia said, thinking how surprised and pleased her father would be if she managed to sell it while he was away.

  “Wish I had enough money saved up to buy it for her,” Connie said, her smile showing her dimples.

  “Well, even if ya don’t now, someday you might—it’s an expensive piece, ya know—and my father’s always building new and different clocks. You could even custom order one years from now, or decide on something more affordable.”

  Connie looked at her. “You’re so nice, Sylvie.” She grinned. “Okay if I call ya that, too? Titus says it’s
your nickname.”

  “Of course.” She had to smile at Connie’s adorable manner.

  “Titus took stamps along with him, by the way.”

  “Did he, now?”

  Connie nodded. “I wonder who he plans to write to.” She let out a little giggle.

  Thinking of Dat just then, Sylvia wondered if he’d taken along some stamps, as well. It made her feel sad again, thinking about her parents so far apart for the next two weeks.

  Earnest, Titus, and four other men from Hickory Hollow attended the gathering that Sunday morning in the front room of the rented house where they were staying. Loveville, Maryland, was Old Order Mennonite territory, so there were no Amish districts to join in worship on this fine Lord’s Day. However, Earnest had heard numerous horse-drawn carriages on the back roads that morning, a few even before sunrise. The familiar sound reminded him of spending time with Papa and Grammy Zimmerman not far from there.

  Three different men took turns standing before them to read passages from the Good Book. They also sang from memory the familiar Ausbund hymns—the songs of the seventeenth-century Anabaptist martyrs—and later knelt to pray.

  The impromptu service was altogether unlike the ones that took place back home in Hickory Hollow, but it was an assembly to honor God, and Earnest didn’t mind at all the shortened version. He had yet to do a thorough job of making things right with the Lord, but he had tried in his fumbling way.

  The memory of seeing his wife’s small hand waving so slightly to him as he left last Tuesday played repeatedly in his mind. But he struggled with any real sense of repentance. It seemed downright dishonest, considering that nothing had been resolved.

  Later, following a hearty meal, Earnest took out his lined tablet and began to write to Rhoda in the privacy of his room. He hadn’t written to her since they were courting, and close as they had always been, it felt strange to do so now. Even so, he wanted to keep in contact with her, in large part because he was concerned about her. So he wrote about the trip there and described the jovial farmer who was renting the large Dawdi Haus to all the Hickory Hollow men. The farmer, he’d come to realize, was his great-uncle Martin Zimmerman, a retired Mennonite preacher and the younger brother of Earnest’s beloved grandfather. What a small world, indeed! And he wrote that the men’s meals were being provided, too, at no extra charge.

  Meanwhile, Titus Kauffman was off exploring the area with a few other young men, eager to get back to work tomorrow on the rebuilding. Earnest had been a bit leery about Titus coming, but what Titus didn’t know about Earnest’s past would never hurt him.

  A few days passed, and Rhoda made a point of making a special dessert for Sylvia and the boys—a lusciously moist and sweet bread pudding—and she was already planning to bake a two-layer carrot cake with a thick buttercream frosting for next Saturday.

  The early strawberries were ripening fast now, which meant Rhoda had no trouble keeping busy. There was more fruit than what was needed for making oodles of jam to store down cellar, so there was plenty to sell. Sylvia and Ernie took turns tending the roadside stand, and the sight of Sylvia out there reminded Rhoda of the first time she’d ever laid eyes on charming Earnest. Such happy, happy days, she thought.

  A letter from Earnest arrived, and with him working such long hours in Maryland, she was surprised he was able to make time to write. The letter primarily seemed like a chronicle of his days, but what she found most interesting was the fact that the men were staying next door to Earnest’s own kin. “What a surprise,” she murmured, wondering if Earnest had ever kept in touch with that relative.

  It surprised Earnest how quickly he and Great-uncle Martin Zimmerman had reconnected. Every other night or so, Earnest found himself drawn to go over and talk with the former minister who’d served the horse-and-buggy Mennonites in the area.

  So far, Earnest had managed not to divulge to Martin the specifics of his past life before he became Amish, and it didn’t seem that the man knew about his short-lived marriage, either. He’d explained his attraction to the Hickory Hollow community only in terms of wanting a simpler life—one like his Zimmerman grandparents had—so much so that he’d been willing to leave behind his so-called “fancy ways.”

  To this, Martin smiled and tugged on his tan suspenders. “After all this time, I just assumed you vanished into thin air,” he said, sitting and rocking there in the front room, the windows all raised to let in the sultry evening breeze.

  “It felt like that to me, too, for a while,” Earnest admitted. “I have a daughter and four sons,” he said, changing the subject. “Sylvia is the firstborn.”

  Martin asked how he liked being Amish.

  “It hasn’t been the easiest thing I ever set out to do.”

  “Well now, I wasn’t askin’ that,” Martin said, glassy eyes scrutinizing him.

  Earnest sighed. “Actually, I’ve had some very good years.”

  “And now?”

  Not wanting to talk about his and Rhoda’s current circumstances, he simply said, “I made some terrible mistakes, and they’ve caught up with me.”

  Martin nodded, rocking slower now. “We’ve all done that, to be sure, but thankfully there is a Savior . . . waiting to forgive.” He ran his stubby fingers through his silky white beard.

  Forgive? How do I forgive myself, Earnest thought, when my family continues to suffer? And there’s no end in sight?

  Martin stopped rocking. “I s’pect you’re cautious about opening up to someone like me . . . Mennonite that I am.”

  Smiling, Earnest recalled how frank Papa Zimmerman’s younger brother could be sometimes. “I’ve never been one to talk much about how I feel,” he acknowledged.

  “That must run in the family,” Martin replied with a quick smile. “Though it must’ve skipped your Papa, ’cause he was one talkative fella.”

  Earnest remembered. “I miss him and Grammy all the time.”

  “Say, would ya like to go and see where they’re buried while you’re here? I’d be glad to hitch up and take ya over there. Just say when.”

  “Would you?” Earnest was truly touched. “Denki, Martin . . . Uncle Martin, I should say.”

  “Ach, I’m too old for such formalities. Just call me Martin, or Preacher. Whatever suits ya.”

  When Earnest said good-night and walked back to the Dawdi Haus, he realized how much better he felt. Spending time with Martin seemed like a godsend after losing touch with his family so long ago.

  Sylvia was pleased to see not just a letter from Titus in the mailbox, but one from Dat for Mamma, and she ran up the driveway, waving both envelopes as she rushed into the house.

  Mamma didn’t look as excited as Sylvia felt when she went into the spare room down from the kitchen and sat on the bed to open her letter. She began to read:

  Dear Sylvie,

  How are you? I imagine you’re busy picking early strawberries and selling at a good price—the first pickings are always best!

  Here, we’re making good headway on the horse stable I’ve been working on with your Dat. Like you said, he’s pretty quiet, but I like partnering with him in this project. I know I’ve said this before, but I can’t tell you how honored I feel that someday he’ll be my father-in-law. Most people can’t make the leap from being fancy to Plain, at least not with much success. He’s a very good man, indeed.

  Sylvia stopped reading and groaned. Titus can never know the truth, she thought, almost wishing she hadn’t received this letter. It stirred up all the turmoil she’d experienced before Dat left.

  She read on, more reluctantly now, and discovered that Titus had welcomed the change of scenery but felt bad about leaving his father with so much of the farm work. While here, I’ve thought about what you said—about our first weeks as newlyweds, Sylvia. I’m trying to work through that in my mind . . . how to please my parents and you, my fiancée. I hope you can understand, and maybe this time apart will give us both a chance to contemplate all of this.

  Sylvia
was glad he couldn’t see her grimace as she finished reading, then folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Wondering, then, if Mamma’s response to Dat’s letter was more positive, Sylvia leaned back on the bed and prayed for God’s will to be done between her parents. And for Titus and me, she added, more unsure than before. Could she trust Titus to take her side, once they were wed?

  ———

  Rhoda had taken her letter from Earnest outdoors, and there she sat on one of the several rockers, reading the account of her husband’s frequent visits with his elderly relative, a former Mennonite preacher, of all things.

  Is Earnest seeking counsel from him? Connected as she was to her husband, she felt as if her life was spinning out into unfamiliar realms . . . out of control even further. She had no idea how to reel things back in. Oh, to look through innocent eyes at the Earnest I once knew! she thought. I loved him so dearly then. Can I love him that way again?

  As the days passed and more letters came, Rhoda began to piece together that Earnest was, undeniably, receiving spiritual guidance from his great-uncle, though without exposing his past, or the pact he’d made with Rhoda to keep silent.

  She was relieved that Earnest had someone to talk to, as much as he surely missed Mahlon Zook. But even though she thought it was good of him to write, Rhoda did not take time to pick up pen and paper and reply. What would I say?

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Four

  Wednesday morning, after the house was cleaned, Rhoda took herself off to visit Ella Mae. Since Earnest had been writing about talking with Preacher Martin Zimmerman, Rhoda, too, wished she could take some time to do the same here with the Wise Woman, before Earnest was to return this coming Friday.

  Or is it too risky? she wondered. Even with Ella Mae? But no, if there was anyone she could trust, it was her dear friend.

  While Rhoda took a seat across the small table adorned with its pretty yellow rose place mats, she sipped iced peppermint tea and let her guard down a bit. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been cryin’ my eyes out lately.”