Johanna's Bridegroom (13 page)

Why her and not me?
Johanna wondered. How was Miriam so wise in picking a husband? Johanna had been certain that Miriam was going to choose John Hartman. If anyone was reckless enough to marry out of the church and leave the faith, she would have expected it to be Miriam, not Leah.
It’s like
Grossmama
always says,
she mused.
Only God knows what’s in another person’s heart.

“Johanna?” Roland held out a hand.

“Coming.” She followed him, but didn’t take his hand. He strode off in the direction of the inlet, and she matched him step for step, the wind tearing at her bonnet until she untied it and wrapped the ribbons around her fingers. Removing the heavy bonnet was a relief. She stopped, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of salt in the air. “I love the ocean,” she said, opening her eyes again and looking up at Roland.

“I love you,” he said. Or...she thought he said it.

Johanna felt her cheeks grow warm, despite the cool breeze. “You shouldn’t say such things,” she admonished. “It’s not decent.”

“What things?” He arched a brow mischievously. “What did I say?”

“That...that you...” She broke off and looked away. What if she were wrong? What if she’d imagined it? She’d already asked him to marry her. What if he hadn’t said that at all and she called him on it? What kind of fast woman would she look like to suggest he’d...

“I’m teasing you, Johanna.” His face crinkled in a grin. “Are you having a good time today?” He began walking again and she did the same.

Safer ground
.
“Ya,”
she answered. “A wonderful time. The best day ever. The children—”

“Not the children.
You.
Are
you
enjoying yourself?” he demanded.

“I am.” She smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

The sound of the tide rushing through the inlet grew louder the closer they got, and the air felt cooler. Roland reached out and took her hand, and this time she didn’t protest. They reached the edge of the rocks, and he climbed up and helped her to a ledge where they had a better view of the dark, surging water. The giant boulder felt warm and solid beneath her, and she sat and curled her legs up under her skirt. Her dress was wrinkled but nearly dry.

They sat there, not speaking, her hand in his, with the sun on their faces and the powerful crash and curl of the inlet washing around them. It was Roland who finally broke the comfortable silence. “Well, Johanna Yoder. I’d say our courting is going pretty well, wouldn’t you?”

She threw him a look. “Who says we’re courting?”

“I do.”

“And you’re the judge of that?”

“I know you better than you think.”

She sniffed. “You, Roland Byler, are entirely too fond of your own ideas.”

“No argument. All I said was the truth. We’re courting. Everyone knows it. Even your mother knows it. You’re just too stubborn to admit when I’m right.”

“You’re saying I’m stubborn?”

He said nothing; he just looked at her.

She chuckled. “I suppose I am.” Her eyes narrowed. “But courting doesn’t mean marriage. I haven’t made up my mind yet, and until I do—”

“It’s because of what happened before, isn’t it? Because of what I did in Pennsylvania when I almost got arrested? How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t intend to—”

“Ne.”
She pulled her hand out of his. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not today. Don’t spoil it for me. Please don’t.”

“I just want you to understand that I—”

She put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Not another word about what happened in Lancaster or you can sit on this rock by yourself.”

“If you feel that way.” His shoulders stiffened.

“I do. I came to have fun, not to remember bad times.” She offered him a half smile. “We couldn’t have done anything today that would have made me happier.”

He nodded. “I’m glad.”

His features remained strained and she knew that she’d hurt him. She hadn’t wanted to...at least she hoped she hadn’t. This time, she was the one who reached out a hand. “I do love you, Roland.”

“Then you’ll be my wife?”

She looked at their hands clasped together. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to decide.”

“How long? When will you know?”

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I can’t say, Roland, but when I do decide, you’ll be the first one I tell.”

Chapter Thirteen

O
n Friday, Johanna sat on the grass by Roland’s pond, with J.J. beside her. It was midmorning, and the day promised to be another hot one, with no sign of rain, which the crops and gardens could all use. The sun was shining, and white, lacy clouds drifted lazily across a robin’s-egg-blue sky. Johanna and J.J. were watching the bees fly in and out of the new hive, while she shared some of the secrets of becoming a successful beekeeper.

Katy was spending the morning at Anna’s, playing with her girls, and Jonah perched a few yards away on the bank of the pond. He held a homemade willow-branch fishing pole and was concentrating on his bobber. The cork danced tantalizingly, but whenever he snatched on the line, nothing came up but an empty hook. “They keep stealing my bait,
Mam,
” Jonah protested. “I’ve only got two worms left.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll bet it’s just sunnies. I don’t think there are any big fish in here.”

“
Ya,
there are,” J.J. insisted. “
Dat
put baby bass in there a long time ago. Once he caught one this big!” He stretched his arms apart to show what Johanna thought must be an exaggerated size, even for a largemouth bass.

“I’m tired of fishing anyway.” Jonah dropped the fishing pole onto the grass. “I’m thirsty.”

“If you don’t want to fish anymore today, put those worms back in the garden,” Johanna instructed.

“
Mam,
I’m hot,” Jonah whined. “They’re just worms.”

“The Lord made them as He made you,” she said firmly, rising to her feet. “Wrap up your line and fasten that hook so you don’t lose an eye. And take the worms back where you dug them. Now.” She tugged the brim of her son’s hat down. “And your hat will do you no good if it doesn’t shade your face from the sun.”

“Do we have to leave?” J.J. asked. “I like watching the bees.”

“We do. I’m glad you’re learning about the bees, but it’s time we finished up our chores here and got back home.”

Today wasn’t Roland’s regular day at the horse farm, but someone had stopped by and asked him to replace a shoe on a three-year-old that was scheduled to race. He’d brought J.J. to
Mam’s
at 9:00 a.m. and asked Johanna if she could possibly watch J.J. for him. Naturally, she said she’d be glad to help. Roland was grateful, and it really was no trouble. She hadn’t planned much for the day, other than to help prepare food for Sunday. And J.J. was a sweet child, not nearly as mischievous as her Jonah. Since she’d been coming to Roland’s to tend this new hive, she’d been delighted to find J.J. so interested. She suspected that her earlier conclusions were true—Roland’s boy had a real love for bees and a God-given gift for understanding them.

Even if J.J. hadn’t shared her interest in bees, Johanna knew her heart would have gone out to him, as a poor motherless child. He had a father who loved him dearly, but the boy desperately missed his mother. He’d been young when Roland’s wife had died of complications of diabetes, but he had been able to talk. Roland said that for months, his son had asked for his
mam
and cried out for her in his sleep.

Nighttime, according to Roland, was still a difficult time for them both. J.J., easy in daylight, became fearful and needy once the sun went down. He often woke screaming from nightmares that he couldn’t remember. And now, by the way he followed her and clung to her skirt, J.J. was forming an attachment to her. She would have welcomed it, if she’d known for certain that she would become his mother. Another child would fit easily into her arms. But she was afraid that if she and Roland didn’t wed, J.J. would be hurt again. And this time, who knew how deeply the boy would be affected.

Johanna never used to think about the complications of relationships. Maybe living with Wilmer and seeing the results of a troubled mind every day had made her more sympathetic to the emotional needs of her family and those around her. Before she’d married, she’d often been impatient with what she felt was weakness, and she’d been inclined to tell those afflicted to “just snap out of it.” But, no more. J.J. was wounded. He didn’t have a broken arm that could be seen and easily mended. He had suffered a blow to his spirit.

It was true that Katy and Jonah had both lost their father when Wilmer took his own life. But, although Katy had adored her father, there had always been a distance between Wilmer and Jonah. Her son had often been the victim of his father’s outbursts, and no amount of persuading on her part had been able to soften Wilmer’s verbal attacks on the boy. Strangely, Wilmer’s death had caused Jonah’s personality to blossom. In weeks, she’d seen her little boy gain self-confidence. He’d begun to speak up, to try new tasks. As perverse as it seemed, Wilmer’s absence had brought happiness into Jonah’s life. As for Katy, nothing could squelch her merry spirit. She accepted life as it came and enjoyed every moment of every day.

At first, Johanna had worried that having J.J. spend so much time with them, as he had been lately, might spark jealousy. She’d watched Jonah carefully, afraid that he might not like sharing his mother with another boy. But what she’d feared hadn’t happened. Instead, Jonah fell into the role of big brother, and J.J. became the faithful pal.

There wasn’t much difference in the boys’ ages, but she’d tried to raise her children in the way that she’d been reared. Her parents had encouraged her and her sisters to be independent and to believe in their own ability to solve problems and be of help to the family. J.J.’s mother, Pauline, had kept him close, protecting—perhaps overprotecting—him and treating him as if he was younger than he really was. It had been a source of friction between Roland and his wife until her death, and something so obvious that others in the community, including Johanna and her sisters, had remarked on it.

Since Roland had become J.J.’s sole parent, both had had to make adjustments. As far as Johanna could see, Roland was a wonderful father, but it was obvious that he sometimes felt out of his depth. Children needed both a mother and a father.
Mam
was right. Roland needed to take another wife, and soon. She could be that wife...if only she could ease the uncertainty in her mind and her heart.

And she and Roland
were
courting.

He had pointed out the truth of that simple statement last Wednesday and, against her will, she’d had to admit that Roland was right. But she was still no closer to a decision on marriage. She’d enjoyed the day at the beach, even enjoyed kissing Roland more than she felt was decent, but she still felt so uncertain. Courting was a carefree time, a time for a boy and girl to learn more about each other and to learn to be at ease in each other’s company. But Roland was no stranger to her. She knew his strengths and his weaknesses. And, more importantly, she knew her own. So their courting was something different. For her, it was about whether or not she wanted to marry again.

Once she made a choice to marry Roland or to remain a widow, she would live with it. She’d already proved with Wilmer that she was capable of dealing with even the most difficult situations. But did she want to? Wasn’t it easier to simply step away from remarriage and build a life caring for her son and daughter, and helping her mother with dear Susanna? Wouldn’t God approve of that sacrifice? Her sister Ruth had once believed that singleness was the path the Lord had planned for her. But what if it wasn’t Ruth who was supposed to serve in that way? What if it was her?

Johanna had been praying for an answer every morning when she woke, and every night before she went to sleep. “Please, Lord, tell me what to do,” she pleaded. “Tell me what’s right for me, for Roland, for Katy and J.J. and Jonah. Give me the wisdom to know what you want of me.”

“
Mam,
I’m hungry.”

Jonah’s voice interrupted her reverie. “We’ll go to Aunt Anna’s,” she said. “She asked us to take the noon meal with her. Fried chicken and biscuits.”

“And blackberry pie,” J.J. said, reaching up to clasp Johanna’s hand. “Pie is my favorite.”

Johanna nodded. Feeding hungry children was something she knew how to do. Johanna had made four loaves of raisin bread early that morning. She’d brought one loaf and a quart of
Mam’s
chicken-corn soup and put them in Roland’s refrigerator for them to have for that evening’s supper. Whether or not she decided to become Roland’s wife and J.J.’s mother, they still had to eat. Hadn’t
Mam
taught her that looking after neighbors was the right thing to do? Even
Mam
couldn’t suggest that she was leading Roland on by seeing that he and his son didn’t go without. Or could she?

* * *

Johanna was still asking that same question on Sunday when she sat on the bench between Miriam and Aunt Jezzy, and Uncle Reuben asked everyone to stand for “’S Lobg-sang,” a slow, traditional hymn that was always sung by the congregation at service. Her mind should have been on the song of praise, but instead, she kept thinking back over the past week.

Thursday night, Roland had come to take her for a drive. They’d left the three children with
Mam,
Rebecca, Grace and Susanna, and they’d gone for pizza and come home the long way. She and Roland had laughed and talked. He’d made no attempt to hold her hand again, and she hadn’t tried to kiss him, but she had wondered if he wanted to kiss her. And if he hadn’t wanted to...why not? Did it mean that he’d thought she was forward when she’d kissed him at the inlet?

If she leaned a little closer to Aunt Jezzy, she could see Roland standing in the second row behind Anna’s Samuel. He’d trimmed his beard that morning, but he needed a haircut. His hair hung over his eyes, and he kept brushing it out of the way. She wondered why his sister Mary hadn’t said something about it. It was endless, the list of things that a man living alone with a small boy forgot to do for himself. Maybe she should offer to cut it for him.... She’d trimmed J.J.’s yesterday afternoon when she’d done Jonah’s. But it wasn’t really fitting for her to cut Roland’s hair. That was a little too intimate for comfort. She would suggest that Mary or his mother cut it.

Johanna forced herself to look straight ahead, but she couldn’t keep thoughts of Roland out of her head. She could pick out his rich baritone among all the other men. He had a good, strong singing voice, and he never slurred the words to the old songs as some of the younger fellows did. Roland knew all the lyrics, and he could carry the tune, no matter how slow.

She was listening so hard to Roland that she nearly missed a note herself. Miriam cut her eyes at her and suppressed a smile. Johanna averted her gaze, and when she looked up, saw that her aunt Martha, seated just in the next row, had turned to scowl at her. Was it that obvious to everyone that she hadn’t been paying attention—that her mind had been on Roland instead of the service? Embarrassed, Johanna gripped the
Ausbund,
the hymnbook, tighter and let her voice blend with the women around her.

When the hymn ended and Preacher Perry began to tell how the Pharaoh’s daughter sent her servants to fetch a floating basket from the river, Johanna forced herself to listen to the familiar story of Baby Moses and how he was saved and grew up in the palace as an Egyptian prince. It was a tale she’d always loved, and one Hannah had elaborated on when Johanna was small.
The princess loved the baby as her own,
Mam
had said,
just as I love you, and you, and you...
pointing out each of them in turn.

Perry Hershberger was a good speaker and a much-loved preacher, but he suffered from poor health, and his voice was often weak. Today, he seemed better than he had been in many weeks, and Johanna had no trouble following his sermon. His sermons were never as wordy or as dull as Uncle Reuben’s, and Preacher Perry usually recited the Bible passages in Low German, not the High German that most preachers favored. Usually, Johanna loved it when he spoke, but today, her mind kept wandering.

Lydia and Norman, this Sunday’s hosts, had thrown open the windows to catch the breeze, and fresh air wafted in from outside, making the crowded rooms comfortable for a summer’s day. The rest of the service passed quickly, and the next time the congregation rose for a hymn, Johanna kept herself from seeking out Roland Byler with her eyes and making a complete fool of herself.

Bishop Atlee finished with a prayer, and then Samuel, who was deacon, got to his feet to deliver the announcements for the week. Johanna’s thoughts drifted again as the bishop asked for remembrance for those who were ill and reminded the community that the next service would be at Aunt Martha and Uncle Reuben’s house. He asked for volunteers to paint the Coblentz barn, and then cleared his throat. “Banns are read for couples Menno Swartzentruber and Susie Raber. That’s Susie Raber of Swan Creek, Missouri. I think some of you met the John Rabers last year when they came for Wilmer’s funeral.”

Johanna remembered Ethel Raber, John’s wife, but which of her three daughters was Susie? Johanna hadn’t heard that Menno was getting married, but that wasn’t unusual. Many Amish couples preferred to keep their plans secret until the coming nuptials were announced in church.

She wondered when the bride-to-be and Menno had met and courted, or if theirs was an arranged marriage, as some were. It happened here occasionally, more so out in the Western states, but she’d heard that such unions, typically arranged by parents, usually turned out well. It certainly wouldn’t have suited her. At least she’d known Wilmer and had no one else to blame for the disaster of her marriage but herself.

“And first banns called for Naphtali Hilty of District 4, here in Kent County, and our own Jezebel Miller.”

Miriam elbowed Johanna as a wave of murmurs rippled through the congregation. Johanna blinked and mouthed silently to her sister,
What? Who?

“Say that again, Samuel,” Noodle Troyer urged from the far corner of the men’s benches. “Did you say Jezebel Miller?”

Samuel reddened and cleared his throat again. “Banns called for Naphtali—that’s
Nip
Hilty—and
Jezzy
Miller.”