Ella Finds Love Again (Little Valley 3) Read online

  The front door swung open and Joe entered. He bellowed, “Are those twisty things done yet?”

  “Not so loud!” Ronda chided with a smile.

  Joe came over to the table, took off his coat, and took the two twists Ronda offered him. They disappeared quickly into his mouth. With a look of delight he helped himself to another before taking his chair.

  Ella stood to finish up in the kitchen while Joe and Ronda talked about their plans for the next week.

  The girls would return. Ella wondered if Ivan would say anything to her about his troubles when he brought them. Likely not.

  “I’m leaving you the food, Ronda,” Ella said as she finished. “I suppose Joe can store it where you want it.”

  “He can. And thanks so much,” Ronda said.

  Ella left them, finding her way downstairs in the darkness by the feel of her hands. She struck a match at the counter and lit the kerosene lamp. Wearily she sat down at the table and, in the flickering light, Ella stared at the wall. Her heart pounded furiously now that she was alone…and remembering the face of the Englisha man.

  Twenty-one

  Unable to sleep, Ella paced the floor, her thoughts spinning wildly. Above her she heard faint shuffled steps, probably Joe helping Ronda to their bedroom. He was a good man. Da Hah had blessed Ronda when Joe came into her life. Will I ever have such a blessing in my life again?

  There had been Aden, but Da Hah took him. Now there was Ivan and his girls. They were surely a blessing. But then there was the Englisha man. Could she ever think of him as a blessing? No, she could not. She thought of Eli. What would happen if she went down the same path he had taken? Her family would be disgraced twice over. An Amish boy’s transgressions with a forbidden girl were at least understood. An Amish girl who fell for an outsider was not soon forgotten, her name a blot on the family forever.

  Did this Englisha man Robert even care for her? Ella steeled herself at the question. It had no meaning whatsoever. It could never be. She would have to depend on the girls to keep her from the insanity of giving life to the idea of loving an Englisha man. Would they be enough to stop her wayward thoughts?

  She despised herself for this weakness, for this reliance on innocents to right her world. Where was Aden when she needed him? She sat down. The house around her was still now, no sound coming from Joe and Ronda upstairs. They must be asleep—at peace, while she wrestled alone. The unfairness of her situation brought tears that stung her cheeks. Ella wiped them away angrily.

  What was worth anything? Loyalty? Trust? Love? And what was love? Ivan at least had his dreams of Lois. She had nothing but memories, and now even they seemed distant.

  She gazed at the lamp. The flame was constant yet moving, as if it were alive. She watched for a long moment and then stood to pace the floor. What was it about Aden that she had loved? The answer lay in the memories, but did she really wish to go there? Perhaps it would be best to bury them and think only of the present.

  With a flourish, she loosened her hair, pulled the wire pins out, and ran her fingers through its full length. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, a dark mass that gleamed in the lamplight as it extended past her waist. She would not stay away from what she’d loved. Aden was gone, yah, but he had shown her the way to love. He had left her that much, and there was nothing to be ashamed of.

  She sought Aden’s face, allowing the memory to return and pushing the fear of Bishop Miller’s schemes out of her mind. She remembered the trembling of her heart when she looked into Aden’s eyes. His whole face would light up, with that crinkle of his cheek, reflecting the love he held for her. No, she had not dreamed such a thing.

  Their love had been real, obvious in those moments when he had touched her face with his calloused hands that were weathered by the outdoors. She had longed for his hands on her neck, in her hair, the joy of his touch, but always honor held him back from that which was wrong. Honor was all that made sense then or now. Yet honor had cost them their world together. The future she had seen in his eyes had never come to pass.

  Her thoughts turned to the night he first took her home…the night of their first kiss. She had served him shoofly pie, which he’d eaten even after admitting it wasn’t his favorite. Was that why she had never baked another shoofly pie since? Yes, no doubt.

  Ella pulled on her coat and walked outside into the clear night. Aden had loved the stars. Together they had watched, counted, and named them. They had done so while standing beside his buggy or on the walk from the buggy to the front door of her home on Seager Hill. The view to the heavens was better up there, Aden had said, because it was higher. She’d laughed at him, telling him the distance to the stars couldn’t be measured by such things.

  Her fingers reached for the snowbank along the basement steps and grabbed a handful. Squeezing it, the cold stung as the flakes turned into a piece of ice and then water. Snow. They had made snowmen one Sunday afternoon. Her mamm said they were silly. All people in love were silly. They must just be careful. Da Hah would help them. Careful about what? Careful about pain that wouldn’t go away? Careful about this agony from the hole in her heart? Careful about this memory of what was and never would be again? Was that how she was to be careful?

  She didn’t feel careful—not at the moment. Reckless perhaps? Her eyes were wide open to what Bishop Miller might have planned for her. Could he really do what she was thinking?

  Ella picked up more snow—two handfuls this time. She squeezed and her fingers felt on fire. Did the bishop actually hope to win her consent to say the sacred vows with him? Ronda didn’t think so, but how would she know? Ronda hadn’t sat with him, been close to him. She hadn’t heard his voice, feeling the firmness of his hands on hers and the certainty in his voice.

  So clever the bishop thought he was, and Ivan was playing right into his plans. Should she warn Ivan? Would he listen if she did? Not likely. He would think her mind full of imaginings, just as Ronda had. Ella stared at the stars, the night air cold on her face and gently blowing her hair over her shoulders.

  Beyond her memories of Aden and her worries about the bishop were her troublesome feelings for the strange Englisha man. They had come on their own, and surely they would leave on their own. Only after they had done their damage, it looked like. Why would an Englisha man come in from the outside like this? So out of the blue and with a story of his mother’s quilt. Ella laughed. There was no way Bishop Miller swallowed that story. She knew him well enough for that.

  Ella easily turned to tears. Great waves of them came, stinging her cold cheeks. How was she to stop them? The world seemed to be careening at the moment. Only the house behind her seemed solid with its presence and comfort. Aden’s house. He had given it to her—even from beyond the grave, so to speak. From it she had found a reason to go on, a purpose in life. Now it and the land stood with her, solid and steady.

  She had been thought brave by others to build the house. Ronda admired her for it. But was the building in vain? She would soon live with Ivan as his wife. She was supposedly not secure until there was a man beside her. Ivan.

  She pulled her coat tightly around her and gathered fresh courage. “Ivan’s home will be mine,” she whispered. “Ivan, the girls, and me. I will do it for love, for his love and for the girls, because what Aden has left me won’t be enough. These feelings for the Englisha man will be my secret, hidden away in my heart all the days of my life because it can never be.”

  Ella waited. Surely the bitterness would come, the edges laced with poison, but she felt only sorrow. The kind that came from death and from dirt thrown on bodies that would never breathe in this world again.

  “It’s just as well,” Ella said out loud. “Perhaps I will learn my lesson this time. This kind of love doesn’t do anyone any gut.” Her voice caught, and her eyes searched skyward again. “But, oh Aden, you were so real! Why couldn’t you have stayed with me?”

  A streak of light, fast and furious, raced across the sky—a star falling from
the heavens. Her gaze followed its fiery trace. Was this a message from Aden? Did he still care about her from afar? No, Aden would be beside her. He wouldn’t send a star in his place. She was on her own, there was no question about that.

  As for Robert, she would stay away from him. Certainly she wouldn’t make more trips to the bishop’s district to scout things out. She could stay here—hunkered down—until Robert was gone. If she saw him, she was certain he would know her heart from the look in her eyes. She would not be able to hide it.

  With great weariness, Ella returned to the basement. Stepping inside, she felt a gladness for the wave of warmth from the stove rushing over her. Going outside had been good for her, but now she was tired. Tomorrow would come much sooner than she wished, and the girls would arrive again, another week like the ones before. Rest now would be good.

  Ella filled the stove with wood and turned the dampers. The fire would last until she awoke sometime in the night, awakened by the cold. At this moment the thought of the bed’s covers felt wonderful. Their warmth would allow her mind to drift away without this pain.

  Still, she wanted to do one more thing. Tomorrow morning would be rushed, and the rest of the day no better, so she desired to write in her journal tonight. Quickly Ella brought out the tablet from the dresser drawer. She turned the kerosene lamp up as far as it would go. She listened for a moment to the house around her. No human noises came from upstairs, just those steady little sounds of wood and stone when they settle down from a cold winter day.

  Dear Journal,

  I dared talk to Ronda tonight about Robert. Yes, I know I shouldn’t have, but the words wouldn’t stay inside. And I guess that started it all up. For the rest of the evening I felt like a ship tossed around on wild seas. Even my house seemed to rock along with me. Just a sign, I suppose, of how crazy I’ve become.

  I should have been in bed a long time ago, and I feel like it—torn, weary, and heartsick. Yet I’m putting my thoughts on paper in case I need courage later. Just ride out the storm, Ella. Don’t fight it. Sure, Ronda thinks Bishop Miller wouldn’t try anything nasty, and perhaps she’s right.

  In the meantime, don’t doubt Aden’s love. It was real. Let no one tell you it wasn’t. Even when your heart remains broken, bruised, bleeding, and crushed. Still believe. You lost love once, and you can live through it again if need be.

  Cry your tears at night. Alone, where no one can see you. Be loyal to Ivan and the girls. Be strong, Ella. Be really strong. Because great love seems to come only to betray, but worse than the pain it brings is the dying you’ll feel if you turn away. You can live through it again, Ella. You really can.

  She closed the journal, strangely comforted, and slipped it back under the dresses in the drawer. She crawled quickly into bed and fell asleep easily, not awakening until the first touch of dawn was on the horizon. The fire in the stove had gone out hours before, and the basement windows were coated with ice inside and out.

  Twenty-two

  Ella dressed as quickly as she could. How in the world had she managed to sleep through the night? She must start the fire at once to get the basement warm before the girls arrived. She pulled on her socks and then slippers. They would do for now. She raced across the concrete floor to the stove and pulled out the ash pan. It needed to be emptied before much of a fire could be made. She changed into her shoes—why hadn’t she put them on right away?—and dashed back for the ash pan. Tossing on her coat, she went out the basement door and into a blast of cold air that struck her in the face.

  It was much colder than last night when she’d gone out to look at the stars. Ella tried to push the memories of that time out of her mind. Surely she had said and thought things she shouldn’t have. She had no doubt been carried away with the emotions of the day, and certainly things weren’t quite as bad as she had imagined. Ivan would arrive soon, and with his arrival sanity might return.

  “Good morning!” Joe called.

  Startled, Ella almost lost her grip on the ash pan. The shifting pan released a small white cloud of ash. “Oh!” Ella said, gripping the handle tighter.

  “Sorry,” Joe said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay,” Ella said. “How’s Ronda this morning?”

  “She slept fine,” Joe said. “It think it was all the gut food.”

  “I’m glad,” Ella said, plunging through the snow. Finally having gone far enough, she heaved the contents of the tray across the snow, a billowing cloud of ash drifting in the brisk morning air.

  Ella waited, watching the sight. It was beautiful in its own dark way. The cloud turned the white snow a powdery gray and left a long swath behind as it settled across the field. Here and there a bright coal, energized by fresh oxygen, burned red before blinking out.

  Ella turned toward the house, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of the sunrise in front of her. She gasped at the beauty. Rays shone over the horizon, bathing the house with soft red light. The house glowed, the windows throwing back the light as if brought alive from the inside. She let the ash pan fall by her side and whispered aloud, “Aden, we built a wonderful house.”

  Snow fell into her shoes, the cold stinging fiercely, reminding her to move on. She ran the last few steps, moving past the red glow on the windows and down the stairs. She jerked her shoes off just inside the basement door and then leaned against the wall to dump the snow.

  “There, that’s taken care of. Now for the rest of the day…” Ella sighed deeply. This day was already a weariness to her bones. Yet strength would come; it always did. She slid the ash pan back into the oven, shaking it to tighten the airspace. Opening the stove lid she stirred the remaining ash until a few coals glowed. She dropped some kindling in, and the hungry flames rose quickly.

  With heavier pieces of wood soon burning, Ella prepared breakfast. Would the girls have already eaten when they arrived? Likely, but one never knew with Ivan. She would make extra oatmeal, eggs, perhaps bacon. She would tackle the task at hand and rest later when the girls had their naps. Above her, she heard Joe enter the front door, but no sound came from the bedroom area. Ronda was apparently not up yet.

  Ella thought for a moment and then made a decision. She ran quickly up the basement steps, knocked, and then opened the door at Joe’s “Come in!”

  “Is Ronda up yet?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “What if I bring up breakfast?”

  “That would be wonderful,” he said, his face lighting up. “I wasn’t sure what to do, as it’s hard enough for a man to pack his own lunch, much less fix a breakfast too.”

  Just then the bedroom door swung open. Ronda stood with her hand on the door frame, a slight smile on her face. “How about if we go down, Joe? That would make it easier on Ella.”

  “So you heard me,” Ella said. “What about the stairs? Can you manage?”

  “They will do me good. Really…,” Ronda squinted at the rays of sunlight through the living room window. “It’s too much that you fix our breakfast. We can at least come down.”

  “Then we’d better hurry,” Joe said. “I have to leave for work.”

  “I’ll get right to it.” Ella turned to leave.

  Once downstairs, Ella put water on to boil for the oatmeal, fetched bacon from the root cellar, and slid the frying pan onto the stove. When the water boiled, she poured in the oatmeal. She had eggs in the pan when Joe appeared, supporting Ronda on his arm.

  “You’re lookin’ well,” Ella encouraged her. “Won’t be long, and you’ll be as good as new.”

  “With your cookin’ I’ll get better even faster,” Ronda said with a laugh.

  Joe pulled out a chair for Ronda and then sat down in a chair next to her.

  Ella turned the kerosene lamp higher. She brought the bacon and oatmeal over, and then scooped the sizzling eggs onto a platter and set them on the table.

  She sat down, and they bowed their heads. Furtively lifting her head, Ella noted that when Joe praye
d silently, his lips moved. The scene was comforting. Ella held her breath and bowed her head again. She wanted the moment to stand still, to remain forever. She wanted this to be her life—surrounded by friends she loved, safe, secure.

  Joe raised his head moments later as he said “Amen.”

  The spell was broken.

  “I’m glad you could come down,” Ella said, passing the eggs to Joe.

  “I think we need to thank you,” Joe said. “For all that you’re doing for us.”

  “I would say so,” Ronda said. “We’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “Just get better,” Ella said. “And you’d better take three eggs.”

  “Two are enough for now,” Ronda countered, holding up her hand. “If I’m still hungry I’ll take more.”

  “It’s so good to see you on your feet and hungry,” Joe said, stroking Ronda’s arm with his free hand.

  “It’s Ella’s food that’s the cause,” Ronda said firmly.

  “It’s just ordinary food,” Ella said. “It’s eating it with gut people that makes it special.”

  “I agree with that,” Ronda said.

  Joe glanced around for a clock, and then gulped the last of his eggs before quickly splashing milk on his oatmeal.

  “I have to be ready for work,” he said, his mouth full.

  “I grew up with brothers,” Ella said. “Eat as fast as you want to.”

  “Men!” Ronda said. “They are the limit. How can food do them any good if they don’t chew? Joe, it’s not good for you. Slow down before you choke.”

  He shook his head as he wolfed down the last bite. Standing up, Joe dashed up the stairs. The two women could hear his quick steps moving out the front door. They soon heard buggy tires squeaking in the snow.