Ella Finds Love Again (Little Valley 3) Page 6

  “He has an apartment in town,” Lizzie whispered. She glanced around quickly. “They are talking of marriage, I’m afraid.”

  “The nurse…Pam?” Ella asked. But she knew the answer.

  “It’s for the best…that he’s in town,” Noah said, his head bent low. “I couldn’t keep it from happening. And even another talk with Bishop Miller didn’t do any good.”

  “It was when she came out on a Saturday night…right to the farm—that your daett put his foot down,” Lizzie whispered.

  “I don’t blame you,” Ella said to her father. “I knew there was some reason you asked him to leave, but I hadn’t been told why.”

  “We didn’t tell any of the other children,” Lizzie said, glancing around again, her bonnet tilted back slightly for a better view. “Not even Dora knows, since they weren’t home at the time, for which I am very thankful. What an example that would have set for the rest. And Eli knows better! I know he does, but he’s so stubborn.”

  “I had to ask him to leave,” her father said, speaking slowly, his shoulders bowed.

  “I know, Daett,” Ella said, reaching out to touch his arm. “No one blames you. And we all tried to speak with Eli. It’s still up to each of us—the choices we make and answering for them.”

  “He’s my son,” Noah said, hanging his head. “And it’s a load almost too heavy to bear.”

  Ella hung on to the side of the buggy with her hand, keeping her eyes on the ground. What if they attracted attention with this conversation in public? Her mamm and daett were already suffering enough.

  “Monroe doesn’t seem to be affected much,” Lizzie said, wiping her eyes. “At least for that we are thankful. And I think he has his eye on a girl in one of the south districts—Ezra Wagler’s girl, Irene.”

  Ella searched her memory, but she came up with no familiar face. Still, she smiled. This was good news in the midst of the sorrow caused by Eli’s actions.

  “Dora’s got a weddin’ date next year,” Lizzie said, attempting a smile through her tears. “She’s doesn’t say much about it, but I can tell she’s happy.”

  “Norman always was a good match,” Ella said.

  “Are you going back to your house?” Noah asked.

  Ella nodded.

  “So you stayed at Stutzmans’ last night?” he asked.

  Ella nodded again. Surely her daett didn’t think she would do anything inappropriate.

  “With him in the house? Surely not. Not even upstairs.” Her father’s voice rose.

  Ella opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Apparently her daett did think her actions were questionable.

  “Noah!” Lizzie whispered, her hand pulling on his arm. “Don’t be ask’n such things. This is Ella.”

  “Daett,” Ella began, her voice trembling, “Ivan was over at the dawdy haus all night.” Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. How could he think…

  “It’s because of Eli,” Lizzie said, turning to Ella. “You must not hold this against your daett. He sees things wrong everywhere now. But he doesn’t mean it—really.”

  “I am sorry,” Noah said, squeezing her arm again. “I shouldn’t allow my burden to spill over onto others. Will you forgive me, Ella?”

  Ella felt her chest burning. Her daett had thought she would act inappropriately with Ivan. She met his eyes, still trying to hold back the tears.

  “I am sorry,” Noah said again, and Ella wiped her eyes, reaching for his arm.

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “Then let me get your horse on the road for you,” Noah said, moving toward the front of the buggy.

  “He loves you,” Lizzie said, helping Ella up the step.

  Inside, Ella held the reins while her daett guided the horse onto the road. He slapped the horse’s neck lightly, smiling, his hat pushed down on his head. The horse stepped forward and they were heading home.

  Ella pulled Moonbeam to a complete stop at the main highway and glanced both ways. The road was completely empty of traffic. She slapped the reins and crossed, her horse trotting quickly and having no problem with the ice.

  As she pulled up to Chapman Road and turned right, she could see that Joe had cleared the driveway all the way up to the barn. She had good renters in Joe and Ronda, and there was much to be thankful for. Pulling up to the hitching rail, she climbed down. As she reached for the tie rope under the seat, she turned to the girls and said, “Stay in the buggy.”

  Mary and Sarah nodded, staying on the seat while she unhitched. Once the horse was safely in the barn, she helped the two girls out. They walked carefully in front of her over the crusted snow, as Ella followed carrying baby Barbara.

  As they went down the steps to the basement door, Ella wondered if this dear house that had come to mean so much to her in such a short time would be her house much longer. Would she soon be living at Ivan’s place as his wife?

  Nine

  The early morning rush was over, and Ella had the second load of wash done. The dresses and diapers hung behind curtains in the basement, safe from the threat of the snow and moisture outside. Wearily she pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. The warmth from the stove quickly embraced her. She realized she’d soon be asleep if she stayed put. Ella got to her feet again.

  For a moment she was tempted to work on the new blanket. Mary and Sarah were playing quietly around her latest quilt project. Baby Barbara was on her special blanket behind her, and Ronda wouldn’t be down to help with the quilt for another hour at least.

  Yet Ella was determined to write in her journal today. She had wanted to ever since that evening at Ivan’s place when his mother passed on. Now would be an excellent time. She could take a few moments to begin her thoughts and then perhaps finish tonight after the girls were in bed.

  So many emotions still swirled around her. Maybe clarity would come if she placed her thoughts on paper.

  Ella added another piece of wood to the stove. With the damp wash hung to dry, the basement needed to stay warm enough. Even with the roaring fire she’d built, the moisture hung heavy in the air.

  “We’re playin’ over here,” Mary said, glancing up and catching her gaze from the other side of the room.

  “Yah,” Ella said, smiling toward the two of them. Baby Barbara’s eyes focused on her as Ella pushed aside the curtain that partitioned off their sleeping quarters. Basement life would cease once she was Ivan’s wife. That would be another gut thing to come out of their union.

  What would she do with this house after the wedding? It had served her well, but more and more she was coming to see that it was meant for a husband and wife…not for her alone. Perhaps with her marriage to another man, she would give the house to Clara…or Dora. It didn’t really matter, just so it was someone from the family. She would gladly give the place to Eli if he would come back to the faith, but that chance seemed slim.

  Ella returned to the table with the journal in her hand. Baby Barbara had turned over and was staring at the ceiling. Before Ella sat down, she moved Barbara closer to the light from the window. The child needed all the sunlight she could get. These winter days were dreary, and spring was still a long way off.

  With the journal open, Ella squinted to read the words. She too needed more light. One could wash clothing, fix breakfast, and clean the kitchen in dim conditions, but writing was another matter. She would bring out the kerosene lamp. Nee, this was a day that needed plenty of light—only the gas lantern would do. Besides, she and Ronda could use the extra light to quilt with later in the day.

  Ella pumped the air handle on the lantern until it wouldn’t move anymore. She turned on the gas. With the lit match held a fraction of an inch from the mantle, the lantern popped into flame and was soon glowing with a steady hiss. She sat down, prepared to write.

  So, I’m seriously considering love again. It’s strange that I should come to this point, after I’ve vowed so many times I never would. And yet there’s this conviction in me that I had best move forward becau
se standing still no longer looks like a wise choice. It feels almost dangerous in a way. The funeral of Ivan’s mother drove that home to me. We went to the graveyard, and there was the place where my wonderful Aden lies. I avoided it, of course, but I knew it was there, and the ache was still painful. But I could at least bear it for the first time. I think that’s progress, or so it seems to me.

  There was a time when I didn’t dare have thoughts like this, let alone write them down. Aden was the most precious thing that had ever happened to me. It was Aden who taught me what love was, what it feels like, and yet he was taken from me. Why? I guess I will never know, but as our people say, Da Hah knows. One can but trust Him. And to doubt would be too terrible a thing to even imagine.

  I suppose I’m wrong to think this, but I have to laugh when I remember Bishop Miller’s face at the graveyard. He had the prayer, and he didn’t look too happy to see me. He basically ignored me, which is fine. And I really can’t say I blame him. I suppose he never had a girl stand up to him before. At least that’s what was whispered to me in my thoughts.

  He’s a good-looking fellow—and confident as all get out—but it takes much more than that. To be honest, the bishop gave me nightmares. Oh, not that he’s really a bad apple. It’s just that life with him wasn’t for me.

  I would have disappointed him once he got to know me. Somewhere after the wedding vows, when it would have been too late, he would have had regrets. And how terrible would that be—to be married to a man knowing one can never meet his high standards.

  The sacred vows make all things right, at least according to our people, but somehow I have a hard time believing it. I think Aden taught me that when he showed me what love was. Love can never be harnessed to a buggy like a horse. But really, I shouldn’t be saying such things. I probably should burn this journal. What if someone else reads it someday? But in the meantime, it does me good to keep writing.

  I know that I love Ivan’s girls. And Ivan’s okay, I guess. He’s a tenderhearted man, and I’ll love him in time, I guess, in my own feeble way. I know- I could never love another man like I loved Aden. It would seem almost a sin. At least Ivan doesn’t give me nightmares like the bishop. He has never kissed me though. I think he doesn’t quite dare, and I can’t blame him, the poor man. He so wants to take me in his arms, but for some reason he doesn’t. It’s such a strange feeling in that I’m glad he doesn’t. I don’t like being so close to a man who wants me and being unable to respond one way or the other.

  I have my hopes set on spring. I’m thinking that with the break of the weather, and when the birds begin singing again, a little love will come stealing back into my heart. Ivan already held my hands, and that wasn’t too bad. It just wasn’t like Aden. There was none of that feeling where my heart almost freezes with pain because I want him so much.

  Ivan is so unsure of himself. His love seems all locked up inside of him. I’ve even seen alarm in his eyes, like he’s scared of how he feels. It’s almost like I draw him somewhere that he’s forbidden to go. Perhaps that’s because he’s been married already and I haven’t. He might be thinking about things I have never known.

  Yet Aden held me and kissed me. It was pure heaven and contained not a moment of shame. I know how that feels. Can’t Ivan go there? Is that too much to ask? Yet I can’t blame him…really. I don’t want to go there either. Because I know it won’t be the same, and I know my heart will break all over again if it were.

  Love will come again, I tell myself. Perhaps like a breeze, stealing my heart away. I might have to make the first move, like I did the other night, taking Ivan’s hands in mine, showing him that I really want to try. That I believe love can happen for us. That we can both have joy on this earth again. That after our loss, two hearts can be mended and molded together.

  When nothing more occurred to Ella, she closed the journal, the pages of the tablet falling together softly. For a moment she thought she heard someone drive in. It seemed like the sound made by an Englisha car driving on snow. But who would come today? Her quilt shop was open, but few people stopped by in the wintertime. Especially in this kind of weather.

  Baby Barbara kicked her feet, and Ella walked past to look out the basement window. There was no sign of any vehicle. She must have imagined the sound. And it was time she prepared lunch for the girls. Ronda would be down soon, and their long afternoon of quilt work would begin.

  Ella hid the journal behind a pile of folded dresses. It could stay there until she had time to put it away tonight. She was written out, and as tired as she felt, an early bedtime would be exactly what she needed.

  She returned to the kitchen and paused, hearing the distinct sound of a knock on the first-floor door. Ronda’s faint footsteps walked across the hardwood floor going to answer, and Ella listened to the muffled voices. The front door shut again, much too quickly for the person to have wanted anything with Ronda. She listened. Yah, there were footsteps crunching on her snow-covered basement steps. Quickly she bent over to straighten baby Barbara’s blanket, pushing the journal deeper under the clothing. Obviously it was a customer she had heard driving in.

  Male pant legs went past the window—Englisha pants. Ella rushed to the basement door. Whatever he wanted, this visitor didn’t need to come too far inside. Her wash hung behind the curtains, out of sight, but the smell was in the air. A woman would know why, but a man might think she kept a musty house.

  He knocked on the door with a quick and decisive knock. Apparently he knew what he wanted.

  “Gut morning,” Ella said, pulling the door open slightly.

  The snow made the dreary day brighter than it was, and Ella squinted.

  “Ah…” the man said, smiling broadly. “Is this Ella’s Quilt Shop?”

  “Yah,” she said, surprised. What does a man want to see quilts for? she thought.

  “May I come inside?” he asked.

  “You…you want quilts?” she asked.

  He was a good-looking Englisha man, his chin straight, his jaw formed with straight lines, and his eyes had that twinkle some Englisha men had.

  “Not really,” he said, still smiling. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  “Oh, no,” Ella replied. “You didn’t frighten me. I’m just not used to men asking after quilts.”

  He laughed and to her surprise, she really wasn’t frightened by this stranger. Still, it seemed that her heart was pounding with an awful energy all its own. She tried to keep breathing. This was an Englisha man, and there was no sense in acting like this at all.

  “Ah,” he said, his head tilted to the side. “Is it okay then if I come in? I have some questions that would be easier to ask with me not standing out here in the snow. I’m harmless. Really.”

  “What kind of questions? About quilts?”

  “Well, no. About the Amish.”

  “Why are you coming to me?”

  “Well, it all started when my mother visited here. Since she returned from her visit to the Amish country, we’ve all been fascinated by your people. I’ve done some research myself, and I’m very taken by your people. I would like to know a little more from something other than the Internet.”

  “The Internet?”

  The man kept smiling and said, “Oh, sorry. The computer. Do you know about computers?”

  These Englisha people. They think we are so ignorant. “Yes, I do know about computers.”

  After a brief silence, the man said, “Please. I won’t be long. I promise.”

  With some hesitation, Ella stepped back from the door. He came in, glanced around, and pulled out a kitchen chair.

  “Okay if I sit?”

  What was there to say? No? What did one say when a strange Englisha man walked in and asked to sit at your table?

  “Sure,” she said, the word coming out in a rush.

  He laughed again. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I really am, but I don’t know how else to do this. Mom said you were one of the most decent Amish women she had ever met. S
he talked about you so much it’s almost as if I know you.”

  “You know me?”

  “Not really,” he said. “Not in that sense, but I’m hoping this might be the place to start my journey.”

  “You said your mother visited here?”

  “Yes. Mom bought a quilt from you. I think soon after you opened the shop, and you shipped it to her. I believe it was your first project, and it has your house drawing on it. In fact I found the place partly from the picture—even with the snow on the roof.” He laughed again. “Mom couldn’t be more pleased with your work. She’s been showing the quilt to all her friends. And she talks her head off about the workmanship and you…and it looks to me as if her judgment was correct.”

  “I’m not married,” Ella said, blurting the words out and glancing at the girls. It didn’t matter how this sounded, but the words suddenly needed saying.

  “I didn’t know,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he looked at the girls. “I thought…Amish people married.”

  “It’s not like that,” she said, meeting his eyes, feeling warmth rushing into her cheeks. “I take care of the girls during the week. They are the daughters of Preacher Stutzman.”

  “Are you…uh…connected with him?” he asked. “Perhaps his relative?”

  “No!” Ella said, the word coming out forcefully. “His wife died some time ago. I look after them weekdays…until he remarries.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by my question. See I’m still learning the Amish ways and perhaps I seem a bit presumptuous. So is this how your people take care of each other?”

  “He pays me for their care,” Ella said.