Second Chances (3 page)

He focused on the reins of the horse and seemed to contemplate her proclamation.
“I see,” he finally said. “I know you think you must wait until you turn eighteen,
Anna. So, if we must wait until spring . . . ” He let the sentence linger between
them.

“Freman, spring isn't the answer.”

“I know it's unusual, but more young couples are doing that these days,” he responded.

When he glanced at her, she looked away. “It's not that I cannot marry you in the
spring,” she whispered. “It's that I cannot marry you ever.”

She saw his hands tighten on the reins, the only indication that he had heard her
words. The horse sensed the tension and slowed its pace. A car approached from the
other direction and slowed down as it passed them. When the noise of the engine faded,
he finally asked the one question she had not wanted to answer. “Why?”

How could she explain it to him? For three nights, she had barely slept as she lay
awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling as she tried to think of the words that
might possibly explain her reasons.

“It's . . . it's my family,” she admitted. “Lydia said
Daed
would not approve of
our marriage.”

The muscles tightened along his jawline. “Not approve of our marriage,” he repeated.
She knew that he wasn't asking for clarification. Instead, he was speaking out loud
as if in disbelief of her words. “That doesn't make sense, Anna.”

“You aren't established yet,” she said softly.

“But I will be established, Anna. You know that.”

And she did know that. He was hard-working. Success would come his way; of that,
she had no doubt. He was also a good man, the first one to offer assistance to those
in need. Still, she had hoped that he would simply accept that explanation and not
inquire further into the reasons behind her decision.

“There is something else, Anna,” he said, and when he looked at her, she lowered
her eyes and stared at her feet on the floorboard of the buggy. “What is the real
objection to our marriage?”

She couldn't lift her eyes to look at him, but she knew that he needed to know the
truth. “It's . . . it's your background, Freman.”

At this, he laughed haughtily. “My background?”

“Lydia says
Daed
won't approve because you intend to pursue carpentry.”

Another mirthless laugh. “And he thinks that is not a viable profession?” He paused
for a moment. The silence in the buggy was broken only by the gentle rhythm of the
horse's hooves on the road and the gentle hum of the buggy wheels. She knew that
he was thinking, and considering how smart he was, he was connecting the pieces
to the puzzle. “Is this because my family needed help from the
g
'
may
?”

She didn't dare respond.

“That was years ago!”

How could she explain that her father, William Eicher, would never allow one of his
daughters to marry into the Whittmores, a family that had been debt-ridden and sought
financial assistance from their church district,
not just once but twice? While such
shameful antipathy coming from a conservative Amish man defied logic, Anna also
knew that it was the truth, as her father had often spoken disparagingly of the Whittmores
and seemed somewhat cold in his interactions with Freman. Lydia prevailed upon Anna
to see that, whether or not she agreed with her father, she would have to make a
choice: either Freman's love or her father's approval. Despite her own feelings toward
Freman, Anna was persuaded that Lydia and her father knew best and, as such, had
decided accordingly.

Clearly, her silence explained everything. Still unable to look at him, she knew
that he would not try to argue his case any further. He was a man of strong resolve;
it was one of the things that she had grown to love about him. Neither aggressive
nor arrogant in his views, he would accept her decision without further discussion.
After all, what more could he argue?

At the next crossroads he guided the horse so that the buggy turned around and headed
back in the direction from which they had just come. They rode back in silence toward
the Eichers' home. There was nothing left to be said. When she stepped down from
the buggy at the same place where he had, just minutes before, retrieved her, he
bade her good-bye instead of good night. As he drove away, she watched until the
buggy disappeared in the distance, wondering how she would be able to live without
him in the bleak months and years ahead. It was not going to be easy, she pondered,
realizing she may have lost the only man that made her feel that special way.

Chapter One

A
NNA
E
ICHER SAT
in the old rocking chair by the wood-burning stove, quietly quilting
as she listened to her father and her two sisters converse with Lydia Rothberger,
the elderly woman from the
g
'
may
who had taken on the role of dispensing maternal
wisdom ever since their mother passed away ten years ago. Lydia's presence in the
kitchen was always welcome, even if she charged the air with a tight energy of propriety
and despite the fact that she had changed Anna's life irrevocably with her advice
eight years ago—tearing Anna away from the only man she had ever loved in the process.
With each stitch that Anna pulled through the fabric, her dark eyes glanced up just
for a moment. No one noticed. They were too engrossed in their discussion, the three
other women focusing all of their attention on her father.

“What will people think if we ask for aid? They will talk for weeks!
Mayhaps
months!”
William said, his hands raised just slightly in the air.

Anna's heart sank, the irony of the moment not lost on her: the very same fault that
her father had used to discredit the Whittmore family so many years ago had now
become his own fate. The deep wrinkles and dark circles
under his eyes spoke of sleepless
nights and hard decisions. His long white beard, untrimmed and wiry, hung from his
wide jaw and covered the first two buttons on his dark blue shirt. Anna noticed that
it was dirty and she reminded herself to ensure it was laundered before he wore it
again. He looked first at Elizabeth and then at Lydia. “You know those people who
love the Amish grapevine. Gossiping and speculating, all of them.” He said the last
part with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Anna bit her lower lip, too aware that the biggest contributor to that gossip-filled
grapevine was her own father. With a silent resolve, Anna tried to concentrate on
her work, knowing that the tiny stitches in the baby blanket she was quilting for
her younger sister Mary was the only input she would most likely make today. No one
cared what
she
thought about the possibility of her father losing their small family
farm, anyway. The affront did not bother her. Indeed, she was just as happy to stay
out of the heated discussion.

Elizabeth shook her head, equally as distraught. “There must be another way; perhaps
to hire young men to farm the fields.”

That suggestion invigorated William. A new look of optimism lifted the cloud of despair
that had rested upon his face. With great hope in his eyes, he pointed at his oldest
daughter while he glanced over at Lydia for her response. “
Ja
! That's a right
gut
idea! Hire men to work the farm!”

“William,” Lydia said, leaning forward and gently touching his knee. The gesture
was one of familiarity without intimacy.

Over ten years had passed since Anna's mother, Anne, passed away. When Anne married
William Eicher at an early November wedding, Lydia Rothberger stood by Anne's side
as her attendant. The two women had grown up together in Sugarcreek, Ohio. Furthermore,
they had sat in the one-room schoolhouse, progressing through eight years of schooling.
At sixteen, they went to their first youth singing, standing awkwardly at the back
of the barn. It was only natural that, as best friends from childhood, the two young
women remained just as close when Anne and her new husband moved to the small town
of Charm, just ten miles away.

Since long before Anna's birth, Lydia Rothberger had been a constant presence in
the Eicher family in births, baptisms, and deaths. Her own husband, Edward, had died
only one year after their marriage, a union that resulted in no children but left
Lydia with a small dry goods store in the outskirts of Charm, only a mile or so from
the Eichers' home. Over the years, she had continued to operate it, and despite
the initial speculation from the community and her deceased husband's family, she
had managed to become an impressive business owner in her own right.

After Anne passed away, Lydia stepped in to provide a maternal presence to her best
friend's three daughters, especially to Anna, the middle daughter who was named after
her mother. Even at the young age of fourteen, Anna resembled her mother, after whom
she had been named, in temperament as well as presence. Quiet and giving, she wanted
nothing more than to please the people she loved. For the past ten years, while it
was most often Anna who
sought out Lydia for advice, Lydia's sensibility guided the
daughters and, on occasion, their father.

Today was one of those days.

“It's time to consider alternatives. You simply cannot maintain it, William, and
you have spent your savings. There is no money left to hire young men.” She hesitated,
glancing at Anna with a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Barely enough to even make
it through the winter, I fear. You might consider selling the
haus
. Since it's paid
off, you could invest the proceeds from the sale and live off the interest for a
while. You'd fetch a good enough sum for that.”

He stood up and began pacing the room, twisting his hands in front of him. “This
haus
has been in the family for generations!” His feet shuffled across the perfectly
waxed and shiny linoleum floor, Anna having worked hard to ensure that it was never
dull or filmy. “Selling it is not an option, Lydia!”

“I'm afraid your options are few, William,” Lydia said with a sigh.

But Anna's father appeared determined. With a fierce look of unshakable insistence,
he stopped pacing and turned toward Lydia. “There are always options! What about
taking out a mortgage?”

Anna glanced up in time to see Lydia shake her head. “I don't see that as being very
wise. You still must pay it back. Besides, with no real income, I'm not even certain
you could get one, William.”

Exhaling sharply, William continued pacing. “I could sell that Florida property.”
He lifted his eyebrow as if this was the solution. “I haven't been down there in
years anyway.”

Even Anna knew that this was another futile idea. The small house in Pinecraft, Florida,
had been left to her parents in the will of her maternal grandmother. Only twice
had the family traveled to the house, and as far as Anna was concerned, that was
twice too often. The place was no more than a two-bedroom trailer house situated
on a very small lot in a community of elderly Amish and Mennonites. With only one
flower bed for gardening, Anna felt far too confined there. She much preferred the
open fields, rolling hills, and winding roads of Holmes County, Ohio, that was for
sure and certain.

“Now, William,” Lydia replied gently. “You know that place is barely worth five percent
of this property. That wouldn't do you much good.”

“Such a sorry state of affairs!” he declared before adding, “If Anne were here .
. . ” under his breath.

At that statement, Anna shifted her eyes back to the baby quilt. She knew that the
absence of her mother continued to haunt her father. After all, it was her mother,
Anne, who had managed the finances and kept William on a strict budget. William had
simply adored his petite wife and yielded to all of her advice. Once she died, he
seemed incapable of budgeting his money. Lydia had tried to help him, as had Anna,
but when it came to money he refused to listen to either one of them.