Christmas at Rose Hill Farm (13 page)

“Understood.” George glanced at the clock on Billy's shelf. “It's that late already? I'm not good with time. It always seems to be running out.” Slowly, he rose to his feet. “Thankfully, it's never too late to find your way back to God. He is faithful even when you are not. ‘Then they cry unto the L
ORD
in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.'” He walked to the end of the greenhouse and put his hand on the door. “Go see your father, Billy. Don't wait. There's a lot at stake here.”

As the door closed behind Billy, he mulled over George's final words. What did that mean—a lot at stake? What was he trying to say? He jerked his jacket from the chair and shrugged it on, then hurried to catch up with George. But when he got outside, the hobo had disappeared into the dark night.

Later, Billy sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched, heavy with loss. He felt haunted by George's accusation, yet unable to act on it.

He flopped back, eyes closed, arms outflung. As he lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling, he pictured Bess in her blue wedding dress, next to Amos, dressed in his new black Mutza coat, standing together in front of the bishop. The thought made him miserable. All at once, he fiercely missed the life he could've—should've—had. He ended up rolling to his stomach, punching down his pillow, wishing for sleep to clear his mind of forbidden wishes.

I
n less than fifteen minutes, Bess was going to become Mrs. Amos Lapp. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck and continued down between her shoulder blades, making her squirm. She had twisted the ends of her freshly starched apron so much that the edges were curled. She glanced across the room to Amos and wondered what was running through his mind. His chin rested on his chest; he looked like he was praying. Then he must have sensed she was looking at him, because he lifted his head and caught her eye, giving her a reassuring smile. She tried to smile in return but felt it came out all wrong. He was such a fine man. A wonderful man. It was good she was marrying him. Everyone said so.

And then the bishop called her name. Bess took a deep breath, rose to her feet, wondered if her shaky knees might go out right under her, and walked up to join Amos. She kept her eyes on the steps in front of her, trying to keep one foot in front of the other. She didn't dare look up at Amos. If she did, she thought she might faint.

She had been doing fine, just fine, well, somewhat fine, until she and Amos had been taken into a room with the ministers while the guests were singing hymns. The ministers asked if Bess
and Amos were ready to take this important step of marriage. Amos readily answered yes and looked at Bess with such hope and happiness on his face. She whispered yes. Then one of the ministers—she didn't even remember which one—started to describe some details about the marriage bed. He explained a woman's monthly cycle to Amos, instructed them both to abstain from the marital act for three days after today's wedding, according to the book of Tobias, so that their marriage would be blessed. Amos, whose face was beet red, kept his eyes on the tips of his shoes.

No wonder the bride and the groom always emerged from this ministers' conversation looking like singed cats. It was a birds-and-bees lecture given by graybeards, condensed into ten minutes. And it was mortifying!

As they returned to the crowded living room, the awful reality hit Bess full force. She felt pinned in place, queasy under the gaze of so many observers. She pressed her fist to her lips after getting an awful feeling that her breakfast might reappear. The burn mark in her dress felt like it was searing her. Her prayer cap tilting. Her head splitting.

She had imagined herself making a life with Amos, imagined sitting together at the table each evening to talk over the day and plan the next day. She could imagine catching his eye during the preaching and sharing a smile. She could imagine working the fields beside him at Windmill Farm, and picking apples or peaches on drooping branches in those orchards his grandfather had planted long ago. Picnics at Blue Lake Pond on summer days, holidays celebrated with the Lapps' large, extended family.

But when she tried to imagine going into the bedroom with him and undressing for him, to “enjoy her moments” as Lainey had said—though she had no direct knowledge of such couplings—the man's face with whom she imagined enjoying her moments belonged to Billy Lapp.

She had to take a deep breath to ease the pressure growing in her chest. At that moment a pain grabbed her gut, but she wished it away, telling herself it was only nerves.

She wished the bishop would stop talking.
Stop him
somehow! Stop him!
But she didn't know how.

And now because she had made a promise to Amos, she was going to go through with the marriage. For the rest of her earthly life.

The bishop began to speak, stressing the importance of these vows. “They are not only vows between the two of you, but before God.”

For a moment Bess closed her eyes, gulping, unable to swallow the lump of fear that suddenly congealed in her throat. Her knees were a pair of jellies. It was all happening so fast!

And that was when Bess felt a loud whooshing sound in her head, so loud she barely heard the rest of Caleb Zook's words. She saw Amos's mouth move, answering Caleb's questions, then she saw both Caleb and Amos look at her, a question on their face. Waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

The tension built and Bess felt like the rope in a tug-of-war. She felt light-headed and nauseated and removed from herself.

“Bess?” Caleb repeated. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The pain in her gut wrenched her again, higher up this time, and she winced. She looked at Amos—dear, kind Amos, and then at Caleb—fine, noble Caleb. And then she pulled the apron up over her head and said, “I can't! I just can't!” She turned and fled to her room.

Bess sat on the edge of her bed, crying softly. For the longest time, there was only silence down below, but now she heard the voice of Caleb Zook begin to quietly read Scripture. She wished
everyone would go home and let her be alone, but she knew that no one would leave until it was clear there wasn't going to be a wedding today. And there wasn't. Not today, anyway. She needed time to think.

And then she groaned. Everyone loved the wedding feast. She knew no one would leave, wedding or not, without being fed. It wasn't the Plain way to let food go to waste, whether the bride was upstairs crying into her pillow or not.

A gentle knock came at the door.

“Yes?” she answered weakly, thinking Lainey had been sent up to talk to her and find out what in the world had happened to her.

What in the world
had
happened?

Amos poked his head in—thoughtful, considerate Amos. “Are you all right?”

She had no explanation for him, no soothing response. “Not exactly.” She wanted to be left alone. But she was terrified of being left alone. Her legs felt like they were shackled. Standing up was an enormous effort. “Is everyone waiting for me?”

“Yes. Can I do anything for you?”

“I'm afraid the offal I had for breakfast already did it.”

“So then . . . you're sick?”

Bess's heart seemed to drop to the pit of her stomach. Her eyes met his directly as she wondered exactly what it was he was asking. But seeing the intensity there, the determination, she dropped her gaze to his chest, and she didn't know how to answer. She drew a deep lungful of air. “I don't feel at all well” and that was the truth. Bess watched as Amos grasped the back of his neck with one hand and dropped his chin onto his chest.

Their gazes met momentarily. They searched for something to say, something to do, but there was only one thing to do.

His voice was low and sure, easing her. “I'm going down to tell people that you're not feeling well. Will you be okay?”

Okay?
she thought.

The silence between them was unbearable to her. She looked at him, and he looked back without turning away, his eyes clear and sad. She searched them for something: reprieve, forgiveness, love? She wasn't sure.

Amos took a step toward the open door, halted, drew a deep breath, then spun and clasped her against his chest so hard, the breath swooshed from her lungs. Then he released her and went down the stairs to tell the guests the wedding had to be postponed.

As she heard his footsteps descend down the stairs, Caleb's voice stilled. She knew what was transpiring, as sure as if she were observing it. Every face—each one dear and loved, was turned to Amos for an explanation. Then she heard his baritone voice explain that Bess had become ill—something she had eaten—and needed rest. The tears she had been trying to hold back became a deluge. Without warning, she was overcome and dropped her face into both palms while sobs jerked her shoulders.

The day had left her tired and miserable.

Amos took a big breath of air before he reached the bottom step. As he walked into the living room, he sensed people leaning back in their chairs as if to give him a respectful distance, watching as he made his way toward the center of the room. He did his best to wave off concerns about him and Bess, assuring people that the reason she didn't go through with the wedding was that she hadn't been feeling well.

He even sat down to eat the wedding lunch, a meal he normally found so palatable, now turned tasteless. When Edith Stoltzfus refilled his glass of water and said in a loud voice, “Better now than tomorrow,” Amos reeled to his feet, suddenly
in a hurry to get away and sort out his thoughts. He made up a lame excuse about needing to check on a horse, fooling no one, and hurried to the pasture where the buggy horses stood in the cold. They lifted their heads as he neared them, but he walked straight past them, behind the barn, then broke into a run and took off through the fields. He heard the crunch of frozen snow in spots beneath his feet, saw the startled look on a pair of grazing deer as he ran past them, scattered a flock of wild turkeys.

On any other day, he would have stopped and carefully observed signs of wildlife. This wasn't any other day and he just kept running and running. Near the top of a small hill, he plopped down and sat on a rock, drawing deep breaths, as if recovering from having the wind knocked out of him.

But then, he did have the wind knocked out of him. By this time today, he thought he would be married, sharing the wedding meal with his beloved bride, his Bess. Instead, he didn't know where their relationship stood. Was it over? Was it on hold?

He vehemently disagreed with Edith's words: “Better now than tomorrow.” She made it sound as if there would be no tomorrow for him and Bess, and he refused to believe that could be true. He loved Bess and he believed she loved him.

But had she ever said as much? Whenever he told her he loved her, she responded with a kiss or a squeeze of his hand. He took such an act as love.

They had planned their wedding together—deciding which friends would act as attendants, where each would sit for the wedding meal. She had seemed pleased with the pale blue paint color for the apartment over the garage at Windmill Farm—their future home as newlyweds. Everything was going as planned . . . until Billy Lapp returned.

Billy Lapp.

Down through Amos's memory drifted his own voice, when he had first told Bess he loved her and wanted to marry her. “We
could live in the apartment over the garage at Windmill Farm. You could grow your roses in the gardens.”

And Bess, hesitating. “Amos . . . I'm very fond of you . . . but—”

“What if he never comes back?” Billy, he meant.

Then Bess again, choosing as she always chose. “I want to give him a little more time. Please try and understand.”

And Amos, wishing that Bess would long for him the way she longed for Billy.

Was history repeating itself? Was it happening all over again?

He felt a wary stiffness about his shoulders, as if he'd already guessed.

Oh Lord, why did Billy Lapp have to come
back? Why now?
Then . . .
What am I saying? What
am I thinking?
He was a friend he loved. A cousin. Nearly a brother.

He felt tired, and in many ways, he felt defeated, but he was still himself, Amos Lapp, so he went back to Rose Hill Farm to face his friends and neighbors. With a hope that Bess might come downstairs to seek him out.