Hope deferred, p.9
Hope Deferred, page 9
But, the bottom line was still the same. He loved Anna.
She was his, and he fully planned on spending the rest of his life with her. He’d get this dating thing over with, they’d get married, and he’d move away somewhere, although there was always the home farm, and being the youngest son, he was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps.
He’d thought it through. No way was he going to side with those parents.
He looked up from his cell phone, surprised to see they’d already turned off an exit and were traveling on a narrow country road.
All day, his back bent, hustling with the same speed he always did, he found no enjoyment in his work. He lived and relived the Sunday evening with Anna.
They should not have had their evening meal with her parents. He had not been in the mood to go to the youth’s gathering if he had to drive a horse and buggy. He had to drive his father’s horse, that bony, long-legged steed without a smidgen of style, knowing he would never be able to handle his own. If he was honest with himself, he knew he was afraid of him but told Anna he didn’t want to put her in any danger, that the horse was not safe. He received a look of so much tenderness that he put his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her.
They walked side by side, sat side by side, or across the table from one another, and spoke in soft tones. They learned to know each other in the proper way, the way of hands-off courtship.
Many other young men may appreciate this craziness, he always thought to himself, but he was having a hard time with it.
The afternoon had started off on the wrong note, the way he had hung on to his resentment. For starters, why weren’t they allowed to go upstairs and hang out in her room? He’d never heard of anything quite as unnecessary in all his life. Every guy knew what his girl’s room looked like. But no, not in this household.
It was too cold to stay outdoors, so they set up a card table in the living room, got down a thousand-piece puzzle, and with all the sisters piling in, began to work in earnest while Elias or Barbie poked their heads in at various times to make sure they didn’t touch each other.
Anna had been as sweet and beautiful as ever, in a pale pink dress that reminded him of a rose petal. She was just exquisite, as ethereal as the most perfect, the most delicate flower.
As always, he was in awe of her, the one shining light that kept him as he battled the ever-present irritation that presented itself whenever he was with her family.
Everything in their home was perfect. The house was remodeled, tastefully decorated in neutral tones, the floor swept, windows washed. The food was always delicious. They prepared and ate things like tacos and fajitas and pasta dishes he’d never tried but always found to be better than his mother’s plain old Amish mashed potatoes and beef gravy with peas.
They used napkins, the dishes were heavy and white with matching silverware. No one raised their voice or spoke disparagingly. They praised each other and all those around them.
Elias had pressed a napkin to his mouth, before pinning Dave with his gaze.
“So, Dave . . .”
A long pause, putting emphasis on the wait. Like holding a kitten by the scruff of its neck, dangling.
Dave swallowed, almost choking on the bite of chicken breast.
“We’re going into April here soon, which will mean communion services are coming up.”
Dave looked at his plate.
“After that comes the invitation to begin instruction classes, which I believe you know, we’re hoping you’ll be among those who have experienced the new birth and are willing to become a member of the church, in order to live a godly life.”
Dave didn’t even think. He merely gave Elias the full benefit of his resentment by meeting the expectation in his.
“Yeah, well, that’s a tall order. I don’t know if I’m ready.”
He found it deeply satisfying to see the flicker of surprise, the disappointment that followed. A soft sigh from his wife.
“We are hoping, Dave, on account of our requirements about dating Anna. You know we are bending the rules, allowing it at all. She will definitely be joining, right, Anna?”
“Yes, I will.”
A smile, a light of willingness, the eagerness to please. The response from both parents as syrupy as molasses. He wanted to get up and knock over his chair for emphasis before leaving.
But it was Anna that kept him there.
He had nothing to say the remainder of the evening, which created a certain heightening of Anna’s awareness, a nervous flutter of her hands, an eager attempt to draw him out. She worked on the puzzle with her sisters while he opted to lay on the recliner with some dumb magazine that mentioned God in every other sentence.
Serious doubt set in, sending his mood into a black downward spiral, a place of cold selfishness and unhappiness. Anna leaned over the puzzle and kept up the light talk as she practiced the virtues taught by her parents. Occasionally he sensed her agitation and was glad of it.
They may as well learn that he would not be molded into their perfect requirements. He knew he could not live up to their expectations, so why pretend otherwise?
When, finally, the rest of the family left them alone, Anna sat back on her side of the couch, turned her head and looked at him.
“So, what’s the matter? Can you tell me about it?”
“I’m not a child.”
“Right. You’re not. But if you act like one, then I’ll treat you like one.”
That stung. He was still smarting from that honeyed, cold hard truth. He didn’t know she had it in her. The nerve.
“I don’t want to join church,” he blurted out.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I’m not ready, I guess.”
“You won’t be later, either. Give yourself up now. It won’t be easier later on.”
“How do you know?” His voice was pouting.
“Dave, look. My parents will not allow it. They are already giving in to us, allowing us to date before we’re members. Surely you can appreciate this.”
“They can’t tell me what to do. They’re not my boss.”
“Who is, Dave? Who?”
He’d never seen her like this.
CHAPTER 9
HE WALKED HOME IN THE COLD MARCH DRIZZLE, THE SKY ABOVE ERASED of starlight, the moon obscured by the rain clouds. He hunched his shoulders against the wet, biting wind, thrust his hands in his pockets, thinking dark and bewildered thoughts.
He felt trapped, caged.
For the thousandth time he envied the youth in his group, where everyone hung out or dated in a relaxed way, groups pounding upstairs to a girl’s room, waiting to make commitments to each other or the church until they were tired of rumschpringa, tired of the parties and the cars and all that went with it, including the girls’ insincerity, their flirting and carrying on, with all the resulting drama.
To Dave, that was still the best way. The old fashioned sowing of wild oats until you, yourself realized there was nothing in all of this. Living a life of selfishness, reveling in self-will, was not fulfilling, and most of the youth wanted something lasting. Something deeper.
He had not arrived at the precipice, where he looked over the edge and found the alarming chasm of the way of all flesh. He had not seriously found the need of a Redeemer. Not yet.
Did Anna hold the power to keep him on her path? Should a girl be the reason for joining the church? They usually were. How could a guy become tangled in this web of loving someone but absolutely unable to stand that set of parents?
He had two solutions. Try harder or break up.
The thing was, could he do either one? He had to have Anna. She was as necessary as breathing. She was his life, his goal, all he had ever been seeking, even as a schoolboy. He could not have foreseen the exorbitant price of his love, the sacrifice that required everything.
His way of life was so different. The easiness of his days, the relaxed atmosphere. There was no hurry to grow up and make serious decisions, no panic if the wrong one was made. God wasn’t someone who demanded stringent obedience but viewed the creation He had made with a benevolent eye.
While Dave was tossed from one side to the other, decisions tearing at his conscience, Anna moved in an ever-increasing aura of coming into her own. She loved Dave with all her heart, but God came before him. Obedience to her parents and the will of her Lord were perhaps being trampled under her own feet, doing more damage to her soul than she knew. Her prayers changed, her face took on a peaceful countenance, and she grew increasingly close to her mother, who, in turn, appreciated all of it, and thanked God for deliverance.
And yet their dating continued.
Aaron Beiler came to talk to Elias Fisher about organizing a trip to Texas. The youth would benefit from the experience of helping rebuild after the flood, so if they would lend their expertise, they’d get a bus or a few vans and go. Mennonite Central Committee already had quite a few workstations set up and needed volunteers.
Anna was glowing, excited about the upcoming trip to Texas, and included Dave in her plans, naturally.
Dave thought of his work, his savings, and the two weeks he wouldn’t be making money. He imagined being on a bus for more than twenty-four hours, sitting with Anna and never once touching her, talking with the immature guys from the Cardinals. He wanted to see more of the country, but not like this. She could go.
He told her a few weeks later and was met with disbelief, then, surprisingly, tears.
“I don’t want to go without you.”
She dabbed at the corner of her eyes, delicately, with the corner of a tissue. She looked so much like her mother when she did that.
“I’m not going, so it’s up to you.”
“But . . . why not?”
“I’d have to take off work.”
“Really? So will everyone else. It’s for a good cause, Dave. Those people in Texas need help. The Lord always blesses those who help the needy.”
“Well, He’ll have to bless the rest of you then.”
She would not beg, so she let it go, but not without the usual confiding in her mother, who drew her mouth in a straight line of disapproval, laid down her paring knife, and gave her daughter the full benefit of her undivided attention.
“Anna, you do realize that Dave is not coming up to our expectations. He has yet to show any willingness to sacrifice, and now this. Surely you are aware that he simply will not be a good husband?”
She had never spoken this directly and harshly.
“But, Mom, it’s not all on him. My part is to be submissive, so if he chooses not to go, it’s up to me to give in. No?”
Her mother took up the potato, began to peel, without further argument, leaving Anna wavering, again between her mother and her headstrong boyfriend, a place she had begun to question.
Did dating have to be quite so hard?
Her mother began to cut up the peeled potatoes, added water, and set the pot on the stove. She turned to Anna, her slim hands resting on her narrow hips, loving concern in a voice full of emotion.
“He has yet to make a decision about joining church. How can you trust him to do the right thing? How can you consider going to Texas without him? He needs your support.”
Anna trembled from the effort to keep control.
“I’m not God, Mom. I can only do so much. I am not the one who can change his heart.”
The mother knew this to be true, saw the futility of her words, and fell into silence.
The bus departed from Lancaster on a Monday morning, with Anna sharing a seat with her friend Martha, a thin, waif-like girl of eighteen who had a smattering of freckles like thrown pepper flakes and brilliant auburn hair to match. She had Lyme disease, so she tired easily and slept for hours at a time, after the excitement wore off.
Anna brought a few books in her larger backpack, so she adjusted her pillow and settled down to read.
When the bus pulled into a rest stop, Martha woke up, then waved a hand, saying “Go ahead. I’ll lie here a while. I feel faint.”
Anna folded the corner of the page, stuck the book in the flap of her backpack, and rose to her feet, stepping out into the narrow aisle between the seats directly in the path of a tall young man with blue eyes.
“Go ahead, no problem,” he said.
“Sorry.”
She hurried away, embarrassed, went to the restroom, bought a bottle of Diet Coke from a vending machine, and went back to the bus, finding Martha feeling unwell, her teeth chattering with cold.
“I shouldn’t have come. I get days when I’m like this. You don’t happen to have a blanket, do you?”
“I didn’t bring one. I don’t know why I didn’t think.”
Martha shivered, her thin shoulders hunched forward, her skinny arms wrapped around her slender waist.
“I should not have come.”
“It’s okay, Martha. I’ll find a blanket.”
Anna stood and surveyed the passengers that had returned to their seats before making her way toward the back of the bus.
“Does anyone have a spare blanket? A throw, or even a coat?”
Leon Beiler was from Millerstown, Pennsylvania, and had lived there most of his life. An outlying region of Lancaster, it was home to a large group of Amish. Asked to accompany a busload of the Cardinal youth to the flooded region of Texas, he accepted grudgingly but felt if he was asked, it would be his duty to comply.
The oldest in a family of ten, he knew all about sacrifice and hard work, his mother keeping up 75 percent of the workload and responsibilities, his father saddled with recurring bouts of depression, finally diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He was sent to rest in a retreat for troubled people in Ohio, returned, and was back again the following year. The boy’s wages kept the family afloat; the meager four-bedroom home on an acre and a half carried a second mortgage.
At the age of twenty-four, Leon had aged far beyond his years, his level of maturity like a forty-year-old, with the maelstrom that had always been his life at home, the mother a pillar of extraordinary strength.
He had foregone dating, never actively seeking a girlfriend, in spite of having many opportunities. He was tall, blue-eyed, and handsome, his hair like a sultry night, a dark color not quite black and not quite brown. His eyes were set on each side of a nose that had a wide bridge, a pleasant mouth that seemed his best feature, with smoothly tanned skin that needed a shave every morning. Wearing a white shirt open at the throat, his gray denims tight around his hips, he struck an attractive pose.
When he saw Anna step out from her seat, he didn’t really notice her as much as he did when she walked back through the bus.
She was exquisite. A rare flower.
He looked away, chided himself for allowing his eyes to linger. He was nothing to her, and anyone with those looks had to be taken. They always were.
“A blanket? Is there an extra one?”
A blanket. She wanted a blanket. Right. He had one.
He held out the soft gray fleece. An offering.
“This one okay?”
She looked down at him. Oh, it was him. She’d stepped out in front of him. He was . . . well.
“Thank you. I’ll return it. My friend Martha is not feeling well.”
“I don’t need it.”
She smiled, and he would happily have left the world, completed for all his life in the light of that smile. He watched her turn, walk away, and slide into a double seat on his side of the bus.
Well, enough was enough. He had not come on this trip to find a girl. Romance was out of the question. His mother had more to bear than any human should have the day she married his poor tortured father. The responsibility of being his mentor, raising the ten of them, besides the financial burden when he was unable to work, which was becoming more and more frequent as he refused to take medication, left Leon and two of his brothers to provide for the groceries, the monthly mortgage, and other expenses. His mother baked and grew produce for a roadside stand, which enabled her to keep some cash and her own sense of independence, but it was a hardscrabble kind of life.
When the bus stopped again, evening was already dimming the light in the parking lot of a Denny’s, where all the passengers disembarked for the first hot meal of the day. Martha was feeling better after sleeping for more than six hours, sat up, and fussed with her hair and covering, saying she looked like a newly hatched beebly.
“You know how ugly they are when they’re still wet,” she said, addressing Anna with the wry sense of humor that made her so endearing.
They joined two more of Anna’s acquaintances, Suzanna and Leah, both tired and disheveled, smoothing their hair, repositioning bobby pins and adjusting coverings.
Anna watched for him, knowing where he sat and with whom. She felt guilty, but shook it off.
They ordered, ate baked potatoes, roasted chicken, French fries and coleslaw, and burgers so thick they could barely open their mouths wide enough to chomp down on them. They drank sweet tea, Pepsi, lemonade, and then felt immensely refreshed.
Anna walked across the parking lot with Martha and breathed in the night air. She took notice of flying insects circling the pale light and the burst of daffodils along a stone wall. Spring came earlier in the South, so it was exciting to realize they would likely be working in warm weather.
And she experienced a sense of rightness, a settling of her troubles the way sediment settles to the bottom of a glass. A sense of uplifting, little squiggles of joy that made her skip a few steps, like a schoolgirl.
“You’re happy,” Martha observed.
“See those daffodils?”
“What about them?
“They’re there. Spring is here.”
“Whatever turns you on,” Martha observed dryly.
They settled into their seats, Martha plumping her pillows before burrowing under her blanket, mumbling goodnight. She was out like a light.
Anna watched the remaining passengers return to their seats. He had not returned. She reached down for her backpack, lifted it to her lap, and dug out the book. She would read while there was still a bit of daylight. Her stomach felt pleasantly full. The doors on the bus opened one last time, as the driver called out to make sure everyone was present, then stepped back to allow him to enter. Breathing hard, his hair disheveled, laughing, he apologized for being late, then looked around for a place to sit.
