A Wedding Quilt for Ella (4 page)

“I think I’ll be going up to my room,” Ella said, making an effort to rise. “I want to be alone.”

Mamm searched her daughter’s face but said nothing. Together they moved upstairs, taking the steps slowly. Once inside her room, Ella sat on the bed while Mamm lit the kerosene lamp. The match caught on the wick, the flame flickered, but settled down when she replaced the glass chimney. Mamm sat down beside Ella.

“I’m okay, yah,” Ella whispered.

“You’d best not be alone for the night. Perhaps I can be staying with you.”

Ella shook her head. “I want to think about Aden—all night long—and where he has gone.”

“Thinking’s not good,” her mom said with understanding. “It will not bring Aden back, and the will of
Da Hah
must not be questioned. We must believe that
Da Hah
knows what’s best.”

Ella lifted her face and said, “I must ask my questions, Mamm. I really must. They are in my heart, and I will ask them even if no one answers them. Does
Da Hah
ask that we love someone with all our heart and then forget without a struggle?” Ella stared at the blank wall, the wild shadows of light dancing on the blue color.

Mamm studied Ella’s face for a long moment, before standing to her feet. “You can be alone, then. A little later I will look in on you, yah?”

Ella nodded, and Mamm, with one more careful look at her daughter’s face, stepped into the hall and closed the door gently behind her.

Is Aden really gone?

Yet it had to be true. Aden’s father had said so, and his sorrow was evidence enough.

She felt the need to walk, to pace the floor. But as soon as she stood, she sat down again. Her body was completely drained of strength. It was then that the sobs came, great waves shaking her frame. From the force of the fountain within, she tried again to stand.

She walked the floor, making no effort to keep the thoughts away, allowing the pain to rack her. Aden’s face—so handsome, so young, and so beloved—came before her. That first time she saw him, even then, how much she had wanted him to ask if he could take her home. In the weeks after, how her heart trembled from the uncertainty of whether he ever would or not. His eyes held a smile on Sunday nights, not just for her but for other girls too.

Then there was that evening when she came close to him as he paused beside his buggy. How her hopes had risen and then crashed when the conversation had gone nowhere.

“Hi Ella,” he had said. “It’s a
gut
evening, isn’t it? The stars are so bright tonight. One can see all the way into the heavens, it seems like.”

She said something but couldn’t remember the words. Her irritation at him astonished her—that he noticed the stars in the heavens but not the ones in her eyes. But then perhaps he did notice and was so used to seeing them in every girl’s eyes that they meant nothing to him.

She agonized and walked slowly passed him, but he seemed more interested in getting his horse hitched to the buggy than with where she was headed.

It had been weeks—maybe months—later when he asked her if he could take her home. She had to struggle to stay calm, to not shout “Yah!” Instead she just nodded her head and hoped the joy in her face didn’t show too much.

She walked the floor, remembering the thrill of that first moment when she sat beside him in the buggy—so close to such strength, such powerful arms. She remembered how he held the horse’s reins, how the stubble of a beard moved in the darkness, and how he talked and slapped the lines to hurry the horse out of the driveway.

“It was nice for you to be lettin’ me take you home,” he said. It was the first thing out of his mouth, as if she were the one who extended the favor and the one who gave all the pleasure.

He let his horse go that night, and she clung on to the side of the buggy because she didn’t dare clutch his arm. She thought he was showing off but would learn in time that he really hung on to the lines, pulling his horse back from an even faster speed. He was like that—always had more than what he revealed. His body and soul contained strength above what one needed. After a time she learned this—after she understood his heart. She often marveled that God made such a man.

She fed him shoofly pie that night. He said halfway through, “I don’t really like shoofly pie, but this is good. It must be because you made it.”

“Aden,” she had gasped and stood to take the plate from him.

“No, I’ll eat it,” he said, playfully pulling back from her outstretched hands.

“But you don’t have to eat it. We still have a piece of cherry pie in the cupboard. It’s better than making you eat something you don’t like. I’m so embarrassed.”

He laughed. “Don’t be. This really does taste good.”

She sat down on the couch again and watched him finish. The way he ate convinced her he really did like the pie. Either that or he was a really good actor.

“Can I come again?” he asked at the door when it was time to go.

She knew then she loved him. She loved him enough to be his wife long before he ever took her hands in his or kissed her. His hands were rugged, rough from his work in the outdoors. He laughed with a full sound as if the joy rolled up from inside of him and his life could never hold all of it.

Then there was that Sunday night. She was just nineteen. He had said the words, “You will marry me, yah?” Unable to speak, she had nodded.

He laughed. She had hoped it was for joy and not for her awkward silence at such a moment.

“If I could, I would marry you tomorrow, Ella. Do you know that? But we have to wait—until we’re both twenty-one.”

“It’s so long,” she said, clinging to his arm.

“I know. But you’re worth the wait, worth every minute. To be married to you will be worth it all and then some.”

She hung her head that night to hide the stars in her eyes from him. How badly she wanted to tell him she was unworthy, that his opinion was too high of her, but the words wouldn’t come, just the rush of emotion as he kissed her again.

They talked for hours on the backless couch in her living room. The things they found to do, apparently other couples weren’t that interested in doing. Together they took walks by the river at the bottom of Seager Hill. In the winter snow, they made snowmen on Sunday afternoons. They stood by his buggy and talked about the stars, argued about what they were called, and even visited the library in Randolph to find evidence for their arguments.

They visited his
grossmom
who lived in the
dawdy haus
behind his parents’ place. They stopped the buggy once to listen to
Englisha
Christmas carolers singing outside a house.

“They are beautiful, those songs, even if they are
Englisha
songs,” he said.
“Da Hah
in heaven might even listen to something so nice.”

“Yah,” she said in astonishment.

“The whole earth is beautiful, is it not?” he said. “Did not
Da Hah
make it all without the help of man? So who is to say He doesn’t like beautiful things?”

She shivered. “You must not say such things. Preacher Stutzman might hear you. You should be careful with your words.”

He laughed. “These are words for your ears only. You draw them out of my heart. We won’t speak such things to Preacher Stutzman. And if you knew the truth, Preacher Stutzman is a nice man. You just have to get to know him.”

He pulled her tight against him in the buggy so that she felt the warmth of his arm even through the blanket.

“Da Hah couldn’t have made a more beautiful girl than you if He tried,” he said. “I can’t wait until you’re my wife. I can’t imagine how I deserve such a thing. I will build a house, Ella, just for you. It will be a great big house, one with plenty of rooms for love…and for all our children.”

“Stop it,” she told him. “Such nonsense you speak, and I am just a common, ordinary girl with plenty of faults like everyone else. If you don’t quit your wild imaginations soon, you’ll be in for a big disappointment.”

He laughed beside her in the darkness, and she knew he wasn’t persuaded. And she loved him even more for it.

Behind her Ella heard the bedroom door opened, and Mamm appeared. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yah,” she said. “I loved him, Mamm. I loved him so very much.”

“I know.” Mamm wrapped her arms around her daughter for a long time. Then she released her hug and left quietly Ella resumed her pacing and remembering and then the questions.
How could God do this to me? How could He place such a love in my heart and then allow it to be torn out with such brute force? How could such a God be trusted again?

Yet she could not go on with such thoughts. It was forbidden. Surely it was her lack of understanding
Da Hah’s
ways. Was that not the real problem? Yet how could one understand with such pain throbbing in the heart, with such agony tearing at the soul, and with tears pouring out like water from a fountain?

Ella walked the floor and tore open the curtains, nearly bringing them down off the hooks on the wall.
I will ask my questions. I will ask why. Let the heavens say what they wish. Let faith lock the door, but I will walk through it anyway.

Her eyes searched the heavens, studied the stars—those very stars she and Aden had shared.
Do they know the answer?
She waited but was greeted only with silence, with mockery, as if they laughed at her distress and promised her nothing with their stony silence. She was truly alone and forsaken in life.

Five

T
he next morning Daett softly called to the younger girls from the bottom of the stairs. Clara and Dora both stirred in their beds. Clara reluctantly swung her feet to the floor, and Dora lit the kerosene lamp, its shadows dancing wildly on the walls. Clara reached for her dress, which was beside the bed, and dressed quickly.

“We’re one person short this morning,” Dora whispered. “Ella will not be with us.”

“I know,” Clara grunted. “I thought of that last night.” How would all the morning work be handled? Much of last evening had been spent in stunned silence in the living room. When bedtime came, the children had been bidden goodnight with strict instructions to be quiet and not bother Ella.

But as they crept past Ella’s door, the children could all hear Ella’s muffled sobs. How strange and confusing it all was. The world had simply turned upside down. Death had always been a distant thing, seen only when they walked past wooden boxes at funerals. Now it had arrived in their home and to their Ella, of all people, sweet self-sacrificing Ella.

Daett had led the family in a Scripture reading before they went to bed. His hands held the huge family Bible as he spoke the words in somber tones, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

He had read in English. That just made things all the stranger. The Scriptures were never read in English. Never. Clara had stared at her dad, but he simply closed the big Bible and said, “Everyone, off to bed. We all have a hard day ahead of us tomorrow.” And they had tiptoed upstairs and climbed into their bedrooms.

The new day loomed before them all. Dora took the kerosene lamp and quietly stepped into the hall with Clara behind her. As they went by Ella’s door, it opened suddenly, and there was Ella, still in her dress from last night, looking worn. Her face was red and puffy, and her eyes looked sad and lonely. The light from the kerosene lamp in Dora’s hand splashed shadows on Ella’s face.

“Is it time to chore?” Ella asked in a bare whisper.

“You’re not supposed to get up,” Dora said.

“I know,” Ella said as she glanced down at her wrinkled dress, “but I can help, and I don’t even have to get dressed. I must have slept in this.”

“As you wish,” Dora said, shaking her head, “but Mamm will have something to say about this.”

The three made their way downstairs with Ella in the rear. They walked single file into the kitchen.

“Why is Ella up?” Mamm asked as if Ella wasn’t there and Dora and Clara were to blame.

“She must have heard us.” Dora said. “We didn’t make any noise, and I told her not to come down.”

“Then get right back upstairs,” Mamm said, addressing Ella for the first time.

“I have to do something, Mamm. I can’t just sit up in my room and think of him.”

“Didn’t you sleep at all?” Mamm asked.

“I don’t know,” Ella said. “I don’t remember.”

“Ach.” Mamm said, relenting. “Well, perhaps that is for the best. Then stay with Clara inside while Dora and I do the barn chores.”

Ella nodded, standing totally still while Dora and Mamm left. She turned to Clara and said, “You can set the table, Clara, as usual. I’ll need help with the bacon after that.”

Clara glanced at her sister. So Ella had plans for a full breakfast. Ella had her back turned, intent on the fire in the stove, the shadows of the kerosene lamps playing on her shoulders. Clara whispered the words, “I’m sorry about Aden, Ella.”

Ella turned around, her face caught in the soft light. “He’s gone, Clara. And I so loved him. I really did.”

“Maybe
Da Hah
will send you someone else,” Clara said without much thought, the words just coming out of her mouth.

Ella smiled gently. “No, Clara. It’s not to be. There was just one Aden—my Aden—and I could never love like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Clara said. It did feel like the right thing to say. “He was a
gut
man.”

Ella paused at the words, the match in her hand. “He was more than
gut,
Clara. Aden was wonderful. He was the most wonderful boy I ever laid eyes on. He won my heart, and he loved me, Clara. I was to become his wife. I was to bear his children if
Da Hah
sent us any. We would have grown old together. Now he’s dead and just gone. And it was
Da Hah
who took him.”