Chapter Fourteen
As Vernon hitched his Percheron to an enclosed buggy, his whistled tune echoed in
the dim barn. Even though the early-morning clouds hung low in the sky, promising
snow by afternoon, he felt lighthearted and extremely optimistic. For the past couple
of days, Jerusalem had regaled his aunts with tales of her family in Lancaster County
and her nephews in Willow Ridge. Abner had even told him, privately, that this woman
would make a wonderful wife for him and a welcome addition to their family.
Jerusalem said her goodbyes and thank-you’s to Nettie, Florence, and his nephew, and
then the two of them were headed back to Willow Ridge as the sun painted a pale pink
line at the far horizon. The north wind whipped at the buggy, but even so Vernon felt
a cozy glow as they started down the road. While the sleigh was a wonderful vehicle
for dashing through the snow, with bells jingling merrily, this enclosed vehicle was
warmer and felt more conducive to the conversation he hoped to have while they spent
a couple of hours on the road.
“We’ll take a different route, so you can get a look at our little town,��� he remarked
as Samson clip-clopped along the cleared county blacktop. “Up here on the left, you’ll
see the Cedar Creek Mercantile, where Sam Lambright keeps us supplied with everything
you could possibly want,” he remarked. “Sam’s mother runs the greenhouse beside his
store, and his sister Abby has her sewing business in the mercantile’s loft. Across
the road is Graber’s Custom Carriages, where James refurbished my sleigh.”
“Nice-lookin’ places,” Jerusalem said as she peered out her window. “Looks like we’ve
got sheep in these barns, and a dairy herd over yonder.”
“That’s the Ropp place. One of Rudy’s boys has a machinery repair business, and the
other one’s getting into cage-free chickens and eggs that sell to some of the more
upscale English markets hereabouts.”
“
Jah
, seems like folks can’t be satisfied with plain old white eggs and white chickens
these days. Just like Ira and Luke are havin’ the farmers around Willow Ridge grow
specialty grains for their new mill.”
As they turned onto the main highway, Vernon eased Samson closer to the shoulder and
let the horse settle into his own pace. His thoughts whirled like dry leaves caught
in the wind . . . should he propose during this ride? He’d told Jerusalem many times
he wanted her for his wife, but he’d held off popping the question . . . had kept
the words “I love you” reserved for just the right moment, so she wouldn’t think he
was careless about tossing such an important phrase around.
Vernon considered how best to bring up the subject . . . ran various lead-ins through
his mind, rearranging the words and turns of phrase as he did when he was planning
key points for a Sunday sermon. Words had always come easily to him, yet he recalled
going through this same agitation, this same sense of urgency, so many years ago when
Dorothea had been seated beside him in a courting buggy. He thanked God that he’d
gained some experience and a keener understanding of females over time, because Jerusalem
wouldn’t jump as eagerly at the chance to marry as young girls did. She, too, had
lived a full life and he sensed she could continue quite contentedly as a single woman
. . . except that with her sister planning to marry Tom Hostetler, her world was about
to undergo a major change. Vernon smiled. His longtime friend had unwittingly done
him a huge favor, falling for Nazareth Hooley!
Finally he felt confident that God would give him the right words, and that the Lord
would also open Jerusalem’s mind and heart to love him as much as he adored her. He
ran his thumbs over the smooth leather traces, getting his nerve up . . .
But when he noticed that Jerusalem was still gazing out her side window, with her
jaw tight and her lips pressed into a thin line, Vernon swallowed his big question.
Was that a tear trickling down her cheek?
He’d never learned how best to handle a crying woman. So many things could be going
through Jerusalem’s mind . . . something he’d said or done—or
not
said or done. Or she could be worried about something totally unrelated to these
past several days he’d spent with her. She’d seemed to enjoy his aunts’ company .
. . had fit into the family dynamic better than he’d dared to hope.
So he would tread carefully, delicately. Just the sight of that single tear on this
special woman’s face tore Vernon up inside, and he reminded himself to remain as calm
and observant and patient as he’d ever been with Dorothea, Nettie, or Florence. Older
women cried for different reasons than young girls did, if indeed they could pinpoint
a reason.
He reached for Jerusalem’s hand, realizing that she’d remained beside the door rather
than scooting toward the center of the seat, where she’d ridden during their sleigh
rides. Not a good sign. “I’ve been lost in my own thoughts, and it seems you’ve become
upset,” he whispered. “How may I help you, dear heart? What’s on your mind?”
Jerusalem let out a shuddery sigh.
Vernon shifted slightly closer to her, holding the reins in one hand while he kept
his other one on hers. He hoped to clear up this situation quickly, or it would be
a very long ride to Willow Ridge. But he remained quiet, sensing that her sniffles
. . . the loud blowing of her nose, were her ways of gathering her thoughts. Jerusalem
wasn’t the type to cry over piddling matters, so she deserved his patience.
“I . . . I had a wonderful-
gut
visit at your place, Vernon,” she began in an unsteady voice.
He nodded, knowing the other shoe would only drop if he didn’t force it to. “I’m glad
you came, too. That took some courage, knowing what my intentions were . . . what
they are.”
Jerusalem cleared her throat. She was still looking away from him but not moving her
hand from under his. “You’ve got a couple of dear aunts, Vernon. I admire the way
ya gave them and Abner a home . . .”
Again Vernon waited, refraining from a reply. Her sigh sounded so despondent that
he closed his eyes, hoping the rosy future he’d been dreaming of wasn’t about to vanish
like the wisps of breath coming from Samson’s nostrils.
“. . . but you’ve got so much stuff—so many memories of Dorothea—in your house, I’m
not sure there’s room for me.”
She might as well have pitched a brick at him. Vernon’s chest felt like it was caving
in, and he exhaled quickly. While he admired Jerusalem for her wit, her way with putting
words together, he was now wishing she wasn’t quite so succinct. “I—I don’t know what
to say.”
Jerusalem laughed sadly. “
Jah
, I do that to people sometimes. And I hate to burst your perty bubble, Vernon, because
I was caught up in it, too,” she admitted. “Took me a while to figure out what wasn’t
settin’ just right during my visit, but there it is. Your wife was a blessed woman,
no doubt in my mind. But she might as well still be livin’ there in all those rooms.
I—I’m sorry.”
Vernon sighed, very near tears himself. “I . . . hadn’t thought about that, Jerusalem.
But once again, you’re absolutely right about—”
“Don’t be playin’ that little word game to humor me,” she murmured. “It’s gonna take
more than words and
gut
intentions to fix this.”
Jerusalem looked at him, then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I can’t expect
ya to change your home or get rid of all those fine pieces ya made for Dorothea, on
account of how ya poured so much love into them,” she continued in a rueful voice.
“Wouldn’t be fair of me to ask that of any man, but . . . at our stage of the game,
that’s how it’ll be with anybody we’ll meet, most likely.”
Bless her, this woman had pointed up something that must be so obvious to everyone
who entered his home, and yet he hadn’t seen it. Nettie, Florence, and Abner had moved
into brand new rooms and they’d chosen new furnishings . . . made new quilts for their
beds. Because they had lost everything they’d held dear in the flood, they were thankful
to have a roof over their heads and grateful that he and Dorothea had made them welcome.
While he knew widowers who had insisted their new wives accept the home and furnishings
they provided, Vernon couldn’t expect Jerusalem to feel comfortable while surrounded
by the mementos of his previous marriage . . . no matter how much he treasured them.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said quietly. “And no matter how disheartened
I am, I truly appreciate your candor, Jerusalem.”
She sighed. “Better to spell it all out now, rather than get hitched and have both
of us be miserable.”
Vernon patted her hand and then let go of it. Squeezed the reins as a way to deal
with an anguish that took his breath away. Anything he might say at this point would
sound like an excuse or a desperate plea for Jerusalem’s love, and that wasn’t a good
foundation on which to build a lasting relationship.
The next couple of hours went slowly, with only an occasional remark about the passing
scenery, yet Vernon was grateful that Jerusalem didn’t fill the time with aimless
chitchat. Her admission of discomfort further proved what a direct, solid woman she
was. Far better that she had aired her true feelings rather than letting them fester.
As various solutions to his problem whirled through his mind, Vernon came to terms
with the fact that he would have to make some major changes if he wanted to marry
this woman who had so quickly woven herself into his dreams, his heart . . . his soul.
When they came within sight of the mill and its big wheel, he crossed the river bridge
and pulled the rig to a stop on the side of the road. “I hope you’ll give Tom and
Nazareth my best?”
“
Jah
, I can do that.” She smiled at him. Her eyes were clear now, but sadness lingered
on her face. “I won’t go on and on about why you’re not droppin’ in at Tom’s now,
either.”
Vernon shrugged. “I know good and well you’ll tell your sister everything—”
“Not everything.” Jerusalem reached for his hand, reminding him yet again of how firm
her grip was and what a hold she had on his heart. “Some things I keep to myself,
to think about in quiet times. To smile about when nobody’s lookin’.”
“May I stay in touch? I don’t intend to pester you, or—”
“When have I ever had so many friends that I could turn one away?” she murmured. “I’d
feel real bad if ya wanted nothin’ more to do with me, Vernon. But I’d understand
that, too, after the way I’ve let ya down.”
Quickly Vernon embraced her, overcome by her simple, heartfelt goodness. “You’ve not
heard the last of me, Jerusalem. I don’t give up easily.”
He kissed her soft cheek. Then he drove her to the mill entrance, carried her suitcase
to the stoop, and felt extremely grateful that her tears had dried. He memorized Jerusalem’s
kind smile, the sight of her waving from the door.
And then Vernon drove home to Cedar Creek, a man facing a major mission, indeed.
Two days later, as Jerusalem helped Nazareth remove the evergreen and candles that
had adorned Tom’s mantel and windowsills for the holidays, her sister was still pecking
at her. “Jerusalem, ya can’t tell me Vernon just up and decided he wasn’t crazy about
ya,” Nazareth remarked. “It’s not like ya to be so quiet. Tom’s curious about it,
too.”
Jerusalem smiled to herself. It had taken great restraint, but she had kept the juicy
details about her Cedar Creek visit to herself. And indeed, she had mentally replayed
many of the lovely moments she’d spent with Vernon, and she could smile now instead
of weeping about what she’d walked away from. “Not much to tell,” she hedged. “I figured
out—”
“Puh! This is
me
you’re talkin’ to, and Tom’ll be muckin’ out the barn for a while,” her sister insisted.
“I’m keepin’ after ya for my own reasons, ya know. If you’re seein’ things, about
why gettin’ hitched at our age isn’t a
gut
idea, maybe you’d better point them out to me. Maybe I’ve leaped before I looked,
when it comes to fallin’ for Tom.”
Jerusalem paused with the dust rag halfway across the windowsill they’d just cleared.
“Well, since ya put it that way . . . I, um, told Vernon I couldn’t move into a house
that was full of furniture he’d made for his first wife,” she stated. “Don’t get me
wrong, it was all beautiful and any woman would be glad to have it, I suppose. But
to me, it felt like his Dorothea still lived there, and she’d always be lookin’ over
my shoulder.”
Nazareth’s eyebrows flew up. She gazed around Tom’s front room, a pensive expression
on her face. “Well, isn’t that the way of it, when ya hitch up with a fella who’s
been married?” she asked quietly. “It’s not like we’ve got roomfuls of our own things
to move into a man’s home, after all. Just the linens and what-not we packed into
our bride’s chests as girls.”
Sighing, Jerusalem wiped down the rest of the windowsill. “Maybe most gals could accept
that—and if you’re happy here in Tom’s home, that’s what matters,” she added emphatically.
“But it just wasn’t workin’ for me. I hurt Vernon’s feelings, tellin’ him my concerns,
but at least I didn’t keep him guessin’ about why I was so uncomfortable.”
She paused, figuring she might as well get the rest of it off her chest and be done
with it. “You and I have spent all our lives under somebody else’s roof, Nazareth.
After the folks passed, when Jericho took us into his
dawdi haus
, that’s what we expected, as
maidel
sisters. And here in Willow Ridge,” she went on in a rising voice, “the nephews and
the Lantz family have looked after us whenever we weren’t stayin’ at Hiram’s, helpin’
with his youngest kids.”
“And we’ve been ever grateful—and helpful—to all those who’ve welcomed us,” Nazareth
pointed out.