Her parents believed those values promised them a place in heaven. But she knew those staunch values also meant they would never listen to her. They would never understand. And they would never, ever approve. In the end, they’d left her no choice but to choose. Her family—her very Amishness—or a future with the man she loved more than her own existence.
They’d met most recently two days ago at this very spot. She’d laughed when he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed. Rings aren’t exchanged when an Amish couple becomes engaged, but she’d felt like a princess when he told her he’d put one on layaway—a real diamond set into a simple gold band—and he’d be picking it up when he got paid. Her joy was dampened only when she reminded him that her parents would never give their blessing. She was only seventeen years old, but she’d already been baptized. She would be put under the bann. Excommunicated. No one would speak to her. No one would take meals with her. Worst of all, they would forbid her to see her brother and sisters. How the thought hurt her heart!
Last night, after everyone went to bed, she’d pulled out her satchel and packed. Underwear. Socks. A change of clothes. A bar of her mamm’s lye soap. A copy of Martyrs Mirror. She didn’t have room for the nearly twelve-hundred-page book, but it was the one item she couldn’t live without. No matter how troubled her soul, the old tome, with its accounts of the Anabaptists who’d died for their faith, both horrified and inspired her to love God even more. In the coming days, she was going to need every ounce of strength and faith she could muster.
This morning, after Datt left, she sneaked into the bedrooms of her brother and sisters for final kisses, her tears leaving their soft cheeks nearly as wet as hers. “I love you little ones,” she’d whispered. “Be good.” She’d hoped that in a few weeks or months, her parents would realize how much they missed her and welcome her back. But she didn’t think so, and that made her cry even harder because deep inside she knew she’d never see them again.
It took her two hours to walk to the covered bridge. She’d broken a sweat every time a car or buggy passed. She was terrified someone she knew would see her and tell her parents. Of course, it didn’t matter really. They would find out soon enough. Even if they tried to stop her, she wouldn’t change her mind. Nothing could stop her now. Nothing.
Slipping off her shoes, she strolled over to the place where he’d carved their initials into the wood. It was a silly thing, but the sight of it made her cry again. Finally, after months of sneaking around and fearing exposure, they’d be together, only now as husband and wife. There would be a wedding. A home. Children. Her chest swelled with love, and not for the first time she asked God how something so right and pure and good could be bad.
Finally, emotionally spent, she went back to her satchel and sat down. He was late, as usual, and she couldn’t wait to see him. She could picture his face. So handsome. Such kind eyes. The secret smile he had only for her. He’d be here any moment in that old car of his, elbow out the window, radio blaring, hair blowing in the wind. All she had to do was sit and wait. She figured she could wait forever if that’s what it took.
“Hurry, my love,” she whispered. “Hurry.”
CHAPTER 1
Present day
I was eight years old when I learned there were consequences for associating with the English. Consequences that were invariably negative and imposed by well-meaning Amish parents bent on upholding the rules set forth by our Anabaptist forefathers nearly three hundred years ago. In my case, this particular life lesson transpired at the horse auction near Millersburg and involved a twelve-year-old English boy and the Appaloosa gelding he was trying to sell. Add me to the mix, and it was a dangerous concoction that ended with me taking a fall and my father’s realization that I saw the concept of rules in a completely different light—and I possessed an inherent inability to follow them.
I never forgot the lesson I learned that day or how much it hurt my eight-year-old heart, which, even at that tender age, was already raging against the unfairness of the Ordnung and all of those who would judge me for my transgressions. But the lessons of my formative years didn’t keep me from breaking the same rules time and time again, defying even the most fundamental of Amish tenets. By the time I entered my teens, just about everyone had realized I couldn’t conform and, worse, that I didn’t fit in, both of which are required of a member of the Amish community.
Now, at the age of thirty-three, I can’t quite reconcile myself to the fact that I’m still trying to please those who will never approve and failing as miserably as I did when I was an inept and insecure fifteen-year-old girl.
“Stop worrying.”