All in Good Time, page 18
The spark of anger in Andy’s eyes ignited the disappointment in Eli. It was all so sudden, coming on like a cyclone in the middle of a calm summer day. Andy felt Eli slipping away, tightened his grip on the friendly control he’d always had, the sense of panic rising. This was an unusual thing, this unexpected asking for something he was unwilling to give.
May noticed immediately.
The lack of a warm twinkle in her husband’s blue eyes was plenty cause for alarm, but coupled with Eli’s hooded eyes and angered countenance, it was very distressing. Her eyes pleaded with Andy, but when no reassurance was forthcoming, she turned her back and dished up the hot beef stew with shaking hands. She turned to set the bowl on the table, ready to receive Andy’s bright smile, but her own slid off her face, leaving a question in her troubled eyes. She poured water, brought the dish of pickled red beet eggs, and sat with Fronie and Lizzie beside her on the bench.
“Junior is asleep,” she said, quietly, her eyes going to Andy in bewilderment.
Without further ado, Andy bowed his head, the rest following suit for the quiet prayer. May’s heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest as she placed her fears on the throne of mercy. Now, after all this time, was she to be handed the limpid sheaves of her wrongdoing? Oh God, have mercy.
May, being the natural peacemaker, made nervous small talk, her glance going anxiously from face to face, hoping for a change of expression in both. The steaming beef stew turned dry in her mouth when Andy said calmly, “Eli thinks he wants to be a farrier.”
“Oh?”
It was all May could say, knowing the helplessness her husband was experiencing. She cast a quick look on Eli’s direction before taking up her glass and taking a sip of water.
“So what do you say?” Andy’s voice was demanding, as if he was already accusing May of taking Eli’s side in the argument.
May hesitated. She knew she wanted only the best for Eli—what he wanted, she wanted—but she felt the same about Andy, her husband, her confidant. Caught in the middle, she shrugged both shoulders, lifted her hands with palms up, and shook her head.
“I don’t know. You need Eli.”
“Of course I need Eli. I can’t possibly go on farming without him.”
Eli’s dark eyes flashed. “You can hire someone.”
“Are you going to pay him?
“No.”
Was it a flicker of fear in Andy’s blue eyes, or was it naked disbelief? Calm, obedient Eli. To have him turn against his own wishes was beyond comprehension.
Then Eli spoke. He was calmer, sounding older than his years, and there was just a hint of bitterness in his voice. “You know I don’t always want to be here on the farm. I like what I do here, but I can’t depend on being the heir to this place. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay in the future. Let’s be honest—no Amish family is going to allow their white daughter to be married to me.”
Andy bowed his head. May gave a small, sad cry.
“Oh, Eli. Don’t say that. You’re only sixteen.”
“Mam, I thought about this since I was in school. You can’t deny it.”
So here it was. The burden of her sowing the seeds of sin. No matter the circumstances of her life with Melvin and Gertie Amstutz, her escape and time spent with Clinton would always have its repercussions, like a thrown stone in a still pool, the ripples going on and on through the generations. As she sat in the safety of her own farmhouse kitchen, surrounded by all the love and security she would ever need, she knew a moment of reckoning, knew she was caught in the helpless tide of her past. Eli, Eli. Please don’t say this to me. I can’t accept this as the absolute, written-in-stone truth.
The kitchen was so quiet, the sound of the ticking clock seemed deafening, the drip of the water faucet the sound of torture. May bowed her head as unbidden tears rose to the surface.
“I’m sorry, Mam. But this has to be faced. I won’t be able to stay when the time comes for me to be married. You know as well as I do, marriage between black people and whites isn’t legal.”
“But you’re not ready yet!” May burst out, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m preparing myself for when the time comes.”
“After all we’ve done for you!” Andy shouted.
Lizzie and Fronie winced, then hid their faces in their hands. May shook her head, told the girls they were excused, said she thought Junior might be awake.
“Andy, please don’t raise your voice,” May begged. “We need to discuss this like adults and becoming upset won’t help anything.”
Andy looked at his wife’s tear-stained face and said, “I’m sorry.”
May gathered courage from that sincere statement, felt it rise in her heart as she gripped the tabletop. “I think Eli is right, Andy. You know he is.”
“But maybe not. Maybe someone would accept him, as . . . as he is.”
“As I am? How am I?”
Andy’s eyes fell before Eli’s. “You know what I mean.”
“Say it.”
“No . . . You’re not completely black,” Andy said, stumbling over the word.
“And if I were, would that make me even worse? Accepted even less?”
“Probably.”
“And you think that is right? You think the color of my skin is how God will judge me at the end of my life.”
“Of course not.”
“Then why do men judge me? Why am I unfit to be a husband to a white woman?”
“Look, Eli. It’s the law. It’s the ordnung of our Amish church. We are not condemning the black race, just keeping the church the way God intended. Pure.”
“So if I join the church, it would be a black stain on a pure white church? A shame and disgrace.”
Andy looked defeated, weary. “I don’t know.”
“You do know. You don’t have the nerve to say it.”
May saw the flicker of anger before Andy rose to his feet, knocking the chair backward. He put both hands on the table, his great shoulders a hulking, formidable strength.
“If you obey us, you will stay here on the farm and forget all this nonsense.”
And with that, he left the room, closing the door solidly behind him. Eli and May sat in silence after that. May’s heart felt shattered, the heaviness in her chest enough to keep her from breathing. And gladly she would have succumbed to the utter weariness, the will to live an impenetrable mountain she had no energy to scale. It had come to this, and she was completely unprepared for the wretchedness.
“Mam.”
“Yes, Eli?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
“Can you understand?”
“Yes.”
As she had left, so long ago it seemed, so her son would leave. She had left out of sheer despair, could no longer abide the maelstrom of evil she had been subjected to, and would now have to bear the burden of her son’s decision. As the handmaiden Hagar had been cast out by the jealous Sarah to roam the wilderness without understanding, so would her precious Eli be cast out, being of another race. But God knew. He had saved Hagar, heard her cry from the desert, where she had given up her son to die because of his thirst. And God heard her, had saved them. Hope welled up as she contemplated the story in the Old Testament, the lesson of Abraham and Sarah’s impatience, after God had promised them a son. After years of no childbearing, Sarah had given Hagar to her husband, saying she was barren, and only later understood the folly of her actions. And yet, God had a perfect plan, had known all along how things would turn out, had known the handmaiden’s son would be the beginning of a large and powerful race. A tribe who would always be at odds with the children of Israel.
In that moment, May realized she must let Eli go. In her heart, she had to release him to seek his own destiny. He had been conceived in sin, no matter how she had suffered at the hands of Melvin Amstutz. And yet, grace had been sufficient. She lived every day in the glory of her beloved Savior’s forgiveness, never doubted the love that infused her days. But this, this parting was all a part of the sacrifice she had to make.
“Eli?”
“Hmm.”
“Is there someone?”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of that.”
For a few moments they sat together in silence.
“Mam, I’m happy here on the farm. If I was white, I would never leave. My home and heart are right here with you and Dat. I don’t blame him for being upset.”
“Achy my. You’ll always be the same caring young boy we love. Somewhere, somehow, God will bless you. Now, are you planning to stay for a while yet?”
“Until I’m eighteen.”
“Must you go? Can’t you try and . . . ?”
“Be alone for the rest of my life? I’ve thought about it. I don’t know . . .”
A long silence lay thickly between them, unspoken words steadily filling the space. May looked at the congealed beef stew, the slices of bread drying out on the plate, the unwashed dishes and laundry on the line, and knew a moment of unutterable sadness, a depression so thick and heavy she thought she would never be able to contain so much.
LIFE WENT ON. There was an apology, a return to the normal way of life, albeit with the thread of sadness standing out like a scarlet cord. The shadows May had so successfully overcome bunched up on the horizon and threatened to overtake the sweetness of Christ’s love and forgiveness. But gradually, as the days went by and Andy and Eli worked side by side, the bitterness lessened. Andy’s heart softened toward his son, this boy he had loved since the moment he fell in love with May. He started to feel an acceptance of Eli becoming a farrier, but he didn’t tell Eli that. He intended to give it some time, see if Eli changed his mind.
ELI RESUMED HIS duties on the farm, kept his eye on the farrier’s skill, and did what was expected of him.
John Troyer remained his friend, as did his sister Mattie, although she noticed the drawing away, the air rife with an icy chill she hadn’t recognized before. It was mysterious, the way Eli’s brown eyes avoided hers, the way he rarely included her in conversations.
Then, John came down with a severe case of strep throat and asked Eli to take his own team and pick up Mattie on Sunday evening. Would he do that for her? The request was based largely on Mattie’s broad hints, but Eli didn’t need to know. They smiled, John and Mattie, their eyes shining a bit too brightly.
So Eli oiled his harnesses, brushed the best sorrel horse with the high-stepping gait, washed the black courting buggy, and shook the lap robes before deciding they smelled bad. He asked his mother to wash them in the wringer washer. Her eyes questioned him, but she did it anyway.
When he dressed with care, spending extra time by the wash basin in the kitchen, turning his face from side to side as he patted his hair with the palm of his hand, a wild hope rose in May, an erratic butterfly of what if. What if a miracle occurred? What if a genuine love would blossom, and the United States government and the Amish ordnung relaxed their views, and Eli could ask this Mattie Troyer and live peacefully among them, his coppery skin completely overlooked?
It had to be Mattie. There was no question.
But the shadows returned as he drove away. His suffering would only be worse if love were to blossom and then get stomped out by the rules they lived under. It all felt too cruel.
IN THE GOLDEN light of evening, Mattie Troyer was a vision of pure beauty. Eli drew in a soft breath and could not keep his eyes away from her perfectly heart-shaped face, the smooth black hair tucked beneath the white covering, the gladness in her emerald green eyes. He found himself short of breath, as if he had run to the Troyer farm, then realized his voice came out hoarse, garbled, the words falling haphazardly.
“Good evening, Eli,” she said warmly.
He held the light lap robe to one side as she sprang lightly into the buggy, then reached across her lap to tuck it into the side. He quite despaired at the intimacy, the closeness of these narrow courting buggies, her presence awakening every thought he had of her. She was all he could ever ask for, all he would ever want but knew he could never have.
“How was your week, Eli?”
“Good. Busy. The crops are productive this summer, with all the rain.”
“Yes. We’re kept busy harvesting from the garden.” She gave a rueful laugh. “I don’t care if I never see another string bean.”
A deep sadness welled up in him. He could smile, nod his head, think of some banal, worthless answer, but it did nothing for the heaviness in his chest. Too late, he realized the mistake of having agreed to pick her up, to ride alone in the achingly beautiful evening, when every climbing wild rose proclaimed its love, the scent of hollyhocks and wild primrose speaking of two hearts destined to be torn apart.
“You’re being quiet, Eli.”
“Sorry. Just thinking, I guess.”
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“It’ll cost a lot more than a penny.”
“Try me.”
He turned to look at her, saw the invitation, the sincerity . . . and what was that look from her eyes? Like a deep, quiet pool, suddenly sent into choppy, restless wavelets. He knew it was against his conscience, against all well-ordered teaching, but he looked deep into those agitated eyes and asked, “How much do you want to go to the hymn singing?”
She answered with her steady gaze that spoke volumes of feeling, then slowly shook her head. “Not much.”
He shook his head, as if acknowledging he was going against everything he knew was good and right. “We need to talk. Could we go to the park in Oakley, perhaps tie the horse and go for a walk?”
“It’s alright with me.” But her voice sounded husky, too quiet, as if every word was an effort.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The road to Oakley was interminable, endless, the silence hanging above and around them, taking away the air they breathed. Mattie plucked nervously at the clean lap robe, kept her eyes downcast, the safety zone they both recognized.
There were dim electric lights surrounding the large grassy area complete with a baseball diamond, swings and slides, a pavilion with picnic tables, a perimeter of fir and oak trees. After tending to the horse, they walked slowly along the bike path surrounding the area, twilight turning everything into an object of perfect beauty. The absence of sunlight hid the weeds, the bare spots in the mown grass.
Still he could not find the proper words to discuss what was in his heart. The walk was completed in silence, both of them breathing too fast, as if they had run the entire way. When Eli sat down on the grass, he lowered his head as she sat beside him.
“You must think I have lost my mind.”
“No, not at all. I . . .”
“I know. You’re waiting till I work up the nerve to talk, but I’m not sure I can.”
“Do you want me to try?”
“I don’t know. There’s just so much to say, and so little that can be said.”
Suddenly, he took her hand, placed it on his knee, then placed his own beside it. For a long moment, neither one spoke. She felt the soft fabric of his dress trousers, the warmth of his hand beside hers. She turned her face to his, a question in her deep green eyes.
“Do you see, Mattie? There is our problem.”
She nodded, coughed a little. She could not speak.
“My hand is black, yours is white.” Slowly, he placed his hand over hers, then gathered it into his own.
She said quickly. “Not very black. Mine is tanned. Not very white.”
He turned her hand over, revealing the white underside, then his own, which was decidedly lighter than the top, but still much darker than hers.
“Do you think there is something to be done about the difference in the color of our skin?”
“I don’t know.”
A thin sliver of the moon rose in the afterglow of the setting sun, like the thin sliver of hope that was banished by her words.
CHAPTER 15
ELI TOLD HER OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF HIS BIRTH, THE desperation driving his mother to Clinton, the black man from Arkansas who had befriended her. He told her of his father’s sad death, his preceding spiral into alcohol, the hard times his mother had experienced before returning to her roots.
Night had fallen, the only available light from the dim yellow pole lights surrounding the area, the appearance of myriad stars, and the remaining sliver of the moon. Fireflies blinked across the grassy field, turning the ordinary into a magical landscape.
“But . . .” Mattie faltered.
“What? Go on.”
“If the Amish community accepted your mother with her . . . um . . . baby, why can’t they accept you now?”
“They do. I can never get married, is all.”
“So what is your solution?”
“There are two. Stay Amish, remain single all my life. Go out into the world and find a nice girl with skin the color of mine. I’m black, Mattie.”
“But only half.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m not the right color to marry a white girl.”
Mattie sighed, a sound as light as a moth settling on a flower. “I could go with you.”
The announcement was unexpected, a thought Eli had never considered. To bring such heartache to an ordinary conservative family would be the epitome of selfishness. Blatant unkindness.
“I would never ask you to do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t. You’re much too thoughtful. You’re the kindest person I know.”
“You don’t know me very well.”
“But I do. I have spent many Sunday evenings with you.”
“I suppose you have.”
“So, if we were both white—or both black—would I have a chance with you?” Mattie asked unexpectedly.
She knew it was too bold, but felt him slipping away into the vast unknown. When Eli didn’t answer, she looked at him, found him with a troubled expression, a hard line of strength in his jaw.
“What am I suppose to say to that? We both know it’s impossible.”
“Just say yes or no, then we’ll get into the buggy and go home.”
