The Preacher's Son, page 19
“Then stay,” Isaiah said simply. “Be a proper daet.”
“Whatever I do, I’m not giving up on my child,” Micah said. “If I go Mennonite, I’m coming back to visit my child. My son or daughter will know me.”
“You’ll ruin Bethany’s life,” Isaiah said.
“Then she can come with me. But I’m not going to be beaten into submission here. I don’t know what it’s like to be a daet yet, but I know I already feel something for that child, and I won’t be told that I can’t be a father because we made a mistake. If she wants to live within these rules, she’s welcome, but if she comes with me to Pittsburgh, no one will treat her like she’s worthless because of an indiscretion before marriage. And forgive me for thinking that’s a positive thing!”
They passed another Amish farm—the Peterschwims—and Isaiah could see a man walking with buckets in each hand and a little boy following after him. The child couldn’t have been more than three or four, wearing boots that were too big. The daet slowed down and looked behind him, waiting for the boy to catch up.
Isaiah looked over at Micah and found him watching the same scene, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions.
“Your child will follow someone like that,” Isaiah said, his voice gruff. “I don’t mean to be cruel—I’m just pointing out the truth. It will either be you or someone else.”
“Yah . . .” Micah swallowed hard.
They didn’t say anything else on the ride back to the Weibe farm, and as the horses plodded steadily forward, Isaiah couldn’t help but think of that little boy following after his daet. So small, so trusting.
One day Isaiah hoped to have kinner of his own. The problem was, his sons would need to be able to look up to him, to trust him to be the man he said he was. Isaiah already knew what it felt like to be let down by his father; he wouldn’t do that to his own kinner.
He’d be the man they could trust to do the right thing, even when it was hard, even when it meant sacrifice. He’d be the one they could count on to be exactly what he claimed to be. Isaiah would have to make up for Abe in a hundred different ways. He’d have to be everything an Amish man should be to bring some family pride back to the Yoder name.
When Isaiah dropped Micah off at his family’s farm, Micah paused and put his hand on the side of the buggy.
“You’re a good friend, Isaiah,” he said, his voice tight.
“I do try,” Isaiah replied.
And he would continue to try—with every relationship within this community. He’d take the narrow path, he’d climb the steep way. He’d prove that he was trustworthy for the sake of the next generation of Amish kinner. And it started now, with Micah.
“Good night,” Micah said.
Isaiah waved, then flicked the reins, heading back toward the road again.
He was hungry, tired, sad, and rather lonesome. But now he had a purpose, at least. An Amish life was not an easy life, but it was worth the work.
Chapter Thirteen
Sitting at the kitchen table, Bethany rubbed her hands over her face and blinked back some fresh tears. Daet met her gaze, but all she saw was sadness in his lined face. How badly had she disappointed him?
Her value was not in her virginity—she knew that. And yet it would factor in for a potential husband. As her mamm always said, only Gott and one’s own mother cared more about what was inside her heart; for everyone else, there was proper behavior. Her daet would never love her less, but one ill-thought-out choice had certainly changed what was possible for her, now. Instead of that hope chest reminding a husband of her value to her parents, how much they adored her and how much her husband should as well, it was now a reminder to her alone, and for the first time since she’d discovered her pregnancy, all this felt very, very real.
Daet stood by the door, his expression grim. The table was empty, all except that plate with the sandwich that Micah hadn’t touched. At a time like this no one was hungry . . . except Lily, perhaps.
“Micah doesn’t love me,” Bethany said quietly.
“He loved you enough to make a child,” Daet said. “And right now he wants everything—his freedom, a wife, a child, connections with his Amish upbringing, an English life.... He wants too much. Part of growing up is realizing that you can’t have everything. And Micah better face that fact quickly.”
Bethany didn’t answer, and Mamm sighed. “Lily’s out there, Nathaniel.”
“Yah . . . let me go finish up the stable with her. I’ll keep her out there with me for a little while so you two can talk.” He gave Barbara a meaningful look and she nodded.
“We’ll sort this out, Bethany,” Daet said. “Okay?”
“Yah, Daet.”
Somehow, a lecture might be easier to endure than her father’s earnest reassurances because the latter meant that he was scared. No matter how old a woman got, she wanted her parents to feel more in control of things than she did. This time, they didn’t.
Daet headed back outside, the door thumping shut behind him, and Bethany wiped a tear from her cheek.
“I told you Micah couldn’t be trusted now that he’d left,” Bethany said. “He’s not the same. He’s changed.”
“Yah, you did tell me.” Mamm sighed. “Sit down, my dear. I can see the writing on the wall as plainly as you can. And so can your Daet—don’t be fooled there. We’ll have to come up with a plan that doesn’t rely upon Micah coming back again.”
Outside the window, Bethany saw her daet approaching the stable. The door opened and Lily appeared. Their voices carried through the air but were too muffled to make out the words. Lily looked at their father with an adoring smile. Bethany could remember helping her daet in the stables at the same age—and feeling that same adoration for her father. She’d wanted to marry a man just like her daet one day.
“What will Daet think?” Bethany asked.
“He’ll be thinking the same thing I am—that we need a plan. And that this needs to stay a secret.”
“He’s disappointed, though,” Bethany said.
“You need not concern yourself with that,” Mamm said with a gentle smile. “Everyone will have opinions your whole life long. And those opinions are none of your business. He’ll run through a lot of different feelings surrounding this—we all will. But your daet will love you no matter what. And that’s all you need to worry about.”
Bethany nodded, and she slid her hand over her belly, feeling a slight swelling now. Was her body changing so quickly? “So what do I do?”
“From what I can tell, you have a few options,” Mamm said. “First of all, be completely honest with me, because I don’t want you disappearing and worrying us sick. Do you want to go Mennonite with him?”
“No, Mamm.”
“Are you sure? You can tell me.”
“I’m positive.”
“Good . . .” Mamm exhaled a pent-up breath. “Then there are a few options here at home. The first one is that you have this baby and give it up to another family in another community.”
The very thought felt like a knife in her chest and Bethany shook her head. “Never.”
“I’m only putting it on the table as something to look at,” Mamm said. “I know that isn’t your first choice, and it would break my heart, too. The next choice is to simply have the baby, tell people the truth, and accept that you will never get married. You can get baptized again after a short shunning, and—”
Bethany’s eyes brimmed with tears. “A short shunning. Mamm! Do you hear yourself?”
“We’re being realistic here,” Mamm said. “That would be the straightforward way. You would raise your child, at least.”
“And my child would grow up with a mamm with a badly tarnished reputation!” Bethany said. “What life is that? If it’s a boy, he’ll resent me. If it’s a girl, she’ll have a hard time finding a husband of her own because of me. I’ll never be trusted by the other women—you know what gossip does. I’ll go from being a girl who trusted her fiancé to a girl who can’t be trusted around other women’s husbands. Married women are nervous around the unmarriageable women. You know that.”
Unmarriageable women were seen as desperate—and perhaps they could be. But the properly married women were cautious with them, and Bethany hadn’t thought she’d join their ranks, though it looked like she would.
Mamm licked her lips. “True . . .”
“Is there any other option?” Bethany asked.
“You could relocate to another community with a . . . story,” Mamm said, and as she said it, her cheeks pinked. “And come back with your baby and a different story.”
“Lie to everyone,” Bethany breathed.
“Yah.”
And while the thought chilled her, her conscience veering away from it, the words came out of her mouth without missing a beat: “What would I say?”
“It’s been done before,” Mamm said slowly. “I have an older aunt who lives in Indiana. You and I would go out to visit her together and get her to help us. If she agreed—and I think she would—you’d stay with her until you’ve recovered after having your baby. You’d use a different name so gossip couldn’t follow you back. The story would be that your husband died and you are fighting with your family—something like that. So you’d have to make us look quite terrible for a while, and then, when the baby is a little bigger and you’ve recovered, you come home with a new story.”
“Which would be?” Bethany asked weakly.
“That one of your cousins got pregnant out of wedlock and gave birth. You fell in love with the baby and decided to bring it home to us. Your daet and I would raise the child, and he or she would be raised thinking that you are an adopted older sister. A very loving, caring older sister.”
Bethany’s stomach clenched and she felt bile rising in her throat. Her mamm would be the one to give the rules, to give the security, to be called “Mamm” in that piping little voice....
“I wouldn’t be this baby’s mother. . . .”
“No.” Tears misted Mamm’s eyes. “But you would be able to find a good man and get married and have more kinner. You could have a very close relationship with your child—you know I’d never hold you away from your baby!”
“But not the mamm . . .” Bethany’s chin quivered.
“It’s an option,” Mamm said softly. “That’s all I’m saying. And we are going to have to come up with an option quickly, because you are going to start to show soon.”
“What if I went to another community . . . and stayed?” she asked hesitantly.
“And who will provide for you?” Mamm asked. “You can’t take care of a baby and work a job. Someone has to care for that child, and you’d never make enough to pay someone. Are you willing to give up all that time with your little one in order to be called Mamm?”
Was she? Maybe! She didn’t know. What path would hold the least pain for her in the future? What path would be the best for her baby as the years rolled on?
“I don’t know!” Bethany sucked in a breath. “In order to stay Amish and have any kind of life, I’d have to live a lie. And if I go with Micah, I have to live English. Neither of those will please Gott.”
“It is your choice, ultimately,” Mamm said quietly. “But can I suggest something?”
Bethany remained silent, but she met her mother’s gaze.
“My suggestion is that you live with a secret,” Mamm said quietly. “You have your baby and you bring that baby home. Maybe one day we can tell your child the truth. I know it isn’t right, and I know we raised you to be honest no matter what, but in this situation, my precious girl, I’d advise you to lie.”
Through the side kitchen window, Bethany saw her father and younger sister coming back toward the house. Lily looked dirty but happy, and she laughed at something Daet said to her.
Bethany had lost something today—a certain amount of innocence in her father’s eyes and a certain amount of integrity in her own. She’d crossed a line, and a simple, honest life was no longer a possibility for her. Not if she wanted to keep her child and have any kind of future. But the quote from Proverbs 31 was talking about a wife of noble character, and Bethany could still have a chance at being a wife—a good wife, a kind wife, a woman who would be compassionate and understanding because she had endured more than anyone would ever know....
Did a man need to know everything for her to be a blessing to him, all the days of her life?
The side door opened, and Daet and Lily came inside.
“Take that apron off,” Mamm said. “And go upstairs to wash up, Lily.”
“You’re a hard worker, Lily,” Daet said with a fond smile.
Lily grinned over her shoulder and bounded up the stairs. The bathroom door shut and the water turned on; then Daet’s smile fell.
“What have we decided, then?” Daet asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Bethany admitted. “But I can’t give my baby away, Daet. I can’t!”
Daet put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead, his beard tickling her eyelashes. “Of course, Bethany. We’re going to do our best to help you. Your mamm and I will discuss this, but I think we’re all in agreement that Lily can’t know, aren’t we?”
“Yah,” Bethany said with a nod. There was no way Lily could keep a secret of this magnitude.
“Is there a solution you like better than others, Bethany?”
Bethany pulled away from her father and wrapped her arms around herself. “That I go away to have the baby and when I come back we say my cousin had an illegitimate child that you and Mamm will raise.” Bethany felt the tightness in her chest.
“You’d see your baby all day, every day,” Mamm said. “And we’ll find you a husband—that’s better than a life alone.”
Bethany nodded. The lie—that was the preference. The lie that saved her reputation and hid the natural consequences of her mistake.
Gott, will You bless this? Will You be with me through it?
She didn’t feel anything in response to her prayer—just an empty silence. The Amish life was the narrow path . . . and somehow this easier way, this convenient untruth, felt like the kind of mistake she’d regret much later. But regrets could be a luxury, something to wrestle with after she was sure she had a life to live and her child was safely close to her in her parents’ home.
Gott would forgive her afterward . . . wouldn’t He?
* * *
The next morning Isaiah arrived early at Glick’s Book Bindery and stabled his horses and cleaned out the stalls in preparation for the Amish businessman who would come by in a couple of hours with a wagon to cart away the soiled hay.
Isaiah hadn’t slept well the night before. He had too much running through his head. He was Micah’s friend and, as his friend, he needed to be there for him, to help him see what he needed to see—namely, the girl he was obliged to marry. And that baby was going to be born regardless of what Micah chose to do—Micah would be a daet. Had he meant it when he said he wouldn’t allow Bethany to raise the child quietly, let her have a life of her own? Had Bethany made a mistake in telling Micah the truth?
And yet Micah deserved to know that he was going to be a father. And even if he wasn’t living an Amish life, didn’t his child deserve to know him, too? Micah had been right about one thing: a child who grew up thinking his father didn’t love him would have a piece of his heart broken all his life.
Isaiah gave his horses some oats and listened to the slow grind of large teeth; then he stepped outside just as Nathaniel arrived. Bethany wasn’t in the buggy with him, and Isaiah couldn’t help but feel some disappointment, even though he hadn’t expected her to be there. Not after yesterday’s revelations.
“Good morning,” Nathaniel said as he reined in his horses. “I see you mucked out the stalls. That was kind of you.”
“Yah. Just doing my job,” Isaiah said.
Nathaniel gave him a nod of thanks and hopped down from the buggy and started unhitching the horses. Isaiah headed around to the other horse and lent a hand. When the horses were comfortable in the stable, Nathaniel paused at the door and looked over at Isaiah.
“My daughter told me that she trusted you with . . . a secret,” Nathaniel said quietly.
“Yah, she did,” Isaiah confirmed.
“And she feels confident that you’ll keep that secret,” Nathaniel added.
“She can trust me,” Isaiah said.
Nathaniel nodded again and put a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “Good. That is a relief.”
The older man started forward toward the shop as Isaiah added, “I talked to Micah.”
Nathaniel stopped, turned back. “Yah?”
“I don’t know what you’ll do for Bethany, but Micah seems intent on being in the baby’s life,” Isaiah said.
Nathaniel stilled, his lips compressing together. “He said that?”
“He says that if she goes with him, he’ll marry her, but if she stays here, he doesn’t want to give up his rights to the child. From what I understand of Englisher law—”
“I don’t care about Englisher law!” Nathaniel retorted, then shut his eyes for a moment, gathering his self-restraint. “Why is he doing this to her?”
“I don’t know,” Isaiah said, shaking his head.
“What does he want?” Nathaniel asked. “You’re his friend!”
“I don’t know. I think he’s overwhelmed by all this, to start,” Isaiah said. “I think he’s afraid he won’t fit back in here as Amish—his ideas have changed too much. And he’s hoping that Bethany will go with him.”
“I don’t think he wants that at all,” Nathaniel replied with a bitter downturn of his lips. “He argued quite passionately for his way of seeing things last night, and the impression I got was that he wanted a way out of this engagement. He wants us to turn him away and take it off his conscience.”
“He’s off-balance right now,” Isaiah said. “Maybe if you give him time to think this through properly . . .”
“And Bethany isn’t off-balance?” Nathaniel demanded. “She was engaged to him! The wedding was going to happen. He had promised to marry her, and she gave in a little early. And now he gets to feel all sorts of conflicting emotions and leave her hanging this way? No! That is not how an honorable man conducts himself!”
