Leigh Bale - His Amish Choice

The child’s eyes crinkled with sadness. “But everyone loves you. Why would Eli leave?”

She said the words as if she couldn’t understand why Eli couldn’t love her too.

“He...he wanted other things, that’s all,” Lizzie said.

“Did he hurt your feelings when he left?” Annie persisted.

“Of course he did.” Marty flipped her long hair over her shoulder.

“ Ja , he did,” Lizzie admitted. She didn’t look at the girls as she parted Marty’s tresses and quickly began to braid the lengthy strands. Perhaps it was good for her sisters to learn early that a man could break your heart.

“But he’s back now. You don’t need to have hurt feelings anymore. You can forgive him and all will be well. Maybe he’ll even want to still marry you now,” Annie said.

If only it were that simple. Right now, Lizzie didn’t want to marry Eli. And she certainly couldn’t believe Eli wanted to marry her—not after the way he’d abandoned her. But sweet little Annie had always had such a calm, quiet spirit. Honest and trusting, the girl always exemplified a childlike faith in the good of others. Lizzie never wanted to see that faith shattered. But more than that, Lizzie had to set a good example for her sisters. With Mamm gone, they deserved to feel safe and loved. They were both looking to her for guidance and she didn’t want to let them down.

“The Lord wants us to forgive everyone. We should never judge others, because we don’t know what’s truly in their heart or what their circumstances are. Plus we each have our own faults to repent from,” Lizzie spoke in a measured tone, believing what she said, though she still struggled to apply it to Eli.

Annie nudged Marty with her elbow. “See? I told ya so.”

Marty accepted this without question and Lizzie breathed with relief. She quickly finished her chore. Upstairs, she tucked the girls into bed, feeling like a hypocrite. She told her sisters to forgive, yet she hadn’t done so herself. But honestly, she didn’t know how. Saying and doing it were two different things. Forgiveness wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Especially when she’d been hurt so badly.

She secured the house for the night and turned out the kerosene lights. Alone in her room, she prayed for help, but received no answers. Lying in the darkness, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her mind kept racing. If Eli hadn’t left, they’d likely be married now. They would probably have one or two children too. How different their lives might have been. They could have been happy and in love and working for the good of their familye . Instead, she felt disillusioned and distrustful. But it did no good to dwell on such things. It would not change the present. Her familye needed her and that was enough.

Punching her pillow, she turned on her side and closed her eyes, gritty with fatigue. She tried to rest, but it was a long time coming.

In the morning, she felt drowsy and grouchy. Determined not to be cross with the girls, she kissed each one on the forehead to wake them up. She ensured they were dressed and sitting at the table eating a bowl of scrapple—a mixture of corn meal, sausage and eggs—before she lit the kerosene lamp and stepped out onto the back porch.

Crisp darkness filled the air as she crossed the yard. The chilling breeze hinted that winter was not far away. In the waning shadows, she tossed grain to the chickens, then gathered the eggs into a wire basket. When she went to feed the pigs, she found the chore already done, the trough filled with fresh water.

Oh, no. This could only mean one thing.

Turning, she went to the barn. A faint light gleamed from beneath the double doors as she stepped inside. A lamp sat on the railing of Ginger’s stall. The chestnut palomino was old, but Daed still used her to pull the buggy when Billie was lame. Thinking Billie needed a few more days of rest, Lizzie planned to use Ginger today, to get to church. It was too bad they’d lost their larger buggy-wagon in the accident. Now, they’d have to use their older, smaller buggy.

“Easy, girl.” Eli stood bent over the mare’s left back hoof. He wore a plain white shirt and black suspenders, his nice Sunday frock jacket hanging on a peg nearby.

Releasing the animal’s leg, he patted her rump as he stood up straight. Then, he flinched. “Lizzie - bee! You startled me.”

She bit her tongue, forcing herself not to reprimand him. It would do no good. The name Lizzie-bee was too embedded in their past history.

“I came to feed the animals. I didn’t expect you to be here today,” she said.

He shrugged. “I figured you would still need help even on the Sabbath.”

Leading Ginger out of her stall, he directed the mare over to the buggy. Glancing at the other stalls, Lizzie saw that Eli had already fed Billie and Daed ’s six Percheron draft horses. And judging from the two tall canisters sitting near the door, he’d already done the milking too. It appeared he was taking his promise to the bishop very seriously.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, feeling obligated to use good manners.

“ Ja , my mudder fixed a big meal for Daed and me. I’ll have the horse hitched up in just a few minutes, then I’ll drive you to church,” he said.

He didn’t look at her while he put the collar on the horse. Ginger stood perfectly still, knowing this routine by heart.

“That won’t be necessary. You’re very kind, but I can drive the maed myself,” Lizzie said.

He paused, holding the saddle lacings in his big hands. “I...I don’t think that’s a good idea. You were nearly killed just a few days ago and I...I assured the bishop that I’d look after all of you.”

His voice caught on the words and he turned away, but not before Lizzie saw his trembling hands. Or had she imagined that? Why did he seem so upset by the accident?

“ Ne , you told him you’d look after the farm. That’s not the same as driving us to church,” she said.

He nodded, accepting her logic. “Still, I feel responsible for you. I don’t want to have to tell Jeremiah that I was derelict in my duty.”

Hmm. Maybe he was right. The horror of the accident came rushing back and she realized she wasn’t eager to climb into a buggy again. If her fear distracted her while she was driving, it could put her sisters in danger. Perhaps it would be better to let Eli drive them for a time. But she hated feeling like a burden almost as much as she hated to depend on him.

“You needn’t feel obligated. I’ve driven a buggy many times before,” she argued half-heartedly.

“I know that. You’re a capable, strong-minded woman, but I’d feel better if you’d let me drive today. Just until Jeremiah is out of the hospital.” His gaze brushed over the clean gauze she had taped over her forehead. She hated wearing a bandage and would be glad when the wound healed enough to remove the three tiny stitches. No doubt, they’d leave a small scar to remind her that Gott had saved her familye ’s lives.

“ Komm on, let me drive you,” he said, his voice coaxing.

Oh, she knew that look of his. The calm demeanor. The slightly narrowed eyes. The softly spoken words and stubborn tilt that said he was going to do what he wanted one way or the other. Some things never changed.

But she had changed. Those soft feelings for Eli had been put away, and she wouldn’t fall back into old habits, like smiling at him when he behaved this way. It was time for this conversation to end.

“All right, you can drive today. I’ll go get the kinder .” She picked up a canister of milk and lugged it across the yard toward the well house. Fed by a cold mountain stream coming out of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the stone bath had been built by Daed when the familye first moved to Colorado.