A Merry Heart Page 2

  Miriam lifted her gaze toward the ceiling. “Oh, Mom, you know I’m not interested in Amos. Why must you go and scheme behind my back?”

  “Scheme? Did I hear that someone in my house is scheming?” Papa asked as he entered the kitchen.

  Miriam slipped her hand through the crook of her father’s arm. “Mom’s trying to match me up with Amos Hilty. She’s invited him and Mary Ellen to supper again, and they were just here a few weeks ago.”

  Papa leaned his head back and chuckled. His heavy beard, peppered generously with gray, twitched rhythmically with each new wave of laughter. “Daughter, don’t you think it’s high time you married and settled down with a good man? Amos would make you a fine husband, so please don’t close your mind to the idea.”

  “I think it’s her heart that is closed.” Mom glanced over at Miriam and slowly shook her head. “A heart blocked off from love soon grows cold.”

  Miriam turned away and began setting the table.

  At that moment, Miriam’s youngest brother, Lewis, came in from outside, sniffing the air as he hung his straw hat on one of the wall pegs near the back door. “Somethin’ smells mighty good in here, and it’s makin’ me awful hungry.”

  “We’re having company for supper, so hurry and wash up,” Mom said, nodding toward the sink.

  “Who’s coming?”

  “Amos Hilty and his daughter,” Miriam answered before Mom had a chance to reply.

  “Aha! I think Amos is a bit sweet on you, sister.”

  “Just because he’s a widower and his little girl needs a mother doesn’t mean I’m available. Why can’t you all see that I’m content with my life as it is?” Miriam compressed her lips. “I don’t need a man.”

  Lewis gave Mom a knowing look, and she smiled, but neither of them commented on Miriam’s remark. Did they really believe she would be happier if she were married to Amos, regardless of whether she loved him or not?

  Miriam clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw ached. I won’t give up my freedom to marry a man I don’t love, and since I will never allow myself to fall in love again, my family will have to get used to the idea that I’m en alt maedel and will always be one.

  I

  Amos Hilty clucked to his horse and squinted against the setting sun shining through the front window of his buggy as he and his six-year-old daughter headed for Henry and Anna Stoltzfus’s place. This was their second time eating supper at the Stoltzfus home in less than a month, and Amos wondered if Anna had extended the invitations because she knew he couldn’t cook well or if she simply enjoyed entertaining. He was fairly sure that Anna had no idea he had agreed to come for supper again because he wanted to spend more time with Miriam and hopefully win her hand in marriage. More than likely, Miriam’s mother thought he kept accepting her invitations because he was without a wife and needed a decent meal.

  He glanced over at Mary Ellen, who sat on the seat beside him with her head turned toward the side window. A little over a year ago, the child’s mother had been killed in a tragic buggy accident, and even though Mary Ellen seemed placid and well-adjusted on the outside, Amos wondered if she might be keeping her feelings bottled up. He figured what his daughter needed was the hand of a woman—someone who would not only care for her needs but also share in her joys, sorrows, and hopes for the future.

  That sure isn’t me, he thought with regret. Mary Ellen rarely spoke of her mother or expressed her feelings about anything of a personal nature. He had a hunch she might be hiding behind her forced smiles and the pleasant words that seem to slip so easily off her tongue. Someone like Miriam Stoltzfus, whom his daughter seemed to admire and respect, might have a better chance at getting through to Mary Ellen than he ever could. At least he hoped she would.

  As the Stoltzfus place came into view, Amos drew in a deep breath for added courage. God willing, I hope that someday I might be able to get through to Miriam, too.

  I

  Shortly after six o’clock, a knock sounded on the back door. Since Miriam was alone in the kitchen at the moment, she went to answer it. Amos and Mary Ellen stood on the porch. He held his straw hat in one hand, and Mary Ellen, who stood beside him, held a small basket of radishes. The little girl smiled up at Miriam and handed her the basket. “These are from Pappy’s garden, Teacher. I picked ’em right before we left home.”

  “Danki, Mary Ellen. I’ll slice a few for supper.” Miriam motioned them inside and then placed the basket on the counter.

  When Miriam turned around, Amos nodded at her and smiled. “It’s good to see you this evening. You’re. . .uh. . . lookin’ well.”

  Miriam didn’t return the smile, nor did she make any response. Instead, she rushed over to their propane refrigerator, retrieved a bottle of goat’s milk, and placed it on the table.

  Amos shuffled his feet a few times and cleared his throat. “Mary Ellen tells me she’s doin’ pretty well in school these days. She says that’s because you’re such a good teacher.”

  “I do my best,” Miriam mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with him.

  Mom, Papa, and Lewis entered the kitchen from the living room just then, and Miriam sighed with relief. At least she wouldn’t be expected to carry on a conversation with Amos anymore.

  “Gut-n-owed, Amos,” Mom said with a friendly smile.

  “Good evenin’ to you, as well. It was nice of you to have us to supper again.”

  “Our mamm knows how important good food can be for a man,” Lewis said, giving Amos a wide grin.

  “That’s true enough.” Amos cast a glance in Miriam’s direction, but she chose to ignore it.

  Papa pulled out his chair at the head of the table. “I think we should eat now, before the food gets cold.”

  Everyone took their seats, and all heads bowed. Miriam pressed her lips tightly together as she folded her hands. She was only going through the motions of praying tonight, and she felt too frustrated over Amos being here to even think about the food set before her.

  When Papa signaled that the prayer was over by clearing his throat, he helped himself to the potpie and passed it to their guests. The main dish was followed by an array of other homemade foods that included coleslaw, sweet relish, sourdough rolls, and dilled green beans.

  Miriam couldn’t help but notice how Mary Ellen seemed to be studying everything on the table. It made her wonder if the last time the child had been served a decent meal was when she and her father had eaten supper here a few weeks ago. I know Amos isn’t much of a cook, she thought, for I’ve seen some of the pathetic lunches he’s made for Mary Ellen.

  “You forgot to put the radishes on the table, Teacher,” the child announced, pulling Miriam out of her musings.

  “I’ll see to them now.” Miriam excused herself and moved across the room to cut up the radishes, wishing she could be anywhere but here.

  “Teacher’s real schee, don’t ya think so, Pappy?” Mary Ellen asked her father.

  “Jah, she’s quite pretty.”

  Amos’s words had the effect of fingernails raking across the blackboard, causing Miriam to grit her teeth as she returned to the table. This meal couldn’t be over quick enough to suit her.

  Amos helped himself to some of the potpie. “The women of this house make a good nachtesse.”

  Lewis grabbed one of Mary Ellen’s radishes from the bowl. “Jah, Mom and Miriam always put together a mighty fine supper.”

  “Please, have some bread,” Mom offered, handing Amos the breadbasket. “Miriam made it, and it’s real tasty.”

  “Danki.” Amos grabbed two pieces of bread and slathered them with butter.

  Papa chuckled. “You certainly have a hearty appetite.”

  “Guess that comes from eatin’ too much of my own cooking.” Amos smiled at Miriam, but she turned slightly sideways in her chair and focused on her plate of food, which she hadn’t yet touched. She had no appetite and would have excused herself to go to her room but knew that would appear rude. Besides, she rather enjoyed Ma
ry Ellen’s company.

  Miriam felt relief when supper was finally over and Papa announced that he and Amos were going to the living room to play a game of checkers. Lewis left the house a few minutes later, saying he needed some fresh air and thought he would go for a buggy ride. Miriam had a hunch he might have a date and didn’t want to say so.

  The women remained in the kitchen with Mary Ellen, who sat on the floor playing with Boots, one of their kittens, while Miriam and her mother did the dishes.

  Miriam pulled a kettle into the sink of soapy water and began scrubbing it vigorously with a sponge, as she watched the child out of the corner of her eye. The young girl’s brown hair, twisted on the sides and pulled to the back of her head in a bun, looked a bit limp, as though it might come undone at any minute. Miriam tried to visualize Amos, his large hands clumsily trying to do up his daughter’s long hair and never quite getting it right. She realized how difficult it must be for him to raise the child alone, as there were so many things only a woman could do well. He did need to find another wife—but certainly not her.

  I

  Amos had a hard time keeping his mind on the game of checkers, when all he could think about was the woman in the next room who hadn’t said more than a few words to him all during supper yet obviously cared for his daughter. Mary Ellen seemed to like her teacher, too, and Amos wondered if she saw something good in Miriam, the way he did—something that lay hidden deep within Miriam’s heart.

  After listening to Henry gloat because he had won nearly every game, Amos finally decided it was time to go. He slid his chair away from the small table that had been set up in the living room and stood. “It’s about time for Mary Ellen to be in bed, so guess I’d better head for home.”

  “Jah, okay,” Henry said, as he cleared away the checkerboard. “I’m sure my wife will have you over for supper again soon; then we can play again.”

  “Maybe I’d better do some practicing before then, because you’ve sure skunked me good this evening.”

  Henry chuckled. “When you’re as old as me, you’ll likely win every game, too.”

  Amos smiled and bade Miriam’s father a good night, then he headed for the kitchen. He found Mary Ellen kneeling on the floor with a kitten in her lap, and Miriam and her mother at the table, drinking tea. He nodded at Anna. “Danki for havin’ us over. The meal was good, and it was much appreciated.”

  “Gern gschehne—you are welcome,” she replied with a smile.

  He glanced over at Miriam, but she never looked his way, so he directed his focus back to his daughter. “Kumme, Mary Ellen, come. We must get you home and into bed now.”

  “Oh, Pappy, do we have to go already? I’m not even tired yet.”

  “You might not think so at the moment, but half an hour from now, I’m guessin’ your eyes will be droopin’.”

  Mary Ellen released a small sigh, placed the kitten on the floor, and stood. “See you in school on Mondaag, Teacher.”

  “Jah, Monday morning,” Miriam said with a nod.

  Amos grabbed his hat off the wall peg where he’d hung it earlier and steered Mary Ellen toward the door. Before his fingers touched the knob, he stopped and turned toward the table. “It was. . .uh. . .good to see you again, Miriam. Maybe I’ll come by the schoolhouse soon.”

  “I’m sure Mary Ellen would like that,” she mumbled.

  Amos knew that many of the scholars’ parents dropped by the school during the year—some without warning; some after letting the teacher know ahead of time. Since Miriam didn’t seem too friendly toward him, he wasn’t sure if he should let her know when he planned to come by or if it would be better if he just stopped at the schoolhouse unannounced. Knowing he could make that decision later on, he tipped his hat and said, “Gut nacht, Anna. Gut nacht, Miriam.”

  “Good night,” they said in unison.

  On Monday morning, a few minutes after the school bell rang, Mary Ellen entered the classroom and presented Miriam with a small pot of newly opened heartsease. “These are from Pappy,” the child explained. “He said he hoped some pretty flowers might make you smile.” She stared up at Miriam, her hazel-colored eyes looking ever so serious. “You always look so sad, Teacher. God doesn’t want us to be sad; Pappy said so.” She placed the wild pansies on the teacher’s desk and hurried to her seat before Miriam had a chance to respond.

  Miriam studied the delicate flowers; they were a lovely shade of purple. It was kind of Amos to send them, but she was disturbed by the fact that he could look into her heart and see her sadness. Perhaps I do seldom smile, she thought, but then there needs to be a reason to smile. If God wants me to be happy, then why did He allow William to crush my heart with his deception?

  She forced her gaze away from the pot of flowers and scanned the room to see if any of the children were absent. Satisfied that everyone was in their proper seats, she said, “Guder mariye, boys and girls.”

  “Good morning, Teacher,” the class replied in unison.

  Miriam opened her Bible and read from Proverbs 18. “ ‘A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly; and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.’ ”

  The passage of scripture made Miriam think about her friend Crystal, who had always been there for her. If not for Crystal’s friendship, Miriam didn’t know how she would have gotten through her breakup with William. Crystal never reminded her that William had married another woman or that Miriam was an old maid.

  With a concentrated effort, Miriam pushed her thoughts aside, reminding herself that she had scholars to teach and knowing that it did no good to dwell on the past. “And now we shall repeat the Lord’s Prayer,” she said to the class.

  I

  As Amos left his blacksmith shop and headed down the road toward Jacob Zook’s place to shoe a couple of horses, he thought about Miriam and wondered if she liked the pot of heartsease he had sent to school with Mary Ellen. It was the second time he’d sent Miriam flowers using someone to deliver them in his place; only this batch of wild pansies had been delivered via his daughter and not his so-called friend.

  Unwillingly, Amos allowed his mind to wander back in time. Back to when he was sixteen years old and had just received his courting buggy. . .

  I

  “I’m a little naerfich about being here tonight,” Amos told William, as they simultaneously pulled their buggies up to the Rabers’ barn, where the young people’s singing was to be held.

  “How come you’re nervous?” William asked, stepping down from his open buggy. “I thought you were looking forward to coming.”

  “Jah, but that was before I learned you had given Miriam the bouquet of flowers I’d asked you to deliver and then you let her think they’d come from you.” Amos clenched his fists until his fingers dug into the palms of his hands. “That was a sneaky thing to do, and it made me wonder if you’re really my friend.”

  William snickered and thumped Amos on the back. “Miriam’s had her eye on me ever since we were kinner, and when I gave her the flowers, she just assumed they were from me.”

  “You could have told her otherwise.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint the girl.” William gave Amos a wily smile as they led their horses to the corral. “You may as well accept the fact that it’s me she likes and find yourself someone else, because Miriam Stoltzfus is my girlfriend now.”

  I

  When a car whizzed past, the horse whinnied, snorted, and stamped his hooves, causing Amos’s mind to snap back to the present. As far as he knew, Miriam had never learned that the flowers William had given her a few days before the singing had really come from Amos. As much as it had bothered him to do so, Amos had stood by and watched William lead Miriam along, allowing her to believe he planned to marry her and then leaving her in the lurch when someone he thought to be more appealing had come along.

  Amos had been in love with Miriam ever since he was a boy, and William knew it. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from making a play for her, and it
hadn’t stopped him from breaking her heart, either. When William started courting Miriam, Amos had looked the other way and made every effort to forget that he’d ever loved her. After a time, he’d met Ruth, whose parents had moved to Pennsylvania from Illinois. Soon after, they had started courting and eventually married. Even though Amos hadn’t loved Ruth as intensely as he had Miriam, they’d had a good marriage, and their love had grown during their six years together. The product of that love had been a delightful baby daughter.

  Amos flinched and gripped the reins a little tighter as the memory of his wedding day washed over him like a drenching rain. Ruth was a sweet woman, and he still missed her, but she was gone now, and Mary Ellen needed a mother as much as he needed a wife—maybe even more. Truth be told, Miriam needed a husband, too; she just didn’t seem to know it.

  “She’s been gloomy ever since William jilted her,” Amos muttered. He hoped maybe some colorful flowers would cheer her up and put a smile on her face. It might make her more inclined to accept his invitation when he stopped by the schoolhouse after he finished shoeing Jacob’s horses, too.

  Amos’s buggy horse whinnied as if in response, and he chuckled. “You agree with me, Ed? Jah, well, for Mary Ellen’s sake, I hope I’ll be able to make Miriam see that we could all benefit if she and I were to marry. And maybe someday she will come to love me as much as I love her.”

  I

  By the end of the day, a pounding headache had overtaken Miriam. Fighting waves of nausea, she leaned against the schoolhouse door, feeling a sense of relief as she watched the children file outside. She would be glad to get home again, where she could lie down and rest awhile before it was time to help Mom with supper.

  Just as she was about to close the door, a horse and buggy pulled into the school yard. Amos Hilty stepped out, his large frame hovering above the little girl who ran to his side. With long strides, he made his way to the schoolhouse, meeting Miriam on the porch.