His Amish Choice

“Gee!” he called, turning the team to the right.

A movement brought his eye toward the red log house where Lizzie and her familye lived. Turning slightly, he saw her and two men heading toward him, stepping high as they crossed the rutted field. Even from this distance, Eli recognized the slant of Bishop Yoder’s black felt hat. His companion was Darrin Albrecht, the deacon of their congregation. Both men were dressed identically in black frock coats and broadfall pants. Eli had gotten word of the Beilers’ accident to the bishop late last night. No doubt the elders had come to check on Jeremiah’s familye.

Lizzie accompanied them, wearing a blue dress and crisp black apron. As they drew near, Eli saw a fresh gauze bandage had been taped to her forehead, no doubt hiding several stitches from her visit to the hospital. She and the little girls must have just gotten home. He’d seen the Englisch midwife’s car pull in the driveway an hour earlier. She must have given them a ride from town.

Sunlight glinted against Lizzie’s golden hair, the length of it pinned into a bun beneath her starched prayer kapp. One rebellious strand framed her delicate oval face and she quickly tucked it back behind her ear. Her blue eyes flashed with unease, her stern expression and brisk stride belying her injuries. Eli was eager to hear how she was feeling and also receive news of her father’s condition.

Pulling the giant horses to a standstill, he killed the engine and hopped down off his seat. As he walked the short distance to meet them, he rolled his long sleeves down his forearms.

“Hallo,” he called.

He glanced at Lizzie, trying to assess her mood. Their gazes clashed, then locked for several moments. As always, he blinked at the startling blue of her eyes. Her expression showed a fierce emotion he didn’t understand. A mingling of repugnance and determination.

“Guder nummidaag,” Bishop Yoder said.

“It looks like you’ve been busy today.” Deacon Albrecht surveyed the cut field, as though evaluating the quality of Eli’s work.

After being gone four years, Eli was surprised at how easily farming came back to him. It felt good to work the land again. It felt good to be needed. Holding the lead lines in his hands as the powerful horses pulled the mower had given him a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt since Shannon’s death seven months earlier.

Thinking of his sweet fiancée made his heart squeeze painfully and a gloomy emptiness filled his chest.

“You have done gut work for the Beilers,” Bishop Yoder said. “They will need the strength of a man on this place for a few more months, until Jeremiah is back on his feet. He will have surgery today and will be in the hospital awhile longer, until the swelling goes down so they can cast the leg.”

Eli nodded, wondering what the bishop was getting at.

Bishop Yoder placed his hand on Eli’s shoulder, his gray eyes filled with kindness, but also an intensity that couldn’t be ignored. “I’ve spoken with your father. He agrees that you should work here for the time being, caring for Jeremiah’s farm as if it were your own. But with this request comes a great responsibility and commitment to your faith. I know you have told me you are recommitted to Gott. Are you certain our way of life is what you want?”

Eli hesitated. With Shannon gone and his confidence shattered, he had needed to get away from Denver and all the reminders of her death. Here in Riverton, he hoped to find the peace he so desperately longed for and a way to forgive himself for what had happened.

His heart still felt unsure, but he was determined to stay the course and wait for certainty to come. He couldn’t go back, so he’d have to find a way for himself here.

“I am.” Eli nodded, his throat dry as sandpaper. Speaking the words out loud helped solidify his commitment.

“I just spoke with your mudder. She is inside the house, almost finished bottling applesauce for Lizzie,” the bishop said.

Eli nodded, forcing himself to meet the man’s gaze. “Ja, and my vadder was here earlier this morning, helping with the milking.”

“You all have been most kind.” Lizzie stared at the ground, her words low and uncertain.

Eli felt a wave of compassion. “It’s our pleasure to help. You would do the same for us.”

Or at least, he hoped she would. Her manner was so offish toward him that he wasn’t sure. When he’d left four years earlier, he’d written to her often, at first. Not once had she replied. That alone told him she wanted nothing to do with him. After a year and a half of trying, he’d finally moved on with his life, meeting and falling in love with Shannon.

“Gut,” the bishop continued. “Tomorrow at church, I will announce your plans to be baptized, so you can participate in the instruction classes again. They’ve already begun, but since you took them once before, I think we can catch you up. Then you’ll be prepared for your baptism in a few months.”

Lizzie looked at him and a rush of doubt speared Eli’s chest. The last time he’d attended the classes, he’d been a rebellious kid and hadn’t paid much attention. In those days, all he could think about was getting out of here. Was he ready for such a commitment now? Once he was baptized, there would be no turning back. But he had the next few months to decide.

“I’m happy to assist the Beilers,” he said.

A sudden hesitation struck him. A quick glance in Lizzie’s direction told him that she didn’t want him here. Her expression held a heavy dose of disapproval. As if she thought he was tainted now, because he’d been living among the Englisch.

He’d loved her so much when they were teenagers, but he’d had to leave. Had to find out what the world could offer. He’d desperately wanted a rumspringa—that rite of passage during adolescence when Amish teenagers experienced freedom of choice without the rules of the Ordnung to hold them back. But he’d never meant to hurt Lizzie. In fact, he’d tried to get her to come join him. If only she had responded to his letters. Instead, each one had been returned unopened.

The bishop smiled. “Ach, we’ll see you tomorrow then. Willkomm back, my brother.”

Eli nodded, but didn’t speak. A hard lump had lodged in his throat. He felt grateful to be here, but the reasons for the gratitude were murky. Was he truly glad to be back among his people, or was he just relieved to be away from reminders of Shannon? He’d talked to other paramedics who had lost a patient in their care, but it hadn’t prepared him for the shock. And to make matters worse, the first patient he’d lost had been someone he dearly loved. Someone who was counting on him to keep her safe. And he’d failed miserably. That’s when he realized how much he missed his familye. Seeking respite from the world, he’d come home. But thus far, peace of mind had continued to elude him.

Reaching up, he tugged on the brim of his straw hat where a letter from Tom Caldwell was safely tucked away. Tom had been Eli’s former boss at the hospital in Denver. His letter was a silent reminder of the Englisch life Eli had left behind. And though it felt good to be back in Riverton, whenever Eli thought of never being a paramedic again, a sick feeling settled in his gut.

“If you have faith, all will be well with your familye. Never forget that,” the bishop spoke kindly to Lizzie.

“Ja. Danke, Bishop,” Lizzie said, her voice holding a note of respect.

The church elders walked away, leaving Eli and Lizzie alone. A horrible, swelling silence followed. Lizzie looked at the ground, looked at the mountains surrounding the valley, looked anywhere but at Eli.

“You are truly all right?” Eli finally asked, peering at Lizzie’s forehead.

“Ja, I’m fine,” she said, briefly touching the bandage as if it embarrassed her.

“I didn’t expect this.” He gestured toward the retreating men.

“Neither did I.” Her voice wobbled.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me working here?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “I don’t have much choice.”

True. With her daed in the hospital and the bishop’s stamp of approval, she would have to accept Eli’s aid.

“I never meant to hurt you, Lizzie. I know I left rather suddenly,” he said.

She snorted and stepped back in exasperation. “Ja, you sure did.”

“I know I should have spoken to you about it first, but I feared you might tell my eldre or the bishop and they would have tried to make me stay.”

“Ach, so you ran away. You took the coward’s route and fled.”

He stared in confusion. He’d been gone four years. Why was Lizzie still so angry at him?

“We were only fourteen when I first proposed to you,” he said. “I’m sure you agree that was way too young for marriage. When I left, neither of us was ready to start a familye. If only you had come and joined me.”

“To Denver?” she asked with incredulity.

He nodded.

“Ne, I would never leave my people. You knew that.”

“But I had to go. I wanted a rumspringa.”

“So, nothing has changed. You still seek the world.” Her voice sounded bitter.

He snorted, feeling frustrated, but unwilling to explain about Shannon and all that he had recently lost. “Believe me, a lot has changed. I’m not the same person anymore.”

“And neither am I, Eli. You’re homesick for your familye, that’s all. But before long, you’ll get homesick for the world out there that you left behind. We don’t drive cars, use electricity, or swim the inner net. You’ll get tired of us and leave again.”

Swim the inner net?

He tilted his head in confusion, wondering what she meant. Then, he chuckled as he understood her words. “I think you mean surf the internet.”

She shrugged, her voice thick with conviction. “Whatever. We don’t do that. Pretty soon, you’ll become weary of our quaint, boring ways and leave again.”

Oh, that hurt. More than he could say. Never had he considered his Amish people to be quaint or boring. In fact, quite the opposite. The science of farming tantalized his intellect. The hard work and life here was definitely far from mundane. It was always a challenge to fight the weather, improve their machinery and produce a better crop...especially in Colorado. He also loved the solitude of fertile fields and the camaraderie of belonging to the Gmay. He always had.

“Ne, I’m here to stay, Lizzie-bee.” But his words lacked the conviction hers had held. After all, his memories of Shannon were in Denver. When she’d died, he’d wanted to leave, but now he missed going to their old haunts where they’d fallen in love. He missed her.

“Don’t call me that.” Her lips pursed with disapproval and tears shimmered in her eyes.

Lizzie-bee.

He held perfectly still, wishing he hadn’t used his old pet name for her. It had slipped out. How he wished he could go back in time and mend the rift between them. That they could be friends again. He could use the comfort of a good friend to help him deal with his broken heart, still full of love for Shannon.

“For the help you will give, you are welcome here on our farm, Eli Stoltzfus, but don’t expect anything else. I don’t trust you anymore and that’s that.” She whirled around and headed toward the house, plodding over the wide furrows of alfalfa with singular purpose.

I don’t trust you anymore.

Her words rang in his ears like the tolling of a bell. He watched her go, his heart plummeting. More than anything, he longed for a friend to confide in. Someone to talk with about Shannon and his loss. But it obviously wouldn’t be Lizzie. Not only had he lost her friendship, but he’d also lost her confidence and there was no going back.

Chapter Two

“I like Eli. He’s so nice,” Annie said later that night.

Lizzie jerked, her fingers losing their grasp on the tiny rubber band she was using to tie off the end of Annie’s braided hair.

The little girls had both had their baths and Lizzie was finishing their hair before going to bed. Each child sat on the wooden bench in the kitchen, the gas lamp above the table shining down upon their heads. Their bare feet peeked out from beneath the hems of their simple flannel nightgowns. The air carried a slight fruity smell from the detangler she’d used on their hair to get the snarls out.

“Eli is nice, but you can’t like him,” Marty said. She tugged the comb through a particularly stubborn knot in her own damp hair.

“Why not?” Annie asked, her forehead crinkled in a frown.

“Because he hurt Lizzie’s feelings, that’s why.”

Both girls turned and looked at Lizzie, as if waiting for a confirmation.

“Of course you can like him.” Lizzie laughed it off, not wanting to explain how much she’d loved the man and how he’d broken her heart. Everyone in the Gmay had known they’d been going together and planned to marry one day.

“We can? You’re okay with it?” Marty asked.

“Ja, it’s not our place to judge,” Lizzie reiterated, trying to believe her own words.

“But you were gonna get married to him. Emily Hostetler said he left you to become an Englischer instead,” Marty said.

“You were gonna marry Eli?” Annie asked.

Lizzie inhaled a sharp breath and held it for several moments before letting it go. Hearing Eli’s betrayal put so bluntly made her mind scatter and she had to regather her thoughts before responding. As he had pointed out, they’d only been fourteen when he’d proposed. Way too young to marry. Because they’d been so young, he hadn’t taken it seriously, but Lizzie had. When he left, they were seventeen and she’d thought they would wed the following year. It’s what they had talked about. But he’d obviously changed his mind—and hadn’t felt the need to tell her.

“That was a long time ago. It was Eli’s choice to leave. When the time comes, we each must make that decision for ourselves, but I dearly hope both of you will stay.” She placed Annie’s kapp on her head, then hugged the girl tight.

“I’ll never leave,” Marty said.

When Lizzie released her, Annie stood, her inquisitive gaze resting on Lizzie. “Is that true, Lizzie-bee? Eli really left you to become Englisch?”

Lizzie-bee. The nickname Eli had given her when she’d been barely thirteen years old because he thought she was always as busy as a bee. Back then, Lizzie had loved Eli to call her that name. Now, it was a reminder of all that she’d lost.

“Where did you hear that name?” Lizzie asked a bit too brusquely.

“It’s what Eli called you when he came into the house to take Fannie home after she bottled our applesauce. You were upstairs,” Annie said.

Fannie was Eli’s mother and a dear friend. She was as generous as the day was long. It had hurt her deeply when Eli left.

Lizzie sat very still, looking at her two sisters. Marty had been six when Eli had left, so she undoubtedly remembered him. Annie had been only three. Lizzie didn’t want to discuss what had happened, but neither would she lie. Nor did she have a right to speak ill of Eli.

“Is it true?” the girl persisted.

“Ja, it’s true,” she said, tucking an errant strand of hair beneath Annie’s kapp.

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.

Once inside, Lizzie set the heavy can into the chilled water and realized her hands were shaking from her exertions. When she turned, she found Eli right behind her with the second can.

“They’re too heavy for you to carry,” he said.

Yes, they were, but she could manage. With her father gone, she’d do whatever she must. Feeling suddenly awkward, she scooted out of Eli’s way as he placed the second canister into the water bath.

“Danke,” she said before hurrying to the house.

The girls were standing on the front porch waiting, their kapps, dresses and aprons neatly in place. They smiled, looking so sweet and innocent that a feeling of overwhelming love filled Lizzie’s chest.