thought, a flurry of emotions coursing through her veins.
For the briefest of seconds, she was no longer sitting on a hard, pine bench but
was transported through her memory to a time, eight years prior, when she had sat
beside him in his borrowed buggy. His strong hands held the reins and he smiled as
he talked to her. When he asked her a question and she responded, he nodded his head
with approval at her words. Respect. That was what he had offered her eight years
ago. Respect and his hand in marriage: two things that, with the deepest sense of
loyalty to her family, she had found herself rejecting.
Not a day had passed when she did not think back to that rejection and the ensuing
grief that she felt when he, caught off-guard with her denial, had slipped his hat
back upon his head and turned to leave. As his buggy pulled away, the dark canopy
shadowing his face, she hadn’t called for him to return. Oh, how she had wanted to!
She had wanted nothing more than to run after him and stop the horse, to confess
that it was a mistake and that there was nothing she wanted more than to become his
wife.
But she hadn’t.
Yes, not a day had passed without thoughts of Freman Whittmore infiltrating her mind.
As days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, she wondered of
his circumstances. Where had he gone? What was his occupation? Had he taken a wife?
Now, however, as she snuck another look at him, her heart beat rapidly, for she realized
he wore no beard. Was it possible, she wondered, that he had never married after
all that time?
As if on cue, once the rest of the unmarried men were seated, all of the men reached
up to remove their hats and slide them under their bench. The men in the back of
the room stood up and hung their hats on metal hooks that lined the wall near the
ceiling. Anna normally used this moment as her reminder to fix her attention on the Ausbund , the black chunky book that she held in her hands. It felt old, as she knew
very well that it was published some forty years ago. The cover was worn and spoke
of an uncounted number of hands that, over the years, had clutched the book during
just as many worship services. Today, however, she could not keep her eyes from
watching Freman Whittmore, sitting so proper and straight on the bench, his attention
fully turned to the front of the room where no one stood yet, but where the bishop
would eventually stand for his opening sermon.
The vorsinger , the young man who started singing the hymns, began the first syllable
of the song, his voice lifting in the air, following an ageless and unwritten tune.
When the rest of the worshippers began to sing with him, the bishop and the g ’ may ’s
three deacons stood up and left the room. Anna glanced at them, just for a second,
before returning her gaze toward Freman. To her surprise, his dark eyes now stared
in her direction, no emotion in his expression. While she felt certain that he knew
her, for it had been only eight years, he showed no sign of recognition. At least,
not on the surface.
“Anna!”
She caught her breath and glanced at the older woman seated beside her. Normally
Elizabeth sat beside her, as she was one of the oldest unmarried women in the church
district, second only to Kate Schwartzentruber, another older woman known for being
overly righteous and rigid, her hopes of marrying gone with both her youth and her
reputation. Today, however, Anna sat next to Kate. Had Elizabeth not gone traveling,
she, not Anna, would have sat next to Kate, since the members of the g ’ may always
sat in order of their age.
“Pay attention!” Kate hissed at Anna, her steely gray eyes flitting in her direction
for just the briefest of moments.
Embarrassed, Anna lowered her gaze to the Ausbund and tried to find her place in
the hymn that everyone else sang. Even though she knew the words by heart, she continued
to follow the words in the book, her mouth moving and the words coming out while
her mind
For the briefest of seconds, she was no longer sitting on a hard, pine bench but
was transported through her memory to a time, eight years prior, when she had sat
beside him in his borrowed buggy. His strong hands held the reins and he smiled as
he talked to her. When he asked her a question and she responded, he nodded his head
with approval at her words. Respect. That was what he had offered her eight years
ago. Respect and his hand in marriage: two things that, with the deepest sense of
loyalty to her family, she had found herself rejecting.
Not a day had passed when she did not think back to that rejection and the ensuing
grief that she felt when he, caught off-guard with her denial, had slipped his hat
back upon his head and turned to leave. As his buggy pulled away, the dark canopy
shadowing his face, she hadn’t called for him to return. Oh, how she had wanted to!
She had wanted nothing more than to run after him and stop the horse, to confess
that it was a mistake and that there was nothing she wanted more than to become his
wife.
But she hadn’t.
Yes, not a day had passed without thoughts of Freman Whittmore infiltrating her mind.
As days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, she wondered of
his circumstances. Where had he gone? What was his occupation? Had he taken a wife?
Now, however, as she snuck another look at him, her heart beat rapidly, for she realized
he wore no beard. Was it possible, she wondered, that he had never married after
all that time?
As if on cue, once the rest of the unmarried men were seated, all of the men reached
up to remove their hats and slide them under their bench. The men in the back of
the room stood up and hung their hats on metal hooks that lined the wall near the
ceiling. Anna normally used this moment as her reminder to fix her attention on the Ausbund , the black chunky book that she held in her hands. It felt old, as she knew
very well that it was published some forty years ago. The cover was worn and spoke
of an uncounted number of hands that, over the years, had clutched the book during
just as many worship services. Today, however, she could not keep her eyes from
watching Freman Whittmore, sitting so proper and straight on the bench, his attention
fully turned to the front of the room where no one stood yet, but where the bishop
would eventually stand for his opening sermon.
The vorsinger , the young man who started singing the hymns, began the first syllable
of the song, his voice lifting in the air, following an ageless and unwritten tune.
When the rest of the worshippers began to sing with him, the bishop and the g ’ may ’s
three deacons stood up and left the room. Anna glanced at them, just for a second,
before returning her gaze toward Freman. To her surprise, his dark eyes now stared
in her direction, no emotion in his expression. While she felt certain that he knew
her, for it had been only eight years, he showed no sign of recognition. At least,
not on the surface.
“Anna!”
She caught her breath and glanced at the older woman seated beside her. Normally
Elizabeth sat beside her, as she was one of the oldest unmarried women in the church
district, second only to Kate Schwartzentruber, another older woman known for being
overly righteous and rigid, her hopes of marrying gone with both her youth and her
reputation. Today, however, Anna sat next to Kate. Had Elizabeth not gone traveling,
she, not Anna, would have sat next to Kate, since the members of the g ’ may always
sat in order of their age.
“Pay attention!” Kate hissed at Anna, her steely gray eyes flitting in her direction
for just the briefest of moments.
Embarrassed, Anna lowered her gaze to the Ausbund and tried to find her place in
the hymn that everyone else sang. Even though she knew the words by heart, she continued
to follow the words in the book, her mouth moving and the words coming out while
her mind
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