The Amish Bride by Mindy Starns Clark, Leslie Gould
Authors: Mindy Starns Clark, Leslie Gould
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knew of any dairy farms in the area, ones that might be close to the Home Place.
Already, a new plan was forming in my mind.
F OUR
T he Gundys used to be in the same church district as Mammi , Aunt Klara, and Uncle Alexander, but that district had divided long ago. Because the population of the Amish was continually expanding but districts were limited to a certain size, splits were sometimes necessary. Ever since the one that had separated the two families, they tried to get together several times a year anyway to fellowship and catch up with each other. Just because they didn’t worship together anymore didn’t mean they were willing to give up those ties.
And the ties did indeed run deep, much deeper than just church membership. Our two families had been friends for generations. In fact, when Ada and several others went to Switzerland last spring, they learned how the families had first been connected way back in the 1800s. Apparently, my great-great-great-grandfather Abraham Sommers had been next-door neighbors with Ezra’s great-great-great-grandfather Ulrich Kessler. Abraham had helped finance the Kessler family’s emigration to America when the Mennonites came under persecution in Switzerland. Abraham hadn’t been Mennonite himself, but his daughter Elsbeth had joined, and sheand her husband had made the trip to the States with the same group the Kesslers were in. Elsbeth was friends with Ulrich’s daughter Marie, and the two women had stayed in touch for the rest of their lives.
Once in the United States, Ulrich settled in Lancaster County, but Elsbeth and her husband, Gerard, moved out to Indiana and built the Home Place. That separated the families for a time. But then, several generations later, Elsbeth’s granddaughter Frannie moved back to Lancaster County. A young widow with three daughters, Frannie knew of her family’s earlier connections with the Kesslers and had contacted Marie’s granddaughter Alice, whose married name was Beiler, when she got here. Frannie and Alice had become acquainted and soon were fast friends. Now that Frannie’s granddaughter Ada had married Alice’s grandson Will, five generations down from the original next-door neighbors of Abraham and Ulrich, our families had finally even been joined by marriage.
That thought should have given me joy, but instead it gave me more than a twinge of irritation. Ezra and I should be free to marry too, without objection and without interference. My cousin Ada was Amish, so everybody had been thrilled with the news of her engagement to Ezra’s brother Will, especially considering how their union bound us all together. But thanks to my mother’s break with her Amish heritage years ago when she got married, I had been raised Mennonite, which was a huge sticking point. At least we were able to have a relationship with our Amish family and friends, thanks to the fact that my mother hadn’t yet joined the Amish church when she made the switch and thus was never shunned. But the way they saw it, maintaining friendly ties was one thing; marriage, quite another.
Along the way from nineteenth-century Switzerland to twenty-first-century Pennsylvania, plenty of our forebears had switched back and forth between the two faiths. Despite that fact, when it came to Ezra and me, the families just wanted us apart, all because Ezra was raised Amish and I was raised Mennonite.
Give me a break.
We left for dinner at Aunt Klara’s at four thirty, just after Zed arrived home from school. On the way, after we had crossed the covered bridge, the rain started to come down in buckets, casting a pall over the darkeninglandscape. The swishing of the windshield wipers, even on high, could barely keep up with the rain coming down.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be going out tonight,” Mom said.
“We’ll be fine,” I answered, hoping Ezra would be there. He hadn’t sent me a text all day, even though I’d sent him several.
When we reached the highway, Mom
Already, a new plan was forming in my mind.
F OUR
T he Gundys used to be in the same church district as Mammi , Aunt Klara, and Uncle Alexander, but that district had divided long ago. Because the population of the Amish was continually expanding but districts were limited to a certain size, splits were sometimes necessary. Ever since the one that had separated the two families, they tried to get together several times a year anyway to fellowship and catch up with each other. Just because they didn’t worship together anymore didn’t mean they were willing to give up those ties.
And the ties did indeed run deep, much deeper than just church membership. Our two families had been friends for generations. In fact, when Ada and several others went to Switzerland last spring, they learned how the families had first been connected way back in the 1800s. Apparently, my great-great-great-grandfather Abraham Sommers had been next-door neighbors with Ezra’s great-great-great-grandfather Ulrich Kessler. Abraham had helped finance the Kessler family’s emigration to America when the Mennonites came under persecution in Switzerland. Abraham hadn’t been Mennonite himself, but his daughter Elsbeth had joined, and sheand her husband had made the trip to the States with the same group the Kesslers were in. Elsbeth was friends with Ulrich’s daughter Marie, and the two women had stayed in touch for the rest of their lives.
Once in the United States, Ulrich settled in Lancaster County, but Elsbeth and her husband, Gerard, moved out to Indiana and built the Home Place. That separated the families for a time. But then, several generations later, Elsbeth’s granddaughter Frannie moved back to Lancaster County. A young widow with three daughters, Frannie knew of her family’s earlier connections with the Kesslers and had contacted Marie’s granddaughter Alice, whose married name was Beiler, when she got here. Frannie and Alice had become acquainted and soon were fast friends. Now that Frannie’s granddaughter Ada had married Alice’s grandson Will, five generations down from the original next-door neighbors of Abraham and Ulrich, our families had finally even been joined by marriage.
That thought should have given me joy, but instead it gave me more than a twinge of irritation. Ezra and I should be free to marry too, without objection and without interference. My cousin Ada was Amish, so everybody had been thrilled with the news of her engagement to Ezra’s brother Will, especially considering how their union bound us all together. But thanks to my mother’s break with her Amish heritage years ago when she got married, I had been raised Mennonite, which was a huge sticking point. At least we were able to have a relationship with our Amish family and friends, thanks to the fact that my mother hadn’t yet joined the Amish church when she made the switch and thus was never shunned. But the way they saw it, maintaining friendly ties was one thing; marriage, quite another.
Along the way from nineteenth-century Switzerland to twenty-first-century Pennsylvania, plenty of our forebears had switched back and forth between the two faiths. Despite that fact, when it came to Ezra and me, the families just wanted us apart, all because Ezra was raised Amish and I was raised Mennonite.
Give me a break.
We left for dinner at Aunt Klara’s at four thirty, just after Zed arrived home from school. On the way, after we had crossed the covered bridge, the rain started to come down in buckets, casting a pall over the darkeninglandscape. The swishing of the windshield wipers, even on high, could barely keep up with the rain coming down.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be going out tonight,” Mom said.
“We’ll be fine,” I answered, hoping Ezra would be there. He hadn’t sent me a text all day, even though I’d sent him several.
When we reached the highway, Mom
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