Big Decisions Page 4

  It was all delicious fun. There was no other word to describe it. On the ice, Lizzie forgot the task of being a teacher and was genuinely happy, almost like a child with her pupils, if only during those precious hours of ice-skating.

  The following Monday morning, Mandy flew down the stairs and literally burst into the kitchen. Her eyes were wide and very green in the soft lamplight as she told Mam and Lizzie the reason for her excitement.

  “I’m getting married!” she said breathlessly.

  Lizzie stopped halfway to the table with a handful of knives and forks, her mouth dropping open in disbelief.

  “Surely you mean this fall? This coming November?” she croaked.

  “No. This spring!”

  Mam turned quickly from the sink, her eyebrows drawn down in a serious display of disapproval.

  “Not this spring, Mandy. Amish people have their weddings in the fall. In November. You can’t get married in the spring.”

  She turned to stir the scrambled eggs, the subject closed, swept away by her refusal. She calmly continued her work of getting breakfast on the table for her family as Mandy glanced at Lizzie, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. Going over to the stove, Mandy leaned forward, peering closely at Mam to get her undivided attention.

  “You don’t understand, Mam. You really don’t. John wants to get married in March because his—our—herd of cows is arriving the first week in April, so … Well, Mam, we can, can’t we?” she implored.

  “But … but …,” Mam spluttered. Then she did what she sometimes did when she was at a loss for words. She scolded. Clicking the gas burner lower, a bit more forcefully than was absolutely necessary, she said angrily, “Now see, Mandy, you made me burn these eggs. Lizzie, don’t just stand there doing nothing. Get the juice poured. There’s no jelly on the table.”

  The subject was closed until Dat had finished his breakfast. Then Mam brought it into the open, abruptly and unexpectedly.

  “Mandy says John wants to marry her in March.”

  Dat’s eyes flew open as he stared at Mam.

  “This coming March?” he asked.

  Mandy nodded eagerly, fairly bouncing on her chair. “Yes! This March, Dat. He’s—we’re—getting a herd of cows in April, and he thinks it’s wiser, smarter, or whatever to be married in the spring so I can help on the farm.”

  “Will the preachers agree to it, even?” Mam asked.

  “Well, I don’t know why not. It’s done sometimes, although rarely. It’s not really forbidden; it’s just different.” Dat sat back in his chair, adjusted his suspenders, and smiled a watery smile at Mandy. “So I guess if we have to get rid of you, we may as well do it in March as wait until November. It’s all right with me.”

  Mam turned a very light shade of green, Lizzie thought, as reality sank into her head. This was the middle of January, and that meant eight weeks at the most to prepare for the wedding.

  Mam threw up her hands. “Oh, dear!” she said, resignedly.

  Lizzie gazed unseeingly at her dish of cereal, her appetite gone. Oh, this was just great. Little Mandy would be getting married before her, making her feel like a spinster, an old maid who just couldn’t manage to get married in turn. Why couldn’t they wait until fall; then she would get married first, the way it should be. John and his cows! That was nothing but a stupid excuse.

  She slapped her spoon down on the tablecloth.

  “It’s senseless that Mandy gets to get married first, all because of a herd of cows,” she snapped. “How unromantic is that? So now our whole peaceful winter is over. Mam’s nerves will be on edge, and she’ll boss everyone around for the remainder of the season.”

  “You’re just jealous, Lizzie,” Mam said. “There’s absolutely no reason for you to be so childish. If John and Mandy want to get married in March, they can get married then. There is no shame in that. Actually, it is a very grown-up, sensible thing to do.”

  Lizzie snorted, but she didn’t say anything more.

  So over the next eight, very short weeks, Mandy glowed with happiness and anticipation as she unpacked and repacked her ridiculously expensive set of china, caressed her linen tablecloths lovingly, hummed, sang, and whistled. It all amounted to an enormous housefly in Lizzie’s soup of life. She tried to be generous, happy for Mandy, rejoicing with her, but it wasn’t always possible. That’s just how Lizzie was. She wanted to marry Stephen, but so far, he hadn’t even mentioned getting married. All he talked about was hunting or ice fishing or the boat he would like to buy, and it made her nervous, wondering if he was not going to ask her to get married until they were old.

  Lizzie threw herself into her teaching duties as a way of dealing with the maddening pace at home. The school was full of excitement as they planned a Valentine’s Day party. The pupils’ eyes shone with anticipation, little beacons of happiness on a dull winter day. They would have cookies and candy and punch, the children decided. The students would each bring a covered dish instead of their usual boring lunchboxes.

  Macaroni and cheese would stay hot on the back of the stove. Ham sandwiches, applesauce, carrots and dip, and chocolate pudding rounded out the Valentine’s Day menu. Lizzie would supply the paper plates and cups and choose all the games.

  Lizzie sat at her desk while the children planned, writing notes to the mothers explaining what their children should bring for the party. The pupils each folded Lizzie’s notes and stored them carefully in their lunchboxes.

  Valentine’s Day was such a big event in the one-room schoolhouse, even if the upper-grade boys pretended to hate it. Many mothers bought Valentines at the K-Mart in town, although some of the more conservative mothers sent homemade cards with their children, deeming the store-bought ones too worldly.

  So in the middle of gray February, the school was filled with a festive air as the students took a break from studying to decorate the classroom for the party. The children attached red paper hearts to the windows with double-sided Scotch tape. They stretched chains of pink and red construction paper from each corner to the middle of the room. Red balloons dangled in great clumps above Lizzie’s desk.

  Little first-graders squealed and clapped their hands, jumping up and down. They spilled their chocolate milk out of their lunchboxes, and chased each other until Lizzie had to tap the bell to quiet everyone. Planning a Valentine’s Day party was as much chaos as the party itself, but Lizzie loved every minute of it.

  The week before Valentine’s Day, Lizzie sat at her desk and frowned at the upper-grade boys near the back of the room. All day four boys had huddled together at Levi Lapp’s desk, whispering. Lizzie got up to help the first-graders write their math problems on the blackboard. As she was correcting one of Anna Miller’s sums, she heard an almost inaudible giggle, but a giggle nevertheless.

  She slowed her writing, every muscle tensed. Yes, there it was again. She whirled, just as Levi quickly opened his desktop and shoved something inside. The remaining three boys bent studiously over their desks, the picture of demure, engaged scholars working on their English.

  “All right,” Lizzie said loudly.

  Four pairs of innocent eyes stared back at her. The classroom became very, very quiet.

  “Levi, what did you just place in your desk?” she asked quite firmly.

  In the silence that followed, little Rachel Esh picked nervously at her apron, dropping her English book.

  “First grade, you may return to your seats.”

  They sat down quickly, turning to watch the big boys.

  “What is it?” she asked, in a voice she hoped was authoritative, even scary.

  “Nothing,” Levi announced, impudently.

  Marching back to his desk, she yanked the lid open and bent to peer inside. Levi leaned back nonchalantly. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world, which only fueled her anger. The desk was empty inside except for a matchbox.

  “What is in the matchbox?”

  “Nothing.”

  The clas
sroom was as quiet as a lull in a storm, and about as threatening. The lower-graders were terrified, their eyes open wide, their faces mirroring the tension.

  “Why did you throw it into your desk in a hurry, then? Give it to me.”

  Levi grinned as he handed it over.

  Lizzie grasped the matchbox firmly and slid the cover off without at any hesitation. Nestled inside was the cutest mouse she had ever seen. His beady, little brown eyes stared up at her, unblinking and quite unafraid. It’s fur was brown and so neat and shiny. Perfect little ears protruded from its cute, rounded head.

  There were chocolate cookie crumbs in a corner of the large matchbox, and unbelievably, a plastic soda bottle lid filled with water, which had spilled a bit when she pulled it out of the desk. Lizzie’s eyebrows lowered, but her mouth began to twitch. It was just so charming! What a darling little mouse!

  Lizzie wasn’t afraid of mice. She could never bring herself to kill one, and she hated mousetraps. It was the cruelest thing anyone had ever invented. How would people like it if a huge steel bar snapped them to their death in such a horrible manner? She always pitied the mice, hoping they could somehow escape the house, avoiding Mam’s broom and Dat’s trap.

  Lizzie knew she should be stern and strict and punish Levi, while warning the other boys about doing something that distracted the whole classroom. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Didn’t the way Levi had fed this little mouse show real responsibility and kindness? He even gave it water to drink.

  “Well,” she began, and then her mouth just opened into a smile. She gave up.

  “Isn’t he cute?” she asked.

  Instantly there was bedlam in the classroom as children started giggling, holding their hands over their mouths as they laughed. The students in the lower grades rose in their seats for a better view as Lizzie walked down the aisle to show them, amid oh’s and ah’s of approval. After everyone had properly seen the mouse, she returned it to Levi.

  “Now, why don’t we keep him as a pet for a little while? He’s a fat little country mouse, and I think he would be very happy with plenty of food and some shavings. Does anyone have a small cage?” Immediately a number of hands shot up, and the children bounced in their seats with enthusiasm.

  The rest of the day the entire school was upbeat, except for Levi. Lizzie kept him after school for a serious talk about respect.

  “You lied to me when you said there was nothing in the box,” she said.

  “Well, nothing besides the mouse. Plus, I guess, cookie crumbs and water.”

  “Still, Levi, no matter how you say it, it still really wasn’t the truth. Telling lies, even littler white ones, will land us in a heap of trouble if we’re not careful.”

  He looked at his desktop, avoiding her eyes. Lizzie sighed. Levi had a good heart. He was simply drawn to mischief just as a duck or goose is naturally attracted to water. He thrived on paddling around in his own little pond of schemes and pranks like this one. Harmless, perhaps, but disruptive nevertheless.

  A certain quality in Levi spoke to Lizzie’s own heart. She had been very similar to Levi when she was in school. When she had gotten bored, she could always think of ways to make life more exciting. Then, when she was reprimanded, she was so embarrassed, until she thought of another prank.

  The Valentine’s Day party went off without a hitch, although Lizzie ate so many cookies that her stomach hurt. Stephen gave her a beautiful Valentine and a huge box of chocolates. Lizzie couldn’t help eating just a few, even after all the cookies she had consumed earlier in the day.

  Holiday or not, there was no rest at home. As soon as she sat on the sofa to catch her breath and read the comics in the daily paper, either Mam or Mandy asked her to do something like paint the basement.

  For one thing, painting the basement was ridiculous. She had just painted it a nice coat of glossy white paint the summer before. But, oh, no! It had to be done again in the middle of the winter. It was the same all over the house and barn. No rest for mind or body.

  No one cared what she thought or paid any attention to her. That was why she ended up at the family doctor’s office with a huge infected area on the back of her lower leg.

  A week earlier, the winter temperatures had risen enough so that rain fell instead of snow. The rain froze immediately that night when the temperatures dipped, covering the drifts of snow with a slick coat of ice. It was the perfect mixture for wonderful sledding on the steep hill behind Lizzie’s schoolhouse.

  The children careened wildly down the long, steep hill on sheets of plastic, cardboard, and sleds—anything they could cling to as they raced downward. Lizzie allowed the children an entire hour of extra recess, knowing this sledding was a rare opportunity for some exciting thrills.

  Lizzie joined in the fun, flying down the hill with her students until one of Lizzie’s knee socks slid down, and the back of her leg scraped on the ice during a wild ride across the snow. She didn’t notice that she was injured until the children pointed, shrieking, to a large brush burn that ran down the entire back of Lizzie’s leg. She looked and gasped, stunned by the deep scrape. The cold had already numbed her leg, and she wasn’t in any pain. She limped back to the warmth of the schoolroom, bandaged her leg, rang the bell, and resumed classes.

  That evening, Mam fussed and clucked over the size of the scrape, saying it looked more like a burn.

  “Soak it in Epsom salt and put Union Salve on it,” she said, her usual, never-fail cure for every ache and injury.

  “Now just how am I supposed to soak the back of my leg in Epsom salt?” Lizzie asked, a bit upset because Mam wouldn’t help her more.

  Mandy glared at her, as if to tell her without words what an absolute baby she was.

  “Just fill a dishpan almost full and hang your lower leg over it,” she said sternly.

  So with a great deal of snorting and displays of her foul mood, Lizzie managed to wet the injured area, spread the dark brown salve painfully across it, and slap a paper towel on top, because, as usual, there was no gauze bandage in the bathroom cupboard.

  But now it was only a week before the wedding, and her leg still had not healed. At night, she tossed fitfully, the throbbing pain keeping her awake as she resolved not to make a fuss to anyone. She had actually reached the point where she was truly happy for John and Mandy. Her jealousy had finally dispersed like storm clouds on a sunny day. She had wanted desperately to stop feeling so jealous of Mandy and even prayed earnestly about it. Once she really, really wanted to overcome this, she actually had.

  Mandy was so sweet, so easy to like, and so in love with her tall, handsome John that she made everyone else happy, too. Little bursts of happiness shone from her green eyes, and Lizzie told her she reminded her of a fairy scattering stardust.

  “Oh, Lizzie,” Mandy said sincerely. “I want the same thing for you. I hope with all my heart your turn will be in November.”

  “I’m about 100 percent sure he’ll ask me. I mean, why wouldn’t he? Look how long we’ve been dating.”

  “Sure he will, Lizzie.”

  “Look at this, Mandy.” Lizzie turned the back of her leg to show her the now-infected wound, and Mandy gasped as she peeled off the bandage. It was clearly a bad infection, and at Mandy’s yelp, Mam came to see what all the commotion was about. She took one look at Lizzie’s leg and immediately bundled her off to see the doctor.

  Armed with antibiotics, salve, gauze, cloth tape, hot and cold compresses, and orders to keep her leg elevated, Lizzie returned to the hubbub of preparing for Mandy’s wedding.

  By the time the relatives came the next week on the risht-dawg, the day of preparation for Mandy’s wedding, Lizzie’s leg felt much better, and she was able to help get the house ready for the big day. There was the usual happy banter as the food was prepared. Lizzie’s aunts baked pies, cooked tapioca pudding, washed the celery, and baked bread until the whole house was a regular beehive of activity. In the living room, the men set up rows of benches and tabl
es.

  “When Amish people have a wedding, they even wash their barn windows,” Lizzie commented.

  “Oh, yes, of course. The cow stable is whitewashed, and everything that isn’t painted gets a fresh coat,” her aunt laughed.

  “Our cow stable isn’t in use anymore, so it didn’t get whitewashed, just cleaned,” Lizzie laughed.

  Joshua and Emma arrived, all smiles and happy to be waiting on the eck. The married sisters and brothers of the bride had the special job of waiting on John and Mandy and the other members of the bridal party, or in the Pennsylvania Dutch language, the nava-sitza. It was a very important assignment, and Emma’s cheeks glowed with anticipation as she laid out the table linens, china, silverware, and all the pretty cut-glass dishes they would use. Mandy was not allowed to see what Emma and the cousins were doing, because it was all a surprise for her when she sat at the corner table the day she was married.

  The women cut butter into fancy wedding-bell shapes, covering it carefully with plastic wrap and refrigerating it for the big day. They made special Jell-O dishes, fruit dip, and all kinds of delicious food for the bride and groom.

  “What beautiful china!” Emma gasped.

  Lizzie was hurrying past with a basket of clothes and turned to smile at her.

  “Isn’t it? I was so jealous of Mandy’s china for so long that it actually cured me. Kind of like getting a severe dose of the measles. Once it’s that bad, you’re immune to it.”

  Emma laughed. “Ach, Lizzie, you couldn’t be too envious of Mandy. She’s too sweet. Your turn will come.”

  Lizzie smiled as she hurried up the stairs with her basket of clothes. Dear, dear Emma. She had so much plain-down goodness and common sense, such a well-grounded attitude about everything. She never got too much in a tizzy about anything, just took it all in stride matter-of-factly, never questioning God or fretting needlessly.

  She probably didn’t even think there was anything to feel bad about if Mandy was married first. That was how God intended it, and Lizzie would just have to be patient and wait until Stephen decided to ask her. Mandy and Lizzie had laughed plenty, sitting in their rooms, trying to decide what you could say to your boyfriend to get him to ask you to marry him. But still, there was no getting around it, the ultimate timing, the big question was all up to Stephen, no matter how many broad hints Lizzie threw at him.