The Amish Groom ~ Men of Lancaster County Book 1 by Susan Meissner, Mindy Starns Clark
Authors: Susan Meissner, Mindy Starns Clark
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I had hoped my words would bring her comfort, but instead they just sent her to her room in tears, leaving me there in the kitchen alone with my uncle Jonah.
“She’ll get through it in time,” he told me in his deep, gravelly voice, “just as she got through the loss of her sister.”
I hadn’t known how to reply to that, as I was well aware that Sarah had never really gotten over the loss of her sister—neither her leaving, nor her death.
Later that night, I went over to Rachel’s to tell her goodbye. It was difficult enough as it was, but she made it even more so by insisting that we keep things short. She didn’t want to take a walk or go for a buggy ride or do anything with me that would allow us to have more than five minutes alone together. It pained me to think she was already starting to prepare herself for the worst.
Standing on her parents’ front porch, I told her I loved her and that I would write, and that she could call me anytime she wanted. She and her family shared a phone shanty with the farm next door. I gave her my dad’s home phone number and assured her I wanted to hear from her while I was away.
She allowed me to kiss her goodbye, but in that kiss I could already sense that she was pulling away, like a helium balloon tugging itself from the hand of the one holding it.
My flight was the next day, at eight thirty in the morning. Daadi had offered to hire a car to drive me all the way to the Philadelphia airport, but I hadn’t wanted him to go to that expense. The train was cheaper, so I’d arranged for the driver to just take me to the Lancaster train station instead.
In the predawn darkness, saying goodbye to my grandparents was even more difficult than I had expected it to be. Mammi hugged me longer than she ever had, and even Daadi seemed on the verge of tears. It scared me a little to think how tenuous they saw my hold on the Amish life in which they had raised me.
Even my farewell to Timber had been tough. He was a good dog, and though I knew Daadi would take excellent care of him in my stead, I sure would miss having him around.
I took just one small duffel bag, filled mostly with clothes, and a backpack that held my Bible, notepaper to write letters to Rachel and Jake, a wallet with a few hundred dollars in it, the watch my father had once given me for Christmas, and my Pennsylvania driver’s license. I hadn’t used the license in a couple of years, but I knew I would need it while taking care of my brother, not to mention for getting on the airplane.
When I was finally on the train, I settled in beside the window and watched as the rolling fields and farms of Lancaster County slowly gave way to the more densely packed houses and shops of suburban Philadelphia. I took Amtrak all the way to 30th Street Station in the heart of the city and then changed over to a SEPTA line for the twenty-minute ride from there to the airport.
It wasn’t until I stepped off the SEPTA train a few minutes after seven that the magnitude of what I was doing began to hit me. Thanks to a single phone call from my father and a gathering of my church elders, I was about to fly across the country in pursuit of some understanding, some truth, that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
I sure hope You really are in this, Lord, I prayed as I fell in with the crowd walking inside.
The airport was busy, far busier than I remember it being the last time I flew, when I was seventeen. I made my way through airport security, past the staring and pointing people—it wasn’t terribly common to see an Amish man in an airport—and then to my gate to wait for my plane to board. I took a seat near the door to the jetway and picked up a newspaper that someone had left to give myself something to do while I waited.
A mom with two young girls, maybe eight and ten, sat down next to me, and the children proceeded to whisper to their mother, and she back to them. I heard the word “Amish,” though I
I had hoped my words would bring her comfort, but instead they just sent her to her room in tears, leaving me there in the kitchen alone with my uncle Jonah.
“She’ll get through it in time,” he told me in his deep, gravelly voice, “just as she got through the loss of her sister.”
I hadn’t known how to reply to that, as I was well aware that Sarah had never really gotten over the loss of her sister—neither her leaving, nor her death.
Later that night, I went over to Rachel’s to tell her goodbye. It was difficult enough as it was, but she made it even more so by insisting that we keep things short. She didn’t want to take a walk or go for a buggy ride or do anything with me that would allow us to have more than five minutes alone together. It pained me to think she was already starting to prepare herself for the worst.
Standing on her parents’ front porch, I told her I loved her and that I would write, and that she could call me anytime she wanted. She and her family shared a phone shanty with the farm next door. I gave her my dad’s home phone number and assured her I wanted to hear from her while I was away.
She allowed me to kiss her goodbye, but in that kiss I could already sense that she was pulling away, like a helium balloon tugging itself from the hand of the one holding it.
My flight was the next day, at eight thirty in the morning. Daadi had offered to hire a car to drive me all the way to the Philadelphia airport, but I hadn’t wanted him to go to that expense. The train was cheaper, so I’d arranged for the driver to just take me to the Lancaster train station instead.
In the predawn darkness, saying goodbye to my grandparents was even more difficult than I had expected it to be. Mammi hugged me longer than she ever had, and even Daadi seemed on the verge of tears. It scared me a little to think how tenuous they saw my hold on the Amish life in which they had raised me.
Even my farewell to Timber had been tough. He was a good dog, and though I knew Daadi would take excellent care of him in my stead, I sure would miss having him around.
I took just one small duffel bag, filled mostly with clothes, and a backpack that held my Bible, notepaper to write letters to Rachel and Jake, a wallet with a few hundred dollars in it, the watch my father had once given me for Christmas, and my Pennsylvania driver’s license. I hadn’t used the license in a couple of years, but I knew I would need it while taking care of my brother, not to mention for getting on the airplane.
When I was finally on the train, I settled in beside the window and watched as the rolling fields and farms of Lancaster County slowly gave way to the more densely packed houses and shops of suburban Philadelphia. I took Amtrak all the way to 30th Street Station in the heart of the city and then changed over to a SEPTA line for the twenty-minute ride from there to the airport.
It wasn’t until I stepped off the SEPTA train a few minutes after seven that the magnitude of what I was doing began to hit me. Thanks to a single phone call from my father and a gathering of my church elders, I was about to fly across the country in pursuit of some understanding, some truth, that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
I sure hope You really are in this, Lord, I prayed as I fell in with the crowd walking inside.
The airport was busy, far busier than I remember it being the last time I flew, when I was seventeen. I made my way through airport security, past the staring and pointing people—it wasn’t terribly common to see an Amish man in an airport—and then to my gate to wait for my plane to board. I took a seat near the door to the jetway and picked up a newspaper that someone had left to give myself something to do while I waited.
A mom with two young girls, maybe eight and ten, sat down next to me, and the children proceeded to whisper to their mother, and she back to them. I heard the word “Amish,” though I
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