stitches, apparently thinking over the question. “I haven’t so far. Perhaps God will send me a husband. He would have to, to make me want to get married.”
“Becky, I just don’t understand you,” Judith exclaimed. “It seems like you
want
to be an old spinster!”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. If all else fails I can always catch me an English.”
English
was what the Amish called someone outside of the Amish community. “If that’s what happens, just pray he is so weak I can persuade him to join our church.” She got up and tossed the pillowcase in the cedar trunk that constituted as her hope chest which, truth to tell, was pitifully empty. “I’m going out to see the new baby goat. If a suitable man comes by, be sure to tell him my demands for a husband. He’s got to be able to take orders from his wife; if he’s an English, he’s got to become Amish; and he’s got to be entertaining.” She winked at Shad and left the room.
“She’ll never get a husband, Mother.” Shad sighed. “You and Father will have her on your hands for the rest of your life.”
The next day Rebecca decided to take her dog, Hank, into the woods to look for herbs. In spite of the fact that she was not really the ideal Amish woman—she was an indifferent cook, disliked putting up canned goods and preserves, cared little for sewing, and often went barefoot when it was considered scandalous—she was a very good nurse and was good at herbalism.
She had filled her basket and several sacks with black sage, which was good for tea to calm the nerves. She had also found a good bit of burdock that was good for purifying the blood. Some said it was also good for a rattlesnake bite, but Becky didn’t hold too much with that and hoped she never had to test it in that way.
She sang softly as she made her way home. The Amish didn’t believe in using musical instruments. They thought they were frivolous. But they did sing, and Becky had a good voice. She sang a very old hymn from the traditional Amish hymnal, the
Ausbund
. It dated back to the 1700s, and all of the hymns were in German.
Suddenly Hank ran off barking, which he rarely did, so she became curious. “What have you stirred up, Hank?” She followed him and came to a wide creek that was covered with a log jam—the beginnings of a beaver dam. Hank stood on the bank, barking monotonously, at the beavers, Becky presumed. Looking across the stream, she saw a large growth of redroot, which made an excellent tea that was good for relaxation, tending to sleep. She had discovered that it was also good for excessive menstruation, diarrhea, and dysentery, and the leaves and the tender stems could be eaten raw in salads.
Carefully Becky started across the creek, stepping on one half-submerged log to another. She was a sure-footed woman, but one of the logs suddenly rolled over and threw her off balance and she fell into the creek. The log continued rolling until it came to rest across her thighs. It was heavy, and since the stream was shallow, it was only halfway in the water and there was no chance that it would float off. It seemed securely anchored right across her.
Becky knew she wouldn’t drown, but it would be a long time before she was missed. Her family wouldn’t know where to look, for she had just told them she was going to look for herbs, not the direction she was going. In fact, she hadn’t planned that at all. She had merely wandered along and picked the herbs that she found.
Even though it was August and the heat was oppressive, the stream was cold. She knew that even in the blistering heat of summer a person could get chilled and shocked if they were submerged too long in cold water. She struggled and struggled, but the log didn’t move at all.
The minutes passed slowly, and after almost an hour of trying desperately to free herself, her legs ached with the weight of the log, and she knew that she couldn’t fight anymore. She was exhausted.
Becky began to
“Becky, I just don’t understand you,” Judith exclaimed. “It seems like you
want
to be an old spinster!”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. If all else fails I can always catch me an English.”
English
was what the Amish called someone outside of the Amish community. “If that’s what happens, just pray he is so weak I can persuade him to join our church.” She got up and tossed the pillowcase in the cedar trunk that constituted as her hope chest which, truth to tell, was pitifully empty. “I’m going out to see the new baby goat. If a suitable man comes by, be sure to tell him my demands for a husband. He’s got to be able to take orders from his wife; if he’s an English, he’s got to become Amish; and he’s got to be entertaining.” She winked at Shad and left the room.
“She’ll never get a husband, Mother.” Shad sighed. “You and Father will have her on your hands for the rest of your life.”
The next day Rebecca decided to take her dog, Hank, into the woods to look for herbs. In spite of the fact that she was not really the ideal Amish woman—she was an indifferent cook, disliked putting up canned goods and preserves, cared little for sewing, and often went barefoot when it was considered scandalous—she was a very good nurse and was good at herbalism.
She had filled her basket and several sacks with black sage, which was good for tea to calm the nerves. She had also found a good bit of burdock that was good for purifying the blood. Some said it was also good for a rattlesnake bite, but Becky didn’t hold too much with that and hoped she never had to test it in that way.
She sang softly as she made her way home. The Amish didn’t believe in using musical instruments. They thought they were frivolous. But they did sing, and Becky had a good voice. She sang a very old hymn from the traditional Amish hymnal, the
Ausbund
. It dated back to the 1700s, and all of the hymns were in German.
Suddenly Hank ran off barking, which he rarely did, so she became curious. “What have you stirred up, Hank?” She followed him and came to a wide creek that was covered with a log jam—the beginnings of a beaver dam. Hank stood on the bank, barking monotonously, at the beavers, Becky presumed. Looking across the stream, she saw a large growth of redroot, which made an excellent tea that was good for relaxation, tending to sleep. She had discovered that it was also good for excessive menstruation, diarrhea, and dysentery, and the leaves and the tender stems could be eaten raw in salads.
Carefully Becky started across the creek, stepping on one half-submerged log to another. She was a sure-footed woman, but one of the logs suddenly rolled over and threw her off balance and she fell into the creek. The log continued rolling until it came to rest across her thighs. It was heavy, and since the stream was shallow, it was only halfway in the water and there was no chance that it would float off. It seemed securely anchored right across her.
Becky knew she wouldn’t drown, but it would be a long time before she was missed. Her family wouldn’t know where to look, for she had just told them she was going to look for herbs, not the direction she was going. In fact, she hadn’t planned that at all. She had merely wandered along and picked the herbs that she found.
Even though it was August and the heat was oppressive, the stream was cold. She knew that even in the blistering heat of summer a person could get chilled and shocked if they were submerged too long in cold water. She struggled and struggled, but the log didn’t move at all.
The minutes passed slowly, and after almost an hour of trying desperately to free herself, her legs ached with the weight of the log, and she knew that she couldn’t fight anymore. She was exhausted.
Becky began to
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