Plain Passion

By Nattie Jones

© 2008 by Blushing Books

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Nattie Jones

Plain Passion

ISBN 978-1-935152-31-6

Cover Design: ABCD Webmasters

This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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Chapter One

Would tonight be the night?

Betsy almost broke into tears of nervousness as the open buggy jostled over a bump. She fell against Eli, who smiled down at her and snapped the reins of the horse, heading towards a secluded grove.

Just last week, Eli had called her his ‘Aldi’—girlfriend—after the Sunday singing at the Yoder’s place. Betsy bit her lip and fiddled with her black ‘Kapp’ strings. When he’d asked to take her home tonight from the barn hop, he’d said he’d something important to talk with her about. His rich brown eyes had a happy sparkle when he said it, and Betsy’s heart had leapt.

After all, they’d been riding home from singings for over two years now, ever since she’d been of courting age at sixteen. It was the way of the People—as the Amish referred to themselves—and had been for many years. At sixteen, girls and boys both entered the age of ‘rumshpringa’, where they all sowed their wild oats in the world until they decided to settle down and make their kneeling vows before the church.

Betsy sighed happily as she stared up at the night sky from Eli’s buggy. They rode in a comfortable silence, and she enjoyed the slow pace of the buggy. Unlike her sister, Ellie—who had sowed her wild oats until she’d ‘yanked over’ to the Yankee ways, Betsy was ready and eager to join the church, settle down, and get married. ‘Dat’ and Mama were so heartbroken that Ellie hadn’t joined the church that Dat refused to speak of or to her.

“I heard about your intentions to join the baptismal class next month.”

Betsy’s heart began beating a little faster as they pulled into a small, deserted lane for some privacy. The black night air suddenly seemed charged with an energy that matched the chilly spring air. Stars shone through the tree branches, forming little beams of light that danced over Eli’s buggy.

She pulled the buggy quilt up a little higher on her lap to ward off the chill before she answered affirmatively.

“You’re one of the youngest.”

“I’m ready.”

He nodded. “I’m ready to kneel myself.”

Betsy breathed in relief. She wondered if he had waited for her—he was twenty-six now, and she guessed that some would think him a little old for her. He had not run with a wild rumshpringa gang, though, so she knew it hadn’t been a crisis of faith or a desire for ‘Yankee’ things that held him back.

“You waited awhile,” she observed.

He laid his hand on top of hers. “I waited for you.”

She could feel the blush flowering on her cheeks and bit back a flattered giggle.

“We’ll be kneeling in time for next fall’s marriage season.”

Her voice caught in her throat, but it didn’t much matter, as she had no idea what to say to that.

“Will you marry me, Betsy Borntrager?”

Betsy couldn’t bite back the grin, nor the quick and breathless reply of happiness. “Yes!”

He smiled broadly, and he didn’t smile often. His fingers curled into hers, so that they were holding hands. They sat in pleased silence for several minutes while the clouds drifted across the stars and the moon.

“But there are a couple things we need to talk about, first.”

She turned to him, adjusting the heavy buggy blanket around her shoulders. “What, Eli?”

“Available farmland in our district is getting scarce. I’d love a dairy farm, but my father has six more children to raise. I’ve been looking at land in Kentucky … or, if you’d like to stay in the district, it’s likely I’ll have to lunch pail it, at least for a good while.”

She stared at the stars for a long time, willing the tears threatening her eyes not to show. A father should be home with his children, teaching them side by side on the farm, day after day. It’s how her brothers were raised, and how she always dreamed of her family one day. But moving? She’d miss her family, her community …

“I hear they’re a bit fancier, down there.” Betsy and Eli were Schwarzentruber Amish, committed to the old ways even more than the Old Order Amish. “They’re using cell phones and even indoor plumbing.” She picked at a piece of lint on the blanket. “I’m happy, Eli, and even at the cost of not raising our children on a farm, I see more harm in raising them to fancier ways.”

She stared down at the toes of her black boots, patiently waiting for a response. An owl hooted in the distance, and a deer stole across the dirt lane, his coat turning dark and gray for the winter.

“Then we will trust God,” he said. “While I’ve been waiting for you to grow up, Betsy-girl, I’ve saved enough to buy a farm, if one goes on the market.”

Betsy shyly reached over and rested her hand close to his, hoping that he would hold her hand. His big paw engulfed her immediately.

“And the other thing …”

She smiled up at him. “Yes, Eli?”

“Discipline.”

Her breath stopped, a knot formed in her belly, and Betsy didn’t know what to think. She fiddled with the hem of the blanket, wondering what he wanted from her.

“When was the last time you had a ‘gut bletsching’?”

Betsy gulped at memories of spanking. Dat had always been strict in bringing them up in ‘das alt Gebrauch’—the old way—especially since her older sister, Ellie, had turned away from the church. Whenever Betsy questioned the old ways, he would just shake his head. “It’s our way,” he would say.

Obedience was their way of life: obedience to their elders, obedience to the Ordnung, and obedience to God, above all. And children were taught at church, home, and at their small parochial school, the value of honoring and obeying their parents and teachers. Her parents, like so many other Amish parents, would have felt that they had failed their duty to their God and their community if they had spared the rod, and brought up spoiled children.

Betsy could barely answer Eli, except in a whisper. “Have I disappointed you, Eli?” A wife is her husband’s helpmate, and she hoped that Eli believed that she would be an obedient wife, eager to work and serve the needs of her husband, family, and community.

He avoided her question. “Betsy, it’s never been my way, nor my father’s way, to be silent against a wrongdoing.”

For sure and for certain, Betsy knew that was not the typical way of her people. In her home, Dat could use silence as well as he did the switch. Even her Mama would spend days fretting over what she had done, before she would finally figure it out and go to Dat asking his forgiveness. And if she failed to remember, the punishing silence could go on for days and days. He used the switch on Betsy until the day she turned sixteen, and then he used silence with her, too.

“When was your last ‘bletsching’?” he asked again.

She bit her lip. “Dat was strict, but for sure and for certain, much stricter after Ellie yanked over. I think he blamed himself for losing her to Yankee ways.” She took a deep breath. “I’d found one of Ellie’s old books hidden under her mattress. I didn’t want to read it—I’d just found it and was glancing through to see what it was, but Dat caught me.” Betsy felt her bottom and legs tingle, just thinkin’ of it. “I was near sixteen, too old for a ‘bletsching’, but he blames those books for Ellie leavin’.”

Her Dat had taken a switch to her legs, and used his big, heavy hand on her bottom, as if she were only a baby. They’d prayed together, and talked, and she’d apologized. Her Dat had tears in his eyes as he both apologized and asked if he had done anything to turn her towards Yankee ways. She knew better than to correct his assumption that she had actually been reading the book, no more than a member of the People would speak out when falsely accused by the elders—to do so would show a lack of proper submission to the ‘Ordnung’. She submitted to her Dat’s correction like a dutiful daughter, hoping to relieve him of worry that she would follow in Ellie’s footsteps.

Eli nodded his approval at her story. “You are a ‘gut’ daughter.” Since she looked close to tears, he pulled at her ‘Kapp’ strings. “You’ll be a good mama and wife. We’ll be a good family, God willing.”

She twirled her ‘Kapp’ string around her pinky. “Then what do you mean, with all this talk?”

“My Dat was always loving and gentle, but strict. He could give a switchin’ not to be forgotten, in a way that was gentle.” He clucked at the horses as they grew restless. “He was the same way with Mama.”

Betsy felt a stab of worry deep in her heart. She’d known Jacob Miller, the bishop next door, to be mighty strict with his family, and had seen him raise a hand to his wife. The stress of being a bishop must be somethin’ awful on a family, but she had hoped never to marry a man that would treat her so. She gripped at the quilt in her lap, took a deep breath, and told Eli, leavin’ out the names of the family, rightly so.

“Aw, Betsy. I’d never raise a hand to you in such a way.” He softly wiped the tear at her eye. “But it’s something you’ll have to feel, to know for sure, ain’t so?”

Eli watched her fiddle with the hem of the quilt as she stared straight ahead. “You asked me earlier if you had disappointed me.” He waited a beat, while a worried frown crossed over her face. “I saw that you drank a few cans of beer at the barn hop.”

Her head snapped down shamefully at that. “I’m sorry, Eli,” she whispered.

He did use silence, a loud, disapproving silence until she felt her eyes burn. “Will you submit to my discipline?” she heard him say. The decision to submit, to nod, was instant. Tears already poured from her eyes.

Eli knew Betsy was always eager to obey her family, the ‘Ordnung’, and the elders, and he knew her dismay at his disapproval would be a punishment in itself. He saw her hands trembling, and he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and smother her face with kisses of reassurance.

But he needed to prove to her that he was a man she could count on for a husband, a man she could trust to lead and discipline their children with love and wisdom. And he hoped that he could prove to her that he was a man worthy of being head of their house, even worthy of correcting her, when the need arose.

“Before we marry, we will be able to answer Bishop Miller that we haven’t broken the Ordnung. I want you to lie over my lap, though, and I will bare your bottom for your ‘bletsching.’”

He rubbed her back gently while the tears overflowed and she wrung her hands. “Eli?” she whispered. “My sister …”

He soothed her back and nodded for her to go on.

“My ‘Dat’ forbids us from seeing her.” Her lip trembled. “Even after all Jack did for Ephraim, my sick brother, but …” she took a deep breath “… one day he looked at me and said that no one could visit her, and she was not welcome on our farm.” She adjusted the buggy blanket to hide the trembling in her hands. “It was like she died … one day she was there every day, talking with me and working side by side, always teaching me. Then the next day she was gone, and never to be seen again. That she was living only one farm over hardly made it feel better.”

Eli had been seventeen when Ellie had left the Amish way to go to school and become a doctor, all while marrying a Yankee. He remembered the way Jack had helped the community out a great deal after a tornado. “Ellie and Jack both were baptized in a Mennonite church, and Ellie’s clinic has been a blessing to our community. They are not under the ban, Betsy.” He nodded in approval. “They joined an easier church so that she could become a doctor, but they still run their farm the old way—no electricity except for what Jack uses to work, although Jack still keeps his truck.”

She nodded, looking relieved. If Ellie had taken her kneeling vows before turning to Yankee ways, she would have surely been shunned by their People, and her family left to mourn her as dead, hoping that every time they refused to talk to Ellie, that they would be helping lead her back into God’s grace.

“I used to climb a tree at the edge of the woods between our properties. This way I wasn’t disobeying my father, but I could sometimes see a glimpse of Ellie through a window.”

He stopped rubbing her back and settled back in the open buggy. “Choose, Betsy.” He was a little nervous, but he knew that their love was strong. Though they’d never professed it out loud, Betsy had had her eye on him since she was six, and he fourteen. His affection had been almost brotherly, but he knew — even then — that she would be his one day. She’d known it, too, and had made sure that he didn’t forget her.

Her black ‘Kapp’ was fastened securely with pins, despite the haphazard way the strings dangled down. When she turned and crawled over his lap, it stayed securely on her head. Good thing, too, just in case she was moved to silently pray to God for forgiveness during her ‘bletsching.’ He was surprised at how light she was, almost as if her clothing weighed more than she did. He parted her apron so that it fell to the side of her bottom, and reached down to grab the hem of her dress at her ankles.

“I won’t lie, Betsy, this is going to hurt pretty bad.” He wanted her to know what would happen, hoping to take the fear of the unknown out of her trembling legs.

“It’s supposed to, ain’t so?” She had a breathy soft voice that he loved, with a sweet Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

He swallowed a chuckle. “I will be a gentle husband, I hope, but a strict one. I won’t ever raise my hand to you in anger, and I will never, ever hurt you in a way that ain’t right.” She didn’t answer, but made a strangled squeak as he pulled up her long dress until her legs were bare. He hooked his fingers in her white cotton underwear, and pulled them down to her knees.

Desire grabbed him fierce at the sight of her stick thin legs, smooth white skin, and small form. She was only five four to his six two, and a small thing at that compared to his big build. The urge to protect her was a mighty strong instinct, and made it easier to focus on his task. He laid his hand on her bottom, pleased that his hand covered the length and width of her little cheeks.

The buggy squeaked as he adjusted her body until her bottom was high over his knee, and he moved forward in the seat so that he could take his other leg over the back to trap hers. He heard another squeak, and wasn’t sure whether it came from the old seat or Betsy.

“You’re joining the baptismal class, Betsy, and that means that you’d better start following the ‘Ordnung’ or the elders will not let you kneel for your vow. You are not the youngest to join, but if you aren’t sure about your readiness, then you’d better to wait a year, than to commit before you’re ready.”

He waited for a response.

“Eli, I am ready, totally ready.”

He was glad to hear it. “Then drinking beer at a hop that I discouraged you from attending in the first place is not the way to show it, ain’t so?”

Her voice was the highest he’d ever heard it. “No, Eli.” With remorse dripping from her voice, she added, “I’m sorry.”

“And it’s my duty to protect you, to see that you don’t do that again. When my hand finishes teaching you a lesson, the buggy whip will make sure you don’t forget it.”

He snapped his hand across his cheeks, with a tight rein on his strength—he didn’t want to cause her any undue damage. She didn’t so much as squeak, and the bright full moon showed no handprint on her bottom. He raised his hand again, snapping it down a little lower, almost lifting her cheeks on the upswing.

She squirmed a little.

He frowned when still no handprint appeared, and knew that he had to use a little more strength to get through to her. Raising his hand above his head, he gave her a good and loud swat, hard enough to make her cheeks wiggle and her to squeal in dismay. He eyed her left cheek, and delivered a full swat to one side, and then the other, relieved that he was giving the punishment she deserved.

He’d never spanked a girl before, but he’d seen his father spank his younger brothers and sisters—heck, he’d felt everything from his father’s hand to a switch and to a buggy whip, much like most of his Amish kinsman. Just as he’d seen, he knew true repentance and submission to punishment were the important keys.

He wouldn’t stop spanking, until her bottom was good and raw, and then he’d lay ten welts across her bottom that would last a few days so that she could remember her punishment for a few days. He’d seen guilt in Betsy’s eyes, and suspected that her father had punished her up until her sixteenth birthday for as much Betsy’s sake as for any fear he may have had over going to easy on his first daughter.

A crow cawed loudly in the tree, and then flew away, startling both of them.

Betsy laughed uncertainly. “Scared me,” she said.

“Me too,” he chuckled, and rested his hand on her bottom.

She took a moment to breathe, relieved that the crow had seemed to melt away the uncomfortable silences around his smacks. She was both relieved and disappointed that he spanked nowhere near as hard as her Dat had—although those last few smacks had been hard to bear.

The disappointment surprised her the most, though, over anything else that had happened tonight. “Eli … you … I think, this is what I want, what I need,” she broke off. She knew it in her heart, and she also knew that she craved the kind of ‘bletsching’ her father had given her—painful and long, until she’d cried her heart out in repentance, until her tears washed all the guilt away. But she didn’t know how to explain that to Eli.

For sure and for certain, she didn’t have the courage to try. She took a deep breath and let it out on a squeal as Eli’s hand blazed across her bottom. He was a big man, and she loved the way his hand covered her bottom completely as he smacked. It made her feel small next to him, even delicate.

More than that, it made her feel protected.

His hand crashed down on her bottom so hard that it made the buggy squeal in protest. She grabbed onto it to help steady her, relieved that horses didn’t seem to mind at all.

Eli picked up the speed, and leaned his arm on her waist to keep her steady as his other hand punished her bottom in jarring spanks that cracked and echoed against the trees. She’d all but told him to spank her harder, and he wouldn’t let her down. The full moon was a spotlight through the trees, and his rough, calloused hand felt nothing as he reddened her bottom.

He felt a surge of disappointment when she started to wiggle against the pain, clawing herself forward and trying to get off his lap. “Betsy!” he snapped, sharp enough to cut her defiance. He reached over and picked up the buggy whip, knowing that it was his duty to lead her into submission.

He adjusted the whip, shortening the tail so as not to hurt her more than necessary, and then snapped it down just above her knees and the white panties collected there.

“I’m sorry!” she cried.

He whipped her from the top of her knees to her bottom, until she lay compliantly across his lap, accepting of her punishment. Dropping the buggy whip, he started up again with his hand, and set his mind to his task. She was beautiful there, and he focused on the rhythm of the smacks to keep going past her whimpers, to smack through her cries, until she burst into sobs.

Eli didn’t stop there, encouraging her remorse with every smack of his hand, until her sobs came from the bottom of her heart. Then he picked up the buggy whip once more, this time whipping it across her bottom hard enough to leave a good welt. He laid nine more welts, one after the other, until she was limp over his lap and her sobs turned to heartbroken blubbering.

With relief, he threw the buggy whip to the bottom of the buggy and stopped spanking, instead rubbing his calloused hand in circles over her bottom until she calmed down a little.

She didn’t realize he’d stopped right away, so wrapped up in feelings of remorse and sensations of pain. Betsy felt a small relief in pain, but his hand rubbing circles on her bottom was rough, and hurt.

But also awakened something tingly in her belly.

She stopped crying, finally, wiping her eyes in big swipes, and then making a pretty apology for her wrongdoing. More than anything, she was dismayed to having given Eli reason to be disappointed in her behavior.

She was suddenly struck by the realization that she was bare to Eli, bare to the moon, her bottom feeling big and exposed in the chilly night air. She realized that her legs were spread enough to give him a clear view of her sex, but she didn’t move.

The air was suddenly charged with a tense silence, and his hand stopped circling. She held her breath as it moved down her bottom to her thigh, his fingers coming so close to her pulsing womanhood. He only had to move an inch to touch her, and she only had to lean back a little, for a pleasure that called to her, though she’d never experienced it.

It was Eli who broke the silence. “Stand up,” he said gruffly, his voice uncharacteristically rough. She let her dress fall down before taking her place next to him in silence. Had he known her thoughts? Was he disappointed in them?

He snapped the reins and turned the buggy onto the main street, heading towards her farm. The silence between them was uncomfortable and unsure. She felt tears burning her eyes as they rode for over an hour. Finally, only ten minutes from her house, he stopped.

“Thank you,” she said in a lame attempt to put things back to normal between them.

He cocked his head at her. “Was it that bad?”

She shook her head.

He smiled, and leaned in to give her a passionate kiss. “Now that we’re engaged, I’ll be watching you between now and next November.” He lifted her chin up. “Understood?”

She smiled broadly. “Yes, Eli.”

For sure and for certain, her life was wonderful and ‘gut’, and she gave a silent prayer of thanks while she went quietly up the stairs to her room after Eli left. As was custom, her parents gave no mind to her late night return at four in the mornin’. It was expected, as it sometimes would be a two or three hour buggy ride home from a hop, and that after a night of barn games and such.

The only problem — would Dat approve of a man who might need to lunch-pail it?

Chapter Two

Betsy woke up a few hours after Eli had taken her home, sore bottom or no. There were chores to be done, breakfast to prepare, cows to milk, and all before they left for the hour ride to Matthew Yoder’s farm for the three hour church service which would begin at eight thirty.

As she set the table, Mama fried the bacon and the sausage, humming softly to herself as she often did in the morning.

“Mama?” Betsy held her breath, nerves fluttering in her stomach.

“Mmmm?” She didn’t look up from stirring the scrambled eggs, but angled her head up so that one kapp string sunk lower than the other.

“I heard some of the young people talkin’, worrying about finding farms and such … having to move far, or take up the lunch pail and work in a factory or in town.” She tried to hide the trembling in her fingers and pretend that she was just chatting.

But Mama put down the teakettle and sat down at the table, hand over her chest. “Betsy, what are you tellin’ me?”

Betsy thought of shrugging it off and letting the secret keep a little longer, but tears glistened in Mama’s eyes. “Eli asked me last night.”

“Oh, Betsy!”

Betsy clasped her mother’s hands, kneeling to rest her head in her mother’s lap, like she’d done often as a young child. “But Dat … he’s so dedicated to preserving out old ways—and so am I—but it’s been hard for the young people startin’ a family in the district.”

Her mother stared ahead at nothing, deep in thought. “Many a family has been broken apart by such a problem.” Her shoulders drooped and she sat for a moment in silence. Her rough hand reached up and pressed against her daughter’s cheek. “It would break my heart to lose another daughter.”

“Mama, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Betsy put her hand on top of her mother’s. “I’m joining the church come spring, and marrying Eli come fall. You’ll have grandchildren and more family than you can want and you’ll never feel lonely again.”

The words came rushing out in a gush of desire to wipe the pain from her mother’s eyes, but they didn’t help. Mama nodded and sighed, standing up to get on with the morning chores. She seemed sadder at the good news, and Betsy helplessly worked harder at the chores, for lack of anything constructive to do about Mama’s pain.

Just after she rang the bell for Eli to come in for breakfast, she turned to Betsy with her heart on her chest. “I would have liked to see Ellie’s wedding. To see her—” she broke off with a sob. “Do you know she has children now? A boy and a girl?”

Betsy held her breath, wanting to ask more about her sister, but afraid to upset her Mama further. “You’ll see my wedding, Mama. Come spring, we’ll plant the celery for the feast and before you know it, I’ll be joining with Eli and you’ll be there, and all the family and all the church.”

Mama nodded but seemed to be only paying half attention to her daughter’s words. She finally put a hand to her daughter’s shoulders and smiled. “It’ll be a blessing for sure and for certain.” Her eyes misting up, she added in her soft voice, “ain’t so?”

Within seconds they were eating breakfast and life was back to the daily routine as if nothing had changed.

But later, sitting in the Yoder’s house and singing the Lob Lied, Betsy knew things had changed. As it was always the second hymn of the service, she knew it by heart and didn’t need to look at her old hymnal that all the Amish use—the Ausband. She looked around and realized that soon she would be wearing a white ‘kapp’ to church, and Eli would be growing a beard.

The thought of it made her want to giggle, and she bit her tongue hard until tears came to her eyes. She tried not to glance towards the row of unmarried men filing into the church so as not to imagine Eli looking like her father with a beard down to his heart. Would it cover the firm line of his jaw? Cover the unyielding set of his mouth when he talked of things he believed in most, or when he lectured her?

She was thankful it wouldn’t hide the warm love in his eyes—she couldn’t bear his discipline without it. The last of the young men filed in to the last few benches, and the Lob Lied hymn came to a close. Before she knew it, Deacon Yoder had wrapped up his sing-song sermon, and they were all turning to kneel at their benches.

She’d only begun her years as a scholar when he’d been in eighth grade – his last year of school. He’d been quiet at school, as she remembered, but not at all shy. He was equally kind to the ‘Englisch’ as his own People.

She remembered when one of the ‘Englisch’ children had made fun of her ‘kapp,’ pulling on her strings and calling her silly names she couldn’t remember now. He’d rescued her, and when she’d pulled off her ‘kapp’ in anger and swore never again to wear it to school, he’d sat her down on a bench.

He’d been kind and nice, but had firmly told her that she wouldn’t be one to ‘yank over,’ that she understood family and community and the love that surrounds them on a farm. He’d talked to her ‘till the recess bell had called them inside. For the whole rest of the year, she’d worn her ‘kapp’ with the strings tied the old-fashioned way, rather than trailing down her shoulders. He never said much to her after that, save a nod or a smile now and then.

Her Dat hadn’t used words and hadn’t talked about the love and community. He’d just cut off Ellie, broken the bond between Betsy and her sister with a quick snap. The message had been clear: either join the church or lose your family. She would do almost anything to avoid losing her family and neighbors and friends.

When she dreamed of growing up and having a family of her own, it was always Eli’s face she saw. She cherished those soft words he had spoken to her, the kind way he had instructed her. He was always kind and warm and one of the hardest working men she’d ever seen. At work frolics, he’d be the first one there and the last to leave—his father, too.

And if marrying him meant sittin’ on a sore bottom at church now and then, well … so be it. She glanced at his Dat and wondered if he spanked Rachel. She’d always seemed so sweet and perfect and happy. His Dat had the same kind eyes and patient ways.

But her Dat, she knew, had never spanked Mama. No, he preferred thundering silence that sliced the heart into ribbons of worry. After Ellie had ‘yanked over,’ he’d blamed her mother, maybe the whole family. He’d sat at the head of his family in stone cold silence for weeks. Mama had cried nearly every day, which Dat blamed on Ellie, rather than on his own punishing silence.

For sure and for certain, life would be different with Eli—she only hoped that it would be better.

*******************************************************************

Mama gave her a special smile when Eli’s buggy pulled into their lane to pick her up for the evening sing. They would return to the Yoder’s farm for a night of fun with the other young people.

But as soon as Eli had tucked her under the buggy blanket, she turned to him. “Let’s go for a visit to Ellie and Jack, Eli, please?”

Eli settled back into the buggy, loosely holding the reins while he seemed to think it over. Without a word, he urged the horses down the lane, pausing only at the street. “I can’t help but feel that I would be dishonoring your father, Betsy.”

Worry stabbed Betsy in the heart. “But you promised, Eli, that you wouldn’t keep me from my sister, ain’t so?”

Eli said nothing, but she could feel his reluctance as they turned down the street towards the neighboring farm that Betsy had been forbidden to visit for years. Her heart managed to leap for joy as her beau gave in to her desire, and yet feel guilty at the same time.

What for, she couldn’t imagine. She’d done nothing wrong, and only her Dat thought talkin’ to Ellie was wrong. Even Bishop Miller had been forgiving, seeing as how she’d not gone too fancy and had proven herself a ‘gut’ member of the Mennonite church. The clinic was not too fancy either, and unlike most Yankee doctors, Ellie was generous to barter a day’s labor for a visit. Though Jack had moved into the community as a cover from his CIA career, he’d stayed as Ellie’s husband and retired to a life of farming—much in the Plain way.

Tears pooled at her eyes and she angrily wiped them away. “I am doing nothing wrong. I am a young person now, about to take my kneeling vows, and visiting my sister is no sin. She has not been shunned, and Dat has no right to keep us apart for so long. I should have snuck over a long time ago.”

Eli said nothing for a long time. “Why didn’t you?” he finally asked.

She put a hand to her heart as if to ease the pain. “Because it would hurt more if I saw her and then couldn’t see her again. It would hurt more if Dat got angry with me. What if he cut me out, too?”

Eli slowed the horses down and turned to her. “If you feel your Dat is in the wrong, then why worry about it?”

Her face crumpled. “Dat is good, he teaches us so many things, and the way he laughs at the new puppies or the antics of our cousins—I would do anything to see his eyes crinkle and light up with joy.” She bowed her head. “I can’t bear the thought of him walking around for a year again, lost and angry, silent to everyone and blaming himself.”

She swiped at her tears uselessly. “He cried, you know.” She curled her legs in closer to ease the ache that was growing in her stomach. “Late at night, when I would go to the outhouse, I would sometimes hear him crying behind the barn.”

She couldn’t bear to look at Eli. The sun was just setting, leaving that warm orange glow across the horizon that usually warmed her heart. She should have been happy, excited to see her sister for the first time since she was a young scholar. But there was an ache so hard in her chest that she could barely breathe.

When they rode down Jack and Ellie’s driveway, Betsy knew why her heart ached: She wasn’t brave enough, wasn’t strong enough to step down from the buggy and knock on her sister’s door. All she could see was Dat’s angry eyes and hear his quiet, anguished cries when he thought no one could hear. When her sister parted the curtains from the kitchen, she couldn’t even see whether she smiled or not, for the tears pouring down her face.

“Eli, let’s go, please.”

“What?” Eli put a hand to her shoulder.

“Go, quick.” A sob tore from her throat. “I can’t disobey Dat, not yet.”

She couldn’t even look back to see if her sister had come outside to welcome them. She wrapped her arms around her chest and rocked, until Eli put one arm around her and squeezed some of the hurt away. She’d done the right thing, the obedient thing, she told herself.

But as they were about to turn onto the road, another horse and buggy trotted towards them. Eli raised his hand in greeting, patiently waiting for them to pass. Betsy leaned forward to see who it was, and was distressed to see Dat and Mama riding together — and sitting stonily without returning the greeting.

Her heart and stomach tied into knots. Betsy knew their silence meant trouble, for sure and for certain.

*******************************************************************

“Betsy, I’ll need your help in the barn this morning.”

Betsy barely glanced up from her plate when Dat spoke. Since her brothers had all left the farm to build families of their own—Ephraim’s heart had died from heart problems that were typical in Down’s Syndrome children—Betsy was often called to do boy’s work when her brothers couldn’t stop by. She felt a sense of foreboding though. Dat’s request was the first words he had spoken to her all morning.

It wasn’t until she stepped in to the barn that she found out how bad it could be. His arms crossed over his chest and a strap dangling from his hand, Betsy remembered how formidable Dat could be when upset. But she was a young person now, she was in ‘rumshpringa’ … surely Dat couldn’t be holding that strap for her.

It just wasn’t the way of the Plain People.

And yet he stood there silently, mouth set in a frown. The horses whinnied at him, but he ignored them. She felt a blush creep up her neck and she wiped at a tear. They’d played this scene before, when she was a child. He would stand there until she confessed and asked his forgiveness. They would pray, and he would strap her.

She shook her head. “Dat, I am not a child. I am grown, now, old enough to marry and to have children.”

There was a long silence. “I ask myself nearly every day, how I failed your sister when she was a child, that she would turn her back on our People.” His arm uncrossed and he slid the strap carelessly through one palm to the other. “I will not fail my youngest daughter.”

“Dat, I am taking baptismal classes next month, and am committed to kneel come spring and join the church. You know this.”

“So was your sister, and she changed her mind only a month before she was to kneel. Why do you think I don’t allow visits, allow for Mama to go and see her own daughter?” He waited only a beat before answering himself. “I would protect you from fancy ways, from the temptations of the ‘Englisch.’ I forbade you to visit with your sister, and yet you disobeyed me. How can you be ready to obey God and the church and the Ordnung, if you can not even obey your own father?”

She didn’t bother to deny his belief that she had actually visited her sister. It wasn’t their way. No words would sway him, she knew, as she stared at his pain-stricken yet resolute face. She knew the way of her People was to submit to correction and ask forgiveness—never to deny the wrongdoing. But could she submit to a strapping from her father, at her age?

She knew she would, if it was only to prove to him that he had nothing to worry from her. She would join the church, marry Eli and build a family, just as Dat hoped. And what else could she do? Refuse? Cause the family pain with a rift?

“Dat, I’m sorry for dishonoring your wishes, and disobeying you.” She cast her eyes down to show her remorse, hoping to prove to him her earnestness. She tried to cry right away — he would spank her until she was sobbing in submission to the way of their People, that she knew. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t convince him that she was not interested in fancy ways.

She just missed her sister. Her best friend Mary was being so wild in her rumspringa, that Betsy felt alone in her eagerness to marry and have a family. She wondered, suddenly, if Dat had ever spanked Mama.

Dat gestured to the pile of hay beside him. Betsy took trembling steps towards the pile, knowing that this would end in only one way—her sobbing in complete and utter submission. Obedience was everything to their people. Begging for mercy would just mean that she had not repented. She knew better.

She laid herself over the bales of hay, worried when only her toes would reach the ground. She held her breath for a long time, bracing herself for the inevitable.

She nearly fell of the bale when he suddenly spoke. “I think I’ll visit with Eli, one day next week.” With that, he dropped the strap and disappeared.

Betsy’s stomach clenched with fear at his suggestion even while her shoulders sagged in relief that she would not be strapped.

*******************************************************************

Eli sang while he worked, as he often did. His Dat was one of the singing leaders in the church, and he had often been allowed to sit in when the leaders got together once a week to practice for the bi-weekly church services. He secretly hoped that once he joined the church, he would be chosen to be a song leader one day.

He sanded the piece of wood carefully that would become their headboard once they were wed. The solid oak would be his engagement present to Betsy, and he wanted it finished before Christmas. Waiting for Betsy to grow up to be a young person had been a long eight years, and he was the oldest one in the baptismal class.

And then he’d let Betsy persuade him to take her to her sister’s. Yes, he had promised that he would let her keep in touch with her sister, but it wasn’t his promise to make — yet. She was still in her father’s house, and her father had caught them turning out of his ‘lost daughter’s’ driveway.

They’d said nothing to each other, just a snap of the reins, but Eli had felt her father’s angry silence loud and clear. He would have to go him and apologize—after eight years of waiting for Betsy, he wanted nothing to further delay their marriage.

His head snapped up at the sound of a horse and buggy approaching the house. While visits were common, they were not the norm well after the sun had set. He had stayed up late to work on his bride’s gift, but most of the house would be asleep within the hour. He carefully laid down his tools and walked towards the glowing lanterns, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Bishop Miller, Dat—” he turned towards Betsy’s father and nodded respectfully “—Ruben Borntrager.” He didn’t ask why they were here — the assemblage of persons told him all he needed to know.

Bishop Miller cleared his throat. “Eli, Ruben is concerned that you are encouraging his daughter to turn her back on the Ordnung.”

If Eli felt a quick rise of indignant anger, he quickly hid it. “We are committed to joining the church come Spring.”

“Starting off by dishonoring Betsy’s father is not a good way to show the church members that you are ready to kneel for your vows and obey God and the Ordnung.”

“I am sorry, Bishop.” Eli felt remorse sincerely as he bowed his head. He turned towards Ruben and repeated another apology.

As sincere as it had been, it had not been enough for Ruben and the Bishop. “You will meet with the minister’s next church Sunday, and we will decide then what must be done.”

Eli nodded, knowing that since he was about to take baptismal classes, that would probably mean a kneeling confession before the ministers. He said nothing, just bowed his head as expected, and wondered if Ruben knew of his proposal to Betsy. The engagement would be kept secret until two weeks before the wedding, at which time Bishop Miller would accompany him to Ruben’s house to ask for permission to marry his daughter.

It was tradition, and understood that the permission was a token of respect and a formality. But his sweet, obedient Betsy — so enthusiastic and loving and gentle — he felt certain that he couldn’t live without seeing her eyes looking to him for approval and love.

Even as his heart twisted into a knot and the Bishop left with Ruben, Eli vowed he would do anything necessary to please the ministers so that he could marry Betsy.

His father said nothing, just stood beside him as the buggy trotted down the road. He finally sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come inside, son.”

Chapter Three

Eli heart tore as a trail of tears fell down Betsy’s face.

“This is all my fault,” she said.

“No, Betsy, it’s not.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have taken you to visit Ellie and Jack.”

“I persuaded you to, against your will. It’s my fault.”

Eli felt his failure deeper and pulled her into a hug. “No. I am responsible for leading us — at least when we’re marred. I was responsible for driving the buggy to their house, and I decided to give in to your wishes. I won’t let that happen again, I promise, not when it’s a bad idea.”

The sadness in her eyes mirrored the ache in his heart, but he was surprised to see a flash of anger. “So if I choose wrongly, it’s not my fault because I’m a woman?”

Eli kept his arms securely around her as she fought against his hug, lashing out in anger. “Shhh, now. Trust me, Betsy Borntrager, I will hold you accountable for your actions and choices.” He watched her still and her eyes widen. “But it is my job to be head of the family, to see to it that my family obeys God, the Ordnung, and me.”

She shook her head. “But we have not broken covenant with God or the Ordnung in visiting my sister.”

Eli tapped her lip softly with his finger. “And what of ‘honor thy father and mother’?”

She cast her eyes down looking as guilty as a reprimanded puppy. “We didn’t even visit my sister! We just pulled into their driveway!”

She made a fist and then uncurled her fingers. “Dat is wrong and stubborn.” She looked at him with fearful eyes before she hid her eyes from him.

“What is it, Betsy?”

She shook her head.

Eli frowned, and gathered her close enough that he could reach his hand behind her to rub and pat her bottom. “There’s not a question I ask that I don’t want answered. Do you want a spanking?”

She seemed to melt into him at his question, as if his words were a reassurance rather than a threat. She answered his question, though. “Dat called me to the barn Monday morning.” She gulped. “He wanted to strap me.”

Eli tried to see her face, but she was hiding it in his overcoat. “Look at me.”

She shook her head.

He sighed.

“Did he?”

She shook her head again. “He made me apologize and lean over the bales, but then he decided to go see you instead.” She finally looked up. “I’m sorry he brought the bishop.”

“He’s trying to protect you. He did the right thing.”

“But the bishop has threatened to make you wait to join the church, and that would mean that we wouldn’t get married for another year!”

Eli bowed his head, but not quickly enough to hide his frustration and impatience.

“Eli, if they force me, I will choose you before I choose to be Amish.”

His head snapped up. “That kind of talk makes me think they might be right.”

“They aren’t!” She bit her lips so she could think before she spoke. “My whole life, I’ve never considered anything but living Plain, ain’t so?”

He chuckled. “I remember a sad little girl crumpling her ‘Kapp’ in her hand and refusing ever to wear it again.”

She smiled up at him. “And I remember this big scholar unfolding it, lecturing me on the Ordnung and the ways of our People.” Her eyes darkened with pain. “How could they think you, of all people, would turn me from the People?”

In her heart, she knew she’d chosen the true partner for her life. He was good and strong and everything that she’d ever hoped for. The spanking part … well, she’d thought a lot about it, and yet she could come to no conclusion.

“What would the People think of … spanking?” She found she couldn’t look into his eyes when she said the word for it.

Eli tucked a stray hair under her kapp. ‘I expect they’d think silence is our way, and who are we to know better than those that have come before us?” He sat her up on his lap in the buggy and tried not to imagine her pretty white bottom glowing in the moonlight. “I care more what you think.”

She didn’t respond as he’d hoped. Instead she just shrugged and kept her eyes glued to the ground. “I have lots of feelings that most young people don’t wait for, even though the Bible seems to say that we should, until we’re married.” Eli knew what she was referring to instantly, if not by her words, then by the way her blush colored her skin even in the dark of night. “And when they talk of waitin’ longer, the feelings get stronger and I want to feel them, now.”

Eli knew those feelings so strong that he couldn’t speak.

Her voice seemed to grow lower and huskier, even as her eyes were cast down in shyness. “I want you to spank me, if only so you’ll touch me again.”

They sat in silence for some time, a heavy weight between them both. “We can only hope that my confession before the ministers will be good enough for your father.”

“And what if he doesn’t give his permission for us to marry?”

Eli shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never known it not done.”

Church Sunday arrived quickly, with all the busy work on the farm preparing for winter. Her arms ached from the hundreds of jars they’d put up into the pantry, and her hands were still red from handling the hot glass jars after canning them.

She cherished the pain, though — it felt right that she should hurt, as she watched Eli disappear upstairs with the ministers during the hymn-singing. She knew he would be confessing to something that was, largely her fault. Confessing to something that they actually hadn’t done. But if he abided by the ministers’ requirements, then her father would have no choice but to accept her beau.

She hoped.

When he came down from upstairs with the ministers, tears in his eyes and hand over his face, she had to swallow a sob. He sat across from the ministers on an empty bench in the front, hand over his face, as was expected when one was put under the six week bann. Even taking the posture of a shamed and humbled man, he managed to look tall and strong. Like the weight of accountability was easily carried on his shoulders, and that he could carry responsibility equally as well.

She shook her head. Surely he couldn’t be shunned. After all, it was unheard of — he hadn’t joined the church yet. And yet he sat there. She could barely keep her eyes off of him, and yet could barely stand to look at him. She wondered at the wives and husbands who had often requested that they join in their partner’s shunning. She didn’t know she could bear the weight of it — the silence from her family and friends, the silence from the whole community.

She held her breath as the Bishop stood to make announcements at the end of the service. She gripped her apron with scared fists and held her breath. Her fears were soon confirmed when he called a Member’s Meeting for after service.

Since she was not yet a member, she could only help the other young people with the preparing of the tables for the noon meal. Though her friends tip-toed around her, she overheard enough of the buzz. She knew it herself: Eli had not taken his baptismal vow yet, so he could not be held in violation of it. And he was not yet a member, so he couldn’t be held to the Ordnung, yet.

But when he walked straight to his horse and buggy from the member’s meeting in his horse and buggy, there was no question. Not caring any longer what the Bishop or her father would think, let alone anyone else, she ran to him before he could leave.

“Eli!” She bit her lip, trying not to cry. “What … how … why?”

He didn’t turn to her, just sighed as he stepped up into his buggy. “Betsy, you can’t talk to me, not for two weeks.”

“That’s impossible! You’re not a member yet!”

He sighed. “But I must prove myself and my commitment to be a member.”

“That’s not fair. I am just as much at fault as you!”

He finally turned to her. “Go, Betsy. It is the will of …” he trailed off, his jaw working furiously. “… your father.”

She stood there crying, hands over her face as they took off down the road. Anger bubbled in her, stronger than any she had ever felt. Would he leave her?

“Betsy!” Mary, her neighbor, best friend, and daughter of Bishop Miller, approached her looking distraught. “I don’t understand. Our fathers …” she shrugged helplessly. “Everyone’s buzzing about it, but no one, I heard, spoke out to defend Eli for fear of offending my Dat.”

Betsy turned away from her friend. “How could he?! And we didn’t even visit my sister — I changed my mind, and it had been my idea in the first place!”

“Mama said that the ministers and Dat said that his actions did not reflect a man wanting to join the church, and better to set his soul on the right path now than see him fall from his baptismal vow later. They compared it to a young man ready to kneel and having to sell his rumshpringa car first … Eli needs to prove himself as obedient to God, church, and his elders before kneeling.”

Betsy gaped at Mary in shock. “And the whole church agreed with the Bishop?”

Mary nodded.

“Mary, what’s really going on here?”

Mary wrung her hands. “Mama said your father is set against Eli, fearful that if you marry, he will take you away to find a farm elsewhere, or take up the lunch pail. He wants the old ways for his only daughter.”

Betsy hissed in anger. “I am not his only daughter! He’s going to drive me away just as he did Ellie!”

Mary reached out to her friend. “I don’t know what’s to be done, except to submit to the church … or leave.”

Betsy looked up sharply. “You know I’ve never even considered it.”

“And you know that I probably will.”

They’d grown up as two Amish girls, best of friends, side by side. Hardly a day had passed in their young life when they hadn’t run over to their neighbors after chores were done. Of late, they’d been growing apart. Betsy could hardly blame Mary for wanting to yank over, what with her father the Bishop so cruel to his family and wife.

And yet Betsy wanted to never be like her sister, outcast from her own family and community. “Mary, I’m sorry for being so distant … I’m just scared of losing you to Yankee ways, just like my sister.”

“Your sister isn’t under the ban, and neither will I be, if I leave before taking my baptismal vow.”

Betsy shook her head. “That doesn’t seem to matter to your father.”

They stood in tense silence for minutes, until Mary stepped forward and hugged her tight. “We always dreamed of our children playing together, visiting each other until we’re old and gray, ain’t so?”

Betsy nodded, unable to speak for the tightness in her throat. She hugged her friend back, and without a word to anyone, set off for home. It’d be near an hour walk, but she just couldn’t pretend amongst the people during the noon meal.

When she finally reached home, she knew what she was going to do when her feet kept walking. She cut through the woods and walked straight to her sister’s house, to visit with her own sister for the first time since she was a young girl.

She walked to the side door and stood there, staring at the door. If she were visiting Mary in daytime, she’d just walk in, but she hadn’t seen her sister in years. Would she be angry with her for not trying to visit her, despite Dat’s wishes? She wiped her palms on her skirt and took a deep breath, trying not to cry.

She jumped when she heard a deep voice behind her. “You going to run away again?”

She turned towards the voice, every instinct in her begging her to do just that. Jack Stein was respected in these parts, always lending a hand and willing to trade a day’s work with his neighbors. Although he was an ex-CIA operative, he was accepted by the community for his helpful ways, and respected for the way he ran his farm the old way, despite the fact that he’d joined an easy Mennonite church.

Betsy commanded her eyes not to tear up, and resolutely rooted her feet to the ground. “I’m here, ain’t so?” she challenged.

“Go ahead and knock, then. Tell Ellie to send out the kids with some lemonade. It’ll keep them out of your hair so you two can talk.”

Betsy frowned at him calling his own children ‘kids,’ but said nothing. She looked at the door again, and then turned back to him to ask about his children that she knew nothing of.

He was gone. With a deep breath, she turned and knocked on the door of her sister’s house.

*****************************************************************

Eli urged his horse as fast as it would go on the old dirt lane, in the heat of anger vowing that he would leave the church, leave Betsy, leave for Kentucky in the morning. It took him near two hours to ride to the state park, but he needed some time to think and cool down. Gather his strength before he faced two weeks of silence from his family and friends.

After tying up the horses, he went straight to his favorite fishing spot to think. As much as it pained his heart and hurt his pride, he would do anything for Betsy. Two weeks would pass, and if he showed proper submission to church discipline, the community would only respect him more—he hoped.

He thought it likely that members were buzzing at the Bishop’s harsh edict. Surely they could see it for what it was: unreasonable, unprecedented, and unfair.

But no one spoke against the Bishop for him. Of course he had confessed humbly and sincerely, and they would hardly speak up against the will of the ministers, the will of God.

He remembered the distress in Betsy’s face as he had spoken harshly to her, refusing to let her talk to him. It couldn’t be helped — he would not see her shunned, too. She would survive two weeks, the ban would be lifted, and he would go to her father and say whatever needed to be said to remove his prejudice.

And so he climbed back into his buggy, dreading the thought of being alienated from his family, even for two weeks. At least it hadn’t been the usual six week bann, but nothing about his situation was usual.

When he got home, he considered waiting out in the barn until they were sure to be done with supper. But he was tired, and he might as well get the worst of the awkwardness over with. He went in through the kitchen, looking at his family sadly. His heart ached to see them sitting together at the table, knowing that he was forbidden to join them. His place sat empty, and he shook his head and headed upstairs to his bedroom.

“Sit down, son.”

Eli turned to his father in surprise. “And what if the Bishop found out that you ate at the same table as me?”

His father, who had never once in his life raised his voice, never acted out in anger, uncharacteristically lifted a fist and banged it down on the table so that plates rattled and silverware jangled. His baby sister, Rachel, flinched in fear while his other younger brothers and sisters were staring at their father wide-eyed and open-mouthed. No one breathed, let alone made a sound.

“Then let this whole family be shunned before I don’t eat with my God-fearing, righteous son.” It was said quietly, but little Rachel burst into tears when his fist raised once more and banged the table. “Sit down, son.”

His mama hurried to set a place for him at the table and hurried back to her seat with tears in her eyes. No one spoke or ate yet, save Rachel’s quiet crying, so astounded were they by their father’s display.

“God gave women and children a bottom for a gut bletsching, when needed, but silence is downright cruel. I’ll not have it in my house, not amongst my family.” He sighed and his voice gentled. He opened his arms. “Rachel, come here.”

She clearly was afraid she was about to get a spanking, but she didn’t hesitate to obey. With eyes as wide as saucers she ran to his arms and kept crying. “Nor do I believe in raised voices. I’m sorry, Rachel.” He turned to his family, pain etched in his face. “I’m sorry.”

Mama said nothing but grabbed the ham and cut a piece for Eli. “Eat up, now. We’re going to need everyone’s help getting the canning done this week.”

And yet, as hard as they tried not to let silence into their house, supper was invaded by a strained silence, broken every few minutes by one feeble attempt or another to forget the trials of the day.

*****************************************************************

Betsy held her breath as she knocked on the door, and felt a sliver of hope and joy touch her pained heart when her sister greeted her with a smile and wide open arms. “Rachel, Matthew!” she called upstairs. A charming three year old girl and a scholar-aged boy came running down the steps. Rachel hid behind her brother shyly, but Matthew viewed them with open curiosity. They both wore the plain dress of the more conservative Mennonites, but as neatly as Matthew was dressed, he still managed to look scrappy.

Betsy was shocked to see her nephew old enough to be a scholar and her baby niece young child nipping at his heels. “They grow up so quickly, ain’t so?”

Ellie seemed overcome and could only nod.

“Jack asked for a pitcher of lemonade.”

Ellie busied herself with preparing a pitcher of lemonade, and Betsy helped, falling into step as if it were only yesterday that they had been working in Mama’s kitchen together as sisters. Betsy bit back a tear at the years of loss, years that Dat had kept them apart even while they lived so close. An awkward silence reigned, and Betsy filled it with work.

“Aren’t you full grown, now?” Betsy leaned down to give Rachel the cups and put Matthew in charge of the pitcher.

As soon as they had gone, Ellie dropped onto a chair and burst into tears that she immediately covered with a hand. “I’ve missed you so, Betsy! And how are Mama and Dat?”

“Gut.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “I wish …”

Ellie waved her sister’s sadness away. “In time, perhaps.” She quickly wiped her tears away and began cutting up some Shoo-Fly Pie for them to share.

Betsy nodded guiltily. “I think they would talk to you, but they fear that you’ll sway me from joining the church.”

Ellie put a big piece of pie at her place and one in front of Betsy. “And will I?”

Betsy shook her head. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, but ...” She bit her lip but the tears came bubbling up anyway. She filled her sister in quickly to the events of the last week, of Eli’s proposal, Dat’s anger, the Bishop’s decree, and Eli’s unheard of situation.

Ellie’s eyes grew dark and sad. “No, can’t be!”

There was silence again, as Ellie seemed unsure what to do. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him in church, even when you were a first year scholar.”

They sat in companionable silence before Betsy mentioned, “He doesn’t believe in bein’ silent against each other. His parents, neither.”

“What about the shunning?”

Betsy shrugged. “Well, he wouldn’t talk to me after church.” She looked up at her sister. “Do you miss our ways?”

Ellie shrugged. “Not the shunning, for sure, and I love being a doctor. But when I look at Rachel and Matthew, I wish for them the same loving community I had. The same ways, growing up surrounded by family, and so many friends, a whole community of people dedicated to each other.”

Betsy drank in the joy of visiting her sister, trying not to feel the sadness of time lost. “The Mennonite church doesn’t have that?”

Ellie stood up to clear the dishes. “Somewhat, and our cousin Sarah is family, but I wish they could know their cousins and uncles and Mama and Dat.”

Betsy shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to leave for anything.” She bit her lip. “I love the old ways, and I don’t want anything to change. What was right for our ancestors is good enough for us.”

Ellie laughed. “You sound like Dat.”

“Eli is worried we may not find a farm, that he might have to lunch-pail it, or open a shop.” She paused. “Or worse—” she looked up at her sister “—move. Mary thinks that’s why Dat and the Bishop are being so harsh.”

Ellie wiped the table down with a cotton rag before she sat down again. “I know you hate change, but it’s likely to happen. Can you deal with moving? If you marry Eli, you’ll have no choice but to move with him, if it came down to it.”

There was no divorce among the Plain People. Betsy nodded. “I would.” She blushed. “But in not believing in silence …” She paused and took a deep breath. “He does believe in spanking.”

To her surprise, Ellie glanced up sharply and then blushed. “Spanking?”

Betsy stared down at her toes, suddenly shy even in front of her sister. “He spanked me a few nights ago.” She wondered what her sister would think of her beau, spanking her. Think of her, too. She couldn’t help but ask, “Do you think that’s right?”

They sat in a shy silence for a few minutes, the crickets chirping louder as the sky grew dark. Ellie finally looked up and said quietly, “I can’t say that I’d have it any other way.”

Betsy looked at her sister — really looked at her. Ellie’s eyes were shining with happiness and her complexion was clear and clean. The restlessness that had always seemed to dance in the back of her eyes was gone, replaced by a calm centeredness that Betsy would never have imagined in her sister.

“You look happy.”

“I am,” her eyes danced, and Betsy was glad they could still get mischievous at times. “He makes me feel safe and protected and loved.”

“Mama misses you—even cries for you still. So does Dat, I’m sure of it.”

Ellie shook her head. “You miss me, perhaps, but if they missed me so much they could visit. We’ve invited them often enough.”

Betsy leaned back in the kitchen chair. “Mama told me about Rachel and Matthew. She wants to visit, I know she does.”

Ellie patted her stomach, her eyes shining.

“One on its way?!” Betsy jumped up to give her sister a hug. “Oh, Ellie!”

Ellie shook her head, though. “No use stirring up bad feelings. I’ve made my peace with it. And maybe you’re right, maybe after you’ve been married, Dat will see reason.” Ellie clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, but! To not celebrate your wedding day!”

Betsy grabbed her hand quickly. “We’ll fix it before then, I promise!

Chapter Four

Betsy woke up exhausted, spent from the crying she had done all night. Her head pounded, and for once, she decided to stay in bed. Better not to see Dat, at least not until her heart could forgive him. The sun had already risen—she couldn’t remember the last time that she had slept past sunrise.

Mama knocked softly on her door before entering with a hot cup of tea.

“Betsy …” She set the tea on the nightstand so that she could smooth a hand over her daughter’s hair. “Dat is just scared.”

“He going to scare me away from the church, and someone’d better tell him. I’ve done nothing but commit myself to our old ways, embracing them. I didn’t even sow any oats, save a couple beers at a hop once.”

Mama only nodded, pain in her eyes.

“We didn’t even visit with my sister, that day that you and Dat passed us. I changed my mind, for fear of disobeying Dat.”

“Oh, Betsy …”

Betsy waved away her mother’s outstretched hand. “But I went yesterday. Do you know Ellie’s pregnant? That she brings Rachel and Matthew to work with her, teaches them to heal? That Jack farms the plain way, and teaches his children to do the same?”

Betsy steeled herself against the hurt and fear in her mama’s face, but knew that Dat had better get the message. “If I have to choose, I will choose Eli over our ways, Mama.”

Mama clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying, her eyes pooling with tears.

“Mama, you say you don’t want to lose a second daughter, well you’d better get Dat to see reason, or you will.”

Betsy could hardly believe she was talking to her mama this way, hardly believe that her will didn’t dissolve at the sight of Mama’s pain. Mama’s hands shook as she stood up, clearly fighting sobs from bursting out. She said nothing, just nodded to Betsy and left the room.

That done, she could only wait for Dat to make the next move. And she would go see Eli this evening, shunning or no.

*****************************************************************

The sun had set by the time she arrived at Eli’s father’s farm. She surveyed the windows, wondering which was his. Her newly-found strength dissolved into fear that Eli would blame her for her father’s unreasonable prejudices. She wasn’t sure whether it was the cold chill of impending winter or the nervousness in her stomach that made her hands tremble uncontrollably.

“Ruben’s Betsy?”

She saw the shape of Eli’s father before he came close enough to be visible under the light of the moon. She nodded, hands clutching at her stomach. She looked up at the tall man and was unable to speak. It suddenly entered her mind that Eli had said that his father spanked his mother, and she looked up at him with consternation. Of course, he wouldn’t spank her. But something in her felt nervous, something strange in her imagined this tall man taking a strap to her bottom. She shook her head at her foolish thoughts and then looked up at him, looking at her.

Surely he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, could he?

“I expect you’re here to see my son.”

Her hands flew up to her kapp strings, twirling it with her finger like a child before she ordered her hand back down to her side. “Yes,” she mouthed, but nothing came out. She wondered what he must think of her, and cleared her throat. “Yes.” She added, “Please.”

His father just laid a hand on her shoulder for a brief second before turning towards the house. She breathed a sigh of relief at that small gesture, and took deep breaths so that she would be calm when Eli came out.

She looked out at the barn and dairy farm while she waited, wondering if Eli wanted a dairy farm someday, or a crop farm like her Dat. She rubbed her arms against the chill, and was surprised to feel a blanket dropped over he shoulders.

When she turned, Eli stood looking at her with gentle and compassionate eyes.

She could only whisper. “I’m sorry, Eli.” She couldn’t even bear to look at him anymore. With a shudder against the rising cold, she huddled under the blanket.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

She followed him wordlessly, waiting while he hitched up his horse to his buggy. They had much to talk about, but she had no idea what to say. After the rode in silence for awhile, she finally burst out with, “I feel guilty, Eli.”

Tears dripped down in trails that she couldn’t stop, soaking her stray kapp strings. “That you had to kneel before them — humiliated — and confess to something that was my fault, that we didn’t even do.”

“Betsy, you are my responsibility, and it is right that I am held accountable for what we did.” He shook his head as she started to object. “And I will not allow you to take that away from me.”

She cried softly as he gathered her into his arms.

“We’re going to be okay. In two weeks this nightmare will be over, and I’ll go to your father and make things right.”

She bowed her head, not consoled. “After you left on Sunday, I walked to my sister’s house for a visit.”

His head snapped up. “Betsy,” he said reproachfully.

“Well, if we’re to suffer the consequences, we may as well have the visit, as well!”

“Betsy, not that I wholly disagree with you, but if we’re to join the church, we best not be making trouble right now.”

He cursed himself silently as she fell into tears again. She was right, really, and this situation was unfair to him and to her. “Betsy, do you want to stay here, join the church here?”

“Only if it’s with you.”

He smiled at the way her head turned up shyly, betraying the passion in her eyes.

“Then we must play this out by the rules.” He sighed deeply. “And I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to tell you not to visit your sister again, not until it’s … safe.”

If she would have wanted to leave, he would have defied the entire church to take her to her sister’s home. But she shook quietly with sobs, and it tore at his heart. “I promised you that I would let you see your sister when we’re married, and I will. But if you want to stay here, we have to get married before I can keep that promise.”

Betsy nodded. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Eli felt another bubble of anger rise in his throat. He’d tried hard to let go of it, to meet this situation with courage and humility. “It’s not your fault, Betsy-girl.”

“But you said you would hold me accountable for my choices, ain’t so?” Her voice begged him softly, almost reproachfully. She looked down at her toes again as she whispered, “I chose to visit my sister, both times. I am just at fault as you, and yet they singled you out. I should join you.”

“No!” he said it so sharply that she gasped. He watched her cringe and wished he hadn’t spoken harshly to her. “One of us going through this is enough.”

She leaned against his shoulder and looked out at the old dirt lane where they had stopped. After a lone while, she said, “Eli, I feel … it’s not a feeling, this is my fault.”

He felt a swell of pride at the way she took responsibility for her choices. He gave her a little squeeze because he couldn’t help it, for the love overflowing in his heart.

“Are you asking me for a bletsching, Betsy girl?”

He watched her carefully, but she made no sound and no movement. He lowered his voice in warning. “Betsy, are you forgetting already what I told you about my questions?”

Her only answer was a nod. He lifted the buggy whip off his lap to put it to the side so that he could face her, and watched her eyes go wide at the side of it in his hand. He set it down in the bottom of the buggy and pulled the blanket from her lap to put on his instead.

He patted the heavy blanket. “You’ll do your confessing over my lap.”

The horse whinnied softly and pranced his feet impatiently, then bent down to munch on some grass. So again she laid herself over his lap and braced for her skirts to be raised and her underwear to be lowered. After he bared her legs to the cold night air, he slid his big palm beneath her panties to rest on her bottom.

Leaving his hand under her panties, he pulled them down by caressing her bottom and legs until they were at her knees.

“I want them off.”

She was quick to obey, pulling them off with her feet.

“I’ve never seen any woman but you.” Eli loved her long, spindly legs and her round little cheeks. “Will you spread your legs a little, Betsy-girl?”

Betsy was still crying softy, so he tenderly rubbed her bottom. He took his time, wondering why he felt compelled to comfort her and stop her tears only moments before he planned on helping her have a good cry. She seemed to settle, and one leg inched itself open in shy invitation as her back arched slightly. He loved that his hand could nearly wrap around her leg. Pushing her leg open farther, he drank in the vision before him.

She was wet like a birthing mare, almost, with a mound of hair that was quivering. He knew what was under those curly barriers, and his fingers itched to explore. Her foot kicked, suddenly aware that he had trapped her.

The feeling that he was stronger than her and the realization that he could hold her open against her will hit him with a gut-wrenching thud of desire. He held her leg against her struggle and then let it go.

“Betsy, get up.”

She didn’t move.

“Get up before we’ll have more to confess before the bishop.”

“The other young people don’t confess petting … it’s done, it’s tradition.” She licked her lips. “A tradition I think I like.”

He let her disobey him. This time when he picked up her leg, he opened her entirely to the moon’s vision and to his. He passed the back of his hand over her mass of curls, and repeated it when he saw how she jumped and arched. She tried to pull her legs shut again, but he held them firmly apart.

“If you want to get up, I’ll let you up.”

To his surprise, she arched her curls towards his hand. He dug his fingers in, pulling until she squealed. His finger found her hot button naturally, and she pulled away and then begged for more, as if she couldn’t yet decide whether she liked it or not. He traced her puffy skin until he found her warm crevice. Angling her leg down a little, he carefully probed a finger into the slippery hole.

After it slid in easily, he pulled out and pushed two fingers in, enjoying the way she wiggled in greeting. He dipped his thumb in her juices and inched towards the small, puckered hole. Without a word of warning, he pushed into that entrance.

She squealed but fell completely limp. If she could have moved, Betsy wasn’t sure whether she would fight for her freedom or beg him to continue. He literally held her in his hand, fingers massaging deep within in her and his thumb poking into her bottom. She couldn’t move or speak for the strange sensations.

She was well and truly trapped. If she tried to escape the embarrassing intrusion of his thumb in her bottom, his stray fingers would torture the burning itch in her front, and massage the inside of her with the other fingers. If she tried to move backward, his thumb would wiggle and torture her embarrassment.

She simply couldn’t escape his complete possession of her.

“I’ll hear your confession now.”

Betsy’s mouth went completely dry. She tried to inch forward over his lap and away from his hand, but he held on within her. “I’m sorry!” she gasped out. “For persuading you to go to my sister’s against your wishes.” She arched in an effort to get away from his hand, but sparks ignited within her that craved his touch more than the desire to get away from his torture. “For disobeying and dishonoring my parents.”

She almost choked on the words, not feeling too contrite towards her father.

He rewarded her by using his other hand to torture the bundle of nerves under her curls. He tried to crawl away from his hand, despite the pleasure it gave her.

“I’m burning!” she cried. “Please!”

“This burning, this itching you’re feeling — only I can give you relief.”

But he didn’t give her relief. Instead he removed his hand, leaving her bereft and lonely. The next thing she knew, his hand methodically smacked her bottom over and over.

The pain was a welcome relief to the burning in her belly — she almost wished it hurt more. His hand seemed to slam into her bottom, echoing against the trees. She trusted no one could hear, that no other young person would send his buggy down this lane.

He used only her hand this time, not that any part of the spanking could be prefaced by the word ‘only.’ Sadness was so big in her heart, that every spank seemed like a battering ram against the gates holding back her grief over Eli’s shunning, her sister, her Dat — everything. Sobs poured out of her in equal waves of sorrow from her heart and pain from her bottom.

Unlike her previous spanking, she didn’t try to get away or pray that it would end soon. She gave into the pain, almost welcoming it to help her cry out her sadness and worry. She felt each smack in the moment, with no perception of how long the spanking had gone on and no thoughts of when it would be over.

And so, when Eli pulled her into his arms to rock her and rub her bottom, she really had no idea whether it had been a long or short spanking — it hadn’t been forever, but she’d felt each moment as forever, each burning smack as an eternity in itself. All she knew was that it felt so good to cry, with her head buried in his chest and his warm arms wrapped around her. It felt good for him to rub her bottom in those slow, soothing circles.

She wanted to fall asleep, she was so relaxed. Her tears dried and her sobs became that spent tiredness that promises a good night’s sleep. He let her lay there for a long time, long enough for the crickets to grow softer and softer, and long enough for his voice to suddenly startle her awake.

And then he shocked her. “I want you to go to your father and apologize. And your mother, too.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” Sticking her chin up, she refused. “I did no wrong.”

“You disobeyed your father, and when he acted in a way to protect you — no matter how unfair or misguided, perhaps — and you retaliated with a threat. And to your Mama, no less, who is hurt and scared herself.”

She bowed her head, vowing not to fail him at the first hard thing he asked of her. “If you think it’s best, Eli.”

He patted her bottom. “I do.”

******************************************************************

Betsy went to her Mama first, hurrying through her outside chores to come inside in time to help Mama with dinner. She put a few handfuls of dried corn to soak in a bowl of water for creaming, later. Then she set to work on some Brown Sugar Cookies and Shoo-Fly Pie. Her mom worked silently on potato soup and bread, and Betsy mourned the loss of her mother’s usual humming.

“Mama?”

Her mother remained silent, stirring and seasoning the creamy potato soup as if her daughter hadn’t spoken. She knew that an apology would likely be heard.

“I’m sorry for disobeying Dat and speaking to you so disrespectfully.” She handed the bowl of rivvels — short wrinkly noodles — to Mama for the potato soup. “I can only pray that I will do better by you and Dat.”

Mama’s stoic face softened and she turned to take the rivvels. Before Mama could say anything, Betsy added, “After church on Sunday, I went to visit Ellie.” She apologized, even though she felt anything but sorry.

And Mama seemed more curious than upset. She asked no questions and got to work on the dishes. Betsy fell into step and started drying them. “Ellie’s pregnant, Mama. They dress plain and they farm the old way.”

Mama nodded with a hand at her mouth, tears eking out the corner of her eyes. “Dat may be wrong about this, but he only wants what’s best for his family. He doesn’t want to see another daughter lost to the world, not after losing a son, too.” She wiped away a tear and cleaned out the kitchen sink.

When the dishes were finished, Mama said, “You best talk to Dat about this. I worry that you and Eli will have more trouble unless you can reconcile with him.”

Betsy knew Mama was right. She stayed up most of the night planning on what she would say to Dat, and spent half the night praying for guidance. After Dat returned from the auction, Betsy went out to the barn to inspect their new horse — and talk to Dat.

She walked out to the barn rubbing her arms against the ever-chilling air of late fall. A light snow had fallen the night before, but it had melted by noon. Mama and she would be boiling jars of apple butter tomorrow, and setting them up for the next year.

“Dat, I came to confess to you and apologize.” She said it softly, hoping not to stir up his anger. When he turned towards her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“The night you saw us in Ellie and Jack’s lane—” Dat’s jaw hardened as she spoke their names “—I had meant to visit them. I was defiant and dishonoring your will, Dat, and I’m sorry.”

She cast her eyes down and waited for a response, but there was none. “We turned around without even saying hello to them, because I realized that I would be disobeying you.” Taking a deep breath, she plunged on before he could respond. “I’m not saying this to defend myself, because Sunday after church I did go visit her, and I’m sorry.”

Pain flashed across her Dat’s face. She immediately burst into tears and hung her head. “Dat, please, I’m sorry.”

She heard him sigh and plunk down onto a bale of hay. “Come sit down, Betsy.”

Betsy waited patiently, knowing that Dat was gathering his thoughts. Sometimes it would drive her crazy, how long he would take to think about what he said before he said it, but that was his way. The more important something was to him, the longer he would take to collect his thoughts.

“I just don’t want to see you lose your way to Yankee ways. You remember, when Ephraim almost died? You were but a young scholar then.” He leaned back, brushing a hand over his beard as if to comb away the pain etched into his face. “Ephraim had died, it was God’s will … and yet Ellie revived him, then pushed for an expensive operation. In the end, God had his way, as he should.” He shook his head. “I myself am guilty of Yankee thinkin’, when in her presence.”

Betsy felt her throat and heart both constrict. “Oh Dat, it’s not her fault Ephraim died, or yours, either!”

He set his lips in a firm line. “But she gave us false hope, wrong hope, Betsy, hope that was not God’s will, hope that was not the way of our People. When I confessed to the Bishop, the ministers decided that we should not keep in contact with Ellie.”

So Dat wasn’t wasn’t keeping her from Ellie for fear she’d leave the Amish way — he was punishing Ellie. Betsy felt both relieved that she didn’t have to rush to join the church for her Dat’s sake, but distressed to realize that reconciliation was further than she could have imagined for Ellie and Dat.

“Okay Dat, but Eli would do anything but lead me away from our People. Do you know the first time I met him, I was in first grade and some of the Yankee students were making fun of my kapp? I’d tried to take it off, Dat, but he sat with me the whole recess explaining why I should wear it, and what it meant for our people.” She looked up at him, praying that he would hear her this time. “He’s not changed, Dat.”

“But he wants to move you to Kentucky, Betsy.” She loved the feel of his hand on her shoulder, even while she hated that he was upset with them. “That’s why the bishop was so harsh. If Eli is going to kneel with the intention of breaking the Ordnung once he marries you …”

Betsy gasped. “He has no such intention, what do you mean?”

“Our Ordnung states that members must remain in the district of their baptism.” The Ordnung was the collections of rules for the community, and each district had their own distinct variations.

Betsy remained quiet. After all, it was not an often enforced rule, but to point that out would further upset Dat. “I don’t want to leave, and so that’s why Eli wants to lunch-pail it, until we can get a farm.”

“That’s not the kind of life I would wish for you.”

Betsy dropped her head. “Me neither, but land is getting scarce in our district, ain’t so? Eli has been working and living at home for eight years now – he’s able to buy a farm, if only we can find one.”

Dat leaned back. “Your mother and I have been talking.” Dat took a deep breath and sighed it out, looking defeated. “It’s harder to farm now, what with all your brothers off to tend their own families, and you eager to get married right away.” He stood up then, to run a loving hand over his buggy horse’s nose. “Perhaps it’s time Mama and I retired …”

Betsy knew then that everything would be okay. That even with Dat’s prejudice against Ellie, she would marry Eli, and that they could raise a family in her childhood home, with Mama and Dat in a grossdawdi house. What better way?

Even as things seemed to look brighter for her and Eli, her heart ached for her sister. There must be some way she could help ease the guilt and pain all wrapped up in a terrible silence within her family.

Chapter Five

Despite Betsy’s promise to her sister shunned by her father, Betsy’s wedding guests did not include Ellie. Nor did Betsy try to visit her sister again, waiting for the day when Eli would be the one she would obey, rather than her father.

And within the first month of her marriage, he’d spanked her more times than she could count. Some were quick little reminders, a small correction here and there, but last night was no such night. Last night had been a night for the switch, its sharp little fire one that she could barely stand.

The silence at breakfast was deafening to Betsy, as she shyly avoided looking at her new husband. She’d never had a ‘bletsching’ like last night, not one where’d she’d been anything but submissive to Eli’s correction. In the end he had taken her across his lap and trapped her legs like she was only a small child.

She glanced up at him heartily eating breakfast, not saying anything. How often had her father sat in that very spot, wielding his silence with sharp reproof? She bent her head over her potato pancakes, spooning applesauce that her and Mama had canned before Dat and Mama had left to travel for the winter. Now that they had sold the farm to Eli, they were free to travel for the first time, and they had planned to visit every cousin and aunt in Idaho, Indiana, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania. Dat had promised Eli that he would return in time for spring planting.

She felt lonely — lonely for her parents, and lonely for her husband. She sat only inches away, at his right, and yet he felt far, far away. When she could bear it no more, she whispered to him, a big tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Eli.”

Surprise flashed across his features, before he swallowed a last bite and set down his fork. “You’ve been punished already, ain’t so?”

She nodded, staring down at her trembling hands.

“And you’ve repented, made peace with God, and with me, ain’t so?”

She nodded again, a shaky sigh escaping from her constricting throat.

“Then why are you crying?”

Betsy sat with her head quietly bowed, tears rolling down her cheeks, as Eli frowned at her. He’d been thorough in punishing her last night, harsher than his heart would have preferred, but she seemed to have a need in her for him to break every last strand of guilt, and she’d been a long time to coming to terms with her guilt. Had he been too harsh? Misjudged what she needed?

Had he injured her? The thought startled him, and he immediately stood up. “Come upstairs, Betsy, right now.”

Her face crumpled and he knew she expected another ‘bletsching.’ He held out a hand to her, helping her from her chair. Chores could wait, for the morning.

He led her to their bed, and she burst into sobs as he raised her skirts. With his fingers on either side of her waist, he pulled her underwear down to her knees. “Quiet, now, I’m not going to spank you.” They quieted nominally as he braced himself for the worst. But as he smoothed a hand over her creamy white skin, only a few ridged welts remained from last night’s discipline, a single microscopic cut where he’d laid the last, most punishing swish to the under curve of her cheeks.

Had twigs wrapped her, biting her side? He easily turned her body on its side, inspecting for a cut or angry bruise, again finding nothing. Turning her bottoms up again, he put his hand between her legs. “Spread your legs, Betsy.”

She wiggled at that, crawling forward before she thought to obey him.

“Betsy, I’ve told you that I’m not going to spa—” On second thought, he eyed her disobedience and her undamaged skin and raised his hand. Frustrated, he stopped his swing and pulled her back to him, opening her legs to him. His fingers ran between her legs, from knee to hip, and down her other leg. “Obedience has always been one of your sweetest qualities, Betsy, but for sure and for certain …” He let his sentence trail off in frustration, lowering her skirt and turning her over onto the bed.

Placing a hand on either side of her head, he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose in complete exasperation. “Why were you crying at the table, Betsy?”

He watched her pupils widen in surprise and in desire at his overwhelming form above hers, and felt a stab of disappointment when she closed them with a small, sad sigh. “My behavior during a …” she gulped. “During a ‘bletsching’ ain’t …” She opened her eyes, which were lit with a passionate plea. “For sure and for certain, Eli, I will obey you next time I am over your lap, I promise!”

He sat up, carefully guarding his surprise. “And your father, how did he handle your lack of submission to discipline?”

She turned her head away from him, hiding her shame from his eyes. “I was too afraid to … I wouldn’t have dared …”

“Are you saying that you respect me less than your father, Betsy?”

She shook her head fervently, her ‘Kapp’ strings flying about her cheeks. He tried not to notice her slender neck, or the way her breasts swelled her dress and the flatness of her stomach. He felt desire pull at him in ways that would have to wait until the end of this conversation.

“So you cried because you squirmed away from my hand, because you ran away from the switches?”

“Yes … no.” He raised an eyebrow at her distraught face. “Because you promised never to use silence to punish me, and this morning—” she burst into sobs and hiccupped out the rest “—you were quiet, and I know I was wrong and I deserve to be punished, but you promised, too!”

He leaned back while she wiped away her tears, collecting herself. “I’m not happy with you puttin’ up such a fuss inside yourself, in here.” He tapped her chest. “That promise against silence works both ways, ain’t so?”

She looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes. He realized that in many ways, she was still a child, a bride of eighteen to his twenty-six, and she still craved those boundaries of childhood in so many ways.

“But I wasn’t bein’ silent against you, Eli.”

“Ain’t so? You’re thinkin’ that I’m ignoring you — even though I talked no less than normal at breakfast — and you said nothing, asked me nothing, so how could you even be certain that I was bein’ silent?”

She shrugged, looking confused.

“How often do we talk at breakfast, Betsy Yoder?”

She smiled at her new married name, a twinkle of happiness creepin’ back in her eyes. “Not often, I s’pose.”

He gave her a curt nod, and let her think on the way she had imagined her own self into misery. “I am your husband, head of our little family, and also your teacher. I see three things that we need to work on teachin’ you.”

He paused until her wide, round eyes were fixed on him in total concentration. “Submission, obedience, and five little words.”

“Five little words?”

“Are you upset with me?” He tapped a finger to her lips when she started to answer his question in confusion. “Next time you are imagining my silence, you will repeat those five words to me before filling your heart with guilt and worry.”

She nodded in relief and understanding. “I promise.”

He smiled at his wife. “I don’t expect you’ll learn quite that easily, but you will learn,” he promised. “After I remind you how much I love my bride.”

Betsy giggled at the look in his eye, rolling away from him to make a game of running away. He clucked his tongue and eyed her with crinkled eyes that twinkled. “I give spankings for that, you know.”

Her heart stopped before she saw he was teasing, and then she squealed and backed herself against a wall. He stalked towards her with a gleam of the predator, his body strung tight and ready to pounce at any movement.

“It’s getting light out!” The sun was shining in bright yellow rays across the wedding quilt her mother and aunts had made for her, and she cast a furtive glance towards the front of the house. “What if Mary comes for a visit?”

“She can’t have her chores done yet, Betsy.”

She squealed again and made a dash to the bed when he would have cornered her, but he could and did pounce on her, pinning her down beneath his form. “Your obedience is sweet, I told you that.”

“You have it, Eli.” She bit her lip in worry.

“And it pleases me to test it.”

He pulled out the bobby pins securing her hair, one at a time while she lay still under his dominance. “It pleases me to see you struggle to obey me, and then to watch you decide to obey me.”

She gulped. “What do you mean?”

He ignored her question. “Turn over on your stomach.” He relished that flash of vulnerability in her eyes, that instant of fear quickly replaced by a look of trust in him that warmed his heart. She turned over, her hands gripping the quilt by her head.

He removed her shoes and socks first, then reached under skirts to pull down her underwear. “I don’t like these, Betsy, and I don’t want you to wear them except when it’s necessary.”

“Are you giving me a rule?”

“Yes, and there will be many in this house. Are you surprised?”

“Yes!” she piped, and then shook her head. “You had enough of them before we were married.” She relaxed when he left her skirts down. “You only spanked me a couple times, though.”

“You only disobeyed me a couple times.” He patted her bottom, his hand stopping to rub the fabric that shielded her nudity. “It is your sweet nature to obey, your natural desire.”

“And we’ve only been married for a month and I’m gettin’ a ‘bletsching’ nearly every week!” More than, this weekend, she thought. It had been her Mama’s sayin’ —often bitter— that a wife’s place was to be quiet and work next to her husband. “You’re stricter than my ‘Dat!’” she accused.

His voice was gentle when he rubbed her back. “I give you what you need, Betsy, and I’ll do that ‘till the day I die.” Her shoulders relaxed and she gave into his massage. He continued for awhile, watching the wind pick up and snow start to swirl outside.

“Now stand up.”

When she did, he gathered up the long skirt of her dress and ordered her to lay down again, this time pulling it over her head. Though the waist of her plain dress stayed right above her belly button, the fabric of the skirt lay over her head, darkening her vision. She felt more naked half-clothed than she had fully undressed.

“Spread your legs.”

She was grateful that her face was hidden under the polyester fabric as she felt shyness flood her face with blood.

“You’ll write one thousand lines today, and maybe you’ll remember that next time you fear my silence, you’ll remember those five words I taught you instead of frettin’ yourself to misery.”

He dipped his finger in her juices, moistening it so that it would smoothly enter that untouched hole. Pressing his pinky into that puckered entrance to her bottom, he said, “One thousand times, Betsy, and you’d better write fast because what I’m about to put in your bottom will ask you to visit the outhouse in an hour. I expect you’ll be squirming on your chair for quite awhile before you finish.”

He pushed his pinky in partway, letting just the tip invade her while she squirmed and adjusted to the new sensation.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her question, twisting his finger a little and watching her adorable cheeks try to bobble away from his finger. Her bottom soon relaxed at his finger, he popped open a jar of Vaseline. He slathered a big scoop at her entrance before capping the jar and setting it on the night table.

She arched up. “It’s cold!” She twisted her neck around. “What are you doing to me?”

“Get back in position, Betsy.”

As soon as she did, he wrapped his hand around her knees, bending them, and then turning her on her side into a fetal position. He dropped a package of suppositories in front of her face before returning his attention to her bottom. “You may not visit the outhouse until you’ve finished your lines, and these will see to it that those lines are written mighty quick.”

She’d never had a suppository—or anything, for that matter—in her bottom, her family sticking to the tried and true remedy of castor oil when someone was sick. She gasped when her husband pinched her bottom cheek and lifted it up away from her bottom. She couldn’t even speak as his finger invaded her bottom, pushing globs of cold jelly into her.

“I don’t like this!” she squealed, knowing that even while she said it, he wouldn’t stop. “It feels wei—”

Her mouth snapped shut when he pulled out his pinky and thrust his pointer finger in quick and deep. She contracted on his finger, her muscles convulsing as she grew accustomed to the invasion. He pulled it out just as quickly, making her gasp when he pushed it in yet again.

“I don’t just expect obedience from you, I expect it without whining or complaining.” He twisted and turned his finger in her, until he elicited sweet squeals and whimpers from her mouth. “Open the box and hand me two suppositories.”

She whined despite his expectations. “What’s it goin’ to do?”

“It’ll work like castor oil, slower though.”

She was slow to obey, as reluctant as he’d ever seen her.

“Good girl,” he praised after she handed him two small packages with obvious dread.

He grabbed her hand and brought it down to her cheek. “Open yourself for me.”

She whimpered. “I can’t, Eli.”

He cupped her dripping core, and then pressed a finger to her sweet spot, enjoying the way her body arched as her skin grew dewy with the energy of his applications. “I’ve never felt you so wet, but you will get no relief when you are being punished.”

It was every bit as much a punishment for him as her, as she squirmed and arched against her own desire when his hand left her bereft of the release she wanted to beg for. “Hold yourself open, Betsy.” He gentled his voice. “This is good for you. Someday I will make love to you in here, when you are ready.” He thrust his finger in deep again, then pulled it out to tickle the rim in slow, massaging circles.

“For sure and for certain, I will need to get it ready, so that it won’t hurt you.” He plunged his middle finger in, her hole convulsing anew at the thicker intrusion. “Hold yourself open for me, Betsy.”

“I don’t think I can,” she squeaked.

She heard silence to her statement, and a dread grew in her chest. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Are you upset with me?”

There was a silence still, but he broke it in seconds that felt like hours. “Betsy, you can do anything I ask of you, that I promise.”

He gently returned her hand to her bottom. “Hold your bottom open so I can put these suppositories in. I’ll use these as often for punishment as I will for medicine, so open up.”

To his surprise, she shook her head adamantly. He puzzled over that for a second, wondering if he had taken her too far.

“I’m too embarrassed,” she whispered.

He stood up, opening up the top drawer of their chest to find her hairbrush.

“What are you doing?” She didn’t need an answer as she saw, and immediately changed her tune. “Wait, I can, I can, I promise!”

He remained silent to her pleas and resumed his position by her bottom. “Show me.”

She groaned, but a tentative hand reached back and pulled her cheek open, just a little.

“More.”

She huffed, and with a haughty “Fine!” she obeyed.

But she hadn’t expected the hairbrush to snap across that tender flesh that she had just exposed. She started to pull away her hand, but he stopped her. “Hold it there, hold yourself open.”

She finally relented to the embarrassment she felt, bowing her head to endure her punishment. He took pity on her, and though he made her hold herself open, he put his hand over hers so that she would not disobey him again. He snapped the hairbrush nine more times, and then dropped it on the bed in her line of vision. “Don’t forget that’s there, if you want to disobey me again.”

She nodded, her long dark eyelashes glistening with tears.

His finger thrust deep into her again, this time with a cold pellet at his tip. His fingers grazed against her sweet spot at the same time as he pressed the pellet in as deep as he could. His finger worked back and forth a bit, and she wondered if he was positioning it in a certain spot, if it mattered. Another cold glop of jelly was dropped on her entrance, and she squealed as two fingers pressed the second pellet into her. She couldn’t help but wiggle and try to get up, but a quick smack of his hand to her leg stopped her resistance.

“Ooooh!” She grabbed a pillow and pulled it over her head with a groan.

Eli chuckled out loud, allowing her to hide. He kept his two fingers still until she relaxed, and then he slowly twisted his fingers, a little to the left, then a little to the right. She clenched then, fighting his intrusion with all her might.

Keeping his voice even, he asked, “Betsy, are you tryin’ to hurt my fingers?”

She gasped. “No!” She immediately relaxed. “But …”

Then she squirmed against his persistent fingers as much as the sudden sensation of those pellets warming and melting in her. “Ugh, please …”

His fingers were deep enough that even he could feel them melting. “Settle, now. Can you feel the suppositories meltin’ inside you?” One of his hands reached under her leg and lifted it, opening her even more than her hand had. “Let me push this in a little deeper, so the medicine can work ‘gut’ and strong. Everybody can use a good cleaning out now and then, even when they’re not sick.”

She used her free hand to hold the pillow over her face, the mortification of her position totally overwhelming her. Could a person die of embarrassment, of shame? For sure and for certain, if a person could, she would soon.

His fingers worked back and forth, like little legs walking deep within her, massaging her insides in ways made her tingle all over. She felt like exclaiming that it hurt, but it didn’t hurt and felt every big as good as it felt horrible, terrible, and completely unbearable.

She gasped in relief when he withdrew his fingers, blushing anew when he squeezed her bottom shut, as if holding the medicine in. She couldn’t speak for her humiliation, only sit there compliantly as he tended her with total disregard for her embarrassment.

There was the total silence of winter outside and only her soft breaths to be heard in the room. Her cheeks were squished shut, his fingers pinching to keep them there against the slippery wetness of both her and the jelly he had put back there. She could have easily wiggled out of his grasp, but something held her completely immobile. As if she were appalled and shocked frozen by her embarrassment, not a single muscle in her body twitched. Even her breathing was slow and careful, as if not to move her body and feel his control of it even more.

After long minutes of silence, he let go of her cheeks and patted her bottom softly. “Stand up.”

Chapter Six

Eli led Betsy to the small table in their room, guiding her to sit on the bench. She’d been spanked over that bench quite a few times in their short marriage, and even just sitting on it brought butterflies to her stomach. The Vaseline squished between her cheeks and she could feel the suppositories growing warm within her. She looked up at her husband, the warm, caring man that could embarrass her like no one had ever done before.

“Lift your skirts. You’ll sit on your bare bottom.”

She couldn’t deny that the firm set of his mouth and his newly-growing beard didn’t make her want him. At the rate they were going, she’d have a baby within a year of their marriage. Betsy scrunched her nose up at the uncomfortable feeling of the squishing between her legs, made worse still by the cold wood bringing attention to it further.

Then there was the burning ache within her that begged for her husband’s touch. He had the biggest, roughest hands that scratched like sandpaper — and yet they were gentle and strong, and managed to make her feel small and delicate. Last week he had let her ride him like a horse, and she blushed just to think of her feverish, desperate movements to satisfy the yearning he could make her feel.

Being his wife was torture—exquisite, delicious, sweet and ultimately rewarding torture. She could think of no greater pleasure, really. She almost smiled to think of it, then he looked up at his face in a soft frown. She could hardly bear his disappointment.

“You’ll write ‘are you upset with me?’ one thousand times, and then—and only then—you may go to the outhouse.” A notebook and two pens lay innocuously on the table, as if they weren’t about to punish her with their presence.

“And hopefully next time, you’ll remember to ask me, instead of fearing my silence.” A big, fat tear rolled down her cheek and nearly broke his heart. “Schatzling, when I make a promise to you, I will keep it. I promised to protect you, to keep you safe, to be a good husband and father, to never wield silence against you as a punishment. I will honor all those promises, and honor your place as my helpmate.”

He was trying to comfort her, but her tears were rolling down faster now. “Betsy,” he tried to take the note of desperation out of his voice. “Many would say a wife is ‘just’ a helpmate, but you have never and will never be ‘just’ anything to me. You and our family and our community are everything to me, Schatzling, you are truly my little treasure. Do you know that?”

She bobbled her head up and down, her lips trembling. With some exasperation, he finally asked, “Why are you crying? I’m trying to make you feel better.”

She’d only been tearing up and spilling over, but at his question she truly did start to cry. “You embarrass me, do things to me I never imagined … make me feel things, and you say things …”

He leaned in as her crying drowned out her words. “Deep breath, Betsy, deep breath.” She obeyed. “Tell me.”

Finally, on a whining sob that wrinkled her face, she cried, “I just love you so much!”

Shaking his head, he gently placed one of the pens in her hand and kissed her forehead. “Write, Schatzling, you’ll regret not hurrying now in an hour.”

She followed his advice and quickly wrote, and was to six hundred before her stomach started urging her out to the outhouse. Worse, she grimaced to hear Eli stop his chopping wood to yell out to a visitor. “Mary! Betsy is in bed today, can you visit tomorrow?”

“Oh dear! I’ll just go in and tend to her, fix you two some dinner.” She bustled towards the door, finally putting her hands on her hips when he blocked her way and said something Betsy couldn’t make out through the bedroom window. “Eli Borntrager, are you not telling me something? The last time my father forbade a visitor my Mama had her eye swollen shut.”

He put a hand to her shoulder as she tried to run around him, grabbing her arm to restrain her. “You may see her tomorrow, too soon for a bruise to fade, ain’t so? And I will submit to the will of the People should you think that I have harmed my wife in any way.”

Betsy was just beginning to rejoice that her husband would protect her from embarrassment in this way, when she heard him add, “Run along, Mary Miller, before I sit you beside my wife at the table writing lines for disrespecting my will as her husband.”

Betsy flushed in horror, wondering what her best friend would think of her now.

Mary was never one to be quiet, and she put both hands on her hips. “Hah! I’ve never let myself be bullied by my father, and I won’t let you bully me, or Betsy, for that matter!” She stomped towards the kitchen door, calling out, “Betsy, where are you? I’m coming in for a visit!”

Betsy understood the murmurs she’d heard that Mary would never join the church. As her best friend, Mary rarely spoke of her intentions, Mary understanding how they hurt Betsy so. Betsy only knew for sure that Mary had no intention of shortening her rumshpringa to settle down with a husband any time soon.

Betsy flushed, torn between obeying her husband’s order to remain seated on her bare bottom and standing so that her friend would not notice the way her dress draped over the bench to accommodate her ‘learning position.’

But Eli stopped Mary once again, speaking quietly into her ear until Mary nodded, looking like a guilty schoolgirl. As Mary headed back home, she quickly started writing again, feeling the calling of the outhouse rolling in her bottom more urgently.

Eli’s boots thundered up the steps, and she prayed he would let her go. “What number are you on?”

She squirmed. “Eight hundred and ninety-six.” It was then that she noticed the bottle of castor oil in his hand, and a table spoon in the other. He poured the thick oil onto the spoon and set the bottle down. “This will help you write faster.”

She shook her head frantically, fearfully eyeing the dripping spoon.

“Did you just refuse to obey me?” He watched her eyes widen and took advantage of her surprise. Deftly pinching her nose shut, he waited until her mouth opened to breathe before thrusting the spoon in. He refilled the spoon as she grimaced against the awful taste, trying to swallow it away. Holding it out to her, he asked, “Open up, or do you want a double dose of punishment this afternoon for disobeying me twice?”

Her mouth snapped open so quickly that he had to bite against a smile. This time he held her jaw open with his hand cupping her chin, watching her face screw up as he refused to let her swallow the awful tasting oil. He waited until tears started to pool before releasing her chin.

“When you are done, bring me the list to the barn, and then you may run as fast as you like to the outhouse.” Her eyes lit up, and he immediately warned. “It’ll be the switch for every mistake or miscount, understand.”

She didn’t even respond, bending her head to her task with fierce concentration. It seemed only minutes later when she ran out to the barn and shoved the papers in his hand, saying nothing as she turned and ran to the outhouse, letting the door slam shut behind her.

He chuckled as he walked back to the house, checking her work. Every T was crossed, every I dotted, and the numbers were in perfect order. Her penmanship was even pretty, and his heart swelled with pride. He almost wished he had a gold star sticker like Mrs. Reagan had stuck to good papers even when they were in eighth grade, ready to be sent to the fields to work as men instead of attending high school like the ‘Englischers’.

He put some water on to boil and readied some tea while he waited for her to return from the outhouse. She’d be awhile, he figured, and liquids would be good for her. He waited patiently with pen in hand, then absently drew a star on the first paper. He immediately felt embarrassed by it, and quickly reversed the order of the papers, so that the bottom paper was on top as if he had just finished checking them. She wouldn’t look at them again, he was sure.

He decided to prepare a small lunch, as well as he could. By the time she came in from the outhouse, the meager meal was done — a soup of milk, crushed crackers, butter, salt and pepper hardly more than a baby’s meal.

She cocked her head and eyed him. “Is this part of my punishment?” She seemed lighter and happier as her eyes sparkled at him, teasing him. It always amazed him that punishments invariably led to a bounce in her step — sometimes minutes later, hours later, or even a day later.

He laughed good-naturedly, setting down his spoon. “No, I think this is my punishment.” He drank thirstily, then put down his glass with a thump. “After we discuss your disobedience this afternoon, I’ll hitch up the buggy and drive to the telephone. An evening of pizza might be nice, ain’t so?”

“Better than this,” she sauced at him, sticking her tongue out at him.

He laughed, glad that she blossomed under his ministrations. He had no desire to break her, or turn her into a little mouse of obedience with the light put out in her eyes. “I love you, wife.”

She bit her lip and charmed him. “Show me, then.”

“Good try, but I’m not goin’ to forget your disobedience quite so quickly.”

She returned to her soup, ignoring the nervousness in her stomach. It was less fear than excited anticipation, she realized. She was grateful for him, even if he was going to spank her. Or maybe because he was going to spank her. She certainly preferred his punishments to her father’s silence.

“Eli, if I were ever … shunned, would you be silent against me, then?” Church law meant he had to, of course, but with his rule against silence, she wondered.

“A ‘gut bletsching’ can prevent such a hardship.” He sipped his soup loudly. “But if you were ever, I would ask to share your shunning, as it would be my failure as a husband, too.”

She nodded. “Me, too—”

“No, me too. If positions are reversed you’d feel many a hot bottom before I’d let you do such a thing.”

“But—”

Betsy stopped short at his look, clamping her mouth shut. Eli leaned back in his chair just as she finished her soup — she had no desire for seconds. She admired his blue eyes and felt loved by the warmth of his gaze when he looked at her.

He gazed back in her eyes, wondering what was going on in her mysterious mind. She was a fascination, an incredible mystery.

“I made you something.” Her eyes lit up in such a way that he felt a rush of happiness deep in his chest. “Don’t smile yet,” he warned, though he couldn’t keep from smiling himself.

Going to the pantry, he dug behind the canned apples to find the paddle that he had sawed, whittled, carved, sanded and polished. He’d worked on it for over a week in the barn, often hiding it when she came out to offer him some hot coffee. He set it on the table in front of her with tenderness, not wanting to scare her and hoping she liked it every much as he expected she would fear it.

“It’s a paddle,” he explained.

Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, her eyes wide and her hands clasped together in her lap. A long silence ensued as she stared at it without moving. Then one hand slowly inched up, and timidly turned it over. She quickly pulled her hand back to her lap as if it had been burnt.

She read the words, her heart swelling with love as much as her stomach fluttered with nerves. “Schatzling’s Protector,” it said in lovingly carved words. She couldn’t look at him but she also couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you,” she whispered. She gnawed at her lip. “This is just for decoration, right?”

He laughed as she leaned forward to study it closer, humming a little tune under her breath. She often hummed about the house, expressing delight often at daily life and even more often a charming welcome when he returned from the barn, as if he’d been gone for weeks. About once a week, a grumpy unexplained mood would settle on her shoulders and would often lead quite quickly to a misdeed. He’d correct her quickly and firmly, helping her cry herself to exhaustion, and then she’d wake up the next morning as happy as a lark, whistling a tune as she cleaned and cooked.

Still, he blurted out, “Are you happy?”

Betsy looked up at him in surprise. “Happy?” For sure and for certain, no one had ever asked her that question in her life. “Happy?” she repeated.

He nodded.

She’d never considered it. She had good parents, who’d been hurt, true, by her sister’s leaving the community and then dear Ephraim’s death, but they’d never concerned themselves with that question. They worried for her soul, for her skills as a useful member of the community, for her readiness to be a wife and mother, but her happiness? It seemed selfish to her, and she almost feared the Bishop next door would hear her considering it and come over to reprimand her.

She looked up at her husband again, biting her lip and considering. Light feelings were dancing about her heart almost constantly, and she’d never felt so safe and warm inside. “I … yes, I guess I am.” She giggled a little, blushing at the silliness of her feelings.

“I miss Mama and Dat here, but they are so happy traveling, visitin’ with family they haven’t seen in years. The Dawdi house is built and ready for them in the spring when they’ll be back to live with us again.” She shyly smiled and put a hand to her belly. “Maybe by then they’ll be a little one to help take care of.” She blushed. “And Ellie will be an Aunt, and …” her eyes filled with tears. “Will she be welcome here?”

He shook his head at how quickly she had linked her own happiness with that of her family. “Betsy, I promised you that before we were married.”

She shook her head. “What about Dat?”

He pondered. “We’ll deal with it.” They sat in silence for a while, until he noticed she was wringing her hands together. “It’s off-Sunday this weekend, why don’t you invite her and Jack over?”

“I love you!”

Delight blossomed in her eyes again, confirming his nickname for her, ‘Schatzling.’ “Even though I spank you, strap you, and even take a switch to you?”

She blushed again and he thought she never looked cuter than when her face reddened like that. It crawled down her neck, and bowed her head. “I can’t answer that,” she whispered.

He didn’t really need an answer, but he wouldn’t accept her refusal. He knew the way she would wake in the middle of the night after a spanking, passionate and eager, then gushing love the next day as if she couldn’t be grateful enough. But no matter how embarrassing a question he asked, he needed an honest answer — for sure and for certain, he’d rather take a knife and shove it in his own heart than hurt her.

He reached across the table, feeling a cloud of sadness as he picked up the paddle. “That’s the second time today that you didn’t answer a question about your feelings.” He ran his hand over the smooth wood, thinking how it would bruise her pretty bottom in a way that would serve as a reminder for nearly a week. He’d miss the clear, white skin and the way he could turn it a pretty pink with just a few spanks.

“I’ll admit that there are things I enjoy about spankin’ you. The way your bottom looks so pretty before a good bletsching, the way you obediently climb over my lap to submit to my punishment.”

He waved the paddle at her. “After this, you won’t be sittin’ for a week.” He corrected himself, “Or you’ll be sittin’ but it’ll be hurtin, that’s for sure.” She looked abashed, and he touched a hand to her milky-complexioned face. “The only screams I enjoy hearin’ from you are when you scream from pleasure. I’m here to guide you and protect you, and when that means I have to punish you, I will do my duty to you, always.”

“However, I cannot protect you and see to your happiness and health unless you are honest with me. They’ll be lots of embarrassin’ things that I do to you, lots of questions you may hate answering. But I don’t ask a question that doesn’t need answerin’, Betsy Borntrager, and I don’t ask you to do something embarrassin’ that doesn’t need to be done.”

She looked embarrassed right then, eyes squeezed shut against his lecture — or maybe her own guilt. He never had to work hard to lead her to realize her guilty feelings.

“When I ask you ‘why are you crying?’ it’s because I care about you, and would do anything I could to dry your tears, to fix whatever makes you sad. I don’t want to feel the fear that my bride is too scared to tell me that I injured her during a punishment, to fret that I’ve not looked after her the way I should, to search my memory for what could possibly be amiss.”

Betsy had given into tears and her eyes were open and unseeing, tears rolling down her face. Every now and then her eyes would dart up to meet his gaze, quickly to drop down again.

“Do you remember how bad it felt inside when you thought I was bein’ silent against you? Do you remember how you fretted, how bad you wished you could figure out and undo whatever had made me silent?”

He waited until she looked up at him again, and caught her chin so that she couldn’t look away this time. “Are you thinkin’ it hurt me any less?”

She shook her head again, and a sniffle pulled at his heart. While he sometimes loved to give her attention or to make her blush, other times it felt every bit as hard on his heart as it must be on her bottom.

“When I ask you, to hold your bottom open, your embarrassment serves a purpose, every bit as much as holdin’ your bottom open will make what I have to do more comfortable for you, physically. How do you think it feels to me, when you refuse my love, when you refuse to let me care for you, when you resist me tending to you as I should?”

Betsy’s sniffles turned into little sobs that bubbled up now and then, her hand coming up to cover them like little burps she was embarrassed about.

“And spankings, whippings, strappings, and swichings … so far from a beating, so far from bein’ abuse, and yet so, so close without careful thinkin’ on my part. When I ask you a question, no embarrassment is greater than the need for me to see to it that nothing I ever do comes close to abuse, that no matter how much I make you blush, cry, or scream, you always feel protected, loved, and ultimately safe even while your bottom is hurtin’ something awful.”

He picked up the paddle and put it in her hands, crouching beside her to put his arm over her shoulders. “This paddle is truly your protector as much as my arm. I doubt there’s anything else I’ll correct you with that will leave such a lasting impression, such a painful lesson. Whenever you do something that threatens your safety as I see it, you’ll be given a formidable reminder with that piece of wood.”

He paused for his words to settle in, and then put a finger under her chin.

“Look at me, Betsy.”

Her hurt little eyes looked up at him, blurry with tears. “I’m sorry, Eli.” Her voice cracked on a sob.

“I know you are. I need to know that you understand why you’re about to be cryin’ even more.”

She said something that was unintelligible with the sob that burst out when she opened her mouth. Instead, she nodded.

“Upstairs, then. And I’ll be tyin’ your hands and feet. You do wiggle a lot. We’ll fix that with some trainin’, but in the meantime, I want you safe. This paddle could crush your precious fingers, seriously injure a kicking foot. I won’t have that, do you understand?”

“Yes, Eli.” She made her way towards the steps.

“Undress, get the pile of quilts from the empty bedroom next to ours, and pile them on top of the bed. Lay over them, and I’ll be up with some rope.”

She visibly gulped.

Once upstairs, Betsy took off her cape, her dress, her shoes and socks, trembling in the cold air. She stared at the paddle layin’ on the bed and shook her head. For sure and for certain, she felt every bit as scared of what was comin’ as she felt safe, dreading it just as much as there was a tinglin’ in her sweet spot. Feelin’ as shy about her nakedness just as much as she felt alive, her skin tingling with the chilly air.

She bent over the pile of quilts on the bed, knowin’ that it was only a matter of time before his boots would clomp up the wooden stairs, echoing through the house. It was such a silent house, so lonely, when she’d been so used to it filled with people her whole life. She missed Dat and Mama, and wondered if Eli would spank her in daytime when they were back.

As she’d guessed, his boots clomped up the stairs in no time, and she couldn’t stop the shivering in her legs. As he’d done all his lecturing downstairs, he just silently picked up the paddle and pressed the cool wood against her bottom.

The paddle was unlike anything she felt before. It seemed to have a will of its own, and unbreakable determination to not just punish her with pain, but to get her complete attention. There were no words from him, and she was so shocked by the pain that the room was completely silent, save the loud, thundering cracks that echoed off the walls.

But by the time the paddle stopped cracking, she was sobbing. Her bottom was throbbing all the way down to the tops of her legs, and she knew he was right — this was a lesson she would remember every time she sat down for a week.

Chapter Seven

Winter passed quickly. Even in the deepest, coldest parts of winter, Eli was always close by to warm her, one way or another. When the first and tiniest little buds of green tried to find their way to the spring sun, Betsy broke open the windows and set to her annual spring cleaning.

Mary would be coming over, she thought. Lately she’d taken to treasuring the times that Mary stopped by to help. Her best friend had abandoned her plain dress and taken to wearing jeans every day. She looked fancy, and for sure and for certain, Betsy dreaded the day she knew was coming. Mary was yanking over, she just knew it.

She didn’t believe as many of her People believed, that the Amish way was the only way. She’d never say it out loud, of course, but she trusted that Ellie had found her place in God’s will, and hoped that Mary would, too. Mary was spirited and rebellious, had been since a child. No matter how her father, the Bishop, had disciplined her, it had made no difference.

Come to think of it, Mary’s rebellion had always been particularly aimed at her father — given his duties as Bishop, it was no wonder that her feelings had blossomed into a rebellion against the church. Maybe she’d ask her this afternoon.

Spring cleaning always made her feel better. She emptied out the cupboards, hoping to get them washed out before Mary and Ellie came to help. A knot formed in her stomach, thinking about the two of them. She was afraid Mary would go far away, and as soon as Mama and Dat returned, she’d be forbidden again to visit with her sister, Ellie.

Never had the fresh start of spring, the promise of new life and sunny days, seemed so foreboding.

Mary dashed in just as Betsy finished cleaning out the last cupboard. Tradition — even cleaning traditions — were strong in their community, and Mary didn’t need to ask before she started cleaning the piles of plates and cups and bowls before they put them back in the cupboard. Betsy picked up the drying rag, trying not to stare at her friend’s exhilarated and rosy cheeks.

“You look excited about something, Mary.” She looked Englisch - fancy, Betsy thought, with her blue jeans that even had a rhinestone swirl up one pant leg. That wasn’t unusual, not lately, except today Mary’s hair was down and curling around her face, in big fancy waves. She wore a pink turtleneck sweater that was tight around her chest, and Betsy thought she even saw the shininess of lip gloss on her friend’s red lips.

“You look fancy.” Betsy bit her tongue as soon as she said it, for it was no compliment in the Amish community. She regretted reproaching her friend as she saw the flash of hurt that quickly turned into a stony, resolute silence.

They worked in a strained silence that took the joy out of spring cleaning. They started hauling out the furniture, emptying the house of everything so that every wall, floor, corner, and nook could be thoroughly cleaned. The blankets, pillows, and mattresses would all be cleaned and hung out to freshen, and Eli had promised to come up from the barn and clean all the furniture, as if he didn’t have enough cleaning of his own to do in the barn.

Ellie came by as Mary and Betsy carried out the last piece of furniture from the house. The yard looked like a massive estate sale, and the house completely gutted as if they were moving.

“Mary! Don’t you look fancy today!”

Betsy grimaced — when Ellie said it, it sounded like a compliment. Mary looked at Betsy’s sister uncertainly, then broke into a wide smile when she found a kindred spirit. Ellie may still dress plain, but she didn’t mind fancy, either.

“How’s your mom feeling?”

Betsy’s head snapped up. Their People didn’t go the doctor unless something was really wrong. She started to ask her sister, then turned to Mary instead.

“What’s wrong with your Mama, Mary?”

Mary shrugged, an off-handed, rebellious teenager shrug. Betsy said nothing and stalked over to beat the pillows, a job she cherished at the moment. She hit the pillows against the bench as hard as she could, tryin’ not to watch her best friend get along perfectly with her sister. She tried not to feel jealous that Mary was easy and light, laughing with her sister. She watched them fill up buckets with water and soap.

Ellie came over as Mary went inside.

“She’s had a rough week, Betsy. Cut her a break.”

Betsy frowned. “What kind of talk is that?” Fancy talk, sounds like, she thought. “Maybe Dat’s right,” she shot.

Ellie grew quiet and still. Ellie and Betsy had gotten along well as sisters growing up, sharing a close and loving bond. Things were different now, Betsy thought. Her sister was in and out of her life, living in a different world, with different values.

“Is that how you feel, Betsy?”

Betsy covered a hand over her face, shaking her head. “Please, I can’t bear to lose her, and you too, when Dat comes back.”

Ellie frowned deep into her face. “You’ve joined the church, married, settled down. What’s he afraid of, now?”

Betsy knew it was time she told her sister the truth, the real reason Dat wanted nothing to do with his daughter any longer. She dreaded it though, like long, seeping wounds of fear that she’d put off healing for a long time.

“It’s not that. I spoke to Dat before my wedding.”

She looked at her sister’s face grow fearful, then defiant, and finally resigned. Ellie nodded at her. “What is it, then?”

“It’s Ephraim.”

Ellie cocked her head in question.

Betsy revealed to her sister their Dat’s feelings about Ephraim’s death, the money the family had spent at Ellie’s convincing, the hope it had given their father, and the hope that had been, ultimately, dashed by his death. “He said it was unnatural, that they had only postponed God’s will, a sin every way he looked at it. The Bishop forbade our father to visit with you. Ever.”

“Damn that Bishop!”

Betsy blanched, and quickly looked around. Not like the Bishop could hear with a whole cornfield between them, and a patch of woods as well. But it wasn’t a conversation Betsy felt comfortable to encourage, and she said nothing more of it as they went inside to clean the walls with Mary.

Mary seemed spitefully defiant, however. “Ellie, how did you get into college? You only went to eighth grade, ain’t so?”

Ellie stopped the sponge on the wall to turn to her sister’s friend. “The Bishop wouldn’t want me answerin’ such a question.” She dipped the sponge into the water, wrung it out, and then set to wiping the walls down once more. “I volunteered, took my GED, and went to Cuyahoga Community College for two years to prove myself. Something impressed Case Western, and they accepted me into pre-med and then medical school.”

Betsy stayed out of the talk, tryin’ to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn’t ask her friend what she was planning, but she knew it was something bad. They worked mostly in silence, and while Mary and Ellie chatted cheerfully, Betsy stewed in silence.

It wasn’t until they had cleaned their way to the upstairs bedrooms that Betsy broke the silence. When Ellie left to visit the outhouse, Betsy offered an apology.

“I’m sorry, Mary. You do look fancy today, right pretty, though I know I shouldn’t think so.” Betsy talked to her friend’s back, willing her to turn around. “The Bishop forbade Dat ever to visit with Ellie, back during Ephraim’s illness and … death.” She took a deep breath. “They’re comin’ back any day now, and Ellie and I will hardly see each other again. And then I look at you, and I know I’m going to lose you, too.”

She burst into tears. “Please Mary, I don’t want to ask yet, but … I want to know. No, I want to know only if you’ll tell me that you’re not leavin’ the church. Not leavin’ us, Mary. You’re my best friend!”

She clamped a hand to her mouth and turned to hide her tears, relieved when Mary wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Oh, Betsy. You know, you saw. I remember that time, I saw you slip to the back porch while my sisters and I hid in the barn. The way he swung his fists around, my Mama couldn’t get of bed for a week.”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I only stay to protect Mama, and that didn’t do any good last weekend — she has two ribs broken, more bruises than I can count and a broken arm. I had to sneak Ellie in while my father was out on Bishop’s business.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I want to ask your Ellie if I can stay with her, for a week or two while I find a place in town, find out how to make my way in the Englisch world, far, far away from my father.”

“And your Mama, and your sisters?” Betsy could imagine leavin’ the Bishop, even accept leaving the Amish way. But the rest of her family?

Mary shook her head. “They are only concerned that no one know, sayin’ that a Bishop’s job is a hard one, an extra hardship.” Mary’s lips trembled. “Fact is, they’re sayin’ I provoke him, that it’s my fault he takes things out on Mama.”

Betsy shook her head, her throat hurting too much to try to speak. “I’ll talk to Ellie for you.”

*******************************************************************

Betsy was on edge all day, eyeing her watch all day as if to will nightfall to come. She fried up some grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the potato soup, fretting about all that could go wrong that night. Most of all she prayed and prayed hard for Mary’s safety.

She was so distracted that she didn’t notice that she was banging the plates down and splashing soup until it flew up on Eli’s beard as she set the table for lunch.

“You’re trottin’ the line of trouble, Betsy Borntrager.”

She humphed, ignored him, and sat down to eat her lunch. She didn’t dare tell him about Mary—not that she didn’t think he’d side with her, but she couldn’t take that chance. She didn’t want to see Mary with broken ribs and wouldn’t take the chance that Eli would go the Bishop.

She slurped her soup and noticed that her husband was staring at her in shock. “Have you forgotten to thank your God for food on the table?” His hands gripped the table — after all, she’d bowed her head in silence for every meal since she was born. How could she forget such a habit? “What is going on with you today, Betsy?”

“It’s nothing.” She bowed her head dutifully, holding her silent prayer for a little longer than usual to delay the inevitable questioning from her husband. When she looked up, he was still frowning at her. “It’s nothing,” she repeated.

Eli frowned and quickly stood up. “Get into position, Betsy. You know my rule about questions, and you know why you’re about to feel the paddle.”

She tried not to care, told herself that it didn’t matter. Even when he lifted her skirt and apron up to bare her bottom, even when he pulled down her white cotton panties to her knees.

And when she felt the paddle press against her naked bottom, cold from its place in the dark cellar, she braced every muscle in her body. For the first time in her marriage, she felt defiance in her heart. Anger, even, that he would paddle her now.

She supposed she deserved it. She’d been rude, and he’d done nothing to deserve that. She’d lied to him, and he’d made the rule about answering his questions honestly. And convinced her of its reason. For sure and for certain, if she’d ever deserved that awful paddle crackin’ on her bottom, it was now.

But when that paddle left her bottom, she knew it was about to hurt. She clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, but nothing she did could stop the pain from coming. Once, twice, and then she popped up, turning to glare at Eli. “Ow! That hurts!”

He stared at her, slightly astonished, hurt, and angry all rolled into blazing eyes. He stood there while she rubbed her bottom, and reached under her skirts to pull her underwear up. “That hurts,” she accused again.

He stood there for a moment, and then handed her the paddle. “Put it away, Betsy.” Not even the sadness in his voice, the disappointment in his eyes broke through her defiance. She held the paddle, staring at the careful way he had carved ‘Schatzling’s Protector.”

She sighed, suddenly as angry at him for stopping as she had been for him starting. She carried it back to its hook by the jars of apple butter and felt only emptiness inside her. It wasn’t until she sat down to finish her lunch that she felt sad. He’d eaten not a bite, not a spoonful of soup, not a nibble of grilled cheese. She’d made it with extra butter, the way he liked it, with a pinchful of dill on the cheese. It didn’t seem right, and guilt washed over her, enough to make her cover her face with both hands and have herself a good bawl.

*******************************************************************

Eli ignored his grumbling stomach and worked hard as it grew dark. He dreaded going in to see his sullen wife — it broke his heart. He went over the past weeks, trying to figure out what he had done to cause this rebellious spirit, and could find no evidence of his losing her respect. She’d said nothing to him all day, although he had gone in several times that day to mention this or that to her and casually lay a hand on her shoulder.

Anything to let her know that he loved her, and wasn’t going to be silent against her. Not that he knew what to say, either.

She deserved the paddling, anyway he looked at it, but it just didn’t seem right to paddle her when her heart was in the wrong place. He wondered if that was right, or if he should have used the paddle to help her put it in the right place.

He shook his head. He couldn’t ever remember a spankin’ from his father that he hadn’t taken without total respect to the man makin’ him cry. He suddenly missed Dat, though it’d been just last week that he and Betsy had gone for a visit. He wondered what his father would do. As fierce a spanking as his Dat could give, he never remembered him arguing or raising his voice. He always wanted to apologize to his father, for doing something that made his Dat look so sad and resigned, even while holding a mean switch in his hands.

No, Dat would never have forced them to take a spanking, not against their will. He’d been fifteen the last time he’d deserved a spanking, and a good one. Dat had called him to the woodshed, sat on the stool quietly holding the strap, sadly fondling it.

Eli had nervously waited, ready to rebel against his Dat for the first time. He was too old for a spankin, for sure and for certain. His Dat had quietly looked up at him in his sad way and had asked, “I ‘spect you think you’re too old to be gettin’ the strapping you deserve, ain’t so?”

Eli had never been more unsure in his life, not sure how to answer. In the end he’d stuck his chin up like any other rash fifteen year old and had declared that he was too old. To his surprise, Dat had just nodded. He’d handed him the strap and put both hands on his shoulders. “Why don’t you sit here for a little while, holding that there strap. Think some, and pray, before you come out.”

He couldn’t have been more surprised, nor more abashed at the time. He’d sat there, sat there nearly through the night, feelin’ guilty. Dat had come out and talked to him, finally, tellin’ him that while a child’s—even wife’s—guilt could be washed away by a strapping, but a man’s guilt was his own burden to carry.

Somehow it had been a worse punishment than the strapping would have been, and yet his Dat had led him out of the shed a man vowing never to disappoint his family again.

He looked to the house, the lights flickering in the kitchen as his wife surely worked to put supper on the table. He had disappointed his family again, and although he wasn’t sure how, he would figure out where he’d gone wrong, and fixit.

So when she greeted him at the door, eyes defiant and pleading all at the same time, he hugged her. “What is it, Betsy-girl?”

“I need to go for a walk.”

He drew back in surprise.

“Alone, Eli.”

“Betsy …” he sighed. “Are you stirrin’ yourself into a pot of trouble?” He watched her eyes tear up, yearned to take her over her knee and paddle her until she told him everything, until he was sure he could protect her from whatever was bothering her.

His instincts told him to keep her close, forbid her, to keep her safe. But something in her eyes made him let her go. He said nothing as she walked into the night, feeling as helpless as he had ever felt.

******************************************************************

Betsy’s instincts were foreboding, as creepy as the sky darkened by night and clouds. A warm breeze washed over her face, and she shivered when it left. It reminded her of the tornado long ago that had brought Jack to her sister Ellie, that peculiar mixture of cold and warmth that threatened a war of weather.

A flash lit up the tree line and she wished she had brought a shawl. Rain was coming, or a late snowfall. She shivered as the air turned cold, wrapped her arms around her body when the rain broke. She ran quicker to the patch of trees, praying for Mary the whole way. She’d never known the Bishop to hurt his children; leastways Mary had never mentioned it.

“Betsy!”

Betsy ran towards her friend and grabbed her hand. “Does he know? Is everything okay?”

Mary shook her head. “But Mama knows, but I don’t think she’ll tell him, I hope not.”

They made their way through the cornfield, holding each other’s arms to keep from slipping in the muddy dirt. Betsy held her breath as they behind their barn, praying that Eli wouldn’t come out. Betsy couldn’t have had more conflicting feelings if she tried.

First, she was leading her best friend away from the Amish community. And from what Mary’d said, she couldn’t get far enough away from their little district. Guilt gnawed at her stomach, for sure and for certain, and a healthy dose of fear. She felt terrible for lying to Eli, scared for lying to the Bishop. If he ever found out, Betsy couldn’t even imagine.

She would be heartbroken if she were shunned.

When they got to the edge of Ellie and Jack’s property, Mary turned to her. “Thanks, Betsy.”

Betsy suddenly felt like crying, or begging her friend to stay. “Please write, Mary, please?”

Mary paused long enough for Betsy to feel the pain of loss. “I’ll write Ellie … just in case, until you tell me otherwise.” They stood there in the cold, sleeting rain, squeezing each other’s hands. “You’d better hurry back.”

Betsy nodded as she saw a car pull into her sister’s driveway. “It looks like your ride is here.” And Betsy took small comfort in the fact that Mary’s eyes seemed to light up, that her step seemed eager and quick as she ran to the car.

Hers felt heavier and heavier as she made her way back home. She felt there were people in the house, felt the visitors before she even heard them talking in solemn, hushed tones. She stepped into her kitchen, and met Eli’s concerned eyes first, then looked at the Bishop and two of the ministers.

She sighed. Oh mercy, she couldn’t lie, could she?

Chapter Eight

Betsy surveyed the men at her kitchen table, unsure how to react. She looked first at Eli, the guilt and sadness aching her heart. He’d been everything good to her. She’d been at her worst today, her most disobedient, probably the worst of her life. She’d been awful to him. That hurt her most and deepest.

Her cousin, Minister Borntrager sat shaking his head, looking downright embarrassed. Deacon Miller was still standing, leaning on the table with a concerned frown. He was her brother Micah’s wife’s cousin’s husband, and family. He’d be the voice of reason — the community respected him. Private confessions were private, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of members went to him when they needed a minister.

No relation to Bishop Miller, at least not as far back as anyone could remember. And he had nothing in common with the stern man who scared her, made her take a step back in her own kitchen. She feared him, for sure and for certain, feared what he could do to her, to his wife and family, and to her family.

She thought of running right back into the swirling rain and snow outside, but Eli held out an arm. “Come here, Betsy.”

Her belly churned with nerves in the same way that they did when he called her for a spanking. Whether with his paddle or with his love, he always demanded that she owned up to her wrongdoings.

But this time, she couldn’t.

Deacon Miller cleared his throat. “Betsy, is there anything you need to tell us?” His voice was gentle and kind. “I wouldn’t want to think of Mary out in this weather.”

She was thinking of his worry when she blurted out, “she’s safe.” Too late she realized she’d just admitted that she knew where her friend was. The angry Bishop stood up, looking ready to hit her. Her husband stood up, too, and her heart was thankful that he looked ready to defend her.

Deacon Miller held up his hand. “Betsy, think of your family, your friends. Tell us where Mary is.”

She did think, and hung her head. She didn’t dare to look at her husband. Was she putting her friend before her husband? She respected Deacon Miller. Perhaps she could go to him, tell him the whole truth about the Bishop. But no one would speak out against the Bishop, a man of God.

She sat down in the chair that her husband had just stood from, and bowed her head. She would say nothing more, and she knew they wouldn’t force her. They had better ways of getting what they wanted.

Bishop Miller’s spoke with his voice tight and angry. “We’ll be calling a Minister’s Meeting this Sunday, you’ll understand.” And then they filed out into the night with only a nod to her husband.

Betsy didn’t move as her husband started boiling water on the stove. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to see the judgment in his eyes for the situation she had put them in. She realized, when he brought the tea to her and took a seat, that she was sitting at the head of the table.

It felt so wrong. “I’m sorry, Eli.”

Eli said nothing, just put a hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up. Bring that tea upstairs; we need to get you out of those wet clothes. What are you thinking of, going out in freezing rain and snow with out a stitch to protect you?”

He hustled her upstairs, and she thought for sure he’d pick up the paddle on the way up. She didn’t care if he did — she was just so sleepy. She deserved it, she knew. Everything was going to fall apart, and there was no use fighting it. And with Mama and Dat coming home any day now, no less.

She sighed. “It’s going to break Dat’s heart.” She collapsed onto the bed, shoulders sagging. She saw him open up her bedside drawer and knew, for sure and for certain, she was gettin’ a bletsching. “I’m sorry, Eli,” she said again.

She stood limply when he ordered her to stand, thinking only of Dat’s face when he found out the news. Eli stripped her and then rubbed her hard with a towel, until her body was glowing with warmth. Somehow, she was still shivering, colder than she ever remembered.

“You’re burning up. We should get your sister.”

Betsy frowned and shook her head. “That’d only bring us more trouble.” More trouble than she’d ever imagined being in, for sure. She grimaced when she saw the suppositories in his hand.

“They’re for the fever. Lay down on your side, Betsy.”

She wouldn’t disobey, didn’t have the heart to. She wouldn’t change what she’d done for Mary, either. She even wished she could have done it for the Bishop’s wife. But she could regret that it would bring her family such heartache. She squeaked a little when she felt his finger push something cold and slippery into her bottom. She held her breath then, knowing that there would be a second and third time.

She barely felt the second time, and was asleep for the third time. She didn’t feel him push her under the covers, then wrapp his body around hers to keep her warm from the fever. She didn’t even feel the way he kissed the top of her head, and then remove her kapp to smooth her wet hair back, loosening her bun to let her hair fall out to dry.

*******************************************************************

Betsy woke up to Eli’s awful steaming rivvel soup. She’d always hated it, and he didn’t put enough pepper in it to give any sort of taste besides milk, butter, salt, and the tiny dumplings. She hated bland.

He fed her though, made her eat every blessed spoonful, until he decided she’d had enough, pressed a hand to her forehead to make sure she wasn’t too hot and then told her to turn over. “More aspirin, and you’ll be up and workin’ again,” he comforted.

She was feeling better enough that his touch on her bottom made her want to turn over and kiss him, make love to her husband. He slipped three aspirin suppositories into her bottom, quickly and methodically. There was so much silence between them it broke her heart.

And in two days, on Church Sunday, she had a feeling she’d be hearing a lot more silence.

“Well, there’s good news. Mama and Dat are comin’ home in time for Church Sunday, this letter says.” He didn’t need to mention the bad news, as Betsy covered her face.

“Eli, can you make this go away?”

“No, I can’t. Won’t. You made a decision, you refuse to tell me, you’ll face what needs facin’, ain’t so?” He touched her face softly, wishing he could make it go away. “The day you don’t want a spankin’ is the day you take that guilt and carry it around, and take responsibility for it.”

She sighed as he left the room. She’d rather have the spanking, any day.

Eli would have loved to throw her over his lap and spank her gut, rather than see her mope around at her work, flashing him tortured and guilty looks every now and then. He wanted her story willingly, not by force. Sure, he’d punish her for lying to him, but he knew that she wouldn’t risk shunning and lying to her husband for nothing—he trusted there was a good reason for her disobedience.

If he could, he would shield her from this day. It hadn’t been long ago that he’d been shunned, and he would do anything to protect Betsy from its pain. But there was nothing to be done. The Bishop would have his way, and Betsy would talk when she was ready.

Though he could not shield her, he could stand beside her. When the Bishop announced—and all the members agreed about—the six week shunning followed by the kneeling confession, Eli asked to be included in his wife’s shunning. The Bishop looked ready to refuse, but Deacon Miller quickly nodded in assent.

So Eli and Betsy left before the noon meal, their first day as a shunned couple.

****************************************************************

Despite Eli’s determination against silence, it was an imposing presence in their home. Betsy felt so much guilt over putting Eli through a shunning—again—that she could barely look at him, let alone speak to him. She threw herself into cleaning and cooking and baking, vowing to make it up to him.

They had apple pie for lunch, shoo fly pie for supper, and she even scrimped at WalMart so that she could afford to buy his favorite pizza from Domino’s for supper twice a week. The house was so clean, that even her Mama would have approved—if her Mama would visit. The Dawdi house was less than fifty yards from the main house, but it may have well been fifty miles. They’d arrived back from their trip without a word to them, and not a word since.

She’d expected no less, but it still hurt. The Bishop had read the expected bible passages that reminded the members the importance of shunning, and she knew her Dat took such things to heart. She could hardly blame him. He was an upstanding man, a little inflexible in his ways, but he only wanted to obey his God, his church, and help maintain their community.

The afternoons were so quiet, with Eli working late and no one dropping by for the daily visits which were a constant in the People’s life. The members had been instructed to set their hearts to bringing the shunned couple back to the Ordnung by shutting them out with silence, so that the ‘weeds’ of sin would not take root in the community. Eli could not trade a day’s labor with his neighbors, so he was working extra hard to make up for it.

Betsy wished she had a few boys to help with the labor. She would ask Jack for help, but she was afraid of visiting her sister. The company would be nice, but she didn’t want to do anything that would cause the members to talk and to doubt her readiness to be accepted back into the church.

She was grateful that today was off-Sunday. They could sit at home and rest, and although it would be lonely without the visiting and talking with family, she knew that Eli needed some rest. She wondered if Bishop Miller would stop by to check in with them. She hoped it would be Deacon Miller, if anyone. Though he would be there to admonish her, she would be grateful to talk to someone.

Eli, on the other hand, would just be grateful to talk to his wife. She was working herself into exhaustion every day. He knew by the way she avoided his eyes and made all his favorites that she was beating herself up inside with guilt. He’d hoped and waited until she was ready to come to him, but after three weeks of it, he was thinking that he’d better help make her ready.

When he walked in from the barn, she turned away from him, pretending the soup needed stirring. Potato soup was good for the cold, spring mornings, and he was happy to see that she had some hot chocolate steaming, too. He saw her hand swipe up over her face, and knew she was wiping away a tear.

“Betsy Yoder, you’re makin’ yourself miserable with this guilt. What happened with Mary that night, and why did you refuse to tell the Bishop?”

He watched her shoulders hunch and her head bow, and decided he would have no more of this. He walked forward and put both his hands on her shoulders.

“We’ve talked about answering my questions before, and answering with a false answer is not an acceptable answer.”

She sniffled a little, but when she made no response, he decided to go get the paddle. He didn’t really know whether he would use it, but she needed to get out of the unhappiness that she was stuck in at the moment.

“Eli, please …” she said, as she saw his strides towards the pantry.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to see you miserable, Betsy. This is just a sample of the spanking you’re going to get for not answering my question truthfully. We have discussed this issue time and again, and if I’m not getting’ through to you, then I’m not being emphatic enough.”

She clamped her mouth shut and nervously fingered her apron. He hardly ever spanked her “on the spot,” and as sad as she already felt, she just burst into tears.

He let her cry, pulling her apron and dress up and quickly baring her bottom. She stood looking out the kitchen window in consternation as he was about to paddle her. One mighty swat cracked across her bottom and she immediately crumpled into sobs.

“Upstairs, we’re going to talk.”

Grateful that he was putting the paddle away, she practically ran upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed, tracing the tiny quilt stitching nervously. He clomped up the steps in his heavy boots and settled himself into the rocking chair, holding his arms out. She crawled onto his lap, letting him cradle her much like a baby. He reached up under her dress and rubbed her bottom as he talked.

“I can’t fix something I don’t know about, and I’ve told you over and over that if I ask a question, I need an honest answer.”

She leaned her head on his chest, calmed by the rocking motion and soothed by his embrace. “I know, Eli. But I didn’t know what I should tell, what I shouldn’t, to keep you from being blamed.”

“Tell me everything, Betsy. I am responsible for you, and I will accept any blame that might come your way.”

She looked up at his wide, strong shoulders and believed that he could carry the weight of anything on his shoulders. It warmed her heart, that he could protect and share her pain. That he would.

So she leaned against his chest again, and told him the whole story: how the Bishop hurt his wife, that Mary wanted to leave because of it, and why she had helped Mary escape in the middle of the night. Eli said nothing the entire time that she talked, just stroked her hair and made soothing noises with his voice.

When she finally finished, he sat in silence, processing all that she had said. “I am your husband.” He talked in soft, low tones that relaxed her against him. He was hurt that she hadn’t trusted him with this, that she had assumed that he would act just as her father had. “I am not your Dat, ain’t so?”

“No, Eli.”

They rocked for a minute or two more in silence, while Eli tried to think of what had made her fail to trust him, to come to him with all of this.

“Is there anything else wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe. It’s silly, Eli, I just need to get back to work.”

Eli held her close as she tried to get up. It may have been the way of the People to solve such problems with work, but he thought a good talk might help them get to the solution better. She was always such a sensitive girl, eager to please and sometimes even too obedient, though he wouldn’t ever let her know that in so many words.

“With the Shunning, things have been so busy, and we spend so little time together.” She buried her head in his chest as if he would punish her for her feelings. “I feel lonely, even though I know I’m supposed to,” she trailed off and tried to get up again.

He held her tight and rocked her, thinking of what would be best for her. It hurt him to see her unhappy, and made him feel a failure to think of her feeling lonely, even while he was around all the time. An idea began to form, and he stood her up.

“Take off your clothes.”

He watched her look quickly out the window, gnawing her lip. She then looked towards the nightstand nervously, before finally looking to him and choosing to obey him. He felt a rush of affection at her obedience, which turned into desire quickly when she stripped. Her body was sweet and smooth, with long, lean muscles and just the right amount of plumpness in her hips and bottom. He gestured towards the bed and waited for her to bend over it, as he often told her to do before he punished her.

He knew she expected to be spanked, and he hadn’t really decided whether or not he would give her one. No doubt the crying would do her good, as well as the attention, but he did have to get out to the barn soon.

He pulled open the drawer and surveyed its contents. Two packages of suppositories — one containing aspirin for fevers, and one for going to the outhouse. There was the hairbrush that she hated — and loved, when he would brush her long, pretty hair with soothing strokes. He always kept a jar of Vaseline, for both the thermometer and anything else that might need lubricating so that she would be comfortable. He had thrown in a pocket knife just a week or so ago, in case he wanted to use some ginger. Finally, an enema kit lay in the back, which he had never used on her.

“Do we have any ginger in the pantry?”

She squeaked something intelligible that he knew was a yes, and quickly ran down to get the root.

She waited nervously in the silence, fighting the desire to get up and cover herself. He knew she hated being exposed like this, and yet she felt relieved every bit as much as she felt nervous. Even while she felt better for the hug and cuddle, guilt overcame her. There was so much work to be done, and here she was feeling sad. What use was that?

She almost hoped that he’d fetch that awful paddle while he was at it and make her cry away that guilt. What kind of wife was she, making her husband take a shunning because of her choices? Her Mama was probably aghast.

When he returned she practically held her breath. She kept her eyes closed and tried not to listen … but she could hear every scrape of that knife peeling the ginger. She imagined him shaping it as he had before, wide, then small, then wider still, with its tiny two inch rod to torture her most intimate skin.

“Next time, come to me. We’re partners, and if you’re having trouble, I need to know.” Since it was punishment, he didn’t pave the way with Vaseline. Instead, she felt the moist and chilly root pressing into her bottom. She squeezed her eyes tighter and tried to ignore the invading sensations that quickly turned from mortifying to burning.

She immediately began to wiggle and think about how she could get out of his, and nearly jumped when he put a hand to her back.

“Stay still, Betsy. I want you to submit to this.”

She huffed at him and tried to focus her mind anywhere other than the pain. He had other ideas in mind, because she suddenly felt the cold back of the brush resting against her bottom. The tears started to pour then, and she couldn’t help but wiggle.

“You remember the rule, Betsy. The hairbrush smacks here until you submit and still.”

She braced herself against the bites to her upper thighs, trying with all her might to stay still. It was a fruitless endeavor, as the brush’s bites became more and more wicked. She clenched her fists and gathered up all her willpower, relieved when the hairbrush returned to smack her bottom.

It was only then that she relaxed, and finally submitted. She was so relieved that it almost felt good — except that it hurt! Every burning smack opened her heart just a little, until her very core was open and vulnerable. Sadness and guilt poured out in sobs that washed her heart clean of hurt, almost as if every hurt in her bottom took away one from her heart.

And after he removed the burning ginger from her bottom and gathered her into his arms, he rocked her until they both fell asleep, a peaceful Sunday amidst a month of worries.

Chapter Nine

When Betsy lay in the deep darkness of early morning before sunrise, preparing herself for the kneeling confession, she couldn’t have imagined the way things would turn out. She had dozed in and out of sleep all night, schooling herself on humility and preparing what she would say. She hoped the Bishop wouldn’t publicly question her about her confession, but she expected he would.

They had considered leaving, briefly. Eli had wrapped his arms around her and told her that if she wanted to leave their Amish ways, he would support her. When she thought of the Bishop questioning her, accusing her of leading his daughter astray, it was easy to imagine leaving.

When she thought of Dat and Mama, she couldn’t bear to leave. Not her parents, not her cousins and aunts and uncles. She couldn’t imagine life without the big Sunday noon meal, where the whole community ate together. She couldn’t imagine life without the constant visiting, the quilting with her Aunts and cousins, and the way the whole community would gather to help a neighbor in need.

She couldn’t bear to think of raising her children without the support and participation of the community, out in the cold, fast and lonely world.

And yet, to confess to sin she hadn’t done was a sin in itself. She poked at Eli, too distressed to feel guilty at waking him.

“Eli, confessing would also be a sin, a lie, ain’t so?” Her voice broke over her last words, and she covered her face with her hands.

He made a warm, grumbling sound that sounded grumpy at being awoken, but she knew was meant to comfort her. He pulled her into his chest so that they were spooning, and she stared out the window at the stars as they talked.

“It’s not a lie if you stick to the truth. You did lead Mary away from the church, physically — the why doesn’t need to be mentioned, nor do you need to accept responsibility for leading her away, spiritually, if you choose your words right.”

She thought about that for awhile, thought about how she could speak so that she wouldn’t be lying, but would be confessing well enough to receive the Bishop’s wife’s “holy” kiss and be welcomed back into the church as a full member.

“It feels wrong inside, Eli.”

Now he was silent for a moment. “I can’t make the decision for you. You know the way things work, right or wrong, they are our facts of life. If you don’t confess, if you contradict the Bishop, it’s very likely that we will be excommunicated.”

Just the word brought tears to her eyes. “Why is this decision mine alone? What I do will affect you! What about your family?”

He petted her hair. “Because my family will speak to me, no matter what. And because how you answer the Bishop is between you and God alone.”

They’d been through this before, and she knew that he was right. If she was going to be honest, then she should have gone to Deacon Miller well before today. As it was, she had practically made the decision by her indecision.

She had a feeling she had made the wrong decision. She could feel it gnawing at the pit of her stomach, sharp bites of regret, the slow burn of guilt. And a healthy buzzing of fear for the public confession she knew she was going to make.

Eli started snoring softly beside her, angering her that he could sleep so peacefully, while her world was closing in on her. She immediately felt guilty for being so selfish. Today would come, whether he or she slept or not.

Later, while the Bishop about confessions, sin, and the power of community to guide one another, Betsy was glad that she had found the peace within to sleep a little more. She was nervous, downright trembling in the pew beside the minister’s pew. Eli sat next to her, giving her looks of encouragement every now and then.

In the end, she made no true decision about her confession, but left the whole matter up to her faith. Her trembling stopped, and for the first time she realized how Eli worried about her — he huffed out a breath and his shoulder dropped a full inch in relief when she finally settled.

He was worried about her. Eli watched her come to the front of the room when the Bishop called her, and tried not to burst into tears. She looked so lovely and fragile, even though he knew her hearty muscles could work from dusk to dawn without a single complaint. She’d worn royal blue with a black cape and apron. Her white kapp signaled her married status in church, and she had pressed the pleats in extra carefully for today’s service.

He gripped his hands on the wooden bench, forcing himself to stay seated as she kneeled by the stern Bishop. It was her choice and her will, and no matter how much he wanted to rescue her from this situation, it was not do her any good. He glanced over at Ruben, her Dat, and noticed his eyes were shining with tears.

For a moment, their eyes met. Eli braced himself for her Dat’s hostility or anger, but Ruben merely dropped his gaze and swiped at a tear.

Her soft voice echoed through the house whose partitions had been removed in preparation for the church service. Most members kept their eyes cast down, the whole event of a public, kneeling confession a reminder for everyone to obey the church’s authority.

“I confess to having failed in my obedience. I want to go in peace with God and the church, and do better.”

Eli tried to unlock his jaw, and glad that his beard covered most of his frown. He bowed his head and covered one hand over his face, in the accepted gesture of one in his position. It was meant to show shame, remorse, and humility—he really only covered his face to hide his anger.

The Bishop’s voice was hard and low, with a sharp edge. “Do you confess to leading Mary away from the church, advising her to leave our People, to disobey her parents?”

Betsy’s voice caught in her throat. She wanted to cry out that she had done everything possible to convince Mary to stay. Instead, she opened her mouth and evaded his question. “I confess that I helped Mary get a ride into town and away from her family.”

She took a deep breath. She’d said nothing false so far, and had answered humbly to everything. She glanced up at the Bishop, and suddenly knew that evading his questions was not going to work.

His head dipped as if to acknowledge her evasion, and then revised his question so that she couldn’t evade. “Do you confess to counselling Mary to leave our People?”

She gnawed on her lip, feeling the weight of his question. If she said yes, it would be a lie. If she said no and contradicted the Bishop, she would face certain excommunication. She looked up to Eli. His brown eyes looked wounded, and his hands had dropped to his side. He returned her gaze and nodded.

She didn’t know what he nodded for, whether to tell her to go ahead and confess or go ahead and speak the truth. But suddenly felt certain, either way, that he would be there and protect her.

“No,” she said, surprised that she said it. “I wanted Mary to stay, so that our children could grow up together, be scholars together, and play together.” A tear rolled down her face. “I wanted Mary to be my sister, quilting next to me when we made our daughters’ wedding quilt, working and baking next to me during work frolics.” She wiped a tear off her face and looked up at the Bishop. “Mary held her own counsel, and—” she looked at the Bishop’s wife and clamped her mouth shut. She had said too much already, and it was not her place to point fingers at the Bishop.

The Bishop looked angry enough to spit. “Do you confess to counselling her to disobey her parents?”

Betsy took a deep breath and remained silent. In the end, she had encouraged Mary to leave her family. It angered her that the Bishop blamed her for his own wrongdoing. “I felt she was in danger of cracking a rib or breaking an arm.”

She put a hand over her face in shock at her words and stood up. She hadn’t meant to say that. The members gasped and all eyes turned to the Bishop’s wife, whose arm was still in a sling. Her Dat was shaking his head, wiping tears from his face, and her Mama’s face was hidden by her hands. She looked to her cousins, aunts and uncles, looking around the room at the members who had been her family all of her life. Some looked angry, some shook their head, and the Bishop’s wife was sourly pointing her finger and whispering to her neighbor.

She suddenly felt so alone up there. Rather than being surrounded by a community eager to welcome her back, she felt ostracized, and put on display for her wrongdoings. She took one desperate look towards Eli, and her face crumpled.

She took a blind step towards him, her vision clouded by tears and the sobs working at her throat. She stumbled in the blurry haze, and collapsed in relief in the two strong arms that were surely his. He wrapped those arms around her for a second, giving her strength, and then guided her out and to the buggy.

Eli was the first to speak, after Betsy stopped crying. “All this silence, and what do we get?” He shook his head.

Betsy sobbed again. “But I want to stay! I want everything to go back to normal!”

Eli patted her arm and shook his head as the buggy jostled over a bump in the road. The horse whinnied and picked up his pace at Eli’s urging.

When they arrived home, Betsy prepared a small meal and they ate in silence, holding hands. It was an awkward way to eat, with her left hand, but Betsy needed his reassuring touch. They didn’t know when the knock would come, but they expected to see one of the ministers soon to inform them of their excommunication.

Betsy prayed for sooner rather than later, but the knock didn’t come until late at night, when they were ready to just go to bed. Eli stood to let in Deacon Miller and Betsy wished she had his quiet resolve, his strong back at facing what certainly would be one of her worst memories.

If she could choose, she would have chosen the Bishop himself to give them the news — at least she could feel angry with him. But Deacon Miller was fair and kind and it only made her sad to have to bear these tidings from him.

She felt guilty for having given him cause to bring this news.

The Deacon wiped a hand over his face. “With Counsel Meeting in only two weeks, we have a problem.”

Betsy couldn’t imagine what it was. Counsel Meeting was and all day worship service and member’s meeting for members only—no children or young people—to make sure that the community was in harmony with one another and uniformly accepting of the Ordnung. When the ministers take the voice of the church, asking each member if they are agreed, everyone must answer yes so that the community can proceed with communion the next church Sunday.

If they were to be excommunicated, there would be no problem, unless some members felt strongly against their excommunication. A surge of hope bubbled in her heart, and she looked to Eli.

He seemed as puzzled as her. “What problem?”

“It seems the members are not in agreement over … your excommunication.”

Betsy winced at the words that suddenly made it sound so real and final, and burst into tears. She shuddered and looked to Eli, and swallowed hard to keep from crying outright.

Her husband sat calmly, his face expressionless as he asked, “Why are you here?”

“The Bishop and his wife, Ruth, claim that you have not spoken the truth.” He put a hand up to stop her from speaking when she would have defended herself. “And yet your mother and Ruth’s sister have both spoken up with claims of having seen proof. The Bishop and his family left after that.”

Betsy’s head snapped up. “Left?”

Deacon Miller nodded gravely. “Left the meeting. I spoke with him briefly, only for him to tell me that he needed to pray.”

Betsy shook her head in confusion. “What can we do?”

The Deacon sighed and gestured helplessly for the first time. Never had he looked so uncertain. “I just want to see this worked out before the Counsel Meeting.”

Her husband spoke up. “Are we …” he looked to his wife, leaving his question unfinished.

“The members could not reach an agreement.”

Betsy stared down at her hands. Part of her wished for the hope that she would not be excommunicated, but another part of her was appalled to think that she would be the cause of a split in the community. “I would not want to be the cause of this,” she said quietly.

She looked up at her husband. “Perhaps we should just leave, leave and let the community go on in peace.”

Eli frowned but sat silently, considering.

Deacon Miller put both his hands on the table. “Betsy, Eli, I have seen you grow up in the church, in the faith for your whole life. It is right that you should think of the community before yourself, but I do not think your leaving will allow the community to go on as if nothing had happened.” The Deacon’s eyes seemed to water, and Betsy wondered if he was going to cry.

For the first time, he looked at them with pleading eyes. “Please, stay, and … come to the Counsel Meeting, so that we can all work this out.”

Betsy dreaded the thought of going to another members’ meeting and making another confession. She knew that they would be upstairs while the members discussed their possible excommunication, but they would be there to hear it announced—if it was decided. The possibility was more than she could bear.

Eli stood. “Deacon Miller, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to think about attending the Counsel Meeting. Betsy has been through … enough.”

The Deacon nodded sadly and they walked him out, promising their prayers for peace in the community.

*****************************************************************

“Eli, please?” Eli started at her voice, so lost in thought about the problems in their community. He had barely slept after the Deacon had left. He shook off his tiredness and tried to greet his sweet wife with his full attention. He looked up at her pleading eyes and smiled, glad that there was a chance they could be reinstated as members. The paddle she held in her hands surprised him.

Her hands trembled slightly.

Eli frowned. “Have you done something you want to confess?”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Is there something you’ve done that I don’t know about?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Is there something you feel guilty about?”

She shook her head, and then nodded.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad inside. Guilty, but I don’t know why, but I feel so guilty, that I’m sure I did something wrong!”

Eli sighed and held out his arms so that she would come for a hug. “Schatzling, this is not your fault.” Betsy burst into sobs, shaking so hard within his arms that he squeezed tight, wishing with all his might that he could still her body and stop her pain. “This is not your fault,” he repeated.

She just cried and cried, and he rocked and rocked her. When her sobs quieted, he asked, “If you had to do it over again, what would you change?”

Betsy thought for a long time, knowing that she wouldn’t change helping Mary, wouldn’t even change what she said, except … “I would have gone to Deacon Miller about the Bishop before my confession, rather than announcing his situation publicly.”

“And what do you think would have happened then?”

She looked up at his grave, gentle eyes and sighed with relief at the love in them. “He either would have advised me to submit to the church, or he would have taken it to the Bishop, and …” she trailed off and shook her head.

Eli finished for her. “The matter would have been brought up in public and we would still be where we are.” He wiped the last of her tears away. “Please stop torturing yourself inside over this. What will be done, will be done. It’s out of your hands now, Betsy.”

She wrung her hands. “But I feel so bad!”

Eli shook his head at her distraught face and suddenly realized that no amount of reasoning was going to get her over her feelings of guilt. They were just going to tear her up inside, until she made herself sick and miserable. He couldn’t bear to just stand by and watch that.

“Betsy, I won’t allow you to continue to beat yourself up inside about this.” He hadn’t meant to make his voice so hard and cutting, but truth be told, he was bothered by her self-inflicted pain.

“I can’t help it!” she cried.

He nodded. “Go get me the paddle, and then get over here.”

He watched the shock pass over her face, and then the wide-eyed look of scared wonder she always gave him when she was in trouble. Within seconds, her eyes dropped to the floor and her face took on that special look of vulnerable submission.

She obeyed him slowly, handing the paddle to him reluctantly, even though she had asked him for a spanking only a little while ago.

“Denke, Schatzling.” Her wide eyes looked up at him in surprise at his thanks. “I feel like you’re not hearin’ me, Betsy-girl.”

When she started to respond, he put a finger to her lips. He turned her around, and slowly began undressing her. As he removed her clothing, she began trembling more and more. He wondered if it was nerves or the chill of the spring morning. When he saw the goosebumps on her legs and arms, he rubbed her quickly to warm her up a little.

After she was completely naked, he stood her in front of him. She lifted her hands to hold her arms, but he gently guided them down by her side. She looked a little lost and lonely, standing before him, with the guiltiest of expressions on her face.

“This all is not your fault. If anyone’s, it is the Bishop’s.”

She nodded shyly, unable to look at him.

“And I will not tolerate any more of this self-inflicted guilt tearing you up inside. You will not blame yourself, no matter what happens in the next few weeks. It’s not your fault,” he repeated. He picked up the paddle that he’d laid beside him and pointed it at her. “And this is going to be a lesson that will help you remember that.”

The paddle looked so big compared to her skinny, white form. He held his hand out to her, beckoning her over his lap. She walked to him slowly, tears already starting to bubble above her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Eli, I just can’t stop feelin’ so bad inside.” Guilt and sadness and regret were swirling in her, and she couldn’t make them go away, not even out of obedience to her husband. She bent over his knee, not sure whether she felt relief or dread at the impending paddling.

Dread, she decided, as soon as he locked one of his heavy legs over the both of her lanky legs. She wiggled a little forward to see if she could get away, and felt a quick surge of panic when she realized she was stuck, and about to be paddled with enough bruising pain to make her cry out. She braced her hands on the floor and tried to crawl forward again, only to feel the cold wood of the paddle rest across her bottom.

She stilled.

“Are you done yet?” Eli’s voice sounded patient and slightly amused.

“No, Eli! I’m scared, it’s gonna hurt!” And she knew it was. Even as much as she told herself that it would be over soon enough, and she would feel better inside for having been paddled, she couldn’t bring herself to relax and just let it happen.

He reached into the drawer and pulled out the Vaseline, as well as a new addition to his collection—a plastic tube he’d picked up at WalMart, about six inches long and a half inch thick. He slathered it with Vaseline and knew exactly how to get her in the right frame of mind.

“You have two choices, ask me for your paddling or hold your cheeks open.”

She whimpered, but chose exactly what he thought she would choose. Two nervous hands reached back and opened herself, ever so slightly. She squeaked when she felt the smooth tip push at her back entrance, and her breath caught when it started working in and out of her bottom. It twisted in, pulled out, then pushed in deep, and slowly twisted out.

He continued, not saying anything until he saw her legs relax. He couldn’t say she was enjoying it, not with the way her face and neck were burning red with embarrassment, but she was turned on. Most importantly, she’d settled and seemed ready to accept whatever he gave her. Just to be sure, he pushed the tube in and out quickly several times, until she was gasping for breath.

“I am the husband, and you are the wife,” he stated, twisting the rod in deep, slow circles. “When I pick up the paddle to punish you, you will not try to run away. You will not tense up back here and try to fight away the pain.” He pushed the rod in deep and turned it slowly, back and forth, up and down, so that she couldn’t hide feelings of his control for a single second. “You will keep your bottom open and relaxed as it is now. If I see that you need pain for whatever reason, you will not fight it.”

Then he pulled out the tube and set it to the side, then picked up the paddle.

She knew what was coming, and dropped her hands back to the floor. She didn’t feel like fighting it this time, her bottom feeling so loose and open. She ducked her head to think of what she must have looked like, that thing going in and out of her bottom.

And then the paddle cracked across her bottom.

Chapter Ten

Betsy had never screamed during a spanking before, but the paddle was cracking unmercifully across her bottom over and over, no stops for breaths or rubs or reassurances. It was pain over and over, crashing waves of blazing fire ripping off her skin. The paddle was the most unforgiving pain she’d ever felt, and it was made worse by the mortifying way in which his hand would periodically adjust her.

She felt his hand on one leg, pulling it away from the other, only to feel the paddle cracking across the top of her other leg. He repeated on both sides, and then split apart her bottom cheeks, spreading her so that the paddle could bite into the most tender of places on her bottom.

She’d reminded herself that the paddling would end, and it would be bearable as it always was, no matter how unbearable it felt during. But this time she was sure she was wrong. The paddle kept cracking over and over and over, and she could only cry out little screams with each stroke, until she was bawling so hard that she had to take deep, gasping breaths.

His paddle kept blistering her, not pausing at all at her struggled. Not relenting an inch until the firestorm on her bottom matched the pain in her heart. And then her sobs became distraught and terrible gasps of pain, as she bawled out every last drop of guilt, shame, and sadness in her heart.

Afterwards, she would wonder at the profoundness of the paddling, the strange, harsh magic it had worked to ease her heart and soothe her pain. But now, when she realized he had stopped spanking her, she crawled up onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing hard and crying.

Eli rubbed her back, kissed her nose, and carried her over to the bed. They faced each other in a hug, and Eli felt a stirring of worry in his own heart. Had he been too harsh? He fretted as her eyelashes stuck together from her tears.

He’d watched her over the months of their marriage, and he’d thought long and careful about what she needed when she had done something wrong. When he’d told her to hand him the paddle, he’d been certain that he was doing the right thing.

But staring at her tearful face, hearing her still hiccupping softly now and then as her sobs evaporated, he couldn’t help but worry. He couldn’t help but think of the Bishop, think of whether or not that harsh paddling had been abuse. He thought no, in his mind. After all, it had been no harsher than some of the spanking he’d had as a kid.

His heart twisted at the thought of hurting her, or worse, breaking her. She was every bit the treasure he called her, and he would do anything to keep her safe from the misery and sorrow she’d felt the past six weeks.

He worried so much that he didn’t hear that soft, contented sigh that escaped her lips after the last vestiges of grief left her heart. He didn’t see the moment when her lips let go of their sad frown and turned up into a small smile of peace. He just looked down at his little wife, almost asleep in his arms, and felt a rush of relief at the way she was resting happily and peacefully for the first time in weeks.

All worry vanished, and he thanked God that he had done the right thing. And right after he felt thankfulness rush into his heart, he chided himself for not having done it sooner.

*******************************************************************

The paddling had changed something in her, for sure and for certain. Betsy knew because she felt no anguish at the thought of the Counsel Meeting that was happening that very day. Even after the last little bit of soreness had faded, she felt a peace inside her heart.

She missed the soreness in her bottom, though. She could hardly believe it, as much as she would do anything not to get paddled like that again, ever, she pined for that aching reminder that someone loved and cared for her. That someone would give her anything she needed, and take the weight of the world off of her shoulders when she needed help, was like the warm comfort of the sun wrapped around her heart.

She and Eli had spent most of the day in silence, and she knew he had spent much of that time praying. The fact that he was worried made her feel like she didn’t have to, although she made his new favorite pie—caramel apple, from a recipe she’d come up with on a whim while wishing for caramel apples. He loved it even now, as she watched him heartily eat two pieces and fondly looking at the pie for a third.

“I wish I could,” he said, patting his stomach.

Betsy smiled, saying nothing. She looked at her watch and sighed. Counsel Meeting was an all day affair, and Deacon Miller would probably not come until after nine again. They moved into the front parlor, rocking in their respective rocking chairs. She knitted a baby blanket for the baby cousin Sarah was expecting, glancing out the window every now and then.

Eli read through Family Life, the magazine published for the Amish about current events, advice, and articles on their faith. He too glanced out the window often, but also at his wife. He wanted her to be happy. He kept reminding himself to keep faith and trust, but he was still worried. Something like this could be debated in the church for months without resolution—he prayed that this time it would not be so.

They finally heard a buggy coming up the lane. They both put down their busywork and stood up, giving each other a hug. By the time that Deacon Miller had tied up his horse, they were waiting at the door to welcome him in.

They both breathed a sigh of relief when he smiled.

“The bann has been lifted.”

Even Eli broke into a broad smile, and he didn’t often smile, despite his tender heart and loving ways. Betsy gnawed at her lip.

“What of the Bishop?”

A shadow passed over Deacon Miller’s face. “He has left, left for good.”

Eli frowned. “A Bishop just can’t leave his district. What about his family?”

Deacon Miller shook his head sadly. “They are grieving, but staying. A new Bishop will be chosen by lot before the communion.”

Betsy wrung her hands. “Are all members in agreement?”

The Deacon nodded, and she saw suddenly how tired and haggard he looked.

“Thank you, Deacon, ever so much.” She didn’t say that she would pray that he would end up the Bishop, but after he left, she told Eli as much. He was fair and kind and good, and the district would need such a leader after the Bishop’s desertion.

After the announcement at the Counsel Meeting, cousins, aunts and uncles came to visit in droves after the bann had been lifted. Some awkwardly said nothing of the whole affair, while many expressed concern for the Bishop and sorrow at Betsy’s bann.

She was thankful that help for the spring planting came in abundance. Many offers, she knew, came out of regret for their shunning, but she was only relieved and thankful. She would have had to bake extra pies for all the visitors in the next month, if it weren’t for the fact that the woman brought pies, cookies, and casseroles.

The community was so happy that Deacon Miller had been chosen by lot to be Bishop. She suspected that he had done quite a bit of visiting himself to mend fences and soothe over rough feelings. He was known as the “new” Bishop Miller, and she suspected he would be the “new” Bishop Miller for as long as the old Bishop remained in their memories.

She often felt guilty, with so many things in her life to be thankful for, that she still grieved for Mary and missed Ellie. With the shunning so fresh in her memory, she hesitated to visit. Her Dat had made no mention of Ellie, though he had been warm enough to both her and Eli. He had even apologized for shunning them, and told them that her Mama had begged to go visit, despite the Bishop’s decree.

She wanted to go to the new Bishop Miller, and ask for his guidance, but she waited until his new burden could ease a little. Without telling Eli her intentions, she baked a rhubarb pie and took it over to his wife.

“You have my sympathies, Leah,” Betsy smiled and handed her the pie. “If there’s anything Eli or I can do to help out, please let us know.” A new minister or bishop was often offered condolences for the heavy burden of their office.

“I know he regrets what your family has been through, Leah.”

Betsy looked at Leah and appreciated her candor. Leah was one of the kindest women she had ever known, and after all the awkward mentions or purpose not-mentions of her recent shunning, she felt warmth from those simple, heartfelt words.

“And I regret that I did not come to your husband sooner, rather than speak out in public.” She cast her eyes down guiltily and quickly changed the subject. “I came hoping that I could speak to the Bishop about a little thing, when it would be least a bother.”

Leah smiled at Betsy and poured them some sun tea. “We could have no children, Betsy. John is grateful that God has given him a way to serve his community, and he carries the burden of Bishop with a grateful heart.”

Betsy nodded, wanting to say what a great leader she thought he was, but kept silent. Compliments and their Amish values of humbleness didn’t sit well together.

When the new Bishop Miller came in from the fields, he took her out to the swing on the front porch. “How are things with you, Betsy?”

She suddenly felt shy and nervous, squeezing her hands together to keep from picking at her dress. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you first, about the Bishop.”

He said nothing for awhile, and the swing creaked now and then to interrupt the silence while the sun set over the horizon. “It would have been wiser, but I am not sure that things would have turned out the way they did, if you had.”

Betsy stared down at the porch floor, scuffing the toe of her shoe at the cracks between the boards. “Well, I had another problem.”

And so she spilled out the whole story about Ephraim, Ellie and Dat, and how she wanted so much to visit her sister. She fisted a hand to wipe away her tears and looked up at him.

“I’m not asking you to do anything, I’m just looking for … guidance.”

The Bishop nodded. “Betsy, Ellie is not under the bann. However, I think you are worried because you know, deep in your heart, that visiting her would dishonor your father’s wishes.”

She sniffled and nodded, knowing that he was right.

“Perhaps I will talk to him—” when she looked up in hope, he shook his head. “If it seems right. But I can only advise you that the God commands us to honor our father and mother, not our sister.”

Betsy took a deep breath and thanked him, her heavy heart telling her that he was right.

*****************************************************************

Eli observed Betsy’s Dat brushing down the horse, and picked up a pitchfork to muck out the stalls. He thought long as he sifted through the hay, before he put the pitchfork aside and stood before Ruben.

“God has blessed us, for sure and for certain, that Betsy and I can farm and bring our children up in the old ways.”

Ruben nodded, keeping his hands busy tending the huge workhorse.

“I am grateful that you retired early, and it is an example I will follow for my own children.”

Ruben grunted, distinctly uncomfortable with Eli’s words. Eli expected no less — humbleness is one of the most cherished qualities in their community. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Betsy is mourning her sister.” Eli ignored the fact that Ruben’s head snapped up, eyes sharp and stubborn. “And she’s conflicted between her desire to obey you and honor you, and her desire to see her sister. She’s conflicted between obeying her husband and her father.”

Ruben dropped the curry brush to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, silently angry.

Eli spoke with as much respect as he could to his elder, praying that he wouldn’t anger Ruben into going to the Bishop again. But no matter his concerns, he had to see to his wife’s happiness. “She needs to see her sister, but she doesn’t want to dishonor your edict that Ellie never step foot on this farm again.”

Ruben turned his back on Eli.

“Ruben, Ellie is a good member of her community and of her church. Further silence is not going to cause her to come back to our Amish ways, and they certainly will not make Ephraim live again. It will only cause Betsy heartache and this family misery. I’ve invited Jack and Ellie over for supper on this off Sunday, and I hope that you and your wife will come.”

Eli stared helplessly at Ruben’s back, praying that his words had been heard and would take root in his heart. Betsy needed her sister, what with Mary yanked over and gone. But she couldn’t bear losing her father either.

She just bottled up all that misery in her heart, and rather than choosing, she made herself sick. He couldn’t allow that, so he’d chosen for her.

He only prayed that he’d chosen right.

****************************************************************

“But what about Dat? Does he know? What does he think?”

Eli had seen many emotions in her, but angry as a buzzing bee had never been one of them.

“How could you?!”

“I could because you’re my wife, and I made a promise to you.”

“But if I wanted to go visit my sister, I would.” She slammed down an iron skillet on the stove, causing him to wince at the noise. She turned on him. “Is Dat angry?”

Eli frowned. “He’s not happy.”

Betsy threw a pat of butter into the pan. “Just last week I went to the Bishop for advice and he counseled me that God commanded us to honor thy mother and father, not thy sister!” She pecked at the butter with a fork until it sizzled and then threw in sliced potatoes. “How could you do this without talking to me?”

She huffed and finally threw the fork into the pan and turned off the fire. Without a word to Eli, she went to bed.

Eli hoped she would cool off by morning, but she refused to speak to him. Whenever he asked her a question, she would just turn her back. It may have been the way of their People, yet they had agreed that it would not be the way of their family.

Ruben was no more on speaking terms with him than his daughter, and Eli considered that Betsy had been right. Still, he wanted to see his wife happy, so he went to visit Jack.

“If Ellie could, would want to, confess—apologize,” he corrected, “to her Dat, then perhaps …” he trailed off, looking thoughtfully towards Jack and Ellie’s house.

Jack smiled and patted him on the back. “She has said as much to me, since finding out the true reasons why her Dat had cut her out. Do you have hope that, with the new bishop, he will hear and accept her apology?”

Eli sighed. “Not a whole lot of hope, but if it’s ever going to happen ...” he trailed off and looked towards their land, towards his angry and hurting wife.

“She misses her family every bit as much as Ellie does,” Jack said. “I’ll talk to her.”

*******************************************************************

For his own peace of mind, he waited for Ruben or Jack to tell him how the apology worked out before addressing his wife’s use of silence against him. He fretted that he deserved it and had chosen wrongly, but then he reminded himself that they had both agreed that there would be no silence in their house.

She kept her distance even though he knew it hurt her. At night, when she thought he was asleep, she would cuddle up close to him, her eyes wet with tears. He ached to talk to her.

But he waited.

And after waiting for several days, Ruben came whistling into the barn—whistling. Eli looked up at him in astonishment to be shocked further at the broad smile on his face. “I’ve taken counsel with the new Bishop Miller, and Ellie’s been to see me—” Without warning, his happy face crumpled and he covered his hands over his face, turned, wiped at his eyes, and turned back to Eli. He dipped his head at his son in law. “We are a family again, we will come to dinner on Sunday.”

He waited even more, until their happy Sunday meal had come and gone, where the house filled with the laughter of Mama and the proud looks of Dat at his grandchildren. Eli and Jack talked farming, while Ellie and Betsy chattered almost non-stop after dinner. Mama reprimanded them as she used to when they were young, to ‘be quiet a moment so a body could hear somebody’ and they had all burst into laughter that seemed to go on until after the sun had set.

Finally, when Betsy finished the last of the dishes and went upstairs to join her husband in bed, she knew instantly that he was going to spank her.

“I’m sorry, Eli,” she said as soon as she saw the hairbrush in his hand. “You were right.”

Eli frowned. “No, you were right. Although what I did may have resulted in a happy ending, I should have talked with you first.” She cocked her head at him like a puzzled cat. “Come here,” he called softly.

She went to him immediately, the knot in her stomach not fooled for an instant that there was any possibility that she would be getting out of a spanking.

“Why am I going to spank you?”

Betsy’s breath caught in her throat and she felt so remorseful that she kissed him on the mouth. “Eli, I am so sorry for bein’ silent against you. You have never been so with me, and we promised each other.”

The spanking wasn’t near as harsh as her last had been, but that didn’t make the bruising brush feel any less painful. As always, he spanked her until she—and her bottom—would remember for a good week, and until the guilt had been washed away with tears. Until she fell asleep in his arms happy and loved and peaceful.

The next morning, Betsy took a moment from her chores to sit down and rest her hands on her stomach. She wasn’t sure yet, but she suspected that she might be growing a new life within her. Life was a great big circle, and she was lucky that she would raise her own family in the same house that she had grown up in. They would know and learn from their grossmummi and grossvatti daily, as well as their Mama and Dat. They would know their cousins and neighbors, their Mennonite aunt and uncle. She looked out the window to watch Eli and her Dat working side by side in the fields.

If sometimes she missed her far-away friend, Mary, she could only give thanks for a wonderful husband, loving family, and caring community. For sure and for certain, she thought as she rubbed her sore bottom for the comfort it gave her, she could only say that she was blessed.

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