5 GELASSENHEIT
How could you feel all peaceful like and panicky at the same time?
That was how Hannah felt around Zephaniah Miller. Sometimes she wondered what made him stand out in her mind at all. In many ways he was like every other unmarried Amish boy she knew. He dressed in black pants, vest and shoes, a blue ‘button-up’ type shirt (that really didn’t use buttons), suspenders, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He lived on a farm with his family and worked from dawn to dusk most days. He went to church every other Sunday, drove a buggy instead of a car, didn’t go on dates, didn’t go to college (or even high school), and didn’t have any ambitions outside the expected Amish life.
So why am I attracted to him? Hannah wondered.
Zephaniah stood at about five feet seven, had brown hair that covered his ears, brown eyes—nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it’s because he simply pays attention to me, when no one else does. But why pay attention to me?
It was an off-Sunday (that meant there wasn’t church that day) in early September. A warm breeze scuttled dry, dead leaves of red, orange, yellow and brown into a clear afternoon sky of cornflower blue. Hannah sat in the wicker rocker on the front porch hand-stitching a quilt in her lap. Zephaniah, nearly eighteen years-old, sat on a stool not six feet away. He whittled at a small hunk of wood with an Old Timer that had been his grandfather’s before he’d passed away.
Zephaniah had been calling lately—well, calling more often—usually with some excuse to help around the place, but he’d always came around once in a while. After all, he lived just next door—which meant he was only about half a mile away, but still in the next district. Therefore, they’d not really grown up together—in the same school or church—but their families had long interacted with one another since they shared a fence line and both ran dairies. She and Zephaniah often mended fences together, chased stray cows, and shared thoughts—like today.
It was an off-Sunday (that meant there wasn’t church that day) in early September. A warm breeze scuttled dry, dead leaves of red, orange, yellow and brown into a clear afternoon sky of cornflower blue. Hannah sat in the wicker rocker on the front porch hand-stitching a quilt in her lap. Zephaniah, nearly eighteen years-old, sat on a stool not six feet away. He whittled at a small hunk of wood with an Old Timer that had been his grandfather’s before he’d passed away.
Zephaniah had been calling lately—well, calling more often—usually with some excuse to help around the place, but he’d always came around once in a while. After all, he lived just next door—which meant he was only about half a mile away, but still in the next district. Therefore, they’d not really grown up together—in the same school or church—but their families had long interacted with one another since they shared a fence line and both ran dairies. She and Zephaniah often mended fences together, chased stray cows, and shared thoughts—like today.
“The way I figure it,” said Zephaniah, “we’ve just pulled over off the highway. No one’s going anywhere important anyway, but they seem in an awful hurry to get there. We Amish, well, I guess we realized that, so we pulled over.”
“And stopped moving all together,” Hannah sneered.
“No, just moving at a slower pace, that’s all.”
“So we’re going the same direction? Nowhere important?”
“I didn’t say that. I think we’re moving in a different direction, too. Maybe headed somewhere…”
“Where?”
Zephaniah stopped whittling and looked up at Hannah with his dark eyes. He shook the penknife between his thumb and forefinger, “A place called Gelassenheit*.”
“Phwesh! I know that place.”
“Do you, Hannah?”
Hannah looked up from her work and stared at Zephaniah for a moment, thinking. Gelassenheit, calmness, composure, placidity, peace. Maybe. Well, sometimes, or maybe it’s just boredom.
“And stopped moving all together,” Hannah sneered.
“No, just moving at a slower pace, that’s all.”
“So we’re going the same direction? Nowhere important?”
“I didn’t say that. I think we’re moving in a different direction, too. Maybe headed somewhere…”
“Where?”
Zephaniah stopped whittling and looked up at Hannah with his dark eyes. He shook the penknife between his thumb and forefinger, “A place called Gelassenheit*.”
“Phwesh! I know that place.”
“Do you, Hannah?”
Hannah looked up from her work and stared at Zephaniah for a moment, thinking. Gelassenheit, calmness, composure, placidity, peace. Maybe. Well, sometimes, or maybe it’s just boredom.
“No, no I don’t,” she had to admit, “except when… No, I wish I did.”
“When? Except when what?”
“I, I can’t say. How about you Zeph? Do you feel at peace with…” she swept her hand toward the horizon, “with all of this?” Farms dotted the golden fields that lay shorn under the blue and white sky.
“I guess I do.” It was said matter-of-factly, no hesitancy, no question, no doubt.
“Why? Why!? How can you, when there’s so much to see, to learn, to do? There’s so much more than working day in and day out on the same parcel of real estate that was worked by your father, and your father’s father and his father before him. There are things to discover—new things, Zeph! And I want to know them.”
Zephaniah hung and shook his head, then, looking up he smiled at Hannah, tipping back his flat straw hat. “You and me, we’re different, Han. Well, you certainly are.”
“Is that, like, a compliment or a criticism?”
“Neither,” he answered, standing to his feet and folding the pocket knife shut, “I guess…I guess it’s just what I like about you, that’s all.” He slipped the knife into the pocket of his pants and stared at the toe of his shoe. “I got to be getting on, Han. Daed wants me to stack the cordwood before supper tonight.” He turned toward the steps.
“Wait!” she blurted. Too earnest. “Wait a moment,” she said softer. Zephaniah turned back toward her. “Zeph,” she said pausing, “sometimes I am at peace. It’s when you’re with me, but I…well, I don’t know if…” Oh! Why is this so hard to say? “I just don’t think I could, you know, be, be…”
“Married to me?” Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “Not what you were going to say. I’m, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m flattered, but, you’re right, that’s not what I was going to…”
“I do like you Hannah.”
“I like you too, it’s just that, well, I’m not sure I want to settle down. Here.”
“Yah, the Amish way, doesn’t set with you, does it?”
“I don’t think so.” She cocked her head.
“I figured as much.”
“It shows?” she said with mock disbelief.
Zephaniah laughed. “Yah, it shows.”
After an awkward pause, Hannah broke the silence, “I couldn’t think of a nicer man to marry though. You’ve always been kind to me.”
“Why, thank you. But, you are easy to like.” He walked toward her. Oh no, he’s going to kiss me, she thought, but, maybe that would be nice. But wasn’t that only for marriage? She didn’t want to appear loose, but then again she wondered what a kiss would be like. She’d never been kissed before. He extended his hand.
“This, this is for you Hannah.” She reached out and took the little carving and he closed her hand around it, held it a moment then turned and walked down the stairs turning back on the last step. “If you ever wish to talk, Hannah, I’m here for you. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Thank you Zeph.” He continued back to his buggy, climbed aboard and clicked for the horse to get along with the snap of the reins. Hannah watched him go off into the sunset toward his home and sighed. After a moment, she looked into her hand at the small figure he’d give her.
It was a car. She smiled and a tear formed in her eye.
“When? Except when what?”
“I, I can’t say. How about you Zeph? Do you feel at peace with…” she swept her hand toward the horizon, “with all of this?” Farms dotted the golden fields that lay shorn under the blue and white sky.
“I guess I do.” It was said matter-of-factly, no hesitancy, no question, no doubt.
“Why? Why!? How can you, when there’s so much to see, to learn, to do? There’s so much more than working day in and day out on the same parcel of real estate that was worked by your father, and your father’s father and his father before him. There are things to discover—new things, Zeph! And I want to know them.”
Zephaniah hung and shook his head, then, looking up he smiled at Hannah, tipping back his flat straw hat. “You and me, we’re different, Han. Well, you certainly are.”
“Is that, like, a compliment or a criticism?”
“Neither,” he answered, standing to his feet and folding the pocket knife shut, “I guess…I guess it’s just what I like about you, that’s all.” He slipped the knife into the pocket of his pants and stared at the toe of his shoe. “I got to be getting on, Han. Daed wants me to stack the cordwood before supper tonight.” He turned toward the steps.
“Wait!” she blurted. Too earnest. “Wait a moment,” she said softer. Zephaniah turned back toward her. “Zeph,” she said pausing, “sometimes I am at peace. It’s when you’re with me, but I…well, I don’t know if…” Oh! Why is this so hard to say? “I just don’t think I could, you know, be, be…”
“Married to me?” Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “Not what you were going to say. I’m, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m flattered, but, you’re right, that’s not what I was going to…”
“I do like you Hannah.”
“I like you too, it’s just that, well, I’m not sure I want to settle down. Here.”
“Yah, the Amish way, doesn’t set with you, does it?”
“I don’t think so.” She cocked her head.
“I figured as much.”
“It shows?” she said with mock disbelief.
Zephaniah laughed. “Yah, it shows.”
After an awkward pause, Hannah broke the silence, “I couldn’t think of a nicer man to marry though. You’ve always been kind to me.”
“Why, thank you. But, you are easy to like.” He walked toward her. Oh no, he’s going to kiss me, she thought, but, maybe that would be nice. But wasn’t that only for marriage? She didn’t want to appear loose, but then again she wondered what a kiss would be like. She’d never been kissed before. He extended his hand.
“This, this is for you Hannah.” She reached out and took the little carving and he closed her hand around it, held it a moment then turned and walked down the stairs turning back on the last step. “If you ever wish to talk, Hannah, I’m here for you. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Thank you Zeph.” He continued back to his buggy, climbed aboard and clicked for the horse to get along with the snap of the reins. Hannah watched him go off into the sunset toward his home and sighed. After a moment, she looked into her hand at the small figure he’d give her.
It was a car. She smiled and a tear formed in her eye.
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