At length Amrie thought of an effectual means to save Mariann from this unhealthy desire to be alone. She proposed that Dami also should be taken into the house; but Brown Mariann opposed this so violently, that Amrie threatened herself to leave her alone. She also coaxed her so lovingly, and presented the advantages so clearly, that at length Mariann yielded, and gave in.
Dami, who had learnt wool-picking from Krappenzacher, sat now in the evening in the parents’ apartment, and at night when he and his sister slept in the store-room, they called to each other when they heard Mariann flitting from room to room, or talking in her sleep. Through the removal of Dami there came fresh vexation. He was altogether dissatisfied that he must pursue this miserable work, which was only fit, he said, for cripples. He wished to be a mason, and although Amrie opposed this desire, for she feared her brother would never persevere, Mariann encouraged him in the wish. She would have had all the young fellows become masons, so as to send them into foreign countries to inquire for her John.
She rarely went to church, but she loved to have her hymn-book borrowed when others were going. It was to her a peculiar satisfaction to have her hymn-book in church, especially when a stranger apprentice who was working in the village borrowed it for that purpose. It seemed to her that her John was praying in his own church, because the words were spoken and sung out of his own hymn-book, and Dami had to go twice to church every Sunday, to carry John’s hymn-book.
But although Mariann did not go to church, there was one solemnity at which she never failed to be present, whether in her own village or in the neighborhood. No funeral took place at which she was not present as a mourner; and even at the grave of a young child, she wept as violently as though she had been its mother, and yet on the way home she would be especially cheerful. This weeping appeared to be a real refreshment to her, for during the whole year she suffered so much silent sorrow, that she seemed thankful when tears came to her relief.
Were her neighbors then to be blamed for looking upon her as something unnatural, especially as they possessed a secret regarding her, upon which their lips were closed? Upon Amrie also fell a part of this avoidance, and in many houses where she offered help or sympathy, they suffered her to remark that they did not desire her presence. She did indeed display peculiarities, that appeared wonderful to all the village. She went barefoot through all except the very coldest winter. They thought she must possess some secret charm against sickness and death.
In Farmer Rodel’s house alone, was she willingly received, as he was her guardian. Dame Rodel, who had always taken her part, had promised that when she was grown up, she would take her into her service. This plan could not be carried out, because death first took her friend away. While many are so happy, as to feel in later life only the bitterness of existence, when one friend after another leaves us, and their memory only remains, Amrie learnt this in her early youth, and she wept more passionately at the funeral of the farmer’s wife, than any of her children or relatives.
The farmer, indeed, complained that he must now give up the estate, and yet, neither of his three children were married. But a year had scarcely passed (it was the second that Dami had worked in the stone quarry), when a double wedding took place in the village. Farmer Rodel celebrated the marriage of his eldest daughter, and of his only son. On the same day, he gave over the estate to his son. This double marriage was the cause of a new name, and another life to Amrie.
Upon the green enclosure, before the large dancing-hall, the children were collected, and while their elders danced and waltzed within, they imitated their example. Strange, no boy or girl would ask Amrie to dance. It was not known who first said it, but they heard a voice exclaim: “Nobody will dance with you, because you are barefoot.” “Barefoot! barefoot! barefoot!” they now shrieked from all sides. Amrie stood there; the tears rushed to her eyes, but quickly exerting that power by which she overcame both scorn and injury, she forced back her tears, and catching up her apron at both sides she danced by herself so gracefully and charmingly, that all the children stood still and held back. Soon the grown people nodded to each other around the door, and a circle of men and women formed themselves about Amrie, applauding her; especially Farmer Rodel, who, feeling at this time doubly excited, clapped his hands, and whistled the waltz, while the music within played louder and louder, and Amrie contrived to dance, and appeared to be insensible to weariness. At length, the music ceased, the farmer taking her by the hand said,—
“Thou flash of lightning, who then taught thee to dance?”
“No one.”