by Sarah Price
She lowered her eyes and flushed, a demure reaction that Lizzie caught out of the corner of her eye when she handed her sister a cup of hot coffee. “I’m embarrassed that I have been a burden,” Jane responded, looking genuinely concerned and contrite. Clearly she was uncomfortable at having imposed on their hospitality, even if it was not something that she could control.
“Nee!” Charles countered quickly. “It’s been our pleasure!” He paused. For as uncomfortable as Jane appeared, Charles was clearly the opposite. If she felt that she presented an imposition, Charles saw her presence as anything but a burden. Yet he was having a hard time expressing such an emotion. “Ach,” he stumbled across his words. “Not that you were injured, but a more pleasant patient has never existed!”
“I dare say that is high praise and undeserved at that,” Jane replied modestly.
“When you do return to your daed’s farm, I shall have to come calling,” Charles said softly to Jane and just barely audible to Lizzie as she stood with her back toward them at the stove, cooking the morning eggs for breakfast. “To see how you fare,” he added.
She remained silent.
“But in the meantime, perhaps we can walk a bit outside in the fresh air,” he said. “To see how your ankle is holding up, ja?”
After breakfast Lizzie stood by the sink washing the breakfast dishes and watching out the window as Charles walked with her sister slowly up the lane. He held her arm, under the guise of assisting her, but Lizzie could tell that Jane was feeling much better. She was barely limping, at least not as much as the previous day. However, rather than resist the attention from Charles, Jane was glowing. Their heads were tipped together as they walked, talking to each other and occasionally laughing.
After the kitchen was cleaned, with still no sign of Carol Ann or George, Lizzie went outside to see about providing any assistance. Jane and Charles were returning from their walk, almost oblivious to Lizzie’s presence as she approached them. With an embarrassed laugh Jane looked away while Charles pointed down the road to show Lizzie where the group of men were gathered, working on two large trees that had fallen during the storm. There still were some electrical lines down, but an Englische truck was there, the yellow lights flashing on top of the vehicle as a man in khaki pants and a white short-sleeve shirt assessed the scene.
Five Amish men, including her daed, were working at removing a large tree. Lizzie remembered having seen it the day before when she and her daed had approached the Beachey farm. They had spent most of the day focused on helping clear the fallen trees from the Beachey farm, leaving the road cleanup to the Englische. But it was clear that the storm had taken down too many trees and lines for the cleanup to be addressed in one day. Now that the farms were taken care of, the Amish community would help their Englische neighbors.
Daed smiled at Lizzie as she approached. “This tree sure is a big one, ja?” he said. She shook her head, startled at the huge size of the root ball that had just lifted out of the dirt, allowing the tree to topple and fall over. What strength God must truly have, she thought, to merely brush His hand over such a majestic tree as if it were no more than a feather stuck in the ground. It reminded her of the hymn “How Great Thou Art,” and the tune stuck in her head.
Later that evening the household relaxed in the kitchen and its adjoining sunroom. The women were seated on the sofa and reclining chair, crocheting as the sun began to set in the sky. It was after eight o’clock, and after such a long day, they were soon to retire for the night. The men, Frederick and Charles, sat at the table, perusing the newspapers. George once again had disappeared without any explanation after supper.
“I’m hoping to get that back fence fixed as soon as the road opens,” Charles said, more to Frederick than to anyone else in the room. “I’d like to go to auction next week and see about starting the dairy.”
Frederick laid his paper aside and nodded in agreement. “That back field will be right gut for the cows to graze down and fertilize until it is time for spring plowing.”
Carol Ann sighed and set down her crocheting. “I wonder why your previous tenants did not take better care of the property,” she lamented. “So much work to do and on such an expansive property, ain’t so?”
Her comment lingered in the air, no one quite certain how to respond. Jane looked up from her own crocheting and glanced at her schwester but remained silent, which did not surprise Lizzie. Jane was never one to be forward in her speech. So it was Lizzie who finally spoke up, addressing the unusual complaint.
“I am sure that the tenants did their best to maintain the property,” Lizzie said slowly. She had known the previous tenants and didn’t like any ill being spoken of them. While an older family, they had lived at the Beachey farm for several decades. However, as the kinner grew older and married, most of them moving away as they had picked up trades instead of farming, the parents could only do so much. “And, while expansive, the property seems in a right gut condition to produce wunderbaar crops. In fact, while I know little about farmers in Ohio, I do know that our farmers in Lancaster often use field rotation so that the ground has time to lay fallow and regenerate nutrients in the soil.”
Another pause.
To her surprise, Frederick responded. “Field rotation is practiced in Ohio as well, of course,” he started. “However, our farms are closer together and smaller. Some of those farms practice crop rotation rather than field rotation for the very reasons that you pointed out, Elizabeth.”
She wasn’t certain if his words were a compliment or a reprimand. She did not have a chance to ponder it for Carol Ann jumped back into the conversation.
“Indeed, our farms are not so spread out, affording our families to enjoy a bit more of life rather than working themselves to the core,” she quipped.
Lizzie felt angry at Carol Ann’s comment but tried to remember the Amish rule of never doing anything in anger. She had learned that all of her life, but it had been particularly stressed during her instructional, prior to taking her baptism two autumns prior. “We were always taught to ‘Avoid idleness as a resting-pillow of the devil and a cause of all sorts of wickedness,’” she quoted from her instructional book for baptism. “I must confess that I rather enjoy working myself to the core, as you call it,” she replied. “Less time for idleness and, therefore, less time for being tempted into sin.”
When Carol Ann scoffed, Lizzie felt her heart quicken and she braced herself.
“One can easily console oneself that working from before sunrise until after sunset is a way to escape the power of the devil to tempt one to sin!” she laughed, but it was not a friendly or teasing laugh. “You have to work that hard just to be able to live out here! At least if you wish to maintain a farm of any agreeable size.”
“And how does that differ from Holmes County?” Lizzie asked, maintaining her composure despite wishing she could lash out at the hoity-toity Carol Ann Beachey.
“Many of our young men work outside of the home,” she said. “They remain gentlemen farmers, working enough land after hours in order to maintain the family and way of life without invading it!”
“Invading it?” This time it was Lizzie’s turn to laugh. “I hardly question God’s will for us to work the land as a means of invading life rather than embracing it! One feels closer to God when being a steward of His earth than in doing anything else, in my humble opinion!”
“But surely you would agree that one must have time to relax and enjoy oneself,” Frederick added to her surprise.
Lizzie turned from Carol Ann to look at Frederick, stunned to see that he was enjoying this conversation. The amused look in those dark eyes caused her to catch her breath. “I would,” she said, ashamed that her words came out in a soft, breathless rush. “Enjoying oneself is a most agreeable reward after a long week of honoring God by tending to His animals and crops!” She stood up, indicating that she was ending her participation in the conversation. To be truthful, she wanted to retire for the evening
in order to get up early and, hopefully, be able to travel home with Jane.
“And what,” he started to ask, standing up too in a manner of politeness, “would you consider being such an agreeable reward, Elizabeth?”
She looked at him, hesitating just long enough to gain the courage to say what was on her mind. With a touch of rebellion in her flashing eyes, she lifted her chin as she calmly replied, “Attending a singing, Frederick, and riding home with someone . . . even if that person is barely tolerable.” She let her words sink in, too aware of the smugness on her face that she could not hide when she saw the incredulous look on his own. Then, with a softer expression, she turned to Charles. “I shall say good-night now,” she smiled. “I suspect tomorrow shall be another busy day.”
Without another word she turned and retired to the guest room that she was sharing with Jane, feeling privately pleased with herself for having proven her verbal superiority by matching wits with Frederick Detweiler and, she hoped, letting him see that first impressions are, often times, quite erroneous.
Chapter Seven
LIZZIE STARED AT her maem and three sisters as they stood in the doorway, broad smiles on their faces and their eyes roaming around the pristine kitchen at the Beachey farm. They seemed to drink in everything, from the freshly painted walls to the sparkling clean windows that Carol Ann had washed with vinegar and newspaper just a few days prior to the storm. She had made certain to comment on it several times the previous evening after supper, the setting sun casting light through the panes. She had not stopped boasting about it until Frederick finally commented on the streakless glass.
Now, Maem seemed overly impressed with everything, including the new sofa and recliner as well as the fancy farmer’s table in the kitchen, where Carol Ann and Lizzie had just finished cleaning up the dishes from breakfast. Maem seemed hesitant to step into the house, not from impropriety but from being so awestruck with the grandeur. It was not usual for a home to be furnished in such a style. Items were handed down from family to family or acquired at auction or yard sales. However, no one could fault the Beacheys for having purchased new items since they had moved from Ohio, too far to bring along so many furnishings.
However, there was something else in Maem’s eyes that caused Lizzie to look away in embarrassment. It was clear that her maem was sizing up the house, her mind spinning at the thought that her own daughter, Jane, might be raising a family in that very home in the not-too-distant future. Unfortunately Lizzie realized that Carol Ann and Frederick noticed it as well. The humiliation at her maem’s reaction, so transparent to the others, caused the color to pink up Lizzie’s cheeks. To make matters worse, she caught Frederick watching her and knew that he had witnessed her discomfort.
“What a fine home you have started here, Charles!” Maem said, as she finally ventured into the room at his insistence. He gestured toward the sofa for the new arrivals to sit down and converse while Jane gathered her few things in preparation for her departure. With a broad smile and wide eyes, Maem stared up at him. “Such a shame that it was vacant for so long.”
“Maem,” Lizzie scowled. “You knew the family who had lived here . . . ”
Her maem waved her fingers at Lizzie. “You know what I meant, Lizzie! That the Beacheys had moved away and their family has only just now started to return!” She laughed and shook her head, as if dismissing Lizzie as speaking nonsense. “It will be nice to have a permanent family in the neighborhood.”
“Is it much different here in Leola than in Ohio?” Lydia asked, her eyes wide and her smile too big.
“You should host a picnic to meet people!” Catherine added, acting just as silly and ridiculous. Lizzie turned her head, the shame of her family almost too great to bear.
Maem’s mouth dropped and she clapped her hands together, just once. “Or church service!” She looked at Charles, who had been following their banter back and forth as if watching a volleyball game, his head rotating between Maem on the sofa and the two girls still standing by the doorway. “Why, our very next service was to be hosted at the Millers, but he has fallen ill and is in the hospital. It would be such a relief if they didn’t have to worry . . . ” She let her voice trail off with the expectation that Charles would readily agree.
He did.
“We would be glad to do that, I’m sure!”
Carol Ann’s eyes flickered and she caught her breath, but she said nothing in response to her brother’s eager acceptance of such responsibility.
“We don’t even have a dairy herd yet, so the service could be held in the barn with very little preparation!” he added.
Lydia and Catherine giggled and clutched at each other’s hands in delight at the announcement. “And the singing afterward too?” Catherine asked.
Politely Charles joined them in their giddy laughter by nodding and agreeing to as much with a smile. “Ja, ja,” he said. “The singing too!”
At that moment Jane emerged from the downstairs bedroom. After greeting her maem and sisters, she glanced at Charles first before addressing Carol Ann. “I cannot say danke enough for all that you have done,” she said to her friend. “I feel like I have been such a burden . . . ”
Charles interrupted before his sister could respond. “Never a burden, Jane,” he said, his eyes watching her every move. Lizzie read his expression, seeing a mixture of sorrow that Jane was leaving with a glow of infatuation that could not be denied.
“I fear the storm was more a burden than you,” Carol Ann said lightly, but Lizzie flinched at the words. She glanced at Carol Ann and saw nothing but a genuine smile on her face as she said her parting words to Jane. Yet her words rang in Lizzie’s ears, and when it came time to share her own gratitude with Carol Ann, Lizzie had the distinct feeling that her dislike for the Beachey woman was returned in equal volume.
Frederick and Charles walked outside with the Blank women. Charles helped Jane into the buggy so that she was situated next to Maem. With the other girls crowded in the back, Lizzie shook off the assistance to join her family in the buggy, declaring that she would walk home rather than risk giving her sister any discomfort.
“I shall be happy to take you, Lizzie,” Charles quickly offered.
“Nee,” she replied, smiling at his natural generosity and noting how quickly he had been willing to inconvenience himself while Frederick stood there, his hands behind his back and his lips pressed together without any indication of moving. “It’s a wunderbaar day for walking, and I could surely use the exercise!”
By the time she arrived home, Maem was already fussing about Jane, who, despite her repeated claims of being right gut, found herself seated back in a recliner with her leg propped up and a blanket covering her legs. Mary was outside on the porch, playing with her harmonica while Lydia and Catherine peeled potatoes for the noon meal.
“Oh, stop that dreadful noise,” Maem called out the window. “Why does that dochder of mine insist on playing that thing?” That question was asked to no one in particular, and therefore no one answered.
Lizzie shook her head as she walked inside the kitchen. “Maem, it’s too hot for Jane to be bundled under a blanket!” She hurried over to her sister and quickly removed the earth-toned crocheted blanket. Folding it neatly, she set it on the edge of the sofa. “Honestly, Maem, she merely twisted her ankle, and she is quite fine.”
The squeaking hinges of the outside screen door announced Daed’s appearance. He was carrying some papers and glanced around the room before sitting down at the table. He smiled at Jane and asked how she was feeling before he began to sort through the mail. Lizzie hurried over to the kitchen counter to help her younger sisters with the potatoes, rolling her eyes when she heard them whispering about George Wickey and how he had waved to them when they passed him on the road.
“When did you see George?” Lizzie asked. “I didn’t pass him when I walked home.”
Lydia giggled. “He was on the road walking toward the farmhouse. He’s so handsome, ain’t
so?”
Catherine nodded and laughed with her sister.
Lizzie frowned. She hadn’t seen George since the previous day, and certainly not in the morning. In fact, he had been absent quite frequently while she and Jane had been at the farm. “I cut through the field at the top of the hill,” she said. “I must have missed him.”
“Is he as kind as he looks?” Lydia asked, reaching out to clutch Lizzie’s arm.
With a disapproving look, Lizzie freed herself from Lydia’s grasp. “I certainly would not know,” she retorted in a chiding tone.
“But you were there for almost three days!” Lydia cried out dramatically.
“To care for my sister, not fawn over and flirt with a man!”
“Does she have to do that?” Maem sighed, turning to Daed and gesturing toward Mary. “It’s so unbecoming of a young woman. She’ll never get married with a harmonica in her hand.”
Daed tried not to laugh. “Unbecoming or not, I dare say that if a harmonica chases away a suitor, he was no suitor at all in the first place.”
“Oh, help,” Maem muttered, her typical response when she had nothing else to say.
“But here is some interesting news, my fraa.” He waved a white piece of paper at her. It was a letter with small curvy handwriting, that much Lizzie could see from where she stood by the counter. “It seems we have a distant cousin coming to visit.”
Maem froze where she stood, her hand in midair with a towel dangling from her fingertips. “A cousin?”
“Ja, that is what I said,” Daed teased, once again drawing out the news at the expense of his wife’s impatience.
“Do tell!” A new wave of excitement washed over Maem’s face, and she hurried to the table in eager expectation of the news to be shared. “Who, then, has written?”
“Grossdawdi’s second cousin or something like that,” he replied, not interested in the genetic link. Lizzie watched the exchange with great curiosity as, yet again, a new relation came into their lives. “Wilmer Kaufman, bishop of his g’may and recently a widower.”
