by Sarah Price
With only two children who survived into adulthood, Grossdawdi Eicher didn’t have to worry about decisions regarding inheritance. His son, David, eight years older than William, had married and moved to the southern part of Holmes County. With his wife, he raised their five daughters and one son. Now that David was older and bound to a wheelchair, he lived on the same farm with that son and two grandsons, the oldest of whom ran the large farm.
As for William, he followed in his father’s footsteps. When Grossdawdi Eicher passed away, William had inherited the farmette, the perfect size for raising his own small family.
Minerals had been a valuable career path for William, given that there was limited competition. The rewards for his efforts were great from a financial perspective. The only problem was that he had sold the business three years ago, retiring when he hit sixty-one and his vision worsened. Too many years refusing to wear glasses when the sun went down had quickened his visual impairment. Without a steady income, his unwillingness to decrease spending had begun to seriously deplete his nest egg. And though not spoken aloud, everyone knew that William could not accept assistance from the g’may without revealing that pattern of profligate spending that was so contrary to the Amish doctrine.
Now, he sat in his chair, trying to digest Lydia’s words while rubbing his hands as if attempting to ward off a deep pain. A flare-up. Again. Without being asked, Anna set down her quilting and quietly stole across the room to retrieve a small plastic container from the propane-powered refrigerator. She unscrewed the lid of the jar as she approached her father. Kneeling by his side, she dipped her finger in the jar and began to rub the wax-like ointment onto his hands, the scent of lavender slowly filling the room.
Only Lydia appeared to notice.
The older woman smiled as she observed Anna’s attentiveness to her aging father’s arthritis. It always seemed to flare whenever he became upset. Over the years, however, he stopped seeing doctors, claiming their Englische medicine was too suspicious and full of ingredients he couldn’t pronounce.
Abruptly, William withdrew his hand from Anna’s, motioning for her to leave his side. It was not an overtly rude motion, or at least Anna didn’t take it that way. No, she merely picked up the lid to the jar and got to her feet, quietly returning the ointment to the refrigerator while he talked.
“I just don’t understand how this happened.” It sounded as if he had finally embraced the inevitable: the house and its land must be sold. As the realization sunk in that this was the only course of action that would provide any financial assistance, he frowned, the deep wrinkles by his eyes mirrored by the ones engraved in his forehead. Lines of age meant years of wisdom, Anna thought as she sat back on the sofa and watched him. Or, in his case, years of foolish spending. “So many years! So much work! Where has all of the money gone?” This last question, directed at Lydia, was spoken in a tone that bespoke genuine worry and fear.
“Daed,” Anna chimed in, her soft voice barely audible. “No one will think any less of you for selling the haus. There are worse things, I suppose.”
“What could possibly be worse?” His voice cracked as he addressed Anna. Her sensible nature often conflicted with his vanity, a character trait so contrary to the Amish life that Anna often wondered how he had not once been reprimanded by the bishop. Now, and not for the first time, he stared at her, an expression of incredulity on his face, as if the words she had spoken were that of a child and not an intelligent woman. “It isn’t your reputation at stake, need I remind you?”
“William!” Lydia gestured toward the reclining chair. “Please sit. You’re working yourself into a tizzy.”
Silently Anna watched as her father did as Lydia instructed. Bless her heart, she thought. Dear Lydia with her calming influence over stressful situations in the Eicher house. Without Lydia, Anna knew that there were times that even Elizabeth would not be able to handle her father’s anxieties. Clearly this was one of those.
William took a short breath and lifted his chin. “Ja vell, I won’t be letting that Willis get his hands on it, that’s for sure and certain!”
“Daed!” The anger in her father’s expression caught Anna off-guard. As soon as the word slipped from her lips, she covered her mouth. She hadn’t meant to reprimand him; however, his display of anger, especially so pointedly at one particular individual—and family at that!—upset her. She was thankful that no one else paid attention to her outburst.
William turned toward Anna. Lifting his hand in the air, he pointed toward the heavens. “God is my witness, I don’t care whether or not he’s my nephew’s son! The injustice he did to this family!” His anger dissipated just enough so that, when he looked at Elizabeth, there was less fire in his eyes. “Ach, the humiliation! It’s unthinkable that his banns were read after he came calling on you!” He reached out to pat her hand, a gesture of comfort to his oldest daughter. “Why, the entire church district whispered for months, and not even John David would invite me to play checkers that winter!”
Anna looked away, the color flooding to her cheeks, but not before she saw Elizabeth’s jaw muscles tighten.
Despite her own discomfort with her father’s rebuke, Anna felt even more shame as she remembered her sister’s stoic response when it was announced after worship service that Willis Eicher and Barbie King were to marry. At that time, seven years ago, there were plenty of unmarried young women in the g’may, five of whom sat between Anna and Elizabeth on the hard pine bench, since the single women always entered the room in chronological order. Even though she hadn’t been able to comfort her sister, Anna felt the sting of the announcement. Elizabeth, on the other hand, never once mentioned his name nor the four times that he had come calling at their house.
The intention had been clear and, frankly, presumed by all.
Instead Willis Eicher chose to marry a woman from a faraway church district. That decision always brought out the fire in William’s eyes, for the woman was the only daughter of that g’may’s bishop. Besides the whispers about Willis snubbing Elizabeth, there had also been scuttlebutt over the motives behind his surprisingly sudden decision: the King family owned a rather large farm in another church district in a neighboring county.
Anna had never truly decided which one of them had felt more disgraced: Daed or Elizabeth. Even today, she couldn’t decide. The one thing she did know was that the wounds remained fresh for them both and reminded her far too much of the pain that she too had once caused.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Lydia reached out and, with a calm hand, touched William’s sleeve. “William, that’s pride speaking.”
He ruffled at her words and shifted his weight in his chair.
“Besides, maybe you won’t have to sell the haus. Not yet, anyway.” Her eyes brightened from behind her glasses. “I have another possible, perfectly reasonable solution!”
“The only perfectly reasonable solution,” he grumbled, “is staying in my own haus.”
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and rested her head against the cushion. “I just hate the thought of all those people talking about us.”
“Speculating . . . ,” he added.
“I knew we shouldn’t have donated so much money last year!” Elizabeth clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You know that the amount we donated was shared to others by Bishop Troyer’s fraa! Everyone knows and now speculates about our situation!”
“Scandalous!” William cried.
Anna felt as if the two of them were playing volleyball.
The kitchen clock chimed six times. Lydia glanced at it, for she needed to leave in less than thirty minutes. Certainly she had her own work to do, Anna thought. Already, Lydia had spent almost an hour with William and his daughters reviewing the situation, a situation about which he merely grumbled and complained with no inclination to act upon a viable solution.
“If you should like to hear my solution?” Lydia interrupted. She spoke louder than usual, but still with a degree of patienc
e. Once William and Elizabeth settled down, she took a deep breath and began speaking. “It’s simple, really. You have that small haus in Florida. Move there for a while. Winter and spring are lovely down there. It’s less expensive to live there. Mayhaps you’ll find Florida to your liking. If you don’t, you can always return to a smaller place. Either way, you can sell this farm without anyone raising an eyebrow.”
Anna looked up again from her quilt. “Why, that’s the perfect solution!”
Lydia nodded and added, “Especially after last winter being so difficult and causing the flare-up with your arthritis. Certainly no one will question why you have left.” Pausing, she let that suggestion register with William.
“If we move that far away, I’d still have to sell my horse and buggy,” William grumbled.
Anna glanced up at him sharply. This was the first indication that her father might—just might—be willing to listen to reason.
Lydia nodded gravely to acknowledge William’s loss before pressing her point home. “In the meantime, you should rent out this property. The income from the rental will help pay your way until you sell it.”
A silence fell over the room. Anna waited, her breath caught in her chest. Elizabeth almost broke into a rare smile while Mary developed a typical scowl, the two very different reactions almost amusing to Anna except she knew the serious reasons behind them.
Finally, Elizabeth nodded her head in approval, her agitation from moments prior quickly vanishing. “That’s an agreeable solution!” She met her father’s worried gaze. He often sought her validation on important decisions, and even those that did not qualify as very significant. She was, after all, the maternal head of the house, at least since their mother departed from her earthly life to begin her heavenly one. “Especially with the cold season soon upon us. I’m rather partial to that idea.”
But the idea of William and his two unmarried daughters leaving Charm was not received as well by everyone.
“Florida?” Mary scoffed at the idea as if someone had just given her a glass of spoiled milk. “Oh bother! Who will help me with the kinner?” With a helpless expression on her face, she looked first to her father and then to Lydia. “You know I haven’t been feeling quite well! The headaches and fatigue! And those two kinner are so active. Cris’s family provides no help at all. Why! They return the boys to me in worse shape than when they left, what with all the cookies and sweets they give them!” Disgusted, she returned her attention to her father. “If you move to Florida, you simply must leave Anna behind. It’s not as if anyone would miss her . . . ”
The comment, while seemingly harsh, didn’t faze anyone in the room. With the exception of Lydia, Anna knew that it was an accurate statement and not necessarily spoken with malice. Her quiet nature often caused people, especially her family, to overlook her at larger gatherings. And to be needed by someone, anyone, was better than to be needed by none.
“And when we return? Then what?”
Mary sighed. “If Salome Musser would let us move into the big haus, we might have room.” She picked at a white thread on the blue sleeve of her dress. “Mayhaps this might be the catalyst for her to finally do the right thing, nee? Who ever heard of such selfishness? And with only Leah and Hannah living there.” She looked up, suddenly aware that everyone watched her, stunned by her sharp words. “Ja vell, it’s true! Her son did buy the farm, after all.”
Another glance at the clock and Lydia suddenly stood up. “Think about it, William.”
For a moment, Anna’s heart broke. Her father looked around the room, his eyes taking in the freshly painted walls (for he always hired three young men to repaint them in the springtime), wood-stained trim work (something that Anna worked tirelessly to clean each week), and perfectly waxed linoleum floor (another task that fell upon Anna). Cleanliness was, after all, next to godliness.
“To have another person sit in my kitchen?” Emotion welled up in his throat. “Tend my Lizzie’s gardens? Who could I possibly entrust with such a valuable piece of my life?”
Gathering her black sweater, Lydia ignored his reservations. She spared a genuine smile in Anna’s direction before picking up her basket. “I heard that George Coblentz is returning to the area. His older sister is ailing and they may need a place to stay.”
“They?” William’s mouth fell open. “You mean he has young kinner?” He shook his hand in front of his chest as if warding off something bad. “Nee! I won’t have undisciplined young ones tearing through this haus! They’ll trample the rose bushes, for sure and certain!”
Laughing, Lydia placed her hand on his shoulder, the closest gesture of intimacy she ever shared with him. It was a simple touch that spoke of a deep friendship and even deeper tolerance on her part. “Oh, William! You fret over the most mundane things! Besides, it’s just George and his fraa, Sara. Their children are all grown up now.”
Anna picked up her quilting, readying herself to continue working on the blanket since Lydia was leaving.
“Coblentz?” William tugged at his beard, a sign that Anna knew too well: he was searching his memory. He remembered everyone that he met, a social practice he had perfected over the years. “I don’t know anyone named Coblentz.”
Lydia slipped her arms into her sweater and quickly extracted the strings to her prayer kapp. Her hand on the doorknob, she turned to wave one last time to the three young women before responding to his statement. “Of course you do,” she said, opening the door. “George’s fraa grew up here, just north of Berlin. Don’t you remember Sara? Sara Whittmore?”
Anna’s fingers froze over the material, the needle only partially pushed through the fabric. She dared not raise her eyes. To do so, she feared, would allow Lydia, of all people, to read her thoughts. The casual nature in which Lydia said the name startled Anna almost as much as hearing it. Was it possible that Lydia had forgotten her advice to Anna to forget marrying Freman since her father would not accept a Whittmore into the family? Even after she broke off the engagement, very little was said of Freman’s abrupt disappearance. Indeed, no one in their house had spoken of the Whittmore family for years. That, however, had not hindered Anna from thinking of the Whittmores, one in particular, each and every day for the last eight years—a fact that she now knew was unknown to everyone, even Lydia!
“They are the most delightful people, and you know what they say about a woman without kinner,” she said, her voice light and breezy. “They take the best care of the haus and gardens!” One last wave and Lydia disappeared out the door. Behind her, she left four people in deep thought: three who wondered about this George Coblentz and how the g’may would react to the news of the Eicher departure and a fourth who stared at her lap, her eyes glazed over and her fingers unable to extract the needle.
Whittmore. The name was far too familiar to Anna. While the voices of her family faded into the background, some long-repressed memories awakened. She lifted her eyes and looked around the room, her eyes seeing the very objects that so alarmed her father just moments before. Rather than fearing the hands that might touch them in just a few short weeks, her heart pounded at the very thought of the Whittmores staying in their house.
She sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she fought the intense pounding of her heart. Oh, she wondered, a deep and hollow feeling forming inside of her chest, was it possible that, once again, he might actually walk these floors? The very thought led her to distraction and made her so uncomfortable that she had no choice but to claim a headache and soon after Lydia’s departure, retire to the safety and isolation of her room. The only problem was that she was not alone, for the memory of Sara’s brother, Freman Whittmore, accompanied her.
Chapter Two
BEFORE A WEEK had passed, the arrangements had been made. George Coblentz was eager to return and assist his sister’s family during her illness. Therefore, changes came quickly for the Eicher family. Rooms were packed away, memories boxed up, and clothes transferred from pegs and hangers to suitcas
es. It amazed Anna how, despite so many years living in the house, there was little to show for their existence beyond a few boxes left in the attic.
Of course, she thought as she dressed for the day, they had yet to tidy up the main room in the house: the kitchen. Already she could hear Lydia moving about downstairs, bustling to clean up breakfast dishes, a meal that Anna had voluntarily slept through so that she could avoid the daily complaints and rants from her father regarding the injustice of having to leave the house for so many months.
Even though the leaves on the trees were still green and the noon sun still warm, William had scheduled his trip down south. To Anna’s concern, Elizabeth convinced her friend, Martha Canton, recently widowed at the young age of thirty-two, to journey with them. When she joined Lydia and her sisters downstairs, she was gratified to find that Lydia shared her concern and was discussing it with Elizabeth.
“Mayhaps people might talk,” Lydia suggested to Elizabeth as she wrapped their mother’s fine china with newspaper and packaged it into a cardboard box. While the Coblentzes would live in the house and William had agreed for it to be furnished, there were some valuables that he insisted be packed away. The three women were packaging up and cleaning the kitchen, William too concerned that leaving the house anything less than pristine might be cause for gossip. “It’s not sensible for such a newly widowed woman to travel such a distance.”
From the look on her face, Elizabeth did not agree. “Why ever not?”
“I think Lydia means,” Anna said softly, “that it’s not sensible for Martha to travel with Daed, ja?”
Lydia lifted an eyebrow as she placed a piece of wrapped china into the box. She remained silent and said nothing in response to Anna’s comment.
