by Jo Ann Brown
Otherwise each day unfolded into the next. In the past four days, the weather had been splendid. The kinder preferred to be outside, and she’d smiled at their cheers when she told them they didn’t have to wear shoes any longer. She’d removed hers for working in the house and the yard. The grass was silken soft, and, when she checked out the vegetable plants growing among the weeds in the garden, the cool, damp earth had been delightful between her toes.
Each day, she worked on the garden. She guessed Esta had kept the garden neat, but in the three weeks since her death, nobody had spent time on the garden. The early peas were ready to harvest, or they would have been if not choked by weeds. She’d spent the morning pulling weeds before the twins’ noon meal.
Now they were fed and playing in the sandbox beneath the large maple. She wanted to give them time to tire themselves out more before their naps. She was surprised when the older twins fell asleep every afternoon, but guessed they were exhausted from night terrors and other bad dreams. The boys pushed trucks and tractors around, making roads and furrows in the sand. Both girls shoveled sand into a pail and tipped it over to build temporary mountains for the boys’ vehicles. As the sand sifted down the piles, they scooped it up and started over again.
Her one attempt this week to discuss their parents with them had been useless. She’d asked what was their favorite meal made by their mamm. A simple question, but none of them answered. Instead, they edged closer together as they had when she and Isaiah asked about why they wouldn’t laugh. They’d watched her with guarded expressions until she urged them to go out and play.
What else had been said to them other than not to laugh? They’d taken her urging to sing quietly to heart, so had someone else told them not to talk about their parents? That made no sense, but neither did telling youngsters who were mourning their mamm and daed to stop laughing.
She needed to talk to Isaiah. Maybe tonight. For now, with the twins busy, she should check the answering machine in the phone shack. Isaiah had mentioned that morning at breakfast how it needed to be done, and she’d offered to do it. She’d wondered if he’d be as annoyed as he’d been about the letter writing last week, but he nodded with a grateful smile.
Each evening, he arrived home wiped out from his long hours of working at his forge. He hadn’t said much, but even the youngsters knew his important job needed to be done by the week’s end. He’d skipped breakfast the past two days, and she wondered how much he ate while he pushed to finish his project. At dinner, he barely kept his eyes open and didn’t eat much. Even the chicken and biscuits he’d raved about hadn’t convinced him to do more than pick at his food.
Clara put on her black bonnet before, with a final glance at the youngsters, she went out the front door. Though she was worried Isaiah was trying to do too much, she couldn’t nag him. He was her employer. If she were sent home early, her daed would believe she’d shamed her family again.
“And in this case, it’d be true,” she said as she crossed the yard to the farm lane that ran as straight as a ruler between the house and the road.
But she was worrying unnecessarily. Isaiah needed her at the house. Otherwise, he wouldn’t finish his commission on time. She wondered what he was creating. He never spoke of the project other than he must have it done before the arrival of the truck taking it to Maryland.
If he didn’t go into the dawdi haus as soon as the kinder were in bed each night, she might have had the opportunity to ask about what he was making. Tonight, she must speak with him about how to reach the youngsters and urge them to mourn as they should.
At the end of the lane, the phone shack looked like an abandoned outhouse, stuck as it was out by the mailbox. Clara opened the door. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of air cooped up too long. The small building held an uncomfortable bench and a counter stuck in a corner. The single window allowed in light, but was shut tight and edged with spiderwebs littered with white egg sacs. A dusty phone sat on the counter between an answering machine and pencil and a notepad. A list of numbers in a plastic sleeve had been nailed to the wall. They were for the local medical clinic, as well as other phone numbers that might be needed in an emergency.
She wasn’t surprised to see the answering machine blinking. When had it last been checked?
Picking up the pencil, she shifted the notepad so she could write any messages. She wasn’t sure if the Beachys were the only family who used the phone shack or if it was shared with Amish neighbors. If the latter, she’d deliver any messages right away.
Clara pushed the blinking red light, and a disembodied voice announced there were five messages on the machine. The first was a hang-up, and the second had a message of, “Sorry. Wrong number.” She deleted both.
The third call was different. A woman said in a pleasant voice, “Good afternoon. I’m calling from Paradise Springs Optical, and this message is for Esta Beachy. Esta, the glasses you ordered for Nettie Mae are in. We look forward to seeing you at your earliest convenience.”
She let the rest of the message play. Blinking back tears, she was glad she hadn’t brought the kinder with her. To hear the message meant for their mamm would have upset them. Look how it was distressing her, and she’d never met Esta Beachy.
But in a way she had. She’d met Esta and Melvin through their twins, who were bright and curious and helpful and loving. The couple had been training up their family well. She recalled the proverb she’d often heard Mamm repeat: Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. The Beachys had started their youngsters off on the right foot.
Listening to the message again, she wrote down the phone number the caller had left. She listened to the final two calls, but both were for political candidates. Those she deleted before she made a call to confirm the glasses ordered for Nettie Mae were still at the shop.
The woman who answered at the shop expressed her sympathy for what the Beachy family had suffered before confirming that the glasses were waiting for Nettie Mae to have them fitted. She gave Clara the address and the times the store was open.
“I’ll bring her in later this afternoon,” Clara said before thanking the woman and ending the call.
At least once a day, Isaiah mentioned something about how he and Melvin had been best friends and how often he’d joined the family for the evening meal. He must have known about the little girl’s eye exam. Why hadn’t he mentioned anything to her about Nettie Mae getting glasses?
No matter, she knew now.
Hurrying to the sandbox, she asked the twins if they wanted to go to town with her. When they scrambled out of the box, she smiled and motioned for them to shake sand off their clothes. She brushed as much out of their hair as she could. There wasn’t time to give them baths before they drove into Paradise Springs.
The twins ran into the house to collect their shoes. She followed and pulled on her black sneakers before she went into the stable next to the barn to hitch Bella to the Beachys’ family buggy. It was less cramped than hers.
Once shoes were on the correct feet and tied, she watched the youngsters climb into the buggy. The boys again chose the back, and the two girls sat on the front seat. Checking the house was secure and she hadn’t left anything on, she got in.
“Let’s go, Bella,” she called.
The kinder copied her words, and the horse tilted her head as if wondering why she was getting the same command from different people.
The twins pelted Clara with questions. Where were they going? Who would they see? What would they do? When would they get home? Could they order pizza to bring home for dinner?
She faltered on the last question. She doubted she had enough money in her purse to pay for pizza for the six of them.
“Oh, dear!” she gasped.
Eyeglasses would be far more expensive than two large pizzas. She’d never given any thought t
o how the glasses would be paid for. Seeing the sign for the Stoltzfus Family Shops ahead, she turned Bella into the parking lot. She drew in the horse when a man waved to her from the general store.
She recognized him as Isaiah’s brother Amos. He had reddish-brown hair, but he and Isaiah had the same shaped face and height. As she stopped in front of him, she saw Amos’s hands, like Isaiah’s, showed he was accustomed to hard work.
Greeting her, he smiled and asked what she and the kinder were up to.
“We’ve got errands to run this afternoon,” she replied, “but I need to check a couple of things with Isaiah first.”
Amos smiled at the twins. “Why don’t I take them in the store while you two talk?”
“They can be boisterous.”
“Don’t worry. I’m accustomed to little ones.” Waving his hand, he said, “C’mon, kids.” As they poured out of the buggy, he added, “Let’s see what Onkel Amos can find for you in the store.” He led them like the Pied Piper into his shop.
Clara smiled. Onkel Amos? No wonder Melvin had asked Isaiah to be the guardian of his kinder. The whole Stoltzfus family welcomed her and the Beachy twins. She was never going to take a moment of her time with them for granted.
* * *
Isaiah looked up in surprise when a familiar silhouette walked toward his smithy. What was Clara doing here at this hour? And where were the twins?
She paused in the doorway as she’d done the first time and said as if he’d asked his second question aloud, “The kinder are with Amos. He offered to let them pick out a treat.”
“He loves doing that for all his nieces and nephews. He makes sure he has plenty of ice cream and candy for them to choose from.” He lowered the hammer he’d been using to pound the heated metal thin enough so he could twist it. “Are you in town for something specific?”
She explained the message from the optician on the answering machine. “I’ll try to check it more often.”
“I didn’t know Nettie Mae had been taken to be examined for glasses,” he said. He’d thought it would be simple for him to step in as surrogate daed until the kinder’s family returned. How silly that seemed now!
He was relieved Clara had taken over disciplining the kinder. He’d been the fun onkel, the one who played with them and tickled them and taught them how to do fun things like skip stones and feed chickens. To become their daed and raise them to be gut members of their community was a completely different role, and he hadn’t been prepared for the responsibilities.
“I’m sure the glasses are strong enough to put up with a three-year-old’s antics,” Clara said, and he realized she’d misunderstood his silence. One of the few times that had happened.
He latched on to her change of subject as if it were a lifeline. “Esta would have made sure. She wouldn’t have wanted to bring the glasses in for repairs all the time. Too costly.”
Color rose up Clara’s cheeks, astonishing him until she said, “I should have asked if there was an unpaid balance for the glasses.”
“Don’t worry. What’s owed is what’s owed.”
“I can’t argue with that.” She chuckled. “Oh, it feels gut to laugh.”
“Any clues as to who told the kids not to laugh?”
“None,” she replied sadly.
He wished he hadn’t asked the question. He liked her laugh when she didn’t have to restrain herself. It was genuine and hearty and invited him to join in.
“How much do you think glasses for a three-year-old cost?” he asked.
“My mamm complained about the high cost when she picked up hers a few months ago. They were almost four hundred dollars.”
He grimaced. “I had no idea glasses were that expensive.” He tapped the pair hanging around his neck. “My safety glasses cost between ten and twenty bucks, depending on what I buy. The face shield I use for welding is two or three times as much.”
“The glasses my mamm got were bifocals, so I assume Nettie Mae’s should be cheaper.”
“Unless she needs bifocals.”
Clara considered that, then shook her head. “I’ve noticed her getting very close and then pulling back when she’s holding something or when she’s coloring. But she seems to see fine at a distance. She was the first one to point out three deer in a field on our way here.”
He went to a table and yanked a drawer open. Reaching in, he lifted out a checkbook. “What’s the name of the optician?”
“Paradise Springs Optical... I think. I left the page with it at the house.”
“That’s okay.” He shoved aside his apron and pulled out a pen. Scribbling his name at the bottom of the check, he tore it out of the book and handed it to her.
“You’re giving me a blank check?”
He smiled. “I trust you with the twins, who are far more important to me than my bank account, so why wouldn’t I trust you with a check?”
She was touched by his words. He wondered why. She should have realized the truth. No amount of money could recompense him if something happened to one of the kinder.
“Danki,” she said at last. She folded the check and put it in the black purse hanging over her right shoulder. Looking past him, she asked, “Are those what you need to get done before the week is out?”
“Ja.” He motioned for her to come closer to the great gates that were almost completed. They were more than twelve feet high and almost as wide, too big to fit in the shop.
As she stepped past him, he drew in a deep breath of the faint scent from her shampoo. It was out of place among the odors of heated metal and coal. Apple, if he wasn’t mistaken. An aroma that suited her well because apples could be tart or sweet.
She gazed at the two gates. The arched tops were accented by twisted posts, leading the eye to the huge metal medallions in the center of each section.
“They’re beautiful.” She ran a finger along the medallion with the large T in the center. “Does this stand for something?”
“The first word in the name of my client’s horse farm. Look at the other one. It has an S on it. Taggart Stables.”
“These are stunning, Isaiah.”
He turned away and set the rod he’d been working on into the fire. He shouldn’t be pleased with her compliment. It was a challenge to be creative and not take pride in his work. The elegant gates weren’t anything he’d want on his property, but he’d followed the design the Englischer wanted. Checking the brightness of the heated point, he placed it on the anvil where he hammered it with easy, efficient motions.
“It’s been nice to make something like that,” he said, “after almost a full year of making pot hooks and hinges for tourist shops in Intercourse. Not that I’m complaining. Working here is when I feel closest to God.” He was startled when those words came out of his mouth. Sensing any closeness with his Lord had been impossible for months.
She faced him. “How so? Because you’re using the talents He gave you?”
“Partly.” He fell back on the words he would have used before sorrow shadowed his days. “Also, it’s because everything here from the coals on the forge to the iron to the stones on the floor beneath my feet was created by God. I’m using them to make something, too. Not that I can achieve the perfection of His creation, but I can praise Him for what He gave us for our use.”
“I understand. I feel that way when I’m sewing, whether it’s a garment or a quilt top or joining others in making a complete quilt.”
Until he’d heard Clara talking with Leah on Sunday, he hadn’t realized she was as knowledgeable about quilting as his sister-in-law was. But why should he? They hadn’t spoken of much other than the Beachy twins.
As if he’d called their names, he saw the rear door of Amos’s store open and the kinder rush out. They ran toward the forge, excited about the treats his brother had given t
hem. When Clara moved to stand between the youngsters and the forge, he looked at Nettie Mae, who was smiling as she held up the candy bar she’d selected. How could he have failed to see she needed glasses?
He waved to them when Clara herded the kinder around the side of the building. Lowering his hand, he let his breath sift out past his taut lips. If anyone had asked him, he would have said—without a hint of doubt—he knew as much about the twins as their parents did.
But he’d been wrong.
That Nettie Mae was getting glasses was a pointed reminder he had to pay more attention to them. He should be relieved that he’d missed something as simple and innocuous as eyeglasses. He should be, but he wasn’t.
What else didn’t he know about Clara and the twins? Whatever he might learn, he’d better do it fast. The kinder’s family members could be arriving any day. The familiar pain rushed through him at the thought of never seeing them—or Clara—again. Maybe he’d be better off not knowing anything else, because when they left, knowing even a little bit more about them could make saying goodbye harder.
If possible.
Chapter Eight
Rain battered the windshield of his buggy as Isaiah reached the lane leading to the Beachys’ house that evening. When lightning flashed followed by the slow, faraway rumble of thunder, a sure signal the storm was receding to the east, he hoped Clara had gotten home before it began. Though he’d thought she’d stop at the shop so he could see Nettie Mae’s new glasses, she must have returned to get dinner started.
Or work in the garden, he corrected himself when he saw an abandoned basket of weeds beside the overgrown vegetable patch. The rain must have caught her and the youngsters unaware. Otherwise, Clara wouldn’t have left the basket in the rain. After he finished his chores, he’d empty it on the compost pile and put the wooden slat basket in the mudroom to dry.
