Wife on His Doorstep

by Patricia Johns

  Miriam parked her buggy behind the carpentry shop with her horses under a tarp erected for shade. A few yards away, there was a large box truck, the windows open and the driver eating a fast-food burger from the driver’s seat. She eyed him as she got down from the buggy, then put her attention into her own business. There was a trough of water, and after the horses had drunk their fill, she gave them their feedbags. Then she looked toward the back entrance of the shop. Did she dare go in that way?

  She sucked in a wavering breath.

  No, she’d go in the front.

  Miriam gathered up the wooden crate that contained the towel-insulated containers of stew, and she made her way between the buildings toward the front of Redemption Carpentry. An Englisher man passing on the sidewalk noticed her attempting to open the door, and he pulled it open for her. She smiled her thanks and headed inside.

  Amos was at the counter, and two young Englisher men stood there with angry stances. They wore blue jeans and dirty T-shirts. One had a trucker’s cap pushed back on his head.

  “Our boss is waiting,” the first Englisher was saying. “And we have a truck rented and waiting out back. This is costing us money. Who’s going to compensate us for that?”

  “I need payment,” Amos replied.

  “Our boss will send the check,” the second Englisher replied. “But he wants to see the furniture himself and make sure the order is right before he pays you. It’s only fair.”

  Amos sighed and rubbed a hand over his beard. “He could have come himself and seen to that.”

  “He’s obviously busy with other things,” the first man snapped. “Now, if you aren’t going to release our goods, we’re going to be letting other businesses know exactly how we feel about your shoddy service. That could tank a business of your size.”

  Miriam’s heart pounded hard and she met Amos’s gaze over their shoulders. She went to the counter and deposited the crate of food, then angled her head to the side.

  “Excuse me,” Amos said, and followed her a couple of yards away. “Everything okay?” he asked her.

  “At home, fine,” she replied. “But you can’t release that furniture to them.”

  “Miriam, this isn’t your business,” he said.

  “I’m just saying—they’ll never pay. Their boss, or whoever is cutting that check, is not going to pay up.”

  “They’ll pay,” he replied. “It’s just the way Englishers are sometimes—”

  “Amos, listen to me,” she said, reaching out and catching his arm. “I’ve seen this before with my daet. He always said that an item loses value in the customer’s eyes once it’s in their hands. The invisible boss won’t pay the full amount—I can guarantee that.”

  “What makes you so sure, knowing absolutely nothing about this customer?” he demanded.

  “Mammi filled me in,” she replied.

  “Forgive me, Miriam, but we don’t worry Mammi with these things,” he said with a sigh.

  “Well, she worries all the same,” Miriam shot back. “And according to her, you’ve been worried, too. I’ve seen this before. An item is worth the quoted price to a customer as long as that item has not been attained. The minute they have it in their possession, the value decreases for them—it’s an emotional thing. They no longer feel the pressure, or the yearning for it, and they don’t see why they should have to pay top dollar anymore. They’ll offer you something less, and since they’ve already got the furniture, you’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

  Amos shook his head. “He’s paid the down payment.”

  “Can you afford to lose the rest?” she asked.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Amos said, and while his tone was even, she could see the annoyance flashing in his eyes. He pulled his arm free and headed back over to where the men stood, their backs to them. They appeared to be making a call on their cell phone now.

  “...won’t hand it over,” the first man was saying into his phone. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

  “So Mammi asked you to help with this?” Amos asked, looking back at her.

  “Yah.” She shrugged. “It’s a tough time for you, Amos. It isn’t shameful to accept help. Maybe I’m the last person you want it from—and I do understand that—but I’m here. And I’m offering. For whatever that’s worth to you.”

  Amos’s expression turned stony, and he paused for a moment, considering. Then he turned to the Englishers.

  “I need the payment before I release the furniture,” Amos said, raising his voice. “I have to insist.”

  Miriam couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

  “My boss is going to be furious,” the first Englisher said, warning in his tone.

  “It’s just business, my friend,” Amos said simply. “I can’t let that furniture go without payment. When you can sort out the payment, then we can load up.”

  “We’ll be back,” the man growled, and they headed out of the store, the cell phone still at his ear.

  Miriam eyed Amos cautiously. “That was the right thing to do.”

  “If it wasn’t, I just lost a major sale,” he said.

  “If he’s an honest businessman, he won’t be offended at you expecting payment,” she countered. “I’m sure he expects payment for his services, too.”

  Amos ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. “I didn’t know Mammi was worried. And I’m a little offended that she thinks I need help.”

  “She wants me to be a supportive wife,” Miriam replied. “And in my opinion, that includes the business.”

  Amos regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Your grandmother is dying,” Miriam replied. “You’re not at your best. That’s understandable. Mammi wants me to help you, too, but I can’t do that unless you’ll let me.”

  Amos nodded slowly. “She could have asked anyone else...”

  “We know what she wants,” she said softly. “She wants to reconnect us, and while we both know it isn’t that easy, if she knows that we’re working together during this difficult time, she’ll be comforted at the very least. She’s worried, Amos, and if that relieves her worry...”

  Their gazes met, and Amos sighed. He pressed his lips together, then dropped his gaze.

  “All right,” he said. “For Mammi. Will you help me out around here, Miriam?”

  “Yah.” She felt her eyes mist. “I’d be happy to.”

  “But you can only speak to me about your ideas privately. Never in front of my employees or the customers.”

  “Of course, Amos.”

  She’d get her husband through this difficult time, and maybe it could be penance for the rest of her mistakes. While they hadn’t been a good match romantically, Amos was still a good man, and he deserved support.

  Maybe You brought me here at this time for a reason, Gott, she prayed. Gott sometimes worked in the strangest ways.

  “Let’s go to the bank,” Amos said. “We’ll check the safe-deposit box for those documents.”

  Those documents were her escape. When all of this was finished, she had a life and a business waiting for her in Edson. But when she left, she would feel better for having done her duty.

  Chapter Four

  Amos held the door for Miriam as they headed out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. It still felt like a dream that she was even here—close enough that he could smell the faint scent of vanilla in her hair from a morning spent in the kitchen as she passed through the door ahead of him.

  He’d dreamed of her over the years while she was gone... Some dreams were just his frustration working itself out. He would dream of their arguments, of him stomping out the door to try and find some peace outside, and he’d wake up in a sweat, relieved that he wasn’t actually pitted in some week-long mental struggle with his own wife.

  Noah and
Thomas used to tell him that he talked in his sleep—loud enough to be heard through the walls. He hadn’t done that since he was a boy, and he’d been filled with all the anxiety of his mother’s unhappiness. She’d been sad a lot—and sometimes as a child he’d watch her just standing there in the kitchen, motionless and so weighed down by unhappiness she looked like she might crumble.

  “It’s not your fault,” she used to tell him. “It isn’t your daet’s fault. I just have this cloud that seems to find me... That’s all. It’s just a cloud.”

  Back when his mother was consumed by her cloud and had crawled into her bed after her work was done to lie alone there, his cousin who slept over sometimes used to tell him that he talked in his sleep, too. There was something about the sadness he couldn’t fix that had worked its way into his dreams back when he was a boy, and it seemed to come back again after Miriam had left.

  But other dreams of Miriam had been softer and sweeter. One night, not too long ago, he’d dreamed of holding her hand, and feeling the softness of her skin, and smelling that feminine aroma of baking and sunlight that clung to her clothes and hair... He’d woken from that dream with such an ache of loneliness inside of him that he’d been forced to get up a full hour before sunrise, just to try and shake it.

  And now Miriam was here, still smelling faintly of baking and sunlight. It was almost cruel that his dream of her had matched the reality so well. Couldn’t Gott make this easier on him?

  But maybe Amos didn’t deserve easy. He’d married the wrong woman, and now he would pay. What a man planted, so did he reap. Did Amos have any right to ask Gott to change those rules on his behalf?

  A man in a passing buggy leaned forward to openly stare at Amos and Miriam, and Amos sighed. That was Isaiah Kemp, a local farmer who lived on his grandfather’s land.

  “We’ve been spotted,” Amos murmured.

  “I noticed that,” she replied. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  And people would ask questions. That kind of gossip would fly around town—Amos’s runaway wife was back in town. They’d be wondering if Amos and Miriam were reconciling at long last, and then they could all discuss it afresh when she left again. As much as Amos hated being the topic of local gossip, he was glad he had a community that cared.

  “What will you tell people?” she asked, glancing toward him warily.

  “That we had some business together,” he said. “It isn’t really their business. What do you want me to tell them?”

  “That we have some business together is fine,” she said.

  “Do you miss any of them?” he asked. “I mean—do you miss any part of living here in Redemption?”

  Miriam’s expression turned wistful. “I miss our first few weeks of marriage. That was a nice time.”

  Amos tried to remember those first few weeks. They hadn’t known each other well, and there had been so many guests, so many invitations to honor after their wedding. Every Amish new couple was inundated with friendliness.

  “We were so busy,” he said.

  “Too busy to fight yet,” she said, and she shot him a smile. “I miss that—when people were happy for us, and the women were teasing me about learning to cook for you, and...and no one was mentioning babies quite yet.”

  “Yeah...” Come to think of it, maybe he missed those first few weeks, too, before either of them realized that this was a monumental mistake.

  The bank was three blocks east of Main Street, and as they walked along side by side, away from the busy Main Street, Amos felt some of his tension fade. There were no buggies on this particular street, and the people who stopped to stare at them were tourists. He could handle the curiosity of strangers. Amos glanced over at his wife.

  “So, do you have anyone discussing the fact you came to see me?” he asked. “Did you start any gossip in Edson by coming out here?”

  She shrugged. “I might have. My brother knows I’m here, and he knows why. I called from the phone shanty yesterday so he wouldn’t worry and left a message with an Englisher business. They’ll pass it along—to more than my brother, I’m sure.”

  “He’s really going to insist that you prove you own that strip mall?” Amos asked. It seemed petty, especially when Japheth had inherited everything else.

  “Yah.” She shrugged. “He thinks I should do my duty and come back to you.”

  Amos raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  Amos hadn’t had a terribly warm relationship with his brother-in-law.

  “Japheth said that Daet was wrong about giving you such a hard time, and that I should have come back and learned how to be a proper wife,” Miriam said. “He said I should be minding a home, not a strip mall.”

  “Did he always think that way?” Amos asked. How long had Amos had support from her side of the family and not known it?

  “Japheth never would cross Daet when he was alive,” she replied. “But that isn’t the first time my brother told me to come back to you. You should be grateful I don’t let my brother bully me, or I might have been on your doorstep sooner.”

  Amos hadn’t known that his brother-in-law had been encouraging her to go back to him—that was news. He tried to smile at her humor, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. It wouldn’t have been terrible to see her sooner...if she’d wanted to be a proper wife to him again.

  “Maybe he meant well,” Amos said quietly.

  “I tried to be the wife you wanted, Amos,” she said. “It didn’t work. It’s harder to change yourself than you anticipate. And my brother wants me involved in his business just as much as you want me in yours. That’s all this is—I’m in the way.”

  Amos dropped his gaze. He couldn’t argue with that. She had absolutely refused to stay in the home, and Amos took his role as man of the home seriously. It was his job to run the business and provide financially for his wife. Whatever it took to bring home enough money to keep them comfortable and pay his employees, he’d do it. She needed to trust him, just as he needed to trust the running of the home to her. He’d never tell her what to cook, or when to plant the garden, or when to harvest the vegetables. He’d never tell her how to arrange her own kitchen or when to air out the bedding. That was her realm.

  Except they’d hardly known each other when they married, and she hadn’t trusted him to take care of things.

  Redemption Credit Union was on the corner, and Amos let his wife go inside ahead of him. There were no Amish people in the bank that afternoon, which was a relief. And they waited in the snaking lineup to get to a teller.

  “Hi, Mr. Lapp,” the teller said with a smile.

  He didn’t bother reminding her that she could just call him Amos. The Englishers had their own way, and she meant it as respect.

  “I just want to get into my safe-deposit box,” he said.

  “Of course. Just a moment,” the teller said with a smile. “I just have to sign out the keys.”

  “Do you...need to see inside the box yourself?” he asked Miriam, his voice low.

  She cast him a small frown. “I trust you, Amos.”

  With this, perhaps. But she hadn’t trusted him to provide for her.

  “Mr. Lapp?” the teller said, coming back. “Just this way.”

  Amos went into the little sterile-feeling room beside the bank vault and he accepted his box from the woman with a nod of thanks. He put it on the table and opened it. He didn’t keep too many things in the safe-deposit box—some business documents, some land deeds... And when he sorted through them, he didn’t find the documents for Miriam’s strip mall. He went through them again slowly, just to be sure, but they weren’t there.

  Where would those documents be? He hadn’t seen them in years, and he never would have disposed of them.

  When Amos relocked his box into the wall of the vault and came back out, he tu
rned to the teller who had helped them.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Have a good day.”

  Miriam was silent, but she did look down at his empty hands and her disappointment was evident.

  “They weren’t there,” he said as they came back out into the sunlight. “I’m sorry. It was worth checking, though.”

  “Do you have any proper filing system?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “I mean for your personal documents,” she said. “Because my daet always had a carefully organized personal filing system that was just as meticulous as his system for his businesses. He always said that—”

  “Miriam.” Amos’s curt tone cut her off. “I know where my personal documents are. These are yours.”

  The distinction mattered, because he couldn’t be blamed for misplacing her papers. She’d been the one who left so fast she’d left them behind, and he wasn’t taking the blame for that.

  “Fine.” She pressed her lips together.

  “Are you sure you don’t have the documents with your own things?” he asked.

  “I went through everything,” she replied. “They aren’t there. Trust me, it was the first thing I did. I didn’t want to come here.”

  He felt the cut in those words. But this was hard for her, too, he realized. And now she’d given her word that she’d stay for a few weeks.

  “We’ll keep looking at home,” he said.

  She nodded. “At least we know they aren’t in the safe-deposit box. That’s something.”

  As they headed back toward Main Street, Amos looked over at her. The breeze was cool, and she rubbed her bare arms. His first instinct was to put an arm around her—it was what he would have done years ago if she were cold, but he mentally chastised himself for even thinking of it now. She might be his wife in name, but that was all.

  “I’m sure we’ll find the documents,” he said. “It’ll just take doing some searching together. We’ll look when I get home tonight.”

  “Thank you, Amos,” she said.