Wife on His Doorstep

by Patricia Johns

  “Are you sure you want her to leave?” Thomas asked.

  Amos sighed. “It isn’t about that.”

  “How is it not?” Thomas asked. “She’s your wife. If you wanted her to stay—”

  “It isn’t that simple,” Amos said. “Besides, she wouldn’t want to be at home. She’d want to run the shop.”

  The men exchanged a look. So they were finally understanding what he was getting at.

  “Like, she’d run the front of the store?” Noah asked. “That might not be a bad idea. As it is, we have to run back and forth to serve customers and take orders while we’re working. If we had someone who could stay out front and help customers, someone who couldn’t be pushed around—”

  “She’d want more than that,” Amos said. “She’d want to change how I run things.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Thomas asked.

  “I know her.”

  Amos wasn’t in the mood to debate this. He knew his wife far better than Thomas and Noah were giving him credit for. He and Miriam had already fought battles that these young men had no knowledge of.

  Maybe they were right about one thing, though. Maybe Miriam could use a friend while she was here—someone to distract her from his life a little bit.

  The bell above the front door tinkled, and Amos headed for the showroom. When he got there, he saw the owner of the show homes standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking around with a frown. He was a portly man with a cowboy hat and a large buckle, and when Amos came into the room, his gaze snapped up.

  “Hello,” Amos said.

  “Mr. Lapp,” the man said with a tight smile. “I’m not happy to have to come down here myself, I’ll have you know. When I sent my men to pick up the order, I expected you to release it.”

  “I expected payment,” Amos replied quietly. “I’m running a business here, Mr. Boone. I can’t release the furniture without payment.”

  “You and I had an agreement,” the other man said irritably. “I came to an Amish business because I thought my handshake would mean something here. I came for the old-fashioned moral fiber.”

  Amos didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to argue the morality of a handshake right now. A handshake only meant something when two men knew each other.

  “Fine.” Mr. Boone sighed, and he pulled a money order out of his pocket. “Here it is, in full. But I’ll need to take a look at the furniture before I hand this over.”

  “Perfectly fair,” Amos said. “Right through here. We have everything ready to load up. Do you have the truck here?”

  “It’s waiting around back.”

  Miriam had been right, it seemed. This Englisher businessman was ready to pay up, if Amos put his foot down with him. And looking at him now, Amos had a suspicion that once the man got the furniture, the payment wouldn’t have been quite so prompt. Amos pulled out the paperwork for the order and nodded his head toward the back door.

  “I have the order outlined right here,” Amos said. “We can take another look at it together.”

  As Amos ushered the man through the back, he felt a wave of relief.

  Thank You, Gott, he prayed. We needed this.

  And maybe, just for today, he’d needed Miriam, too.

  * * *

  That evening, after they closed up shop, the men stood in the back room, their hats on their heads and the crate of rinsed, empty dishes from Miriam’s hot stew all ready to go. It had been a productive day, and with that payment from the big order in the bank deposit envelope, Amos felt like they’d be all right. At least he’d be able to tell Mammi that she need not worry about it anymore.

  “I’m tired,” Noah said. “I’m looking forward to Eve’s good cooking.” He winced. “We could bring you some dinner, Amos.”

  “No, no,” Amos replied. “My wife will have cooked.”

  The words came out more casually than he’d even intended. It had been so long since he’d been able to say anything like that, and he felt his face heat.

  “Give Mammi our love,” Thomas said.

  “And ours, too,” Noah added.

  “Of course,” Amos said. “I’d better get back. Mammi gets really tired in the evenings, and I want to be able to spend as much time with her as I can tonight.”

  “We’re praying for her,” Noah said. “And for you.”

  “Thank you.” It meant more than the younger men might know, but in times like this, Amos wasn’t expecting healing so much as he was longing for Gott’s comforting presence. “I’m going to go to Blueberry Bakery before I leave so I can bring Mammi some whoopee pies,” he added.

  “She’d like that,” Thomas said.

  “Yah, she would.”

  “We’ll hitch your buggy so that you can leave right away when you get back from the bakery,” Thomas said. “It’s the least we can do.”

  Amos felt a lump rise in his throat. These were good men, and he was glad to claim them in his makeshift family circle.

  So Amos started up the road at a brisk pace, his heart heavy in his chest. He wanted to bring Mammi whoopee pies to make her smile, but these weren’t only Mammi’s favorite treats, they were Miriam’s, too. The first night they spent in their own house, Amos had made sure to have a box of whoopee pies from Blueberry Bakery, because Miriam loved them. He could still remember how she’d looked with a touch of cream at the corner of her lips and her eyes sparkling with happiness.

  He pushed back the memory. Mammi loved whoopee pies, too. What Amish person didn’t? If he brought those pastries home, would Miriam think he was trying to remind her of something?

  He felt a tickle of nervousness at that thought. Maybe he was...

  Regardless, Amos owed Miriam his sincere thanks today, and he ruefully acknowledged that Mammi might enjoy his humbled position with his wife even more than she’d enjoy the whoopee pies.

  Dear, sweet Mammi.

  She always was a matchmaker at heart. If only her last attempt at bringing a couple together could have some hope of working out, because Mammi would really enjoy that.

  Amos would have to make do with whoopee pies.

  * * *

  Miriam stood at the kitchen counter peeling potatoes. It was a job she could do without even thinking, her fingers knowing the work so well that the pile of peels grew steadily without her hardly noticing.

  On the porch, Mammi was sitting in the rocking chair chatting with a neighbor, Doris, who had stopped by to see her. The two older women’s voices came filtering back through the house with the grass-scented breeze, soft and warm. They were talking about people the used to know years ago... “That Yoder boy, the one with the leg brace,” and “the King family from Indiana—the ones who sang so beautifully.” Miriam smiled wistfully. It was good that Mammi could have time with her friends remembering the richness of her life.

  Outside the kitchen window, a neighbor boy was cutting the lawn with a push mower, the blades whisking through the grass. He ducked his head as he worked, his straw hat pushed back so that his glistening forehead was exposed. She watched him work for a couple of minutes, in the way she watched all children these days. If Gott had given her a different constitution, she might have had a strong, strapping boy like this of her very own.

  But Gott didn’t make mistakes, and she wasn’t going to waste her time railing against Him. So she turned back to her cooking. Dinner tonight would be chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy and some canned green beans from last year’s garden. Tonight she had a feeling they could all use a little comfort on their plates, and nothing seemed to feed heavy hearts better than chicken dinner.

  The visit with Fannie had been on Miriam’s mind all afternoon. Fannie and Silas had obviously worked out their difficulties, and there was a disparity now between Miriam and Fannie. Miriam had been strong back when she and Fannie had been friends—she’d been confident, sure
of herself...and she’d been very sure that Amos was wrong. Fannie had been less certain of herself, more worried about what her new in-laws thought of her, and more heartbroken every time she and Silas had an argument.

  And in Miriam’s humble opinion, Silas had been in the wrong, too. He hadn’t been taking his young wife’s feelings into account. He’d been demanding and unwilling to bend. But they’d sorted things out apparently. They’d finally found a way to understand each other, after all.

  Today, Fannie had been the stronger one, more sure of herself, and perhaps for good reason. The goal had been to have a happy marriage, not to go back to her father’s home in disgrace, even if she did help grow a business. Comparing herself to her old friend, she felt embarrassed. How many diatribes had Miriam gone on that Fannie would remember now in a much different light? How many silly things had Miriam said about what made a marriage work that Fannie would shake her head about?

  That was one problem with being opinionated and talkative—the Bible said that “In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise.” In the multitude of words this time, there had been a whole lot of foolishness, and Miriam’s face felt hot even now thinking about it.

  Outside, she heard the clop of horses’ hooves and the crunch of buggy wheels along the gravel drive. She looked out the window to see Amos’s buggy pull up next to the stable. Amos said something to the boy with the push mower, and the boy grinned up at him and nodded. Amos always had been good with children. They liked him.

  Miriam turned back to peeling potatoes into a big black pot, the strips of potato peel dropping to a bucket on the counter next to her. By the time Amos had finished with the horses and his footsteps sounded on the steps outside, Miriam had finished with the potatoes and set the pot on the stove to boil.

  The side door opened, and Amos came inside, a bakery box balanced on one palm. Miriam put the lid onto the pot and shot him a hesitant smile.

  “It smells good,” Amos said.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  He put the box onto the table, and then went back into the mudroom. The water turned on as he washed his hands, and she stood there, eyes on the box, waiting for him to come back out.

  “So, how did it go at the shop?” Miriam called.

  Amos came out of the mudroom, still drying his hands. He tossed the towel into a hamper by the door.

  “Fine,” he replied.

  “The business that owed you money—I imagine the manager called you?” she said.

  “No, he didn’t call.” Amos met her gaze with that calm, reasonable way he had that had always driven her crazy. He knew what she was asking.

  “Oh... No?” Had she gauged that wrong?

  “They did come back and pick up the order,” he said.

  “Did they pay?” she demanded.

  Amos smiled. “Yah. They paid.”

  Was that so hard to tell her? She shot him an irritated look. “Good. That’s what I wanted to know. The full amount?”

  “What if it weren’t the full amount?” Amos asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What would that mean to you?”

  “It would mean you were taken advantage of,” she replied. “And I’d ask for his phone number to speak to him directly. That would be unethical business, and if he wanted to play fast and loose with businesses in this area, he can find himself with a very bad reputation in these parts. As it is—”

  “He paid the full amount.” Amos picked an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and took a crunching bite.

  Was this a game for him?

  “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?” she said.

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked. “I’ve kept myself in business for the last twenty years without your help or input. I’m sure I can continue on my own.”

  “It’s the principle,” she said. “I don’t like seeing rich men taking advantage of a small business. It’s not right. Of all the people who can afford to pay, it’s a big company like that. My father always paid his bills early—every single little bill. Even the small ones that didn’t seem like they mattered, because he knew that those small bills paid kept small businesses running—”

  “So you’re comparing the big business with your father, and I’m a little business, just struggling to keep myself afloat,” he said, his gaze locking on to hers. She knew that tone—she’d offended him again.

  “Amos, I’m not the one who said you needed that payment,” she said. “And now you have it. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “It’s how you see me, Miriam,” he said. “It’s how you’ve always seen me. I’m not some man struggling to begin. I’m respected in this community, you know. Well respected.”

  “Yah, I know!” She turned away, irritated, then turned back. “I’m not insulting your position in the community, Amos. I’m not suggesting that you’re unable to run your own business. But I do think you could do with a little more respect from the Englisher businesses you sell to. How many of them have short-paid you? How many have expected deep discounts in order to do business with you again? They don’t respect you nearly enough!”

  “Let me ask you this,” Amos said, his gaze narrowing. “How many businesses have you actually run all by yourself?”

  She blinked at him. “My father owned—”

  “I’m not asking about your father,” he said. “You. How many have you owned and operated, making all the decisions yourself, accepting any consequence that came from them on your own shoulders without any hope of someone bailing you out? How many?”

  Was he trying to embarrass her now? She felt the blood drain from her face, and she pressed her lips together. This was why they’d always fought. Because he couldn’t see when she was helping! He refused to see when she was right!

  “You think watching my father run a veritable empire taught me nothing?” she asked curtly.

  “I think watching something done and doing it yourself are two very different experiences,” he replied. “And until you’ve run your own business, you have no right to give advice as if you were your father. You aren’t Leroy Schwartz. He might have taught you, but he didn’t put those businesses into your hands.”

  Because her father had never intended for her to run them—that was the thought that was running through Miriam’s mind, and it settled like a rock in her chest. Her daet hadn’t left her even one business to run on her own. He’d given everything to Japheth, even after ten years of her working tirelessly by his side. He’d never given her the chance to prove herself.

  Miriam felt her chin tremble with emotion, and she looked up to see Mammi’s friend Doris standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She must have come through the front door, and they hadn’t heard her.

  Amos’s ears turned red, and they both instinctively angled away from each other.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I’m heading back home to start my own dinner,” Doris said, glancing between them. “I don’t want to leave Mary alone out there. She needs help to come back inside.”

  “Thank you for telling us,” Amos said. “I’m sorry about—” He glanced toward Miriam. “We, uh, we were just having a discussion. Everything is fine.”

  “Hmm.” Doris raised an eyebrow, and Miriam felt the judgment. This time, it might be deserved. Mammi needed a supportive and loving environment, not two people who fought like a couple of magpies.

  “I’ll go help her inside,” Amos said, and he headed back through the house toward the front door with Doris on his heels.

  Miriam stood there for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. Amos always had known how to cast a barb that hurt. He didn’t even know he was doing it, because she’d never told him how deeply her father’s choices had stung her. He was doing what he did best—making a point.

  She turned toward the table and saw the ba
kery box sitting there. She moved toward it, and plucked the lid open. Inside there were three plump, chocolate whoopee pies with white, whipped centers.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Whoopee pies. Had he remembered that first meal alone together, a pot of tea between them and a box of whoopee pies? She looked in the direction Amos had gone, and there was the sound of the front screen door slamming shut and the murmur of voices outside.

  She shut the lid to the bakery box.

  Amos had probably forgotten that little detail about their history. Because if Amos had any fond memories at all of their brief time together, they hadn’t softened him one bit.

  Chapter Six

  Mammi sat in a rocking chair on the porch, her hands folded in her lap. She had a blanket over her legs despite the warm weather, and she looked up as Amos came outside and gave him a gentle smile. Jeremiah Miller, the boy mowing the grass, had finished his work and he waved as he headed back up the drive. Amos had hired the boy to do the mowing for a set amount each month, and so far, he’d been doing a good job.

  “Doris said you’re ready to come in,” Amos said to his grandmother. “It was nice that she came by.”

  “Yah, I was glad to see her. I treasure these times now even more than I did before. But I’m not quite ready to come yet,” she said. “Why don’t you sit?”

  The only other place to sit was the swing, and Amos settled onto it, leaning forward onto his elbows to keep himself stationary.

  “It’s a lovely evening,” Amos said.

  “Yah,” she agreed. “How did things go with that big order?”

  “Uh—” He wasn’t sure how much his grandmother had overheard from inside. “It went well. They paid in full.”

  Mammi smiled. “So your wife was of some use.”

  Amos nodded and gave his grandmother a rueful look. “Yah, Mammi, she was.”

  “Did you tell her that?” Mammi raised her eyebrows.

  “I—” Had he said it in so many words? “I told her that they paid.”

  “That didn’t sound like a grateful spirit inside there,” Mammi said.