by Linda Byler
“Uncle Samuel said I may ride along to Ben’s farm,” she panted.
“We want to go, too,” Emma said.
“Ask him if you may,” Lizzie answered, dashing out the door, slamming it in Elsie’s face.
“Samuel, we want to go, too,” Elsie begged.
“There’s not enough room,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride when we get back, alright?”
So there was nothing for them to do but stand back as Nicky took a flying leap, scattering gravel in every direction as they started off. The cold air hit Lizzie’s face, and she clutched the metal rail around the back of the seat with all her strength. She had never in her life seen a pony go as fast as Nicky. Samuel was holding back as hard as he could on the reins, but the pony arched his neck, lowered his head, and ran faster than Red. His little hindquarters flopped up and down, in staccato rhythm, and in spite of herself, Lizzie giggled out loud. She hadn’t meant to, because she was ashamed of Samuel, but she had to do something for the sheer joy she felt.
Samuel glanced down at Lizzie and laughed. “Does he go fast?” he shouted.
Lizzie’s eyes shone with pure elation as she looked up at Samuel and said, “Faster than Red, I think!”
Samuel laughed again.
That night, when Lizzie snuggled under the covers, she knew the only part of moving day she would never forget was the taste of the doughnuts and her wonderful ride with Samuel and Nicky.
chapter 6
Hard Times
The warm spring sunshine slanted through the window as the Glick family sat down to their supper. It had been a lovely day, with warm breezes stirring the apple blossoms on the trees in the yard.
Mam opened the kitchen window, just enough to smell the apple blossoms. She returned and sat down with a tired sigh. She swept the loose strands of hair away from her forehead before she folded her hands in her lap, bowing her head in prayer before they started their meal. When the silent prayer was finished, Mam raised her head and sighed again. The atmosphere was strangely quiet, so Lizzie cleared her throat nervously.
Dat looked at the big white bowl in the middle of the table. “Potato soup again, Annie?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yes, Melvin, it’s potato soup again. My groceries are running very low and our money is … well, you know,” she said quietly, ladling the creamy potato soup into everyone’s bowls.
Dat looked very unhappy, but he sighed, looking hopefully at Mam. “It’ll get better, Annie—you wait and see. That man from northern Pennsylvania will pay real well for all the fancy harnesses he ordered.”
Mam looked steadily down at her bowl. “But Melvin, you should not have bought that large amount of saddles. We’ll never be able to sell them; you know we won’t.” Mam’s voice rose sharply, and a hot stab of fear shot through Lizzie’s stomach. Were they going to starve? She thought they must be awfully poor if they had only potato soup, two evenings in a row.
“Annie, you’re always looking on the dark side of everything. Of course those saddles will sell, and at a good profit, too. Just not right now, today or tomorrow, but in the future,” Dat told her.
Jason threw a boiled potato in Emma’s direction. Mam whirled around, smacking his fingers hard, and he yelped in pain and surprise.
“Stop that, Jason!” she snapped.
Jason yelled, hurling another potato in Emma’s direction. Dat looked sternly at Jason, getting out of his chair and picking him up. Mam looked at her plate, her face a mixture of anger and despair. Dat disappeared into the bedroom with Jason, and Mandy started to sob quietly, her head held in both hands.
Lizzie tried to act as if nothing was wrong, taking a big spoonful of creamy potato soup. She chewed carefully, avoiding looking in Mam’s direction, wishing with all her heart they would not have to be so unhappy today. Emma bent her head and buttered a piece of bread, making sure the bread was covered evenly with butter and jelly. Emma was like that, Lizzie thought. She could sit in the middle of the most nerve-racking things and be calmly thinking about something else. Right at this moment, she was more intent on making sure the jelly touched every crust of her bread than in the troubled atmosphere of the supper table.
Emma cleared her throat, cutting the piece of perfectly spread jelly bread in half. She lifted one part and bit off a perfect “U.”
“Mmmm!” she said, and smiled at Lizzie.
“Can I have the other half?” Lizzie asked.
“I guess.”
Dat returned to the table, putting Jason in his high chair. Jason continued to cry, and Lizzie pitied him with all her heart. It must be awful to have such a headful of curly hair, or rather, woolly hair. It was so thick and full of curls. When he cried, he reminded Lizzie of a sheep with its mouth wide open when it cried for its mother. Of course, Lizzie never told anyone, not even Emma, because she always felt bad about it, but she always thought Jason was not one bit cute like other babies and toddlers. She loved him and played with him almost more than Emma or Mandy, but she was so glad her own hair didn’t look like Jason’s.
“Pass the soup, please,” Dat said, stiffly.
“Just give me your soup plate, and I’ll fill it,” Mam said, just as stiffly.
Dat sighed and looked at Mam pleadingly, but Mam avoided looking at Dat. Instead she got up and went into the bedroom.
Oh dear, thought Lizzie. Now Mam is going to cry, and Dat will feel so bad. She laid down her spoon and swallowed hard, because the potatoes stuck in her throat. She looked over at Dat, who sat at the end of the table, looking as if he could burst into tears himself. He caught Lizzie’s eye and smiled at her, even if it was only a small lift of the corners of his mouth.
“Eat your supper, girls, then we’ll drive Dolly awhile, okay?” he asked.
“I’d rather drive Teeny and Tiny,” Lizzie said.
“Maybe later, if we have time,” he said.
“When can Emma and I drive them ourselves?” Lizzie asked.
Dat didn’t answer as he carefully took a bite of bread. He kept his eyes downcast and looked unhappy for a moment while he chewed and swallowed.
“I guess I may as well tell you now, girls,” he said quietly.
“What?” Emma asked innocently.
But Lizzie’s heart sank way down with a sickening thud. She knew. She knew exactly what Dat was going to say, because she had overheard Mam trying to persuade him to sell Teeny and Tiny, along with the glossy black spring wagon with the golden pinstripes along the side.
“We are going to have to sell Teeny and Tiny,” he said solemnly.
“Why?” Emma asked, stopping halfway with a bite of potato soup.
“Because we really need the money soon, and because it costs too much to feed three ponies, Mam thinks it would be best. I do, too, of course, but I wish we could keep them; I really do,” he finished.
Lizzie was heartbroken. It was just unthinkable, selling their miniature ponies. They were pint-sized little animals, a perfectly matched team of coppery-colored ponies with blond manes and tails that Dat had made a little wagon for. The girls just loved when Dat hitched them to this wagon, clipping down the road with their heads held high. They didn’t even have them very long, Lizzie thought sadly. And just when Dat was about ready to let them drive alone.
“Are we going to have to sell Dolly, too?” Emma asked.
“No, not Dolly,” Dat said. “We need her to get milk at Uncle James’s farm, don’t we?”
“We sure do. I’d hate walking so far and carrying that huge milk jug,” Emma said, relieved.
“When do we have to sell Teeny and Tiny?” Lizzie asked.
“Oh, I thought about this and decided we’d sell them at Harrison’s Auction in Taylorsburg. That’s a horse auction where they sell horses and ponies under a big tent about every six weeks. So what we’ll do is I’ll teach you and Emma to drive them by yourselves, so you can drive them in the ring at the auction. Do you think you can?” he asked.
Emma shrugged her shoulders. “We prob
ably could.”
Lizzie’s eyes shone, because that sounded so exciting! Imagine driving Teeny and Tiny around and around under a huge tent with hundreds of people watching them. She wiggled around on the bench and swung her feet furiously under the table.
“You think we should?” she asked nervously.
“We’ll see,” Dat said, getting up and grasping Jason under his arms, throwing him into the air. Jason giggled with pleasure. “There you go, Jase,” Dat said, setting him on the floor, and he promptly toddled into the living room to find his toys.
“Girls, you had better get busy here and clear off the table,” Dat said, looking in the direction of the bedroom door. “I’m going down to the shop now, and after you have the dishes done, we should drive Teeny and Tiny if we’re going to sell them.”
He clattered down the steps, and Emma looked over at Lizzie. Lizzie looked straight back at Emma, and they did not say a word. It was almost as if they knew, at that moment, that things were not good, but they didn’t know how to express their feelings.
“Where’s Mam?” Emma asked wearily, older than her years. She scraped Lizzie’s uneaten potato soup into her own bowl and added the crusts of leftover bread.
“I don’t know,” Lizzie said, shrugging her shoulders.
“What’s wrong with Mam and Dat?” Emma asked.
“I think we’re very, very poor,” Lizzie said slowly, gathering a handful of silverware and heading to the sink.
“Why are we so poor?” Emma asked. “I mean, Dat and Mam are always busy in the harness shop. Dat makes lots of halters and harnesses, and the little bell above the door rings an awful lot lately.”
“I know,” Lizzie said. “But, Emma, they argue all the time.”
“No, they don’t, Lizzie. Mam and Dat really like each other and don’t argue all the time, either,” Emma answered defensively.
“I don’t care what you say, Emma. I heard them.”
“When?”
“One time.”
“Lizzie, you stretch your stuff. Everything you say is not nearly as bad as you make it sound.”
“Well,” Lizzie sighed, grabbing a washcloth and wiping furiously on the plastic tablecloth. There were little rips and holes in the cheap fabric, and Lizzie caught her washcloth in one. “See, if we weren’t so poor, we wouldn’t have this pitiful-looking, old torn tablecloth on our table.”
“Lizzie, you should be ashamed of yourself. Lots of Amish families have torn plastic tablecloths on their tables. When I get married, I’m not going to go buy a new tablecloth just because it has a hole in it. Everybody has holes in their tablecloth,” Emma said.
Lizzie drew herself up to her full height and said vehemently, “Emma, I don’t care what you say. Anyone that has a torn plastic tablecloth on their table is poor. If they weren’t, they’d buy a new one. When I’m married, I am not going to keep mine that long. It looks sloppy and makes you look like you’re poor, anyhow.”
Emma added dish detergent to the hot water in the sink. “Well, I pity Mam.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
“I pity Dat.”
“I pity Mam most, because she’s always working in the harness shop and it’s just a fright how sloppy this house looks,” Emma said.
“Why don’t you clean it up?” Lizzie asked, swishing her hand in the warm rinse water. She made a wave with the back of her hand, and water sloshed over the sink.
“Stop that!” Emma barked.
“Girls, what’s wrong?” Mam came up behind them, turning to the stove to help clean up the pots and pans.
“Oh, nothing,” Emma said quickly.
Lizzie wiped dishes, quietly remembering to dry each piece properly. Emma washed just as quietly, while Mam cleaned the stove. There wasn’t much to say, because Mam was not her cheerful self, and they were afraid of saying the wrong thing. When Lizzie could stand it no longer, she blurted out, “Mam, why are we poor?”
“Ach, Lizzie, you’re too little to ask such questions. We’re not really poor—we still have our house and food to eat, even if it’s only potato soup. We’re just having a hard time because of the large amount of inventory we have that isn’t selling,” she said wearily.
“What’s inventory?” Emma asked.
“New things to sell in the harness shop. Saddles, blankets, shoes, and all those things we need to sell faster,” Mam replied, swiping at the countertop.
“Did you know we’re going to learn to drive Teeny and Tiny?” Emma asked.
“Oh, are you? Well, they’re another thing we need to sell. I don’t know why we still have those expensive little ponies. They just aren’t worth a thing, and I mean it,” Mam said sharply.
“No, we’re going to learn to drive them because Dat is going to let us drive them in the auction ring when he sells them in a couple of weeks,” Emma said importantly.
Mam froze. She looked at Emma, hard. “When did he tell you that?” she asked.
“At the supper table.”
“Oh, my!” Mam threw up her hands and sat down on a kitchen chair. “I wonder what made him change his mind?”
“Do you think we can, Mam?” Lizzie asked.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. Ach, I feel sorry for Melvin in a way, but it simply makes no sense keeping them. We simply cannot afford them,” she said, as if she were talking to herself.
“We’re done with the dishes, Mam. Can we go now?” asked Emma.
“Mm-hmm,” Mam said, as if she wasn’t aware that they were even in the kitchen.
So Emma and Lizzie ran down the stairs and into the golden evening sunshine. Robins were noisily getting ready to settle their babies for the night, and bluebirds were flying through the air in search of one more insect for their families.
It was hard to be troubled on such a beautiful evening, and the girls forgot their problems when Dat appeared at the barn door. He pulled out the little black spring wagon, pushing it aside while he whistled for Teeny and Tiny.
They trotted to the gate of their stall, nickering in reply, eager to see if they would be allowed to run this evening. Dat opened the gate and they rushed out to the water trough together, bending their heads in unison to take deep, long draughts of cold water. Dat brushed their coats, while Emma and Lizzie took turns combing their manes and tails.
Dat had taught them to stand to the side when they brushed their tails, just in case the ponies kicked out the back unexpectedly. Ponies could be caught by surprise, or frightened easily, as skittish as they were, so the girls had to be careful and listen to what Dat told them.
After their coats glistened to Dat’s inspection, the harnesses were brought from the long wooden cupboard that hung from the wall. He placed them on each pony’s back, fastening buckles and straps, until everything was in the right place. He put on the bridles last, because that was just the proper way to harness a pony.
Lizzie often wondered why the bridle was put on last, but she suspected it was to keep the ponies from suffering longer than they had to. She could not imagine having a bit in her mouth and those horrible blinders on each side of her head. But Dat said you had to have those so the ponies couldn’t see what was beside them, or something that came up unexpectedly behind them.
Dat led the ponies out and Lizzie held their bridles while he fastened the tongue to their collar straps. They pranced in anticipation and tried to throw their heads up, but Lizzie hung on to their bridles, saying, “Whoa,” quite well, she thought.
“Now,” Dat said. “You and Emma sit on the seat and I’ll just kneel on the back behind you. Emma, you may drive first, since you’re the oldest, and I’ll be back here, in case you can’t handle them. And remember, keep a firm grip on the reins, keeping your hands away from your body so if they rear back with their heads, you still have control. And don’t be afraid; just make yourself boss, and they’ll listen.”
Lizzie smiled to herself. Dat always said that when they drove ponies. Make you
rself boss, and they’ll listen, she thought. They were never allowed to show fear of ponies, or Dat would scold them. To him, you were not able to drive a pony well as long as you were afraid of it.
Dat went to the ponies’ heads, and Emma and Lizzie hurried up into the seat. They settled themselves nervously, and Dat handed the reins to Emma.
“Here you are! Ready?”
Emma nodded her head, biting her lower lip.
Lizzie glanced at her nervously, but she didn’t say anything. Dat climbed on the back, while Emma eased the reins forward a tiny bit.
“C’mon, giddap,” she said, in a shaky little voice.
Teeny lunged forward, pulling Tiny along, and they zigzagged a bit, until they straightened out their gaits. As they pulled onto the road, they were stepping out together as if they were one animal instead of two. Their coats glistened in the evening sun, and their blond manes and tails streamed out behind them, as their little black hooves pattered daintily on the macadam. The neighbors stopped their work and waved at Dat, calling out to him or shaking their heads in wonder at the size of these miniature ponies. Lizzie tilted her head back to see Dat’s face, and he was smiling and waving. He was so proud of this matched pair of ponies, and the little spring wagon he had made all by himself.
Emma was starting to relax as the ponies trotted out of town and past the green, rolling hayfields. Lizzie was thrilled to be able to sit on that seat, up so much higher than the ponies, and feel the power of their sturdy little bodies. There was just something about driving ponies that made Lizzie so happy that she smiled to herself without even thinking about it. Dat said he loved it, too, so that was why she felt that way.
Lizzie was allowed to drive on the way home. Her hands held firmly to the reins, and she sat as tall as she possibly could. She had a notion to let the reins loose completely, just to see how fast they would go, but she knew Dat would not allow it. So she held back smoothly, her little arms held out straight in front of her.
“Let them go a little, Lizzie!” Dat said.
“Should I?”
“Sure!”
So she let loose on her grip of the reins slowly, and immediately the ponies surged forward. Their gait increased until Dat, Emma, and Lizzie all burst out laughing, filled with the sheer joy of the moment. Teeny and Tiny were so little and funny, and if they ran as fast as they could without breaking into a gallop, their legs looked like they were whirring instead of actually stepping.
