The Way to a Man's Heart (The Miller Family 3)

by Mary Ellis

  “Can we change the subject, please?” she asked. “Why the need for a new barn?” She did her best to ignore the fact John was now waving at her. “I don’t see anything singed or charred like we had in our poor yard after the fire.”

  “Nah, no fire. Their barn was old and full of dry-rot. They decided to take it down before it fell down. I don’t reckon the cows would have appreciated that too much. They plan to use some of the dismantled materials for inside partitions, but nothing load-bearing.”

  “Hullo, Miss Miller!” A voice boomed. “What do you think about—”

  As Leah turned her gaze skyward, she heard a sudden shout and then saw Steven sliding down the roof. Along with three other men, he had been lifting sheets of plywood to nail in succession over the roof rafters. If his claw hammer hadn’t caught on something during his slide, he might have fallen off the roof completely, a drop of at least twenty-five feet.

  “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed while Matthew ran to the ladder. By the time he scrambled up to where Steven had been hanging precariously, several other men had already pulled him to safety. Once back on the scaffolding, Leah watched the foreman wag his finger at Steven, but his words were indiscernible down below.

  With the accident narrowly averted, one by one the spectators returned their focus to ground level…and several focused on her. Some glared outright as though she were somehow responsible for the close call. For the second time in ten minutes, Leah’s face flushed to an angry shade of red. As Steven shakily descended the ladder, she turned on her heels and ran. She had to get away from finger-pointing people, from young men determined to make fools of themselves, and from her own guilty heart. She had encouraged them to a certain extent. She’d laughed at their jokes, blushed at their compliments, and had returned almost as many surreptitious glances as she received.

  She didn’t stop running until she reached the stand of pines separating the yard from croplands. Once she felt thick pine needles beneath her feet, she sank down into a heap and buried her face in her skirt. Tears were her first response, followed by prayers to be delivered from her own weakness, and finally hope rose from deep within. Would the man she truly favored show up?

  Didn’t Jonah have a knack for turning up when least expected?

  She prayed he’d witnessed her escape from the construction site and then trailed her to see what was wrong. He might offer to drive her home in his buggy, and this time she wouldn’t sit mutely like a ninny. She would tell him about Steven’s close call and then turn the conversation to him. He could talk about cheese-making or about the different varieties his mother made. Maybe he could suggest new products to try in her baking. And maybe she would find enough courage to ask about his falling away from his faith.

  She could offer help or consolation. And she would stop being so hopelessly self-involved.

  But Jonah Byler made no afternoon appearance.

  After her tears dried on her cheeks, and her red face returned to its normal paleness, Leah shook pine needles from her clothes and crept back to the house. She busied herself by heating things up in the kitchen and carrying them to the chow tent. At least when she was surrounded by food she stood on familiar ground.

  Julia folded up her lawn chair and Leah’s quilt and went back to sit with the other women. She sent her daughter away so she wouldn’t keep beating her point into the ground. Leah wasn’t at all argumentative, and Julia knew that if she harped too much, Leah would retreat into her shell. A mother needed to maintain communication with a teenage daughter, whether officially on Rumschpringe or not.

  The women had moved their chairs under the shaded canopy near the lunch tent. The younger matrons were busy refilling food tables because the workers ate in shifts, not all at once. The elder women would be called to help when needed.

  From her vantage point she had watched Leah deliver cold drinks to Matthew and remain to chat. With horror she’d seen a young man lose his balance while waving and slide down the plywood. If not for God’s mercy and the quick reactions of his crew, he would be on his way to the hospital emergency room instead of catching his breath on the scaffold.

  The object of his enthusiasm had been Leah. “Who was that young man who almost fell from the roof?” Julia asked the woman beside her. She only knew her casually because she belonged to a different district.

  “His name’s Steven Fisher. His family goes to the same services we do. He is a good boy.” Her tone held no vacillation.

  “He had better mind what he’s doing. He could have fallen to the ground,” Julia said, rubbing the backs of her hands. It probably would rain tonight, based on her arthritis.

  “That’s your gal he was waving to, no?”

  “Jah, that’s Leah, my younger daughter. And my boy Matthew, who was standing with her.”

  “That was my son, John, who was trying to get her attention earlier.

  Julia uttered no words, merely a grunt of acknowledgment.

  “And his friend Daniel, who was also waving up a fuss.” Her comment seemed to hang in the humid summer air as though waiting for Julia to respond.

  Julia failed to see how the actions of three boys could be construed as Leah’s fault. “Jah, they all better keep their minds on what they’re doing. A barn raising is no place for shenanigans.” Julia hoped the topic was finished.

  “At least your gal went running off so the boys could concentrate on their work.”

  Julia chewed on the inside of her cheek.

  “Is she the ‘Leah’ from Leah’s Home Cooking, that new diner in town?”

  “Jah, but it is April Lambright’s business. Leah does most of the cooking and helps serve.” For a moment, Julia contemplated moving her chair to the other end of the row, but she knew how rude that would look.

  “I never ate there myself, but my son uses any excuse to go to town and stop in. Leah’s meatloaf, Leah’s baked fish, Leah’s chicken salad—you’d think the boy never ate those same foods in his own kitchen. And the way he goes on and on about her pies.” The woman clucked her tongue in disapproval.

  Julia silently counted to five before replying. “I suppose a young man of your son’s age loves a change of scenery in town. The diner is still a new attraction—the novelty will wear off in time. My Leah has always loved to cook and bake. She goes the extra mile with her recipes. She surely didn’t learn that from me.” Julia released her breath through her nostrils, feeling confident her reply had been as Christian as humanly possible.

  It was the other woman’s turn to grunt. “Has your daughter made up her mind which boy she wants to court yet?”

  Julia turned in her chair with her mouth agape. Amish parents rarely discussed their kinner’s courting. It usually remained a big secret until an engagement was announced. She shut her mouth with a click and then said, “She seldom goes to Sunday singings yet. She’s usually too tired after her busy week. I don’t think she’s courting anybody.” Julia hoped her crisp tone would lay the matter to rest.

  The woman stretched her neck and arched her back, reminding Julia of a barnyard goose. Then she turned in her chair to meet Julia’s gaze. “Some of the women with daughters in my district think your girl should release the fish back to the pond that she doesn’t mean to fry up in her skillet.”

  Julia was rendered speechless while she pondered this odd analogy. Then she said in a low tone, “If you have no further parental advice for me, I’ll go see if I’m needed in the lunch tent.” She rose to her feet and walked off as her temper flared. Fortunately—or not—no snappy comebacks occurred to her until well away from the meddlesome woman. But it was just as well, because James 1:26 came to mind: “If you claim to be religious but don’t control your tongue, you are fooling yourself, and your religion is worthless.”

  Julia busied herself at the buffet line, stirring roasters and filling plates while figuring out what to do next. She noticed her daughter marching to and fro from the house and could tell by her downcast face all was not well. But o
ne thing was certain: She would discuss this with Simon tonight before bed. It was far better for him to hear the news from his wife than from another father standing around the grain elevator. Julia knew that most men liked to gossip almost as much as women and needed to be reminded of what the Good Book had to say on the matter.

  Simon barely noticed that his family was very quiet as the gelding took them home from the barn raising. Everyone was exhausted. Henry, at sixteen, did more than his share moving lumber around the construction site. Leah had helped in the food tent after her regular shift at the diner. And Julia? Her arthritis bothered her more than she revealed, despite her medications. Hot humid weather inflamed her already swollen joints. He too was tired but glad he had felt well enough to pitch in. Because the horse knew the way home, he dozed on his sleeping wife’s shoulder.

  “Where’s Matthew?” Henry asked from the backseat. “How come he didn’t ride home with us?”

  Simon shook off his somnolence. “He’s spending the night there. He was asked to remain to finish the interior partitions and hang the barn’s windows and doors.”

  “What about his job?” Leah asked. “Doesn’t he have to work at Macintosh Farms tomorrow?”

  “No, he quit his job there,” said Simon.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. He loved working with horses all day. And he made good money.” Leah leaned forward over the front bench.

  “There are more important things in life than a paycheck, daughter. You keep that in mind. Your bruder didn’t like how the Englischer ran things, so he’s striking out on his own.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, settling back on her seat.

  “I hope you’ll keep your negativity to yourself,” Julia snapped. She apparently hadn’t been sleeping after all.

  Simon seldom heard Julia be short tempered with Leah. It was usually one of the boys who found her last nerve.

  “I will,” Leah agreed, sounding either chastised or half asleep. “If anybody could make a go of it, it would be him. Everyone thinks he’s the best horseman around.”

  “The bishop said starting his own business is the right course of action, all things considered,” said Simon. “Sometimes we must show faith. The bishop will ask the men who stay to finish the barn to help spread the word about his horse training. Word-of-mouth is the best advertisement.”

  A yawn was Leah’s final comment on the subject, which suited Simon fine. Peace and quiet was what he needed, and a good night’s sleep in his own comfortable bed. Never before did their humble home look so welcoming as they turned up their driveway.

  “See to the horse, Henry. You’re a bit younger than me. Check all the water buckets and then come to bed.” Leah jumped out and practically sprinted to the house. Simon helped Julia down from the buggy. “I’m glad tomorrow is Saturday. Sleep in, wife; it was a long day. Anything you need to do can wait an extra hour.”

  “I think I will, but before we go in, I need a word with you.”

  “Tonight, when we’re both so tired? Can’t we talk at breakfast?”

  She touched his arm lightly. “It won’t take long, I promise. And I want to get this off my chest.”

  “Ach, sit down on the porch.” He pointed to a straight-backed chair so she could get up easily. “And tell me what won’t wait until the morning.”

  After Julia settled herself she gazed up, her soft brown eyes catching reflected light through the window. “It seems that our shy little girl has bloomed, Simon. And like the honeysuckle bush when filled with blossoms, she has attracted quite a few bees buzzing around the diner.”

  Simon huffed with impatience. “I’m too tired to figure out metaphors tonight. You had better spell this out to me in simple words.”

  Julia reached for his hand. “Several young men from the next district over have become smitten with our daughter. They appear to be vying for her attention.”

  “For Leah?” Simon asked in disbelief. His younger daughter had shown no interest in such things thus far, and he’d been very pleased with that. She hadn’t even wished for a Rumschpringe.

  “Jah, our daughter Leah. I heard at quilting that there was a scuffle during the Cleveland baseball outing, but I’d assumed the story had been stretched out of shape.”

  He studied her weary face as best he could in the dim light. “Go on.”

  “And then a woman spoke to me this afternoon, the mother of one of the boys who frequent the diner. She has the notion that Leah is encouraging this competition among the young men.”

  Simon slapped his palm on his leg. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time. She must have been sitting too long in the hot sun.” He pushed away from the porch rail and offered his hand. “Let’s go inside. You had me worried for a moment that it was something serious.”

  Julia grasped his hand tightly but didn’t get up. “I want you to speak to our daughter, Simon. She’s no longer a child, not since she started working. Make sure she understands that a girl’s reputation is fragile. And that she shouldn’t encourage flattery or male attention to stroke her ego.” Julia struggled to her feet, accepting his arm for support.

  He felt blindsided by Julia’s words. Are we talking about the same child? “This sounds like womanfolk talk, fraa. Don’t you think she should hear this from you?”

  “True enough, but I’ve already spoken to her today about another matter. I thought we could spread out the parental duties.”

  “Two lectures in the same day—a total equal to the number she has received in the last two years? What is the world coming to?” He helped Julia to the door feeling ninety-five years old.

  “Let’s contemplate that question after a good night’s sleep.”

  The next morning Simon was waiting for his daughter in the kitchen when she arrived downstairs. “Guder mariye,” Leah said, slipping on one of her work aprons. “You already started the coffee?”

  “I’m not helpless in the kitchen. I know how to make a pot of coffee,” he said, sipping the strong brew.

  “Do you want me to cook your breakfast before I leave for work?” She glanced around the room with a puzzled expression.

  “No, I’ll eat with your mamm after my morning chores, same as always. Get your coffee, Leah, and sit down.”

  Leah filled her travel mug and added milk right to the rim. “Can this wait till after work, daed? Saturday is our busiest day at the diner. I don’t want to be late.”

  “It cannot. Sit down,” he ordered. Apparently, he was down to one child who did his bidding without challenge—Henry.

  Leah’s complexion paled considerably. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mamm said there was some fuss over you at that ballgame and a reoccurrence of trouble at the barn raising. Is this true?”

  A blush replaced her paleness but her voice remained calm. “I suppose one could say that.” She sipped her coffee as though they were discussing someone else.

  “I’m asking how you would describe it. And if you’d like to get to work before lunchtime, I suggest you start talking.”

  She snapped on the travel lid and then met his gaze. “Two boys started a fight at the ballgame because one wanted me to eat nachos and the other one didn’t. I had no taste for greasy nachos since I’d already eaten too much junk food, but nobody seemed to listen to me. They got themselves in trouble with the chaperones because they punched each other. One ended up with a bloodied nose and the other got the wind knocked out of him.” She didn’t break eye contact as she recounted the story as though reading aloud from the newspaper.

  “And what happened yesterday?” he asked. “Did it involve the same two boys?”

  “Jah and one more. All three come to the diner quite often for breakfast. While they were working on the roof, they started calling to me and waving. One lost his balance and slipped down the plywood because he wasn’t being careful. Luckily for him, members of his crew pulled him back before he fell to the ground.” She offered a tentative smile. “I didn’t do anything
wrong, daed. I was taking a cold drink to Matthew like mamm said I should.”

  Why in the world doesn’t Julia talk to her about this? I have no expertise in these matters. “You didn’t stick around to distract them from their work?”

  “No, I walked to the shade trees for a while and then stayed in the food tent until it was time to go home.”

  “Have any of these boys asked if they might court you?”

  Leah’s placid demeanor turned stormy. “No, and I hope none of them ever do!”

  “Why not?” Simon couldn’t believe he was asking such a question, but her vehemence intrigued him. “Have they acted boldly or rudely toward you, or do you think they have no prospects?”

  She stared at the vase of larkspur on the table. “They’re nice enough, I suppose. One is a blacksmith, one’s a furniture maker, and the third is a beef farmer. I just don’t want to court any of them.”

  Simon exhaled a sigh. “All right, Leah. Go on to work, but make sure you’re not flirting with them or any other nonsense. And you tell me if they cause more trouble. It’s your reputation that will suffer from gossip in the district, not theirs. A girl must protect her good name.”

  She smiled at him like the sweet, docile child she’d always been. “I will, danki.” Leah patted his hand, grabbed a peach from the fruit bowl, and hurried out the door.

  Simon had an uneasy feeling she had no idea what he was talking about.

  The Last Sunday in June

  Emma sat rereading Leah’s letter for the third time as she waited for her ehemann in the buggy. Jamie had been a little better about leaving on time for preaching services, but today he had slipped back into old habits. No matter. Now she had time to think about her sister’s words. Leah’s painful confusion was all too familiar. The days when Emma had first started courting Jamie—an Englischer—were filled with bittersweet memories. All appeared to be hopeless many times. Emma also understood Leah’s newfound joy in the restaurant. When the future looked anything but rosy, it was easy to bury yourself in work, especially if you loved your job. She had her sheep while Leah had her cooking and baking. Both were a source of diversion and comfort during trying times.