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

by Mary Ellis

  It was more than the odor of smoke making Leah sick to her stomach. “The check bounced?” she asked weakly.

  “Yeah, that’s when you write a check and you ain’t got money in the account to cover it.” He moderated his tone slightly.

  “Jah, I understand the concept. I just don’t know how this happened. Business has been good, very good. We sometimes have to turn customers away and send them up the road to the buffet.” Leah wiped her damp palms down her skirt.

  Jenkins rolled his eyes. “That’s something you’ll have to take up with Miz Lambright. I wash my hands of you women. You’re not worth the trouble. Pay attention to them dates on the paper. You best have your stuff out by then or the sheriff will be putting it on the curb.” He stomped down the steps and tried to go around her, but she blocked his path.

  “Wait, please. What if I make good on whatever is owed you…in cash. Give me just one day and…” Her voice trailed off upon his vigorous head shaking.

  “No, miss. I’m done here. And you don’t need to throw away more money. Check out the other posted notice. This place has more problems than just back rent.”

  Releasing a sigh, his expression turned sympathetic. “You’d better save your cash, young lady, to hire yourself a good lawyer. It’s your name up there on that sign, ain’t it? It’s not April’s Home Cooking being shut down by the state.” Without another word, Jenkins stepped around her and marched to his truck.

  Leah stood staring at the other paper taped to the door. “Closed until further notice by the State of Ohio for failure to remit sales tax receipts and failure to complete local health department certification.” There it was in big red letters: Leah’s Home Cooking. She reached out to snatch the paper down before customers arrived to witness her shame. Then her focus landed on the small print, close to the bottom of the page: Do not remove by court order.

  The only thing left to do was walk on wobbly legs to where she’d tied her horse, climb into the buggy, and go home, feeling more confused, embarrassed, and frightened than at any point in her life.

  A cloud of tension hung above the heads of James and Emma. Following their argument in the equipment barn, he had apologized several times and brought her flowers and candy. But when Emma didn’t open her heart and forgive without reservations, his mood soured. Both went about their business as though they were passing acquaintances instead of husband and wife.

  Barbara Davis wrung her hands and allowed them as much private time as possible, but nothing worked. Emma noticed that Jamie was staying in the barns for most of the evening. He would mumble an excuse when he came inside, such as repairing harnesses or updating records in the computer. She too stayed downstairs in the living room later than usual, hoping James would be asleep when she came to bed. And he always was.

  It wasn’t that she was still angry with him. That had faded with the morning light. She was disappointed he’d broken a commitment to his faith and the Amish way of life. Did he still miss his old habits so much he was sneaking around behind her back? Maybe this hadn’t been the only trip in his former truck. Did he regret taking the vow and becoming baptized in the New Order Church? Despite using modern technology, New Order was very conservative in other aspects when compared to the English world.

  Did he regret marrying her? A lump rose in the back of her throat, one she couldn’t swallow no matter how hard she tried. She regretted nothing. She would adjust to living in an Englischer’s home and change to New Order worldliness in terms of Christian outreach, but she couldn’t live with a husband who resented her and privately yearned for the things he’d given up.

  But as Emma’s anger dissipated, loneliness soon replaced it. Too much time had lapsed, too many opportunities to say, “I forgive you. Let’s not speak of the matter again,” had slipped by.

  Let she who is without sin cast the first stone kept flitting through her mind as she tried to distract herself with housework. Already she had washed the living room walls, and now Emma carried in a bucket and sponge to scrub the kitchen floor. But she wasn’t down on hand and knees long when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Get up, Emma. I won’t have you scrubbing when I own a machine that will make short work of this floor.” When Emma didn’t move, Barbara pulled her to her feet as though lifting a fifty-pound bag of seed corn.

  “Danki, Mrs. Davis, but I want to do my share of work around here.”

  “Fine, Mrs. Davis,” her mother-in-law mimicked. “You can run the buffer over the floor later, but for right now sit down and tell me what’s wrong. I know it’s none of my business, but you and Jamie are going out of your way to avoid each other.”

  As the older woman voiced the obvious, Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “We had a fight, a terrible fight,” she sobbed.

  “All couples fight, my dear. No marriage survives without an occasional disagreement.”

  “This one was awful. I caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been.”

  Barbara looked surprised. “And it was something you cannot forgive him for?”

  Emma shook her head. “I’ve already forgiven him. That’s not the point.” Tears streamed down her face as she reached for a napkin.

  Barbara pushed the napkin holder closer. “Then what is the problem?”

  Emma buried her face in a wad of paper. How could she tell Jamie’s mother the truth? That maybe he had made a mistake by marrying her? That he was avoiding her because he didn’t love her? And that she was tired of trying to make the marriage work while he climbed into his old truck whenever the spirit moved him?

  “I can’t talk about it, Mom Davis. I’m sorry.” It was the first time she’d called her mother-in-law by the English word. It sounded strange to her ears.

  Barbara patted her forearm. “Okay, that’s understandable, I suppose. But you’ve got to talk to someone. If you keep this bottled up, it’ll cause more harm than good. At the very least you’ll get an ulcer.”

  Emma glanced up with a streaky face. “An ulcer would be the least of my problems.” She forced a weak smile.

  “Would you like me to drive you into Charm so you could talk to my pastor? He’s young, like you and Jamie, and he might offer a fresh perspective.”

  Emma shook her head. No way could she bare her soul to a stranger.

  “Well, then who? How about someone in your family? Shall I drive you home so you can talk to your mother?”

  Emma thought for a moment. Daed…he would know what she should do. “Jah, I’ll go pack a bag and you could drive me to Winesburg. My father will help me see things clearly.”

  Barbara’s face paled. “Pack a bag? Why would you do that? I was suggesting a talk with a family member, not moving back home.” She shifted uneasily in her chair.

  “Just for the evening. You could pick me up tomorrow, maybe on your way home from work. I also want to spend a little time with my sister. Leah has written me letters seeking my advice on matters best discussed in person.” Emma gazed out the window. “Not that I’m in any position to dispense advice.”

  “Nonsense,” said Barbara. “Those who have never had problems or troubles are the ones who shouldn’t give out advice.” She rose to her feet. “Go pack your overnight bag, Emma, and I’ll drive you on my way to the store. Let’s take this bull by the horns.”

  Emma didn’t know what a horned animal had to do with marital problems, but she flew up the stairs. She could be gone before Jamie finished work for the day. She wouldn’t have to spend another sleepless night listening to him snore, wondering if he still loved her or not. Back home, she could pretend she was still a little girl without a care in the world, if only for one night.

  But her return to childhood wasn’t exactly what she expected. After Barbara dropped her off at the Miller driveway, Emma hiked toward the house hoping someone would spot her and come running. But she reached the porch steps without seeing a single human being. Even the cheery kitchen, smelling sweet from simmering potpourri, was empty.

&nb
sp; “Mamm? Leah?” she called. “Is anybody home?” She listened as the wall clock marked the passage of time.

  “Emma!” called a voice and then her mother’s gray head appeared at the top of the cellar steps. She slowly walked up the rest of the way and into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come for a visit. Where is everybody?”

  “Your daed’s sharpening cutting blades in the barn and Leah’s at the diner. Matt’s at the riding stable, Henry’s cutting firewood, and I’m standing right in front of you. What’s wrong?” She narrowed her gaze.

  “Nothing is wrong.” Emma hugged Julia tightly around the middle, laying her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  Julia drew her back and asked, “Emma, what’s happened? You wouldn’t show up unannounced in the middle of the week unless something was wrong.” Her brows arched with alarm.

  “I didn’t think I needed an engraved invitation to come see my family.” Emma mustered her most piteous expression.

  “No, you don’t, but you do need to tell me the truth. Did you and James have a spat?” Julia set the jars she’d carried in her apron on the counter.

  Emma perched a hand on her hip. “How did you know? Do you have spies in Charm?” she teased.

  “Oh, Emma. I’ve been your mamm for quite some time now. Do you want to talk about it? I think I can clear my schedule.” She grinned while Emma shook her head.

  “Please don’t be offended, but I think I need to talk to daed.”

  “No offense taken. He’s out in the barn. Go on out and get it off your chest so you can put it behind you.” Julia made a shooing gesture similar to the one she used with chickens.

  Emma went in search of Simon and found him where expected—bent over cultivator blades with his long files. His beard was pure white while his hair seemed grayer than she remembered.

  “Can I talk to you, daed? Mamm said I could find you here.” The autumn sunlight didn’t reach inside the barn so the interior felt cold and damp.

  “Where else would I be?” He peered up without revealing much surprise. “What brings you home, daughter? You still need your pa’s two-cents after two years of marriage?”

  “Going on three and jah, I could use some advice. I’ve been butting heads with Jamie and most of his family lately.”

  Simon stopped working and pointed at an overturned bucket with his file. “Sit and talk to me. If I can help I will.”

  She did as she was told and poured out the story of her argument with her mother-in-law, followed by the spat with Lily. She tried her best to recount the stories as accurately as possible.

  Simon leaned back on the stall wall and listened without interrupting. When she finished he asked, “And James. What about the argument with your ehemann?”

  Emma couldn’t relate the events during the rainstorm after falling asleep in the woods quite as objectively.

  Afterward, Simon pulled on his beard as though wisdom could be gleaned from there. “And his driving a truck…do you think he sneaks off often in this fashion?”

  Emma paused to consider. “He says no, that this was his first time.” Her words were shaded by skepticism.

  “Regarding his observance to the other rules of your New Order district, do you think his adherence has been only halfhearted?”

  “No, in other ways he has tried very hard.” She didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

  “Seems to me, daughter, that you blew this way out of proportion.”

  “Are you condoning his sneaking around behind my back?”

  “Of course not, but this might have been the only time he used the truck. Every man and woman makes mistakes, backslides if you will, but that doesn’t mean their commitment, their dedication is false. Unfortunately, we all fall short of the Master’s example.” Simon turned his attention back to the cutting blade.

  Emma gritted her teeth and folded her hands into a tight knot.

  “Your admission that you’ve been arguing with two other people beside James leads me to think the problem rests with you.”

  Emma scrambled to her feet. “Daed, I have tried—”

  Simon held up a hand. “Stop and listen to me. I know you’ve tried, but this time when you return to your husband’s family, try without your willfulness getting in the way. Put aside your pride and forgive your husband his error. And apologize to Mrs. Davis for your obstinacy.”

  “But she treats me like a child!”

  “Maybe that’s because you’ve been acting like one.”

  Emma sat back down clumsily as Simon came to stand beside her. “Trust her to guide you,” he said softly. “And pray, Emma, for God’s guidance. We never grow too old for that.”

  Emma barely heard his final directive. With her head buried in her hands, the truth of his words hit home. What a mess she’d made of her life. She didn’t wait until bedtime to start her prayers. Sitting on a feed bucket in a cold, damp barn, she prayed for forgiveness and to be delivered from herself.

  “I’ll leave you now, but I’ll see you inside the house. Don’t stay too long out here.” His hand lightly grazed her shoulder. “I know you can forgive James. Just make sure you can forgive yourself too.”

  Matt sat rocking on the porch like an old man. If there were some kind of get-together tonight, he hadn’t heard about it. Leah had stayed up in her room all day complaining of a headache, so he couldn’t rely on her to let him know about bonfires, hayrides, or marshmallow roasts.

  Not that it would make much difference. He’d seen Martha talking and laughing with John Yoder with his own eyes. Then Rachel said she had accepted a ride home with him. Any interest Martha had had in Matthew must have existed only in his own mind.

  Why did I even come home for the weekend? If he’d stayed in Sugar Creek and kept working, he wouldn’t have passed her farm and been reminded of lost chances. As he stared off at the darkening fields where tied cornstalks stood like sentinels, he heard the sound of a diesel truck engine winding down. A double-axle pickup turned into their driveway and slowly approached the house. The decal on the driver’s door read Macintosh Farms. Matt couldn’t fathom who would stop for a visit; his list of former work friends was short. When the door opened, a distinguished-looking gentleman stepped out wearing a fancy wool blazer.

  “Hello, Matthew. How have you been?”

  “Mr. Mac,” stuttered Matt, “what are you doin’ here?” He scrambled to his feet, flabbergasted.

  “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood,” he chuckled. “So I’ll be straight with you. Mind if I come onto the porch and sit a spell?”

  “Sure, come on up. You want some coffee or something?”

  “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” Mr. Mac took the rocker just vacated, so Matt pulled a green lawn chair close to his former boss.

  “I won’t beat around the bush, son. I fired Jeff Andrews—what I should’ve done long ago. When you came to see me to explain what Andrews was doing, I thought it was an isolated incident. I chose to look the other way and that was wrong. Since then two other owners pulled their horses from my training facility after more of Andrews’ shenanigans. And if word gets around, others might follow suit. My reputation’s at stake, and I have no one to blame but myself.” He paused to study Matt’s face.

  Matthew had no idea what kind of response Mr. Mac expected as he wrung his hands nervously. “Jah, Andrews was a bad sort,” he said.

  “Yeah, he was. I should have kept him on a tight leash, but I didn’t come here just to talk about him. I came to talk about you. One owner asked which stable you went to work for. I said you worked out of your home, mainly for the Amish.”

  Matthew nodded, choosing to remain silent.

  “I’m asking you to come back to work for me. I’ll pay you what I paid that bum Andrews. I know you folk don’t use insurance, but if you want medical benefits I’ll pay those too, along with three weeks vacation and all the normal holidays.”

  Neither man
spoke for several moments as moths batted their wings around the porch light. Finally Mr. Macintosh asked, “What do you say?”

  “I’m curious—what was Jeff earning?”

  The figure quoted made the hairs on Matt’s neck stand on end. He whistled through his teeth, trying to imagine what he would do with so much money. The bank would surely give him a loan for the Lee acreage with that kind of salary. Not that he had any pressing need to build himself a house with Martha courting somebody else. He met the man’s gaze. “That’s more than I thought. A lot more.”

  “So you’ll take the job? I think you’ll like the place now that—”

  “No,” Matthew interrupted before he changed his mind. The love of money could skew a man’s good judgment. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer, sir, but I’m contracted to work several months down in Sugar Creek. Once that’s done, I’ll need to catch up on local work. Plus I like not being tied to a job in case my pa needs me.” He glanced inside the kitchen, where his parents sat drinking their evening cups of tea.

  “I don’t suppose there’s something I can add to sweeten the pot?”

  “No, sir, can’t think of anything, but I’m honored you made the offer. Thanks for stopping by.” He stood and extended his hand.

  “Hold on there a minute.” Macintosh held up his palms instead of shaking. “Didn’t you say you’re doing contract work?” He rose to his feet too.

  “I did, at a riding academy.”

  “Why don’t you contract with me…say six months out of the year. Three months in the summer after the planting’s done, and the three winter months after the harvest is in. That way you’ll be home when your father needs you, and I’ll have the extra help when I need it most.” He looked at Matt with anticipation.

  Matt scratched his stubbly chin. “That sounds good, but I first have to see this contract through, plus I’ll want to talk to my pa. Can I call you from our neighbors’ with my answer?”