An Amish Harvest

by Beth Wiseman

  By the time they turned onto the street listed on the buyer’s form, it was ten in the morning. Matt pulled up in front of a country style house—small but meticulously maintained.

  “Wait here,” Eli said. “I’ll let you know whether to unload.”

  Martha never hesitated. She popped out of the truck and hurried up the walk with him.

  A small sedan sat in the driveway, originally black, but now desperately in need of paint.

  Eli’s finger was barely off the doorbell when the door opened. The young man in the baseball cap who answered was the same person who had overbid at the auction.

  “Do you have my furniture?”

  “I have the furniture, yes, but there’s something we need to clear up first. My name is Eli Wittmer and this is my office manager, Martha Beiler.”

  “Duncan Fisher.” He didn’t offer his hand, but he did step out onto the front porch, closing the door behind him. He wore jeans and a plain black T-shirt. The ball cap sported a Cubs logo. He was probably five foot ten, approximately the same height as Eli, but he still had the too-thin look of a teenager. “What’s the problem? What needs clearing up?”

  “You overbid on the furniture that you purchased.”

  “So?”

  “You’re aware then, that you paid too much.”

  Duncan tugged on his ball cap and then settled for sticking his hands in his back pockets. “I guess.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?” Martha asked.

  “That’s my business. I bought the furniture. You’ve been paid, and now you need to have those two guys haul it off the truck.”

  “Whoa, son. Not so quick. The sellers—Jacob and Charity Weaver—have the right not to sell if there’s a problem with the bid price.”

  “Those rules are in case someone isn’t paying what a thing is worth.”

  “Usually, yes. I see you understand auctions.”

  “I should. I’ve been to enough of them.”

  Eli let that pass. “Maybe we should speak with your parents about this.”

  “I’m nineteen.” Duncan shook his head in disgust. “I need those pieces. If you want me to pay more, I will.”

  “No. That won’t be necessary. What I need is for you to tell me why you’re so interested in these pieces.”

  Duncan had been looking toward the truck, but now he turned his gaze on Eli and Martha, understanding dawning in his eyes.

  “You know about the maps.”

  Eli nodded once.

  Duncan stared off across the yard for a moment. When he once again focused on them, he said, “I guess you better come inside.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Martha had been in Englisch homes before. This one looked a bit different. Although the outside had seemed well maintained, the inside had a disheveled appearance. An ivy struggled to survive next to the front window. Mail was stacked in a haphazard fashion on the coffee table. Clean clothes sat in a pile on the couch, with the laundry basket on the floor tipped on its side. Someone had begun folding the T-shirts, but never finished.

  Duncan swept the clothes into the basket and sat on the edge of a leather recliner.

  Martha wanted to jump straight into the interrogation phase of this visit. She’d read enough detective novels to know what questions to ask, or at least she thought she did. But Eli seemed content to wait out the boy.

  Finally Duncan said, “How’d you find out about the map?”

  Eli shrugged.

  Martha took pity on the boy. “Someone saw you and a woman—”

  “My sister, Beth.”

  “Saw you looking at the furniture before the auction.”

  “Everyone looks.”

  “But you moved the furniture around, as if you were looking for something.”

  Duncan flopped back into the recliner.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Eli suggested.

  “I don’t suppose I know the beginning.” Duncan glanced around the room and then sat up straighter and dove in. “My pop, he told us about the maps, since we were young.”

  “Where is your pop?” Martha asked.

  “Died, earlier this year.”

  Now Martha wanted to reach across and pat his hand. She was a terrible detective. She caved the first time her suspect showed his vulnerable side. “So it’s just you and your sister?”

  “Yeah. Mom, she passed a long time ago—cancer.”

  “We’re sorry for your loss.” Eli leaned forward now and looked the boy straight in the eye. “Was your father’s name Peter?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because he once worked for Charity and Jacob, the owners of the furniture. You didn’t know their connection?”

  “No. He didn’t mention how he knew about the maps. To tell you the truth, we always thought it was some kind of fairy tale. But then he got sick, and he showed us the first three sections of the map.”

  “Affixed to the back of the furniture?” Martha glanced around the room, wondering where the pieces were.

  “Yes.” Duncan hesitated, and then he said, “I’ll be right back.”

  He hurried from the room, bounding strides that reminded Martha of a pup.

  “What do you think?” she asked Eli.

  “I think we’re about to learn more about this mystery.”

  When Duncan returned, he wasn’t carrying furniture. Instead he had three pieces of paper in his hand.

  “I couldn’t actually carry furniture around with me while I was searching, so I used a sheet of paper and a pencil and did a rubbing of each piece of the map. You know, like you would do with leaves when you’re a kid.” He placed the sheets on the coffee table, one beside the other, until they were lined up like buggies at a stop sign. “I’m fairly sure this is the first of the three pieces, and it seems to line up with the other two. I can’t know for certain though. Not until I find all of the pieces.”

  Eli studied the maps and then sat back and ran his thumb up and down his suspender. Finally he asked, “Why are you so interested in the map . . . in finding the rest of it?”

  “Because I promised my pop I would. I told him that I would solve this.” Tears filled Duncan’s eyes, but he blinked them away. “See, it ate away at him. He was like obsessed with it. And Beth and I thought that he was maybe losing his grip on things. Right before he died, he made me promise, and I did. I would have promised him anything.”

  He took off the cap, rubbed the back of a hand across his eyes, and replaced the cap on his head. “My sister, she’s in college now—over at Ivy Tech community college. It’s here in South Bend. She’s working on an Imaging Science degree. Once she gets it she can work as an X-ray tech or maybe an ultrasound tech, and those jobs pay good money.”

  “Must be hard, if it’s just the two of you.” Martha’s mothering urge was on full alert.

  “We do all right. I’m sort of taking a few night classes, and I pick up some work on a landscaping crew here and there.”

  “So you need the money?” Eli asked.

  “Beth could use the money. College isn’t cheap.”

  “How did you afford the furniture?” Martha asked.

  “Saved it up.” Now Duncan looked proud of himself. “I’m supposed to use it for college this fall, but honestly I don’t think college is where I want to be.”

  “So you’re going to spend your college money to fulfill a promise to your dad.” Martha liked this kid more every minute. In fact, she had a sudden urge to help him.

  “I guess. If this map does lead to money, if that’s what we’re looking for, then yeah, we could use it. But honestly I just need to do what I promised, even if we end up finding that there is no treasure at the end.”

  Martha completely believed Duncan’s story, but did Eli?

  One, then two minutes ticked by, silence filling the room as Eli considered Duncan’s story. Martha’s hands itched to straighten the piles of mail, fold the laundry, even walk to the kitchen and fetch a cup
of water for the poor dying ivy.

  She didn’t though. Like Duncan, she waited.

  Finally Eli stood, nodded toward the truck, which they could see through the front window, and said, “Let’s go and get your furniture.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Martha stood at the stove, sweat running down her neck though a nice breeze came through the window.

  “Perhaps next year we should have a smaller garden.”

  “Why would we do that?” Irene asked sharply.

  Her aenti had been pleasant through breakfast, and Martha had hoped for a Saturday without argument. But now she was grumbling, a scowl etched on her face.

  “I’m not sure we need this much canned food.” Martha gestured toward the rows of canned tomatoes, okra, and green beans. “We’ll never be able to eat this much.”

  “Be grateful that Gotte has blessed us with such a harvest.”

  “Ya. For certain, only I’m thinking we could reduce the garden next year. Even with a smaller garden, we’d be able to share with the neighbors and donate to auctions.”

  Irene muttered something under her breath and stomped out of the room.

  Martha continued to can the remaining cucumbers and allowed her mind to slip over the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  Matt and Joshua had unloaded the furniture and driven away to make another delivery in South Bend, promising to pick them up within the hour. Martha and Eli had watched as Duncan had once again used paper and a pencil to rub off images of the new map pieces. It had taken a few minutes to put the various sheets in the proper order, and when they were done, it was obvious that something was still missing.

  “The piece that Charity showed us,” Eli said.

  Duncan had been kneeling in front of the coffee table. Now he sat back on his heels. “She still has a piece?”

  “Ya, and I think we’ll be needing it if we’re to follow this map of yours.”

  So it was decided that Duncan would drive to the auction house the next day and meet Eli. Together they would go to Jacob and Charity’s. Martha wasn’t about to be left out. She’d refused to leave work the previous day until Eli had promised he’d pick her up. Now they were due at her house in under an hour and she was still standing in the kitchen canning cucumbers. On top of that, she’d managed to irritate Irene once again. But then whatever she did bothered her aenti. Perhaps she wouldn’t worry too much over that one.

  How she longed for the days she’d spent in Ohio with her best friend, Fannie. There was no task too burdensome with Fannie’s laughter and positive attitude to lighten things. Well, she would have to be the encouraging one in this household. That much was obvious.

  She quickly finished up the canning, cleaned the kitchen, and was pinning a fresh kapp on her head when she heard the clatter of hooves. Hurrying out the door, she assured her aenti that she would be home before dinner. Martha was forty years old, and although she appreciated Irene’s willingness to give her a place to live, she couldn’t abide being treated like a child much longer. It was time to have a talk with Irene, but she dreaded that moment.

  Duncan had pulled in behind Eli.

  She waved at him and then climbed into the buggy. The scenes they drove by would have made a perfect postcard. One neighbor raised a hand in greeting as he turned his team of Percheron workhorses. In another field, a wife and children stood on the back of a wagon, helping as the men tossed up large forkfuls of hay.

  Ten minutes later the three of them were walking up to Charity and Jacob’s front door.

  Eli called out and tapped lightly on the door.

  Duncan hung back. “What if they don’t want to see me? It sounds as if Pops wasn’t very nice to them.”

  “You will like Charity and Jacob. They’re very kind people. Let’s give them a chance.”

  Charity knew that Duncan was coming. Eli had stopped by the night before and asked if it would be all right. But when she walked out onto the porch, when she saw the young man, her hands flew to her cheeks and her eyes widened.

  “Oh my. You look just like your dat. It’s as if he were standing here on my porch like he so often did all those years ago.”

  Duncan blushed, stepped forward, and said, “Pleased to meet you.”

  Charity grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house, calling out, “Jacob. Jacob, you have to see Peter’s boy.”

  Eli smiled and held the door for Martha, and then they stepped into the house. At first she thought that her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness of inside. But then Eli placed his hand on her back, stepped closer to her, and she knew that she wasn’t imagining this scene.

  Martha had never seen Jacob responsive, not really. He would gaze in adoration at his wife, but he’d never spoken, and he’d never actually reacted to anyone else’s presence in the room.

  Perhaps they’d caught him on a good day.

  Or maybe, God was allowing His grace and compassion to shine through Jacob’s deteriorated state, like sunlight piercing through a cloud-covered sky.

  Charity had pulled Duncan into the room and over in front of Jacob’s wheelchair. Duncan stooped down to say hello, and when he made eye contact with Jacob, the old man’s smile first trembled, faltered, and then grew. He clasped Duncan’s hand, reached out, and touched his face. Whether he thought that Duncan was his father, Peter, Martha couldn’t say. But there was no doubt that he recognized the young man, and that he was overjoyed to see him.

  Martha had been quite focused on the map and the mystery. She couldn’t imagine what would have caused the two men to fight over such a silly thing, or why Jacob would decide to carve up the map and then hide it. Men often remained a mystery to her, but this was above and beyond anything she’d seen before or even read about in a book.

  Watching the reunion of a young man and an elderly couple, it occurred to her that Duncan and his sister, Beth, might be the grandchildren that Jacob and Charity never had. And perhaps the elderly Amish couple could fill the hole in Duncan’s life.

  The mystery of the map remained unsolved, but the mystery of God’s ways? Well, those were unfathomable. It was almost as if God had a plan for bringing the prodigal home in the form of his son. It was almost as if God had found a way to bless them in spite of the foolishness with maps and treasures.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two hours later they had left Duncan’s car near the auction house. Martha and Eli rode in the front of the buggy. Duncan Fisher sat in the back. He’d wanted to drive his vehicle, but Eli had only said, “Simple is better,” and walked off toward his buggy.

  “Stubborn as my pop,” Duncan had mumbled, hurrying to catch up.

  Now Martha wondered what Duncan was thinking. He hadn’t been raised Plain, hadn’t known the joys of buggy travel or life without his cell phone. But he’d obviously heard about Shipshe.

  “Have you been here before, Duncan?” Martha half turned around in the seat.

  “A few times. My dad was Amish, I guess that’s why he worked for Mr. Weaver. His family moved off to Ohio and we sort of lost touch. Mom, she was Mennonite and she had some distant relations who lived here, so we did come once in a while. It was never this busy though.”

  Now that she knew him, saw the man beneath the baseball cap up close, she realized he was little more than a kid. Yes, he was nineteen, but in many ways he reminded her of their local youth—still trying to find his way and decide what path he’d take in life.

  The streets were crowded with tourists attending the Fall Festival, most wearing brightly covered sweaters and jackets. Eli had to slow his mare to a walk as throngs of folks crossed the road, not even bothering to walk down to the crosswalk. All of the parking lots were full, and though it was near sundown on a Saturday afternoon, more folks were still coming.

  The booths would stay open until nine that evening—basket weavers, candlemakers, potters, painters, and many more. She could hear a band warming up their instruments, smell the candy apples and kettle corn, feel the arri
val of fall. Though it was her first Fall Festival, she didn’t mind missing the grand finale. Somehow she knew that Shipshe was where she belonged, and that there would be other festivals.

  “I’ve never been here during a big event. It looks pretty . . . crowded.”

  “Apparently you do have some experience at an auction.” Eli kept his eyes on the road.

  “Yeah. Pop would take me during the summer, when he’d go in search of a great deal.” He made quotation marks in the air to surround the last two words.

  “So he stayed in the woodworking business?”

  “He did. Worked at one of the factories for a few years, then saved enough to open his own business. He didn’t bother with new stuff, but he could restore just about anything you brought him.”

  Eli had finally guided his horse through the bulk of the crowds. He allowed the mare to settle into a nice trot as they made their way to the west side of town. Martha didn’t know where they were going, where the map would lead them. But Eli seemed to know. Occasionally he would glance at her and smile. As for Duncan, he sat in the back of the buggy, clutching the sheets of paper that he’d rubbed the map onto.

  When they’d reached the outskirts of town, Eli pulled into a vacant lot, allowing the mare to come to a stop under the shade of a maple tree resplendent with leaves of red, yellow, and gold.

  Eli got out of the buggy, and Martha and Duncan quickly followed.

  “You and your father, you did a good job of following the map . . .”

  “The portions we had.”