The Amish Clockmaker

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Mamm—”

  “Her name is Lillian, and she’s just a year or two older than you are. Twenty-nine, I think.”

  Clayton turned to look at his mother directly in the eye. “Are you suggesting I court this widow? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “She’s too young to be alone. And her boys need a father.”

  “I don’t know her. And she doesn’t know me.”

  “But you could maybe find out more about her, Clayton. You could try.”

  “Are you forgetting something?” He nodded to his misshapen leg. “Do you really think whoever this Lillian is that she’d want to marry someone like me?”

  “Why do you always do this? It’s not as if you’re a helpless cripple. You have a good job at the clock shop. And you are a kind and decent man. Her sons could be a big help to you. The oldest is already nine. Once he’s a bit older, he could become the apprentice you were talking about.”

  Clayton’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his mother. “So that’s what this is about,” he hissed. Then he turned and lumbered out of the henhouse, his mother following close behind.

  “Clayton, wait. What do you mean?”

  “You want me to court this woman—this complete stranger—because marrying her would give me instant sons to do all the things you and everyone else think I’m not capable of doing!”

  “That’s not what I’m saying—”

  “It’s exactly what you’re saying!”

  “You’ve never even tried to court anyone. I know you’ve always thought no one would want you, but I don’t think that’s true. And I am ashamed at myself for not telling you this sooner. The right person for you is out there, Clayton. I’m sure of it. But you don’t even try—”

  “Because I’m not good enough!” he yelled, kicking his bad leg at a pile of sawdust near his feet.

  “Because you’re in love with someone you can’t have!”

  Tiny bits of pine shavings settled on their shoulders as Clayton and his mother stood and glared at each other.

  “Is this what you came out here to say?” he asked in a low voice, his jaw tight. “That I need to convince this widow to marry me because no one else will? That’s why you’re out here?”

  Clayton’s nostrils were flaring and the veins in his neck pulsed with anger. He knew it was a transgression to speak to his mother this way, but he was so furious he couldn’t help it.

  Mamm’s eyes were glistening, and he considered apologizing as she looked at him. But then she spoke.

  “I came out here to tell you that you and your father and your sisters need to come to an agreement. It’s not fair to your father to ask him to wait to decide these things.”

  Mamm was letting the matter of Miriam slip back to the private place within his heart where it had been for the last five years, the place where it belonged. But her voice was no longer angry. It was sad. Clayton pretended not to notice.

  “Titus or Obed can help with afternoon chores on Fridays and Saturdays,” he answered, his temper finally under control again. “The older nieces can be on hand to pitch in with the vegetable gardens, but only when we need it and ask for it. I don’t want Maisie and Joan helping in the shop or in the barn. And if we need a worker in the shop, I want to pick that person myself.”

  “Maisie and Joan just want—”

  “Maisie and Joan treat me like a child.” As soon as he said it, Clayton wondered if she was thinking they treated him like a child because when he lost his temper he acted like one. “Look, Mamm. I’m not against getting help, I’m really not. I’m just against getting help when it isn’t needed. And I’m especially against getting help from people who tend to take over and boss me around and act like they know better than I do how business should be handled. I’m fine alone. We’re fine, you and me.”

  His mother hesitated and then tried a new approach. “Regardless, Miriam won’t be able to come work for you anyway. She got a new job cleaning and cooking for a man and his wife in Lancaster.”

  Since the evening of the disastrous supper, Miriam had not been by the shop or barn. Clayton thought it was because her parents had told her to stop hanging out over here, but he had secretly been hoping that either she would not be offered the job or that her parents would insist she not take it.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Abigail told me. Miriam started two days ago.”

  Clayton turned back to the roosting racks and stared at the empty spaces where the hens had slept the previous night. “Well, then. I won’t ask her. That should make everyone happy,” he said gruffly.

  “None of this makes anyone happy,” his mother murmured, her voice thick in her throat. “And it still means you don’t have any help lined up for the shop.”

  Clayton absently rubbed his stubble-covered chin. The tiny fissure that had opened in his heart at hearing Miriam had gotten the new job was already closing. She wouldn’t have wanted to work with him anyway. It surely would have seemed too slow and uninteresting. She had said to him once that the constant ticking of the clocks was like being inside someone’s sleepy dream. He was a fool to even have entertained such a thought and twice the fool for stating it out loud to first his sisters and now his mother.

  “We’ll just take it one day at a time,” he finally said. “You can still help me in the shop on Saturdays, can’t you? And busy summer afternoons? And if it gets to be too much for just the two of us, I promise I will hire someone. If one of the nieces or nephews wants the job, I’ve no problem with that. But it won’t be charity. It will be a job, and I will expect that person to treat it as such—and to treat me as their boss. But I don’t want it to be Maisie or Joan. It wouldn’t be a job to them. It would be coming to my rescue. And I just can’t have it that way.”

  Mamm nodded resolutely. “And you will tell your father this is what you have decided?”

  “I will.”

  She hung back a moment as if there was more she wanted to say, but then she hiked the egg basket higher on her arm and walked up to the house.

  Clayton finished the rest of the chores—mucking out the horses’ stalls, feeding and watering, and checking on Rosie, and then he went back inside to clean up, shave, and have breakfast with his parents.

  Daed said little as Clayton explained he’d finalized his plans for managing the home and business. When he was finished, his father wiped his mouth with his napkin and set his fork down.

  “All right, son. If you think this is the best route to go, I’ll stand with you.”

  “It is the best route.”

  “Then the rest we will leave to God.”

  After breakfast, Clayton went out to the barn for one final check on the animals before starting the workday. He was surprised to see Miriam standing at Rosie’s railing. She was wearing a blue dress the shade of a robin’s egg. Her kapp was pinned carefully in place and her shoes were polished.

  “Gud… gud mariye,” Clayton sputtered.

  “Hi, Clayton. I had a few minutes before the bus comes, so I stopped by to check on Rosie. Guess she hasn’t had her calf yet. I thought maybe you’d forgotten about me wanting to know. ”

  How could I forget anything you say? “Nope. She hasn’t had it yet.”

  Miriam wheeled away from the railing. “I got the job in Lancaster,” she said, her expression humble but her tone almost proud.

  “I heard. Mamm told me.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how beautiful their house is, Clayton. I’ve never seen so many pretty things. Look.” Miriam reached into her bag and pulled out a decorated hair comb. It sparkled in the morning sun that angled across the barn from the loft window.

  “It’s called cloisonné. Brenda gave it to me. She got tired of it.”

  Clayton could only stare dumbly at the glittering hair decoration in Miriam’s hand. He’d seen clocks set in cloisonné before, but he’d never come across a hair ornament constructed of it. It was the fanciest and most worldly thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
Surely her parents didn’t know she had it. “What are you doing with that?” he asked, instantly worried for her.

  “Don’t go crazy on me, Clayton. Not you. I’m just enjoying it for the moment. Look how it shines in the sun.”

  But he could only look at her, at how beautiful she was as she stared at the trinket in her hand.

  “Brenda has a bunch of stuff she wants to give away,” Miriam continued, her gaze still on the hair comb. “I was helping her go through things yesterday afternoon. Clothes, shoes, scarves, jewelry, hair stuff, earrings. She has so much stuff that she actually gets tired of it. Can you imagine?”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “She said she would give it all to me if I was allowed to have it, which she knows I’m not. So she said I could take the comb because it was little and I could stash it away somewhere. Here. Touch it.”

  Clayton reached out a tentative hand and ran a finger along the tiny mosaic pattern. The metal teeth of the comb were cold. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I’m not going to wear it if that’s what you mean, silly.” She laughed. “I’ll hide it away somewhere and take it out when I want to look at it.”

  Clayton was about to ask why when Miriam seemed to think of something else and touched his arm. “Oh, my! I almost forgot to tell you! Brenda has a beautiful clock she got for a wedding gift when she was married. I think it’s the prettiest clock I’ve ever seen, all carved with roses and such. You would love it. I wish I could show it to you.”

  Despite his other concerns, it warmed Clayton to his core to think Miriam had seen something in the Englisch woman’s house and thought of him. For a moment he could not speak. “Ya?” he finally said, instantly wishing he’d thought of a more intelligent response.

  “And guess what else? She has tickets to the theater in Lancaster tomorrow afternoon. It’s a matinee. Douglas—that’s her husband—he doesn’t care for that kind of thing, so Brenda asked if I wanted to go with her. I could hardly speak I was so excited! She thought I was offended that she’d asked and started to apologize. I had to stop her and tell her I would most definitely like to go with her. She thought that was so funny. Then she told me it was a musical, and that she thought I would like it because she’s heard me singing when she and Douglas get home from work.”

  Clayton listened with growing concern. Miriam sounded very happy with her new job, which was so different from her last one at the furniture store. But surrounded by such fancy goods and wealth? Bringing home outlandish trinkets? Going to the theater with her Englisch employer? How could anything good come from any of it?

  “What?” she said, a hint of frustration in her voice when she noticed the expression on his face.

  “Nothing,” he replied quickly. “I just… I want you to be safe, Miriam. I want you to be happy, yes. But I want you to be safe too.”

  She laughed. “Safe? What a funny thing to say. It’s just a play. And it’s just a hair comb. And it’s just a job. It’s not as if I am in the play or wearing the comb or becoming Englisch.”

  “Ya, but—”

  “It’s nice for right now, you know? It’s not always going to be this way. Especially if my parents have anything to do with it. That man they want me to court? He asked to take me on a buggy ride after work tonight. And my mother said I would without even asking me. See what I mean? If I don’t have something fun and exciting to look forward to during the day, I’ll explode.” She glanced out toward the brightening sky. “I have to go now or I’ll miss my bus.” She swung away from him, dropping the hair comb back into her bag.

  “Bye, Clayton,” she called over her shoulder.

  She was gone from view before he found his voice. He didn’t think she heard him tell her to have a good day.

  FOURTEEN

  As April drew to a close, it became clear to Clayton and his family that Daed would likely not survive to the end of the summer. The change was gradual at first. Throughout the month of May, he began to rise later in the morning and would often fall asleep after supper in his favorite chair while reading his Bible. His skin grew paler and his appetite waned. By the beginning of June he didn’t have the energy to go to the shop anymore. And while Mamm had been telling him all along he didn’t need to be there every day—or at all, for that matter—the first morning he chose to stay at the house with her, she broke down in tears and excused herself to the canning room to count jars.

  Clayton’s six sisters and their families still came over for dinner every Sunday, but the conversation around the tables no longer centered on the weather or the price of feed or the goings-on in the county, but rather on the many good times they had all shared. After the meal, Daed would sit in his armchair enjoying his grandchildren, hugging them, telling stories to the littler ones, and giving words of advice to the older ones. Clayton found it hard to be in the room when he was doing this. It was obvious Daed was passing on what he could to the next generation and that he believed he would soon be gone from them.

  On one of those Sunday afternoons, Clayton and his father explained together to Maisie and Joan and their husbands how the caring for the home and the shop would be handled once the inevitable happened, a conversation for which Clayton was immensely grateful. Maisie was not in favor of their “let’s wait and see” approach, but Roger finally deferred on her behalf, saying they would do as asked. Joan didn’t agree with the plan either, and she made Clayton promise that the minute he or Mamm changed their minds, all they had to do was send word and she and her oldest children would be there to lend a hand. Clayton’s other sisters and their husbands also assured him that he and Mamm weren’t to hesitate a moment to ask for assistance with anything. In turn, he assured them that he had no problem asking for help when it was needed. He just didn’t think it would be.

  “Won’t you be lonely in the clock shop all by yourself?” Joan asked in a final appeal.

  “With all those clocks to keep me company? Not a chance,” he’d replied with a smile, ending the conversation on a positive note.

  Their weekend family get-togethers, bursting with noise and activity, were in stark contrast to Monday mornings when Clayton would walk down to the shop alone. He would pretty much remain that way throughout the day except for the occasional customer. His mother didn’t feel right leaving Daed by himself in the house, even for a few minutes. Sometimes Maisie or one of his other sisters would stop by to give their mother a rest and to bring over a casserole or a crock of stew, but Mamm never strayed far from the house. She came down to the shop only on the rare occasion to ask Clayton a question or bring him a snack. Over time, he found himself pushing his end-of-the-day chores to five o’clock after he closed up. This meant his normal workday was now well over twelve hours. He didn’t mind, and again he declined to accept assistance from his sisters’ children, though both Maisie and Joan offered. Between handling all the clock repairs on his own, working on new time pieces, and waiting on customers, the workday flew by.

  As it turned out, though Clayton greatly missed his father’s presence in the store, he realized that working by himself wasn’t all that different. The two men had always been so absorbed in their own tasks that they had barely interacted for much of the day anyway. Now that Clayton was manning the place alone, he came to appreciate the solitude.

  He had taken down the curtain that hid the back room, and after a while he found that he no longer wanted or needed to shy away from tourists who simply had to know why he limped so badly or what had happened to his face. The more he answered their nosy questions, in fact, the less angry he would be that they asked. Likewise, the less angry he got, the less he would lose his temper and say something impolite. He found out rather early the first week he was alone in the shop that the majority of the curious didn’t ask about his scarred brow or oddly bent leg at all. They just looked at him with questions in their eyes, and he pretended not to notice.

  He also found a rhythm with the chores, one that surprised him. His days were
not at all unpleasant, and the time it took him to tend to the animals, both in the mornings and the afternoons, started growing a little shorter as he fell into a routine.

  Still, on most evenings, by the time he finished with the chores it was already well past supper. Mamm would keep a plate warm for him, and he would usually eat it in the living room with his father, telling him about his day—who had come into the shop, what new repairs he was working on, and what new projects he had started.

  Though Daed continued to grow weaker, he seemed to thrive on these conversations, and it was obvious to Clayton that the man’s confidence in him was growing. Clayton was so glad, because he really didn’t want his father to spend his last days worrying about what might happen once he was gone. Instead, Daed needed to see that all would be well, that life would go on, that Clayton was capable of providing for Mamm and handling whatever might come their way in the future.

  He was to learn that that goal had been achieved on a Sunday afternoon in mid-May. About an hour before dark, just after his sisters and their families had gone home from an afternoon visit, he walked back into the house to find his father sitting in the entryway, waiting for him.

  “Clayton, I need to talk to you about something. Would you roll me down to the shop?”

  Intrigued by Daed’s intensity, he readily agreed and retrieved the wheelchair. As he helped the man settle into it, he noticed a piece of paper rolled up in his father’s hands. He decided not to ask about it. If his father wanted him to know what it was, he would show him.

  As they headed down the driveway together, Daed cleared his throat and began speaking. “I need to apologize to you, son, for having doubted your ability to handle the store, the chores, and everything that goes along with running this homestead. I’ve seen how well you’re doing with all of it, which is why I’ve decided to… ” he paused and then smiled. “Well, you’ll see.”

  They reached the bottom of the hill, and Daed asked Clayton to roll him behind the shop and around to the far side of the building. Situated between the clock shop and the Beilers’ driveway, the grassy lot held a single shade tree at its center with an old picnic table underneath. Clayton and his father used to share lunch there on warm spring days when the sun was shining and the shop wasn’t busy. As Clayton rolled his father toward there now, he realized they would never share another one of those lunches again.