Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2)

by Mary Ellis

  Emma noticed that her aunt was eating her muffin quicker than usual, as though anxious to leave. She too suddenly felt like a fish flapping around on the pond bank. James kept watching her as though she might bolt down the walk to their buggy. The two guests finished their snack in record time.

  “These are delicious muffins, Lily. Thank you for your hospitality, especially for taking time from your studies,” Hannah said graciously.

  “You’re welcome,” said Lily. “Please stop by any time you’re in the area. We love company.”

  “It gives us an excuse to take a break from chores,” added her father.

  “Thank you again, Mr. Davis, for the tour, but now we must start for home.” Hannah stood up abruptly, smiled, and walked down the steps.

  “I’ll bring your horse around and hitch her up,” Mr. Davis said, following Hannah off the porch.

  Emma met James’ gaze for a moment, understanding how a deer might feel during hunting season. She turned toward Lily. “Nice meeting you…goodbye.” Heading toward the buggy, she forced herself to walk while every instinct told her to run.

  “Emma, wait up a minute.” James grabbed at her sleeve halfway down the path.

  She shot him an annoyed look and pulled back her arm. Once she knew the elders wouldn’t overhear, she said rather crisply, “I can’t imagine why you wanted us to see your farm, unless it was only to show off.”

  James’ face sagged while he dropped his arms to his side. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

  Emma perched one hand on her hip. “You couldn’t have seen anything of interest in our small flock. And we can no more benefit from what we’ve seen today than we could from a visit to the moon.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t trying to show off, Emma. If the truth be told, I just wanted to see you again and couldn’t think of any other way to accomplish that.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open while a blush rose up her neck. She felt herself turn pink up to her hairline. Nodding politely, she mumbled, “I see, James. That’s a bit different. Well, now you’ve seen me.”

  With that, she ran to the buggy and climbed in, forgetting all about being ladylike. When Mr. Davis finished hitching up the horse, Aunt Hannah slapped the reins on its back and Emma waved goodbye. She didn’t dare breathe until they were halfway down the lane to the county road. Only then did she glance back through the buggy window.

  James Davis Jr. stood soldier stiff where Emma had left him in the yard. He was waving back and forth forlornly like a traveler stranded on a foreign shore.

  James watched the buggy turn onto the highway feeling oddly ashamed. Neither he nor his dad had meant to brag about the size or complexity of their farm, yet he knew that’s how it must have seemed to Emma and her aunt.

  Why hadn’t he realized that such economic disparity, besides the cultural differences, might cause hard feelings? But how else could he get to know Emma Miller better? Since meeting her in Mrs. Dunn’s store, that’s all he thought about. Emma wasn’t anything like the other girls he knew. And the fact she was Amish was only part of it.

  The girls he knew through his church—Sunday school classes, vacation Bible school, and now youth meetings—he had grown up with. A person seldom develops romantic notions for someone they have known since playing in the sandbox. They were his friends, but he felt the same toward them as he did toward Lily.

  And the girls from school only seemed interested in clothes, makeup, and guys with fast cars, in that order. They achieved good grades solely to get into prestigious colleges, considered shopping a competitive sport, and flaunted their designer purses or shoes to whomever would listen. He had no trouble getting dates in the past, especially not since he’d bought his flashy truck. With his paycheck from the farm, he could afford to take dates out to expensive Canton restaurants for dinner or to the movies. He’d never been shy about buying flowers or small gifts—being generous always made him happy.

  But as soon as a girl heard he wasn’t interested in playing college sports or even going to college, they looked at him as though he were addlebrained. Why does everyone have to be the same? He’d enjoyed playing wide receiver for his high school football team. Sports had taught him discipline, self-control, and teamwork—the whole was greater than the sum of its parts. But he had no delusions about college athletics. He didn’t want to be just another farm boy, trying to compete in a world without possessing the necessary passion.

  James loved working the farm. And unlike most rural young men, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Maybe that’s why he was so taken with Emma Miller. She was passionate about building her flock, increasing her wool production, and earning a living by raising livestock. She shared his interests and ambitions…besides having the bluest eyes and prettiest face in Ohio. She needed no beauty shop streaks with her natural highlights from the sun. And no blusher or lipstick could improve her peaches-and-cream complexion or soft rosebud lips.

  Peaches—that’s what he had smelled during the jeep ride. And the memory of her fragrance, the feel of her hand, and the sound of her laughter would stay with him for a long time. But standing in the middle of the road, staring after a buggy that was probably halfway home wouldn’t get his chores done or, more important, figure out how to see her again.

  He went searching for his dad and found him in the indoor arena with one of the horse trainers. This was as good a time as any for some advice. “What did you think about Emma…and her aunt?”

  James Davis Sr. took his eyes off the new colt long enough to cast his son an odd glance. “I think they’re very nice, but they may have been overwhelmed by our operation. I know you had no intention of embarrassing them, but nevertheless they were uncomfortable.”

  “That’s not what I had planned,” he said, loud enough to draw the trainer’s attention. “I like Emma. She’s really nice. Not that many gals I know are interested in livestock, let alone sheep.”

  His dad slanted him another glance, this one a bit sly. “She is awfully pretty too, but I suppose you already noticed that small detail.” His eyes crinkled into a web of tiny lines as he lifted his boot to the lowest rail.

  “Yeah, I noticed, but that’s not why I like her.” James Jr. labored to find the right words. “She’s different from other girls.”

  “Andy, don’t give him so much slack,” his dad called to the trainer. “Tighten up that lead.” The trainer had the colt on a long lunging rope. To his son, he said, “Emma’s more than a little different. She lives in a separate world from ours.”

  James held his tongue. If he argued, he might betray his emotions. And since he really didn’t know how he felt about Emma, that wouldn’t be a good idea. The two men silently watched the spirited year-old colt fight against the rope for several minutes.

  “Are you gonna stand here and chaw all day?” Dad asked. “Don’t I give you enough work to do?” His laughter echoed off the arena’s high metal roof.

  “Yeah, I’ve got plenty to do. I’ll check the feed order, update the inoculation records, and drive up to where those loggers are taking out some black walnut trees. I want to make sure they cut down only those I tagged and don’t damage anything with their trucks or equipment.”

  “Good idea. I’ll see you at supper,” said James Sr.

  “Not tonight. I’m driving over to Sam Yoder’s after work to see what he’s up to. I haven’t talked to him for a while.”

  His dad leveled him a steady look and then grinned. “I just figured out why you made friends with that pretty Amish gal. I never took you for a matchmaker, son, but that’s a right nice thing to do.”

  James nodded and then hurried off to his chores. Better to let that particular misconception alone for now, but fixing Emma Miller up with one of his Amish friends was the last thing on his mind.

  Sam Yoder was washing mud off tractor tires when James arrived at his farm. The Yoders lived about ten miles away, closer as the crow flies. Because the family was New Order Amish, they used
diesel tractors and other mechanized equipment for farming and had electricity in their barns.

  “Hey, Jamie, long time no see,” called Sam. He turned off the hose and dried his hands on his pant legs.

  “It’s been a while, way too long.” They shook hands, never having adapted the habit of “man hugs” like some men their age. After preliminary updates on spring planting, news from mutual friends, and how the Indians looked in the new baseball season, James finally broached the subject he’d been mulling over. “Tell me again, Sam. How would you go about meeting Amish girls who weren’t from your district…let’s say, that were Old Order?”

  Amish folk in Holmes County tended to socialize among themselves, especially the more conservative Old Order, the largest of the Amish sects. However, occasionally fund-raisers and other social events were held that welcomed all districts. Even Englischers were sometimes invited.

  Sam began a slow smile. “When did you start taking an interest in my lack-of-love life?”

  “It’s not your love life I’m concerned with,” James said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

  Sam’s grin now reached from ear to ear. “Is that right? And who is the lucky lady that James Jr. has set his eye on?”

  “Things are still uncertain, but I promise when I figure this out, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Fair enough.” Sam scratched the stubble on his chin as though deep in thought. “Well, come to think of it, my mom mentioned a big volleyball party over in Winesburg next Saturday. She’s always pressuring me to socialize more.”

  James hoped his face didn’t reveal his excitement over the name of the town hosting the event. “What will that be like?” he asked.

  “Let me see. There will be probably close to a hundred people, mostly our age, some a little older. And all of them unmarried. Married folk don’t attend these things. Several volleyball games will be going on, plus horseshoes, a big bonfire, plenty of eats, including some of the best pies and cakes you’ve ever tasted. The girls try to outdo each other with their baking.” Sam rubbed his belly with a circular motion.

  James wasn’t quite as interested in the food. “You’ve been to a lot of these parties?”

  “Nah, not that many, but maybe I should start going. Now that my classes are done at the vocational center, I won’t be seeing many gals till county fair time. You run into few ladies down at the Feed-n-Seed.” He swept off his hat and snaked a hand through his long hair.

  “So you’ll go?” asked James with anticipation building in his veins. Is this what people mean by spring fever? “And you’ll invite me to come with you?”

  Sam set his straw hat back on his head. “Yeah, I think I’ll go. And you can tag along so long as you pick me up. The bishop won’t let me drive my truck to a social event.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” James said, a little too loudly.

  “Did you eat supper yet?” When James shook his head, Sam continued, “Let’s go see what my ma cooked up. I’m starving. And I’ll fill you in on proper behavior and what to expect at this party. Mom will be happy to offer her two cents on that topic.” He slapped an arm around James’ shoulder and the two marched inside like comrades undertaking a daring mission.

  And to James, that’s exactly what it felt like.

  Emma had been unusually quiet on the drive back from Charm, and that had been fine with Hannah. The tour of the Davis’ grand estate had left her feeling out of sorts. She wasn’t jealous of such worldly wealth, and the Davis family seemed like genuinely good people, but the whole excursion had been a big waste of time.

  Why had Emma yearned to see that vast, complex agribusiness? Plain people farmed to feed themselves and their families and earned a cash crop to pay taxes, medical expenses, and those things not easily grown or bartered. Their farms, although some were quite large, were far simpler and straightforward.

  Hannah had a theory regarding Emma’s fascination that had nothing to do with shearing facilities resembling hospital operating rooms. Perhaps the young woman’s sullen melancholy on the way home indicated she might have lost enthusiasm for the fancy life. For Emma’s sake, Hannah certainly hoped so. There was good reason why Plain people seldom mingled with Englischers, and it had nothing to do with covetousness.

  After she dropped off her niece and watched the girl shuffle her booted feet up the driveway, Hannah released a sigh of relief. That should be the last of the foolishness.

  Home beckoned. Her lettuce and green beans could use a few buckets of rainwater. She also needed to check her flock’s feed supply since the pasture was somewhat sparse. But first she wanted to cut up a chicken and put it up to simmer. Chicken stew with baby carrots, new potatoes, peas, and celery sounded good with the rest of yesterday’s buttermilk biscuits. Soups, stews, and pot roasts always worked when outdoor chores still remained. Even she couldn’t ruin those dishes by overcooking if she kept the flame low.

  As she unhitched the horse and turned it into the paddock, Leah appeared from the back path pulling Phoebe by the hand.

  “Guder nachmittag, Aunt Hannah,” Leah called.

  “Good afternoon to you,” Hannah said.

  “Mamm,” Phoebe yelled and ran to embrace Hannah as though she’d been gone for days.

  Hannah lifted Phoebe to her hip. Soon she would be too big to pick up, so Hannah cherished the wonderful feel of a child in her arms. Will I one day know the joy of nurturing an infant? Will I be blessed with a baby to rock to sleep in the handmade oak cradle used by four generations of Millers? Hannah fervently hoped so, but so far her prayers had gone unanswered. Lately, she confined her prayer requests to other people’s woes, lest the Lord think her unappreciative of the grace she’d been shown. She’d been welcomed into a new community, found a wonderful man to love, and given a precious child to help raise. She loved 2 Corinthians 9:11, which summed up being grateful: “Yes, you will be enriched in every way so that you can always be generous. And when we take your gifts to those who need them, they will thank God.”

  Hannah swung Phoebe around before setting her down and giving Leah a warm hug. “Danki, Leah. Did you two help your mamm pickle and can the first baby beets?”

  For her answer, Leah held up her hands for inspection. The cuticles and fingertips were stained red from beet juice. Phoebe mimicked the gesture as they walked toward the house. “Come inside and have a glass of lemonade,” Hannah said. “I have some cold in the fridge.”

  “No, danki,” her niece said, stopping at the steps. “I need to get back and make supper. Emma ran straight to her flock when you brought her home. She didn’t have one thought about helping me in the kitchen.” She frowned with determination.

  Hannah tried not to smile. Those two sisters were as different as strong coffee and cold milk—both refreshing but absolutely nothing alike.

  “I appreciate you walking Phoebe home,” Hannah called as Leah headed for the back path. After she disappeared from sight, Hannah entered the kitchen to find Seth sitting at the table.

  “Afternoon, fraa,” he said. A coffee mug sat before him.

  “Seth, have you been waiting for me? Did you forget about my trip to Charm today?” Hannah hurried to take the seat opposite him. Phoebe started to sit down too until Hannah stopped her. “Go wash up and play in the front room,” Hannah said to the child.

  Seth waited until his daughter left the room before speaking. “No, I remembered, but there’s something I wanted to talk about before more time passed.” He drained the last of his coffee.

  Under the table Hannah smoothed her palms down her skirt with growing trepidation. “What is it?”

  “I joined up with some men in the district to take advantage of the corn situation.” He met her gaze with an expression of tenderness.

  “Ach, the high corn prices. So you’re not alone in wanting to plant extra fields with a moneymaker.” She breathed easier. Her fears of illness or some other dreadful news had tensed the muscles in her back.

  “Jah,
a third of the district is doing the same, but there’s more to it than that. Plenty of land in the county has been sitting fallow, mostly owned by Englischers who either aren’t farming anymore or have reduced the number of acres under cultivation.” He kept his focus on her steady.

  It seemed as though he wanted her to guess what he was trying to say, but she hadn’t a clue. Tension began to creep back into her shoulders. “Spell this out for me, Seth,” she said, “so I can start fixing supper.”

  “We’ve formed an alliance to lease available tillable land. Together as a group, we’ll put up equal amounts and share in the profits at the end of the year.”

  She stared wide eyed like a barn owl high in the rafters. “With what money would you invest in this scheme?”

  Some of the tenderness faded from his eyes. “It’s no scheme, Hannah. It’s a solid business investment. I put up the money in our savings account.”

  “All of it?” she asked, annoyance replacing trepidation. The savings account included the remaining proceeds from the sale of her Pennsylvania farm to her brother, no small sum of money.

  “No, not all of it, but a good chunk. We’ll get it back and more after the final harvest.”

  “Seth, it’s almost June. Isn’t it late to be looking for land to plant more corn?”

  “Jah, it would, but it’s already done, fraa. We’ve leased the land and the crop is in. We’re all praying nightly for rain, but not too much, you know.” His laughter sounded hollow and brittle in the kitchen.

  Hannah pulled off her kapp and slapped it down on the table. Her scalp had grown hot and prickly. “You’ve already done this, but you’re just getting around to telling me now?” Anger replaced annoyance in her voice.

  “Calm down. Don’t work yourself up into a tizzy. We’ve both been so busy I haven’t had a chance. That’s why I wanted to tell you before I milk the cows tonight. Didn’t want anymore time to slip by.”