by Mary Ellis
“No, danki just the same. I get my fair share of cooking experiments in my own kitchen.” He grinned like a man still happily discovering the mysteries of being a newlywed.
Seth looked over Simon’s hayfield, where the tall grass was rippling in the warm breeze like a green river. “Ready to be cut, jah?”
“It is. I’m sharpening my blades today and will start cutting tomorrow if the dry weather holds. How ’bout yours?”
Seth crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “I won’t be cutting a second crop of hay. I’ve still got plenty of bales under plastic from my first crop back in April.”
Simon stared with confusion. “No second crop? What happens if we get a drought and your pasture grass dies back? What will you feed your livestock then…some of Hannah’s cooking experiments?” His jest didn’t sound that funny, so he resumed his sober expression. “What did you plant your hayfield in?”
“All corn—everything but Hannah’s garden and the sheep and cow pastures.”
Simon pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg. “Just like that band of hotheads? I thought you were smarter than to fall in with that lot.”
“I guess you overestimated my intellect, bruder, because I think it’s a good idea, same as others in the district.” He sounded very sure of himself.
“You’re taking a big chance, a gamble.” Simon imbued the word with onerous emphasis. “Something the Bible and our Ordnung caution us against.”
Seth met his eye and then gazed off toward the horizon. A small bird seemed to be following and intimidating a red-tailed hawk in flight. “Scripture says nothing against planting corn.”
Simon’s back stiffened. First my daughter now my brother telling me my business? “You know exactly what I mean. You’re engaging in speculation, hoping to make a great deal of profit.”
Seth shifted his weight, planting both feet as though preparing for some kind of standoff. “Have you noticed what they’re paying for corn at the grain elevator in Mount Eaton? Even higher prices if you’re willing to take the crop to New Philadelphia to sell.”
“Speculation, I tell you.” Simon planted his boot heels in the grass. “There’s no guarantee those prices will hold until fall.”
“They’re buying up all the available corn to manufacture ethanol,” Seth said.
“According to what I read in the Daily Journal, it’s still experimental. They don’t know if these ethanol plants they’re building can turn corn into fuel any cheaper than refineries can process fossil oil.”
Seth pulled on his beard and appeared to be considering this. At least his brother would listen to reason, not like some of the hotheads.
“What you’re saying is true. I read the same article myself, but I think we have no choice but to take the chance. And I would like you to join us. As deacon, you are respected—your opinion holds high authority. The county agent says there’s more land available for lease in the southern part of the county. It’s not too late to get in another crop of hybrid to harvest in October.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
Seth straightened to his full impressive height. “Do you know how little is in our district’s community fund?” he shot back. “I talked to the bishop about the balance. Several buggy accidents, some farming mishaps, the road usage fees, a couple of house fires—the coffers are nearly depleted.” He shook his head sadly.
Simon found his back growing more painful by the minute. “The bishop shouldn’t have discussed this with you. You’re not a deacon or an elder.” His tone sounded harsh and petulant.
“I asked him straight out and he gave me a truthful answer. That’s all. I don’t want to overstep my bounds, Simon, but Julia will need surgery sooner or later. There’s no denying it. Do you know how much that will cost?”
The fight went out of Simon at the mention of his beloved wife’s name. “Let’s go sit in the shade.” He shook his head and walked toward the barn with Seth on his heels. A rickety table and pair of chairs were under the barn’s eaves—a good spot to sit and enjoy lunch in the fresh air. Simon sat down heavily and leaned his back against the wall. Seth sat too, resting his large hands on his knees.
“Ach,” Simon said. “I’ve been afraid to ask the doctor what it’ll cost. I suppose I’ve been no better than a foolish goose burying its head and thinking the coyote can no longer see it.”
Seth put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re no goose. Just a man facing a difficult situation…one that has no easy answer. How is Julia?”
Simon dropped his chin to his chest. “The pain is getting worse. The medications and the therapies that once worked well no longer bring relief. She is suffering, Seth, and I am helpless to stop the pain. It’s time we travel again to Canton to see that specialist.”
Seth tightened his grip. “The money from selling this corn in the fall can rebuild our medical fund. It will go a long way toward paying her hospital bills. Join in with us. Give us your support.”
Simon felt suddenly like a very old man. “I cannot. I am sorry. The Bible tells us, ‘Plant your seeds in the morning and keep busy all afternoon, for you don’t know if profit will come from one activity or another—or maybe both.’ Let’s leave it up to God. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for Julia, but I can’t in good conscience join in this.” He struggled to his feet as his brother’s hand dropped away. “Come in to lunch and sample Leah’s tuna casserole. It might be a welcome surprise after all.”
“No, danki. I shall go home and await my fate at Hannah’s hands.” Seth stood then and walked toward his buggy with far less confidence and pep than he possessed upon arrival.
This would be a summer of changes…a time of trials and tests by the Lord. Simon would pray nightly that he would be up to the challenge.
July
It had been a full month since the canoe trip. Emma had replayed every detail in her mind over and over. She’d heard not a word from James, even though she and Aunt Hannah had stopped at A Stitch in Time in Sugar Creek, but at least her father had dropped the subject of the English sheep farmer.
Since that night Simon had been patient and gentle as though he regretted losing his temper. Mamm still watched her like an eagle, vigilant that her fledging didn’t fall from the nest. Julia hovered around the kitchen, even though Emma and Leah did the cooking and baking these days. Julia’s hands had become painfully crippled with rheumatoid arthritis. To be truthful, Leah did most of the kitchen chores without complaint, allowing Emma time in her loft. Plenty of wool still remained from the last shearing to spin, while progress on the new loom was slow but steady. She had plenty to keep busy with. Mrs. Dunn had sold all the consignment wreaths, and the money Emma had received from them allowed her to pay off the balance on her new loom.
Whenever Emma got a chance, she would wander through the woods between their farm and Uncle Seth’s with clippers and a burlap sack over her shoulder. Wild grapevines for new wreaths grew unceasingly in the plentiful July sunshine. On these solitary walks on misty mornings or in fading daylight after supper, her thoughts turned to a suntanned boy with sparkling eyes and a soft voice. Remembering his smile lifted her heart into the clouds. His laughter, his polite manners, his respect for all God’s creation helped her to forget he wasn’t Amish.
How she wanted to see him again. Wasn’t this her Rumschpringe? This was her time to discover what she wanted and who she was, but four weeks had passed without a single word from him. Her fear of disappointing her parents apparently had been premature.
“Emma, Emma!”
She heard her brother’s voice but saw nothing but an empty path through the dense trees. Suddenly, Matthew galloped toward her on their newest colt. He rode bareback with only a bit, bridle, and reins, gripping the horse with his long legs. “I’ve been looking for you!”
“You’ve lost your hat,” she said, stepping away from the horse’s prancing hooves.
“Jah, it flew off a while back. I was pretending a pack
of wild boars was chasing me and I needed to get away.” He slipped smoothly from the back of the colt to the ground. He was becoming an adept horseman.
She glanced down the path. “Not a single wild boar in sight. I think you’ve outrun them.”
“Good, I’ll look for my hat on the way back. I was anxious to find you.” He dug into his boot and pulled out a letter. It had been folded over several times.
Emma’s heart skipped several beats upon spotting the envelope’s distinctive handwriting.
Matthew grinned his funny, lopsided smile. “I saw your English beau down by the road when I was getting the mail. He was about to put this in our mailbox.”
“He is my friend, not my beau,” she corrected, stretching a hand out to take it.
But Matthew held the letter high, beyond her reach. “Why the personal delivery? Can’t the guy afford a stamp?”
“He was probably driving by, that’s all. Now hand it over, you imp.” She lunged for the letter again, but Matthew was far quicker.
“Our farm isn’t on the way to anywhere,” he laughed, waving the envelope above her head.
Emma stomped her booted foot. “Matthew Miller, you give that to me or I’m telling daed.”
“Oh, I doubt you’ll tell Pa. But someday I might need help from a big sister, so here you go.” He lowered it down to nose height, and she snatched it without hesitation.
“Danki.” She turned her back to him before tearing it open with trembling fingers.
Matthew leaned over her shoulder. “Care to read it aloud?”
Emma clutched it to her chest. “On your way! Go find your hat. A woman needs some privacy.”
“You’re hardly a woman, Emma. You’re still just a plain ol’ girl, but I’ll leave you alone. He probably wants to talk about his dumb sheep anyway.” Without benefit of a saddle horn, he boosted himself up onto the colt’s back and swung over his leg with amazing agility. “See you at supper,” he called. With a tiny kick, boy and beast took off down the trail.
Her hands shook as she removed the single sheet of paper and began to read:
Dear Emma,
It is my fondest hope that absence has made your heart fonder for me. I have missed you, and I think about you each time I see the sweet face of one of my new merinos.
A sheep? He thinks I look like a sheep? Emma didn’t know what to make of this letter so far! From high overhead, the caw of a crow added insult to her injury. Dismissing the odd compliment, she continued to read:
A group of people are going horseback riding this Saturday at the stable in Berlin. They’ll provide a picnic lunch to eat along the way. Sam Yoder and Sarah Hostetler are going, but tell your dad it’s not just for courting couples. Plenty of other folk will be there. Please understand, I am officially asking you to be my date.
Eagerly (and hopefully) waiting for Saturday,
James
Emma clutched the paper to the spot she believed her heart to be and made a frightening decision. She would go on the trail ride with her friends, even if it meant telling her parents a little white lie.
On Saturday, her mother was so distracted by pain and discomfort she didn’t much question Emma about the outing. She commented only “you surely show little interest in the colts and fillies Matthew is raising,” and instructed her to wear the one pair of trouser jeans she owned—under her dress.
“Mamm, this is July and close to ninety degrees.”
Julia shook her head. “I know perfectly well what month it is, but you can’t ride astride a horse in a long dress. You also can’t wear jeans and a shirt like Englischers. So it’s the two together or stay home and help Henry paint the fence.” She lowered her head to lock gazes with her daughter.
So Emma wore the jeans and dress together, happy to be going despite the hot day.
Sam Yoder drove his buggy up her lane promptly at nine o’clock. With his new standardbred, a former racehorse, he’d made good time coming from Charm. Emma climbed into the buggy and offered a quick wave to her daed. Seeing a buggy and not a pickup, Simon stayed with his plow and didn’t come charging across the field. Matthew studied her from his position in the hayloft window, no doubt curious about her response to the secret letter.
“Bye, Emma,” Leah called from the porch swing. The girl was already shelling peas for lunch into a large pot. “Have a nice time.”
Emma felt a twinge of guilt at how little fun her sister had, but her time would come soon enough. She was only thirteen. However, as soon as Sam’s buggy headed up the Hostetler road, Emma felt nothing but excitement. She dug around in her tote bag, packed with bug repellent, hand wipes, and water, and pulled out a tube of pink lip gloss and a compact of rose blusher. These had come from the dollar store. Emma applied the cosmetics the way she’d seen English girls do in the ladies’ room in town.
“You putting makeup on for Jamie?” Sam asked.
Emma glanced his way briefly. “No, I’m doing this for myself, to feel pretty.” Why she’d said that she didn’t know.
“Shucks, Emma, you don’t need that stuff. Jamie and I were just saying that you and Sarah are the two prettiest girls in Holmes County. And we’re the two luckiest men.”
“Is that right, Sam Yoder?” Emma shoved her makeup back into the tote.
If Sam answered her question, she didn’t hear because James had spotted the buggy and was walking their way.
“Emma,” he said. “I’m so happy you came I think I could hug you!”
“Thinking is one thing, but don’t try it,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt.
“Ready to go?” he asked. “As soon as Sam puts his horse in the pasture, we’ll be off in my ride. I gave her a bath for the occasion.”
Emma was confused until they walked over to his pickup. The vehicle gleamed brightly in the sunlight. “Is this truck female?” Emma asked.
“Sure, doesn’t she look it?” James opened the doors and windows to cool off the interior.
“The color could certainly be female,” Sarah teased, joining them with her tote bag and a cooler hanging on her arm. “Green is for girls; blue is for boys.”
Emma was happy to see that Sarah wore jeans under her dress too. This was all new to her, but then again, she’d never ridden a horse for pleasure before. Amish folk loved their animals, but horses represented a farming implement or a way to get from one place to another.
“I’m so glad you made it, Em. This should be even more fun than canoeing,” Sarah said. She craned her neck to see where Sam had gone.
Emma grinned. Not only had Sarah climbed into a wobbly conveyance over water, today she planned to mount a huge, four-legged beast with flies buzzing around its head. The way Sarah looked at Sam when he returned from the paddock must have something to do with her change of heart.
Are my emotions also that obvious? Emma certainly hoped not as she squeezed into the backseat.
“You look real nice, Emma,” James said, watching her in his rearview mirror.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” she warned. “And no speeding.”
“Yes, ma’am.” James flashed a grin and then concentrated on the road during the drive to Trails End Stable.
When they arrived, an earlier group was preparing to go out. The English teenagers milled around while the trail guide matched the size and ability of each rider to a particular horse. Emma couldn’t help but notice the girls in line. They all wore snug-fitting tops with even tighter blue jeans. Some wore Western boots while most had on tennis shoes. Why must they wear their clothes as if they bought the wrong size? There was no mystery to any curve of their bodies. Emma smoothed a hand down her solid blue dress, glad her clothing fit properly. She would be very uncomfortable wearing such constricting outfits.
One young lady spotted her watching them. She offered a wave and smile before turning back to her friends. If the girl thought wearing pants under a dress odd she didn’t show it. And for that Emma felt grateful, because today she was with James,
not someone Amish.
She touched her fingertips to her lips. The lip gloss was sweet like peppermint candy and a little sticky. She hoped it wouldn’t attract gnats. Remembering 1 Peter 3:4, a Bible verse her father loved to quote about vanity stopped her from comparing herself to others: “You should clothe yourself instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God.”
“We’re next, Emma,” James whispered near her ear as the others left for the trail.
“I’m as ready as I ever will be,” she answered. “My brother would be proud of me. He rides bareback, even at a gallop, and doesn’t fall off. With a saddle, I hope I can stay on the horse the whole time.”
James placed his hand at the small of her back. “You’ll be fine. These horses aren’t like the spirited stock Matthew bought. They’re accustomed to people sitting on them who don’t know what they are doing.”
“Thanks a lot.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she stepped up to the mounting block.
But her worries about horses were premature. Emma mounted gracefully and was soon trotting across an open field with a dozen other riders. At the edge of the pasture, a trail entered a dim, cool wood where wild violets still bloomed even this late in the season. She listened to the forest sounds around her and an occasional snort from her gentle mare, but otherwise the place was utterly peaceful.
She loved the woods, feeling God’s presence in the soft light filtering down between the leaves and tree branches. And she liked James. He followed behind her, dutifully watching to make sure everything stayed cordial between her and the horse.
Their trail followed a winding river to a clearing where several picnic tables waited beneath a huge oak tree. “Chow time, folks,” hollered the trail guide. He and his assistant quickly spread out an assortment of sandwiches, chips, grapes, apples, and a cooler of drinks.
