by Mary Ellis
“Is that all?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
“No, that’s not all. My feet are so swollen it feels like I put on somebody else’s shoes, and my back hurts from bending over.”
Seth dropped his arm from around her shoulder to the base of her spine and rubbed in a circular motion. “Where is that imp, Phoebe? She’s supposed to be helping you out here.”
Hannah shook her head. “She said she was getting a drink of water half an hour ago. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Let’s get you out of this hot sun for a while.” Tugging her hand, Seth gently led her from the garden.
Inside the house, they found Phoebe sitting at the kitchen table. A glass of water sat in front of her, while her doll occupied the opposite chair. A toy cup had been provided for the doll’s refreshment.
“Hi, mamm and daed,” the child sang out when they entered the room.
“Are you having a tea party while your mamm works outside alone?” Seth asked, sounding sterner than Hannah had ever heard him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and ran to hug Hannah around the waist. Her dimpled face looked truly repentant.
“It’s all right, Phoebe,” Hannah said. She washed her arms and face at the sink while the child clutched her skirt.
“You help her make my big, gourmet lunch while I clean up next,” Seth instructed.
“Seth Miller,” Hannah said, tossing the hand towel to him. “We are having cold ham sandwiches and maybe a few spoonfuls of chow chow. That’s it. There’s no time to cook a big…”
He cut off her words with a finger pressed to her sun-chapped lips. “Easy now. I was joking. What happened to that great sense of humor you had when we got hitched?” Seth buzzed a kiss across her damp forehead and then took his turn washing up.
What did happen to my sense of humor? Hannah had been edgy, irritable, and emotional. Never one to cry over spilled milk or scorched oatmeal, lately she found herself crying…or fuming…over inconsequential things. The August heat and humidity weren’t helping. Tonight, maybe they could try sleeping in the screened porch since the upstairs bedrooms were nearly unbearable.
Hannah fixed three sandwiches, adding a tomato slice to each, and poured cool drinks. She tried to smile pleasantly for the duration of the meal. Just because the weather and female hormones were making her cross, she had no right to take it out on—
Suddenly an idea, a possibility struck her like a thunderclap. The jar of pickled chow chow slipped from her fingers to land with a thud on the oak table.
Seth looked alarmed. “Are you all right, Hannah?”
“Jah, just fine. Butterfingers, is all.” She wiped up the spilled vinegar with the dishrag and tried to eat her sandwich, while counting days and weeks in her mind. Two, three…was her monthly really three weeks late?
Hannah went over days and events as best as she could recollect, yet kept arriving at the same conclusion. Or was it merely wishful thinking? Phoebe and Seth seemed to be watching her, so Hannah ate her sandwich and drank her iced tea as normally as possible. Could I possibly be pregnant?
She felt different, both physically and emotionally. She felt bloated, clumsy, and painfully tender. Isn’t that what happened when a woman was in a family way? Hannah speared a piece of pickled celery and marveled at the crunchy texture while she chewed. Either this was the best batch of chow chow her sister ever canned or something was different.
When Seth grabbed his hat and returned to the fields, and Phoebe carried their plates to the sink, Hannah mulled a dozen ideas in her head. What month would the baby arrive? What names would Seth like to use? Would her delivery be smooth or, because this was her first pregnancy, would she end up in bed for the final months like one of her cousins had endured?
How she wanted to run the back path to her sister’s house. Having given birth to four healthy kinner, Julia could answer a bushel basket of questions. But she didn’t dare. It was too soon, and she couldn’t be sure. She would get no one’s hopes up but her own. But, oh, how she hoped that she was expecting.
So she prayed.
She prayed while finishing the rest of the bean rows, and while picking zucchini and squash. And when she milked cows and fed the chickens, she prayed a little more, ignoring that her dress stuck to her back and her forehead dripped with perspiration. Finally, the sun dropped behind the western hills, bringing relief from the oppressive heat. While a chicken roasted in the oven and potatoes boiled for dinner, she enjoyed a cool sponge bath and put on a fresh dress. Phoebe busied herself with the blackberries Turnip had left, washing them and picking off the stems and leaves.
Seth returned earlier than expected from the fields and also took a quick bath. “There’s a meeting tonight, Hannah,” he announced while towel drying his hair. “Let’s eat as soon as possible. All the men in the district are congregating at the Steiner farm.”
Hannah only nodded and smiled. The fact that he was off to discuss family business without her didn’t trouble her as much as it had in the past. She would heed Simon’s advice to the best of her ability. After all, God rewarded those who were obedient—who listened and followed His Word.
This might be the sweet reward she had been waiting seven years for…a baby!
Seth hitched his fastest horse to the buggy and left right after dinner. The chicken and parsley potatoes had been quite tasty, even though Hannah had spent most of the day in the garden. She had a sunburned nose to show for her hard labor.
Iced tea and apple pie would have to wait until he returned home. Seth was eager to get to the meeting to gauge the district’s sentiments. A lot of money had been raised to lease nearby available land. More money had been invested in seed corn and additional equipment. Many men like him had worked long hours planting a late corn crop after their regular chores were finished to maximize profits for the community fund.
The profits would only be there, though, if a killing frost didn’t come early. Or if a late summer drought didn’t shrivel the new plants to dust. Or if a plague of locusts didn’t swoop down and devour every last kernel. Many things could go wrong, some that hadn’t occurred to Seth while he was convincing his wife and brother that this was the answer to their prayers. Now he wasn’t so sure. And that uncertainty soured his stomach, despite Hannah’s delicious roast chicken.
Buggies lined both sides of the Steiner driveway. The turnout for the district meeting surpassed Seth’s expectations. One of Jacob’s sons unhitched his mare and led her to a round stanchion of hay, already crowded with visiting horses.
“That way,” the boy said, pointing to a large barn with doors open wide to catch evening breezes. Seth heard the sound of voices raised in heated discussion long before he entered the hundred-year-old structure.
“Everyone calm down,” someone commanded. Seth recognized the authoritative voice of the bishop. “We’ll hear both viewpoints of the issue one at a time. We will not have a shouting match. Each side, pick a spokesman.”
Seth glanced around. About thirty men were milling in two fairly equal groups. One group contained the district’s younger men, while the other was a mostly white-bearded crowd. Seth recognized several friends, including those who had originally formed the corn alliance and convinced him of its merits. He also spotted his bruder, along with the other deacon and bishop on the other side.
Simon spotted him and tipped his hat in greeting. Seth nodded, smiled, and then joined the younger men as they were selecting a spokesman. Thank goodness they didn’t ask him to plead their case. He’d said enough on the subject to last a lifetime and wished the controversy would cool down. Let those who had invested wait for the harvest without all the ongoing fuss.
His wishful thinking for a quiet compromise was not to be. Especially since the man chosen as spokesman was a well-known hothead. The young man stepped forward and talked about anticipated profits as though they were a foregone conclusion. Although he talked in a low, controlled voice, Seth saw that many of the elders disapproved o
f his assurance of outcome and cocky attitude.
One glance at Simon confirmed their spokesman wasn’t winning any new converts. Simon looked like Curly when the goat’s rope was too short to reach the tastiest grass. Some elders mumbled under their breath, while others shook their heads or pulled on beards. The younger men either defiantly crossed their arms or nervously shifted their weight from foot to foot. Most didn’t like dissension in the community or alienating themselves from fathers, fathers-in-law, or other kin. Seth found himself in the latter group, despite his conviction the plan would work.
Soon the bishop called for silence, and Simon stepped forward to present the other side. It was simple, really. The Amish way of life, which had served them for years and was protected by the Ordnung, demanded subsistence farming. That meant growing only what the family and community needed—to store up riches in heaven without undo concern for earthly wealth. Scripture spoke directly on the matter in 1 Timothy 6:6-8: “ Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. After all, we brought nothing with us when we came into the world, and we can’t take anything with us when we leave it. So if we have enough food and clothing, let us be content.”
The white-bearded men nodded in agreement.
As Seth saw it, the two groups differed only in defining the needs of the community. A depleted medical fund wouldn’t meet future expenses. With Julia’s surgeries practically unavoidable, the need was real. Yet he also saw that the corn alliance was a gamble, and that couldn’t easily be rationalized. Glancing around the room, reading the faces and postures of men he’d known his whole life, Seth realized few men saw both sides. And that didn’t bode well for restoring peace and harmony in the district.
The bishop raised his hand for silence. Soon the grumbling ceased and the men waited for his decision. “What’s done is done,” he said, in a clear voice. “The land has been leased. The crops have been planted. We shall pray for a bountiful harvest.” He looked at his fellow elders to emphasize the appeal for unity. “We shall pitch in if someone needs help with harvest or comes up short with livestock feed or other necessities. If the profits are what you say they will be,” he nodded at the younger spokesman, “then the community fund will be restored and whole district will benefit.”
A noise from overhead drew everyone’s attention. The bishop’s gaze drifted upward where swallows flitted between the rafters. “But this will be the last of it…this speculation.” He refocused on the men before him. “As I understand it, the leases were for one year. Next spring they’ll be no alliance of corn growers with their get-rich-quick schemes.” As the bishop spoke, some men nodded sagely, while the hotheads stood like statues in the town square. “Each farmer of this district will plant a variety of crops to carry us through good times and bad, like the Ordnung instructs.”
For a moment silence filled the barn as dust motes danced in the last rays of the setting sun. Then murmuring resumed as the men either agreed with the decision or expressed some final grouse on the subject.
Simon was busy talking to the other deacon, so Seth slipped outside to the cooler evening air. At least the topic had been laid to rest. God held their future in His hands, and Seth would patiently wait for the outcome.
Warm apple pie, crowned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a tall glass of iced tea beckoned. He couldn’t wait to get back to his wife…and his long overdue dessert. He concentrated on those two things on the way home, putting all thoughts of corn aside.
The kerosene lamp burned low on the kitchen table when he arrived, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The counters had been cleared and wiped down with lemon water, the faint scent still lingering in the air. A jelly jar of larkspur, picked by Phoebe, graced the center of the table. “Hannah,” he called in the empty room. “Phoebe?”
His wife, wrapped in a robe over her nightgown appeared in the doorway. “She’s long asleep, Seth. Let’s not wake her.”
The realization that something was wrong hit him like a slap of cold water. Hannah’s eyes were red and swollen, her face pale and wan. She appeared somehow diminished, as though she’d shrunk a full size during the meeting.
“What’s wrong, Hannah?” he asked. Fear snaked up his spine as his gut tightened into a knot. “What has happened?”
“Oh, Seth,” she cried and ran to him. Burying her face in his shirt, she fisted her hands against his chest.
All thoughts of pie vanished in an instant.
He waited several long moments while she sobbed in his arms. When he could no longer stand the suspense, he gently lifted her chin to peer into her dark green eyes. “Tell me, fraa.” He took a hanky from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.
She sniffed and dabbed her nose. “I was so happy, so hopeful. I thought I…we were expecting a boppli. Then tonight I got my monthly. Oh, Seth,” she wailed. “I’m not pregnant.” She dissolved into a sea of misery. “It’s not to be. It’s never to be.”
Simon was sitting at the table when Emma and Matthew returned home. A mug of warm milk sat before him, cooling. “About time,” he said when they entered the kitchen.
“Sorry, Pa,” Matthew said. “Long way home on the back roads.”
“How’s mamm?” asked Emma, simultaneously.
“I know where Mount Hope is, son. Go to bed. You need your rest.” To Emma, he said, “You can ask her that yourself tomorrow. It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”
“Gut nacht,” she said. Her father looked as old as Dawdi Eli. Deep creases and dark shadows ringed his eyes. He shuffled his feet across the linoleum floor. The joy of seeing James tonight, the thrill of discovering he wanted to be her beau diminished with the reminder that her dear mother was sick.
A wave of guilt followed her up the stairs to her room. When she kneeled beside the bed, she prayed for her parents, not for a future with a blue-eyed man with strong hands. Mamm and daed seemed to have aged so much during the past year.
Emma lay awake tossing and turning for a long while. Twice she woke Leah with her thrashing. The girl pulled the top sheet over her head without hiding her annoyance. When Emma finally did sleep, the sound of James’ laughter and memory of his gentle touch haunted her dreams until dawn.
At breakfast, Leah was in a better mood than the previous night. “How did you like the horse pull?” she asked. Her face glowed with good health as she heated the frying pan for an omelet. Chopped peppers and ham were ready to be added to the eggs.
“Good,” Emma said, not admitting she’d paid little attention to the huge horses pulling weighted sleighs. Men got excited over the dullest things while her mind had been elsewhere. “How is mamm?” she asked, glancing toward the steps.
“Ach, don’t worry,” Leah said. “She’ll be asleep for a while. They gave her shots in both knees with a long needle and stronger pain pills.” Leah flipped the omelet with skill. “But the news isn’t good. The X-rays showed more deterioration of her knees and feet. If the steroid injections don’t work and the pills don’t bring relief, they’ll have to operate.”
“Oh, my,” Emma murmured. “Poor mamm.” She hung her head, focusing on making toast so her sister wouldn’t see her shame. What am I doing? Falling in love with an Englischer? Only heartbreak for my family will come from that. Yet she seemed helpless to stop. Maybe it was a good thing he would leave soon for college. No point upsetting her parents over a silly summer infatuation.
When Simon and the boys trooped in for breakfast, a glaze of sweat already dampened their faces. “It’ll be another hot one today,” Simon announced. But other than his weather prediction, the meal was short and silent. Even Matthew didn’t chatter endlessly about the horse pull or share news from his schoolmates. The boy kept glancing at her, as though waiting for some kind of announcement.
When Leah volunteered to do the dishes by herself, Emma gratefully headed to the henhouse. She much preferred cleaning roosts and sweeping floors than answering unexpected questions. Emma completed her chores that day as th
ough sleepwalking. Her small flock was thriving—growing rapidly and gaining weight. She’d lost no lambs to illness or predators. Her weaving skills had vastly improved—no longer did she produce the loose, puckered cloth she had first created. She had plenty of wool to spin into yarn, a task that calmed her mind and filled her with a sense of purpose.
Except for today.
None of her domestic activities took her mind off James Davis and what their future might hold. Could she one day become his wife—watching television, riding to town in his big truck, maybe even buying a microwave oven? What could a person do with one of those they couldn’t do in a regular oven?
When nothing brought peace of mind, Emma slung a burlap bag over her shoulder and headed for the woodland path. In the quiet forest she hoped to find more than fresh grapevines to cut. She sought to calm her troubled spirit. While blackbirds squawked and sparrows twittered, Emma pulled out her clippers and attacked low-hanging vines. When her bag was full, she turned her face skyward and closed her eyes. Rays of sunlight reached down to warm her skin, filling her with the serenity that had long eluded her. In the forest clearing, she felt God’s presence and prayed for guidance and forgiveness.
Renewed, Emma picked up her bag brimming with vines and marched home, humming a favorite song along the way. But her serenade came to an abrupt stop once she reached the high pasture. A shiny green truck pulling a livestock trailer was parked in their driveway, and James was just getting out of the driver’s side.
With a shiver of fear, Emma picked up her skirt and started to run.
Matthew arrived first to greet their guest. As she was hopping a log, the two young men were shaking hands. Then they walked to the back of the trailer and opened the door. Emma shimmied between the fence rails, knocking off her kapp along the way. When she stopped to fix her head covering, she watched the tableau unfold in the yard below. And her heart rose into her throat.
