A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series)

by Chapman, Vannetta

  “I think I smell something terrible.” She laughed. “I better take this girl inside.”

  Glancing toward the pasture once more, she saw that Grace was where she’d started and Joshua was helping her off the mare. Gabe had hopped off the fence and was showing her how to unsaddle the horse.

  “She’s so small,” Miriam murmured as they turned and walked toward the house.

  “Yes, but it’s all the more reason to prepare her.” Abigail shivered slightly and pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. When she did, Miriam noticed her mother’s hands, noticed and thought immediately of old folks suffering from the Parkinson’s disease.

  “Mamm, are you all right?” Miriam’s heart surged into a double beat.

  “Don’t worry, dear.”

  “I am worried. You’re shaking.”

  Abigail stared down at her hand, held it out in front of her in the sunlight, as if it were a fault in a blanket she were knitting.

  “You don’t have to keep things from me. I’d rather know.”

  “It started a few days ago,” Abigail said, no real alarm in her voice. “It’s the most curious thing. Comes and goes.”

  She tucked her hand back in her shawl.

  “Are you ill?”

  As usual, Abigail took her time answering. “I don’t think I am, Miriam. But your father’s concerned.”

  “Why? Why is he concerned?” Miriam’s mind searched for anything he might have said, and landed on the day she’d stopped by when she’d asked how her mother was feeling and he’d said, “Gut. Today is a gut day.” Did that mean she had bad days? How bad?

  “Why is he concerned, mamm?”

  “Because I’ve lost more weight.”

  “We’ve all noticed that.” Miriam tried to keep her voice low and quiet, though she felt anything but calm. Suddenly it seemed that her mother might collapse right in front of her eyes as they walked back toward the house. “Do you have any other symptoms?”

  “Nein.”

  “There’s the shaking.”

  “Which just started,” Abigail pointed out. She sighed in frustration. “I’ve tried several of my herbs, including yerba mate, which is proven to reduce fatigue.”

  Miriam could feel her teeth grinding together.

  “It doesn’t seem to be helping, though. I still tire more easily than I should, but we have to remember I am older now.”

  “Mamm! You’re not even sixty.”

  “No. I’m not.” Abigail chose her words carefully as they walked into the sitting room.

  Miriam laid Rachel on the couch and began the process of changing her diaper.

  “I have an appointment to see the doctor on Tuesday,” Abigail admitted.

  “Doc Hanson?”

  “Yes.”

  Miriam cleaned up Rachel, grateful she’d put disposable diapers on her for the trip. “What do you think is wrong?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Whatever it is, if it’s anything, God won’t be surprised by it. We don’t have to be worried. And maybe it’s nothing.”

  Once she was changed, Rachel began rooting, so Miriam settled her at her breast. Nursing her always brought a sense of calm, and it did so now. As she watched, her mother picked up her quilting and began the top stitching on a crib quilt. The quilt was for the baby her sister-in-law Anna was expecting. The familiar routine further quieted her worries.

  They remained that way for some time, until Joshua and Gabe and Grace came in, bringing their laughter with them. Soon they were joined by her younger brother Simon and his new wife, Emma. It occurred to Miriam that they would probably be adding more grandchildren to the family in the next year or so. Grace and Rachel would have more cousins to play with, and Abigail and Joshua would have another boppli around.

  Like many Amish families, theirs was a large one and growing larger daily, it seemed, but they all drew strength and comfort from one another.

  Surely whatever was wrong with Abigail, they could face as a family. Watching her brother hold Rachel, she thanked God for the people around her.

  It didn’t erase the worry that had taken root in Miriam’s heart, but it helped that they were together, surrounded by one another, her mamm’s soft humming of a Sunday hymn easing her fears.

  Chapter 15

  Gabe would have liked to work behind his plow Monday morning. The sun actually broke through the clouds, which had him clomping around the southern section of the farm, caking mud on his boots and generally wasting time.

  “How long until you can begin to work in the fields?” Miriam asked when she brought him a thermos of hot kaffi to the barn.

  “Two more days, maybe three.” Gabe frowned as he ignored the kaffi and whacked his hammer against a two-by-four. Gus had managed to escape his enclosure next to Snickers, Gabe’s workhorse. Sometime during the night, he’d caused quite a ruckus in the barn, turning over benches, getting into feed, and finally butting his head through one of the older stall doors Gabe had been intending to replace.

  “Miriam, do you think you could find a recipe for donkey stew?”

  Gus brayed loudly from outside the barn, where he’d been put in a time-out.

  “Hmm. I might have to ask Rae to look that one up on the Internet. Don’t believe my mamm’s cookbooks have donkey stew.”

  “They would if she’d ever had a donkey like Gus!” Gabe slammed the hammer down harder than necessary, and the wall vibrated from the force of the blow.

  Miriam cocked her head and studied him.

  Gabe had seen that look before, and he chose to ignore it. The last thing he needed was analyzing by a woman. He knew when he was acting like a fool. He didn’t need someone else reminding him. This blasted weather was making him crazy.

  He needed to plant his corn. He had stacks of seed waiting to go into the ground, a bright sunny day, and here he was stuck mending walls in the barn.

  Pulling the hammer back, he slammed it into the barn partition one more time. When metal met wood, it sent a satisfying jolt up his arm. Wasn’t quite as good as field work, but apparently for today it would have to do.

  Glancing up, he realized Miriam was still waiting.

  “Was there something else you needed?”

  “Nein. Nothing else I needed.”

  He nodded. She wasn’t one to hang about the barn. Rachel had been fine that morning. Grace was off to school.

  “Something someone else needed?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  She turned over a pail and plopped down on it, reminding him of a schoolgirl, bringing his first smile of the day. He was fortunate to have such a beautiful fraa.

  “I was thinking of our new friends,” she said. “You’ve done more than is necessary to help Aaron. You probably don’t have another day to spend hitching up Chance and driving the buggy around on errands. I’d go myself, but I have wash on the line, and I couldn’t load the items Aaron needs anyway.”

  Gabe glanced up and looked out the barn door to where the sky was blue. If he couldn’t be in the fields, at least he could be out of the barn. He studied his wife. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but if it gets me out of this barn, I’m for it.”

  “Ya?”

  “Ya. I believe I’ve fastened this well enough to hold Gus tonight.”

  They both turned to look at the enclosure Gabe had hammered together. He’d doubled-layered the two-by-fours, first one direction, then the other.

  “I believe that would hold Clemens Schmucker’s biggest bull,” Miriam said.

  Laughter broke out of Gabe at that. There had been a time when Clemens Schmucker had tried to warn him away from Miriam. Though the man was Amish, he wasn’t exactly humble. He was one of the most prosperous farmers in the Cashton area, and he didn’t mind other folks knowing about it. He’d apparently hoped his son Aden and Miriam would one day marry, and though the father often rubbed Gabe the wrong way, Aden had been instrumental in helping to find Grace when she was lost in a winter storm the year befo
re.

  Aden now lived in a more liberal neighboring district. He and Gabe had actually become gut freinden.

  “I suppose it might hold Clemens’ prize bull.” Gabe stood and stretched. “Now tell me about this errand of yours, woman.”

  Miriam’s plan was a good one, and something he should have thought of himself. Something he probably would have thought of, except he was too busy focusing on what he couldn’t accomplish that day.

  Thirty minutes later, Chance was hitched to the buggy, and Gabe was on his way to the first of five stops, Miriam’s list in his pocket.

  The meeting with Aaron on Saturday had ended with the decision to offer Amish-made goods at the cabins, but they hadn’t come up with a more detailed plan beyond that. Aaron had given them all leeway to begin collecting goods to sell at the cabins. He’d even instructed them on how many of each item he’d need. He was going into town to wire for additional money to reimburse everyone, and they would meet back at the cabins throughout the week. In the meantime, Aaron would continue working on repairs.

  Miriam had given Gabe a list of five homes between their farm and the cabins where the families made and sold items.

  She’d also put a star by the three families on the list who were currently selling items at Drake’s Amish Anthem. How his wife knew that, he had no idea. Maybe she remembered details better than he did. Or maybe he’d been too busy gawking at what Byron Drake had done.

  Gabe knew all of the families on the list, some better than others, and he had no problem finding the name Miriam had written at the top of the paper. The farm was located three miles down the road. A hand-lettered sign proclaiming “Rugs for Sale” hung out by the roadside. Two older girls were hanging fresh laundry—sheets that stretched down the length of the clothesline.

  Floyd walked out of the barn to meet him as he pulled up, and raised a hand in greeting. “Your fields too wet to work?”

  “Ya. Nearly lost my boots in them trying to walk from end to end.”

  Staring out at his fields, Floyd pulled on his beard, worry coloring his voice. “We’re counting on this year’s crop to be a gut one. Wouldn’t mind it if things would dry out real quick.”

  Gabe considered that a moment. He didn’t know a lot about the Hershbergers. Their only son was some years older than Grace. Several girls were already out of school and close to marrying age.

  “Miriam sent me over,” Gabe explained. “I wanted to talk to you about the rugs you sell if you and Barbara have a minute.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Floyd turned toward the house. “Suppose we do. Barbara and the girls are doing laundry. I’m hiding out in the barn trying to stay out of the way.”

  It was a sentiment Gabe understood too well. Spring turning to summer was his favorite time of year, but it was a time meant for work. When they were hindered by weather, it made everyone jumpy. The list of what needed to be done grew longer, and the time to accomplish it shortened.

  Perhaps it was Gotte’s way of teaching them patience. As Gabe followed Floyd into the steamy kitchen, he hoped any divine lesson would be a short one. He was ready to get on with the planting.

  Someone had cracked open the window over the sink to allow in the morning breeze. Large pots of water boiled on the stove, and another of Floyd’s daughters had just picked one up, holding it carefully away from her dress, and was carrying it into the washing room.

  “Gudemariye,” she said in surprise as she moved past him into the adjacent room.

  He heard the splash of water into a machine. The soft sound of women’s voices was interrupted by the yank of someone pulling on a starting cord. Then the familiar sound of a gasoline engine caused a washer to hum, and Barbara Hershberger walked into the kitchen.

  Her face flushed from the laundry work, she patted at the sweat beading on her forehead with a dish towel. Gabe almost envied her that. Perhaps men should take up housework. At least they wouldn’t be interrupted by the whims of nature.

  “Gabe. How are you?”

  “Gut.”

  “Can I pour you some kaffi?”

  “Ya. If it’s no trouble. Danki.”

  Barbara poured three mugs of kaffi and walked over to the table.

  Floyd pulled out a chair and sat, but he didn’t relax. Instead, he drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “He came to speak to you about the rugs.”

  “Oh. Does Miriam need something?”

  “No. No, not exactly.”

  Floyd was tall and thin, reminding Gabe of the pictures in the schoolbooks of President Lincoln. Barbara, though, was quite the opposite. Shorter and plumper, she had the look of a contented housewife. They seemed like opposites in many ways.

  Even now, she sat down opposite him, relaxed and patient, while her husband continued to tap his fingers in an impatient rhythm.

  “You might have heard that Aaron Troyer has come to help at the cabins since his onkel died.”

  Barbara pushed cream and sugar across the table, and then she asked one of the girls to bring over some breakfast rolls. Gabe knew Miriam would tell him he shouldn’t, that he needed to watch his waistline. He didn’t want to appear rude, though, so he accepted one.

  “Ya, I think Floyd may have passed Aaron on the road and said hello.”

  “I did.”

  “Aaron is trying to make the cabins more profitable so that Elizabeth will have a better income for herself and the girls.”

  “Sounds like the boy has a gut business mind.” Barbara studied him as she drank her kaffi. “We all care about Elizabeth, and we’ll help her however we can.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Floyd finally stopped drumming his fingers.

  “Aaron would like to sell Amish goods at the cabins. Offer items to the guests who stay there.”

  “Barbara sells her rugs here.” Floyd scrubbed a hand over his face.

  In the adjoining room, the washer had stopped, and the wringer had started. Gabe’s mind flashed back to when he’d done his and Grace’s clothes, to when Miriam wasn’t a part of their lives. It had been a lonely time, a hard time, and for more reasons than laundry. He gulped his kaffi and pushed on.

  “Do you have lots of folks stop in? They see your sign by the road?”

  “Gotte sends those we’re meant to sell to,” Floyd insisted stubbornly.

  “Ya. That’s true.” Gabe stared down at the near empty mug in his hands and resisted stating the obvious. Instead, he waited for Barbara to do that.

  “Could be He also sent Aaron to us, and if we’re helping Elizabeth…” She stood and rinsed out her cup in the sink. “What sort of arrangement can he offer, Gabe?”

  “He’s offering an eighty/twenty split.”

  “We get a hundred percent here.” Floyd shook his head and began drumming again.

  “A hundred percent of nothing isn’t helping us, husband. I’ve more rugs stacked in the sewing room than we’ll sell all this coming summer if last year is any indication.”

  For the first time a smile twitched at the corner of Floyd’s lips. “Ya, Barbara weaves faster than you or I can plant a row. It’s a sight to behold.”

  “That’s not all,” Gabe said, having withheld the best for last. “He’ll purchase five up front. Once business picks up, he’ll purchase more as he’s able.”

  Floyd and Barbara both stared at him in disbelief. “The lad is setting up house?” Floyd finally asked.

  “No, I don’t believe so.” Gabe drained his cup. “His idea is to place some of each product in the cabins. When guests see—and use—the items…maybe they’ll come to the office seeking to buy.”

  “It’s a gut plan,” Barbara said, moving to the washroom to check on the girls.

  “We’ve finished, mamm.”

  “Ya, and with no missing fingers. Only clothes went through the wringer.” The girls giggled as they walked out in front of their mother each carrying a basket. As they crossed the room and stepped out into the warming day to hang more clothes on t
he line, Gabe wondered what that would be like.

  What would he feel like when his girls were that age?

  And would he ever have a family large enough to require a full morning’s laundry work?

  If so, he’d need to expand the washroom and extend the lines where Miriam hung their clothes.

  “Let’s go and fetch you some rugs,” Barbara said.

  Gabe wasn’t sure what he expected when they walked into Barbara’s sewing room. It was obviously a newer addition Floyd had built onto the side of the house. Maybe at one point it had been a woodshed or mudroom, but now it was finished nicely into a sewing room.

  What surprised him was the size of the loom, and the fact that every square inch of the room was filled with thread, rags, and rugs.

  “Have you seen a loom before?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Maybe when I was a kind, but I don’t remember it being so large.”

  “Three hundred and sixty spools of thread.” Her hand lingered over the spools that were a variety of colors. “No doubt it works much like the one you saw. Weaving is one of the things that has remained constant for us. I learned from my mamm, who learned from hers.”

  Barbara pushed up a horizontal wooden bar, sent a shuttle across—from right to left, and pulled the bar back down.

  Gabe grinned. “My dochder would love to see this. Maybe I could bring her by sometime?”

  “Of course, Gabe. I’d be happy for Grace to visit. Floyd repairs the loom when I manage to break it, though mostly it’s a low-maintenance operation.”

  “The Englischers love her work, but you’re right…” Floyd stared out the single window of the room. “We don’t see much traffic here.”

  “One of Drake’s men came by before their store opened.” Barbara moved away from the loom, walked to a stack of completed rugs, and began thumbing through them. “He offered us a fifty/fifty split. We told him we’d take our chances with road traffic.”

  Barbara selected a dozen rugs of different sizes and colors for Floyd to carry to Gabe’s buggy.

  “He can only purchase five—”

  “You tell Aaron he can pay when he sells them. We have plenty more, and we will pray Gotte smiles on his efforts. It would be gut to sell the rugs, but it’s even more important that Elizabeth be able to keep the girls here if possible. I know that weighs heavily on her heart.”