An Unexpected Amish Harvest

by Carrie Lighte

  His family had been devastated, of course, especially Peter’s mother, Dorothy. But she faithfully relied on the Lord for comfort and strength. With His help and the help of her community, she was able to shepherd her children through their bereavement. Eventually, joy returned to the Lambright household...until late last autumn.

  That was when Dorothy first experienced a significantly low energy level and an even lower mood. When it got to the point that she was staying in bed until noon, she finally consulted a doctor. He didn’t find any physical cause for the change in her emotions and activity level, and diagnosed her with moderate depression, which she found both embarrassing and confusing.

  “But I don’t feel depressed about anything, except that I don’t have more energy,” she’d said afterward, instructing her children not to tell anyone about her diagnosis. Instead of accepting the prescription the doctor offered, she experimented with natural supplements and herbal remedies, to little avail. Hoping fresh air might help, she made it her goal to stroll with Eva, then twelve, to school each morning. But that only exhausted and overwhelmed her all the more.

  It wasn’t long before her friends noticed that Dorothy was less active in the community, her house was unkempt and she was often either weepy or irritable. Concerned, they suggested she visit a doctor, which she didn’t want to do again. Some people in their district implied she was unwell because of unconfessed sin in her life. No doubt they meant to be helpful, but they did her more harm than good.

  “I keep asking Gott to examine my heart and show me my sinful ways, and I keep trying to change,” Dorothy had cried to Peter one Sunday after the church leaders had visited their house. “But I just can’t seem to pull myself out of this. I’m so ashamed. And so, so tired.”

  I can’t believe she’s felt like this for almost an entire year, Peter thought as he walked up the porch steps and into the plain two-story home. He found his mother sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and an unopened Bible resting on her lap. She rubbed her eyes as if she’d been sleeping. Or crying.

  When he greeted her, she replied, “What are you doing home? Is it suppertime already?”

  It wasn’t—not that it would have mattered; his mother rarely made supper anymore. She rarely ate supper anymore, either. But it was hard to say whether that was because she had no appetite or because the meals thirteen-year-old Eva made from a box or a can were unappetizing.

  “Neh. I just came to see if you need anything from the store. I’m going to go stop at the Sommers’ haus on my way to pick Eva up from schul,” he said. The school was close enough that his sister usually walked home, but he thought he’d surprise her by giving her a ride. “I need to ask Marshall if he needs me tomorrow or if we’ll wait until Muundaag.”

  “Needs you for what, suh?”

  “I’m helping him with the harvest, remember?” Peter had told his mother several times that he was going to help Marshall Sommer harvest his potato crop this autumn. But when her cheeks reddened and her eyes brimmed with tears, Peter realized he must have sounded impatient. When she was especially tired, Dorothy couldn’t concentrate and she was sensitive about her forgetfulness.

  “Oh, that’s right. But I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t send your bruder instead. Picking potatoes is something a kin could do.”

  She had a point—children much younger than Hannes did the potato picking on the weekends on New Hope’s other potato farm, owned by the Wittmer family. And in the Englisch communities up north, students had a three-to-four-week break every autumn, so the high schoolers could help with the local harvest. Not just picking, either—he’d heard of sixteen-year-olds driving trucks with upward of 50,000 pounds of potatoes on them. But here in New Hope, potato farms were an anomaly. The Amish children didn’t get a break from school to bring in the crop, although sometimes they helped out on the weekends. So there would be another man, someone from the nearby Serenity Ridge district, who also would be joining the crew.

  “I’m going to do more than pick—I’ll be transporting potatoes to the potato haus, too. There’s a lot of heavy lifting involved, so I’m better suited for it than Hannes is.” While it was true that his brother had a slighter frame, that wasn’t actually why Peter was the one who was helping Marshall on the farm. But Peter couldn’t tell his mother the real reason, since he and Marshall had agreed they wouldn’t discuss the matter with anyone else.

  She smiled wanly. “Well, it’s very kind of you to give him a hand, especially without pay. You’re like your daed was—a gut provider to your familye and a gut helper to your neighbor. You’ll make a wunderbaar husband and daed one day, just as soon as you meet the right weibsmensch.”

  Helping Marshall has nothing to do with kindness, Peter thought as he guided his horse down the road a few minutes later. And I’m not nearly the mann my daed was. As for meeting the right woman, Peter had already met her: Susannah Peachy, Marshall’s granddaughter...

  A horn sounded behind him, startling Peter from his thoughts. Then the car accelerated and passed him on the narrow, curvy country road, a risky maneuver. He shuddered as he recollected his brother’s behavior in an Englisch vehicle last New Year’s Eve, when the seventeen-year-old had driven an SUV off the side of an icy hill, flipping it twice and landing it in a ravine.

  Blessedly, Hannes had emerged from the wreckage with nothing more than a few bruises and a sore shoulder, but the vehicle had been rendered undrivable. Because the accident had happened on their private property, the owners—parents of an Englisch acquaintance Hannes hung out with during his rumspringa—had agreed not to involve the police. In exchange, they required immediate reimbursement for the cost of the expensive vehicle.

  Peter had to withdraw all of their shop’s savings from the bank. But he’d still come up a few thousand dollars short of paying for the SUV. And there hadn’t been a dime left over for immediate household and business needs. Ordinarily, Peter would have sought advice and possibly financial help from the church leaders, but there hadn’t been enough time, since many of them were still out of town, visiting their families for the holidays.

  Besides, he knew they would have insisted on discussing the matter with his mother and that was shortly after she’d been diagnosed with depression. Peter had been concerned that she’d sink even lower if she found out about Hannes’s accident, especially considering how her husband had died.

  Desperate, Peter had known he was going to have to ask someone for money. The Amish in their district virtually never borrowed from Englisch banks or creditors, except when making a big land purchase. Instead, they sought loans from other community members, who generally considered it a personal obligation and a demonstration of their faith to help district members who came to them in need. These loans were handled with the utmost discretion and they were always interest-free.

  Peter had turned to the one person he knew was in town and who could afford to help him: Marshall Sommer. It was humbling to ask a nonfamily member for money, but Peter had been in a long-distance courtship with his granddaughter, Susannah, and he hoped to marry her one day. So he felt a kind of kinship with the older man.

  Understandably, when Peter made his request Marshall asked why he needed a loan. “My—my familye has r-run into some unexpected expenses that need to be addressed immediately. Expenses our b-business profits won’t cover,” he’d stuttered nervously. While vague, his answer was also truthful.

  Marshall must have assumed he meant their business was in the red, because he’d lectured, “I’m surprised you haven’t saved enough to take care of your familye’s basic needs when sales are down.”

  Peter had felt humiliated, but there was nothing he could say in his own defense without disclosing his brother’s situation. And he was afraid if Marshall knew that part of the money was going to be used to recompense Englischers for the damage his brother did, he woul
d have suggested Hannes suffer the consequences. As Marshall had continued to chastise him for not being a good steward of the resources the Lord had provided, Peter’s face grew hot. If it hadn’t been a violation of the Ordnung, he would have rescinded his request and borrowed from a bank, instead.

  “Jah, I’ll give you the money you need,” Marshall had finally agreed when he was done delivering his discourse. “But instead of repaying me in cash, there are two things I expect from you. First, I need you to help me harvest next fall, since Lydia’s two seh can’t kumme next year.”

  His proposal seemed a fair exchange of money for labor. Since the fall was a slow sales period for lawn furniture, Peter figured Hannes could mind the shop by himself. “Jah. I’ll help with the potato harvest. What’s the second condition?”

  “I want you to break off your courtship with my kinskind.”

  Peter had been so stunned that just thinking about it now made his stomach cramp. He’d had no idea that Marshall knew about their courtship and even less of an idea why he’d want to interfere in it. His response was a single word. “Why?”

  “Because a man who isn’t responsible enough to manage a gut income like yours isn’t a man I’d want my granddaughter to consider for a husband,” Marshall had bluntly replied. When Peter didn’t—when he couldn’t—respond, the older man reiterated, “I don’t want you to court Susannah. If I can’t convince you to end the relationship, I’ll do my best to convince her you’re not right for each other. Given what I know now, I believe she’ll agree with me.”

  He’d understood. Even if Peter refused the loan, Marshall was still going to tell Susannah how irresponsible he thought Peter was and then she’d end the relationship. So, Peter had thought he might as well take the money and end their courtship himself. Once again, he’d been speechless.

  “Do you need a few days to think about it?” Marshall had asked.

  I didn’t have a few days. I barely had one day. And there was no one else I could turn to, Peter rationalized to himself for at least the hundredth time since the day he’d accepted the old man’s offer. Marshall had been determined to break up Susannah and me. So what gut would have kumme from jeopardizing my bruder’s future and my mamm’s health by refusing the loan?

  At least by accepting it, Peter had kept Hannes out of trouble with the police. And while Dorothy’s health hadn’t improved, it hadn’t worsened, either.

  Yet try as he might to justify it, Peter still felt guilty. Only in retrospect did he fully realize that asking for a loan didn’t make him a poor match for Susannah; it was breaking her heart in exchange for money that made him unworthy of her love. Unworthy of any woman’s love.

  As he journeyed the final mile toward the farm, Peter thought, Within a month, harvest season will be over. He had no hope of putting his mistake out of his mind completely. But maybe, just maybe, once he’d fulfilled his obligation to Marshall, Peter would be able to stop thinking about the pained, bewildered tone in Susannah’s voice the day he’d called her and ended their courtship without so much as a word of explanation.

  * * *

  Susannah felt so drowsy after the long trip—and her second slice of pie—that she was tempted to take an afternoon nap while Lydia was resting. But she knew what she really needed was a walk in the brisk autumn air. She had just retrieved a sweater from her suitcase when she heard a buggy coming up the lane. Groossdaadi! she thought.

  She raced outside and hopped down the porch steps, running up behind the buggy that had stopped just shy of the barn behind the house. Since her grandfather apparently hadn’t seen her, she decided to sneak up on him, the way she used to do as a young girl. She knew now that she’d never really scared him, but she loved it that he always pretended to jump back in surprise, first throwing his arms in the air and then wrapping them tightly around her.

  “Boo!” she exclaimed, springing forward once he’d climbed out of the carriage.

  But as soon as the man turned, she immediately realized her error; although he was tall and broad-shouldered, he looked nothing like her grandfather. This man had wavy brown hair beneath his straw hat, his eyes were gray-blue and there was a small bump on the bridge of his nose. This man was Peter Lambright, her ex-suitor. She nearly stumbled backward in surprise.

  “Hello. I’m Peter Lambright. You must be Lydia’s niece,” he said, smiling. She used to love that smile; it could keep her warm for hours, but now it turned her insides to ice.

  Clearly, because of her weight loss, he genuinely didn’t recognize her; it wasn’t just an expression, like Lydia had used. You didn’t see me for who I really was when I was heavy, so I guess I can’t expect you to see me for who I am when I’m thin, Susannah thought bitterly.

  “Neh. I’m Marshall’s kinskind, Susannah,” she retorted sarcastically, as if they’d never met. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin in the air, waiting for the realization to sink in. His mouth dropped open and he appeared dumbfounded, so she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I—I... I’m helping Marshall harvest this year. I came to ask whether he needs me tomorrow or if we’re going to begin on Muundaag.”

  Susannah felt a surge of dizziness. She couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re helping with the harvest?”

  “Jah. He—he asked me last winter if I’d help out since Lydia’s seh couldn’t kumme here this year.” Red-faced, Peter fiddled with the reins, since he hadn’t hitched the horse yet. “How long are you visiting?”

  Susannah didn’t want to chat; she wanted to flee, but it was as if her shoes were pegged to the ground. “Until Lydia’s wrist heals.”

  Peter wrinkled his forehead. “Her wrist?”

  “She had a fall and she broke it. I’ll be cooking meals and keeping haus.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said grimly.

  “Pah!” Susannah sputtered. She suspected he meant he was sorry to hear Lydia had broken her wrist, but it came out as if he was sorry to hear that Susannah was going to be staying throughout the harvest season to do the cooking and housekeeping. And no one was sorrier about that than she was. “My groossdaadi isn’t home, but Lydia did mention that harvesting is still scheduled to begin on Muundaag, unless it rains.”

  “Okay. I’ll kumme back then,” he replied, yet instead of leaving, he lingered a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something else. Or maybe he wanted her to say something else. But she had absolutely nothing more to say. She tapped her foot against the ground impatiently and he swiftly scrambled back into his buggy.

  As his horse trotted away, Susannah felt like weeping. I didn’t know how I was going to see him every other Sunndaag in kurrich without getting upset, she thought. How am I going to handle knowing he’s right here on the farm six days of the week?

  Chapter Two

  Peter felt light-headed as the buggy sped away from the Sommer farm. He’d been completely taken aback when he’d heard a female voice shout and then a woman had leaped out at him. Susannah Peachy was the last person he’d expected to see, so his brain didn’t immediately register her face. He’d nervously introduced himself before he’d gotten his wits about him. Of course, once she spoke and he looked into her eyes—those beautiful, unforgettable almond-shaped eyes—he’d realized his mistake.

  She must think I’m baremlich, acting as if our relationship meant so little to me that I can’t even remember her, he thought. Which couldn’t have been further from the truth; their relationship had meant the world to him, despite how he’d ended it. But the shame he felt for breaking up with her and the shock of seeing her again had overwhelmed him and he was stunned speechless.

  Considering the circumstances, Peter would have appreciated it if Marshall had let him know Susannah was going to be at the farm during harvest. That way, he could have been praying the Lord would help him know what to say to her. Instead, he’d added insult to injury by behaving like a c
omplete dummkopf.

  Maybe he didn’t tell me because he’s afraid that I won’t keep my promise—that I’ll try to resume my courtship with her again, Peter thought. Knowing him, he’s doing his best to keep as much distance as he can between Susannah and me. Including waiting until the last possible minute to tell me she’s here on the farm.

  Apparently, Marshall hadn’t informed Susannah that Peter would be helping with harvest, either. It was possible the old man was worried that if she knew he was going to be on the farm almost every day, she wouldn’t have come to New Hope. And to be fair, Peter wouldn’t have blamed her, not after the piteous way he’d ended their courtship.

  Nor did he blame her for looking at him so disdainfully a few minutes ago. Well, maybe she wasn’t disdainful. Maybe it was disappointment he’d seen in her eyes. Or maybe Peter was just reading that emotion into her expression because that’s how he felt about his own behavior. Regardless, he was aware that it had to be much more difficult for her to see him than it was for him to see her. She was the wronged party; he was the one who had wronged her.

  I’ll have to try my best to stay out of her sight while she’s here—for her sake, as well as for mine, he decided as he pulled into the yard of the one-room schoolhouse.

  Whenever he picked up Eva, he tried to arrive at the very last minute before school was dismissed so he wouldn’t have to make small talk with the parents of the other students. It wasn’t that he was unfriendly; it was that they inevitably asked about his mother and it was wearisome trying to answer truthfully while still respecting her wishes to keep her health situation private.