by Senft, Adina
Why didn’t Amelia just come out and say what all of them already knew? There was nothing wrong with we. Emma would be happy to say we if she ever got the chance. And why insist on Eli keeping his fledgling business in the King barn when by this time next year, it would be in Amelia’s shop anyway?
But then, Amelia had always cared much more about how things looked than Emma had. Maybe that was why Amelia had had two men to love—because she had a better spirit of conformity. Nothing about Emma seemed to conform to what men wanted. She was too tall, too angular, and too apt to say what she really thought, without the leaven of submission, grace, or tact.
“—feeling these days, Emma?”
Emma came to herself with a start. “Sorry, what? I was woolgathering.”
“I’d say so.” Carrie’s eyes twinkled. “I said, how is Lena feeling these days? She looked awfully frail in church on Sunday.”
Emma nodded. Her Mamm, so hearty and hardworking in the past, was frail, there was no getting around it. The oxygen tank had to go everywhere with her now, and aside from church, she didn’t stir much from the Daadi Haus. “Mary Lapp said that she should have a chair with a back for church, instead of sitting on a bench. That’s why she was up front.”
“She’s not doing so well?” Amelia asked. “Do you think one of Mamm’s vitamin mixtures will help her?”
Here was a switch. “I thought you didn’t believe in your Mamm’s vitamin mixtures. The only thing I’ve seen you take are her packets of Kamilletee.”
“What I think isn’t the point,” Amelia said, her cheeks reddening again. “If Lena thinks they’re helpful, then it has nothing to do with me.”
Maybe she’d better stop teasing. Emma had heard enough of Amelia’s frustrated rages about her mother to know the subject was as sensitive as a bruise with her. But the fact was, the whole Gmee held Ruth Lehman in respect as a Dokterfraa for her herbal mixtures, teas, and tinctures. During cold season, the Lehman lane could be as busy as the main street in Whinburg—minus the cars—as people came to get remedies. And what Ruth couldn’t cure, Dr. Shadle the Englisch chiropractor could.
Amish folk preferred to doctor their own; why, look at what had happened to Amelia. Because of that fancy doctor she’d gone to at first, her loving spirit had been nearly demolished by despair. Her experience had firmed the conviction in everyone’s mind that fancy doctors should stick to the business of mending broken bones and suchlike, and stop trying to take the place of God.
“I’m sure Mamm would appreciate a course of vitamin drinks,” Emma said after a moment. She didn’t have much in the way of money to pay for it, but Ruth often took bartered items in exchange. “I’ll ask Karen if she has any honey left, and maybe you could split half a gallon with Ruth.”
“That would be wonderful gut. I’m nearly out.” Amelia was on some strange diet to cleanse her system, and natural honey was on the list of things she ate. “The boys are used to me baking with honey now, so I go through it faster than ever. I have to watch the liquids in things, though. You should have seen the first batch of cookies I made. I had one great big square cookie, all spread out on the sheet.”
“I bet Eli likes anything you make.” Emma couldn’t resist.
“He was not here at the time.” Amelia looked down her nose at her and Carrie, just in case she planned to get lippy, too, and Emma had to smile. Where would the three of them be without each other? Their friendship had weathered school, and Rumspringe, and marriage, then babies and households and the business of being grown up. Through sunshine and shadow, like the old quilt pattern with its bands of light and dark, they had learned that no matter what God sent them, they could share the load with each other and find it lighter.
Then why, she reflected a little uncomfortably, had she not told them about the package she’d sent off from the Strasburg post office this morning?
Chapter 2
Thursday evening was as good as any to go over and see about the honey. Emma wrapped a black knitted shawl around her shoulders and looked in on her mother, who went to bed with the sparrows. The lamp was on, and she was reading her Bible in bed instead of in a straight-backed chair downstairs—a great concession to the state of her health.
“Mamm, I’m just running over to the house to see if Karen has any honey left. Do you need anything?”
Lena shook her head. “You’ve provided everything I need, and I have everything I want right here.” Her smile included Emma, who stepped out into the cold evening with a glow in her heart.
When Pap died, Emma had confessed some awful things to Amelia and Carrie—how she had resented being the one to care for him as his dementia progressed, while all the time he thought she was Karen, his favorite child. How distressed she was sometimes that life held nothing wider than this lane between the Daadi Haus and the old family farmhouse. But under all that she had one thing that she could count on, and that was the bedrock of her mother’s love.
Lena never played favorites, but Emma knew she kept one special smile just for her. She might not have much, but God had blessed her richly there, and she’d best not forget it.
Karen was still doing the supper dishes with her eldest girl, Maryann, who was eight. “Everything all right?” she asked over her shoulder, up to her elbows in suds.
“Hi, Auntie Emma.”
“Yes, everything’s fine. Hi, Maryann. How was school today?”
“We’re learning fractions. I hate them.”
“Ah, but you can’t make a pie without fractions, and I know you don’t hate pie.”
“What?” Maryann gave her that look that said, There goes Aendi Emma, making things up again. She was a very practical child, just like Karen.
“If you didn’t know fractions, when Bishop Daniel comes for coffee and says, ‘I’ll take a quarter slice,’ how would you know how much to give him?”
“Bishop Daniel would never be so greedy,” Karen put in.
“But if he was sharing with Mary, he might,” Emma persisted. “How much of the pie would a quarter slice be?”
Maryann put down her dishtowel and diagrammed a quarter of a pie in the air.
“Exactly. See? That’s a perfectly sound use of fractions—not to mention you can find out how greedy people are or aren’t.”
Maryann tipped her head from side to side as if to say maybe, maybe not. “But if someone said, ‘Give me one and five-sixteenths of a pie and divide it by three eighths for my Kinner,’ that’s when it gets hard.”
“It would be hard,” Emma agreed. “Sounds like you have too many people and not enough pie, in that case, and Bishop Daniel needs to share his quarter slice with more than just Mary.”
“Honestly, Emma, you talk such nonsense.” Karen drained the sink and dried her hands on Maryann’s towel. “Where do you get these ideas?”
“They come in the mail.”
Karen couldn’t have detected a joke if it landed on her nose. “Then I suggest you put a stop to it.”
Emma let it go. “I came over to see if you had any honey left. I want to trade it for some of Ruth Lehman’s vitamin drink for Mamm, and Ruth loves your honey.”
Karen was not a proud woman—only unbearably convinced that she was right about most things—but when it came to her honey, her face took on the glow of accomplishment. She led the way to the cellar steps. “How much do you need?” She picked her way down the stairs carefully, one hand gripping the banister, the other rounded over her stomach. She was about six months along, and looking eight.
“If you have half a gallon, I can give a quart to Amelia.”
“I think I can do that.” Her shelves, which had been loaded to the point of bursting in December, were now showing space. But they were still beautifully organized by type and by color—yellow beans before peaches, beet pickles before cherries and strawberry jam. Looking at Karen’s pantry was like looking at a stained-glass window, meant to draw the soul up to God.
At least, that was what Emma imagined such thi
ngs were for. She’d never actually seen a stained-glass window except in books.
Karen kept the honey on the floor out of the light, in plastic buckets with sturdy lids. With the ease of long practice, she scooped out partially crystallized honey with a paddle and into quart canning jars. With quick twists of her wrists, she lidded them and handed them to Emma. “Is that all you need? Sure you don’t want an extra one for Mamm?”
Just smelling the cool sweetness was enough to make her crave the stuff drizzled on hot toast. “Ja, all right. She enjoys it for breakfast, so it doesn’t take long to go through it.”
Karen filled another jar. “Melt a little at a time in a saucepan as you go, otherwise it’ll crystallize again.”
She said that every time, as if Emma couldn’t keep a fact in her head. No, that wasn’t fair. She probably said it to everyone who came for her honey, automatically, like the Englisch said Have a nice day at the checkout counter. Carrying three jars, Emma climbed the stairs and emerged into the warm kitchen in which she’d spent most of her life.
In the living room, she could hear ten-year-old Nathaniel reading the nightly chapter out of the Bible to his younger siblings, prompted every now and again by Karen’s John. John’s name was also Stolzfus, being a distant cousin from the family of one of Pap’s father’s brothers, so neither Karen nor the farm had had a change of name when they got married. Trust Karen to be efficient, even in the matter of the man she married.
Emma would be happy to take Eireschpiggel for a surname, if only God would send her someone to marry.
Never mind. Don’t think of it. The good Gott has given you all you need, and whining for more is selfish and proud.
Karen put the kettle on the stove and leaned on the counter. “So, what’s new across the lane?”
I’ll have another article published, and I entered a worldly writing contest. If I win it, maybe someone out there in the wide world will hear me and think I have something worthwhile to say.
“Nothing. Mamm was a little tired today.”
Karen nibbled on her lower lip. “She seems tired a lot.”
“I’m keeping a close eye on her. She has an appointment next week.” When her sister looked alarmed, she added, “It’s just a routine check, to make sure everything is fine. I’m sure it’s just this time of year. I wish spring would come.”
“You’re not the only one. Every time the sun comes out, I think, is this it? Can the men finally plant?” Casually, she added, “John is thinking of renting Melvin Miller’s north field. Between him and Amos Yoder, they should get some use out of those acres. More than Melvin ever did, that’s for sure.”
Emma resisted the urge to defend her best friend’s husband because she certainly couldn’t deny that Karen was right. Hadn’t she thought the very same things Tuesday afternoon? “That will mean more work for him.”
Karen nodded, and as the water boiled, she got out the teapot, shaking in a packet of what Emma recognized as Ruth Lehman’s Kamilletee. Ruth always folded the packets in interesting shapes, like diamonds and boxes. “Oh, that reminds me of what I meant to tell you. It’s going to be busy around here, and maybe noisy. John is hiring Grant Weaver to build an extension upstairs, and when he’s done with that, he’ll replace both porches on the Daadi Haus.”
Emma was torn between the need to have those porches refloored before someone—namely Lena—put her foot through a hole and fell, and the fact that John had hired Grant Weaver to do it.
“Surely you don’t need that expense?” she asked, trying not to look as if she had any opinion, which wasn’t easy. The minute Karen thought something mattered to you, she’d be all over you to find out why. “We’ve lived with the porches for years now. We know just where to step.”
“Ja, well, other people don’t,” Karen said crisply. “And I don’t want anyone saying John doesn’t take as good care of this place as Pap ever did.”
“Your John works hard.” Clever Emma, redirecting the conversation.
“He does, but he also knows when to ask for help, and Grant needs the work, what with having three kids under seven and that wife of his gone nearly two years now.” Clever Karen, bringing it right back. “He’ll start over here on Monday. I have no idea how long it will take, but you should warn Mamm anyway that there will be men around the place and if the noise bothers her, she should hunt out the earplugs.”
“Does Grant have someone to look after the children?”
“Old Joe’s great-granddaughters take turns. Muriel’s girls, I think. Grant’s not the kind to ask for help, but that family would never let anyone else take care of them.”
Pretty, lively Lavina Yoder had been one of Old Joe’s many great-granddaughters. So pretty and so lively that she had attracted the attention of every boy their age for a hundred miles around ten, fifteen years ago. The fact that she’d chosen stoic, silent Grant Weaver to marry had astonished everyone—and the fact that she’d done something bad enough to be put under die Meinding and left six months later had surprised no one. The Yoder clan still grieved her, even if they no longer spoke of her.
No one knew what Grant thought. And no one had the courage to ask.
“Grant and his helpers won’t be the only new faces around here. John’s going to ask Joshua Steiner if he wants to hire on and farm the new section.”
Goodness. There were men falling out of the sky today, after a drought of at least a decade. “Joshua wants to farm here? I thought he was working up in Indiana at an RV factory.” Where there were lots of girls who might not know about the trouble he’d gotten into as a teenager—or about Bishop Daniel’s suggestion that he take a trip to visit his extended family and live somewhere else until he settled down.
“John says he’s coming home. Time to find a wife, he says.”
All at once Emma saw where this was going, and she turned to get up before Karen could see her face. “I’m surprised he hasn’t found one in Indiana.” She reached for her shawl and stood. “I’d better be getting back to—”
“This could be your chance. Grant is still married, no matter where on earth Lavina might be, so he’s out, but you and Joshua used to be thick as thieves back when.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? I’m sure he’s settled down by now.” She laughed, gazing past Emma’s shoulder into memory. “Remember that time you and he floated those inner tubes down the river and got halfway to Strasburg before Mamm realized you were gone?”
“I was ten years old, Karen.”
“And what about the time you two made ice cream with the gallons of cream his mother had set aside to be sold at the market? You weren’t ten then. More like fourteen.”
That had been the last time she’d done anything with Joshua Steiner, who had been ridiculed to the point of cruelty by his buddy bunch after that caper. The fat boy and the four-eyed girl had been permanently separated, and it was after that that his more questionable escapades began. No doubt they had all been rooted in Joshua’s trying to prove to his friends that he was a real boy’s boy and not someone who would share adventures with a homely girl.
Those childhood adventures had been fun. Even though mostly she had been buddies with Carrie and Amelia, there were things that Joshua would do that neither of the girls would. Each had recognized the outsider in the other.
“If he’s coming home, he must have settled down some,” Emma said. “I wonder that he hasn’t married.”
“You were good friends once. You could be again, is all I’m saying.”
Emma gathered up her jars and paused at the door. “Don’t even think it, Karen. I’m not interested in anyone that way, and you’ll just embarrass me if you say anything.”
“Poor Grant,” Karen mused. “Such a hard row to hoe, believing God had led him to the woman He wanted him to have, and then finding out she was a…” She glanced at Emma. “Well. We all know what she is. I wonder if Grant knows where she is. Or if they communicate at all.”
�
�The sad thing is, he won’t be able to find happiness with anyone else until death do them part.” Not for the world would Emma say what she was really thinking: If only he’d chosen me. I would never have left him and our children. Never.
Since Grant was on the Not Eligible for Emma list, Karen was forced to dismiss him. “As for Joshua, he might have changed. He has to have, or Bishop Daniel wouldn’t allow him to come back.”
Emma would far rather talk about Joshua than Grant. “It doesn’t matter if he’s changed or not. I have. I know too much about that boy to ever believe he’ll make a good husband.”
“People can surprise you.”
But they didn’t. Not very often.
Emma let herself into the Daadi Haus and out of habit, glanced into her mother’s room. Lena had turned out the light, and in the silence, Emma heard the labored but still reassuring sound of her breathing.
As quietly as she could, she put the jars of honey in the pantry, saving one out to take over to Ruth tomorrow. After that, there was nothing to do but sit next to the stove in the lamplight—no dishes, no mending, nothing. Well, she could write longhand, but the only things she wanted to say were best left in her mind and not on paper where anyone could read them.
It wasn’t dark yet. She could walk over the hill to Amelia’s and have a cup of coffee and a piece of pie and a good talk.
And what do you want to share with her most? The very thing that would cause the most talk, that’s what. Shame on you, harboring this ridiculous softness all these years for a married man. One who didn’t choose you when he could have, and one who hardly knows you’re alive now.
Except that when he was working on her porch, he’d know, especially if she offered him a sandwich at noon or a nice slice of cake at coffee time.
Fool. You’re a sorry fool and pining after another woman’s husband is a sin. And what have you got to base it on, anyway? He took you to a singing once. Once. Never again. Not after Lavina Yoder’s family moved back into the district and he got a look at her—him and every other boy you knew.
