The Middlefield Family Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  Peter came back into the kitchen. “The buggy’s ready. Junior and Melvin went down the street to play with the Keims’ buwe. Fraa Keim said she didn’t mind watching them while we’re gone.”

  “I’ll be ready right away.”

  She slipped a light purple dress over Magdalena’s chubby body, a sudden idea churning in her mind. It could work. And someone had to think about the future—not only her family’s, but her sister’s and grandmother’s.

  If she didn’t, no one else would.

  “Let’s geh.” Magdalena in her arms, Clara hurried past Peter and walked out the door.

  He followed behind. “Now you’re eager to get going? Just a minute ago you weren’t in that much of a hurry.”

  “The day’s wasting.” Clara clutched her daughter and climbed into the buggy. Peter joined her and they were on their way.

  Within ten minutes, they pulled up in front of the farmhouse. Clara handed the baby to Peter. “Can you watch her for a while? I need to talk to Emma. Privately.”

  “About what?”

  “Things.”

  Doubt entered his eyes. “What kind of things?”

  “Just . . . things.”

  “I don’t like the idea of keeping secrets from each other, Clara.”

  “Like you asking Emma to move in with us?”

  His gaze narrowed. “That wasn’t a secret. I was trying to help our familye.” He tucked Magdalena into the crook of his arm. “Guess I’ll visit Dave Fisher a few doors down.”

  But Clara didn’t respond. She had already jumped out of the buggy and was heading to her grandparents’ house. She kept her back turned until she heard Peter leave. Then she knocked on the door.

  Emma answered it.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Gude mariye to you too.” Emma opened the door a little wider. “Do you want to come in, or do we have to stand on the porch?”

  “I’ll come in.” Clara couldn’t keep the impatience from her voice. The more she thought about her plan, the more it made sense. She had to convince Emma of that.

  She followed her sister into the kitchen. Emma walked to the sink and turned on the water. The ends of the strands of her white kapp were twisted together and hung down her back. “I’ve got to finish the breakfast dishes.”

  “Can’t you do that later? I want you to listen to what I have to say.” She paused. “It’s important.”

  “Fine.” Emma walked over to the table and sat down. “But make it quick; I have a lot of work to do around here.”

  “I know you do.” Clara sat across from her. She folded her hands and put them on the table, her thin fingers intertwining with each other. Emma placed one stubby hand on the table.

  Clara leaned forward. “Now that the funeral is over, we need to talk about your future.”

  “Can’t this wait? We just buried Mammi yesterday.”

  “Emma, I don’t mean to sound unfeeling about Mammi, but we all knew this would happen. We should be grateful that God took her when He did so she didn’t have to suffer long.”

  Emma clenched her fists on the tabletop. “She suffered enough. You weren’t here, Clara. You didn’t have to force her to eat, or sponge the sweat off her body, or listen to her cry out in the middle of night, her body filled with pain.”

  “I would have helped if I could. I had to take care of my familye.”

  “And since I don’t have a familye, I had to take care of her.”

  “If you resented it so much, you should have said something.”

  “I didn’t resent Mammi.” Emma’s shoulders slumped. Her voice was low, filled with grief. “I would never resent her.”

  Clara leaned forward. “Emma, what’s past is past. We need to focus on the future.”

  “I already told Peter we don’t want to move in with you.” As if she realized how harsh her words sounded, she added, “Your haus is too small. The kinner deserve room to run and play. Not two more adults to displace them.”

  “But you do understand he meant well. We’re both concerned about you and Grossmammi living in this big haus all by yourself. She’s having trouble getting around.”

  “She does fine.”

  “She can barely walk.”

  “She has arthritis. You make it sound like she has one foot in the grave.” Emma popped up from the chair. “We’ve been surviving quite well without your help, and we will continue to do so.”

  “Emma, sit down.” Clara lowered her voice. “Please. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Emma glared at her sister for a moment. Finally she sat back down.

  “Emma, I know you don’t want to hear this. But it’s important. You can’t take care of this place.”

  “I’ve been taking care of it just fine.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

  Emma frowned. “Are you talking about moving in with us?” A hint of challenge gave an edge to her voice.

  “Why would we want to move?” It was more of an evasion than an outright lie, but close enough to make Clara uncomfortable with herself. “Peter is very happy with our haus.”

  “Are you?”

  Clara paused. “It’s adequate. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I’m sure you have bills from Mammi’s illness, ya?”

  Emma looked away.

  “Do you have any marriage prospects?”

  Her eyes hardened. “You know I don’t.”

  “Then you have to figure out a way to support yourself. And this haus and property. And Grossmammi—”

  Emma held up her hand. “You made your point.”

  “You don’t have to get curt with me.” Clara buttoned up her jacket and touched the top of her kapp. “I’m speaking out of love for you and Grossmammi. Think about her for a minute. Do you really want her to live in a run-down haus? To barely have enough food to eat? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t take things seriously.”

  Emma rose from the chair and walked over to the sink. Her shoulders sagged. “What did you have in mind?”

  “An idea that will solve all our problems.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Adam Otto picked up a gray sweatshirt with the word Michigan across the front. He tossed it into his suitcase, along with two pairs of jeans, a toothbrush, and his razor, even though he hadn’t used it in months. He zipped up the case. Would he be gone a couple of days? A week? He had no idea, but he’d asked for two weeks off from work.

  He looked at the black suitcase, his mind still filled with doubt. Would his mother want to see him? He hoped so but couldn’t be all that sure. His father’s reaction was more predictable. He wouldn’t be thrilled to see Adam, but he wouldn’t kick him out of the house either.

  The Ordnung stated that one must be willing to forgive.

  The rules. His father would never break the rules.

  A knock sounded on the door. He set his suitcase down next to the couch and opened the door. “Ashley?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Against his better judgment he let her.

  “Shane told me you were leaving.”

  Their coworker at the restaurant. A kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut even through three layers of duct tape.

  “It’s not true, is it?” Her gaze went to the suitcase on the floor. “Then again, maybe it is.”

  “Ashley, why are you here?”

  “Because I’m trying to keep you from making a big mistake.”

  “Visiting my mom is a mistake?”

  “That’s why you’re leaving?”

  He nodded.

  She moved toward him. “Awesome. I thought you were leaving because of us.”

  “And I thought we straightened all this out. There isn’t an us.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes shone with hope. “I thought a lot about what happened yesterday. If you don’t want us to be serious, I can be down with that. We can chill out together as friends. Hang out. Have a few beers together. Watch
Jersey Shore.”

  “I can’t stand that show.”

  The hope turned to desperation. “Okay, football or basketball or whatever you’re into.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. Just so we can be together.”

  “Ashley, you need a girl to hang out with. Not me.”

  She lifted her chin. “I have plenty of girlfriends to hang with.”

  “Then go find one of them. I have to go.” He reached for his suitcase, but she blocked his way.

  “Let me come with you. I’ve never seen anyone Amish before. I bet it will be cool, with all those dorky hats and old-timey carts.”

  She made them sound like a circus sideshow. “Buggies,” he corrected. “This isn’t a vacation, Ashley. I’m going to visit my mother. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “I don’t want to lose you, Adam. You’re a nice guy. Nicer than anyone else I’ve dated. And even though you hurt my feelings the other day, I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean to.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t, and I’m sorry.”

  “So give me a call when you get to Ohio. And when you come back to Michigan.” She smiled, although there was a sadness to it. “We can start over. As friends. We’ll keep it simple. I promise.”

  He nodded. When she left he picked up his suitcase, shut off the lights, and headed for the door.

  He stopped at the threshold, dug into the pockets of his jeans, and came up with his cell phone. For a second or two he stared at it. Felt the weight in his hand. Then he tossed it on the couch and left.

  Four hours later he drove his black pickup truck into his parents’ driveway, his headlights piercing the darkness and flashing across the front of the house. He killed the lights and waited, expecting his father to come outside. But the house remained dark.

  Adam checked his watch. Nine o’clock. His parents would be asleep already.

  He got out of the truck and shut the door, then stood there while his senses adjusted. The trill of crickets mixed with the sound of the deep-throated bullfrogs that lived in the pond behind the house.

  Darkness enveloped him. There were no streetlights on this end of their road. His tennis shoes crunched across the gravel driveway as he rounded the bed of the truck. He leaned against the other side and looked at the Shetlers’ house. Like his parents’ place, it was also completely dark.

  Adam thought about Emma: her full, round face, so different from Ashley’s thin, narrow one. He saw the shadow of an animal flit across her yard, followed by another. Cats, he thought. Or maybe small dogs. Emma and her pets. That hadn’t changed.

  At the sound of a cat’s meow, he turned and looked down to see a light-colored cat weaving around his ankles. He bent to pick up the animal. But when his fingers brushed its fur, the cat dashed off.

  He walked back to his truck, retrieved his suitcase, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t wait out here all night. On the other hand, maybe he could. It was certainly tempting to bunk in the barn until morning, instead of disturbing his parents. Especially his father.

  But concern for his mother spurred him on.

  Tentatively he knocked on the door and waited, gripping the handle of his suitcase. When no one answered he reached up to knock again, only to hear the sound of his mother’s voice coming through the wood. “Who is it?”

  Her soothing lilt instantly comforted him. “It’s me, Mamm. Adam.”

  Before he finished saying his name, the door flung open. His mother pushed open the screen door and wrapped her arms around him. The suitcase fell to the front porch with a thud.

  “Welcome home, sohn. Willkum home.”

  “Do you still like your eggs scrambled?”

  Adam looked at his mother and nodded. He sat down at the kitchen table. Yeast bread baked in the oven, bacon sizzled on the stove. His stomach growled. He missed home-cooked meals. He watched his mother as she prepared breakfast. She seemed the same to him, efficient and comfortable in the kitchen. Maybe Leona was imagining things, and this had been a wasted trip.

  But seeing his mother again, being in the house he grew up in, gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t expected.

  The back door slammed. He heard movement in the mudroom, his father removing his boots. Adam gripped his knees, his palms damp against his blue jeans.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” his father said as he came into the kitchen. He looked at his wife standing in front of the stove. “Cows were being lazy today. Had to herd them into the pasture by my—”

  His gaze went to Adam. He peered at him as if he couldn’t see clearly. “Adam?”

  Adam nodded but didn’t move from the chair. His father also remained frozen in place. The enticing smells of breakfast faded as the men looked at each other.

  After a moment, his father spoke. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Nee.” Figures that would be the first thing his father would assume. “I’m not in trouble.”

  His father crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why are you here?”

  Adam glanced at his mother. Her back was to both of them. She was putting fluffy yellow eggs on an old white platter she’d had as long as Adam could remember. Should he mention Leona’s letter? For some reason that seemed a bad idea. “I came for a . . . visit.”

  “Why?”

  Adam’s mother rushed to the table. “Time to eat!” She nearly dropped the platter, catching herself at the last minute. “I know you two must be hungerich.”

  His father didn’t uncross his arms or move. He scrutinized Adam, his greenish-brown eyes raking him up and down.

  Adam squirmed. He could only imagine what his father was thinking about his long hair, scruffy beard and mustache, jeans, and plaid flannel shirt. Yankee clothes. Forbidden in his house.

  “You are in the bann. You cannot eat at the same table with us.”

  “Norman.”

  Both men looked at her. Unshed tears shone in her hazel eyes.

  Without saying a word Adam’s father walked past Adam and sat down at the table. “Let’s eat. I have a busy day.”

  That was it? Adam turned to his father, but he had already bowed his head for the silent prayer. There was nothing else to do but join him.

  After prayer, they all ate in silence. Adam looked from his father to his mother. Both were intent on eating. His father inhaled the food, while his mother ate more slowly, slicing a small mound of eggs with the edge of her fork.

  Suddenly hunger overrode everything else. Adam dug into his meal, savoring the salty crispness of the bacon and the buttery smoothness of the eggs. He had just reached for a piece of hot bread when his father stood, wiped his graying beard with his napkin, and left the room.

  Adam put down his fork. “He could have at least said something before he left.”

  His mother sighed. “Actually, that was better than I expected.”

  “It was?”

  “Ya.” She faced Adam. “You don’t know how deeply you hurt your daed when you left. He’s a deacon. Highly respected in the community. And to have his only sohn leave the church . . .” She shook her head. “It was difficult for him. If you hadn’t been baptized, it would have been easier.”

  Adam didn’t want to talk about his father. He wasn’t here for him. “How are you doing?”

  “Me?” She picked up her napkin from her lap and laid it over her half-eaten meal, keeping her gaze averted. “I’m fine.” At last she looked up and smiled. “I’m very happy to see you. Even if you do look like a wild man.”

  He touched his shoulder-length hair. “Ya.” He marveled at how quickly and easily he slipped back into the Dietsch he hadn’t used in two years. “I suppose I need a haircut.”

  “I could give you one.”

  Adam saw the eagerness in her eyes. Different from when his father was in the room. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind that.” He crumpled his napkin in his fist and glanced down at his lap. “Why aren’t you angry with me? Daed is.�
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  His mother reached for his hand. She squeezed his fingers and released them. “You’re my sohn. You’re here. That’s all that matters to me.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Dry leaves crunched beneath Emma’s feet as she neared the house. Her morning chores were finished, but her mind still worked at full speed. Over and over while she’d taken care of the animals, collected the eggs, and checked on Dill’s leg, she thought about Clara’s proposal. When Emma balked at the idea, her sister had asked her to pray about it.

  Emma didn’t need to pray to say no. Clara had to be out of her mind to think she and Grossmammi would agree to such a thing. But Emma had to figure out her future before it disintegrated along with her increasingly dilapidated house.

  She slipped off her shoes near the door and walked into the kitchen to find her grandmother standing in front of the pantry. “You’re up early,” Emma said. She set the basket of eggs on the counter.

  “I’m always up early.” Grossmammi placed a wrinkled finger on her lips as she scanned the pantry’s contents. “I just usually don’t come downstairs at this hour.” She glanced over one hunched shoulder. “I’m making breakfast this morning.”

  “Oh nee.” Emma stood beside her. The top of the old woman’s kapp barely reached Emma’s shoulder. “I’ll do it.”

  Her grandmother gently shrugged her off. “Mind your elders.” She took down the canister of all-purpose flour and tucked it in the crook of her arm. “It’s been ages since I’ve made pumpkin pancakes. You love those, ya?”

  “You know I do.” Emma had tried more than once to duplicate the recipe. Each attempt had been a failure. They were never as light and fluffy, or had the perfect blend of cinnamon flavor her grandmother’s had.

  “Then you deserve some pumpkin pancakes.” The old woman frowned, leaning against the white pantry door. “Where’s the sugar?”

  “Right here.” Emma moved around a few glass jars of green beans, found the sugar canister, and shook it. “At least I thought we had some. Looks like we’re out.”

  Her grandmother retrieved a can of pumpkin and shuffled to the table. She set down the ingredients and grabbed her cane.