Fields of Corn: The Amish of Lancaster

by Sarah Price

  When they had finished, Shana cleared the dirty dishes while Emanuel sat down with the local farmers' paper, flipping through it quietly while Shana brewed some fresh coffee. When the coffee was ready, she poured two cups and walked over to the table. The steam rose from the cups as she set them down before she sat opposite Emanuel, watching him as he read. "You know, I was thinking."

  He set the paper down, not really interested in the news of the local world, and met her gaze. "About?"

  "That money I have in the bank. Maybe we could use it toward something for the farm. A present to us from me."

  "Well," he started slowly, "we could invest in a new buggy. Still have some left to put in the bank, too."

  "Really?" The grandfather clock chimed in the living room eight times.

  "A good buggy is no more than two. Since you sold your car, you'll probably want your own buggy. And my buggy is getting rather tattered. If you'd like, we could raise some chickens this spring. My mother never did but I know enough to get you started."

  She made a face. "Chickens? Aren't they mean?"

  He laughed. "Only the roosters." He watched her think about it. Her eyes clouded over and she stared momentarily out the window. Emanuel sipped his coffee, his eyes still on Shana. "Are you sorry you had to quit your job?"

  "No," she answered, looking back at him. "No, I'm not. It was burning me out and I wasn't getting anything out of it. Just aggravation and frustration. Besides, I have a much more rewarding job now."

  "Which is?"

  "Taking care of you."

  For a long second, they stared at each other. Then, Emanuel reached out and pulled her onto his lap, holding her tightly. He hesitated before he slowly leaned down and kissed her. When their lips parted, he studied her face. Her eyes glowed, anticipating what they both so nervously were avoiding. "Ja, Shana," he started, his voice low and raspy. "You won't get burnt out from that job," he murmured, nuzzling at her neck.

  Outside, one of the cows bellowed from the barn. Shana slid off Emanuel's lap, waiting for him to stand up and take her hand. He reached over the table and turned off the lamp, then, sliding his hand into hers, he led her upstairs to that final aspect of their relationship which they had anxiously saved for their wedding night.

  Chapter Eleven

  The room was still dark when he stirred next to her under the heavy quilt. Lying on her stomach, one hand hidden under her pillow and the other on top, Shana's eyes remained shut. She snuggled deeper under the covers as Emanuel removed his arm from across her bare back, slowly removing his fingers from her one hand. Realizing that he was getting up, her eyes fluttered open and she half-rolled over to look at him.

  "Emanuel?" She sat up and leaned against the oak headboard. “What's the matter?"

  In the soft glow of the ending night, she saw him glance at her, his eyes lingering on her bare breast. "Five o'clock. Time to milk the cows," he mumbled quietly as he turned his back and dressed.

  She watched him, her eyes barely opened. He grabbed a pair of dark green workpants from the wall and quickly slid into them. The room was cold, his breath frosting in the air as he buttoned his plain, long sleeved shirt. Then, an increasing energy in his movements, he pulled up his suspenders over his shoulders and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Before he left, he leaned over, gently pushed her back into the bed, and tucked the pink, white, and blue quilt under her chin.

  With a tender kiss to her forehead, he whispered, "Keep the bed warm."

  Out in the barn, he rubbed his hands together to warm them. The morning cold stung his face. "Gude mariye, girls," he mumbled before he started. For the next two hours, he milked the cows then shoveled the manure out from their stalls. His mind wandered back to the previous night, the memory warming his insides. As he milked the cows, hearing the soothing tingle of the milk against the side of the cold metal bucket, he could only think of his wife, sleeping soundlessly in their bed, hopefully waiting for him in her dreams.

  The grandfather clock was ringing when he finally returned to the house. Half past seven. He stopped at the kitchen, pumping ice-cold water into his hands. Drying them on a towel, Emanuel sat down at the table to take off his boots and set them next to the counter on the floor. Quietly, he stole upstairs, hoping that the creaking stairs wouldn’t disturb her. Once inside the room, he stripped his clothes off his body and climbed back into bed with Shana.

  Still half-asleep, she curled her naked body around his, one lazy arm tossed over his chest. For a long time, Emanuel stared at the ceiling, holding her. He stroked her hair, listening to the slightly annoying ticking of the pink wind-up clock on her dresser.

  "Um," she mumbled, slowly waking from her sleep. "What time is it?"

  "Seven thirty."

  "So early," she whispered. She shut her eyes, loving the feeling of his hands caressing her bare back. "I should fix you breakfast." But she made no move toward getting up. Instead, she leaned forward and began to kiss his neck and nibble at his ear. Emanuel shut his eyes, awakening to her pleasing demand. He answered her call by gently pushing her onto her back, his lips covering hers in a passionate kiss as his hand ran through her loose curls before he made love to her.

  An hour later, Shana finally crawled out from underneath his arm and padded to the bathroom. She took a quick shower, disappointed at the low-pressure trickle that dribbled out of the showerhead. Drying off with a stiff, yellow towel, she hummed a made-up song to herself. Back in the bedroom, she quietly threw on a pair of jeans and a thick sweater then hurried downstairs to make Emanuel a proper breakfast before he awoke.

  Twenty minutes later, he stumbled downstairs. The kitchen was alive with pleasant odors of sizzling bacon fat and fresh scrambled eggs. He leaned against the doorframe, watching Shana for several minutes before he cleared his throat to make his presence known.

  "Emanuel! You scared me!" she exclaimed as she whirled around. Then, her face fell. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

  Smiling, he replied, "A man can't sleep all day." He moved to the table. "Got a lot of work this afternoon."

  "Oh?" The disappointment was obvious in her voice.

  "Ja. Promised Jacob I'd help him finish hanging his tobacco." He leaned back as Shana set his plate before him. "It should've been done last month but, with the move, it got delayed. I promised that I'd help him since the tobacco's here."

  Shana leaned against the counter, watching him take his first bite. "That was nice of you." He made a face. "Something wrong?"

  He set his fork down, shaking his head. "Hot." He reached for the glass of milk in front of him. When he finished cooling his mouth, he stared at Shana curiously. His eyes lingered on her clothing as he asked, "Aren't you eating?"

  "If I eat breakfast, I'm hungry all day" was her simple explanation. She noticed him staring at her with an odd expression on his face. "Emanuel?"

  He smiled apologetically, bending his head down to eat. "I'm just not used to you in…in pants," he said softly.

  Shana glanced down at her outfit. The thermometer outside the kitchen window read forty-three degrees and he wanted her to wear a dress? Adapting to his ideals was, indeed, going to be trying. "I'll change if it's going to bother you."

  Someone knocked at the door and, their conversation abruptly interrupted, Shana hurried to answer it. She opened the door and invited Jacob inside. "Come in out of the cold," she smiled, standing back to let him pass. Jacob took off his hat, nodded his head to her, and walked through the washroom into the kitchen. “Care for something to eat," she asked.

  Jacob shook his head and sat down opposite Emanuel. Feeling isolated, Shana retreated to the kitchen sink and began to wash the few dishes from breakfast. She glanced over at the two men, noticing how different they looked, Jacob with his strict Amish beard and Emanuel with his clean-shaven face. Jacob toyed with his black felt hat as he talked with Emanuel about the tobacco. Shana half-heartedly listened as she dried the dishes, setting them on the counter. When s
he finished, she set her damp towel over the top of the dishes. Satisfied, she went to join the men at the table.

  Emanuel spared her a smile. "Ach vell, we'll be out in the barn for most of the afternoon."

  "Anything I can do to help?"

  Emanuel quickly glanced at Jacob who raised his eyebrows before turning away. Emanuel smiled at Shana again as he stood up. "Nothing more than an occasional hot pot of coffee." He started to walk out of the kitchen.

  "Emanuel."

  He stopped in the doorway, reaching inside the washroom for his hat. Placing it on his head, he looked at Shana. "Ja?"

  "You didn't kiss me," she whispered.

  Emanuel glanced over his shoulder at Jacob. Standing quietly by the door, twirling his hat in his hands, Jacob stared outside, keeping his distance from the newlyweds. Emanuel shuffled back to Shana and leaned down, quickly kissing her lips. Her eyes glowed at him and he smiled. "See you in a while," he murmured.

  Left alone in the house, Shana tried to keep herself busy. Upstairs, she changed into a light blue sleeveless dress with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath. Pulling her hair off her neck, she tied it back with a pink ribbon. Then, she made the bed, lingering near his pillow before she fluffed it up and set it by the headboard, a whisper of a smile playing across her lips.

  The stairs creaked as she hurried downstairs. Quickly, she washed Emanuel's plate and put away the dishes. The grandfather clock rang once. Shutting the kitchen cabinet, Shana listened to the chimes echo. Finished with her kitchen chores, she walked into the living room and stared at the beautiful cherry oak grandfather clock with the Old Roman numerals. She walked up to it, running a finger along the smooth wood before she opened the door and wound it for the day. The thick weights rose from the bottom of the clock cavity up to the top, each swaying rhythmically as she shut the glass panel door. Stepping back, she stared at it for another minute, smiled, then returned to the kitchen.

  Fixing a pot of hot coffee, she sat at the table and leafed through the day old newspaper. Most of the articles were about weather and agriculture. Shoving it aside, Shana leaned back in her chair, sipped some coffee, and stared around the kitchen. It was large, like most Amish kitchens. The old-fashioned water pump looked ancient next to the stove, refrigerator and semi-modern linoleum countertops. The oak table was square and small compared to other Amish kitchen tables she had seen. Against the one windowless wall was an old, dark blue sofa.

  In front of the sofa was a portable gas lantern. The house had no electricity. Shana knew that would take some getting used to. Shana stood up, walked to the sofa, and sat on it. A spring popped under her weight. Startled, Shana jumped to her feet. That was something that would need to be fixed, she thought as she added it to her mental list of chores. From the living room, the grandfather clock struck again. It was nine-thirty.

  Shana walked to the pantry and surveyed inside. She pulled out flour, sugar, graham cracker crumbs, and other boxes, setting everything neatly on the counter. Vaguely, she remembered helping Katie bake several pies for that Sunday sermon several months ago. Determined to accomplish something, Shana began to painstakingly make her first pie.

  Working from memory, for she had no cookbooks, Shana poured and mixed ingredients together in large bowls. By the time the clock struck ten-fifteen, the pie was baking in the oven. While the kitchen filled with the warm, sweet scent of cherry pie from the canned cherries she had found in the pantry, Shana carried the freshly brewed pot of coffee outside and to the barn.

  The cold wind chilled her and she clutched the front of her black, wool cape shut. The Amish cape had been a present from Katie. While Shana had grown up only three states away, she hadn't been prepared for the bone chilling wind that hovered over the Lancaster County farms. She crossed over the driveway, staring out into the pasture where the cows stood in small groups. Even their coats had grown thicker in preparation for the winter.

  Inside the barn, Shana shut the sliding door behind herself and called out, "Emanuel?" The barn seemed larger and emptier without the small herd of cows.

  "Up here," he answered.

  Shana walked over to the ladder leading into the hayloft. Carefully, she held the coffee pot and her skirt in one hand as she climbed the stairs. "Thought you might want to warm up," she said as she set the pot on a bale of hay, noticing Emanuel's approving nod at her change in clothing. Ignoring him, Shana looked around. The upstairs of the barn appeared larger than the downstairs without the cow stalls and dairy milk storage container. The heavy wooden floor was covered with stray straw. On the far end of the upstairs, several massive piles of tobacco waited to be hung up to dry from the eaves. Closer to Shana, at least a hundred, perhaps more, bales of hay were stacked from floor to ceiling.

  "Is all that your tobacco, Jacob?"

  "Ja," he nodded. "Brings in some good cash."

  "Whose hay?"

  Emanuel finished stripping the stalk of tobacco he was working on before he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Jacob was kind enough to leave that hay when he moved onto his new farm."

  Smiling, Shana sat down on a bale of hay as she asked, "How is the new farm?"

  "The addition isn't finished but, with all the young’ns, it's a might more comfortable, anyhow."

  "How many children do you have?"

  Jacob hesitated. "Eight now."

  “Oh my!” Shana glanced at Emanuel. He had mentioned once in jest how he wanted a large family. Certainly he didn't expect her to have a typical Amish family of ten children. "So many mouths to feed," Shana commented lightly as she plucked at a loose strand of straw.

  After a moment's silence, Jacob replied, "So many hands to work the new farm that God has blessed us with."

  The color rose to Shana's cheeks and she lowered her eyes. She felt Emanuel's eyes on her and wondered if he felt her shame. He walked over to her, gently touching her arm. When she looked up, he gave her an encouraging smile. "We'll be in around one. Jacob's staying to sup with us."

  Nodding, Shana quietly walked away, her eyes on the floor and her heart pounding inside her chest. She left the coffee pot on the bale of hay. Once inside the kitchen, she sank into the ugly blue sofa, burrowing her head in her arms. The tears wet her arm and her sobs broke the hateful silence of the house. The men didn't want her in the barn, she didn't know what to do in the house, and she felt alone. The tranquility that had once enticed her to Emanuel was now turning into her enemy. Only if you let it, she began reprimanding herself as she sat up, wiping her tears away with an impatient hand.

  For the next two hours, Shana set about making the best supper possible. She cooked a small ham, boiled a dozen peeled potatoes, steamed some frozen peas, and made orange gravy from the ham's juices. She set the table for three, using her own pretty pink placemats and napkins. She went upstairs in one of the empty bedrooms and dug through her unpacked trunk of household knick-knacks. With a satisfied smile, she carried a silk arrangement of pink and white flowers downstairs and set it in the center of the table.

  The washroom door slammed shut and the men stomped inside, slapping their arms against their bodies to warm up. Shana glanced at her watch. It was quarter after one. The supper was in the oven and the cherry pie cooling on the counter. She perched herself by the sink, towel in hand as she dried a pot that didn't need it. She waited for the men to come into the kitchen.

  Emanuel caught her eye and smiled softly as he set the coffee pot on the counter. "Certainly got cold out. Might even get a flurry or two." He pumped the water pump three times then quickly washed his face, hands, and neck in the cold stream of water that gushed out. Patting his face dry, he stepped aside for Jacob to wash. "Come spring, I'll put in real plumbing down here." Then, handing the towel to Jacob, Emanuel sat down at the table.

  Shana stared after Emanuel, watching him sitting at the table, his head bowed slightly. His ears, barely visible under his curly mass of hair, were brilliant red. Feeling ashamed for having felt so sorry for herself while he had
been battling the cold to help his friend, Shana quickly brewed another pot of coffee then took the food out of the oven and set it in the center of the table. She watched as the men quickly prayed before they piled the by-now sticky mashed potatoes high on their plates, soaked them in the overcooked gravy, then cut thick slabs of dried ham. She poured them coffee, pleased to see Emanuel filling her plate as well.

  The conversation centered around the men's plans for the following planting season. Emanuel expressed his enthusiasm in, perhaps, planting his own tobacco crop. Jacob began explaining about the various problems with raising tobacco. Shana listened, not understanding everything of which they talked. Occasionally, the men slipped into Pennsylvania Dutch and Shana understood nothing. All she knew was Emanuel and Jacob had arrived late and her first supper tasted awful.