The Tinderbox

by Beverly Lewis

  “Never heard of that.” Mamm shook her head. “But who am I to argue with the Wise Woman?”

  This brought a smile to both of them, and they carried the refreshments into the front room. Then Rhoda briefly stepped onto the porch and called for the boys to come inside. She stood there a moment, watching Calvin and Tommy untangle themselves from the tire swing they shared, laughing as they did so. Adam had been swinging alone on the other one and leaped off quickly, glancing back at the younger boys as he made a beeline for the house.

  “I’m mighty thirsty,” Adam said as he ran up the porch steps to Rhoda.

  “There’s plenty of cold tea waitin’,” she said. “Nice an’ sweet, too.”

  “Wunnerbaar,” Adam said, dashing inside.

  Once Calvin and Tommy were also indoors and had washed their hands at their Mammi’s request, all of them were seated in a semicircle, talking and laughing while munching on popcorn. Tommy tossed his high into the air at Ernie, who caught each one in his mouth, never missing.

  Rhoda’s mother wagged her head. “How does he do that?”

  Rhoda laughed. “Lots of practice,” she said, and Ernie grinned.

  “If only he could put that talent to gut use,” Dawdi joked, glancing at Earnest, who stared at the floor as if in a daze.

  When he must have sensed Rhoda’s eyes on him, Earnest met her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile.

  In spite of the way he could warm her heart, Rhoda had noticed his distraction more than a few times today. He was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn; doubtless his thoughts were consumed with Mahlon. Maybe she and the boys should have come here on their own and let Earnest go and sit at his friend’s bedside again. Might be his last chance, she thought sorrowfully.

  But since Earnest was here, she hoped he might try to enter into the conversation, at least for her parents’ sake. They’d always appreciated his jovial spirit.

  My husband’s just not himself. . . .

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  After a short time of fellowship, the barn Singing started with the hymn “Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us,” one of Sylvia’s favorites. The tempo was slower than that of some of the songs they frequently sang, but after a few more hymns and gospel songs, one young man requested they sing “Keep on the Sunny Side,” the perfect tune to promote an upbeat mood. How could anyone feel glum when singing that song?

  As was usual, die Youngie sang in unison, though now and then several broke out into parts, something not allowed in Preaching services. Their bishop didn’t mind if they occasionally sang in harmony at Singings, but in church, it called attention to those who were better singers and put the emphasis on the harmony instead of the words.

  During the time for refreshments, Titus came over to sit with Sylvia at her table. “We’ve been invited to go to my uncle’s to play Ping-Pong later,” he said softly. “Would ya like that?”

  She nodded and guessed that it meant another couple would be joining them, but she didn’t ask, knowing it was proper for him to plan everything.

  After forty-five more minutes of singing, the gathering became more informal, with couples pairing up to head outside to courting carriages while others lingered in the hayloft talking. She and Titus took time to greet their respective cousins and friends before quietly exiting to his gleaming black courting buggy. Beneath the light of the full moon, she could see that Titus had cleaned and oiled the harness and groomed his striking horse. The sleek black mane was perfectly smooth, as was the long tail. “Your mare looks ’specially beautiful tonight,” she commented as he helped her up.

  Titus bobbed his head as if to thank her. “It’s you who’s beautiful, Sylvie.”

  Her face warmed, and she had to glance away. Something had changed between them since his proposal yesterday, something new and powerful . . . she felt as if she were being pulled toward a magnet. This sense of yearning made her heart beat fast, and she imagined Titus taking her into his arms.

  They rode straight to his uncle and aunt’s house, where it appeared that Titus’s close cousin Mel Kauffman and his date, Emily Swarey, had already arrived. The game of doubles Ping-Pong turned into a full-blown match, with Titus keeping careful track of the score.

  We’re winning too easily, thought Sylvia, wondering if they shouldn’t let Mel and Emily win a couple games, although that was not the way most fellows would want to play. Titus, though, didn’t seem as competitive as some.

  When they had won two games in a row, Titus suggested they stop for the ice cream and cookies provided by his uncle and aunt. Mel and Emily quickly agreed, and Titus and Mel seemed to enjoy talking between bites as Sylvia and Emily discussed all the asparagus they had been putting up lately. Then Mel brought up the Ascension Day picnic, and Emily brightened when Sylvia mentioned the chocolate cakes she wanted to bake.

  “Titus’s mother’s recipe is delicious,” Sylvia told her. “So light it melts in your mouth.”

  “Is that right?” Emily said with a glance at Titus. “You must’ve visited Titus’s home recently.”

  Sylvia’s face warmed, but she didn’t admit to it.

  “It’ll be a fun day,” Mel added, mentioning all the volleyball the youth would be playing.

  “Hopefully one with pleasant weather,” Sylvia said as she spooned up her ice cream.

  “Well, we’ve played volleyball in the rain before,” Titus said, smiling at Sylvia. “It adds a little somethin’ when the ground’s muddy.”

  Both Emily and Mel laughed outright.

  “If it rains, we can always play Dutch Blitz in the barn,” Mel said. “And maybe have a spur-of-the-moment Singing, if everyone agrees.”

  “What about addin’ a barn dance, too?” Emily suggested with a grin.

  This surprised Sylvia, who wasn’t entirely sure Emily was joking, and Titus said nothing as Mel quickly changed the subject.

  In time they resumed their Ping-Pong match, and Sylvia could see that Mel and Emily were beginning to play better as a team. They won the next game . . . and the next. Each couple now had claimed two games apiece.

  “Ready?” Titus asked Sylvia as she prepared to serve to start the fifth game.

  “Sure!” Sylvia said, her paddle poised.

  The game play moved faster than before, and she and Titus had to be quick on their feet and speedy in returning the tiny ball. Sylvia gave it her all, as did Mel and Emily. Late in the game, however, Titus seemed to be backing off, and she wondered if he was letting them win.

  Emily squealed with glee when she and Mel managed to score the final point, clinching the game. “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, patting her hand against the paddle. “It’s the first time I’ve ever played doubles. And to think we won the match!”

  After they’d all thanked Titus’s uncle and aunt, who’d politely remained upstairs in the front room, Titus and Sylvia said their good-byes to Mel and Emily.

  During the ride home, Titus asked what Sylvia thought of possibly spending more time with Mel and Emily.

  “Are they a regular couple?” Sylvia wasn’t sure, since she’d never seen them together before.

  “Mel’s hopin’ so. But it takes two to agree,” Titus said with a chuckle.

  “Well, if you want to, I don’t mind double-dating.” She liked Mel and Emily but hoped to be alone with Titus sometimes, too—get to know each other better. After all, they were going to be married in six short months.

  Titus slowed the horse. “And if not with Mel and Emily, then another couple.”

  “All right with me,” she said, wondering why he was suggesting this; they’d never made a habit of going out with other couples before.

  Titus smiled and reached to give her hand a squeeze. “I’m glad ya feel that way. My Dat says bein’ alone too much ain’t wise for unmarried couples,” he admitted.

  She found it a bit surprising that his preacher father had spoken to him about that. Suddenly a bit shy about this topic of conversation, she asked, “
Did you go visiting after Preaching today?”

  “Headed home after the shared meal,” he said. “How ’bout you?”

  “I mostly spent time readin’,” she told him. “It was fairly quiet round the house, like usual on Sundays. But Mamma and I did sit out on the back porch for a little while and talk before it was time to get ready for Singing.”

  Titus listened, nodded a bit. “You and your Mamma work closely together, jah?”

  “We’re gut partners in the kitchen, for sure.”

  He seemed to think on that, then said, “By the way, my Mamm was real impressed with you, Sylvie. She wants you to become better acquainted with our family before the weddin’.”

  Sylvia smiled at the thought. “I’d like that.”

  “Just so ya know, she’s not the only one. . . . Lavina and Connie were dyin’ to join us in the gazebo yesterday. Dat told me Lavina pleaded for Mamm to let her bring the cake out.”

  “She’s fifteen, right?”

  “Same age as your brother Ernie,” Titus said. “Maybe they’ll get to know each other next year at Singing, if Dat lets her start goin’ when she turns sixteen.”

  Sylvia was surprised. “Ya mean he might not?”

  “Well, she has some growin’ up to do before Mamm will feel comfortable with her goin’ out with a fella. S’pose Mamm knows best on that.”

  Sylvia had heard something like this about one of her cousins a couple of years ago, but as far as she knew, that cousin had still attended Singings at sixteen. It was rare for a parent to keep a youth of that age from going.

  Their conversation flowed from one subject to another as Titus told how his fourteen-year-old sister, Connie, was learning to sew head coverings—and having a rough time of it—before moving on to discuss the upcoming horse auction at a nearby sales barn.

  Sylvia mentioned all the fun she and her younger brothers, Calvin and Tommy, had while planting beans and putting out the pepper plants last Wednesday afternoon. “And the schoolboys are itchin’ for summer break,” she added. “’Specially Tommy.”

  Eventually, they began to talk about how difficult it had to be for Preacher Zook’s family since his diagnosis, seeing the once-robust man slowly lose his strength.

  “Dat’s been over to sit with him often lately,” Sylvia shared softly. “To be honest, he’s worryin’ himself nearly sick over Preacher Zook.”

  “So’s my father.” Titus paused a moment before reaching for her hand. “You just made me think how I want us always to be truthful with each other, Sylvie. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Honesty is one of life’s important virtues, Mamma always says.”

  “She’s right.” Titus nodded and slipped his arm around her shoulders, something he’d never done before. “It’s a little chilly out,” he said, as though making a perfectly logical excuse.

  She smiled, enjoying the closeness as they rode that way for several minutes, discussing how often they would see each other now that they were engaged. They decided that, while a couple times a week would be nice, once a week was more realistic for Titus, considering the demands of the coming months of work on his father’s farm.

  The night air was still and the moon so bright, Sylvia could hardly contain her happiness.

  “I love ya so,” Titus whispered, leaning his head against her Kapp. “I wish we could be married sooner. . . .”

  Oh, she felt the exact same way! But just then she recalled the inscribed pocket watch in her father’s tinderbox, and the puzzling thought nagged at her. Without realizing it, she must have stiffened.

  “What is it?”

  Not wanting to spoil their time together, she shrugged. “I’m all right.”

  Quickly, he directed the mare to the shoulder, beneath a large oak tree, and halted. Then, turning, he looked at Sylvia for the longest time, his eyes searching hers as well as they could in the moonlight. “Are ya sure?”

  She nodded, feeling shy.

  “My dear Sylvie . . .” He pulled her so close that she could feel the steady thump-thump of his heart.

  “I love you, too,” she said as he reached to touch her face. “Ever so much.”

  He leaned closer still, and she was surprised when he sweetly kissed her cheek, more gently this time than the sudden peck he’d given her after she said yes to his proposal.

  Titus moved back enough to look at her with tender eyes. “Ach, Sylvie . . . I’ll take care of you and cherish you all my life.”

  It almost seemed as if he was making a vow, and she’d never known such joy or felt such love. Truly, it was hard to think of being apart from her beloved for even one day.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  The next morning, Weschdaag, having finished pinning the washing to the line, Rhoda was working alongside Sylvia in the kitchen when a knock came at the back door. Quickly, Rhoda went to see who was knocking instead of just walking in, as family and Amish neighbors were accustomed to doing.

  There, she discovered Preacher Zook’s twenty-year-old grandson Andy, his straw hat held in front of him and his blond hair unkempt like he’d been up all night. The expression on his handsome face was mighty serious.

  “Dawdi Zook passed away a little while ago,” he relayed in a low voice.

  “Oh, Andy, I’m awful sorry,” Rhoda said, leaning on the doorjamb. “I’ll come over with food for your Mammi and family real soon.”

  “Will ya let Earnest know?” Andy asked.

  Nodding, Rhoda glanced toward her husband’s shop. “I’ll go right over an’ tell him.”

  “Denki. My family would like him to help spread the word on this side of Hickory Hollow. . . . The funeral’s this Wednesday.” Andy nearly stuttered as he tried to get the words out. “Dawdi Zook loved Earnest . . . told me as much last night, when he was strugglin’ so. . . .” Andy rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked at the sky for a moment. “It was one of the last things he said before passing.”

  This touched her deeply, and she held her breath to keep from tearing up. “You can be sure that Earnest will let all the neighbors over here know.”

  Andy gave a weak smile and inched backward, still holding Rhoda’s gaze, before slowly turning to head down the porch steps, straw hat still in hand.

  Dear Lord, be with him and his family, she prayed, opening the screen door and stepping out to give poor Earnest the news.

  Mahlon was my second father, Earnest thought, distressed to learn of his death. While this day hadn’t been unexpected, the reality hit him hard, and he reached for Rhoda and held her near, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. She was the one and only person who could comfort him at a time like this.

  “You’ll miss him terribly, I know,” Rhoda whispered as he clung to her.

  Earnest was relieved that she had been the one to tell him.

  Slowly, he released her, reaching now for her hands, searching her lovely face. “I’d better be on my way,” he said quietly. “The People must be told.” He kissed her before she left to return to the house.

  Quickly, he moved to his workroom and put out the gas lamp, then went to remove his straw hat from one of the three wooden pegs near the door. He closed the door behind him and made his way to the carriage shed for the spring wagon, leaving the family buggy for Rhoda in case she needed it.

  In something of a daze, Earnest trudged up to the stable to get Lily, his older driving horse, then led her out to the wagon and hitched up. The burden of loss weighed heavily upon him, and it was a relief to have this time alone to absorb the news. Not something one can prepare for, he thought, losing such a friend.

  The People, too, would bear the loss. They embraced the belief that death, no matter when it came, was God’s sovereign will . . . no questions asked. If the truth were known, Earnest was still coming to terms with that—he’d never quite accepted his young sister’s death years ago, the first-ever loss in his life.

  But he wouldn’t contemplate that now. It was Mahlon whom he must honor with his t
houghts. After all, the man had lived to serve others long before he was ordained as preacher.

  Earnest reached for the driving lines, and considering the painful absence of his friend, he traveled the east side of Hickory Hollow from farmhouse to farmhouse to share the sad news.

  Sylvia felt the silence in the kitchen where she sat mending a hem on one of her work dresses, acutely aware of her mother’s serious demeanor. It occurred to her that sharing about her engagement might help to lift a bit of the solemnness, at least for a while. After last night’s romantic ride with Titus, she could scarcely contain her happiness even now.

  “Mamma,” she said, putting down her sewing needle. “I have some gut news . . . if it’s all right to share.”

  Her mother’s head jerked up as she stood at the counter slicing potatoes for the noon meal. “Gut news is surely welcome.”

  “Well, Titus Kauffman asked me to marry him come November,” Sylvia said, her face warming at the memory of his affection. “I wondered if you might have put it together Saturday, when I headed out for the picnic.” It felt so good to tell her mother.

  Mamma set the knife down near the cutting board and came over to Sylvia, smiling sweetly. She took a seat in Dat’s chair right there at the head of the table. “A preacher’s son?”

  “Not just any preacher’s son. Titus is really wunnerbaar . . . and you’ll think so, too, once you get to know him better.” She knew her face must be alight with the joy she was feeling.

  “I kinda thought there was somethin’ going on, Sylvie. You’d been actin’ a little off beam. I should’ve guessed you were preoccupied with a beau.” Mamma reached for her hand, her eyes soft. “Your father will be as pleased as I am. Or have ya already told him?”

  “Nee . . . wanted to tell ya first.”

  Mamma asked when in November they were thinking about tying the knot.