Susie’s head shot up as a smile spread across her face. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. When do I start?”
“My parents will be visiting tomorrow, so how about the day after. Nine sharp?”
“Perfect,” I answered.
Susie hugged a doily to her chest. “Danke!”
“I’ll see you Wednesday,” I said and then smiled at the Englisch women on my way to the front door.
“Bring your handwork,” Susie said. “To fill your orders.”
I waved in acknowledgment. “See you then,” I called out as I opened the door and dashed out to the buggy.
When the horse and I were both ready to go home, I decided to turn left and left again, circling around through the alley on my way. As I did, I couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the face in the window of Susie’s house on my right. Verna was still sitting in her chair, but now she was smiling back at me, her hand raised in a wave, as I went past.
Day after tomorrow I’d start my new job. I was sure it would all work out. At least my loneliness, for the first time in over a month, had lifted.
Somewhat, anyway.
FIVE
To my surprise, Mamm wasn’t too happy about my big news. She didn’t say much that night, but she finally weighed in the next day as we were peeling apples for applesauce.
“I think you need to focus on your long-range plans instead of jumping from one job to another.” She spun the silver handle of the apple peeler as she spoke. “It’s time to settle down, choose a path, and stick to it.”
I sighed.
“You were finally starting to get up to speed with your sewing and actually see some profit. Now you’re going to drop that and move on to this…” She shook her head. “Izzy, how long do you think this new caregiving job will last? A week? A month?”
My face grew warm. “As long as they need me, I suppose. And I can do my handwork at the same time as the caregiving.” Her frown remained fixed, so I added, “Verna is your aunt, Mamm. I thought you’d be pleased.”
She pulled the apple off the spindle and plunked it on the corer, jerking down the lever. “Of course I’m pleased, for her sake. But what I am concerned about is what happened at school. Who’s to say you won’t get hysterical again?”
I grabbed another apple from the pile I’d washed and slid it onto the spikes of the peeler. “That was because a patient died. My favorite patient. Aenti Verna isn’t even ill.”
“Izzy, she’s ninety-one. Just because she’s not ill now doesn’t mean she’s going to live all that much longer. Life comes to end; that’s a fact. You can’t just fall apart when things get hard.” Mamm dropped the apple slices into the pot on the stove.
“I won’t,” I muttered.
“Pardon?” Her voice rang out over the clatter of the peeler.
“I’ll be fine,” I answered, keeping my tone respectful. “I know the realities of life and death. Last time just took me by surprise, is all.”
Mamm harrumphed but didn’t speak.
“Besides, Verna’s going to help me with some family research about our ancestors who came to America back in the 1700s. I need that information for Zed’s script.”
Mamm looked my way, one eyebrow raised.
“For his next film,” I added, trying not to sound as aggravated as I felt. She pulled off the peeled apple and I replaced it with another. “We talked about this, remember? He’s going to focus on the Conestoga Indians and the local Plain folks who befriended them. He’s basing it on the story of one of his own ancestors. And if I can get him enough info, he said he would put some of ours in there as well.”
Now it was Mamm’s turn to sigh. She just didn’t get it.
Most of the people in our community loved to think and talk about history, but my mother didn’t, not even history related directly to her. Her parents died before she married, and she didn’t have much of a relationship with her older sisters, so maybe she preferred to forget about the past—or at least her own past—and just focus on the present.
She’d cared for my Daed’s parents when they were old, but she hadn’t particularly wanted to hear all about their lives prior to then, either. She was kind to them, but I had been the one who had spent hours listening to Mammi Nettie’s stories. Though I was quite young then, I’d found them fascinating. Looking back, I wished I’d written down all that she’d told me. I hadn’t realized that whole histories could disappear when the people who knew them passed away. Daed seemed to value that kind of thing somewhat, at least more than Mamm did, but I knew we ought to take care, lest our pasts were slowly erased with every new death of a loved one.
Mamm and I finished with the apples in silence, and then I rinsed my hands at the sink. I stepped toward the doorway to leave the room just as Thomas rushed in from outside, his hands covered with dirt.
“Wash, wash, wash!” Mamm ordered, pointing toward the mudroom. “And take your boots off! Then tell me what you want.”
Thomas obeyed but called out over his shoulder. “Daed needs help, but I’m not big enough.”
The rain had put off the corn harvest, so Daed had been using the time to build a woodworking shop in the barn.
“You go, Izzy.”
I must have made a face.
Mamm rubbed the back of her wrist across her forehead. “You’ve been moping around long enough. If you’re able to get a job outside the home, you’re able to start helping around here more too.”
I bristled but didn’t respond. I hadn’t been moping. I’d been distracted and introspective, that was all.
Thomas slipped back by me in his stocking feet, sliding on the linoleum. Oh, to be six again. He had no idea how wonderful his life was.
I put my bag in my little room and then headed toward the back door to help Daed, catching Thomas’s sweet voice chattering away to Mamm as I slipped outside. I pulled the hood of my cape atop my head and dashed down the brick path.
The young mother Tabitha worked for needed extra help for a short time, so Mamm had sent Linda for the week. Stephen was in school, which left Thomas and me around the house during the day. At age six he should have started school, but he’d been sick a lot as a baby with ear infections, which had impacted his hearing and delayed his development. Mamm said another year at home would have him ready for next fall.
She always talked about how quickly the chicks flew, but with Thomas so young, it would be a long time before my parents had an empty nest—if ever. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d end up an old maid, living here with Mamm and Daed for the rest of their days.
She wouldn’t like that one bit.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t a good mamm. She really was. She cared for us, each of us, meticulously. Her house sparkled. She worked tirelessly from dawn to nightfall to keep us clothed, fed, and scrubbed. She tended the garden, canned, shopped, and cooked. Sewed, mended, and laundered. Swept, mopped, and dusted.
She loved each of us deeply, I knew, even if she didn’t show it with affection very often or words of endearment. We could tell by what she did for us, by the look in her eyes, by the way she instructed us.
She was efficient and no-nonsense. She did her work quickly and properly. She was all action.
But she and I were as different as could be. I thought about something long and hard before I took action. That wasn’t her way, so she didn’t value it in me.
Daed did his work well too, but differently than Mamm. He was slow and methodical, focusing on craftsmanship and quality. I knew it irked her how long it took him to finish a project, but I also knew she was proud of the end result.
I was far more like my daed, except I wanted to talk through what I was contemplating with someone. I wanted a sympathetic ear and words of encouragement. I wanted someone to bounce ideas around with. I wanted Zed.
I stumbled on the path, catching myself before I fell, and then once I reached the barn, I pushed the door open with more force than needed.
Daed was buildin
g his shop in the back, and I made my way there over the concrete floor, inhaling the scent of pine as I went.
My father stood by the window, staring out over the field of corn.
“Daed?”
It took a moment for him to turn toward me.
“I came to help.”
He smiled and nodded toward a wall frame lying on its side. It was huge. No wonder Thomas had been too small to assist him.
“Get that end,” Daed said. He was dividing the area in half so he had a shop on one side and a place to do his finishing work on the other. He was a carpenter, but because he hadn’t had much to do on building sites lately, he was trying to get more business going on his own by making tables, all sizes, including big ones for Amish families. He’d filled several orders as wedding presents over the last year and hoped to get more.
I grabbed the two-by-four, lifted at the same time Daed did, and then scooted the frame into place. He grabbed a mallet from the workbench and tapped his side into place. Then he worked his way toward me, tapping along.
“I got a new job,” I said.
“Oh?”
He kept slowly tapping as I explained the situation to him.
“Well, good,” he said when I’d finished. “It sounds like you’ll be a big help to Susie. And I know how fond Verna is of you.”
“I’ll be able to keep doing the handwork while I’m there. In fact, Susie asked specifically that I keep doing it. She’s getting lots of orders for my stuff.”
“Sounds like a win-win situation, as long as you don’t let it go to your head.”
I nodded.
“Things are coming together, ya?” He stopped tapping and stepped back, sliding the mallet into his tool belt. “Next you’ll join the church. Then find the right husband.”
“Daed,” I said, wanting him to stop.
He looped his thumbs into his suspenders. “You know what I want more than anything is for all of my children to be hard workers, serve the community, and join the church.”
I nodded again. We all knew that. Daed didn’t talk a lot, but he’d made his wishes clear through the years. “You know I’ll join the church,” I said. “But the marrying part is up to God, not me.”
“Izzy, God has someone planned for you. Wait and see.”
When I didn’t respond he said, “Let me know when it’s time to eat.”
The next morning Stephen and I headed out together. I was going to drop him off at school and then go straight to Susie’s. Stephen, an exact replica of Daed minus the beard and a foot of height, sat silently, watching the fields go by.
The rain had let up, finally. Both of my parents had seemed in a good mood this morning. Mamm and Thomas were going to help Daed out in the field with the harvest. I imagined, if I didn’t have a new job, they would have dragged me out there too. There was nothing I disliked more than fieldwork. The forecast was for three days of sunshine—just enough time to get the harvest done.
I left Stephen at the schoolhouse and continued on toward Susie’s. I had my handwork beside me in my bag, plus a collection of history books, mostly ones Zed had loaned me over the summer. He had said I was free to keep them while he was gone, and I thought Verna might enjoy them too.
Thinking of Verna, I really did hope she would be able to fill in some of the blanks for me in our family’s history. Remembering the book I’d seen her reading the day before, I wondered what others she might have, and if any of them had illustrations showing what people wore back in the mid-1700s. I knew it would be a while yet before Zed finished the script and locked in his character list so I could get started on the costumes, but I couldn’t wait. My heart raced at the very thought.
I turned off the highway by Susie’s shop and pulled around to the alley. A few minutes later, after I’d unhitched my horse and put her in the small pasture with Susie’s gelding, I hurried up the steps to the house, my things in tow.
I’d barely rapped on the door once when I heard Verna call out, “Come in.” I stepped into the kitchen, shed my cape, slipped off my shoes, and started toward the living room.
“Over here.” Verna was on the sofa, wrapped in a quilt again, reading the same book.
“Anything new?” I joked.
She shook her head and smiled at me.
I asked if there was anything she needed, tea or another blanket or whatever, but she said no, just the company would be lovely.
Happy to oblige, I sat down on the other side of the couch from her, and after just a few minutes of simple conversation, I decided to ask her about the parts of our family history that would be relevant to the topic of Zed’s film.
“I’ve been thinking about our ancestors who first came to America,” I told her. “The ones who would have been around in the 1700s. Well, more specifically, in 1763.”
She tilted her head. “Oh? Why these particular ancestors?”
I hesitated, wondering how to put it and hoping she wouldn’t find the idea of my involvement with filmmaking offensive or improper. Then I realized that the subject might go over better if I started by telling her who was at the helm.
“You know Marta Bayer, right?”
“Of course. She was just here the other day looking after Susie.”
I nodded. “Do you know her son, Zed?”
Verna thought for a moment. “A tall, handsome young man? Blond hair that hangs too low over his eyes?”
I chuckled. “That’s him.”
“Oh, I’d like to take a pair of scissors to those bangs of his. But otherwise he’s a lovely boy. Sweet, handsome, well mannered—and quite intelligent, from what I understand.”
“Quite. He’s in college out in Indiana right now, where he’s studying film.”
“Film?”
“He wants to become a movie director.” I went on to explain about how he won the two awards at the recent film festival and how his next movie was going to focus on either his ancestors or ours, both of whom came to America on the same ship and settled in the Lancaster County area. “He wants me to get some details about my people from back then so he can work them into the script. Meanwhile, I’ll start researching the types of clothes they would have worn and make the costumes.”
That seemed to give her pause. “All by yourself?”
I shrugged. “Filming won’t begin till next June, so as long as I can get started on them by the end of the year, I should be able to finish in plenty of time.”
Verna nodded, and then after a long moment, she glanced around and then said, “I saw a movie once.”
My eyebrows shot up.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Don’t ever tell a soul,” she whispered, “but when I was in my thirties, a few of the women in my sewing circle and I snuck off to a theater in Harrisburg to watch Ben Hur.”
I gasped. “No way!”
She nodded again, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. “One of the Mennonites in the group had a car. I knew I shouldn’t go with them, but I’d already read the book and simply couldn’t imagine God would count it as a sin for me to see the film. Of course, I felt so guilty about it afterward that I made a full confession to the bishop. More than anything, he just seemed to think it was funny. He didn’t even have me confess to the congregation. He just said not to do it again.”
“And did you?”
“No. I felt guilty enough the first time.”
I sat back in my chair, in that moment loving Verna more than I ever had. “Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “Did you get popcorn? Zed says people always get popcorn at theaters.”
“Oh, goodness, I don’t remember.”
“What did you think of the movie?”
Her face colored. “There were not enough clothes on some of those actors and actresses, but when the resurrection scene came, oh my…” Her eyes lit up as her voice trailed off in wonder.
I gazed at her for a long moment, and it struck me how glad I was she’d chosen to share this secret with me. I hoped to hear many
more of her stories in the days to come.
We took a break for some coffee in the kitchen, but soon we were back on the couch and again onto the subject of Zed’s film as I sewed. I was explaining that his primary interest was in the demise of the local Conestoga Indians. Verna seemed familiar with the story, but I reiterated the high points, that in 1763 a group called the Paxton Boys brutally murdered the entire Conestoga tribe, even though they had been peacefully coexisting with the settlers in this area for years.
“Zed hopes to tell the story of the Plain people who lived nearby and how they reacted to the massacre,” I said. “As pacifists, you’d think the Anabaptists would have been quite vocal in the Conestogas’ defense. Some were, of course, but he says that many sat quietly by and let it happen without speaking up at all.”
The crease in Verna’s worried forehead only deepened.
“What is it?” I asked, afraid I had said too much.
She glanced away and then back at my face. “I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like it.”
I tilted my head, curious. “What?”
“It’s rather hard to explain,” she said, one hand flitting nervously to her collar.
“Take your time.”
Verna thought for a moment and then finally said, “I’m already aware of everything you’ve described. But have you ever heard of the War of Words?”
I shook my head.
“It began soon after the attack on the Conestogas,” Verna went on, not waiting for an answer. “Benjamin Franklin started it, actually, by publishing an account of the entire massacre and condemning the men who had carried it out.”
“Oh, that. Right. Zed said everybody started hashing it out in the press.”
“Exactly. Soon all sorts of people were jumping into the fray, publishing this and that, and basically fighting with each other about what had happened via the written word.”
I nodded, my own brow furrowed as I waited for her to get to the point.
“People made pamphlets to present their positions—saying ‘The Paxton Boys were murderers’ to ‘The Paxton Boys were fully justified,’ and everything in between.”
“That makes sense with what I already know because that’s how Zed got the idea for the film in the first place. His nine-greats-grandfather published an essay about the injustice of the massacre. Zed has a copy of it, but it raises more questions than it answers. From what I read, it sounds as though some members of the local Amish community took a very un-Amish stance on the situation back then and actually endorsed the massacre.”
The Amish Seamstress Page 7
