An Empty Cup

by Sarah Price

  “Maem! Come quick!”

  The tightness returned to her chest, and she clutched the damp dress in her hands. Taking a deep breath, she looked toward the garden. Her irritation immediately turned to panic.

  Cate was running toward her, tears streaming down her face. There was dirt on her dress, and her hair had fallen free from its bun. Cate wasn’t a crier, so whatever had happened must have been bad.

  Dropping the dress on top of the basket, Rosanna walked quickly down the porch steps.

  As Cate approached, Rosanna opened her arms and let her daughter collapse against her chest. Cate pressed her head against her mother’s shoulder as she sobbed, her cries catching in her throat.

  Rosanna gave her daughter a minute to calm down before she loosened her hold and bent down to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Take a deep breath, Cate. What happened?”

  Sniffling into her sleeve, Cate attempted to hold back another sob as she stared at her mother through teary eyes. “It’s . . . it’s that awful Englische woman!”

  “Englische woman?” When Rosanna registered her daughter’s words, the palpitations immediately returned. Why couldn’t Gloria just leave her family alone? Rosanna placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked her squarely in the eye. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Jack chased a stick that I threw, and it got caught in the fence,” Cate said between choked sobs.

  “Oh, Cate!” Rosanna fought the urge to frown. How many times had she warned Cate to stay away from the section of the fields that bordered Gloria’s property?

  Cate shook her head. “That’s not it, Maem.” She took a deep breath, one last tear falling down her dirty cheek. “He tried to get the stick and pulled at the fence. Gloria and her daughter came running across the yard, screaming that they were calling the police, that he’s rabid and trying to attack Camille’s baby.”

  The Smiths again? A sigh escaped Rosanna’s lips. And now the woman was threatening to involve the police? Rosanna knew well enough that Amish and legal authorities did not mix well. It wasn’t that the Amish had many run-ins with the law. Occasionally a teenager on rumschpringe might experiment with alcohol or worse, resulting in local law enforcement clashing with the Amish bishops. But as a rule, there were few interactions between the two powers. Like the rest of the community, Rosanna wanted to keep it that way.

  In fact, Rosanna preferred to stay off the radar of any Englische. The only time she ever had any contact with Englische police officers was after Timothy’s accident. With the bishop and preachers involved, she hadn’t had to say much. The shock of his sudden death had kept her quiet, and there hadn’t been many questions from the police. When the bishop had learned of Timothy’s closet drinking, he merely shook his head and mumbled, “An accident waiting to happen, for sure and certain. The evil of the bottle is the work of the devil.”

  Rosanna was convinced that Cate had done nothing wrong, but the thought of possibly being reported to the police unnerved her. The last thing she wanted was any trouble. But that was the one thing that Gloria and her ill-mannered daughter seemed to seek. Although Gloria worked the night shift at the twenty-four-hour convenience store, Rosanna was uncertain if Camille worked, as her car often sat in the driveway for days. Clearly neither of them had enough to do.

  “And withal they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idle, but tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not,” she thought, remembering the verse from 1 Timothy in the New Testament.

  Pulling her daughter into her arms, Rosanna rubbed her hands along Cate’s back. “Now, now,” she consoled, too aware of her own pounding heart and the increasingly awful feeling of stress returning. “It’s going to be fine. Jack doesn’t have rabies, and he wasn’t trying to attack the boppli.”

  Despite her words of comfort, she wasn’t sure that everything would be fine. The dance with Satan ran deep in their neighbors’ veins, and Rosanna suspected that this incident was far from over. If only she knew why they hated her!

  Rosanna knew that she’d have to speak to Reuben about this. Perhaps if she could encourage him to speak to Gloria, he could find out why she was so intent on harassing Rosanna and her children. After all, she told herself, that’s what husbands did: protect their families.

  To her surprise, when Reuben came home at eleven thirty, just in time for the dinner-meal, he merely laughed at Rosanna’s story.

  “She’s just an old woman,” he said, chuckling. “A miserable one, I’ll grant you that, but they aren’t going to call the police.”

  His answer didn’t satisfy Rosanna. With the hope of his support vanishing, she tried a different angle. “Mayhaps she won’t call the police, but now Cate is scared to work in the garden.”

  Another laugh, but this time with a little less joviality. “Or making excuses, ja?”

  “Excuses?”

  He shook his head and gave Rosanna what could only be described as “a look.”

  “Isn’t she helping at the shop?” Rosanna asked.

  Holding up one finger, Reuben gave a pensive ah as if making a point. “Do you think that I haven’t noticed she is skirting her chores around the house? Why, Daniel’s been helping Aaron in the mornings and evenings. Might do her some good to not play with those dogs anyhow!”

  Rosanna’s heart began racing again. The disappointment and bitterness in Reuben’s words hurt—she felt that he was lashing out at her. Regardless of whether Cate was pulling her weight around the farm, didn’t her work at the shop prove she wasn’t lazy? Daniel was living in their home and sharing their food—it was only proper that he help with the chores.

  Rosanna realized that Reuben had not only called Cate lazy but also manipulative. She had a flashback to Timothy. Hadn’t he always called Rosanna lazy? Hadn’t he always complained? Rosanna’s heart beat faster. What was happening to her relationship with Reuben?

  “She works hard,” Rosanna finally said, determined to stick up for her daughter. “And she’s been through a lot, Reuben.”

  “She’s tougher than you think,” he said.

  “Criticizing her is not the solution. ‘Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.’ ”

  “I hardly see where I have corrupting talk, Rosanna.”

  Reuben’s reprimand stung. She couldn’t understand how they had gone from discussing Gloria’s threat to exchanging words about Cate. “I was telling you about that Gloria woman. She’s not kind, and she’s scaring my dochder!” The words came out sharper than she intended. “It would be nice if you talked with her.”

  The laughter disappeared from Reuben’s face, and he frowned at her. He had noticed the edge to her voice. “I will not talk with her,” he said without emotion. “I don’t have time for such petty things, Rosanna. Nor will I give her the satisfaction of knowing that she has upset my family. Pray for the Lord to handle this.”

  Without another word, Reuben stood up from the table and retreated to the bedroom, where she knew he would rest for twenty minutes before returning to the shop.

  The nerves in her arms tingled, and she fought the urge to cry. She didn’t know why she had snapped at him. The situation wasn’t his fault; it had been inherited from Timothy. But the realization that she now had to shoulder the responsibility of keeping peace along property lines felt heavy. Rosanna suspected that Cate’s playing with the dogs would also demand her parental supervision from now on. All of this in addition to helping Aaron with the barn work and doing all the house chores and tending to the garden.

  As Rosanna thought about this, she suddenly remembered that she had committed to filling in for Annie Yoder at market for the next two Fridays. That meant rising at three in the morning to catch the van to Maryland. She wouldn’t return until almost nine in the evening. She’d have to spend all of Thursday preparing the meals so that Cate could, hopefully, warm them
for the family.

  Sighing, Rosanna shook her head and turned her anger toward herself. Why had she agreed to help Annie? Why hadn’t she simply said that she couldn’t do it? Once again, she had created her own problems by saying yes when she really wanted to say no! But that was a word that wasn’t in her vocabulary. “No” was the opposite of “yes.” “No” was negative. “No” created disappointment. “No” upset people. She had always learned that it was better to be disappointed than to be the one doing the disappointing.

  The only problem with living that philosophy was that she often felt that the burden of pleasing others was draining her, both mentally and spiritually.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next Sunday the Miller family hosted the worship service. When Reuben drove the buggy down the Millers’ gravel driveway, two young men hurried to take the horse’s reins. Reuben climbed down and straightened his jacket before turning back to help Rosanna.

  She took his hand and placed her foot on the black iron step, holding the buggy’s door frame as she emerged. The buggy shifted as she stepped to the ground. She waited for Cate to climb over the seat and jump down beside her. Aaron had elected to walk, preferring to join up with his friends at the old oak tree by the Bechlers’ pond rather than ride in the back of his stepfather’s buggy. Despite having been given a horse, he had yet to earn enough money to buy an open-topped buggy. At sixteen, he wasn’t particularly inclined to start driving one anyway. They were used for courting, and he had plenty of time ahead of him for that.

  Forty gray-topped buggies already lined the fence. The horses pulling two-wheeled Meadowbrook carts had been unhitched to provide them with more comfortable rest. Those pulling the traditional buggies remained harnessed. Although these vehicles were much heavier, they were built on a four-wheel platform, so no significant pressure was transmitted to the horses’ backs other than the light weight of the shafts.

  The horses that had been unharnessed were tied with lead ropes to two long iron railings adjacent to the barn. Most of them seemed to be dozing, their heads drooping and their back legs cocked just slightly above the hoof. They knew from experience that it would be at least a half day before the trip back home. The position of the sun would alert them to the passing of time.

  Four hours or so later, forty pairs of ears would suddenly prick forward in unison and heads would rise. Snorts, neighs, and nickers of horses eager to return to the comfort of their stalls and their evening hay and grain would announce the end of the gathering and the imminent procession of the buggies.

  Cate ran off to join her group of friends by the chicken coop, leaving Rosanna to wander toward the house with her basket of freshly baked pies. Most of the women had already gathered in the kitchen. They stood in a loose circle around the periphery of the room so that newcomers could be greeted with a handshake and kiss from each woman.

  Rosanna dreaded this part of the service. She felt a tightening in her chest as she walked through the open door and glanced around the room at the sea of women, all dressed in black and talking softly to each other. Despite finding this greeting distasteful, Rosanna obediently walked to each woman, extending her hand and leaning forward to kiss them on the lips. No words were exchanged, just a nod of the head. She wasn’t partial to this tradition, especially in the winter months. Still, she knew that she had to take the good with the not-as-good.

  Fannie Miller hustled over to her and took the basket, thanking her for her contribution to the fellowship meal. Rosanna assumed her place at the end of the line. During the summer months, worship services were often held in the barn, where the doors could be opened and more air could circulate. Rosanna preferred those services over the indoor ones, when the g’may crowded into the first floor of too-small farmhouses where the walls had been constructed with hinges so that they could be removed to make one large room for everyone.

  She glanced at the clock over the refrigerator. Ten minutes remained before the women would leave the kitchen, walking in single file across the yard and to the barn.

  “Rosanna, heard you have a new tenant.” Rosanna turned to Katie Miller, Fannie’s sister-in-law. They lived on a farm that neighbored Jake and Fannie’s. The brothers farmed the same fields, sharing in the expenses and the profits. It was a good arrangement for them, but Rosanna often wondered what would happen when their own sons were old enough to take over the property.

  “Ja, Reuben hired a new girl to work at the shop,” Rosanna replied.

  Rosanna didn’t act surprised that Katie seemed aware of the details. Of course, Rosanna thought. The Amish grapevine.

  Someone touched her arm: Lizzie Mast, the older sister of Annie Yoder, the woman Rosanna had helped at market. “Was wondering if you might help some,” Lizzie said. “Need fabric to make tie quilts for auction. Thought you might be able to help visit neighbors and ask. Maybe some of your Englische neighbors. They always have so much extra clothing.”

  Inwardly Rosanna sighed. Something else to worry about, she thought. But with a smile on her face, she nodded. “Of course, ja! When do you need the fabric?”

  “Sister Annie and Mary Hostetler are coming in three weeks to cut squares. You’re welcome to join us.”

  She’d have to remember that date and write it on her calendar when she returned home. As far as fabric went, she’d send Cate on a mission to the Englische neighbors, reminding her to avoid Gloria Smith’s property. Maybe she’d have Cate write up a flyer and put it in people’s mailboxes. That way they could just drop off the clothes at the farm. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how to best help Lizzie.

  By the time everyone began walking out the door and toward the barn, Rosanna had a plan mapped out and knew exactly how she would handle this project. Satisfied, she tabled the idea and tried to focus on the more important task at hand: the worship service.

  Unlike her own life, the worship service was predictable and orderly. For three hours every two weeks, Rosanna did not need to think or make decisions. She simply sang the hymns and listened to the two sermons. The men always sat on one side of the barn and the women on the other. Sometimes after service there might be a members’ meeting, and the unbaptized members would take the young children outside or, in the winter, upstairs in the house, while the bishop or preachers discussed a private matter. Sometimes the members of the g’may would need to vote, such as when deciding on a new rule or whether to assist someone in need.

  Today, however, was just a regular worship service. To her dismay, Rosanna could barely keep her eyes open as Bishop Smucker preached after the opening hymn. Twice her eyelids drooped, and once she felt her head jerk. Embarrassed, she glanced around to make certain no one had noticed. Elizabeth Esh, who sat to her right, gave her a hint of a smile. Rosanna pushed her fingers into her palms, hoping that the sharp pressure of her nails against her skin would help keep her awake. It didn’t.

  When her eyelids began to droop again during “Das Loblied,” the second hymn that was always sung between sermons, Rosanna felt a soft push on her arm. Elizabeth motioned with her head toward the door, a hint that she should excuse herself as if she had to use the restroom. A right gut idea, Rosanna thought. She quietly stood and moved between the other married women seated between her and the open door of the barn.

  Outside she slowly walked toward the Millers’ house. Despite the humidity, the air refreshed her. The heat in the barn, generated from so many people sitting so closely together, certainly had not helped her fight off sleep.

  It had been a hard week, especially when Cate fell ill on Wednesday with a stomach bug. Without that extra set of hands to help with chores, everything had fallen on Rosanna’s shoulders: the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, and the shopping. She’d also helped Aaron during early morning and evening chores because the harness shop was swamped with new orders, and Reuben and Daniel had been unavailable.

  On both Wednesday and Thursday, Reuben had left well before breakfast, taking a small red cooler packed with
food to the shop. He hadn’t returned home until almost seven o’clock each night. With a soft kiss on her forehead, he dragged himself to bed, politely refusing the plate of food she had left for him. She had stared at the closed bedroom door and felt disconnected from him. She wished that she could help alleviate his workload. Yet she couldn’t help wondering why he kept taking on more orders if they couldn’t handle them.

  And then Friday morning had arrived. The driver’s headlights had illuminated the driveway even before she was finished pinning her prayer kapp to her elastic headband. One glance at the clock, and she knew that it was going to be a long day. The driver was early, and she was barely awake. Since she was the first person to be picked up, she settled into the back of the van and rested her head against the window. The glass felt cool against her skin, and she shut her eyes, trying to steal a few more moments of sleep before the van filled up with the rest of the passengers headed to market.

  Given that there were six more stops, it took over an hour to pick up everyone.

  Thankfully, once they were at market, the day had passed quickly. Annie Yoder normally worked in the pickle section, so that was where Rosanna had been assigned. At first the strong smell of the vinegar had overwhelmed her. By the end of the day, she didn’t even notice it. She did notice, however, the abrupt mannerisms of the Englische who visited the market. Unlike the Amish, they were pushy and forward, asking strange questions that often bordered on offensive. By the time the market closed at six, she was ready to collapse in the van and head back to the farm.

  Only one more Friday, she’d told herself as she pressed her head against the window once again.

  She had returned home to a kitchen sink filled with dirty dishes, a floor that hadn’t been swept, and a mountain of laundry that had apparently appeared out of nowhere. Her entire Saturday had been spent playing catch-up, and sleep had not been a part of the equation.