The Amish Blacksmith

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “No, sorry. You’ll need to strap it on and lug it home with you.”

  She looked startled for a moment, but then her face broke into a grin when she realized I was kidding.

  Together, Trudy and I moved the cart under the eaves of the machine shed. She set out on foot as I returned to the blacksmith shop. Owen had already started to hot shoe Patch, and the air inside was smoky and acrid. Hot shoeing smells terrible, but it makes for a nice indentation on the hoof for the shoe to occupy, not to mention there’s less slipping, better fit, and a happier horse. Though some blacksmiths might try to get away with a cold shoeing now and then, we always hot shoed here. That was one reason Kinsinger’s was known for quality.

  Owen and I worked in tandem to finish Patch, with Owen shoeing and me tamping down the nails. We were both conscious of the time, but we wanted to finish this last job before calling it a day.

  “We smell like something that crawled out of the burn pile,” Owen said when we were done, four hooves and four hot shoes later.

  “Nice way to welcome family, eh? Reeking of charred horse hoof.”

  Owen laughed. “Treva told me to make sure I came back to the house and got cleaned up before Priscilla’s arrival, but that’s clearly not going to happen. I hope my cousin remembers this is just the way it is. At least the stench should be familiar to her.”

  I had a feeling he was right about that. Priscilla was the daughter of Daniel Kinsinger, Owen’s uncle, and she’d grown up on this farm. A frequent presence in the blacksmith shop her whole life, Priscilla had been an odd girl, rather distant and moody, almost seeming to prefer the company of farm animals to that of people. That said, she’d always liked me well enough, probably because I was the one person she knew who was as crazy about horses as she was.

  Not that we spent all that much time together. She was four years younger than I, and since I lived a good eight miles away from here, I wasn’t around all that often anyway. But whenever I was here with Owen or Amos, I always got such a kick out of her, the cute little black-haired tomboy who would rather muck out stalls and slop pigs and sit in the stench of a blacksmith shop than set one foot in a kitchen or a washroom—much to her mother’s horror.

  Priscilla’s daed passed away when she was ten, but she and her mamm stayed on here after he died, living in the smaller house that now served as home to Owen, his wife Treva, and their new baby. The little guest cottage I lived in now had been a tourist rental back then, and from what I could recall, Priscilla’s mother, Sharon, had been in charge of operating it.

  The year I turned sixteen and got my own buggy, I started coming over more often, both to hang out with Owen and to observe Amos as he worked. Priscilla was twelve by then, and though she was still a total tomboy, I could tell she had a little crush on me. It didn’t bother me. I felt sorry for her because I knew how smart and funny and likeable she was, but most people couldn’t see it. They just thought she was odd.

  Then came the year that Priscilla was fourteen, when her mother died in a tragic accident. I was eighteen by then and working full time in my family’s buggy-making shop, so my trips to the Kinsinger farm had once again grown few and far between. But from what I’d been told, Priscilla had a terrible time coming to grips with her mamm’s death. Her aunts, uncles, and cousins did everything they could to help, surrounding her with love and care, but she was so traumatized that eventually she’d gone to Indiana to live with relatives there.

  I was never completely sure why she left. For that matter, I didn’t know why she was returning now. In a way, I felt bad that I’d never bothered to follow up or even ask Owen how his young cousin was doing. That’s why I felt the least I could do tonight was pitch in and help make her feel welcome. I wondered if she was still as horse crazy as ever, or if that was something she’d outgrown since the last time I saw her. I also wondered if she still went around in stained skirts and skinned knees, or if she’d been “domesticated” in the past four years. Somehow, I doubted it.

  As Owen and I put our tools away, I asked him about the reason for Priscilla’s return.

  He shrugged. “I guess she’s ready to come home. It’s been six years. She’s not a kid anymore.”

  His use of the word “home” surprised me a little. Sure, this had been where Priscilla first grew up, but with both parents passed away—and after being gone for so long herself—I had to wonder if she still thought of this as home.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why did she go away to Indiana in the first place?”

  He seemed to consider my question as he hung his tongs in order of descending size along a row of hooks on the wall.

  “Do you remember how overcome with grief Priscilla was when her mother died?”

  I told him no, embarrassed to admit I hadn’t even gone to the funeral. “I mean, I heard through the grapevine about how inconsolable she was, but I never saw for myself. I wasn’t around here a lot during that period, if you recall. We were eighteen then, right? My days were busy, putting in overtime at the buggy shop.”

  Owen flashed me a grin. “Yeah, right. You were busy working days so you could pay for all those nights. Dating half the girls in the county isn’t cheap.”

  I flashed him a smirk, ignoring his comment as I tried to remember more about that time. All I could recall was that Priscilla’s father died of natural causes, but her mother’s death had been sudden and tragic, the result of a bad fall.

  “Sharon’s death was a big shock, wasn’t it? That would throw anybody.”

  Owen glanced my way. “Yeah. But Priscilla’s behavior was over the top. It was… disturbing, to say the least.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. I wasn’t one for big emotions myself, but I’d seen the impact losing a parent could have on a child because of my nephew Tyler. He’d come to live with us after his mother—one of my older sisters—passed away when he was just six years old. He had grieved for her deeply, for a long time, and there had been nothing odd or disturbing about that. Death was always painful, even for those who held out the hope of heaven.

  “But isn’t that kind of understandable?” I pressed. “We are talking about the girl’s mother, after all. And Priscilla was just a teenager at the time.”

  “Yes, of course, but… ” Owen shot me another meaningful glance. “It’s hard to explain, Jake. After Sharon died, Priscilla really fell apart, to the extreme. Mamm and Daed gave her room to work through things at first, but after a while they grew worried for her. She couldn’t seem to accept what had happened. So finally Daed contacted his sister, my Aunt Lorraine in Indiana, to see if Priscilla could live with them for a while. Everyone was hoping a change of scenery might help, but I don’t think anyone thought it would be permanent. To be honest, I’m surprised she stayed away from home as long as she did.”

  Before I could reply, we heard the sound of a car crunching up the gravel driveway.

  “They’re back,” he murmured, putting away the last of his tools and heading out.

  I considered Owen’s words as I finished closing the shop. Then I took Patch’s reins from the hitching rail and led him out the rear door and along the gravel walkway to the entrance for the smaller of the two horse barns. I stabled him next to my own mare, Willow, and forked some hay into the feeding troughs for both of them. Listening to the sound of voices on the breeze, I knew that the Kinsinger family members must have been watching for Priscilla’s arrival from the house, because soon the volume and pitch of their chatter grew. By the time I finished with the horses and headed out to join the crowd, the driveway was filled with Kinsingers and the hired car was gone.

  I stayed several yards back, letting the family welcome their niece and cousin home after six long years away. I couldn’t see Priscilla at first, surrounded as she was by Owen’s sisters and brothers and their children. But then the crowd parted somewhat, and I got my first glimpse.

  Little Priscilla wasn’t so little anymore. She had grown up in the years she’d been g
one. Her hair was still nearly black under her kapp, but now she was tall and slender, bearing the womanly build of a twenty-year-old. I almost looked away for a moment, so surprised was I at how beautiful she had become. So much for stained skirts and skinned knees. This was no tomboy standing before me.

  When she finally glanced my way, I was startled by the color of her eyes, which I’d forgotten were the deepest shade of violet. They were the same color the sky gets just before a drenching thunderstorm—the kind you want for the sake of the crops, but the kind you fear a little too.

  She looked down to grab the handle of one of her bags, but then she raised her head toward me again—quickly, as if she had just figured out who I was—and met my eyes with her own.

  Her face was expressionless, giving away nothing. I gave her a nod and a slight smile. In return, she just stood there for a long moment, holding our gaze.

  Then she was again enveloped in a sea of cousins and ushered into the house.

  TWO

  I managed to shower and dress in plenty of time for dinner, though as I took my seat at the Kinsingers’ table that evening, I couldn’t help but glance over at the clock on the wall. Perhaps I could still go over to Amanda’s later, maybe take her for a starlit buggy ride—assuming this welcome home meal for Priscilla didn’t stretch on for too long.

  As everyone got settled, I leaned over to Amos and told him there was an extra horse in Willow’s stable tonight, that Trudy Fisher’s new Morgan had some anxiety issues and she was hoping I could help. Amos said that that was fine with him, as long as I did so on my own time and not when I was supposed to be working.

  Finally, everyone was assembled and we bowed our heads in silent prayer. I ended my prayer by asking God to not only bless this meal and the ones who had prepared it, but also to help keep it brief so I wouldn’t miss too much time with Amanda.

  Or not, I quickly added to my prayer, feeling the heat of guilt surge in my face as Amos gave a somber “Amen.”

  The crowd at the table included everyone who resided on the Kinsinger farm: Amos and Roseanna, who lived here in the main house, their older son, Mahlon, and his family, who lived in a second house that was connected to this one via a breezeway, and their younger son, Owen, and his family, who lived in the smaller house that sat closest to the road. I lived here as well, in the run-down guest cottage that also sat out front, on the far side of the big garden. Rounding out the group tonight were Amos and Roseanna’s three grown daughters—Lucinda, Grace, and Ruth, who all lived elsewhere—and their spouses and children.

  It was a big, noisy bunch, though conversation seemed to flow along easily enough, and the food was amazing as usual. Feeling somewhat like an interloper, I mostly just listened and ate and tried to keep my discreet glances at the clock to a minimum.

  Though Priscilla was definitely still the quiet type, I was able to pick up on a few things about her life these days just from what others said and asked. It seemed that her most recent employment out in Indiana had been as a companion to an elderly neighbor. Jobs were hard to come by in her area, and once the neighbor passed away, Priscilla had had trouble finding something else. Finally, she’d decided to come here instead—or, as she put it, she’d felt God’s leading to return, and so she’d “had no choice but to obey.” That wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement of life in Lancaster County, but no one seemed offended.

  “You should be able to find something around here,” said Treva, Owen’s wife. “I could put the word out to see if any caregiver positions are available.”

  “Thanks, but no,” Priscilla replied quickly. “I’ve had enough of that.”

  The conversation lagged for a moment, and I realized everyone else was probably thinking the same thing I was, that what she really meant was that she’d had enough of death.

  “What kind of work will you be looking for?” Roseanna asked, pretending that the moment hadn’t grown awkward.

  Priscilla speared a pea with her fork. “I’m not sure,” she answered softly. “Something temporary, I imagine.”

  That seemed to stop the group entirely—not just from speaking but from eating as well. When Priscilla looked around and realized the reaction her words had caused, her face turned a vivid red. “What I mean is,” she ventured, her eyes back on the plate in front of her, “I don’t plan on sticking around all that long. Maybe just for the summer.”

  Still no one spoke, so I decided to try to break the tension by dragging it out in the open. “Well,” I said with a smile, leaning forward, my gaze on Priscilla. “This should make you feel good.”

  Her delicate cheeks still pink, she looked up at me, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “To see how disappointed everyone is,” I explained, gesturing around the table. “They were so excited to be getting you back that now they’re sorry to hear they might not get to keep you for long.”

  I was afraid that was laying it on a little thick, but to my relief Mahlon’s wife jumped in.

  “Jake’s right,” Beth said, nodding vigorously. “We’ve really missed having you around.”

  That earned some “yas” from every side of the table, and though I wasn’t sure if it was exactly true, I did know they all cared about this young woman and her welfare. And why not? About the only thing sadder than a girl losing both parents by the age of fourteen was a girl unable to recover from that loss and eventually having to be sent away to live with distant relatives. The Kinsingers were good people, and I had no doubt they had done everything they could to help Priscilla with her grief back then. I also knew the relief they had felt in realizing she had recovered enough from all of that to finally return.

  “How about retail?” Roseanna asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the topic of employment. “I could see if there’s anything available at the quilt shop.”

  I stifled a smile by shoving a big bite of chicken into my mouth. Shy Priscilla working with customers? I couldn’t imagine a more uncomfortable position for her than that.

  “Do you have any office skills?” Lucinda asked before Priscilla could reply. “I heard they might be looking for another secretary up at the hat factory.”

  Owen and Treva’s baby, Josef, let out a sudden cry. As Treva placated him with a spoonful of mashed carrots, she added, “Or maybe you could find work as a mother’s helper.”

  “Good idea,” Owen echoed.

  Lucinda seemed about to offer another suggestion when Amos held out a hand.

  “Enough,” he declared, his voice sounding stern, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “The girl has been here all of an hour, and already you folks are trying to send her off to a job. Leave her alone. For now, I would be happy just to see her pitching in around the house. Roseanna could use another pair of hands, especially on the days she works at the quilt shop.” He turned to his wife and added, “In fact, instead of marching your niece down there for a job, you could ask for more hours for yourself. She could handle things here on the home front while you earn a little more pocket money.”

  Considering that Roseanna’s paycheck helped put food on the table, I feared she might bristle at the term “pocket money.” But she just smiled and nodded and said that was a gut idea. Priscilla seemed relieved as well, and soon the conversation had moved on to a completely different topic, something about new jars and canning fruit and the need to clean out the pantry before the peaches were ripe.

  The meal continued, and the only other time the focus turned back to the guest of honor was at the very end, when one of Ruth’s teenage sons asked Priscilla if she’d stayed in touch with any of her old friends here in Lancaster County. He’d been too young back then to realize that the girl hadn’t had many—if any—friends when she’d lived here. To most folks, she’d always seemed the odd one out, the girl with the violet eyes who liked to talk to animals.

  “I’ve been gone a little too long for that,” she replied stiffly, and things grew silent around the table once more.

  “I’m
sure the horses will remember you,” I offered, once again trying to ease an awkward moment. “I mean, the ones that were here back then.”

  In response, Priscilla gave me a look I could only describe as curious. “Think so?”

  For a moment, it almost felt like the old Priscilla and the old Jake, just talking about horses as usual, as if not a day had passed.

  “Of course. You spent enough time with them.”

  “Ya,” she replied, her expression growing unreadable. “So did you.”

  I was trying to think of a response when Amos laughed and told her, “He still does. Jake’s our newest blacksmith. He finally has a reason to be darkening my doorstep.”

  Priscilla again looked over at me, her eyes appraising but her lips silent.

  “Ya,” I said with a grin. “Owen and I give a very nice pedicure.”

  “Very nice,” Owen added with a silly expression, and everyone laughed.

  Finally, the meal was over and I could make my escape without seeming rude. With thanks to Roseanna for the delicious food and a last nod to Priscilla, I rose and excused myself for the night. Baby Josef smiled at me and gurgled a farewell, and I gave him a soft pat on the head as I walked past.

  Stepping outside into the early summer evening, I decided that Priscilla Kinsinger might be older and prettier now, but she still obviously struggled in social situations. I couldn’t imagine why God had led her to come back to Lancaster County, as she’d said, unless it was to have her confront the last vestiges of grief over the loss of her mother. It would be perfectly normal for Priscilla to miss her late parents, but I hoped the past six years had allowed her to find at least some semblance of peace.

  After a quick stop at the shed to roll out my courting buggy, I headed for the smaller barn to retrieve Willow. I’d just gotten her all hooked up when Amos appeared, startling me.

  “Going out?”

  “Nah. I just like to hitch and unhitch my horse to the buggy for fun.”