The Amish Blacksmith

by Mindy Starns Clark

  I expected him to chuckle—he always seemed to enjoy my particular brand of humor—but instead he ignored my response and asked in a serious tone if I had a few minutes to talk. I gave him a nod, my heart sinking as I realized I must have done something he was unhappy about. Was I in for a lecture of some kind? I quickly went through a mental checklist of my evening chores, certain I had completed everything regarding the horses and the shop.

  “Now that you’ve had a little time to catch up with Priscilla,” he said in a soft voice, “I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I replied, relief flooding my veins. This wasn’t work related after all.

  “With her back here,” he continued, removing his hat and running a finger along its brim, “Roseanna and I agree that the most important thing we need to do is to help her reconnect with other people her age. It’s… it’s urgent, actually.”

  “Urgent?” I understood how hard it must be for Priscilla to make friends with people who barely remembered her, but why on earth would something like that be urgent? When he didn’t explain, I added, “You know as well as I do that establishing relationships takes time, Amos. Why the hurry?”

  He looked down, and even in the gathering darkness I could see he was embarrassed to be talking about this.

  “It’s rather complicated, and I won’t bother you with the details, but according to my sister Lorraine… ” His voice trailed off as he reached up to pat my horse. “Priscilla has been seeing someone… out in Indiana… and he is, uh, eager for her return. Lorraine doesn’t know the full situation, but she’s afraid he’s asked Priscilla to marry him.”

  “Why is that a problem?”

  Amos sighed. “Well, Lorraine is glad that someone finally showed an interest, of course, and she said he’s a good man. But she feels that this particular match might not be in our niece’s best interest.”

  “Is he not Amish?” I asked, surprised at the thought of Priscilla dating outside of the faith.

  “Oh, no, he’s Amish,” Amos said. But then he went on to explain that the man was much older and was a widower with eight children, several of whom were nearly as old as Priscilla herself. “I’m sure there are plenty of women who would recognize such an instant family for the blessing that it is,” he added.

  “But Priscilla probably isn’t one of them,” I finished.

  “Priscilla probably isn’t one of them,” he echoed, shaking his head.

  We shared a smile, both of us imagining the disaster that such a match would bring. Distracted, self-absorbed Priscilla didn’t seem suited to the kind of selfless devotion and attention eight motherless kids would need—and deserved.

  “In any event, my sister believes Priscilla has come back here in order to explore other options before she gives the fellow an answer. No one else in the family knows about any of this, but when Priscilla spoke at dinner tonight about only staying for the summer, I imagine that’s about the longest her fellow was willing to wait for her to give him a yes or no.”

  “I see.”

  Willow, eager to be away, tossed her mane and nickered. I felt like doing the same. Though my sympathies were with Amos and his predicament, I couldn’t imagine what any of this had to do with me. All I knew was that the clock was ticking, Amanda was waiting, and I was eager to be finished with this conversation and out of here.

  “Regardless of how long Priscilla sticks around,” Amos went on, “Lorraine, Roseanna, and I have high hopes that she’ll meet someone closer to her own age here in Lancaster County, someone more suitable for marriage, a man she can have her own children with. We think she needs to create a new life for herself here.”

  “Makes sense,” I told him, wishing he would get to the point. Again, what did any of this have to do with me? Surely Amos wasn’t going to ask me to court his odd niece.

  He cleared his throat. “Rumor has it that you’ve been seeing a certain young woman.”

  “Amanda Shetler,” I replied with a nod. There was no reason not to confirm what Amos had already been told. In his day, most Amish courted with great discretion, even if word often spread along the grapevine about who was seeing whom. These days, however, couples were far more open about all of that, at least in the less conservative districts.

  “Good,” he replied, looking embarrassed for having had to ask. “In that case, what I’d like is for you and Amanda to take Priscilla under your wing.”

  I’d heard him, but I still couldn’t help but respond as if I hadn’t. “What was that?”

  “Priscilla needs to get back into the circle of young people in our district. She won’t do it on her own. She needs you and Amanda to help her remake those friendships. She won’t meet anybody if she hides in the barn for the rest of her days, here or in Indiana. The best thing that can happen is that someone in our district or one of the neighboring districts will take an interest in her, court her, and marry her.”

  “But I don’t know that I’m— ”

  “Just take her along with you to the singings and the games and get-togethers, Jake. Introduce her to people, and then watch out for her to make sure she doesn’t just stand in a corner. You’re welcome to use my spring wagon whenever you do since there’ll be three of you.”

  I had no desire to do what Amos was asking of me. I wasn’t in my rumspringa anymore. Mentally, I had moved beyond the youth group a few years ago when I took my vows of membership. These days, the only reason I attended events at all was for Amanda’s sake, because she was still young enough to want to be a part of things. Now I was to bring Priscilla along with us as well? No thank you.

  I wanted to tell Amos that he was asking too much of me, but the man had given me a job in his blacksmith shop and a place to live, and I ate with his family at their dinner table almost every day. He had been incredibly good to me. I couldn’t say no.

  But neither could I see Amanda and me insisting Priscilla come with us to these gatherings if she didn’t want to come. And I was fairly certain she wouldn’t. Actually, I realized, that might be my out.

  “Is Priscilla open to this?”

  Amos looked at me as if I were nuts. “Well, I’m not going to ask her if she’d like to tag along with you and Amanda. You must invite her. And be adamant about it. In a nice way, of course.”

  Great.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Talk to Amanda and have her help you with that. Roseanna and I would do it ourselves if we could, but we can’t. The invitation has to come from people Priscilla’s own age. I’m sure you can see that.”

  “Um… yeah.”

  Willow nosed me as if to say we’d been detained long enough, but I was still trying to figure out the ramifications of what was being asked of me—such as how Amanda was going to react and how long we would have to do this—when Amos clapped me on the back.

  “We’re all set, then. Thanks, Jake. We need to do what we can for Priscilla so that she can have a life of her own. One that’s a better fit for… for someone like her.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I managed to reply.

  Then I watched Amos amble back toward the house as if he hadn’t just asked for the impossible.

  THREE

  One of the things I liked best about Amanda was that she didn’t get all bent out of shape if I said I’d be over at six and it was closer to seven when I got there. She was laid-back and understanding and uncomplicated.

  This time, however, was different. This time, I hadn’t been held up for a short while by a belligerent horse or too many appointments packed into my schedule or a late-arriving customer. I’d been delayed extensively by a big celebration she’d known nothing about and to which she had not been invited. Sometimes I missed the convenience of having a cell phone, an indulgence I’d surrendered near the end of my rumspringa. Had I been able to pull it out and call her, I would have been able to give her a better idea of my timing.

  As it was, when I finally got to her home, it was nearly dark outside and I was a good two and a
half hours late. Usually, a quick rap at the door brought her right out, ready to go. But this time when I knocked, she simply appeared at the other side of the screen and stood there looking at me.

  “Do you have a good reason?” she asked, her voice neutral.

  “For being this late? Yes. Amos wanted me to—”

  “I don’t need to know the details,” she said, cutting me off with a wave of her hand. “I just need to know if I should be mad or not.”

  I exhaled slowly. “No, you shouldn’t be mad. But I feel bad about it just the same.”

  “That’s enough for me,” she said, and then she swung open the door.

  As I stepped into the mudroom, she actually gave me a smile. I was surprised—and for a moment I assumed she was faking it—but then I recognized the warmth and welcome in her eyes. Her smile was genuine. Even though she required no explanation, I would fill her in later. For now, I was captivated by her demeanor.

  “Do you know how rare and refreshing you are?” I whispered as I hung up my hat on a nearby peg.

  “Do you know how disarming and charming you are?” she whispered in return, giving me a wink as she turned to go into the kitchen.

  I followed her inside, where I was enveloped by the aroma of something fresh baked and delicious. Glancing around, I spotted Amanda’s nine-year-old twin sisters, Nettie and Naomi, at the counter, grinning at me over several trays of what looked like chocolate chip cookies.

  “Baking at this hour?” I asked, surprised not to find the kitchen tidied up and closed down for the night.

  “I had to do something to pass the time.” Amanda rejoined her sisters at the counter.

  “Where’s everyone else?” I asked, looking around at the otherwise empty space. At this time of night, her family was usually settled into the living room, reading or chatting or playing games.

  “One of the horses is foaling,” Nettie replied solemnly, “so they’re all out in the barn.”

  “Ah, I see.” Some things on a farm couldn’t be set by a clock.

  “Just let me finish here and then we can go,” Amanda said, reaching for a spatula.

  “It’s okay, we can do it,” Nettie told her.

  “I don’t mind,” Amanda replied, giving her little sister a smile. “I appreciate you guys keeping me company. I’m sure things in the barn would have been a lot more exciting than hanging around in here and helping me bake.”

  With movements deft and efficient, she began to scoop up the cookies one by one from the tray and slide them onto a cooling rack nearby. The twins’ eyes were on the cookies as she worked, but I couldn’t see anything but Amanda. Under her black apron, tonight’s dress was maroon, my favorite color on her and the perfect contrast to the curling wisps of her blond hair that had escaped the twisted locks framing her face. Beautiful.

  “Do you like them with nuts or without?” Naomi asked, and I glanced her way when I realized she was speaking to me.

  “Yes,” I replied, giving her a wink, which made her giggle.

  “Which is it?” Nettie, the more forceful of the two, insisted. “With or without?”

  “Either way,” I said, stepping closer. “What matters most is the chocolate. Everything else is secondary.”

  “Ah, then you want one of these,” Amanda said, turning around and scooping up a cookie from a different cooling rack behind her, and then turning back to hold it out to me. “It’s double-double chocolate.”

  Though I was nearly full to bursting from Roseanna’s big supper, I tried to accept Amanda’s offering with enthusiasm. I couldn’t imagine eating another thing, but I brought it to my lips just the same and took a quick bite—and then immediately took another.

  Watching me, the twins grinned.

  “Gut, ya?” Naomi said. “Amanda makes the best cookies in the district.”

  “Naomi,” Amanda scolded. “Hush. That’s prideful.”

  “But it’s true,” the other twin piped in.

  I couldn’t agree more. Full or not, this was the best cookie I had ever tasted. Soon I had polished the whole thing off despite myself and was debating whether to have another.

  I decided to test the different kinds, which I did while Amanda and her sisters made short work of cleaning the kitchen. Then she grabbed a light sweater, I retrieved my hat, and we all headed outside to the driveway. As the twins ran off to join their parents in the barn, Amanda and I veered toward the buggy. Even on a night like this when the two of us had nowhere to go, a ride would still be nice, simply because it gave us a chance to be alone. Of course, my courting buggy was an open-air vehicle, which didn’t exactly afford us much privacy. But at least over the past few months of going out, we’d found some ways to steal a kiss now and then without being seen.

  “How are you tonight?” I asked her once we were both settled in and ready to go. At my command, Willow pulled the buggy to the end of the driveway and out onto the road, where she began clip-clopping her way into a trot.

  “I’m fine,” Amanda replied, letting out a small sigh of satisfaction as our speed picked up and the wind played with the curls around her face.

  After that, I was quiet for a moment as I contemplated how to launch into what I needed to say.

  “So, apparently word has spread that we’re a couple,” I began.

  “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged, the reins loose in my hand as Willow led the way.

  “Amos said something.”

  With a laugh, Amanda placed her sweater between us, and then she clasped my hand in hers underneath, where it wouldn’t be seen. “It’s been almost four months. Of course word has spread.”

  “I know. It just… I wasn’t sure how you felt about that.”

  “About what? That people know we’re courting?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you kidding? You’re such a catch, Jake. I’d shout it from the rooftops if I could.”

  I laughed and gave her hand a squeeze. “Yeah? You really think I’m a catch?”

  “I’m just glad you caught me,” she whispered, and it took all the strength I had not to kiss her right there.

  Back in my rumspringa days, I’d been much more cavalier about my dating habits, usually leaving it to the girl to set the limits of propriety. But once I became a church member, I took that sort of thing much more seriously, and I was always careful not to overstep the bounds of my commitment.

  Because Amanda wasn’t yet a church member, she lived by far fewer rules than I, and it had made for some awkward situations—like the time she wanted to go to a secret beer bash, or when she surprised me halfway through a dinner date by returning from the restroom wearing Englisch clothes. As she came to understand that I wasn’t willing to compromise, we managed to work things out, and eventually she began to keep her more rumspringa-like activities to herself, for those times when she was with her girlfriends. I wasn’t crazy about it, but I certainly understood. She was four years younger than I, after all, and she still had some growing up to do. I felt sure that the longer we courted, the greater an influence I would have over her behaviors. On the other hand, as a church member myself, I knew that our relationship could not advance beyond a certain point until she put all of these ways behind her, made a decision to join the church, and committed to the Amish faith for life.

  I sure hoped that was how things would play out anyway, especially on nights like this, when the wind lifted the tendrils that hung loose from her kapp and her eyes sparkled brighter than the stars. There was a sense of freedom about Amanda, an ease I hadn’t had with many girls in my life, and it wasn’t hard to imagine her as a helpmate and a wife.

  As we rode along, she shifted under the sweater so that she could lace our fingers together. I was immediately aware of how rough my hands were compared to hers. She spent her days as a nanny for a wealthy Englisch couple—both doctors—who lived in Strasburg. The dirtiest thing she had done that day was probably change a diaper. I, on the other hand, had been pretty much ankle
deep in horse manure since morning.

  I knew I needed to finish telling her about Priscilla’s return—and about Amos’s request—but I hesitated to break the spell of this night. It was just so beautiful out, the temperature perfect, the sky quickly becoming a starry delight, and our favorite road was just ahead on the right.

  “Here we are,” I said as we took the turn onto a dark and winding lane, and she squeezed my hand in response.

  The street was Smuckers Lane, but we called it Smoochers Lane instead, thanks to a small stretch about halfway up that had thick trees lining both sides and no streetlights in sight. On quiet nights when traffic was light, Smoochers Lane gave us about a quarter mile’s worth of total privacy, an opportunity we both appreciated.

  Tonight was no exception. I couldn’t get there quickly enough, and even Willow knew the drill. She picked up speed as we clattered along, but then as soon as we entered the canopy of trees, she slowed from a fast trot down to her most leisurely gait. I looked ahead and behind, and then I slipped an arm around my girlfriend, pulled her close, and lowered my mouth to hers to share a long, lingering kiss.

  “Headlights,” she whispered as we came up for air, so we pulled apart and faced forward again, staring straight ahead until the car had overtaken us and moved on past, out of sight.

  Amanda leaned in for another kiss. “You taste like chocolate,” she murmured as she teased my lips with hers.

  “Mmm, you taste like… ”

  “Like what?”

  I kissed her again, stalling as I tried to think of something special to say, something that a girl would find pleasing. “I don’t know,” I finally whispered. “Like rainbows? Sunshine?”

  At that she burst out laughing—and couldn’t stop until we were out from under the trees and back in the open again.

  “Oh, come on, don’t pout,” she said once she’d calmed down, reaching out a finger and touching it to my lips. “It was funny, that’s all.”

  I hefted the reins and chucked for Willow to pick up the speed. “I was trying to be romantic.”

  “Is that what that was?” she asked, bursting into new peals of laughter.