The Amish Blacksmith

by Mindy Starns Clark

  She punched me playfully. “For Priscilla!”

  I still didn’t get it. “What?”

  Amanda rolled her eyes and laughed. “For Priscilla. As in, let’s introduce them to each other tonight. He’s perfect for her.”

  It took me a minute to get into synch with Amanda’s train of thought, which obviously had been chugging along at a brisk pace with regard to matchmaking.

  “Matthew Zook?” I echoed, though I knew whom she meant. Matthew lived in Bird-in-Hand, worked alongside his parents and younger brother at their feed and tack shop, and was a couple of years younger than me. Tall, quiet, and curly haired, he had always reminded me of a scarecrow with too much hay posing as hair—though when I said that to Amanda now, she jabbed me with her elbow.

  “Scarecrows are ugly. And trust me, Matthew is definitely not ugly.”

  I didn’t respond, though I wasn’t crazy about how emphatically she’d said that.

  “He’s perfect. He’s shy and quiet just like she is, and he’s never had a girlfriend.”

  I laughed. “How do you know he’s never had a girlfriend?”

  She frowned at me, a smile still hinting in her eyes. “Haven’t you noticed? No matter how much the girls flock to him, he’s too shy to ask any of them out. And it’s a shame too because he’s really cute. And nice.”

  I shook my head. “I agree that he’s a nice guy, but how does the fact that he’s never had a girlfriend make him perfect for Priscilla?”

  “Think about it, Jake. He’s as sweet as can be and hasn’t shared any of that sweetness with anyone. He’s never had his heart broken.”

  “Well, you can’t know that. Quiet people don’t broadcast when their heart’s been broken.”

  “But he’s never even dated anyone!”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s never had his heart broken.”

  She harrumphed, crossing her arms.

  “Or, maybe he has dated and just kept it quiet,” I added.

  Amanda clicked her tongue in disdain. “This isn’t our parents’ generation, Jake. People don’t hide their dating relationships anymore.”

  “Some do. And if he’s one of those, how would you even know? If they’re hiding it well, you wouldn’t.” I wasn’t sure why I was being so contrary, but this conversation was putting me in an irritable mood.

  Still, I didn’t need to take that out on Amanda. I was thinking I should probably apologize to her when she surprised me by saying, “Okay, maybe, you’re right.” She was quiet a moment longer before adding, “In fact, if he has loved someone secretly and it didn’t work out, that would only make him even more perfect.”

  “More perfect? I didn’t know there was anything that could be better than perfect.”

  “Oh, hush. You’re just being difficult. Matthew is perfect because if he has been hurt, then he’ll know how she feels. What it’s like to be so disappointed.”

  “Disappointed? I would hardly call what Priscilla has been through mere disappointment. Tragedy is more like it.”

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed as she finally reached her limit. “Why are you acting this way? You’re so disagreeable today.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are. Matthew is perfect for Priscilla, so stop trying to tell me he’s not. He’s nice and polite, he has a good job, and his parents’ daadihaus is empty, so there’s room for him to take over the main house someday. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s nice. He’s perfect.”

  We were pulling into the Kinsingers’ driveway. It was time to put some closure on this discussion. “Maybe tonight we should concentrate on just letting Priscilla make friends, ya?”

  “Matthew Zook is someone she could be friends with,” Amanda said easily, not the least bit dissuaded.

  As I helped her out of the buggy, I decided there was a chance she was right. Maybe Matthew was just the guy to win over brooding Priscilla. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed decent. He certainly deserved having someone to share his life with. As did Priscilla—especially if that someone was closer to her own age and didn’t come with eight children.

  “All right,” I said.

  Amanda looked at me quizzically. “All right, what?”

  “You can introduce Priscilla to Matthew tonight.”

  She laughed sweetly and gave me a wink. “You’re so funny. I wasn’t asking permission. He’s perfect for her.”

  Amanda strode for the main house to call for Priscilla, who I surely hoped was ready for what was about to befall her. While she was gone, I drove over to the buggy shed and switched out my two-seater courting buggy for one of Amos’s four-seater spring wagons. Then I pulled it up to the front of the house, coming to a stop just as the two of them emerged.

  Amanda had her arm on Priscilla’s, and she was leading her along the flagstone path to the hitching post as though they were strolling the downtown streets of Philadelphia, window-shopping.

  Together, I had to admit, they made quite a striking pair—with Amanda the blond, breezy, cute one, and Priscilla the dark-haired, brooding, pretty one. Each was beautiful in her own way, but somehow the contrast of seeing them side by side made them both even lovelier.

  As they drew closer, Priscilla flashed me a look that was difficult to read. It might have said something like “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go with you after all. I really don’t. Please don’t make me.”

  But I could also see Amos and Roseanna at the doorway, looking at their niece as she headed off to her first social event after her exile, for lack of a better word. In the face of their determination—and Amanda’s—Priscilla didn’t stand a chance of reneging on her agreement to come with us to the Chupps’ field tonight. I felt sorry for her and annoyed with her at the same time. Part of me wanted to say to the whole of the Kinsinger compound “Enough already! Let her be!” and part of me wanted to look her in the eye and tell her she was an adult now and the time for hiding among the horses was over.

  But I said nothing, of course. As Amanda and Priscilla climbed into the buggy, I merely acknowledged Priscilla’s unspoken words with a slight nod of my head. I could tell in an instant she knew I had read her thoughts when no one else had. For a second she seemed relieved, and then the look was again replaced with apprehension.

  Soon we were off. As I expected, Amanda chatted almost nonstop along the way, not because she was trying to monopolize things, I felt certain, but to save Priscilla from having to fill any of the silence herself. Mostly, Amanda focused on giving Priscilla the update Amos had not—a recap of all things social in the last six years. Priscilla listened politely and asked no clarifying questions. She either remembered everyone Amanda mentioned or didn’t care that she didn’t.

  When we got to the Chupps’ farm, many buggies were already lined up out back, so I let the girls off in the driveway and continued on, adding mine to the row and then putting Willow out to pasture with the other horses.

  I usually avoided any “unofficial” events with the youth in our group, leaving Amanda free to attend or not as she wished. But tonight’s game was a little different. Though it, too, was unofficial, Gabe’s family would be there, providing refreshments and serving as chaperones. I was glad. For the most part, this group was pretty tame—especially compared to the one I’d run around with when I was in my teens—but there were a few who liked to push the limits of their rumspringa, and I had no desire to find myself out in a field at some wild party by mistake.

  When I made it back to the gathering throng, I spotted Priscilla in the shade of a big maple tree in the front yard, pitching in with the food setup. The Chupps had created a nice long table by placing sheets of plywood over pairs of sawhorses and topping them off with green-checkered tablecloths. Priscilla was scooting things around, trying to make room as Gabe’s sister Yvonne added even more platters and bowls to the mix. Thus far, the spread included all sorts of cookies and brownies and other sweets, along with chips and summer sausage and pickles and the like. It looked wonderful
, but considering the rate at which the crowd was increasing, I had to wonder if there was enough. Even though the women were still just setting things up, I reached for a big, fat whoopie pie, as I knew those would be the first to go. Under the table were coolers filled with drinks, from which I took a bottle of water as well.

  Amanda was nowhere to be found, so after greeting some of the others, I asked Priscilla where she’d gone.

  “I don’t know,” she said, clearly preoccupied with her task. “She ran off somewhere with Katy Hinkel as soon as we got here.”

  A volleyball net had been set up out in the yard, and some of the guys were already dividing people into teams. Someone else asked if it was too early to light the fire pit. Again, I looked to Priscilla.

  “You want to play volleyball?” I asked, taking a bite of the cakey, fluffy-centered whoopie pie.

  She took her eyes from the food table to look out at the people who surrounded us and then shook her head. “You go ahead, though.”

  And I would have, were I not responsible for her. But with Amanda nowhere in sight, it would have been cruel to leave our charge all alone at a place she didn’t want to be, with people she’d rather not have to see again or get to know.

  I twisted the top off my water and took a long sip as I scanned the crowd, searching for my absentee girlfriend.

  “Really, Jake. Go ahead if you want to. I’m fine.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. I’m just checking things out, taking it all in.”

  “How long do you usually stay at these things?” she asked a second later.

  I swiveled my head to look at her and laughed gently. “Are you telling me you want to go home already?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know even half of these people. I didn’t think it would be like… this. I was expecting something smaller. Not so noisy.”

  “I didn’t realize there would be this many people here either, actually. This is the first big volleyball game of the summer. I guess word got around.”

  She pulled opened a bag of chips and dumped them into a big bowl, and then she twisted the lid off a jar of salsa and placed it beside the chips.

  “To be honest,” she murmured under her breath to me, “I think I’d prefer a singing to this. And that’s not saying much.”

  I laughed. “Oh, come on. You’re not a singing kind of gal?”

  She paused in her food arranging again to shoot me a smirk. “What do you think?”

  I finished off the whoopie pie with one last bite and then licked a smudge of the icing from my finger. “Frankly, I think you should belt out a hymn right now.”

  She actually cracked a smile, albeit a small one. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Seems like a fun way to kick off a party.”

  Priscilla laughed lightly. Sarcastically. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t that be something? Weird Priscilla makes her comeback in song.”

  My teasing smile faded. “Come on now. People don’t think of you that way.”

  She shrugged. “I doubt much has changed in six years, Jake.”

  I looked at her, realizing she had a point. Once weird, always weird, the thinking might go.

  Then again, I decided, there was no reason that history had to repeat itself. Things really could be different for her this time around. Suddenly, I felt a surge of protectiveness toward this fragile, difficult, socially awkward young woman. Considering all that had come before, this evening would be tough for anyone—but especially for someone like her.

  “Come here,” I told her, and when she didn’t respond, I said it again. “I’m serious. Come with me.”

  With a word to Yvonne and a final shifting of platters, Priscilla stepped away from the table and did as I asked. Together, we walked to the far side of the lawn, and then I took her elbow and turned her so that we were looking back at the throng from a more removed perspective. Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice us or wonder what we were doing. There was too much chaos for that. People were swarming everywhere—around the food, along the driveway, and out in the yard at the net. They were chatting, laughing, eating, and gearing up to play ball. They were having fun.

  “What do you see?” I asked her, gesturing broadly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you look around, what do you see here?

  “Jake––”

  “Humor me. Please. You said some of these faces are familiar to you, right? People you used to know, before you went away?”

  “Ya. Some of them were in my district. We grew up together, went to school and worship and stuff.”

  “And do they look the same to you as they did the last time you saw them?”

  “Of course not. It’s been six years. They’ve grown up.”

  “Uh-huh.” I released my hold on her elbow. “Imagine that. They’ve grown up and so have you.”

  Priscilla placed her hands on her hips. “Just get to the point.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be cruel, but it’s not like anyone ever ostracized you. You chose to set yourself apart. Sure, you were an odd kid. I won’t lie to you, but nothing says that you—the grown-up you, the one who’s here now—nothing says you have to step right back into that old role. I know you’re not a people person, Priscilla, and that’s fine up to a point. But this is your community—”

  “I’ll only be—” she began to say, but I cut her off.

  “I’m talking about for now, okay? Even if you do end up leaving at the end of the summer, this is your community while you’re here.”

  “Fine.”

  “And because this is your community, and you are an adult, you have responsibilities. God made us to need each other. To support each other. To befriend each other.”

  “Ya, ya, the Amish refrain.”

  I chose to ignore her sarcasm as I continued. “But all that stuff is a two-way street, you know. What’s the verse, ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ’? Living in community isn’t just a good idea; it’s God’s idea. I know you know that, even if it does go against your nature.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, and I could see her struggling internally with how she wanted to respond. Finally, she gave a sigh of resignation.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “I give up. You’re right. I know it.”

  Before I could respond, she looked at me with a humorous glint in her eyes and added, “And thanks ever so much for invoking the Word of God to make your point.”

  I laughed. “Sorry. I’m not trying to bash you over the head with this stuff. I just had a feeling you might need a pep talk. Besides, I think if you give them a chance, you may be surprised. I didn’t grow up with these people, and I’ve only been living in this neck of Lancaster County for a year, but I’ve come to know some of them, and they’re really nice.”

  “That may be true for you, but I did grow up with these people. And I never made a close friend myself, not in fourteen years.”

  “Amanda wanted to be your friend,” I replied. “She tried anyway. And she’s trying again now.”

  Priscilla shot me a look, and I knew what she was thinking. Friends don’t abandon friends the minute they get to a party. Amanda’s disappearance was regrettable, but that was beside the point at the moment.

  “Listen, all I’m saying is that it’s not as though anyone actually disliked you back then. They just didn’t know what to do with you. Maybe the reason God sent you here now was to give them—and you—another chance. Don’t push them away, Priscilla. Let them befriend you if they want. You may even find that you like it.”

  She seemed to consider my words, and then she turned to me, her eyes radiant in the late afternoon sun.

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  And to my surprise, she really did.

  Her first opportunity came almost immediately, as we were strolling back toward the group and spotted Amanda. She was headed in our direction, flanked by her two best friends, Katy and Cheryl. Irritation needled me at the site of the three of th
em in their little clique—until Amanda came right over to Priscilla and pulled her in with them.

  Though these girls and Priscilla already knew each other from when they were younger, Amanda introduced them all by name, as if this was the first time they’d ever met. To Priscilla’s credit, she actually made eye contact in return. I hovered nearby, standing close enough to hear their conversation but not so close that I had to participate. If this went well, and Amanda really had things under control, then I’d be able to walk away and join the volleyball game.

  Unfortunately, after that initial introduction, the four of them grew uncomfortably quiet. They all wore nervous smiles as they glanced around at each other, but apparently not one of them could think of a thing to say.

  “Are you glad to be back?” Katy finally asked.

  “Um. Ya. Good to be back,” Priscilla replied.

  “And where is it you’ve been living?” Cheryl asked. “Ohio? Iowa?”

  “Indiana.”

  “With your aunt and uncle, right?” Amanda prodded.

  “Ya.”

  “On a farm?” Cheryl asked.

  “Ya. Though I lived in town for a while, for a job as a caregiver.”

  “My cousin used to be a caregiver, but I couldn’t do it. Too boring,” Katy said. Then her hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry. No offense.”

  To my surprise, Priscilla laughed lightly. “I’m not offended. I agree. I nearly went stir-crazy in that job. I’ve never done anything so tedious in my life.”

  The other girls giggled, and for a moment it was as though they were the best of friends and Priscilla Kinsinger was not now, nor ever had been, the odd one out.

  They began describing various jobs each of them had, or had had in the past, and once the conversation was really flowing, I leaned in toward Amanda and asked if I could speak with her for a moment.

  “Sure,” she said, telling the others she’d be right back.

  The two of us strolled away from the crowd until we were mostly out of earshot. Then I asked her, as nicely as I could, if abandoning Priscilla the moment we got here was her idea of helping the girl make new friends.