The Amish Blacksmith

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Again,” I said when it was over, the urgency and excitement in my voice startling the other two. “Please,” I said, gesturing toward the screen. Then I moved even closer so I could see better. “I may have just figured this out.”

  It took a few more viewings to confirm my suspicions, but by then I was almost certain. I turned to face Natasha and Ted and told them I knew what was wrong.

  “All along, we’ve been focusing on Duchess’s fear. But it’s not fear that’s causing her to rear up and go into a frenzy. It’s excitement. It’s joy.”

  They were skeptical, so I told them about January and Atticus out in the pasture, about what I’d observed in the exuberant horse’s body language. Then I had them run the film of Duchess again as I pointed out the similarities in some of the more subtle elements of her behavior.

  The tossing of her head wasn’t flight response, I explained, it was glee.

  The raising up into the air wasn’t defensiveness, I said, it was celebration.

  It wasn’t the noise or the chaos of the crowd that bothered Duchess at these shows. It was her uncontrollable delight at being surrounded by people and activity and noise and smells and companionship. That all caused her to become so excited that she simply lost control.

  Natasha seemed to grow more convinced as she listened to my reasoning. Then, in a flash, she understood the bigger picture. Excitement growing in her eyes, she told us that time-wise it all made sense. According to her, Duchess’s uncontrollable behavior had begun not long after earning the title of Prix St. George. Not coincidently, that was about the same time that they had built this magnificent private stable and segregated the horse from the other animals and workers.

  “Then that’s it,” I said, grinning in victory. “She’s lonely and isolated. If you want to keep her from losing control at the shows, I think all you need to do is put her back where she belongs, with the others. She needs her community, just like all horses. Just like all people.”

  As it turned out, my theory was correct. We had to take it slow, but over the course of the next week we were able to successfully integrate Duchess back into the larger stable. She was still off limits to the other employees, but at least now she was surrounded by animals and people most of the time, the perfect antidote to the ailments of loneliness and seclusion.

  Once we’d managed to define her prevailing emotion as excitement rather than fear, none of us could believe we hadn’t figured it out before. Not every horse loved a crowd, but this one always had, according to Natasha. Only now did the woman realize that pulling Duchess away and setting her apart had nearly destroyed her soul, and she felt terrible about it. Trying to make Natasha feel better, Ted explained that show horses often suffered such a fate, their value as a commodity outweighing their need for socialization.

  The question now was whether or not the solution had come in time to prepare Duchess for competition. Would we be able to satisfy her social needs sufficiently enough that she wouldn’t get so worked up at the competition?

  In the days leading up to it, I kept thinking about this, mostly with regard to Priscilla. Once again, she had been pivotal in helping me solve an issue with a horse. But there was also a reverse element here. Like Duchess, Priscilla was often isolated and alone. And though she drew no joy from crowds, the truth was she needed them just as much as the horse had needed to be with others. Priscilla needed more people in her life. She needed community. I wrote a long letter explaining all that had happened and urging her to seek others in the same way that she had challenged me to seek joy. I didn’t hear back right off, the way I usually did, but I was consumed with the horse show, which took place on September twenty-fifth, a day that was sunny and unseasonably warm.

  I was invited along as part of the team, and the event as a whole was quite fun and fascinating. But the longer it went on, the more I kept thinking, This world is not my home.

  What was I doing here?

  Duchess was spectacular, earning up not one level but two. That meant she was now just one step away from the top—and the only thing standing in her way was another year or so of training to go all the way. Natasha was so thrilled that as we loaded up the truck to head back, she told me I was in for a “big bonus.” Eric was there too, and he teased her, saying, “Better not make it too big, or Jake just might take a walk.”

  “Take a walk?” Natasha asked, turning to me. “Why? Are you unhappy with your job?”

  I felt a little uncomfortable having this conversation in the middle of the loading area with dozens of people around, but I knew I had to be honest with her.

  Bonus or not, big paychecks or not, my time in this world was done.

  Natasha asked for a week’s notice, which made my last day October first. On October second, a Thursday, I spent the morning at the kitchen table, going over the lists I’d made with my daed back in August, when he and I were exploring the possibility of opening up my own blacksmith shop. Between the pay I’d earned and the five-thousand-dollar bonus Natasha insisted on giving me for my success with Duchess, I had now accrued almost half of my goal for seed money. I had no idea what God had in mind for providing the rest, but before I took things any further, there was an important conversation I needed to have.

  I still hadn’t spoken to Amos about the noncompetition issue. When first becoming his apprentice, I had promised him I would never open up a shop within ten miles of his, but if I were to take advantage of the space my father was offering me, then it would be more like eight miles. As a man of my word, I wasn’t about to move forward without first getting that two-mile difference approved by my former boss.

  On my way out, I checked the mailbox, but nothing was yet there from Priscilla. I hadn’t heard from her even once since sending my challenge for her to seek others, and that concerned me. She and I had gotten into a regular rhythm of writing, and the only reason I could imagine for her breaking that rhythm had to do with her reaction to my challenge. Was she upset with me? Hiding from me? Turning to another man, one who was close by and wanted her as his wife and wouldn’t challenge her as I had?

  These were the thoughts that rolled around my head as I covered the distance to the Kinsingers. I hadn’t been back there once since being laid off, but when I pulled into their driveway, it felt as though it were just yesterday.

  I came to a stop out front, spotting Roseanna in the yard putting clothes on the line. She left the basket of laundry and walked quickly toward me, wearing a huge smile. Amos came out of the blacksmith shop, a surprised look on his face, but he greeted me warmly as well.

  Rosanna announced it was a great time for a coffee break and insisted that Amos and I come inside. They wanted to hear what I’d been up to and how things were going, so over coffee and a cinnamon roll, I told them all about my job with Natasha. I also explained how God had been doing some great things for me and in me, and that I wanted them to know they had been an important part of it all. It took a little convincing, but they needed to understand that I was even grateful for having been let go, because God had been using that experience to begin a much-needed transformation in my life. I added that Priscilla had been a huge help to me too, and that she and I had been corresponding regularly.

  From there, I was about to launch into the main reason I’d come here today when Roseanna said, “Oh, well, if you and Priscilla have been writing, then you must know about this weekend.”

  “This weekend?”

  “Being published and all that?”

  I nearly choked on my coffee. For an Amish couple, “being published” meant having their engagement announced in church. It was usually done about a month prior to the wedding. And because weddings were held starting in late October, this was prime time for such announcements to begin.

  “She… is she… with Noah? The widower?”

  Roseanna and Amos shared a glance. Then Roseanna stood and went to the desk and retrieved her latest letter from their niece. Back at the table, she pulled it from the env
elope, skimmed through it, and then thrust it toward me, with her finger pointing at a specific paragraph. Taking the letter from her, I began to read.

  You asked about the situation with my special friend, but this is all I can tell you for now. I promised to give him a yes or no by the first weekend in October so that, if it is to be, he can speak to the bishop and get the ball rolling for a November wedding. I will let you know how things turn out after then.

  Silently, I handed the paper back to Roseanna. Without a word, she stood and returned the envelope to her desk, where she rooted through a pile and came up with something else. As she brought it over, I expected to see another letter.

  “This is from July, when Priscilla was leaving, so it might be a little out of date. But at least it’s a start.” She gave me a broad smile as she handed me the piece of paper.

  I looked down to the page in my hand and saw that it wasn’t a letter at all.

  It was the train schedule from Lancaster to Elkhart.

  THIRTY-SIX

  I left the next day, and it took me thirteen hours to get from where I was to where I wanted to be. I used the same route Priscilla had, going from Lancaster to Elkhart with just one change of trains, in Pittsburgh. For most of those hours, except for when I was sleeping, I was praying that God would be with me and favor me, and that He would prepare Priscilla for my impromptu arrival.

  I also prayed I wasn’t too late.

  I knew I could have called—should have called—instead. But if there was even the slightest chance that she planned to tell this guy yes, then I had to do this in person. I had to force her to look me in the eye and tell me she didn’t love me as much as I loved her.

  And I did love her, I knew that now. I was no longer the person who hadn’t been able to feel for so many years, who never loved before, who wasn’t even sure true love existed. Instead, I was now hands down, head-over-heels in love with Priscilla Kinsinger, and I wanted her for my wife.

  My biggest concern was what it might take to talk her into coming back with me. She sounded so happy in Indiana, so pleased with her work and her life there. Even if she loved me in return, how was I going to convince her that she belonged with me in Lancaster County, a place that for her had mostly been one of pain and loss?

  I had asked this of my parents the night before, when I sat down and told them what I was going to do.

  “When two people love each other, Jake,” my mother had replied, “and I mean, really love each other, they cease to think of only themselves. Their natural inclination, if true love exists between them, is to make the other person happy.”

  “Love gives, not pulls,” my father had added, “which is why it sometimes aches. But that doesn’t mean it is not the grandest of all virtues, son.”

  I repeated their words of wisdom back to myself now as the train rumbled along. One thing I did know was that I was not to pull Priscilla back to Lancaster County, I was to woo her back. And maybe that wouldn’t be so hard after all. With every passing hour I was increasingly more and more in love with her. She was my soul mate, I was sure of it. I had never felt for anyone else the way I did about her.

  I thought of her words that day at Blue Rock Creek when she pleaded with me to open my heart.

  Christ loved the church with ardor and an aching longing to see her redeemed. You are to have that same love for your beloved.

  Now, these many weeks later, I finally understood what she’d meant, and I agreed with every word.

  Priscilla’s great-aunt, Cora Kurtz, lived about halfway between Elkhart and Goshen, so when I arrived at the train station, I switched to a local bus that would take me within a two-mile walk of my destination. Seated on that bus for the last leg of my journey, I couldn’t help but compare the terrain of Indiana to that of Lancaster County. It was much flatter here, and there were fewer trees, but for some reason the sky seemed bigger. I began to see Amish buggies as soon as the bus eased out of the city center, and my eyes were wide as I took in the differences between those here and the buggies back home. Having been a buggy-maker myself prior to farrier school, I saw things others might miss or not even care about. I kept wishing my daed or Tyler were here so we could point out to each other the various differences—in color, shape, accessories, and more—between these vehicles and the ones I’d grown up making in my family’s buggy shop back home.

  The bus dropped me off at a gas station, and a man working inside told me where I could find the road I was looking for. I hiked my small traveling bag over my shoulder and set out. Despite having had only four hours of sleep on the train, I was nervously energized at the thought that I was now less than a half hour’s walk from Priscilla.

  I came upon the driveway for her grandparents’ house first, recognizing it by the handmade sign for the fresh, organic honey I could buy there. I knew the next place up the road, which I could see through the tops of the rows and rows of apple trees, was where I would find Priscilla.

  Lord, this is it. Please be with me now. Please don’t let this be for nothing. Please help me convince her to come back to Lancaster County where she belongs.

  The Kurtz home was a white two-story house with gabled upper-floor windows and red shutters. A tidy lawn bore two apple trees on either side of a paved walkway. The two trees stood like sentinels, calling attention to the orchard of their brethren all around them. The leaves on the trees were just starting to turn, and nearly every branch was heavy with fruit. Cast iron pots of summer geraniums were situated on the wooden porch, still vibrant but not quite as full as perhaps they had been a few months earlier. Clematis vines twirled about the porch posts, and forsythia bushes lined one side of the house, while a colorful squash garden sprawled across the other side. I could also see a sizeable vegetable garden, recently harvested of most of its wares. Dresses hung on a line between the house and a big barn, some of them large and matronly looking, and others dainty and trim in shades of lavender, rose, cornflower, and celery-green. A gray-striped cat sunning himself on the porch studied me as I approached, flicking his tail in apparent greeting.

  The entire aspect was welcoming, the home worn but pleasant looking, the orchard vast and sweet smelling. For a second I wondered what I was even doing. This was a beautiful place, and Priscilla was surely content here, but I shook off the momentary troublesome thought. Love could make a home anywhere. What mattered was who a person spent her life with, not where she lived. If she loved me, Priscilla would come back to Lancaster County with me.

  I walked up the pathway to the porch. The front door was open halfway, and a screen door allowed for the aroma of something sweet and creamy to reach me. As I stepped onto the porch and breathed in the tantalizing fragrance of baked apples, the cat stood, stretched, and meowed.

  “Hey, fella,” I whispered back. Then I knocked on the screen door, waited, and prayed.

  “Come on in, Eunice,” a voice called from within.

  “Um, I’m not Eunice,” I replied. There was a slight pause and then an older, heavy-set woman with a cane appeared at the doorway. She smiled at me. “Well, hello, Not-Eunice. What can I do for you?”

  “I… I was hoping I might speak with Priscilla if she’s home.” I answered, a bit nervously.

  The woman, surely Cora, cocked her head in curiosity. “Is she expecting you?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, she’s not.”

  Cora’s smiled deepened. “Are you a friend of hers?”

  “Ya. She’s… Yes. A good friend.”

  “Well, she’s not here right now. Would you want to wait for her or come back later?”

  “Do you know where she went? Maybe I could find her.”

  “Is it that important?” Cora said with a laugh.

  “Ya. It’s pretty important. I’ve come from out of town.”

  “Oh?” she asked, moving a step closer.

  “I’m from Lancaster County.” As if to prove it, I held up my bag to show her.

  Her eyes widened, and her smile
seemed to take on a different curve. “Ah. So you’re him, Mr. Jake Miller from Lancaster County. The man of letters, so to speak. Come on in. I’m Priscilla’s great-aunt, Cora Kurtz.”

  “Danke.”

  She opened the door for me, and as I stepped inside, I felt a ridiculously deep surge of joy, not only that this woman knew of me but that she knew my name. That meant Priscilla had talked with her about me, had told her I was a part of her life.

  I set my bag on the floor near the door. Cora gestured toward the kitchen table, and we moved there together. I held her elbow as she sat, and then I took the chair across from her.

  When I met her eyes, I realized she wore an expression of concern. “You are here to tell her something she will want to hear?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “You came a long way to say it.”

  “It didn’t seem long.”

  We shared a smile.

  “Okay, well, I hope you came in time.”

  “I do too,” I managed. “Do you know… ”

  She peered at me for a long moment, as if she were trying to see inside me to my very soul. Then she said, “I’ve been single my whole life, Jake, which was God’s will for me. And though I wouldn’t have chosen this for myself, I know that a life alone is still better than a life with the wrong man.”

  I swallowed hard. “She’s with him now? With her suitor, Noah?”

  Cora shook her head. “She did that earlier. They went off in his buggy right after breakfast and then showed back up here an hour later. She never said a word as to how it went or what she ended up telling him. I’ve been itching to hear, but she’s stayed out in the orchard all day.”

  “So where is she now? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Like I just said. She’s out in the orchard.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Here? She’s in the orchard here?”