The Amish Blacksmith

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Seeing my eagerness, her mouth spread into a slow smile. “Yes, sir. She is. Last time I spotted her, she was in the Reds. Behind the house.”

  “Do you mind if I—”

  “I think maybe you’d better.”

  “Danke,” I whispered.

  And she beamed.

  Once outside, I set off for the trees directly behind the house. As I passed the large barn to my left, I could see a coffee-brown Morgan munching on hay just inside it—no doubt the loaner from Priscilla’s grandparents, and I noted that the building needed some repairs. A hinge on the door was half on and half off, and the entire structure could use a fresh coat of paint. I wished I were staying longer so I could fix a few things.

  I began my search for Priscilla by looking up every row directly behind the house, searching for a flash of pastel amid the rusty greens, brown, and red. Then I heard a voice, the sound of someone humming. It was a tune I didn’t know, but it sounded happy. My heart began to thud in my chest as I scanned the rows. And then I saw her, about halfway up the last row. She was bent over with a shovel in her hands, her back to me.

  I prayed a silent prayer and started up the path between the rows. I hoped that when I drew closer, she would hear my approaching footsteps and turn around. I didn’t want to frighten her. But her humming and the scrape of the shovel masked the sounds of my steps. When I was just a few feet away, I could see that she was working in between two mature trees that were laden with fruit, and she was digging up a volunteer tree that would not be able to continue where its life had started. Near her feet was a five-gallon container partially filled with soil. Priscilla was not cutting down the little tree that didn’t belong there. She was carefully removing it so that she could transplant it to a place where it could grow.

  In that same instant, I was nearly knocked over by an echo of an earlier bit of advice that now seemed to slam into my chest.

  When two people love each other, Jake—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 one happy. My mother’s gentle words to me just last night now shouted their truth. It didn’t matter where I lived my life; it mattered whom I lived it with.

  Here was an Amish community that was not so very different than my own back in Lancaster County.

  Here was a house and land and orchards that needed tending.

  Here was a barn that needed a man’s muscle, and which was plenty big enough for a blacksmith shop.

  Here was where Priscilla was.

  I knew in an instant I could be at home here. I could be a blacksmith here. I could be who I already was here. I could be anywhere with the person I loved most beside me. If she wanted to stay, we could stay.

  “Priscilla,” I said gently, almost in a whisper.

  She bolted upright and spun around. The shovel slipped out of her hands and landed on the little mound of dirt she had made.

  “Jake!” she exclaimed, her hand going to her heart.

  I took a step closer to steady her. My hands on her waist seemed the most natural feeling in the world.

  For a second neither one of us said anything. I could not trust myself to speak, and yet I had so much to tell her. I pulled her close to me because no words seemed adequate in that moment.

  “Jake.” She said my name again, this time not in amazement, but in the most tender of tones, seeing in person that what she had wanted most for me, I had been given. Just as she was not the broken girl who had left Lancaster County all those years ago, I was no longer the broken man I’d been the last time she saw me.

  “Am I too late?”

  “Too late?”

  I inhaled the sweet scent of her skin, her hair. “The guy. Noah. Did you—”

  “I told him no.”

  “You did?”

  “Ya.”

  “Why?”

  A slow smile crept across her lips. “You know why. How could I marry one man when I’m in love with another?”

  And then, because no words would suffice, I cupped her chin in my hand, tipped it toward me, and kissed her, her lips on mine like the soft petals of the freshest rose.

  When we parted, her eyes were rimmed with tears. As were mine. My kiss had not surprised her as much as it had overjoyed her. I knew she had dreamed of that kiss, just as I had.

  “But wait… How… how did you get here?” she asked, her hand now on my cheek.

  I tipped my head into her palm. “Don’t you know?” I whispered, smiling as I gazed into her beautiful violet eyes. “I followed my heart.”

  EPILOGUE

  Despite the cold outside, I opened the barn window and turned on the fan to air out the space after a morning spent hot-shoeing three horses in a row. The acrid smoke slowly but steadily escaped through the opening, rather like my burgeoning business was progressing. Slowly but steadily.

  In January I’d hung out my sign—the word “Blacksmith” welded together from actual horseshoes, a wedding gift from Owen and Treva—and now, after being open for just two months, I was already booking ten to fifteen customers per week, plus a handful of walk-ins as well. That wouldn’t have been enough to support a full-fledged blacksmith shop back in Lancaster County, but here in Elkhart, where costs were cheaper and our housing was provided by Aunt Cora in exchange for Priscilla’s caregiving, it was enough to get by on for now. It also left me with plenty of free time to assist with the orchard and to handle the various fix-it projects around the farm.

  And goodness knows there were plenty. Pretty much since the day after our November wedding, I’d been tackling loose doors and rotting boards and rusted hinges from one end of this place to the other. It was hard work but incredibly satisfying, especially when Cora would notice some new repair and beam from ear to ear. She and I had hit it off from the start, and once I had married Priscilla and moved in with the two of them, the older woman somehow managed to share her home and life as easily as if I had always been here. Last month she’d even made official her promise to Priscilla and drawn up a will leaving the house and property to the two of us, though it wouldn’t be needed for a good long while, God willing. For now, we three had settled into a comfortable rhythm of day-to-day life together in the charming old house.

  My biggest debt to Cora, of course, was that she’d been willing to let me turn part of her barn into a blacksmith shop. She’d agreed to that back before I even moved in, when Priscilla and I were still in those first heady days of working out logistics and making plans for the wedding and my move. As I hadn’t yet earned enough money to cover all of the needed equipment and supplies, I’d thought it would be a while before I could actually make it happen. But then Amos and Roseanna gave us their wedding gift, a brand-new forge just perfect for a one-man blacksmith shop. That had allowed me to get rolling much sooner than expected. Needless to say, both Priscilla and I had been thrilled.

  I smiled now as I remembered how she’d been even happier when she got my wedding gift to her. Thanks to my buddy Eric and his family business, I had been able to transport both Willow and Voyager from Pennsylvania to Indiana. The truck and trailer showed up one Thursday afternoon just a week or so after the wedding, when Priscilla was coming in from the clothesline. I’d managed to keep it a secret, but as soon as the vehicle turned into the driveway, it was as if she knew exactly what was going on and who was riding in the back. The fact that in the midst of her excitement a whole basket of just-cleaned laundry ended up upside down on the dirt was a small price to pay for the pleasure of her joy.

  And joy was definitely in abundance with us these days, I thought as I adjusted the fan to clear the last lingering wisps of smoke from the room. That remarkable afternoon last September when I showed up here and kissed Priscilla among the trees had been the start of an amazing journey. Not only were we engaged within the hour, we’d also made the decision to get married during the current wedding season rather than wait an entire year. We’d been afraid som
e family members might think we were rushing things, but as it turned out, those on both sides seemed quite pleased and couldn’t have been more helpful. By bunking next door at Priscilla’s grandparents’ house, I’d been able to stick around for a few days on that first visit. And though it had been hard to leave, I managed to come back twice more before the wedding to help with the planning. Still, two months had never felt so long as I counted the days to our becoming husband and wife.

  And what a wife Priscilla had turned out to be! The young woman who had once seemed so difficult to get to know, so complex, so deeply emotional, was a veritable bedrock of determination and patience and loving-kindness. Oh, how she loved, especially once we were wed, with her whole heart and body and soul. I’d never known I could feel this way about anyone—and then I’d wake up each new morning realizing I loved her even more than I had the day before.

  I was thinking about that, about the heart’s seemingly infinite capacity for love, when I shut down the fan and went over to close the window. As I hooked the latch, I saw my beautiful wife emerge from the house bundled up from head to toe, ready for an afternoon’s work at my side in the orchard. Yesterday, her grandfather had taught us how to do the early spring pruning, and today we would be on our own, beginning a process he said could take as long as a month. With more than five hundred trees to care for, the job would not be easy, but it might be kind of fun. And at least she and I worked really well together, no matter what the task.

  The plan was for me to do the high pruning, taking off all the limbs that were damaged or diseased, as well as any new “watersprouts” as he’d called them, which were errant limbs shooting up at the center. Meanwhile, Priscilla would handle the lower branches and the suckers at the base of the trunks. This morning between customers, I had taken time to sharpen our clippers, which were now waiting for us on the front table, their blades sparkling in a sunbeam that slanted across the shop.

  When I heard Priscilla stomping snow from her boots just outside the door, I swung it open and gave her a broad smile.

  “Good timing,” I said, enjoying the way her cheeks always turned pink in the cold.

  “Hallo, Jake,” she replied with a smile, gesturing toward the clippers as she stepped inside. “Think we’re ready to fly solo?”

  “Fly solo?” I echoed, laughing. “Where did you learn a term like that?”

  She rolled her eyes at herself. “Where else? Englischers at the Haven.”

  The Haven—short for Galloping Meadows Horse Haven—was a local nonprofit, a horse rescue and sanctuary where Priscilla and I volunteered for a couple of hours each week. To our delight, one of their biggest needs was for horse-gentling—or horse-befriending, as Priscilla preferred to call it—a service the two of us provided as a team. We also taught our techniques to others, who could then continue our work even when we weren’t there. Though the job didn’t pay, it was totally worth it, for the horses’ sake and for ours too. Not only did we enjoy it immensely, but it was providing a great way to get to know non-Amish horse lovers in the region. Ephrata was no Chester County show horse circuit, but the people here were kind and friendly toward me, and they had been helping to spread the word that this part of the county finally had a blacksmith of its own.

  “Did you want a snack before we go out?” Priscilla asked now, interrupting my thoughts.

  I shook my head, still full from the meal she’d made for me just a few hours before. Moving to the coat hooks beside the door, I began to suit up for the cold myself, pulling on gloves and scarf and trading out my straw hat for a thick wool cap. It was a beautiful but brilliantly cold day, and I knew before long we’d be feeling it in every inch of skin left uncovered.

  “You ready, Mrs. Miller?” I said as I pulled the cap down even farther over my ears.

  “Sure am, Mr. Miller,” she replied with a wink.

  Stepping outside, I closed the door and flipped over the sign that advised customers to clang the bell if they needed help. The sound of the old school bell I’d mounted there on the beam could be heard throughout the orchard and kept me from missing walk-ins.

  Finally, with Priscilla carrying the clippers and I the ladder, we trooped out into the snow and headed for the trees. We started at the northwest corner with a Red Delicious, awkward and clumsy at first but slowly growing a little defter with our efforts as the hours passed. By the time we finished for the day, we were mighty cold—and hungry too—but pleased with the progress we’d made. Our steps fell in sync as we walked back toward the house side by side, and again I thought of what a great team the two of us made. The little tomboy and the clueless object of her affection from all those years ago had come a long, long way to get to where we were now. I had a feeling our shared sense of teamwork would be a big factor in where we continued to go from here, especially in how we raised our family, should God be so gracious as to grant us children.

  God had certainly been good to Tyler and Rachel, I thought as we paused at the mailbox, took out the contents, and saw that the mail included a letter from them, as it often did these days. Their absence from our wedding had been the only dark spot on that otherwise-wonderful morning, but with Rachel so far along in her pregnancy, they hadn’t been able to risk the trip to Indiana. Good thing too, because their healthy, eight-pound-two-ounce son was born just a week later, on Thanksgiving afternoon.

  Priscilla opened the envelope now and read the letter aloud as we continued on toward the house. We both enjoyed hearing from them, and somehow Rachel’s gift of description brought alive their new life with baby Joel better than any photos ever could. Big Joel—my father and Tyler’s grandfather—was smitten with his little namesake, a fact made even more obvious with today’s note, which recounted how Rachel had caught him cooing baby talk to his great-grandson when he thought no one was listening.

  “I always knew Daed had it in him,” I said with a laugh when Priscilla finished reading.

  “So cute,” she replied, tucking the letter back into the envelope and then sliding it into her coat pocket. “I guess your father will be twice as thrilled when he learns that baby Joel is getting a new cousin.”

  “A new cousin?” I said as we moved up the driveway toward the porch. “Who’s that?”

  She didn’t respond, so I glanced over at her—and something made me do a double take.

  Maybe it was the smile on her lips.

  Maybe it was the way she was resting one hand on her stomach.

  Maybe it was the glow that seemed to radiate from her entire being.

  Whatever it was, I came to a stop, frozen in place, my eyes wide, my heart pounding.

  “Priscilla?” I rasped, swallowing hard.

  “Are you— Are we—”

  She grinned and then whispered, “Ya. And ya.”

  With a loud whoop, I scooped my beautiful wife into my arms, turning in circles right there in the driveway as she laughed and scolded me to put her down. Finally, I came to a stop and lowered her to the ground, though I didn’t let her go.

  “Easy, boy,” she teased, patting me as if I were a horse even as she settled contentedly into my embrace.

  As I held her close, all I could do was gaze at her, at this woman who loved me so completely, who had taught me to feel again, who allowed me to love her in return. Why God had chosen to bless me so thoroughly—first with a wife beyond my wildest dreams and now with a child on the way—I did not know. All I knew, I thought as I closed my eyes and slowly brought my lips to hers, was that we were a perfect fit.

  Priscilla and I were oil and wick.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. Jake considers himself to be an “unemotional” type of guy, but that notion is later challenged. Do you believe there are people who “just don’t feel things deeply,” as he claims? Or do you think such claims always indicate that the person is masking/hiding from deeper feelings hidden away below the surface?

  2. Priscilla suffered a terrible tragedy in Lancaster County before going away to
Indiana at fourteen. Now she has returned, even though she didn’t want to, because she feels it is God’s will for her. What does this say about her as a person? Have you ever felt God leading you to do something you didn’t want to do?

  3. Jake describes Amanda as “laid-back and understanding and uncomplicated.” Do you think this makes her a good match for him? In what ways is she a better match for him than Priscilla? In what ways is she worse?

  4. When Priscilla returns to Lancaster County, Amos and Roseanna open their home to her, hoping she’ll stay and make a new life for herself there. Do you think Amos is right to ask for Jake and Amanda’s help in getting his niece reconnected with other young people in their district?

  5. Jake and Priscilla sparred over whose technique was the most effective in helping troubled horses. What were their differences in approach, in your opinion? How were they alike? Do you think one approach was better than the other, or did the two approaches work best when combined together?

  6. Jake describes the various ways that people view horses, including as animals, friends, companions, loved ones, moneymakers, symbols of wealth and prestige, entertainment, employees, and more. Which of the above terms, if any, would best describe how you view horses? Do you agree with Jake’s assertion that farmers tend to think of horses differently than nonfarmers?

  7. Do you think God uses elements of His Creation to teach us? What did Jake learn about himself through his relationship with the horses in this story? What have you learned via something that God created?

  8. Natasha has staked much of her reputation and livelihood on the upcoming performance of a single horse. What motivates a person to get involved with a sport that has such huge costs and high stakes? In terms of time, money, or something else, what’s the costliest commitment you’ve ever made for a sport?

  9. When Jake realizes Tyler and Rachel are expecting, his emotions are mixed. Have you ever had a similar reaction to what is essentially good news? Does it surprise you that many Amish don’t openly discuss certain topics such as pregnancy?