When I was pleased with the foot, I turned the canister right side up and examined it with a critical eye. Unlike Elias’s pieces, the outer sides of mine were always smooth and even. Something about achieving a perfect sleekness appealed to me. The clay itself was porous enough to allow for the separation of colors in the glaze to achieve the subtle multihued finish I desired.
But something about this canister seemed wrong. I sat back, fingering my beard, and tried to pinpoint the cause. Not wrong, exactly. Unfinished? Yes, that was it. Somehow the perfect symmetry and precision of the shape did not fit this canister. It was too…well, too plain.
Though Elias nearly always added a simple carving to decorate his pieces, I had not yet attempted the technique. I opened my mouth to ask for advice, but my teacher had slipped out of the room while I worked. I heard his low voice, muffled through the curtain, and Leah’s quiet response.
I took up Elias’s carving tool and tested the sharp end with my thumb, all the while studying the smooth surface of my canister. Though I’d watched him many times, I’d never handled the knifelike tool myself. With my breath caught in my chest, I lowered the metal edge until it barely rested against the clay. What design to carve?
A pattern appeared in my mind, and with it pain stabbed at my heart as though I’d turned the tool on myself. The pattern was from the quilt my Hannah had made for our marriage bed.
I closed my eyes and let pain wash over me while the design burned the insides of my eyelids. When I could see nothing else, I opened my eyes and pressed the sharp tool into the clay.
Time slipped by unnoticed. The canister became my focus, duplicating Hannah’s pattern in every detail. Finally, I carved the last piece of clay away, smoothed the final rough edge, and set down the tool. I straightened, pressing a fist against an ache in the small of my back. My vision, focused so long on the close work in front of me, blurred when I lifted my head and glanced around the workshop. What was the time?
I called toward the curtain. “Elias?”
He and Leah appeared.
“You’re finished, ya?” The old man’s smile melted from his face when his gaze lowered to my work. “Seth, what have you done to the canister?”
I looked at the piece on my wheel. The pattern was precisely what I’d hoped to achieve. If this piece were placed beside Hannah’s quilt, no one could doubt that the designs were identical. But instead of etching the decoration on the outside of the clay, I had cut all the way through. Ornamental, perfectly shaped holes covered all sides of the piece that could no longer be called a canister.
“I—” Words deserted me. The piece looked exactly like I wanted, but it was useless.
My perfect canister, ruined.
“Nothing can be stored in that.” Elias waggled his fingers in the pot’s direction. “It will pour out the sides.”
A knot formed deep in my throat, threatening to block the breath from my lungs. Why had I spoiled my work? My palms itched to snatch it up and dash it to the floor, the urge strong to see it lying in broken shards at my feet.
Leah stepped away from her grandfather, her gaze fixed on my pot. “Maybe that’s the point.”
“What do you mean?” Elias asked. “What point?”
She reached out, her hands halting inches from the piece while she turned an unspoken request for permission my way. When I nodded, she picked up the ruined canister and turned it slowly around, examining it from all angles.
“The design is beautiful. So intricate and delicate.”
Just like the quilt that had covered my wife and me as we learned to love one another. The lump in my throat expanded, and I struggled to breathe past it.
“If you put a candle inside, light would spill out all around.” Leah turned sparkling blue eyes to me. “Imagine how beautiful that would look in a dark room.”
Whether because of her enthusiasm or the reverent hush in her tone, my breath eased. The image she described showed clearly in my mind’s eye. My Hannah’s pattern, projected all around a room, casting a beautiful light to illuminate the darkness.
Elias cocked his head and studied the piece critically. “Who would want to buy such a thing?”
“I would.” Leah pulled the canister to her chest, though gently. “In fact, I will.” Her gaze slid to me. “If you will allow me to?”
For a long moment I stared at the clay creation she cradled. How I longed to see light spill from the carvings, to gaze upon the pattern the light made on the dark walls of my bedroom late at night, when the loneliness was almost too much to bear.
But Hannah’s quilt was gone, left with her parents, and no doubt by now used by her mamm or one of her schweschders. I had not wanted the reminder of her quilt on my widower’s bed.
Nor did I want the pattern on the walls of my widower’s room.
I forced a nod. “Ya, but I will give it to you. A gift. You may select the glaze you want and make it your own.”
She seemed especially pleased by my suggestion. “Then would you make another one so I can put a picture on the website?” Holding up the canister-turned-candleholder, she smiled wider than I had yet seen. “This one is not for sale.”
A thrill of pleasure at her obvious delight over my work dissolved the last remnant of the lump in my throat. I glanced at my teacher, seeking tacit permission. Though skepticism still saturated his features, he shrugged. “What can it hurt? It is only clay, and clay is cheap.”
Smiling, Leah set the pot carefully on my wheel and returned to the front of the shop. I rose and, after placing it on the shelf beside the rest of the pieces ready for the bisque firing, retrieved a second canister. Could I do it again? And even if I could, did I want to?
I wasn’t sure of the answer to either question, but I set to work anyway.
Daed and Mamm’s move to the daadi haus did not happen as quickly as I’d projected. Instead of one day, it took three. Mammi proved stubborn against Daed’s efforts to convince her that the move was a good idea. In the end, he sternly informed her that if she continued to refuse to move back into the main house, he would have no choice but to agree with the doctor’s recommendation and have her released to a convalescent center, where she would receive round-the-clock care. Fuming, she finally agreed.
In fact, moving to the big house turned out to be the only logical solution in light of the cardiologist’s report.
“The Doppler results indicate a significant thickening of the arterial wall.” The heart doctor, a young man with a no-nonsense manner and a pair of thick eyeglasses, directed his words to me, though Daed and Mamm and Becky were also present in the hospital consultation room. He spread a file folder open on his lap and tapped on a paper inside. “Her blood pressure is high, there’s a marked difference in the systolic and diastolic readings, and her pulse pressure is elevated. Those symptoms usually indicate a serious stiffening of the arteries, and the onset of a number of cardiovascular disorders common among the elderly.”
The unusual words spun in my head, and from Daed’s expression, he’d understood even less than me.
Becky, who sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap, asked, “Does she need heart surgery?”
The doctor glanced at her. “Unless we do more extensive tests, I couldn’t say. But from my conversation with Mrs. Hostetler, she isn’t willing to undergo more tests.”
Daed’s lips pressed together. “If she needs the tests, she will have them.”
I knew from the set of his jaw that he would win any argument on the topic. And I was in full agreement.
But the doctor shook his head. “At this point, given her recent surgery and her osteoarthritis, the tests may cause more harm than good. Once she’s fully recovered…” He shrugged.
“Then what can we do for her?” Becky’s lower lip quivered, and her voice broke.
The doctor gave no indication that he noticed her emotional state. His manner did not change. “The conditions I’ve mentioned can be treated with medications. I’m starting her
on blood pressure meds. Also statin therapy has been shown to help, along with a consistent exercise routine.”
“Exercise?” I’d been present that morning when the hospital’s physical therapist came to work with her. “She can’t walk across the room without gasping. Even before this surgery, she had dizzy spells and was sometimes short of breath.”
He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “I’m not suggesting she lift weights or run a marathon. But after her hip has healed, she should be able to handle mild to moderate exercise.” He slapped the folder closed. “Dr. Cassel is referring her to a physical therapist on an outpatient basis. I’ll write an order for cardiac therapy as well. And I’ll leave orders for the meds with the nurses.” A question appeared in the deepening of the crease between his eyebrows. “She will take medication, won’t she?”
I understood the question immediately. Some Amish districts resorted to medications only if there were no other alternatives, preferring natural options. Our community had no regulations on medicines prescribed by doctors, though Mammi was fond of the home remedies passed down to her from her own mamm.
“She might balk, but she will take them,” Daed assured him.
Without saying goodbye, the doctor scurried from the room, no doubt already thinking of his next patient. We looked at one another, and I didn’t think mine was the only mind reeling from the conversation.
Finally, Daed placed his hands on his thighs and pushed himself upright. “If medicine and exercise are what she needs, then that is what she will get. The entire family must be in agreement.” We nodded, and he muttered, “She can’t fight us all.”
I hid a smile. If he thought that, he did not know Mammi as well as I did. But in this I thought she would cooperate.
Mamm and Daed’s move was accomplished before Mammi came home the following day. Saloma was sent to the hospital to sit with Mammi in the morning so Mamm could oversee things. There was not much to be done. The beds were the same size, so Mamm said she would only change the bedding. The daadi haus was furnished with everything necessary for an aging couple to live comfortably. Mamm insisted on taking some of her own cookware, though she left the larger pieces for Saloma, who would be cooking for a greater number of people.
I carried the box containing Mamm’s dishes and set them on the small table in the miniature kitchen while she clucked her tongue over the state of the oven.
“You will still eat with us, ya?” The idea of a family meal without my mamm and daed set off ripples of discomfort in me.
“At first.” She opened the oven door, shoved her head inside, and uttered, “Spiders! Seth, hand me the broom.”
I did as requested and she applied the straw end to the oven cavity with an energy that reminded me of the wooden spoon she’d applied to mine and Aaron’s backsides during our misbehaving childhoods. Then she removed the metal racks and attacked the oven again, just to be sure.
“Mammi ate with us even though she lived here.”
“Ya. Well, it is certain she has not cooked in this oven for a while.” She straightened and gave me a soft smile, along with the broom. “When your grossdaadi was alive, they took their meals here except on Sundays.”
I’d forgotten. It wasn’t until the death of her husband that Mammi became a constant at our family table. When I was a boy, having her and Grossdaadi at our table gave the meal a holiday-like feel. Now, we were merely family, and in our culture the most important thing a family did together was eat.
“Besides, it is important that Saloma be permitted to lead in her own kitchen. With me there, she is second.”
“But—”
Mamm stopped me with a finger held to her lips. “Seth, the change will not happen all at once. For a while we will take our meals with the rest of the family. Then I will begin to cook breakfast and lunch for my Daniel here. After a while, we will come to the big house on Sundays only. It is the way of things.”
I knew she was right but couldn’t help grumbling, “I do not like the way of things.”
The oddest expression came over her face. She tilted her head and studied me for a long moment. I fought the urge to shuffle from one foot to the other. Then the reason for her expression struck me with force. She had taken my words as having a larger meaning than I’d intended. I only meant I did not like to think of meals without my parents seated around the family table.
Or had I? In a bigger sense, things had certainly not turned out to my liking. Life itself had not turned out to my liking. One of Robbie’s sayings came to mind. “Life stinks sometimes.” I agreed wholeheartedly.
Her expression cleared. Mamm reached into the box and pulled out a black iron skillet. “You are always welcome to take your meals with us, Seth.” She pointed the skillet at the two benches tucked beneath the table, a miniature version of the one in the big house. “There is plenty of room at our table for you.”
Because I knew the offer was kindly meant, I smiled my thanks. But my smile faded when I turned to put the broom away. With Mamm and Daed gone from the main house, my presence as the extra bruder would become even more apparent. And awkward. If Saloma deserved a chance to lead in her own kitchen, then Aaron also deserved to lead his own household. I was making a little money now with my pottery, though I’d contributed most of it to the family budget, with a bit to Becky and Noah for their farm savings. Perhaps I’d best start setting some back for myself.
By the time Saloma and Mammi arrived from the hospital, the move had been accomplished. No evidence of Mamm and Daed remained in Mammi’s new bedroom in the big house. Her dresses and aprons hung on the pegs on the wall, and her lamp and Bibel rested on the small table beside the bed. Her quilt, slightly frayed at the corners and faded with years of washing, gave the room a homey feel. We’d moved a chair into that room, and Becky had stitched a soft cushion stuffed with lamb’s wool for the seat, something we’d learned would make her more comfortable over the next few weeks until her recovery was complete.
When a strange car pulled up to the house, I thought we had a wealthy visitor. Though I could not tell one car brand from another, this one’s sleek appearance and gold trim indicated a high price tag. Then Robbie leaped out and ran around to the other side to open the rear door. We all filed out of the house, the children hopping with excitement.
“Stay back,” Becky warned the three energetic youngsters. “If you jump on Mammi, she might fall again.”
The threat failed to calm them, though they charged off to the back of the car, well out of Mammi’s vicinity, and ran in circles.
Daed hurried over to take Robbie’s place in helping his mamm to stand, while Aaron opened the door on this side for his wife. The trunk popped open, and I followed Robbie there to lift out a plastic bag with the hospital emblem on it, bulging with Mammi’s things.
“Did you buy a new car?” I asked him.
“I wish.” He lifted out a metal walker and closed the trunk lid with a care he did not show his own red vehicle. “This is Mom’s. She let me take the Lexus because she was afraid my car would be too rough for someone just getting over surgery. This baby rides like you’re sitting on a cloud.”
Mammi made her way slowly across the grass, leaning heavily on the walker and surrounded by caring family members. The children had become solemn at the sight of the unusual gadget. Sadie hugged her mamm’s leg while the twins stood off to one side, eyes round as buggy wheels, and watched the family parade. The porch steps presented a challenge, which Mammi tackled with extra caution while Noah stood behind, his hands extended toward her back, ready to catch her if she should stumble.
When they disappeared into the house, the boys came to my side.
“Onkel Seth, what is that thing?” Luke asked in a hushed voice, his gaze fixed on the closed door.
“It will help Mammi walk until she is strong enough to walk on her own.”
“It had green balls,” Mark said. “Did you see them?”
“Green balls?” I had not looked t
hat closely, being more concerned with Mammi.
Robbie enlightened us. “Tennis balls. They put them on the front legs so the walker moves more easily across the floor.”
Mark turned an eager grin up to me. “Can we play with them?”
“Maybe when she is stronger.” It did not take much imagination to envision an episode when this pair of mischief-makers decided on their own that Mammi was strong enough. “But unless she gives them to you, stay away from them.”
They both nodded, and then Mark took off running toward the barn, one hand on the top of his straw hat to keep it on his head. Luke did not hesitate a moment before racing after his brother. Schwein’s piglets were a week old now, and the boys never tired of watching them.
Robbie jingled the car keys. “So I guess you’re not going to Elias’s today, huh?”
Enough eager hands were ready to help Mammi any way she needed, but I hated to leave during such a big family change. Besides, the afternoon was half over.
I shook my head. “I need to stay.”
“Bummer. I like driving the Lexus.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll tell Mom Mrs. Hostetler needs to go somewhere tomorrow.”
I leveled a stern look on him and prepared to deliver a lecture on dishonesty, but he laughed and punched my shoulder with a light shove. “I’m kidding, Seth. Mom would freak out if she caught me in a lie like that.”
Robbie’s language was so expressive, and so unlike the talk of my family, that I laughed. “I would hate for Amanda to freak out. But I would like to go to the shop tomorrow if you are free to drive me.”
Though tomorrow was Saturday, and whatever pots I threw would have to wait until Monday for trimming, my hands itched to mold clay.
“See you at ten thirty, dude.”
I stood watching as the fancy car pulled down our driveway. Dude, he had called me. I thought of the nervous young man who had first approached us and offered his services. Robbie had certainly become more comfortable around me in the ensuing weeks. Maybe driving me and my family was helping him get over whatever it was that worried his mother.
The Amish Widower Page 14
