The Amish Widower

by Virginia Smith

  Though I should make a firm statement that let her know without a doubt that I had no interest in courting her, I found myself mumbling, “I rode with my family. I do not even own a buggy anymore.”

  At that moment I spied Aaron over her shoulder, striding toward Mark and Luke with their coats in hand. “I must go. My family is leaving now,” I hurried to say before she could respond. “Again, welcome home.”

  Ignoring the disappointment apparent on her features, I jerked a quick nod and made my escape.

  On Monday Robbie picked me up at ten thirty as usual and dropped me off at Elias’s shop. I intended to stay late again today so that I could trim my candleholders from Saturday and perhaps throw another large pot for Elias.

  When I entered the shop, Leah spied my lunch bag.

  “You can just take that right back home with you,” she said. “Grossmammi plans to make our lunch. I’m to pick it up at noon.”

  Though my mouth watered at the memory of Lily’s fried chicken, I shook my head. “I can’t eat her food again. I would not feel right.”

  Leah shrugged. “It’s too late. Daadi said she was already cooking when he left the house.”

  Elias emerged from the workshop in time to agree with her. “I have not seen my wife so excited about cooking a meal since we left Ohio. She plans to send lunch every day, so you can leave your sandwiches at home.”

  “It is not right to take advantage of her this way.”

  He placed his hands on his hips and awarded me a stern look. “Would you deny her the pleasure of using the gift Gott has given her?”

  Put like that, how could I refuse? “Then I insist on paying for my meals.”

  Elias waved away the offer. “You pay us by making more wares for our shelves.”

  “More candleholders, I hope,” Leah said. “I put a picture of mine on the website with a big caption that it was sold. We’ve already received three emails inquiring when more would be available.”

  “A canister with holes.” I shook my head. “I never would have thought.”

  “Well, why are you standing here?” Leah pointed toward the workshop. “Get busy!”

  Laughing at her bossy command, Elias and I got busy.

  The next two hours evaporated, so focused was I on my carving. I repeated the curvy design from last week and also the one I’d begun to think of as the bubble design. The pattern based on Hannah’s quilt would never be repeated. Not only did it seem appropriate to honor my deceased wife with a once-only creation, I wanted to please Leah by gifting her with a one-of-a-kind piece.

  But I’d seen many quilt patterns, and so I set about replicating the one on Mammi’s bed. I wasn’t aware that Leah had left the shop until she walked into the back carrying the same lunch basket as before.

  “Time to take a break,” she told us. “Cold schnitzel is not nearly as good as cold chicken.”

  “Schnitzel.” Elias grinned at me. “You have never tasted anything like my Lily’s schweineschnitzel.”

  Because his claim about her chicken had been true, my expectations for the meal soared.

  Nor was I disappointed. Tender pork, pounded thin, breaded, and fried to a golden brown, melted in my mouth. The potato salad held a touch of tangy sweetness that reminded me of the German recipe Mammi used to make, but with only enough sugar to go well with the lemony schnitzel. We also ate salad and bread still warm enough that the butter melted quickly after being spread on.

  When I set my empty plate on the wheel and sat back, my belly bulged almost as much as Elias’s. “And to think I would have eaten a bologna sandwich.”

  Leah rose and began stacking the empty plates. “There’s lemon sponge pie for dessert, and I’ve been sternly instructed to send the leftovers home with you.”

  I moaned, but Elias beamed. “You’ve never tasted anything like my Lily’s lemon sponge pie.”

  Leah and I joined in laughter. If there were a man who took more delight from his wife’s cooking than Elias, I had never met him.

  “I will taste it later,” I promised.

  While Leah cleared the remains of our meal, I returned to my wheel and inspected my work. This pattern was difficult, being a series of concentric circles. Once a hole was cut in the clay, nothing remained to form the center of the design. I’d modified the quilt pattern by forming the outer circles out of tiny holes. The work was exacting and required a great deal of concentration, but so far I was pleased with the result.

  Leah approached and bent to study the design. “That looks like a quilt my aunt used to have.”

  Pleased that the pattern was recognizable, I nodded. “My grossmammi has a similar one.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She stood and turned a smile on me. “Not as beautiful as mine, but this one will sell quickly.”

  Elias joined us. “I like that. An Amish quilt design on Amish pottery.”

  I didn’t point out that this could hardly be called Amish pottery because it would be considered impractical, and therefore too fancy for most Amish homes. But as an Amish man had made it, I supposed that made it Amish pottery.

  He excused himself to check on the firewood supply because the big planters would be fired in the wood kiln. Leah finished filling the basket with empty dishes, and I picked up my tool. Today she had pulled her hair back again, though it hung in a long rope down her back. She stood in profile, with her scar hidden from my sight. The skin on the cheek presented to me was creamy and smooth, nearly as smooth as Laura King’s. With a start, I realized she could be of an age with Laura.

  “How old are you?” I blurted out the question before I could stop myself.

  She didn’t seem offended. “I’m twenty-two.”

  Only a few years older than Laura and younger than I’d thought. Her habitual stern expression added the appearance of age. Some Amish people were not even baptized yet at twenty-two, though that would be cause for much anguish for their parents.

  She picked up the napkin that had covered the worktable and shook it out. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “An old man, then.” Her teasing grin faded, and her gaze focused on her hands as she folded the napkin. “When I first met you, I assumed you were married because of your beard. Then Daadi told me about your wife.”

  Only once had Elias and I discussed Hannah. He, too, had assumed I was married and had asked my wife’s name. I’d given a clipped answer about her being deceased, and he had never broached the subject again. Unless someone in his district had told him about Rachel, he probably didn’t know I’d been married twice.

  I surprised myself by clearing my throat and saying, “Two wives.”

  She faced me fully, eyes round. “You were married twice?”

  Nodding, I managed to keep my tone even. “My first wife, Rachel, died in childbirth. Hannah died in a buggy accident.” I didn’t know why, but I added, “She was expecting a baby too.”

  She completed her task in silence, though I felt sympathy radiating in my direction. When the worktable was clear and the basket full, she asked in a quiet voice, “Will you marry again?”

  “No.”

  My answer was quick and gruff. She looked surprised but only nodded.

  I bent over my work, and then I remembered that I had not yet told her of yesterday’s church announcement. Glad for a reason to change the subject, I asked, “Do you remember the girl who ran away?”

  “The one you wrote the letter to?”

  “Ya. Well, she came back. She was at church yesterday.”

  Leah’s lips twisted into their familiar acerbic arrangement. “They got to her, did they?”

  “I think she came to the decision on her own.” I glanced away. “She mentioned my letter and how I had said the decision should be hers.”

  Something in my tone must have betrayed my discomfort, for Leah’s stare became sharp. “Let me guess. She came back for you.”

  “Of course not!” I said sharply. “She came back for God.”

/>   “But she’s interested in you.” When I didn’t answer, she prodded. “Am I right?”

  I nodded. Then I laughed in an attempt to lighten the conversation. “She asked me to go to a singing, and when I refused, she asked me to drive her home.”

  Leah grinned. “I like this girl. She has a mind of her own.” Her head cocked sideways. “So did you?”

  “Of course not. And I will not make a fool of myself by going to the singings, either.”

  A sigh escaped her lips, and she fixed an unfocused stare toward the ceiling. “I used to love singings when I was young. We’d play games and stuff ourselves full of Grossmammi’s cookies. She always sent cookies.”

  I was about to point out that she was still young, but Elias returned at that moment.

  “Leah, will you make a call for me and place an order for a wagonload of wood? I will need it delivered by Wednesday morning.”

  Nodding, she tucked the basket’s handles in the crook of her arm and left the room without another glance in my direction. The faraway look in her eyes when she spoke of the singings hovered in my mind as I bent once again to my carving.

  THIRTEEN

  When Robbie left me at home that afternoon, I went inside to deliver the sponge pie—minus three pieces—before going to check on the livestock. The women of my family worked in the kitchen with a perfect harmony they had rehearsed daily since Aaron’s marriage. Mamm moved from the stove to the cutting board, and the moment she left the simmering pot, Saloma swept into place behind her with a long spoon to give the contents a stir. Becky whirled from the counter to set a bowl of stewed tomatoes on the table, where Mammi sat peeling turnips, little Sadie at her side carefully pulling pickles from a jar and placing them in a dish.

  They exclaimed over the pie, and Mamm fixed a too-innocent look on me. “What a shame we did not have this sooner to offer our visitors.”

  The sight of her expression, along with the sudden smile Becky tried to hide by bending over the wash bucket, sent my defenses on high alert.

  I made the inquiry Mamm obviously expected, though with a degree of caution. “You had visitors today?”

  She nodded. “Susan King stopped by, along with her daughters.”

  Leah’s comment about Laura having a mind of her own came back to me. She certainly did, combined with a boldness that many would find unappealing in a young woman. I found it disturbing.

  Because their silence held an expectant quality, I voiced a vague comment. “That must have been a nice visit.”

  “Laura was disappointed to find you not here.” Mamm continued chopping as she spoke, though now she stood sideways to the counter so she could watch me. “She wanted to ask a favor of you.”

  Saloma turned from her stirring. “Why did you not tell us you sent a letter while she was in Philadelphia?”

  A sharp reply nearly shot from my mouth. Because you would have acted as you are now, as if a simple letter held more meaning than the apology it contained. Instead, I shrugged. “It was not important enough to mention.” Before she could answer, I asked Mamm, “What favor does she want?”

  “She hopes you will go with her to pick out a puppy. Her daed promised to buy her one when she returned.”

  So that was one of their tactics in convincing her to return. Bribery. Not uncommon, but a puppy?

  I actually laughed, though the sound fell hollow in the room. “Let her daed help her, or her mamm or schweschder.”

  Mamm gave me a stern look. “She wants you to take her.”

  “I know nothing about dogs. We do not even have one.”

  Saloma slid the chopped onions from the cutting board into a bowl. “That is one reason you are a good person to take her. Aaron says we need a dog around here to guard the chickens. He’s seen a fox and her kits prowling around lately.”

  Sadie looked up from the pickle jar, eyes sparkling. “Puppy!”

  I spared a smile for the child. “Then maybe Aaron should take Laura King. I have no time to shop for dogs.”

  Becky speared me with a sharp look. “If you spent less time with Elias Beachy, you would have more time to help around here.”

  The mood in the kitchen became noticeably awkward. The tasks everyone performed suddenly required close attention, and no one looked at me. Because I had not shirked my duties of milking the cows and caring for Schwein and her piglets, I knew that was not an issue. And because I regularly asked Aaron if he needed my help, and he regularly said no, that was not a problem either. No, Becky’s complaint had nothing to do with Elias or the time I spent away from the farm. Instead, she had concluded that my focus on my pottery work was interfering with her plans to see me settled with a third wife. The fact that no one spoke to contradict her let me know they were in agreement.

  This was a topic I had no intention of discussing, with Becky or anyone else.

  I answered in a soft voice. “If you need my help with anything, you have only to ask.”

  Before anyone could reply, I left the kitchen and the house. The horse stalls needed mucking out, a task I usually disliked but just then looked forward to as a handy means of escape.

  With Becky’s comment still stinging, I walked up the road to the Cramer house after dinner. The Cramers greeted me with friendly smiles and allowed me to come inside their home to use the phone.

  “I haven’t seen much of you lately,” Kevin said as he handed me the cordless handset. “Heard you’ve hired another driver. Wasn’t anything I did, was it?”

  I hurried to assure him otherwise. “A young man who needs the work offered his car.” It would not be proper to go into details, but I added, “I think he plans to go to college soon.”

  Kevin seemed relieved when he nodded. If he assumed from my words that Robbie needed the money for his education, I would not correct him.

  I pressed the numbers for Robbie’s cell phone. I explained that I would not go to Strasburg tomorrow, and we made arrangements for him to pick me up at the usual time on Wednesday. Then I disconnected the call and dialed the number for Plain Man’s Pottery. No one would be there this late, but I could leave a message on the machine.

  “Plain Man’s Pottery. How can I help you?”

  Startled to hear Leah’s voice, at first I said nothing.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “I—” I cleared my throat. “This is Seth Hostetler.”

  “Hello, Seth.” Her voice became friendly.

  Words tumbled off my tongue. “You are working late.”

  A low laugh sounded through the phone. “No, I’m at home. I forward the store’s phone to my cell at night just in case someone from the West Coast wants to place an order.”

  I shook my head at the mysteries of telephones. “I hope I have not interrupted you.”

  “Not really. I’m just reading.”

  My grin seeped into my voice. “An Amish novel?”

  Again the low laugh that fell pleasantly on my ears. “Actually, this one is a sweet prairie romance.”

  The words meant nothing to me. “I called to say I will not be there tomorrow. My family needs my help on the farm.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed, which pleased me. “Okay, I’ll tell Daadi. Is there anything he needs to do for you?”

  I’d finished trimming all my candleholders and then had thrown another large pot—the final one to fill the special order.

  “He will want to trim the planter so it is ready for bisque firing on Wednesday.”

  “Will you be here for that?”

  I had only seen the wood kiln in operation once and was eager to see it again. “Ya, I will be there on Wednesday.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll see you then.”

  I stood for a moment, the phone still held to my ear. Her voice had warmed when she said she would see me. A list of possible reasons came to mind. She might be concerned for her grossdaadi and wanted to make sure he didn’t attempt to lift those heavy pots by himself. Or maybe she wanted me to make more candleholders becaus
e they seemed to sell well. Another possibility hovered at the edges of my mind—one I refused to think about.

  I thanked the Cramers for the use of their phone and left. During the mile-long walk home in the dark, I spent a lot of time not thinking about that third reason.

  The following day a steady rain drove us all indoors. After my chores in the barn, I joined the rest of my family inside. Daed reread the most recent issue of the Budget, while Aaron studied the Old Farmer’s Almanac. I watched Noah whittle more of his wood pieces, envious of his task. My hands itched to be at the wheel, wetting the clay, molding it, testing the thickness with my fingers. I joined in a couple games of Dutch Blitz, but Saloma beat me soundly both times.

  Wednesday morning I finished my chores early, eager to be on my way. I was watching the road for the familiar red car when instead a buggy pulled into our driveway. Not one of the large ones, but the same size as Noah and Becky’s.

  “We have a visitor,” I called into the house.

  That brought the women out, Mamm wiping her hands on a towel. “Saloma, put on the—” She stopped and cast an apologetic grimace toward Saloma. Entertaining visitors at the big house was no longer her responsibility.

  Saloma smiled. “I’ll put on coffee.”

  She disappeared into the house. When the buggy neared, I detected two occupants, their white kapps visible through the windscreen. It wasn’t until they stopped that I recognized them. My stomach dropped toward my shoes. Laura and Irene King. Their mother was not with them this time. Had Laura returned to try to convince me to help with her flimsy excuse of an errand? When I went forward to help them to the ground, I saw that was not the case. In her arms she held a squirming yellow puppy.

  She held the animal close to her chest as I lifted her down.

  After seeing Irene safely on the ground, I nodded at the creature. “I see you found a dog on your own.”