“Ya, I did.”
The twins emerged from the house and charged toward us as the women of my family came forward to see the puppy. Noah and Aaron were in the field, testing the temperature of the soil, and Daed had returned to the daadi haus after breakfast.
Sadie squealed with delight when Laura set the puppy down. It bounded over to the boys, who dropped to the ground to pet it.
Robbie’s car appeared then, and I waved him over.
“He seems to be a sweet dog,” Becky said. “I’m surprised you picked him out so quickly.” I detected a frown when she glanced up at me. My sister did not like to have her plans thwarted.
The dog bounded back over to Laura and nosed at the hem of her dress.
“He seems to be attached to you already,” Mammi commented.
“Oh, he’s not mine.” Laura turned a grin up at me. “He’s yours. I brought him for you.”
“Mine?” I slapped a hand to my chest. “I don’t want a dog.”
“Seth! That is no way to receive a gift.” Mammi’s stern reprimand accompanied a displeased scowl in my direction.
But Laura laughed—a high, ringing sound that rose into the sky. “I didn’t mean the gift for Seth alone, but for the whole family. You said you wanted a dog to keep foxes away, and when we went to pick out our puppy, only two were left.”
Irene nodded and stooped to rub the dog’s ears. “The people told us these dogs are gentle with children and yet protective enough to guard your chickens.”
Robbie’s car pulled to a stop a few feet behind the buggy. Though he rolled his window down, he did not emerge.
“We insist on paying you.” Mammi turned to Becky. “Fetch for me some money from the jar.”
“Oh, the puppy was free. The people were anxious to find homes for the last two and gave them to us gladly. But I will let you pay for his food. We bought a bag for you when we bought ours.” She turned a smile up to me. “Will you get it from the buggy, please?”
The dog bounded off in the direction of the barn, followed by a trio of laughing children. Irene began a description of the puppy’s mother and the people who had raised the litter. When I headed toward the Kings’ buggy, Laura followed me.
“This is my family’s second buggy,” she said as I lifted out a heavy bag of kibble from the back. “I can drive it whenever I want.”
“Oh?” I tossed the bag over my shoulder.
She tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes. “I plan to drive it on the next church Sunday.”
I saw where the conversation was going, but short of turning on my heel, there was no way out. Before I could do so, she hurried on.
“So I was thinking maybe you and I could go for a drive after. You know. Just to talk.”
My jaw went slack. Apparently, Laura had not left all her Englisch ways behind. Such boldness flew in the face of the traditions we held so closely. Did the bishop know of her forward behavior? Did her family?
I eyed her with a stern expression. “I will ride home with my family, as always.”
Her face fell, and I knew I’d hurt her feelings. I experienced a twinge of regret but left her standing there before she could reply. Better to bruise her ego than to offer a kind refusal—which I had done last Sunday regarding her invitation to the singing—that could be misconstrued as softness toward her.
After I’d placed the dog’s food near the door, I cut a wide path around my family and the visitors. A few moments later I slid onto the passenger seat of Robbie’s car. Laura watched openly as the car turned around. When we were on the road, I relaxed against the back of the seat.
He glanced sideways at me. “That girl’s sweet on you.”
I looked at him sharply. “Why do you think that?”
He laughed. “It’s obvious, dude. She was batting her eyes and swinging her skirt back and forth.”
“I am not sweet on her.”
Apparently, he understood from my tone that I didn’t wish to discuss Laura King further. He did not mention her again during the rest of the drive.
FOURTEEN
March gave way to April, and the weather continued its gradual warmth. Though our fields were not yet ready for planting the crops that provided the bulk of our family’s income, we prepared the soil in the family garden for early produce. Onion sets, garlic, leaf lettuce, beets, and turnips were all planted in neat rows of cultivated soil. Ever conscious that my family might resent my absence during the important work of planting, I stayed home and did my share of the work. But I missed my time at the potter’s wheel.
On a sunny day in mid-April, I joined Aaron in the garden after breakfast. We stood on the grass, the toes of our boots touching the soft soil.
“Early cabbage today,” he said. “Then peas on Thursday, I think.”
“We need to watch the boys more closely.” I pointed toward a garlic clove, which had been planted yesterday, lying on top of the soil midway down the row in front of us.
“Ach, I thought I had.”
He strode between the even rows and squatted before the errant clove. I watched as he sank his hands into the soft dirt, forming a four-inch hole. He set the clove carefully, almost lovingly, and then covered it with the rich soil. For a moment afterward he remained on his haunches, his gaze sweeping across the garden. The look of satisfaction on his face resonated deep inside me. Is that how I looked when I cupped my hands around a lump of clay, pushing and moistening and then forming a bowl or a platter that would one day rest on a family’s table?
He rose and returned with careful steps to my side, where we resumed our examination of the garden.
“You have not been to Strasburg in more than a week. You miss your work there.”
And I thought I’d done such a good job of masking my feelings.
“There is more important work to be done here,” I said.
“Work, ya, but not more important.” He glanced at me sideways. “At least not to you, I think.”
I smiled and said nothing.
Aaron clasped his hands behind his back in an imitation of Daed, though I doubted he was aware of it. “The family can plant the garden. We have plenty of hands to make the work light. If you want to go to your shop, no one will fault you.”
Becky and Saloma, and even Mamm, might disagree. Though no one had mentioned Laura or any other single woman within my hearing, I knew they had not yet given up their plans to see me matched with one of the eligible girls in our district. I knew they somehow blamed my growing interest in ceramics for my lack of cooperation.
From his pursed lips and held breath, I knew my bruder had something else to say. I remained silent and did not have long to wait.
“Have you considered becoming a potter yourself? As an occupation, I mean.”
The question surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. At first I’d considered pottery an engrossing pastime, a pleasant way to spend the winter months when the farm was not so demanding. Only recently, when orders for my candleholders began to come in regularly, did the idea occur to me that pottery might become something more than a hobby. But surely that was a fluke. Surely a man could not make a career out of canisters with holes in them, however decorative.
“I am not nearly good enough to make a living. Elias has been a potter his entire life, as was his father before him.”
Aaron smiled. “You are not exactly old, Seth. You have a long time yet to devote to learning. And this Elias does not have sons to take over his business when the time comes, does he? At least, you have not mentioned sons.”
Elias did have sons, three of them, but he had told me that, to his disappointment, not one shared his love for the clay. Nor did his daughters’ husbands. The only one of his family who cared for the business he loved was Leah, and she admitted to having no skill.
Perhaps he would consider an apprentice, someone to take over one day when he was ready to hang up his clay-stained apron. The idea excited me. Not that I could ever hope to achieve Elias’s skill
at the wheel.
I narrowed my eyes and peered at Aaron. “Not long ago you told me I would always have a home here. Have you changed your mind? Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” He shook his head with such vehemence that his hat slid sideways. “I meant what I said. You are family, and family is for always. But you seem…” His gaze rose to the sky as he appeared to grasp for a word. “You seem calmer when you are making pottery. Almost at peace, or as close as I have seen you since the accident.”
An astute observation, and one that rang true as soon as I heard the words. How odd that I hadn’t noticed it myself.
Now that he’d spoken his mind, Aaron seemed eager to dismiss the subject. “It’s something to think about. But I hope you will help with the planting. I will need you then.”
“Ya, of course.”
“This year will be our last to grow tobacco.” He spoke in the low tone of one confiding a secret and tossed a defiant glance toward the house. “Next year, we will switch to soybeans.”
Aaron and Daed had disagreed for the past few years about our cash crop. Aaron claimed, and I privately agreed, that selling tobacco condoned an addictive habit that a conscientious man should not promote. Our father argued that Hostetlers—and many other farmers in Lancaster County—had grown tobacco for years, and those who used it were adults and could make their own decisions. Also, soybeans would not bring the price of tobacco, so the switch would result in less money for the family. Out of respect, Aaron had not pushed the issue even after he took over management of the farm. I’d wondered several times how long he would wait before insisting.
“I’m glad.” I nodded my approval. “It’s the right thing to do.”
With a grateful smile, he strode off in the direction of the barn.
I stayed where I was for a long while, considering the conversation. Working with clay did make me…if not happy, then at least satisfied. To take a lifeless, formless lump and watch it change as it spun on my wheel quenched an uneasy thirst inside me that had been with me so long I no longer noticed it.
Perhaps I would speak to Elias. Ask his opinion of my abilities and whether or not I would ever be able to achieve anything close to his level of skill. If he thought my work worthy, perhaps he would be interested in formalizing our teacher-student relationship.
And if so, what of Leah? Would she feel threatened at the idea of an outsider taking an official place at her grossdaadi’s side?
I returned to Plain Man’s Pottery the next day after more than a week’s absence. Robbie did not hide his pleasure at being asked to drive me again, and when I entered the shop, even Leah seemed pleased to see me, though it was hard to tell given the sarcasm of her greeting.
She straightened from kneeling before a lower shelf, eyebrows arched. “Look who decided to show up today. I thought you’d deserted us.”
Was there a touch of hurt in her caustic tone? Maybe, but I wasn’t given the opportunity to wonder long because Elias hurried through the curtain. When he caught sight of me, a huge smile wreathed his face.
“My student returns.” He clapped his hands with obvious delight. “The work has been lonely without you.”
“It’s planting time.” I shrugged. “My family needed help with the garden.”
“Ya, ya, my Lily is planting too. I hired some boys to help with the heavy work, but she is a hard worker herself, my Lily.”
It occurred to me that I did not know where Elias and his wife lived. “Do you have a farm?”
“No, just a bit of property. Enough for a garden and a shed for the horse.” He beckoned me toward the back. “Come. You are a blessing from Gott today. I have more work than I can do myself.”
I glanced around the store, spying three of my candleholders, and then settled my gaze on Leah. “More orders for candleholders?”
“A few,” she acknowledged, and then she smiled. “I had to take mine down off the website because people kept trying to order one exactly like it.”
I followed Elias into the workshop. We moved together with a silent harmony in assembling our tools, retrieving the day’s clay from the storage closet, filling our bowls with water. It reminded me of the way the women in my family worked together in the kitchen.
An attack of nerves overtook me as we stood side by side at the wedging table. I had determined to speak with him today about my future, but during the night fear had seized me. What if I didn’t possess the talent to make a living as a potter?
“What is it?” He kept his gaze fixed on his hands working the clay. “There is a question trying to burn its way out of your mouth.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his perceptiveness, which lessened my tension. “Ya, there is.” My laughter ended, and I mimicked him, keeping my gaze on the wedging. “Do you think I have the makings of a potter?”
He looked up at me, surprise coloring the heavy creases around his eyes. “You are a potter, Seth. Do you not throw pots?”
“I mean a real potter. A skillful one, like you.”
He studied me a minute. “Do you not realize that, except for the large planters we did last month, your work has brought more money into this shop than mine?”
Now it was my turn to be surprised, but I discounted the claim with a shake of my head. “Only because Englisch people have taken a liking to my candleholders, and Leah sets such a high price on them.” I turned the clay in my hands and inspected the bottom. “I think I would like to make pottery as a business, as you do, but I don’t know if I have the talent, and I am sure I have not mastered the skills I need to be a good one.”
Elias deserted his clay and turned to face me. “Am I not teaching you the skills?”
“I am your student, yes, but I would like to be more.” I could not meet his eye. “I would like to be your apprentice.”
His deep laughter filled the room. Unsure whether or not I should feel offense at being laughed at, I tried not to look hurt while he got control of himself.
“Young Seth, you are my apprentice. How can you have worked with me all these weeks and not know that?”
“I am?”
He spread his hands wide to indicate the workshop. “Do you see any other students vying for my time? Do you see anyone else’s work for sale in my store?” He sobered and placed a hand on my sleeve. The unusual contact forced me to stop my work and look him in the eye. “I will make a promise. For as long as Gott grants me time on this earth, I will teach you the skills you need to know.”
A thrill of pleasure shot through me. “Danke, Elias. I will work hard.”
“That I know. I have a feeling the apprentice will soon overtake the master.” Before I could react to that, he slapped at the clay I’d wedged. “Let us begin by learning a new skill. Forget candleholders today. I will teach you the chattering technique for a flat-form bowl. For that we need to wedge more clay.”
Unable to suppress a smile, I did as my teacher instructed.
I was working on my third flat bowl when Leah stuck her head into the workroom. “You have visitors, Seth.”
I could not imagine who would ask for me here. For one horrified moment I thought perhaps Laura had decided to make another bold attempt at gaining my attention and formed a silent prayer. Not her. Please not her.
I washed my hands and, after wiping them on a clean towel, followed Leah into the showroom. Relief washed over me when I recognized one of the two Englisch women waiting there.
“Amanda.”
Robbie’s mother turned from her examination of a large bowl, her features brightening. “There you are. Jackie, this is Seth Hostetler, the man who made that beautiful votive holder in my family room.”
The other lady, elegant-looking in the Englisch way, gave me a pleasant nod.
“Jackie and I are out doing some shopping, and we thought we’d drop by to see some of your other pieces.” Amanda picked up the bowl in both hands and turned it over. “This is one of yours, isn’t it? I recognize the mark on the bottom.”
>
“Yes. That is one of mine.”
“Jackie, look at the coloring. I’ve never seen that combination before.”
While the two inspected the bowl, I stood next to Leah, uncertain what to do. I wanted to leave these two in her care, but this was Robbie’s mother, who had been kind to me and my family when Mammi was released from the hospital.
Her friend looked up at me. “Do you think you could make a set of salad plates to match this?”
The glaze was one I’d experimented with, combining a muted violet with a soft white called coconut. The result was not what I’d hoped for, but apparently it appealed to Amanda’s friend.
I nodded. “I can do that.”
“Oh, good.” She set the bowl on the sales counter. “Could you make eight?”
When I agreed, Leah took the bowl to store in the back so I would have a model from which to work. Amanda dug in her pocketbook and extracted a folded piece of paper. Judging by the ragged edges, it had been torn from a magazine.
“Another reason I’m here is because I saw this and fell in love with it.” She unfolded the page and spread it out on the counter. The picture was of an Englisch living room with brightly colored furnishings. With a white-tipped fingernail, she tapped on a vase. At least, I thought the object was a vase, though of a decorative kind that would detract from the natural beauty of any flower arrangement. “Do you think you could make something like that?”
Leah returned as I studied the object. The body was a perfectly circular ball, attached to a flat, triangular base with column-like pillars. At the top, a fluted opening protruded from the sphere. The piece itself was bright blue, though ovals carved into the side of the round part had been painted in a variety of colors. I thought it very ugly.
“Wow,” Leah said. “That’s quite a contemporary design.”
Contemporary. Yes, that perfectly described this object. And, I realized as the image of her dining room rose in my mind’s eye, Amanda’s entire house. Another word I would use was fancy. As in, not Plain.
This vase would fit in Amanda’s house perfectly.
The Amish Widower Page 18
