The Amish Widower

by Virginia Smith

  I pulled Orion to a stop beside Elias’s buggy in front of a large shed and jumped to the ground. Lily hurried toward me, her face wreathed in smiles, while Leah trailed behind. Joining her, Elias took his wife by the arm and drew her forward.

  “Meet my apprentice, Seth Hostetler. Seth, this is my Lily.”

  “Velkumm to our home, Seth.”

  “Danke, Lily, for opening your home to me.”

  “Your home from this moment on. I have your room ready.” She gestured toward Orion. “You men see to the horses, and then bring your things in. I hope you are hungry because I have made a special meal for Seth’s first dinner with us. Pork tenderloin with cheese potatoes and beans and chow-chow, and for dessert, schnitz pie.”

  My belly was still full from the bountiful lunch she had provided. No wonder Elias carried such a wide girth. If Leah ate here every night, how did she manage to maintain a slender figure?

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Elias cut me off.

  “Ah, Seth.” He beamed in my direction. “You have never tasted anything like my Lily’s schnitz pie.”

  Was there ever a man prouder of his wife’s cooking than my teacher? Laughing, I could only reply, “I look forward to it.”

  We set about unhitching the buggies and settling Orion in his new home.

  At just past two o’clock on Monday, Leah stuck her head into the workroom and announced, “Your ride is here.”

  Kevin had arrived earlier than expected. I hurried through the process of cleaning up, hating to leave him waiting.

  “I will be back before the shop closes,” I told Elias.

  My teacher eyed me with an openly inquisitive expression. I had not confided the nature of my appointment, though I’d fielded many curious invitations to explain. The idea of speaking with a counselor about my volatile emotions was one I found more than a little embarrassing, and I was not yet ready to tell anyone. If the outcome of today’s appointment resulted in more sessions, then I would feel I owed Elias an explanation. Until then, I merely nodded a farewell and left him to his work.

  To my surprise, the driver waiting for me in the showroom was not Kevin, but Doris Cramer. She held one of my vases—not fancy, but a beautiful one such as any Plain person might use for flowers cut from their spring garden—and was inspecting it closely.

  She looked up when I appeared, clearly impressed. “You made this?”

  A blush threatened to heat my cheeks as I nodded.

  “What is the price?”

  Leah started to answer, but I spoke quickly. “If you like it, it’s yours.”

  I received a sharp look from Leah, but she held her tongue.

  Doris returned the vase to the shelf with care. “I couldn’t accept it without paying.”

  I crossed the room in two strides, picked up the vase, and pressed it into her hands. “The price is thirty dollars, which is what I would pay you for driving me today. So if you will accept it in trade, we are even.”

  Behind Doris’s back, Leah gave me a tight-lipped glare. I knew that she knew the price she had set on that vase was one hundred twenty dollars. Though I thought that figure outrageously high, we had already sold several similar to it.

  The smile on my driver’s face was reward enough for me. “Done.” She hugged the piece close to her chest, and gave me a narrow-eyed look. “But I think I got the better end of this bargain.”

  Leah softened enough to wrap the vase in newspaper with something that approached a pleasant expression.

  As she did, I said, “I expected Kevin. I hope he is not sick.”

  “No, but a job came up, and he needed to be there to oversee the painters at the start. I hope you don’t mind my taking you.”

  Kevin Cramer owned a house painting business and employed several men from my district. Or my former district, as of two days ago. On occasion Doris had driven my family, especially in pleasant weather, which was her husband’s busiest time.

  “Of course I do not mind.”

  The irony struck me even as I spoke. I felt uncomfortable letting Leah drive me alone in her car, but not a twinge of difficulty in accepting Doris’s offer. The reason lay not in the fact that Doris Cramer was Englisch because Leah was too. Doris was a married woman, but I would not lie to myself that the reason lay there. No, there was a different reason, one I did not wish to think about at the moment, so I focused instead on Doris.

  “I’m glad. Kevin said your appointment would last an hour, and that’s perfect timing for me. I want to go by the hospital for a short visit with Saloma. I have a gift for the baby.”

  “She will like that.”

  “Here you go.” Leah handed the wrapped vase to its new owner. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She beamed as she headed toward the door.

  I stepped ahead of her and held it open as she exited.

  When I started after her, Leah grabbed my arm. “That’s an expensive ride you’re getting today,” she whispered.

  I matched her tone. “You do not approve?”

  She shrugged. “It’s your vase. But I would have taken you for free.”

  How could I reply to that? No words came. Our gazes locked together. The blue of her eyes seemed to darken as I watched. She stood not a foot away from me, so close I smelled the clean scent of the soap that clung to her. Though I tried to pry my gaze from hers, I was pulled deeper into the blue depths.

  She seemed to realize that she still held my arm and released it quickly, breaking the moment that had grown uncomfortably intimate. I stepped back, shocked to realize that I had begun to lean toward her.

  “You’d better go,” she said, her voice husky. “Or you’ll be late for your appointment.”

  My thoughts in turmoil and my pulse beating like a drum, I left the shop.

  Thankfully, Doris’s enthusiasm for her gift bubbled over into chatter, and I forced myself to pay attention to her during the drive to Lancaster. She’d put the address into her cell phone and followed the directions issued by a pleasant female voice to the Philhaven building. Though her eyes widened when she caught sight of the sign, thankfully she made no comment.

  By the time she dropped me off at the entrance to the counseling center, I’d managed to banish thoughts of Leah and instead had developed a full-fledged attack of nerves for the upcoming appointment.

  “We’re a little early.” She turned an apologetic grimace my way.

  “It is fine.” I opened the door. “Tell Saloma I said hello.”

  I stepped into a pleasant room, furnished with a blend of Amish and Englisch chairs and couches. Bushy plants in baskets grew here and there, and several small tables, placed between the furnishings, held Bibles besides an assortment of magazines. An Englisch man seated in a padded chair glanced up at me and then returned to the magazine in his lap.

  Two young women smiled at me from behind a long counter facing the door, one dressed Plain and wearing a Mennonite kapp. When she spoke, I recognized her voice as the one I’d heard on the phone.

  “Hello. Are you here for an appointment?”

  I approached the counter. “Ya. I am Seth Hostetler,” I told her in a hushed voice. “I am early.”

  Her smile widened. “That’s actually a good thing. Since this is your first visit, I have some paperwork for you to fill out.” She handed me a clipboard with forms on it and a pen stuck beneath the clip. “You can ignore the section about insurance. Bring it back to me when you’re finished.”

  Nodding my thanks, I selected a wooden chair. I filled in my name and address, and listed Daed as my contact, with the Cramers’ phone number. The second form was a list of questions, and some of them left me shifting uncomfortably. Though I was able to truthfully check the box marked “No” when asked if I had ever considered suicide, my pen hesitated over the question concerning emotions I could not control. But what good would this appointment do if I was less than honest?

  I checked “Yes.”

  A beautifully c
arved clock on the wall read fifteen minutes before three when I handed the clipboard back to the Mennonite girl.

  “Have a seat, and we’ll call you back when Dr. Phillips is ready for you.”

  Before I returned to my chair, I selected a Bible from the nearest table. I might as well have left it there. The words swam before my eyes, my jangled nerves robbing me of the ability to focus.

  A door to the left of the counter opened, and a man with an untrimmed beard and broadfall trousers appeared. His gaze swept past me and settled on the other man. “Carl, are you ready?”

  Carl tossed his magazine on a table and exited the waiting room.

  A few minutes later the door opened again. I closed the Bible, expecting to hear my name called. Instead, I received a shock when a familiar figure stepped through the doorway.

  “Robbie!”

  The young man jerked to a stop, his eyes going round. “Seth. Wh-what are you doing here?”

  Several things became clear to me at once. The thing he had mentioned on the phone, the reason he could not drive me today, was an appointment here at Philhaven. A counseling appointment. The day we’d shared a lunch of sub sandwiches he had mentioned a counselor who advised him to take a year off before attending college. I assumed he meant a school guidance counselor, but apparently not.

  My mouth too dry to answer, I might have been glued to my seat. I stared at the young man, whose throat convulsed with the nervous gulping I had not seen since shortly after his first visit to our family farm. His hands trembled with such violence that he splayed them for a moment, staring as if in horror, and then he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans.

  Robbie’s obvious nerves acted as a soothing agent on mine. Compassion for a young man I was fond of swept through me. Whatever the trouble of his past had been, he apparently wished to keep it private—a feeling I completely understood.

  Rising from the chair, I clutched the Bible in one hand and attempted to answer in a normal tone. “This is the appointment I called about.”

  A man appeared in the doorway behind him, slender and not much taller than Mammi. He wore black-rimmed glasses, and a frown lay heavy on his clean-shaven face as he stepped to Robbie’s side.

  “I knew I was meeting a new client today, but until just now I didn’t know who it was.” He held aloft a slender folder as he peered through his glasses at me. “You are Seth Hostetler.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sam Phillips.” The frown cleared, and he stepped forward with his hand extended. “Robbie has mentioned driving you and your family.” I shook his hand, and he turned his head to speak to the girl behind the counter. “Angela, will you show Seth into my office? I’m going to step outside for a moment.”

  As the Mennonite girl left her chair, Dr. Phillips escorted Robbie out the main door so quickly I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. Thoughts whirling, I followed Angela down a short hallway. At the mention of an office, I’d expected a desk and perhaps a file cabinet. Instead, I was led into a comfortable room, smaller than the one out front, but similarly furnished. Muted gray paint covered the walls, and a tan carpet felt soft beneath my feet.

  “Would you like anything?” Angela smiled at me. “Water or coffee, or a soft drink?”

  I declined, and she left me alone in the room. Again I selected a straight-backed wooden chair, much like the ones in the living room at home. I had not waited more than a few minutes before Dr. Phillips returned.

  He closed the door behind him, talking while he took a seat in a padded armchair. “I’m sorry about that. I wanted to assure Robbie that anything he and I talk about remains strictly between us.” He peered at me through his glasses. “And I want you to know the same. No part of any conversation we have will be repeated to Robbie or anyone. And if you would prefer to see someone else, I will refer you to one of my colleagues.”

  For a moment I wasn’t sure how to reply. “Is it not common for people who know each other to see the same…counselor?” The word felt odd on my tongue, especially when I was the one seeing a counselor.

  “It’s quite common, actually. One person refers another, and so on. But if I’d known you were coming, I would have discussed it with Robbie first and made sure he was comfortable with the arrangement.” His features scrunched. “I certainly wouldn’t have scheduled your first appointment directly after his, and I would have avoided a surprise encounter in the waiting room.”

  The answer showed a sensitivity to Robbie’s feelings that I appreciated. As to his question, I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t mind in the slightest talking to Robbie’s counselor. My discomfort lay in talking to any counselor. This one looked professional and disturbingly Englisch in a pair of zippered slacks, a light blue shirt, and dark blue tie. Not like the man I’d first seen.

  “My bishop said you were Mennonite.” I left the question unspoken.

  “I am, though my church is not as conservative as some in this area.” A grin appeared on his face. “You would feel more comfortable talking to me if I grew a beard and wore suspenders?”

  In truth, I would. But this man’s honesty and easy manner had already begun to settle my nerves. Now that I was here, I might as well finish the appointment.

  “I think I will withhold judgment and see how today goes.” I managed a smile to soften my words, but I meant them. And my hesitation had nothing to do with Robbie.

  “Fair enough.” He opened the folder and extracted the forms I had filled out. “Let’s start out by going over your questionnaire, and we’ll see where that takes us.”

  During the drive home, Doris must have sensed my need for thought, for she didn’t resume the chatter of the first trip. She described her visit with Saloma and expressed her disappointment that she did not get to see baby Rachel, who was not permitted visitors in the neo natal unit. After that she fell silent.

  I stared out the window, watching the Pennsylvania countryside roll past. My conversation with Dr. Phillips—or Sam, as he insisted on being called—rolled around in my mind. He’d expressed the opinion that, while not normal, my uncontrollable fits of anger were at least understandable after the devastating losses I had suffered. I left his office armed with material about post-traumatic stress disorder that he hoped I would read before our next appointment.

  When I arrived, I wasn’t at all certain there would be a second appointment. But before I left, I stopped at the counter and asked Angela to schedule one for the following week. This time I asked for a different day, and though I didn’t mention my desire to avoid another encounter with Robbie, I think she sensed the reason for my request. At least, I hoped so.

  We arrived back at the shop to find the parking lot nearly full. Doris pulled to a stop as close to the door as she could.

  “I’m glad I got my vase when I did.” Her gaze briefly scanned the cars. “Otherwise someone else might have bought it.”

  “I could always make another for you, and I will be happy to make anything else you want. I appreciate your time in driving me.”

  “Anytime, Seth. Really.”

  I got out of the car and stood watching as she exited the parking lot. I hadn’t asked her about driving me to my next counseling appointment. Normally, I would call Robbie, but now I wasn’t sure if I should. I needed to think about that.

  Inside, customers crowded the small showroom. Both Elias and Leah were there, talking with them and answering questions about various pieces. They spied me with obvious relief.

  “Here’s our other potter now,” Leah told the woman who held a crock I’d crafted. “He can tell you all about it.”

  Though I’d much prefer to escape to the workroom and sink my hands into soothing clay, I arranged a smile for our customer while Leah headed for the cash register, where another lady waited to purchase a set of bowls.

  On her way past me, Leah leaned close and hissed in my ear, “Don’t you dare give this one away.”

  The caustic comment did much to r
elieve my fears that our earlier encounter would make things awkward between us. Apparently, she was prepared to ignore it, and I was happy to oblige.

  Thirty minutes later Elias closed the door behind the last customer. He faced us with a broad smile. “A few more days like that, and we will have to hire more help.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Leah said, “but we definitely made enough to cover the bills for a while.” She speared me with a sharp, if slightly teasing, look. “And it would have been more if Seth would resist the impulse to give away our inventory.”

  I raised a hand in a promise. “I will make another vase to replace it.”

  Though she didn’t answer, an easy grin settled on her features as she rounded the counter and picked up a stack of mail. She pulled off the elastic band holding the bundle together and began sorting through it.

  “That was a garden club from Lancaster who decided to visit us as an outing.” Elias raised his eyebrows. “One of them mentioned seeing your work at the home of a friend, Amanda, and was disappointed that we had no more unusual pieces of a similar sort for sale. Perhaps you should throw a few more fancy things for us.”

  That was not the first customer who had mentioned Amanda’s recommendation. When she picked up the fancy vase I’d crafted, her delight with the piece had been almost embarrassing. Apparently, she’d been quite vocal about her satisfaction with my work. Robbie’s mother had certainly been good for our business.

  I opened my mouth to voice the thought, but stopped when Elias’s expression changed. His face creased with concern, he fixed a gaze on something behind me.

  I turned to find Leah staring at an envelope. Grasped between a finger and thumb, she held it away from her, her arm extended to its fullest length, with a look of sheer repulsion on her face. While I watched, blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin as white as bleached flour.