by Gayle Roper
“Ammon is the older son, and his path has always been to become CEO of Hostetter Inc.,” Sophie told me one day.
“Sort of like primogeniture in Olde England?” I asked.
“It’s what Tom always wanted. Besides, no company can have two men in charge. Someone has to be the one who calls the shots. First it was Tom. Now it’s Ammon.”
“So what’s Peter supposed to do?” I asked. “Go into the military or the clergy like younger sons used to?”
“Whatever he wants.” Sophie said. “Whatever he wants.”
But what if he wants Hostetter Inc. and Pockets? I wondered.
It appeared that Peter wanted many things. I was with Sophie one day when he visited her and shared a wild and difficult-to-follow investment opportunity in which he had just sunk a staggeringly large amount of money.
“Mom, you won’t believe the potential!” His face glowed.
“I’m proud of you, Peter,” Sophie said, her voice warm with encouragement as she patted his hand.
He grinned back, pleased to make her pleased.
She watched out her window that day as he climbed into his BMW convertible. “He’s so smart. He’s going to do very well making his own way.” She smiled sweetly as he turned out of the drive and roared away.
I must have looked skeptical because she hastened to explain. “Tom owned three-quarters of Hostetter Inc. His younger brother Ernie, the company’s chief financial officer, owns the other quarter. When Tom died, he left me fifty-one percent of the company. The boys split the other twenty-four evenly.”
So Sophie owned the majority of the shares and thus the power at Hostetter Inc. I wondered how Ernie felt about being dependent on a woman. Some men still resented such a situation with all that was in them.
“Ernie doesn’t mind the younger Ammon being CEO?”
She smiled briefly. “Ernie doesn’t have a choice. He tried a takeover after Tom died. I guess he thought I would be too grief-stricken or too dumb to realize what he was trying to do. He offered me a pittance for my shares ‘to spare me the pain of having to think at a time like this.’”
I almost choked. “He actually said that?”
She looked grim. “That’s when Ammon took to calling him Evil Ernie.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“It is funny,” she agreed. “But unfortunately there’s truth there too. I told Tom twenty-five years ago not to take him into the company, but Tom was a softy.” She sighed. “We’ve all had to put up with the man ever since.”
“You almost make me glad I don’t have a brother.”
“We’ll give you Ernie,” she said. “For free.”
I stowed my supplies and prepared to leave. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“So you don’t need to worry about Peter.” She patted my hand. “He may not get to run the company, but there’s more than enough income from his stock for him to try his hand at making his own fortune however he chooses.” She spoke with total confidence in her son’s abilities.
He could make that fortune, I thought, if he was clever enough and if his income from the stock continued to provide seed funding. And the income continued only if Ammon was savvy enough to keep the business going, which I wondered about in light of the plastic car fiasco. And what if a new company came along and knocked Pockets from its pedestal? So many what ifs.
But now Ammon’s ability to run the company was moot. At least Sophie wouldn’t be disappointed in her son. I wondered what would happen to both Sophie’s and Ammon’s shares now. Would they transfer to Peter or Ernie? Or someone else entirely? Someone I knew nothing about?
I sighed. “I’m going to miss you, Sophie,” I whispered and actually saw my breath feather into the frosty room.
I pushed back the quilt and hurried to turn up the electric strip heating. I ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as I could get it. By the time I finally climbed out, slightly pruney, the room was warm. I pulled on jeans and a thick red sweater over a plaid shirt. I tied my sneakers on and clipped my pager at my waist. I was part of the secondary on-call first response team for the weekend. If more than one thing at a time went wrong or if there was a major catastrophe, I’d get buzzed.
Oh, Lord, I prayed. I could use a quiet weekend if it’s okay with You.
I went into the living room with its overstuffed chairs, big old-fashioned desk, and wonderful view of the patchwork countryside from each of the windows. I’d always loved the way the small, family-sized Amish farms quilted the countryside with squares of plowed and fallow fields, great barns, and white houses. Just miles to the south, great expanses of rolling green fields heralded the large horse farms and Olympic training centers of southern Chester County, but here in Lancaster County, the vistas were close and cozy and somehow comforting.
As I watched, Jake’s van drove down the road and disappeared. I noted the disappointment I felt at his going. I guess I had expected—hoped, really, that he’d entertain me all weekend since my staying here was his idea. So much for the dependability of assumptions.
Stifling a sigh, I went downstairs where Mary and Esther insisted on making me a breakfast of eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. They tried to foist scrapple on me, that mixture of cornmeal and unthinkable ground animal parts, but I managed to convince them not to bother. Esther made me another cup of tea that she served in a mug that advertised International Harvester.
I passed the day reading, napping, and taking a walk down the road to the Stoltzfus farm. I had been to that farm as a home health nurse, caring for a newborn infant with the improbable name of Trevor Stoltzfus. Not that either Trevor or Stoltzfus was unusual. It was just that the combination in an Amish household was far from common.
“What a lovely name,” I told his young mother Becky as I weighed the baby.
She grinned. “Not very Amish, is it?”
“How did you decide on it?” I asked.
“I read it once in a novel and liked it. The hero was Trevor.”
I cuddled little Trevor, praising him to Becky as a fine boy, but he was so ill that I secretly doubted that he’d ever grow up to be anyone’s hero.
As I passed the house, I wondered how the little guy was doing. Indeed, as I thought of the tiny chest with the great red wound from palliative heart surgery, I wondered if he was even alive. I hoped so for Becky’s sake. Being a single mother at her age was hard enough even when there were no health complications.
I heard the clop of hoofs and moved to the side of the road as a buggy pulled from the Stoltzfus lane. I smiled at the driver, an old man with a wondrous white beard, but he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead though I knew he must have seen me. I thought of Becky and Trevor, having to live with him every day and shivered.
I turned and walked back to Zooks’.
It was mid-afternoon when Mary, Esther, and I sat down at the kitchen table for a cup of tea. We had just begun a conversation about the best way to put up pumpkin, something about which I knew very little and had no desire to learn more, when there was a knock at the door.
Esther answered and welcomed Becky Stoltzfus in. She was bundled against the weather, little Trevor wrapped in so many blankets that he resembled a roll of batting.
Esther immediately took the baby and began unwinding. Mary rose and took Becky’s coat. I got another mug from the cupboard, this one reading John Deere, and poured Becky some tea.
When we sat back down at the table, Esther kept little Trevor, smiling at him as she hand-brushed his sparse hair. The baby smiled back, and Esther melted.
“He’s so wonderful, Becky.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “Du bischt an scheeni bubbli.”
He might be a nice baby, I thought, but he was still a very sick one. He should weigh more than he did, and he had the coloring of someone whose system wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
“How is he, Becky?” I kept my voice casual.
“He’s doing fine,” she said, eyes shining. “We were at the docto
r’s last week.”
I didn’t know what the doctor told Becky, but my instinct and training didn’t say fine.
Oh, Lord, it doesn’t look good. A miracle here would be much appreciated.
Esther’s tea grew cold as she played with the baby. She rocked him, cuddled him, offered him her finger to grasp. She lifted her hand with his fist clamped about her index finger to her mouth and kissed his thin little hand. He giggled.
“Scheeni botchi,” she said, stroking his hand. “Scheeni botchi.”
“Some days with a baby is hard, ain’t?” Mary asked the young mother.
Becky nodded. “But he’s not really any trouble.”
“Does he sleep gut?”
“He sleeps gut but not long.” She smiled. “I’m always tired.”
“Does your grandmother watch him sometimes so you can get some sleep?” I asked, setting down my almost empty mug. The tea spiced with spearmint Mary had grown was both delicious and refreshing.
Becky hesitated a minute. “No. My grandfather has told her not to touch Trevor.”
I was stunned. Such action was not at all the typical attitude of the Amish toward babies and little children. They were loving and indulgent toward their offspring for the first two or three years of their lives, giving them unlimited love and lots of attention. Whenever I went into an Amish household for home health reasons, I enjoyed watching how the whole family doted on the babies and toddlers.
“Why ever not?” I asked. “Certainly they don’t think that Trevor’s illness is contagious.” But I knew that wasn’t the issue.
Esther and Mary suddenly looked uncomfortable, but Becky merely smiled sadly.
“It isn’t Trevor they have a problem with,” she said, fiddling with the ribbon hanging loose from her kapp. “It’s me.”
“They are very strict,” Esther said neutrally. “They have always taken the Ordnung and applied it strictly.”
“Not because they are mean,” Mary hastened to tell me. “They do not want to hurt Becky. They want to obey Herr Gott.”
“I’m here because my mother begged them to take me in,” Becky said. “They feed me and keep a warm roof over our heads. I’m not complaining. They know I confessed my sin before the church as is right, but I am an embarrassment.”
“Here,” said Mary. “Let me get us all some warm tea. If your cup is like mine, it is lukewarm. We don’t want lukewarm. The Lord will spew us out of his mouth.”
And that quickly, the topic was changed. Shortly afterward Becky wrapped Trevor again and they walked down the road to her grandfather’s farm. Mary and Esther began preparing supper and refused to let me help. I went to my rooms and pondered the anomaly of Amish great-grandparents not touching their great-grandson. I thought about the wealth of forgiveness the Amish had shown the world after the murders at the Nickel Mines school and the lack of forgiveness I saw toward Becky.
At the evening meal Jake made it a point to sit next to me. We both made believe we didn’t see Esther and Mary exchange a meaningful glance as they took their places, Mary next to John who sat at the head, Esther between Mary and Elam who sat at the foot. We all bowed our heads.
I waited for John or maybe Elam to say grace, but no one said anything. Head still bowed, I glanced around. I watched as one by one, heads came up, and the food was passed. I found out that sometimes the meal was almost as silent as the grace. John and Elam talked briefly about the harness repair work they were doing in their little smithy in the shed by the barn. Mary said that all the food was prepared for the big meal tomorrow after church at Old Nate Stoltzfus’s.
“That’s Becky’s grandfather?” I asked.
Everyone nodded.
“He pulled out of his lane just as I walked past earlier this afternoon,” I said. “I’d never seen him before. When I was there for home care, he was always out in the fields working.”
“Did he speak to you?” asked Elam, gray eyes sparkling.
“No.” I pictured the frosty old man with the white beard down his chest. “He ignored me.”
“He didn’t glare or snarl?” Elam grinned at his brother.
“Or shake his fist?” Jake said, grinning back.
“Elam. Chake.” John spoke quietly, and both young men immediately wiped their faces clear of emotion. Their eyes, however, continued to dance. I was taken with John’s “ch” sound when he said Jake. So Dutch! I had to stifle a grin of my own.
“Becky and the baby walked up this afternoon,” Esther said.
“Poor thing,” Mary said, and I didn’t know if she meant Becky or Trevor.
“Ah, yes, the baby,” Jake said, his voice suddenly sarcastic, though I couldn’t understand why. “Conceived in sin and born out of wedlock.”
“She repented before the congregation, Jake,” Mary said quickly.
Jake nodded, his face closed and dark. “But she’s still being punished, isn’t she?”
No one said anything for several minutes. Then Esther spoke rather hesitantly and to me. “Will Trevor be all right? He’s so small.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m worried about him too.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Again it was Esther, her face full of sorrow.
“He was born with a bad heart,” I said.
“Undoubtedly because of her sin,” Jake said.
I glared at him. He was baiting his family, and I thought it rude and unkind. He refused to look at me.
“She’s not from our district,” Mary said. “Her parents moved to Ohio shortly after they married.”
“So?” Jake held a forgotten piece of one of Mary’s potato rusks in his hand. “That means what? Our district is unsullied?”
“Chake,” John said again.
“I chust meant that she has no one here who is close to her,” Mary said quietly. She looked at me. “Her mother and father didn’t want her at home after this happened. She’s the oldest and they were afraid she’d lead the rest astray. So they sent her to her grandparents.”
“In the late summer before the baby was born, she often walked up here,” Esther said. “She would sit with me on the porch for a few minutes drinking root beer. Then she’d walk back to Old Nate’s.” As she talked, Esther tore a piece of Mary’s rusk to shreds. “The baby is so tiny and frail.”
No one spoke for the rest of the meal. When Esther cleared the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and Mary’s canned green beans from the table and served her own apple pie, silence reigned. The only noises were the scraping of silver on plates and the thump of glasses and cups set on the table. Since I had passed enough meals like that with my mother, the silence didn’t bother me. When we were finished eating, everyone bowed his head again for another silent prayer. I wondered what Jake thought about during this time.
I helped Esther clear the table and wash the dishes. As I wiped down the oilcloth that covered the table in the center of the kitchen portion of the great room, Jake wheeled his chair to me.
“You doing all right?” he asked, his dark eyes intent.
I nodded. “Better than I thought I’d do.” I smiled. “You were right. Staying here has been good.”
He nodded, pleased. “How about going to a movie tonight? That’ll really take your mind off things.”
“A movie?” Talk about being astonished at an invitation. I could have been knocked over with the proverbial feather. “You and me? Tonight?”
He gave me a half-smile. “You may be sure that no one else in the room would stoop to an activity like a movie.”
I glanced at Mary and Esther in their long, caped dresses, their heavy black hose, and their kapps. I looked at Elam and John in their white shirts and black broadfall pants, relaxing in their living room chairs, their stockinged feet propped companionably on the same hassock. No, these folks certainly weren’t moviegoers.
“And can’t two friends go someplace together without it being a big deal?” He sounded embarrassed and slightly grumpy.
I swallowed a l
augh at his discomfort. “I’d like to go,” I said, my voice as prim as a Victorian maiden accepting an invitation to stroll with her beau by the river on a Sunday afternoon. “Especially with someone as charmingly and unfailingly pleasant as you.”
He made his deep-in-the-throat noise. “There’s a show at 8:15. We’ve got an hour before we have to leave.”
“Then you can play a game with me,” Esther said, her eyes bright.
Jake groaned. “Come on, Esther. Give me a break.”
“You’re just upset because I won last time.” She went to a chest in the living room and took out a board game. As she set it on the kitchen table, I saw it was Parcheesi.
“I haven’t played this in years.” I took a seat on one side of the table.
“Are you sure you want to play?” Jake asked.
“Why not?” I looked at him, puzzled.
He grinned broadly. “You’ll find out.”
Esther and I began arranging the board for play.
“Elam!” Jake looked at his brother, oblivious as he read his newspaper. “If I have to suffer this travesty called playing a game with Esther, you have to suffer too.”
Elam showed no response.
“Come on, Elam,” I called. “It’s the least you can do after that delicious apple pie.”
“Yeah, Elam,” Jake said, dark eyes sparkling maliciously. “Be nice.”
Esther walked to Elam’s chair. “Come, Elam,” she said sweetly. “It would be fun with four.”
Elam knew when he was beaten. He folded his paper, padded across the room, and took the chair across from me. Esther was radiant over the fact that he had joined us.
“You have no idea what you’re in for,” he told me as he put his hands together and stretched them in front of him.
I couldn’t imagine why both Jake and Elam were making such a fuss over a game of Parcheesi. It was only a child’s game, for heaven’s sake.
“I’m red,” Esther announced as she gave a little bounce in her seat.
“She’s always red, no matter what the game,” Jake said. “It’s her lucky color.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” Esther said in gentle reproof.
