by Adina Senft
“It’s not okay! I never should have let him. I know that now.”
“But you did.”
“Ja, for one second. Then I pushed him away.”
“But that one second was enough to tell me that you still have feelings for him.”
“It was enough to tell me that I don’t. That’s what kisses do. They tell you.”
“And some tell you more than you want them to. I’m serious, Pris. It’s okay. I’ve never really thought this whole time we’ve been special friends that you and me, we’d be together forever.”
“But what if—” She couldn’t go on. What if we are? What if you break up with me and you’re the one God wants for me and I’ve messed up His entire plan for my life? What then?
“There are lots of guys in Willow Creek, and you’re a pretty girl from a good family. I never fooled myself, believe me.”
“But Joe, I want to be with you.”
“Didn’t look like it.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Maybe. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was a sign that I should be thinking about other things than courting. Like figuring out what I want to do with my life.”
Without me?
“That’s why I came to see Sarah. I stopped in at your place to see if you wanted to come with me, like we talked about, and your Mamm said you were already over here. So I rushed the horse a little. Guess I shouldn’t have.”
Priscilla didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse, but now she knew differently. She shrank down into her jacket and her throat closed up and before she could breathe or control it or anything, a great big sob came up out of nowhere and she started to cry.
“Aw, Pris. Don’t do that.”
But she couldn’t help it. He was so humble, so accepting of his belief that he didn’t deserve anything better than this, that it broke her heart. Some horrible hussy was going to catch him on the rebound and she’d have to watch as the kindest boy in the whole settlement got treated like dirt…all because of her.
“Here. Use my hanky.”
Which made her sob all the harder, which finally made him huff out a breath and wrap the reins around their hook. He slid over and put his arms around her, patting her on the back while she shuddered and gulped.
She would rather he had climbed out and walked down the lane alone to do what he’d come to do. Because his comforting hug only showed her once and for all exactly what that kiss with Simon was going to cost her.
Chapter 19
Amanda, there’s someone here to see you.”
Sarah turned at the sound of Corinne’s voice. In the doorway of the front room, Joe Byler stood behind her, a smile on his lips and an unhappy expression in his eyes that made Sarah think he might be remembering the accident—or at least some other disaster.
“Joe.” Lying on the sofa, Amanda smiled back in a quiet greeting while Sarah tucked a cozy Nine Patch quilt around her.
“How are you feeling?” He folded himself into a chair at the foot of the sofa, opposite Sarah’s.
“Like I was in an accident.” She laid a hand on her chest, slightly to one side. “And strangely, the worst of it is here, where the seat belt was.”
“The alternative would’ve been worse,” Joe pointed out.
“We’re not going to think about the alternative,” Sarah said firmly. “I’ve just been treating her with a salve of plantain and calendula for the trauma and contusions.”
“What about the ankle?” Joe asked. “I don’t see a cast, but it’s bound up.”
Amanda nodded. “A bad sprain with some torn tissue, they said. It hurts like anything, but Sarah says there’s a cream you can get at the pharmacy called Traumeel that’s good for it. Mamm said she would go into Whinburg tomorrow and get some.”
“Let me go,” Joe said. “Has anyone heard anything of Jesse? Maybe I could stop at the hospital and visit him while I’m there.”
How kind he was, to give up a whole day’s work for others. If Sarah recalled correctly, Priscilla was off tomorrow. Maybe they would go together and keep each other company on the long drive. “I called the hospital and asked after him, and they said he had suffered a mild concussion, but he’d made it through whatever period they have to wait. He may even be released by tomorrow.”
“Has anyone spoken with his aunt and uncle?” Amanda shifted restlessly, and Sarah reached behind her to wedge a pillow more firmly behind her back.
“No. Joe, do you know?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know that it matters now. If they let me take him, I can just drive him home.”
“His car is at Henry’s, isn’t it?”
“I seem to remember him saying he’d have it towed there, but I could be wrong,” Amanda told them. “I’m a little fuzzy on some of it.”
“You’re not wrong,” Joe said. “I wonder if it will run. No sense going all the way out east of Strasburg if I can just take him to Henry’s and he can drive home.”
“Call over and ask him,” Sarah said. “He’s probably out in the barn anyway.”
“Naw, I’ll just drive over there. It’s on the way home. Say, Sarah, I wonder if I might talk something over with you?”
“Of course.” She tried to hide her surprise. Joe and Simon might be best friends, and Joe might even have done Simon a wonderful turn by treating his injured foot out in Colorado, but the young man was not in the habit of coming to her for advice. But yet there was really only one subject that they had in common, besides a mutual affection for Priscilla Mast. A subject that she’d wondered about more than once. “If you’re going to Henry’s, maybe you wouldn’t mind dropping me at my mailbox. We could talk on the way.”
He nodded. “Whenever you’re ready. Maybe you could write out the name of that cream so I don’t get it mixed up. Glad you’re in good hands, Amanda. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They could call a driver and go to Whinburg and back in an hour. But maybe it was better this way. Joe was just that kind of boy—putting himself in the place of a servant for Amanda and finding a way to help that rapscallion Jesse, even though he was under no obligation to do either.
After he went outside, she kissed Amanda and said good-bye to Corinne, promising to come back that evening to have another look at Amanda’s chest. Joe had already turned his buggy around and was waiting, his gaze fixed on something out past the spruce hedge.
She climbed in, and the tilt of the buggy under her weight brought him back to earth. “What was it you wanted to talk with me about?”
He flapped the reins and the horse set off. “I was wondering about how a person gets started doctoring. What he would have to know first. Whether you thought I might be the right kind of man for it.”
She’d been right. Ever since Simon’s injury, some part of her had been waiting for this conversation. Joy bubbled up inside as she considered what he’d asked. “The question is not whether I think you’re able, but whether God does,” she said gently. “Have you prayed about it?”
He nodded. “But a dove hasn’t come out of the sky with an olive branch in its beak or anything.”
“That’s because olives don’t grow here.”
He chuckled. “Or with a dock leaf, either. But it’s been on my mind a lot, so I thought I would talk it over with you. Priscilla was supposed to come with me, but…” His voice trailed away.
“Did she have to work? It’s Monday.”
“Naw. Ginny’s out of town so the Inn is closed. No, she—” Now his throat closed up and he swallowed.
Sarah took careful note of a body that couldn’t speak of the pain that was obvious in his eyes. “Joe,” she said, hoping she wasn’t treading on sacred ground, “has something gone wrong between you and Priscilla?”
His face crumpled and the reins went slack in his hands. His animal slowed and tossed its head, uncertain what he wanted, and Joe visibly forced himself to focus on the road. “She ain’t—we ain’t—” But the words still wouldn’t come out.
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He stopped the buggy at the end of her lane and hung his head, as though his whole body were curling around some pain.
“Will you come in? We can talk in my compiling room and I could show you a few things.”
He shook his head. “Simon’s home.”
“Well, sure he’s home. He hasn’t found work yet, but if he doesn’t soon, I’m going to find some for him. Why would—”
And then an overheard conversation from days ago added itself to the equation, and the answer became clear. “Oh, Joe. Did Simon do something? Is that what’s wrong between you and Pris?”
He drew a long, shuddering breath. “Don’t aim to burden you with my troubles. I’ll come another day, Sarah, if that’s all right.”
“He’ll still be here,” she pointed out. “He’s interfering between the two of you, isn’t he?”
A shrug. “Not interfering. Maybe giving Priscilla what she really wants. I came to see you before I came over to Yoders’, and” —a breath, then, in a rush— “saw him kissing her.”
“Oh, my word.” Sarah’s hand drifted to her mouth, as though some part of her wanted to stop this conversation—to stop adding to Joe’s pain. “But she doesn’t care for him, Joe. Not the way she cares for you. I know it.”
“They were kissing. She said it only lasted for a second and she pushed him away, and maybe that’s so, but still. A kiss is a kiss.”
“So you talked with her?” This was unusual. Sarah couldn’t think of too many teenage misunderstandings that were hashed out in a reasonable conversation. In her experience and that of her sisters, it meant silence and tears and long walks in fields…until the one came along that meant so much to you that even a misunderstanding wasn’t enough to keep you apart.
“Ja. Just in the drive there, before I went in to see Amanda. She came after me and met me halfway down.”
“I think you should cling to that. Maybe she’s willing to meet you halfway in other, more important ways.”
“I don’t want her to do that. If she wants your boy and he wants her, I’m not going to stand in the road.”
“The trouble is, much as I love my boy, he has his faults. And one of them is pride. I’m not talking behind his back—he knows it as well as I do. He thinks that all he has to do to win Priscilla’s heart is crook his finger and smile at her.”
“She was sweet on him for a long time before she decided to stop trying. That’s when I saw my chance. Guess I jumped too soon.”
“Priscilla has grown a lot since the spring. Over the summer, while she was writing to you, even I could see it.” Oh, if only hearts could have a healing salve applied to them to ease the ache! But maybe there was something words could do. “Joe,” Sarah said earnestly, “if she says she would rather be with you than Simon, I think you should believe her. Sure, you’re both young. But God doesn’t take age into account when He purposes two people for each other. It’s your hearts that matter.”
He nodded, his eyes on the reins between his fingers. “What if Simon keeps chasing her?”
“Remember what I said about pride? The one thing it can’t stand up to is the truth. And if Pris truly cares about you and goes out of her way to show it, then Simon will admit he’s barking up the wrong tree. I know my boy. I’ve seen it before, in other ways.”
Overcoming pride was one of the hardest lessons the human heart had to learn. But Joe had the opposite battle, it seemed.
“The Lord knows best,” she said. “Don’t you think that if He can bring the sea together with the land, and earth together with the roots of plants that need it, He can bring together two hearts that are right for one another?”
“Ja,” Joe said reluctantly.
“I don’t think Simon has a chance, personally,” she said with a gentle smile. “He is my son and I love him dearly, but even I can see that he and Priscilla wouldn’t be the pair that you and she are.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s the laughing water and you’re the creek bank that holds her and keeps her safe.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Have you been reading library books?”
“Only herbals.” She smiled at her own flight of fancy. But it was the truth. “If Henry can see glaze colors in nature, then I’m allowed to see people in nature, too.” And why had she brought him into this? She corrected her course quickly. “You just think about it. And as for the other, I can tell you this—I was no more ready to be a Dokterfraa when Ruth approached me than you are. Less ready, probably, since at least you came up with the idea yourself, and did something about it. I ran away from it for days until God convinced me it was the path He wanted me on. You’re going to Whinburg for Amanda’s cream and to see Jesse tomorrow, but next week, why don’t you come with me to Ruth’s? If you survive one lesson with her, you’ll know whether you want to do this and whether it’s a calling…or just a good idea.”
Again, he nodded, but his back had straightened, and he gazed out the windscreen at the horse instead of at his feet. Maybe he was just being brave, or maybe his heart really was responding to encouragement, like a plant unfurling under the sun.
“I’ll get out here,” she said. “You do some thinking tomorrow on your way. And some praying, too.”
* * *
Dear Sarah,
I am so delighted to have your letter that as soon as I finish this, I’m going to drive into town to post it at the post office instead of waiting for Monday’s mail. You will be glad to hear that the cell tower is well, and by this month I can actually see where I might get my mortgage paid in this lifetime. So I am very grateful for the Lord’s provision in this matter.
I hope your boys are well. I am glad to hear via Zeke and Fannie that Simon is safely home. He will want to take up a career and get himself settled. Does he have a talent for mechanical devices? Maybe he might do as Eli Fischer does in Whinburg, and convert tools to hydraulic power. Or work for an outfit that does. That seems to be satisfying work that would be of service to the church community.
I have been invited to my cousin’s daughter’s wedding in Oakfield, just a few miles north of you, on November 10. I wonder if Joshua and Miriam might have room for a visitor afterward for a day or two. I hope you will write and let me know if that sounds like a good idea to you.
I think of you often. I have even checked a few books on herbs out of the library so that I can identify the plants growing in my fields here. I look forward to talking with you about them, and especially about this little one that I pressed and enclose herewith. I can’t tell what it is and hope that maybe you can.
I will close for now. I am invited over to a neighbor’s for dinner, but with six daughters ranging in age from eight to twenty-eight, at least I won’t be required to talk much.
Your friend,
Silas
Chapter 20
The new pieces, delicate greenware ready to be glazed, sat on the shelf that Henry had built especially for this purpose. It had a thin layer of foam on which the pieces sat, and in front was a barrier of foam on a narrow board, just in case the shelving unit got bumped and something wobbled enough to fall against it.
Henry was taking no chances with these pieces.
The Thanksgiving display would lead straight into the Christmas season—which Dave Petersen had told him was their highest selling period of the year. “Even better than Mother’s Day for high-end housewares,” he said in one of their calls. “I predict you’ll sell out, and then you can command even higher prices. It’s all about what the market will bear, Henry. Just remember that when you start feeling Amish and modest.”
Feeling Amish was not going to be a problem, he kept telling himself. Once he and Ginny were married, he would never have to feel Amish again.
He flexed his hands, newly bandaged this morning, and now speckled with dried bits of glaze. He had been experimenting with the burnt siennas and golds for the pumpkin pitcher and, from the test mugs he’d fired, thought he might have th
e perfect combination. The sky and water glaze he had developed earlier in the summer had been expanded to include several more variations in the color spectrum. This pumpkin pitcher would be the proof in the pudding, and he could hardly wait to see how it turned out.
Henry was deeply thankful for the pressure of perfection, and for the workload of pieces to prepare. It kept him from thinking of the gentle touch of Sarah’s hands, and the huskiness of her voice as she exposed her deepest feelings to him—feelings he had to shut down and close away and flee from, like Joseph from Potiphar’s wife. Even the memory of her emotion had to go; otherwise, he’d have a quiet breakdown right here in his silent studio.
He was promised to Ginny, and that was that. He needed Ginny. She was his path to peace, his relief from the silent prayers that he knew his family all around him were sending up to God, urging the Lord to bring the prodigal back. He could feel it in the air, like the pressure before a thunderstorm. Once he and Ginny were married, those prayers would dissipate and be blown away on the winter wind, and he would be able to breathe again.
Live again. Love again.
Ginny was due back tonight, though they’d found her dress yesterday and she could have come home. “My lips are sealed,” she’d told him when she’d called to say she was going to stay and do some power visiting. “You’re not going to see it until December twelfth, but I’ll just say this—it’s tea length and classy, and I even found a little hat with a veil that sets it off perfectly.”
Henry had no idea what tea length was, but one thing was completely obvious. “You’ll be the prettiest bride in Lancaster County.”
She had laughed. “Since most of my competition is Amish? What’s that about?”
“None of them hold a candle to you, Amish or not.”
She had hung up laughing, and even now, he smiled as he remembered the sound of it.
When the phone rang, his first thought was that it was Ginny, so he was still smiling as he answered.
“Henry, it’s Dave Petersen. How are you?”
