by Adina Senft
“Everyone else?”
“Sarah, the Yoders, Priscilla and her family…the ones who have been neighbors to me—and to you, for that matter.”
“Hm. But they’re all Amish folks. Without televisions. How will they know what you say?”
“It’s not even what I’d say. You and I both know how TV people can take a comment on the weather and turn it into a scandal with a little judicious editing.”
“Which Amish folks wouldn’t know about, either—or care if they did.” She put her cup down. “Henry, I love you for thinking about the feelings of…everyone around you…but when it comes down to brass tacks, it really has nothing to do with them or their world. It’s your world. Your story, that happened decades ago. You have the right to talk about it in any way you want.”
“Do I?” There were no answers in his coffee, and he wasn’t sure hearing the other side of the argument was an answer, either.
“And to be quite honest, if it means fifty grand and your pieces getting some major recognition—because your pottery will be part of this, Henry, if Frith has anything to say about it—then I think from a practical standpoint alone it’s worth doing.”
“Sell out my family for money, you mean?”
She recoiled as if he’d struck her. “That is not what I mean, and it’s cruel of you to make me into the bad guy just because you feel like one.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
She took a deep breath, as though she were praying for patience. “It’s what you’re trying your hardest not to do. But there’s no law that says you have to paint your family in a bad light, or bad-mouth the Amish. If the story is about leaving the church to find yourself as an artist, which was forbidden by the Ordnung—well, what’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t the focus be on your pottery and not your past?”
He gazed at her. She hadn’t pushed him to do the show before—had left the decision mostly up to him, which was why it had been so difficult. Had her sister been talking to her about it while they’d been together? “I’m sorry for what I said. You’re right, of course. I just never thought of it that way.”
At last the smile that he loved flickered to life, for real this time. “That’s why there’s two of us. To look at things from both sides.”
“This table has one too many sides. Come over here, you.” He hugged her, hoping that his embrace would express his apology, too.
Sitting in his lap, she brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “I’m glad we can talk about this, Henry,” she said softly. “You’re about the only person I can tell about the accounts—which is good, since we’ll be talking about them often after December. I can’t say these things to Venezia because she’s the financial wizard in the family and she’d be all over me. And Daddy has no head for business—he’s all about people. I didn’t want to drag my problems into your decision because that wouldn’t be fair…but I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
He tilted his head back to look into her face, but she buried her nose in the crook of his neck.
“I’m a little scared about that balloon payment,” she whispered at last. “I’ll do everything I can to bring guests in, but even a portion of that fifty thousand might mean the difference between keeping the place going and having to give it up.”
“Is it that bad, Ginny? Really?”
She still couldn’t look at him, but he felt her nod against his shoulder. “It’s to the point where I’m glad Katie Schrock is getting married. At least I don’t have to tell one of the girls I have to let her go. I’ve cut down on expenses as much as I can, but what we really need is an infusion of real money.” At last she raised her head and he saw how troubled her eyes were. “I hate that I can’t do this by myself. I hate having to depend on someone else when I’ve managed on my own this far. I almost feel—” Her voice caught. “Almost ashamed, as though somehow I’ve failed at something I know I’m good at.”
He kissed her firmly and stood. “What did you just finish telling me? This is why there are two of us.”
Inside, he felt a little sick, but there was no way that any man worth his salt could look into those eyes and refuse the plea he saw. Scruples were one thing. But so was a roof over one’s head and a way to keep it there.
“You’re right. I need to stop looking at the past and turn toward the future,” he said. “Where’s your phone?”
The relief and joy in her eyes were reward enough. If the thought of his family and neighbors came back to bother him in the night, he’d just remember Ginny’s face and tell himself he’d done the right thing.
When at last Dave came on the line, he was as genial as if he hadn’t just threatened Henry with lawyers three days ago. “Sorry about the wait, Henry—they had to pull me out of the pricing meeting. Not that I’m complaining. So I only have a minute. I take it you’ve come to a final decision?”
“Yes. I’ve decided to go along with it, with—”
“Great news! I have to say, Henry, I’m really glad. This will be a terrific experience—one you can tell your grandkids about, eh?”
“I meant to say, with one caveat.”
“Oh? And what’s that? Want your own trailer and a production assistant to fetch you coffee?”
“No. I want the focus to be on my art. On the pieces I’m doing for Frith. Not on my past or on my family.”
Dave hesitated. “Of course, I’m in no position to say what the film crew will or won’t do.”
“Those are my terms, Dave. I’m telling you up front the same thing I’ll tell Matt Alvarez.”
“Fine, fine, whatever. I’m sure they’ll be happy to spin it however you want. I’ll call Matt now and get the contracts on their way. Turns out it won’t be Monday—they’re wrapping up another episode in Indiana—but next week sometime. Thanks, Henry. I have to go—they’re waving at me like they’re flagging down a train.”
The dial tone sounded in his ear.
Henry’s relief at the weight of stress lifting off his shoulders made him so giddy that he whirled Ginny around her office, and then took her out to lunch. By the time the credit card bill arrived, he’d probably have enough of the money in hand to pay the whole thing off.
Chapter 24
The Saturday of the Englisch Columbus Day long weekend in October was the Amish Market’s closing day, marking the end of harvest season. Sarah loved the market when it showed the full bounty of Willow Creek’s fields and gardens—and she was clearly not the only one. The place was packed, the parking lot showing license plates from half a dozen states, and even a Canadian province or two, since it was their Thanksgiving holiday. She had some distant relatives in the Amish community outside Aylmer, in Ontario, and when on one of their visits she’d asked why the Canadian version of the holiday was so much earlier, they’d laughed and said it was because winter came sooner farther north.
Evie Troyer was doing a roaring trade in her table runners, place mats, and quilts—and Pris was there, too, presiding over a dwindling stack of pot holders pieced to look like chickens. “I’ll take two,” Sarah said on one of her breaks from manning her own stall, and Pris had given them to her for half price. Ten dollars was a lot to pay for something she could make herself…but on the other hand, not having to sew them or quilt them was worth it.
When she cashed out and cleaned off the shelves for the last time until April, she had sold everything but one lonely seed loaf and a couple of bunches of rosemary and thyme. All the teas had gone, and the tinctures and salves she had made had sold mostly to the other Amish stall keepers. And her take-home money after the percentage she paid to the Market totaled four hundred and seventy dollars.
At last, after being in arrears to her in-laws for most of the year’s mortgage payments, she would be back on the correct side of the ledger.
What a relief.
The next day being an off Sunday, when Bishop Dan oversaw the service in the neighboring Oakfield district, Sarah sent Caleb over to Henry’s be
fore breakfast to fetch Jesse and bring him back for a meal and some quiet time with the extended Yoder family. It was all very well for Henry to allow him to stay there while he recuperated, but a little time to think about God might help with his spiritual recovery, too. She and Corinne had arranged it so that the two families would meet at the older couple’s house, and Amanda and Jesse would see each other for the first time since the accident under close supervision.
In Jacob Yoder’s front room, they gathered for prayers and reading from the old family Bible, with a chapter from the Martyrs’ Mirror added for good measure. Sarah couldn’t help noticing that Jesse’s gaze rarely left Amanda’s face, though she kept her eyes on her clasped hands. Probably wise, considering Corinne didn’t miss a thing.
Her idea of Jesse moving to the Yoder place for his recovery had been quickly done away with. Sarah didn’t know Amanda’s feelings, but it was clear that her parents were quite prepared to forbid her to have anything to do with the wayward boy outside a family or church setting.
Poor Amanda. Sarah smothered a sigh and concentrated on her own clasped hands as Simon read the next set of verses, his voice smooth and confident. The one and only time Amanda had gathered up the courage to approach a boy, and the result had been disaster. The episode with Silas earlier in the summer didn’t really count, since he had been pursuing Sarah and their relatives had been pushing him every which way. But it certainly had been a disaster, too.
After lunch, Amanda ventured outside for the first time without her crutches, leaning on Jesse’s arm as she went slowly down the stairs. But Caleb and Simon went with them, so if there was going to be any conversation, it would have to be the kind that anyone could hear. In Sarah’s mind, their faces spoke clearly enough. Amanda would not be accepting any more rides in cars unless they were the big vans that the Englisch taxi drivers owned. And Jesse seemed to realize it.
Instead of staying for the afternoon, he walked home with her and the boys. On the path up to the house, he said to Sarah, “Do you want to have a look at me before I go back to Henry’s?”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel I should practice on Sundays, but I will look if you are in any pain, or you would like me to.”
“Neh, it’s okay. The bruises are yellow now, and my head feels fine, except if I stand up too fast. And sometimes I still feel sick.”
Hm. Lingering nausea from the allergy. And she was nearly out of coneflower. “I’ll make you something a little different to settle your stomach after I get back from Ruth’s on Tuesday and bring it over. Would that be all right?”
“If I’m still here.” He kicked a pebble off the walk. “Not sure how long Henry’s going to want me around. Or you folks.”
“You could probably stay at Henry’s forever if you wedge clay for him,” Caleb suggested.
Simon nudged his brother with one shoulder. “Not everyone loves making mud pies like you do.”
“They might for a dollar a pound,” Caleb said. “I don’t have time to now that I’m with Jon, other than Saturdays, but it would be a good way for Jesse to earn his keep.”
“That’s a good idea,” the boy said thoughtfully. “He’s going to let me fix up my car in the yard, too. I need to get it running halfway decent and put new tires on it before I’ll get any money for it.”
“Are you going to sell it?” Sarah asked, hardly daring to hope.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Might need to. I can’t seem to get work with an Englisch outfit, so I might have to try Amish, and they won’t have a car around, probably. Caleb, I don’t suppose Jon Hostetler needs another hand?”
Caleb’s nose wrinkled up in regret. “Not so much in the winter. He’s letting some of the boys go already.”
“You?” Simon asked.
“Not yet, but soon, I’m pretty sure, since I’m so new to the crew. It wouldn’t be fair to keep me and not a fellow who’s been with him for a couple of seasons.”
There was a word in season, and then there was an opportunity as big as a barn door. Sarah took a breath and walked right through it. “You boys might think of something you can all do together this winter. All of you need to be working, and maybe three heads will be better than one.”
“Like what, Mamm?” Caleb wanted to know.
“You put your heads together and I’m sure you can come up with something. What do the other men do in the winter?”
“Dat works on the machinery in the barn,” Jesse offered. “He’ll fix up the augur, and rig up the lights and the mister for the grass sprouts, and make sure the harrow is working properly so he won’t have to do all that in the spring.”
“What do you mean, grass sprouts?” Simon said.
By this time they were in the kitchen, and Jesse looked around. “Do you have a pencil and a piece of paper?”
Caleb found him an envelope and something to write with. “We’d fix up a kind of greenhouse in the barn and grow sprouts—you know, to put in the silage feed in the winter,” he said, sketching quickly. “Sprouts need a mister and light and plastic all around to keep everything moist, and then you peel the mats of sprouted seeds off the racks and mix it into the cattle feed. It gives them extra nutrients.” He looked at the boys’ blank faces. “Don’t you do that here?”
“No.” Simon and Caleb exchanged a glance. “What does Daed use in his feed?”
“Just hay and alfalfa.” A note of excitement crept into Caleb’s voice. “But if other farmers are doing it, maybe we could introduce it here. Maybe we could hire ourselves out to build these—what do you call them?”
“We just call them sprouting frames, but if we were going to do this, we should call them something better. Something people would remember easily.”
“Simon, you’re good with stuff like that,” Caleb said eagerly. “You think of something.”
“All right,” Simon said. “But meanwhile, let’s draw up a real plan and figure out who we can offer the first one to.”
“Why not Daed?” Sarah suggested. “It would be close by, and he would pay you fairly. And you know how he is about his cows.”
“How is he?” Jesse asked.
“If they were children, they wouldn’t get treated any better,” Simon said, grinning. “And if anyone could do a sales job, it would be Caleb. Come on, let’s go upstairs and do some drawing.”
“Simon,” Sarah said in a tone that brought him up short.
“Oh. Ja. Sunday. Well then, tomorrow.”
But something about the expression on Jesse’s face kept her from letting him go when the boys went out to the barn to hitch up the buggy. The singing that evening was at the Peachey place and they would need to leave a little early in order to get there before the sun began to go down.
“Are you going to go with the boys this afternoon, Jesse? Instead of working on your car?”
“I—I don’t know.”
She busied herself with the coffeepot and, when that was going, pulled a pan of gingerbread out of the fridge and cut several thick slices. “I’m sure you’d be welcome at Peacheys’. Their boys, Benny and Leon, are around your age and you’d probably have a lot in common.”
“But I need to get my car fixed. If we really do get this sprout frame venture off the ground, I’ll need it to go around and buy supplies.” His face fell for a moment, and he took the piece of gingerbread she offered. “Though what with, I don’t know.”
“Your customers will give you money for the supplies, I would imagine.”
“But if no one’s ever used one before, it’s like buying a pig in a poke. Unless we had one up and operating, why would anyone take a risk?”
“It’s not that much of a risk—some wood, some plastic, some misters, and a water pump. Or did you mean, take a risk on you?”
He swallowed a big bite of gingerbread. “You think I’m messed up, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think—though since you ask, neh, I do not. What matters is what God thinks. And what you think.”<
br />
“I think I’m messed up.”
“And I think that whatever rebellious spirit prompted you to buy that car and leave your home and live in a way that no young man should have to…has changed a little. That maybe you’re seeing life differently.”
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
The thing about words in season was that they were like pepper or cinnamon. A very little went a long way toward seasoning the entire dish.
“I think you can choose to be a good influence, like with the sprout frames, or a not so good influence, like with taking girls riding in your car. And you know, God is always ready to help with the first kind.”
That was enough seasoning. The coffeepot was making the sound that told her it was ready, so she poured them both a cup and took hers into the front room, where the birthday afghan waited for another few rows of stitches.
And when Jesse went outside to tell the boys about the gingerbread, she heard him say, “Hope you don’t plan to give a ride to a girl tonight…I’d like to go with you.”
On Monday, Sarah half expected Jesse to turn up, if not to have her look at his bruises, then certainly to begin work on the sprout frame project with Simon. Caleb had gone to work with the crew as usual, and Simon was out in the barn, polishing Dulcie’s tack and washing last night’s mud off the buggy, staying around the place in case the other boy came over.
When her elder son came in at noon for lunch, he glanced at the empty chairs around the table as he sat down. As soon as grace was over and he’d helped himself to the thick ham and cheese sandwiches she’d made, a dish of applesauce, and some pickles, he said, “I thought we might have seen Jesse by now. Wonder what he’s doing?”
“I was wondering that myself. Well, if he doesn’t come and see us by tomorrow, I’ll go over there and see how he is.”
Simon gave her a long look. Took a bite of sandwich. Swallowed. “Jesse’s in the house, ja? And Englisch Henry will probably be out in the barn, in his studio.”
“He probably will,” she agreed pleasantly. “His hands ought to be nearly healed by now, but he’s going to have to change something, so he doesn’t wind up with the same problem over again.”
