by Unknown
The chicken coop was at the end of a thin trail that led over the meadow flanking the west wide of the house. She walked inside, ignored the smell and grabbed a handful of feed to pass it around. They were greedy things, but they kept on giving, so Sara kept them around. Sometimes, when times were really hard, she kept the eggs and sold them for money. She'd managed to save more than eight or nine dozen, so she thought it would be nice to cook some up for her daughter.
It was such a small thing—having eggs for breakfast. She never used to pay things like that any mind, but now it meant the world to her, and she couldn't take it for granted. She didn't have much. When Sarah's husband Jethro was alive, she used to make up a breakfast casserole every night, set it on low in the oven and serve it the next morning. Eggs, hash browns, good cheese and bacon—Sarah missed that. It wasn't just the food she missed, it was waking up to the fragrance and rolling over to see her husband lying right beside her.
He was her support. Now she had next to nothing, and what she did have she was losing like water slipping from her fingers.
Gratitude is a virtue, and Sarah was grateful that she had what little she did have, but it was getting where she didn't know how she was going to live. He used to say he would always make sure they had more than enough and they did. He was their provider.
They had cows, hogs and healthy fields that gave them enough money to build their amazing house. When Jethro died, Sarah was forced to sell the pigs and all but one cow just so they could eat. Now she was living off of nothing with their lives hanging by a thread.
They did have one blessing. Her ranch hand tended to the fields and did some of the heavy work with the animals. It was better for him to do those things. Neither she, nor her daughter could get the cow out to graze and back again. They certainly couldn't handle the horses themselves.
He'd be along shortly, so Sara took her eggs back inside and lit the fire so the house could get warm. Sarah used to have a nice propane heater that heated the stove and pushed the air through a ventilation system throughout the house, spreading the smell of breakfast casserole and shoofly pie along with the sweet warmth of the fire. Now her daughter woke up cold and hungry, barely satisfied by what little food they had to eat. The hookup was still there, but the propane tank was too expensive so she had to use her mother’s old wood stove instead.
Waking up in the morning was hard and sometimes it got so cold during the winter that Sarah was worried about whether or not they'd get sick. More than once she had to go out and cut wood during a blizzard just to make sure they could stay warm enough to survive.
Life was harder without Jethro. It was too hard sometimes, and even though Sarah should be focused on making her life better now, she couldn't help but look back at the way things used to be.
It would take some time for the fire to get started, about 20 minutes, so she went down into the pantry so she could grab a can of applesauce. The bishop's wife helped from time to time. She would bring canned mason jars filled with the little things they needed. If it weren't for her, their diet would mostly consist of eggs, milk and tiny pieces of bread.
When she walked back up, Sarah looked around the dining room. There were little piles of dust in the corners. The table needed to be oiled down and the window needed cleaning. This lack of upkeep had become a standard in her household, and it was completely unforgivable. She just couldn't bring herself to work the way she should.
The Amish say that work changes the soul and keeps you happy and it was true, but it wasn't going to help her take care of the daughter. The order already had plenty of seamstresses and weavers. They certainly didn't need any doll makers. Her skills couldn't be put to use to make money. She needed a man to do that for her. The order always needed more food. They could use grain and corn, beef and pork, but they didn't need women's work. Women were meant to take care of the home and tend to their children, not provide for their families.
Sarah walked up to the kitchen. The ranch hand's buggy hadn't pulled up yet, which was strange, but it was OK. The fields were small and he usually ended up finishing his work early. She couldn't blame him for sleeping in.
Sarah grabbed a pat of butter from the ice box, cut off a sliver and set it in the cast iron that was already starting to heat up in the stove. Then she began breaking eggs, whisking them and pouring them into the pan so she could cook them. She still knew how to cook them just right with the perfect amount of salt and pepper, and maybe a little bit of milk if she had it, and she never left them on too long.
Sarah could make do with what she had. Maybe she just had to learn to be more grateful. She tried to dwell on that thought, and hold onto it for comfort while she walked upstairs to wake her sleeping daughter.
*****
Jacob almost always woke up before the sun. It's an Amish custom that reflects the hard working traditions of the order. He took pride in his values, and always had, which was why he was so upset with himself for waking up late the morning. The sun hit his eyes and he hopped up to get ready. He worked through the night finishing the final chest of drawers he was making for the Amish store and now even though he was exhausted, he was going to finish the rest of his work.
He rushed downstairs and grabbed his tools then began working. The edges on the top needed to be beveled and some of the pieces needed to be fit together, but for the most part it was done. He wanted everything to be perfect. This was the largest order he'd ever had before. The store wanted six bureaus and two nightstands.
His late father would let him come down into the wood shop when he was a little boy so he could study how the man worked. He was so patient. He'd show Jacob the little things like how to use a hammer and how to fit the boards together, and he let the boy ask as many questions as he wanted. Never once did he get cross with Jacob. That attitude stuck with the boy and made him into the man he was. It was because of his father that Jacob was able to learn his trade and work as a successful carpenter for more than eight years.
Jacob's family had been carpenters since the establishment of the order. Jacob was proud of his heritage. The men in his family had been working as carpenters long before they called themselves Amish and the results of their hard work were evident in nearly every home in the order.
The Beiler carpenters were known for their skill and craftsmanship. Their furniture was sturdy and basic, done according to the specific specifications of community while still maintaining the refinement found in any piece of good furniture.
There was nothing more wonderful than seeing a fine piece of Beiler furniture sitting in an Amish living room, because Jacob knew that somebody in his family made it. It reminded him that he was carrying on the traditions that his family passed down to him.
Once Jacob was done, he stepped back to take a look at the bureau. It was perfect, not because it was unique, but because it was made with his family’s blueprints. They'd been making their pieces the same way for centuries and that continuity mattered.
Normally Abel would help carry the load with him to the buggy, but he had business to handle in the mornings now. So Jacob decided to take a rest and get a bowl of oatmeal before going back downstairs to move the rest of his furniture.
When Jacob got back upstairs, he noticed a little piece of paper sitting on the table with a candlestick over it. That was one of his mother's favorite decorations. They would always put a white candle in it and light it in the window for Christmas.
Jacob sunk down on a dining room chair and he let his head fall onto the table. How could Abel be so cruel? Was it worth leaving behind the only person you have left in the world? What about salvation and family? What about the principles they'd been taught their entire lives? He didn't care. He just wanted to live in sin, lazily staring at a picture box all day.
When their father died, he called Jacob and Abel into his room. Jacob was 15 and Abel was 14, so they were old enough to worry about what was going to happen to them. They didn't have the experience they needed to get by, a
nd Jacob remembered just how terrified they both were.
Jacob used to think his father was the strongest man alive. He worked the fields every day and tended to the cattle, but when he walked in, Jacob found a frail old man. It was very unsettling. That was what death looked like.
Jacob's father begged the boys to listen to him. He said that life would be hard, and that they would be tempted to leave the Amish. He said to remember how they were brought up to live, and the values that had been impressed upon them. Life, he said, was not meant to be lived for this world, but for the next.
Abel left anyway. He used to say that their father was wrong, and that the Englischer world had amazing things to offer, and maybe it did, but the Amish live better the Englischer. They live longer. They have happier lives, better marriages and they never go without. Abel didn't care. He betrayed Jacob and he betrayed their parents without even a second's hesitation.
Abel shot up, grabbed the unopened letter. He knew what was inside, he'd been hearing it for years. He stuffed it in a drawer, and decided to bury it along with the memory of his brother. He would probably have to speak with the bishop about what had happened, and do the right thing by the community. Abel would never be allowed to come back. There was nothing more heartbreaking, but he made his choice. There would be a funeral, an empty casket and then there would be trouble from everyone else. What would they say? Then he started hauling his furniture out. He believed in hard work. He believed in the way he was brought up and he would uphold the principles of his community no matter what his brother did.
*****
Miriam finished her eggs, and hopped off the table to walk to the stove. “No more?”
“No,” Sarah sighed. “We have to save the rest.”
“Oh. May I go play outside Mama?”
“Not until you wash your plate.”
“OK, Mama.” Sarah watched while Miriam grabbed a stool and used the water basin to clean her dishes. She was a good kid, but she'd be incomplete without a father in her life. It wasn't healthy.
Sarah stood up and started gathering the dishes while Miriam ran outside to play. Soon enough, Miriam would be going out and tending to things around the ranch, but she was too young, so Sarah let her run around just like every little kid should.
Sarah's eyes kept darting up towards the window and out into the field and back down to the dishes. The ranch hand was supposed to be there by now, but something must've happened. He'd done this before, but this was the latest he'd ever come and it was well into the morning.
Sarah had to get her fields harvested. She couldn't do it herself. The horses weren't used to her and it was hard work, setting them up on the harvester, raking the crops, bailing them and loading them up. There's no way she'd be able to do it. She was relying on Abel, but he had become untrustworthy.
He started wearing Englischer clothes underneath his Amish ones. She saw his shirt creeping out once, and more often than not he came by smelling like liquor and cigarettes. She wasn't sure she wanted her daughter around a man like that.
The worst part was that he was talking about leaving the Amish. She didn't want Miriam to ever be exposed to that kind of talk, but he was very open about it. It was a wonder the bishop hadn't kicked him out yet. Even talking about leaving was enough to get you shunned. He wasn't a bad person, though. He'd just lost his way.
When he first started working for them, he was up early every single day, doing everything he could to help. He even helped around the house when she was sick. Now, he came, but he barely did enough for them to get by. It was scary. Sarah was relying on her fields being harvested for them to have enough food to eat the next couple of months.
It was clear, after Sarah finished the dishes that he wasn't coming. He had finally left just like he'd been talking about, and he didn't care what happened to them. He was being selfish and cruel. She wasn't sure what she was going to do.
All Sarah had were her eggs. She'd have to go into town and sell them. Sarah put her things away and walked out into the yard. “Miriam!”
Her daughter crept up behind her. “Yes, Mama.”
“We're going to town. Let's get your jacket.”
“OK.”
Once the horses were ready, Sarah loaded her daughter up and they took the boggy the few miles into town where she could sell her eggs. It wasn't right. She was only going to have enough to feed them for another week, and would have to pray and find some other way to give them the food they needed.
It didn't take long for them to arrive at the small wooden store where the majority of Amish commerce took place. They called it the general store. It was where they sold Amish furniture, food and other Amish handicrafts.
They parked around the side. “Come on, sweetie.” Sarah turned to Miriam. “Let's go inside.”
“OK. Where's Abel, Mama?”
“I'm not sure, but it's OK. We'll have somebody else help us.” She wasn't sure if that was true or not, but it was the only hope they had, Sarah clung to it. The store was filled with people when they walked inside, covered in every form of craft work imaginable, from Amish faceless dolls to chests of drawers.
Everything was made by hand with love and tradition in mind. Everything was the same as it had always been since the Amish first established their community. Sarah loved the nostalgic feel, and the communal effort put in to create such fine work.
“Mama,” Miriam tugged on her mother's leg when they started waiting in line, “can I have a dolly.”
That broke Sarah's heart. She would've loved to get her daughter a doll, but she couldn't. “Another time, sweetie.”
She turned back to the line of people waiting to speak with the cashier, and waited patiently. New furniture had been coming in, lately, fine work that deserved recognition. She admired a chest of drawers sitting to the left of the cash register. “What a fine piece,” the woman ahead of Sarah commented. There must've been a new carpenter in town.
When they got to the head of the line, Sarah had to juggle her daughter and the basket of eggs in her hand. The cashier was an elderly woman with kind eyes, who looked down at Miriam like she was the most precious thing in the world, and she was. This wasn't right. Her daughter deserved the best, not what little Sarah could offer. Had Jethro survived, she could've had everything she wanted.
“Well, hello, sweetie.” The cashier reached into a bin near the register and pulled out a candy.
“Thank you.” She knew her manners.
“How are you today, Sarah?”
“Not well. I don't know what I'm going to do. My ranch hand ran off, and now I'm not sure how I'm going to pay for food without my crops.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.” She took the eggs and added in a little extra.
“Oh, thank you Elizabeth. You didn't have to do that.” It wasn't enough, but it was something.
“It's alright. Just keep bringing them in, OK.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Sarah lifted Miriam up and carried her to the door, then nearly toppled over when she ran into a man carrying a bookshelf. That must've been the carpenter.
*****
Jacob's work was his art. He believed in the traditional style and reflected it in every way. He wasn't a worldly man. He was Amish through and through and so was his furniture. He started loading it all up into his buggy, his chest of drawers, two table and chair sets and a pair of couches, each one handmade out of the finest wood in Amish country.
The store was only a few miles away, so he took his time, letting the cold air soak in and wake him up. If he was lucky, he could sell the pieces he had that day and get to work on more right away. Amish homes were springing up left and right, and they all wanted his furniture. The Englischer wanted it just as bad, and came from miles around to buy it.
He tried not to think about Abel, but it was hard. He loved his brother, and would always miss him, but if Jacob were being honest with himself, he was mad at Abel. Abel had everything and he didn't care. He jus
t walked out and left Jacob alone to fend for himself.
His brother was probably just as bad off. The Amish don't know how to live in the outside world. They aren't a part of it. They don't have high school diplomas or social security cards. When the Amish leave, they find themselves in a strange world with no way to survive.
It wasn't right. Abel would never be allowed to come back either. He would have to find some way to survive without his family and his community. That wasn't going to be easy for him. Abel had always relied on the charity of others rather than his own wit and work ethic. He had no trade, no skills of his own. He'd been surviving as a ranch hand for years. It doesn't take much to do that kind of work. He couldn't do that in the outside world where they have machines to do the work for them.
He was going to have to find some other way to survive, and Jacob wasn't sure he'd be able to do it. The worst part was that if he failed, he would have nowhere to go. Instead, he'd have to live on the streets, or in a shelter. He might even have to beg for food and money. Abel was being dumb. He idealized the Englischer, but he didn't know what it was like to be one of them, or how hard it would be for him to survive.
When a person is shunned, you bury them to get rid of the memory and the pain of losing them, but it's not that easy. Jacob would always remember his brother, the rambunctious youth that never really fit in. He would always wonder, and he would always love him.
The store was busy when Jacob pulled up, and began unloading his things out of his buggy. There were always a lot of people there in the morning, buying food and gossiping. It was somewhat of a city center for the Amish. He saw some people he knew, and nodded his head in acknowledgment, then nearly knocked into a woman carrying her young daughter when he walked inside.
Their eyes met for an awkward moment, and something passed between them, but he couldn't understand what it was except for the irresistible smile on both of their faces. Her daughter winked at him when he walked past into the store to speak with the cashier.
