by Kelly Long
Matthew nodded. “Jah, I suppose you are right.”
“Of course I am. Now, you two geh on over ta Oncle Nutter’s and he’ll tell ya the legend of Blackberry Falls. Nobody does it as gut as him.”
“We thank you,” Matthew said softly and bent to kiss the aged cheek.
“Ach, now. Save such things fer yer wife!”
“Plenty to geh around,” he teased, then carefully closed the small desk and picked it up, holding out his other hand to Tabitha.
When they were back on the trail he spoke his thoughts aloud. “How does she manage all alone up there?”
“She’s lived there all her life. She’s memorized the different spaces, and we all take turns dropping in on her.”
“Well, she’s remarkable.... Now, who is Oncle Nutter?”
His wife laughed. “You’ll see. . . .”
* * *
Oncle Nutter was in rare form.... He had his usual bag of walnuts in his lap and would periodically crack one on his forehead before eating the meat. Tabitha watched Matthew, who, to his credit, didn’t blink an eye at the odd behavior.
Oncle Nutter shook hands politely, then settled back in a bentwood rocking chair on the front porch while she and Matthew sat opposite on equally comfortable rockers.
“Now, what I got fer y’uns is a story. That’s my wedding gift to ya.”
“That’s lovely,” Tabitha murmured.
“Ya already know this one, Tabitha, but it’s gut to hear now and then ta remember. . . .”
She nodded, prepared to listen, and saw that Matthew seemed in a similar frame of mind.
“Long ago, when Ole Bull, the famous fiddler, was buildin’ his castle on the mountainside west of here, an Amisch maedel of the woods fell deeply in love with a Swedish lumberjack. . . .” There was a pause for a nut cracking. “Now, back then, an Amisch girl couldn’t marry anyone from outside her community, but most especially not an Englischer, and a foreigner at that.... But they planned ta run away together all the same. And, of course, her fater got wind of it somehow and forbade the maedel ta geh. And I bet ya can tell me what happens from here, can’t ya, Matthew?”
“Uh . . . she jumps from the falls, and even now you can hear her cries for her lost love?”
“Gut man ya are! But, nee, not what happened.”
“Oh . . .”
“Nope! The two got married—she left the Amisch; he become a travelin’ salesman and they had fourteen kinner.”
Tabitha’s shoulders shook with laughter when she saw the bemused expression on Matthew’s face.
“Forgive me, but how does that have anything to do with Blackberry Falls?”
“It don’t!” Oncle Nutter slapped his knee and cracked a nut. “The true Blackberry Falls legend is some made-up thing about faeries kissing the bushes all about so the blackberries grow thick every year.... Ye’re supposed ta hear the creatures sing if ya stand behind the falls and are truly in love.... Rubbish, I say!”
“Ach, you only say that because you haven’t stood back there,” Tabitha teased.
“Now, now . . . I wuz young once. I mighta heard something, but the gift of the tale lies in the tradition of storytellin’. So now, Matt, ya can tell yer kinner the same or anythin’ ya like!”
Tabitha was glad to see that Matthew nodded his head in agreement, but then he put his hand to his temple.
“Matthew?” she asked in sudden concern. “Are you all right?”
“Just a bit of a headache . . . I’m fine.”
But Tabitha wasn’t convinced, and she excused them both quickly. “Fater’s planning a big picnic at the berrying next week to celebrate the wedding. We can get the rest of the gifts then.”
“Yeah . . . I think Oncle Nutter gave me a headache as well as a story.... How does he do that with those walnuts?”
Chapter Twelve
“There are people here to see you,” Tabitha announced to Matthew, who was sitting upright and visibly bored on the Stolfus couch. It had been a struggle to get him to take even one day at home to relax since his headache had returned, and she was glad for the appearance of Big Jim and his family at the front door.
Big Jim’s wife, Rose, and their twelve-year-old dochder, Christi, were infrequent guests at the Stolfus cabin, and Big Jim looked rather nervous, carrying a fine wooden tool chest. He glanced across the room to where Matthew sat and cleared his throat. “We kumme to say a few words to Matt, if we could.”
“Of course.” Tabitha smiled. “Sei se gut, kumme in and sit down.”
Rose and Christi perched on the edge of a carved-backed love seat while Jim hunkered down next to Matthew on the couch. Tabitha sat down in a black, walnut rocking chair.
“See, it’s like this. I told my frau that I most likely wouldn’t be here if it weren’t fer ya, Matt. We wanted ta say danki and give you this tool box, seein’ as how ye’re gonna be down at the mill.”
Tabitha watched with secret pride as Matthew accepted the finely carved box.
“Danki,” he said, reaching out to shake Big Jim’s hand. “I’ll use it often and be glad to fill it as I get working.”
“Well, I stocked it up pretty gut. I went down to Cubby’s and put a few tools in that ya should have ta start. There’s a socket and firm chisel, an auger, a gimlet, and a gauge. And then ya got yer square, compass, hammer, and mallet. Ach, and a nice level too.”
“Danki again,” Matthew said, balancing the box on his legs. “This makes me feel real welcome.”
Tabitha smiled at the guests. “Rose and Christi, would you like to join me for some tea with Anke in the kitchen? Then these two can talk about the mill and the red oak.”
Rose quickly nodded her assent, but Tabitha was surprised when Christi burst out, “Ach, sei se gut, Mamm. Can I sit with Daed and hear about the wood?”
Tabitha was amazed at the question, and her heart went out to the young maedel. Before Rose could protest, Tabitha spoke up clearly.
“What a wunderbaar idea! You have a special dochder.” Tabitha swallowed. “When I was Christi’s age, I too loved to hear about the wood. Please, Rose, let her stay.”
Rose nodded, but was clearly bewildered by her dochder’s request, yet Tabitha saw that Matthew’s eyes rested kindly on Christi.
Tabitha bit her lip, then turned to lead Rose to the kitchen.
* * *
Matthew was nothing if not observant. And he hadn’t missed the surprised tension on Tabitha’s beautiful face when Christi had asked to stay. He had a sudden insight into what it must be like to be a woman growing up with a fater who yearned only for a sohn. And what it was to be female in a community dominated by wood and its working . . . men’s work surely. And yet Big Jim included his dochder easily in their talk, something Matthew thought Herr Stolfus might not have done for Tabitha.
Matthew came back to the moment when Big Jim mentioned the ghost.
“Fast as lightning, that buwe ghost knocked ya outta the way. It was a pure miracle, I say. I’ve told Rose and Christi too.”
“A ghost, you say.” Matthew smiled at the excited expression on the young girl’s face. Clearly, Christi wanted to add her two cents to the tale.
“Jah, Herr King. Daed said the red oak would surely have broken ya in two if it weren’t fer the ghost.”
“Well, Christi—Big Jim, I’m afraid I remember very little of the whole thing—just that the storm came up fast.”
“Ya helped me up.” Big Jim suddenly took out a large, red handkerchief and blew his nose prodigiously. “And I won’t ferget that. You saved my life.”
“I’m glad I was there. Sometimes, I think that Gott puts us in difficult situations just so we can help someone else for a moment,” Matthew said reflectively.
“That be so.” Big Jim nodded. “Now, I’ll tell ya about the oak. We peeled the bark right there after we got ya fixed up comfortable behind yer horse. Then we put on the hooks and the horses pulled it through the forest. Took three of the strongest geldings ta git it throug
h. ’Course ya was out of it when we made it ta the mill. Thought auld Abner wuz gonna wring somebody’s neck when he saw ya wuz hurt.”
“Really?” Matthew asked in surprise.
“Really.” Big Jim nodded. “Now that we got the red oak, ya can learn how ta make fine pieces with it.”
“I like the bowls best,” Christi chimed in, and Matthew looked at the girl in surprise once more. “The grain is really close together on a red oak.”
“I guess your Daed here teaches you a lot about lumber and woodworking,” Matthew said.
“Jah, but I can’t do no woodworkin’. It’s not allowed fer girls. But I can help Abigail Mast with her pottery—that’s almost as gut.”
Matthew nodded. “Pottery can be difficult to do, and I suppose it is deeply valued here.”
Christi smiled, but there was a wistful expression on the girl’s face that somehow reminded him of his wife....
Chapter Thirteen
“Work tomorrow.” Matthew couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.
“Jah. I know,” Tabitha said drily as she threw her blue dress over the clothes screen in her room. It had been especially hot that late afternoon when Big Jim and his family had gone home, and she was glad for the chance to unwind.
She stepped out from behind the screen, wearing only a brief shift, and quickly clambered between the cool cotton sheets of the bed. She turned on her side and regarded her husband, who was wandering about the room while he undid his shirt.
“What are you thinking of besides work?” she asked finally.
“Hmm? Ach, nothing. I guess I am really tired. My head is starting to ache.”
She sat up quickly and patted the side of the bed next to her. “Then kumme. Let me rub your temples.”
She realized that he looked at her fully then and, almost cautiously, came to sit beside her.
She watched his throat work when she got to her knees beside him and reached to make tender circles at his temples.
“I’m sleeping on the floor,” he said abruptly.
Tabitha didn’t break the gentle movement of her hands. “That’s fine,” she whispered.
He nodded, almost to himself, and she hid a secret smile. She hoped he wouldn’t suspect her new ploy of approaching him with a casual air. After a few minutes, when she recognized that his breathing had changed, she casually let her hands trail down his throat and move across his bare chest. Then she pulled away.
She scooped up a pillow and a quilt, then dropped them neatly on the floor. “Gut nacht, mei mann,” she said, rolling away from him.
He got up, seemingly dazed for the moment as he dropped to the floor. “Gut nacht,” he answered. But she was pleased to hear him toss and turn before she fell asleep herself.
* * *
Matthew punched the pillow for the third time as the quiet seemed to roar in his ears. He rolled over and pressed his body into the quilt, glad for the hard counterpressure of the wood beneath. He very much wanted to climb into the big bed above him and make love to his wife.... But all of my jabber about us needing to talk first suddenly feels stupid, because she seems uninterested. . . . He sighed out loud, then told himself that he was to start at the mill the next day.... It was his dream, but somehow it didn’t seem as satisfying now as the moments when his young wife touched him. . . .
* * *
Anke finished the chores in the kitchen, then grabbed a lantern from the back porch and the bundle of nacht clothes she’d made ready. She walked barefoot to the wooden steps built into the back-creek embankment and sighed with pleasure when her toes touched the cold water.
“Nice out, ain’t it?”
“Abner!” she shrieked. “You almost scared me to death!” She swung the lantern in the direction his voice had kumme from, then hastily pulled it back when she realized he was in the creek, and bare-chested at that. “I’m goin’ back ta the haus,” she harrumphed.
Then his voice came from the dark—slow and easy. “It’s up ta you, but I won’t bother ya none. Of course, if ye’re nervous of me, I can understand.”
“Nervous?” she snapped. “Of you? Ha!” She set down the lantern on a step with a thump.
“If ya like, I’ll turn ’round while ya git in,” he offered.
“There’s no need,” she said with a sniff. “I’ll just kumme in in my dress.”
“Suit yerself.”
Anke secretly wished she might be bold enough to change into her oversize shift, but she did not want to risk exposing herself to the eyes of any man—let alone Abner.
Chapter Fourteen
Tabitha saw Matthew off to the mill and then returned to the kitchen, feeling at loose ends. Abner sat drinking a cup of coffee while Anke folded tea towels.
“Well, kind, it won’t be long until ya have yer own cabin and will be workin’ fer yer husband,” Anke observed.
“Jah,” Tabitha agreed slowly. In truth, she hadn’t thought as far as Matthew and her moving to their own cabin. She’d been so focused on marrying on her own terms that she’d neglected to think what that marriage might mean in reality.
“And Abner, ye’ll soon have ta find somethin’ else ta occupy yer time,” Anke said. “Unless ya plan on baby-sittin’ Tabby’s kinner.”
Both Tabitha and Abner turned to stare at Anke, but Tabitha found her voice first. “I think I need some time outside. I’ll geh and see Abigail up at the pottery shop.”
Abner made as if to get up, but Tabitha waved him back into his seat. “Nee, Abner. . . . Anke’s right. As a married woman, I no longer have as much kidnapping value as I did when I was the sole heir.”
“Well, that ain’t true,” Abner protested, but Tabitha laughed.
“Abner, it’s fine. Maybe now you can have a life of your own.”
She patted the aulder man’s shoulder and left the kitchen through the back door.
* * *
Abner cleared his throat when Tabitha had gone. “Somethin’ ain’t right with the girl. I wonder what it could be.”
“Ach.” Anke shook her head. “She’s no longer a maedel but a grown woman. Growing up can be sad, I suppose.”
“Was it sad for you?” Abner asked in a soft voice. What am I saying? I sound like a fool. . . . He was about to wave away his question when he was amazed to see Anke’s gentle brown eyes fill with tears.
“I suppose that I—I kumme ta that sadness earlier than some do. . . .” she whispered.
Abner found himself on his feet. He moved close to Anke and put a gentle hand on her soft shoulder. “Anke? What is it?”
She shook her head mutely, then moved away from him. “It’s nuthin’. I best geh get the laundry up.” She left the kitchen without looking at him, and he stood, feeling tears sting his own eyes.
* * *
Anke stabbed the clothespin onto the flapping sheet and ignored the tears that fell past her mouth. It’s not fair . . . she sobbed inside. I should be able to have a husband of my own without always thinking of my oncle. . . . He was an evil man, but maybe I’m guilty too . . . After all, I done what he told me. . . .
* * *
“Woodwork requires skill, jah, but it also needs vision.” John Stolfus spoke seriously as he showed Matthew around the mill.
Matthew felt more nervous than he had when he’d gone to harvest the red oak. He nodded to various men he recognized from the trip and even gave Asa Zook, his apparent nemesis, a direct look. He knew he’d have to work with these men and kumme to know them, but a mill was a dangerous place. He’d have to be careful while he worked.
He recognized orderly piles of mahogany, birch, pine, cherry, and maple woods. Then they passed the close-grained pieces of red oak, and Matthew caught the distinctive smell of cat urine. Although the red oak was beautiful, there was no getting around the reminder of the cat box when it was freshly debarked.
John led him into his office, a well-kept place except for a drawing board, which held dozens of sketches of furniture and useful objects for the home.<
br />
“Sit down, buwe,” John invited as he closed the door on the noise and bustle of the mill.
Matthew sat down in the chair opposite the mammoth, carved desk. It seemed a vast space from which John Stolfus obviously ran his business.
“We know the quality of the wood by smelling it, jah. But also we touch it, we feel it. The wood holds a secret . . . it knows how to be, to become. Working with it is a sensual act; a mysterious and sacred appreciation of what Gott has created. We do not worship the tree, but Him Who made the tree—which provides us our purposeful work in life.”
“Jah, sir,” Matthew replied, drinking in the words. John’s obvious love of his trade made Matthew wonder vaguely what kept his fater-in-law from allowing women or maedels like Christi to do woodworking. But perhaps it was Bishop Kore himself who would not permit it....
John broke into his thoughts by placing a gut-sized piece of the red oak on the desktop in front of Matthew. “I know you have your tools, buwe, from Big Jim, and I want you to use them. Take this wood. Carry it and discover its secret. Then carve what it is to be, after you’ve praised Gott for creating it.”
“Okaaay.” Matthew picked up the wood. It was heavy even though it had been debarked, and the smell of it was quite offensive. He wondered rather wildly if this was why he’d kumme to Blackberry Falls—to listen to psychobabble about the character of wood. But he would praise Gott for it and hope for some more direct instruction in the near future.
Then he thought of Tabitha in her short shift, her tender fingers touching his temples. He hadn’t been a mail-order groom for nothing—he had a beautiful wife and a woman to build a future with—he would trust Gott with the rest.
* * *
Tabitha climbed the fern-strewn embankment to Abigail Mast’s pottery shop. Abigail was an independent woman who was kind but rarely smiled. Tabitha liked her for her way of telling the truth in a straightforward manner. Although Abigail was several years older than Tabitha, she was still a gut friend, and today was her birthday.
When Tabitha arrived Abigail was shaping a large mug on the wheel, which was powered by foot movement. Tabitha watched in fascination, as she always did, while her friend created art. When Abigail got up she went to wash her hands in the sink.
