“You can set the record straight.”
And then they were in the widow’s house, and the large group of women assembled there naturally separated into smaller groups by generational lines. Susannah supposed that was because friendships had formed many years ago, and there weren’t that many chances to all get together and catch up. Sometimes it seemed to Susannah that she knew more about her cousins in Ohio than she did about someone living down the street.
She went out the back door. Two quilts had been set up on standing looms. Around one was most of the sixteen-to-eighteen-year-old group. She remembered how she’d looked forward to these days when she was first out of school. She hadn’t missed sitting in a school desk for the majority of the day, but she’d certainly missed seeing her friends. Watching that younger group brought a sharp pain of nostalgia that she hadn’t expected.
Did she miss being so young?
It wasn’t as if she was an old maid now.
But then she turned toward her group, which was gathered around a double-wedding-ring quilt that had also been placed on a quilt stand. They were situated more toward the side yard, with a view of both the back and the front of the house. It seemed to her that over half the group was pregnant. Many of the others had babies in carriers on the ground beside them. Only Susannah, Deborah and three other girls remained unmarried.
Perhaps she didn’t really fit in with either group, which was a rather depressing thought. Regardless, there was quilting to be done.
She clenched her teeth and prayed for patience.
Strangely, no one asked her a thing about Micah.
There was plenty of “How are you today, Susannah?” and “What a pretty apron. Is that new?” and “I saw your schweschdern flitting around here. They certainly are growing.”
She felt herself relax, so much so that when she saw looks passing between others—knowing looks—she convinced herself that it had nothing to do with her or Micah.
They’d sewn for most of the morning when she heard the clatter of buggy wheels.
Again the knowing looks, and then as one, they stopped sewing and turned their attention toward the front of the house.
And that was when she saw him. Micah was driving Widow Miller’s buggy. When he pulled to a stop, he jumped out, walked around the buggy and helped out Old Sally. It was when he closed the buggy door after her that Susannah saw the sign.
It read Amish Taxi, followed by a phone number.
Micah had helped Old Sally up the porch steps. As he returned to his buggy, he stopped and waved—whether at Susannah or the group in general, she wasn’t sure.
He looked inordinately pleased with himself.
And Susannah suddenly wished she could melt into the ground because conversations had erupted to her right and her left, and they were all about Micah and his new business.
* * *
She didn’t have a moment alone with Deborah until they were eating lunch.
As usual, Sharon and Shiloh had finished in record time, so Susannah took her plate of food out to the picnic table that was situated next to the swings and seesaw, long ago remnants of a time when Naomi Miller had kinner and grandkinner around. Now all of her family lived in Shipshewana—close enough to visit, but not as often as she’d like. Susannah wondered why she hadn’t moved with her family. Before she could think that through, they were surrounded by loud, energetic children. The afternoon was filled with a dozen girls and boys running and shouting and using up their abundance of energy.
Deborah nudged her with her shoulder. “You really didn’t know?”
“I really didn’t.”
“It was the only topic of conversation before you got here, and then I tried to get your attention.”
“You did?”
“Ya. I was...” Deborah pantomimed raising her hand above her head and bringing it back down over her kapp.
“Thought you were swatting at a bee.”
“Word is he started this morning, but he put out flyers all over the community on Saturday.”
“Good grief, word travels fast.”
“You know the Amish grapevine.”
Susannah momentarily covered her face with her hands.
“It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? Amish Taxi? It sounds like a bad joke.”
“But it is honest labor, and to hear the girls talk, he had your father’s approval.”
“What?” Susannah’s voice rose so high that both Sharon and Shiloh turned to look at her. She waved at them to go back to playing. “My dat knew and didn’t tell me?”
“You’ve told me before that he’s very private about things that he discusses with others.”
“That’s true.”
“Seems to me it’s honest work, and what else is he to do? The crops are in and...”
“And there are at least a dozen people hiring in Goshen to help with summer tourists.”
“I suspect he’ll have a line of folks waiting to ride in an Amish Taxi. He’ll be helping with tourists plenty.” Deborah started laughing and then, against her better instincts, Susannah joined her. It was rather funny if you thought about it.
It wasn’t until they were all back home and had finished eating dinner that she had a chance to talk to her dat about it. Sharon and Shiloh were upstairs preparing for bed. Playing with the other children all day had certainly worn them out. They’d practically fallen asleep with their kapp strings in their soup.
“Seemed like a rather gut idea to me,” Thomas said. “He’s splitting what he earns with the widow, since he’s using her buggy and horse.”
“He is?”
“The horse needs more exercise, and Widow Miller can certainly use the money.”
“She needs money?”
“It’s not easy for the older ones.” Her mamm filled their mugs with decaffeinated coffee.
“What do you mean?” Susannah asked.
“About what?”
“About it not being easy on the older folks. I thought we... Well, I thought that we provided for those in our community who had less.”
“We do, as is right and proper.” Her dat pointed an unlit pipe at her. He’d had it for as long as she could remember. She’d asked her mamm about it once. The pipe had been his father’s. He only actually smoked it once a day, only after the evening meal, and only out on the porch. “The Scripture tells us as much—to care for the orphans and the widows.”
“Many of our elders have family close by, but for those who don’t, finances can be tight. They’ll never want for house repairs or groceries, but even Widow Miller likes to have a little extra change in her pocketbook.”
“She has family in Shipshe.”
“That she does, but there’s some difficulty there. She doesn’t ask them for extra because she doesn’t think they have it.”
Susannah shook her head. “We’re getting off topic here. How is Micah’s business even supposed to work?”
“Maybe you should ask him yourself.” Her dat pointed the pipe toward the window, where she could just make out Micah crossing the field that separated her parents’ home from his grandparents.
Susannah ignored the smile that passed between her parents, excused herself and met Micah before he’d made it to the porch.
“Amish Taxi? Really?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you myself.”
“You certainly don’t owe me an explanation.” The words came out snippier than she intended, so she looked up, down and around, and then asked, “Wanna look at Shiloh’s kittens?”
Instead of answering, he entwined his fingers with hers, and that seemed so right, felt so natural, that she couldn’t possibly hold on to her frustration. Fifteen minutes later they’d examined each kitten. There were five in all—four striped and one white.
“We never had any ca
ts growing up.” Micah ran his finger from the top of the white kitten’s head, along its spine, to the tail. He was rewarded with a purr that resembled a small power motor. He glanced up at her and smiled. “This one likes me.”
“You never had barn cats?”
“Nein. My mamm was allergic. If we had church in a member’s barn and they had cats, she’d start sneezing and her eyes would water, and she’d have to excuse herself and go outside.”
“You don’t seem allergic.”
“Guess not.” He placed the kitten down next to the mama cat. They walked outside and stood looking at the near-dark sky.
Susannah could make out the first star, but there was still enough light for her to turn and study Micah. “Tell me how this new business of yours is supposed to work.”
“Pretty simple, really. Widow Miller lets me know ahead of time if she will need the horse and buggy. Mostly she only drives to church or the grocery store or sometimes a doctor’s appointment. It was one of the things that made me think of it. Her horse—Sunny Boy—needs more exercise. He almost seemed depressed when your dat and I went over to shoe him last time.”
“Okay. So you walk to her house, harness Sunny Boy to the buggy and then...”
“I bought another phone, but not like the last one. This one doesn’t even have the internet. It’s only for making and receiving calls.” He had to explain to her about his daddi crushing his cell phone and insisting he get a job.
“I’m sorry, Micah. I had no idea he was so strict.”
Micah shrugged. “I don’t think it’s about me as much as it is about him coming to terms with the changes around him.”
“That’s awfully mature of you to say.”
“I’ve never been accused of being mature before.” He stepped out from under the overhang of the barn. “Want to walk a little? For some reason, I’m feeling restless.”
So they walked, and they talked some more as the moon rose and darkness fell properly over the fields.
He’d had a dozen rides his first day of business.
He’d made two hundred dollars.
Half of that he gave to the widow when he returned the horse and buggy.
Susannah thought of what her dat had said about helping the elderly. Micah was certainly doing that.
“This morning I worked a couple of hours for your dat, and when things slowed down, he told me to go on to town and get started on my new venture.”
“I can see why my dat gave you his approval, but I’m a little surprised your daddi went along with it.”
“Guess he felt like he didn’t have a choice, since the bishop had approved.”
“But he wasn’t happy.”
“Nein.”
“Maybe he will be, when he sees how you’re helping folks.”
“Half of my customers were Englisch, just wanting to ride in an authentic buggy.”
“That’s pretty common around here.”
“Not so much in Maine.” Micah’s voice turned somber. “Daddi thinks we should be separate. I’m sure that’s the part of my plan that he doesn’t approve of...as if being around Englischers will rub off on me. Next thing you know, I’ll be wearing blue jeans and carrying a cell phone.”
“You were wearing blue jeans the first day I saw you.”
“True.”
“And you had a phone in your back pocket.”
“See? I’m already corrupted, so what harm can come?”
What harm indeed. Susannah had heard every possible scenario as she’d sat in the sewing circle. Everything from he shouldn’t be alone with Englisch girls to he might put Timothy Zook out of business. Timothy ran a buggy ride for Englischers during the summer, and Susannah knew for a fact that he had more business than he cared to have. He had refused to extend his hours and had even cut his days back to three a week. Micah would actually be filling a gap that needed to be filled, and he’d be helping Amish folks at the same time.
She understood in that moment that Micah was a good person. It was only that he considered things from a different perspective than most. Who else would have thought of being an Amish taxi driver?
She walked over to an old tree that held a tire swing.
“Get in,” he said.
“What is it with you and swings?”
“Just get in already. I’ll push.”
“I’m not even sure it will hold me.”
Micah tugged on the rope, looked up at the limb and declared it sound.
He turned the tire upside down and ran his hand inside to make sure there was no water or critters, then he held it high as she wiggled her shoulders through. And the next thing Susannah knew, the tire swing was going up, then down and twirling and then back up again, and all of the responsibilities that she carried on her shoulders—or thought she did—fell away. Suddenly she was simply a young woman in a swing being pushed by a handsome young man. And above her the stars seemed to wink their approval.
Chapter Nine
What Micah didn’t share with Susannah was that he was giving his grandparents half of his portion of the day’s earnings. Out of two hundred dollars, the widow received one hundred, his grandparents fifty, and he kept fifty. It seemed like a fair enough arrangement to him. His grandparents were providing him a place to stay and feeding him. He also received a small amount each week for working with Thomas Beiler in the farrier shop. Between the two jobs, he felt like he was pulling his weight.
He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he thought his grandfather would thank him, or at least acknowledge in some way that he’d done well.
Instead, the next morning his grandfather had ignored the money sitting on the middle of the table. When his mammi brought it up, he’d simply grunted and told her to put it in the mason jar she kept in the pantry. “Something’s bound to break soon, and we’ll need it.”
The meal passed in silence, the way most of their meals did, and then without another word, his daddi stood, pushed in his chair and walked out toward the barn.
“Has he always been like this?” Micah asked.
“Like what?” His mammi stood and began clearing away the breakfast dishes.
“Solemn, taciturn, grumpy.”
Mammi had her back to him as she filled the kitchen sink with warm water and then a splash of dish-washing detergent, but he could still make out the heavy sigh.
He carried the rest of the dishes to her and picked up a dish towel. “I’ll dry if you wash.”
Which seemed to ease her burden a bit.
Was it that easy?
Did helping with dishes make that big a difference?
Or was it more that his grandmother wanted to be seen, that she wanted to be thanked for her labors the same way that Micah wanted to be thanked for the fifty dollars sitting on the table? When was the last time someone had thanked her for making a meal or putting clean sheets on the bed or sweeping the floors?
“Breakfast was gut.”
“Ya?”
“Mamm never did learn how to make biscuits from scratch.”
Mammi started laughing. “I tried teaching her, and I know her mother tried, as well. She always seemed to forget at least one ingredient, and there aren’t that many ingredients in biscuits.”
“I might have starved if Becky hadn’t taken over the cooking.”
“Your schweschdern are all gut girls. It’s funny when you think about it. I suppose we all have things that we’re good at and other things that we never can quite get the hang of.”
They continued washing and drying, and Micah was surprised to find that the silence between them felt comfortable. He realized he’d miss this when he went home—this time with grandparents that he barely knew.
“I wish I could figure out how to talk to him. Everything I say seems to irritate him one way or another.”
“So it’s not just me?”
“Nein, though...” She shook her head, as if she wished she hadn’t started the sentence that she couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“Might as well say it.”
“It’s only that he worries about you. Your dat was our only son, and now you’re his only son.”
“I’m supposed to carry on the family name.”
“I don’t know about that. If the Lord wills it...”
“But...”
“But you do have a responsibility to your family, even to your schweschdern.”
Micah was shaking his head before she’d even finished. “They’re all older than me. Trust me—they’re not depending on me for anything.”
“That’s not true.” Mammi pulled the plug on the sink water and watched it swirl down the drain. “It might seem that way now, because of your age. And you’ll always hold a special place in their hearts because you’re the baby bruder they hoped and prayed for. But when you’re older—when you’re forty or fifty or sixty—it won’t matter that you’re the youngest. They’ll look to you for advice. It’s just the way Amish families are.”
“Hard to imagine.”
“I know it is.”
The sun was peeking over the horizon, and he had chores to do before heading over to work at the bishop’s. Hopefully, his afternoon would once again be full of taxi customers. He was looking forward to the day, and he felt some better about his grandfather. He might never understand him, but at least he could sympathize a little with what the old guy was going through.
He’d given his grandmother a quick hug, fetched his hat and was headed out the back door when his mammi called him back. “Keep an eye on him for me.”
“Daddi?”
“Ya, just...let me know if you notice he’s not feeling well.”
“Is he not feeling well?”
“Nothing that he would admit to.” She walked over to him, straightened his hat and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “But as you so clearly pointed out, he’s grumpier than ever. It could be that he’s feeling worse than he’s letting on.”
An Unlikely Amish Match Page 12
