Shelter in the Storm

by Laurel Blount

  She’d been surprised the first time she’d seen this room. She’d expected something more professional looking, more like other woodworking shops she’d visited. Joseph’s shop was nothing like those. Long and narrow, with an earthen floor and no source of heat, it had been built as a lean-to attached to the barn. It had probably housed the family pig at one time or another or been used for grain or equipment storage. It wasn’t much, but Joseph had turned it into a functioning woodworking shop.

  It was neat and efficiently organized. Tools hung on the rough wall shared with the barn, and there was a scrap box in the corner where Joseph collected the odds and ends of wood rather than allowing them to stay where they dropped. The three worktables were clear of clutter, and a couple of finished pieces were set close to the door, old sheets tucked around them to protect them from dust.

  Naomi recalled the crib Joseph had brought to Katie’s house. How amazing that such a lovely thing could be created in such a humble place. Her gaze lingered on Joseph’s hands as they guided the chisel in its groove. That’s the secret, she thought, the Gott-given skill in those sure, strong fingers. That’s where the beauty comes from.

  But as she watched, Joseph made an exclamation of frustration. He lifted his foot off the pedal, slowing the spinning lathe. He thumped the chisel down on the table and ran a finger along the spindle leg.

  “Ruined,” he muttered.

  Naomi cleared her throat. “Joseph?”

  He didn’t jump, but his broad shoulders stiffened. When he turned to face her, he offered her a tired smile.

  “Naomi. I didn’t hear you come in. Is it suppertime already?”

  “Ja, almost. The food’s keeping warm in the oven. I came out a little early because I wanted to talk to you. I . . . brought you some coffee.” She stepped forward and handed him the thermos.

  He accepted the peace offering and set it down beside the lathe. “Denki,” he murmured. “It’s cold in here, so kaffe will be welcome. How is Miriam?”

  “Still sleeping.”

  “Sleep is the best thing for her, I expect.”

  Naomi nodded. Her heart was pounding so hard that she felt dizzy, but she needed to get this done. She leaned a hip against one of the tables to steady herself.

  “I want to say how sorry I am, Joseph, about today. It seemed a good idea, going to Yoder’s. Miriam was so excited about the idea of choosing the new fabric.” Naomi’s fingers nervously pleated and unpleated the material of her apron as she spoke. “I figured the trip was a good way to get her to go into town. It was very unwise of me. I should have asked you about it first, but I wanted to surprise you. I hoped . . . It doesn’t matter what I hoped. I made a mistake, Joseph, and I’m very sorry for the trouble it caused.”

  “You are forgiven.” Joseph spoke quietly, simply. His eyes met hers, and she saw no condemnation there. All she saw was a sad weariness that hurt her laboring heart even more. “I was angry at first, but I have had time to think it over. Your idea did not turn out so well, but I know your only thought was to help my sister. It is not your fault that the man behaved as he did. But next time, it would be wiser to tell me your plans. It might be better that I should go with you on such a trip, ja?”

  “Yes, of course.” Those words he’d just said . . . next time . . . brought up another thing she needed to ask him. “Do you still trust me to come stay with Miriam? If you don’t, I will understand.”

  He’d started unscrewing the top of the coffee thermos, but at her words his chin came up swiftly. “Do you want to stop coming?”

  “Nee! It’s just that . . . I’ve made such a mess of things.” Naomi shrugged miserably. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

  “I said you were forgiven, Naomi. I meant it. We will forget about this and move on.”

  “All right, then.” Naomi’s insides unclenched. That had gone a good bit better than she’d expected. Joseph Hochstedler, she reflected, not for the first time, was a very kind man. “What are you making today?”

  “A mess.” His frustration was clear in his tone. “I’m trying to finish a sewing table for Mahlon’s Rosie. I’d like to get it done because I’ve kept her waiting too long already, but I keep bumbling. This is the sixth leg I’ve ruined this afternoon.”

  “I know that feeling,” Naomi said earnestly. “I don’t know much about woodworking, but maybe you shouldn’t try to do that particular thing today. Some things take a delicate hand to get right, and they’re hard to do well when you’ve had an upsetting day.”

  He was watching her with his head tilted, and his face was more relaxed than it had been when he’d first turned around. “Is that so?”

  “It is. That’s why I never try to make piecrust when I’m upset. It always turns out leathery as the bottom of a boot if I do. If I’ve had a bad day, I make bread. Bread dough you can punch to your heart’s content, and that only makes it rise better.”

  “I see.” A smile flickered across Joseph’s face. “And have you been punching any bread today?”

  Naomi could feel her own lips tipping up in response. “Four loaves are waiting inside on the counter, but you’re having molasses cookies for your dessert. So maybe you should put that table leg off until tomorrow?”

  “I think I will have to, but I’m not sure tomorrow will be any better.” Joseph rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “I guess you heard that Caleb’s leaving.”

  “I figured as much. I’m sorry, Joseph.”

  “Caleb’s always fought harness. It’s just the way he’s made, I guess. Daed could manage him, but I’m no good at it. Still, what comes to Caleb will come from his own hand. I’m more worried about Miriam.” He sighed. “And Emma.”

  “You don’t think Emma’s all right in Ohio?”

  “Nobody who lives with Melvin for long can be anything other than miserable. Emma sent me a letter, and she doesn’t say a word about how awful it is, but I can read what she’s not writing. It’s got to be hard, first losing Mamm and Daed, and now being worked half to death . . . it makes me sick to think of it.”

  “Maybe she won’t have to stay there much longer.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’d hoped to bring her home soon, but after what happened with Miriam today, I reckon Emma had best stay where she is for a while yet. The Oak Point community is more conservative than ours, and they don’t cater to the tourist trade. Nobody’s likely to trouble her there.” Joseph gave a humorless laugh. “Except for Melvin.”

  Naomi tried to think of something comforting to say, but she couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound stupid, so she held her tongue.

  Sometimes when Gott was walking a person through a valley, there was simply nothing you could say. The truth was the truth, and there was no dodging it. Emma would have to stay where she was and make the best of things for a while longer. And Joseph would have to deal with his own helplessness where his sister’s happiness was concerned. In time, the Lord would lead them out again into the sunshine, but until then the best friends stayed close and kept silent.

  Joseph wrenched the table leg off the lathe and slung it into the scrap box. Naomi jumped, and an equally startled mouse skittered out from under the box and wiggled into a hole in the sawdust-covered earthen floor. “I should be doing better with this,” he said angrily.

  “You’re a good woodworker, Joseph. Anybody can have a bad day. You must not take it to heart.”

  “I’m not talking about the table. I’m talking about the family. It’s in my charge now, and it’s falling apart. I should have found a way to keep us together. That’s what Daed would have expected, what he would have wanted. I try to do well, as he’d have done, but no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shift things back as they should be.”

  Naomi took a step forward, then halted herself just before she reached out to touch Joseph’s arm. She clenched her hands together instead. �
��Your father never had to deal with what you are dealing with, Joseph. I think even he might have struggled with this, ain’t so? You must not judge yourself by the outcome, as long as you have done your best. The rest we must leave in Gott’s hands.”

  He was listening closely, his brown eyes intent on hers. How dark his lashes were, she thought, and as long as a girl’s. His mouth was shaped well, too, and he had a nice, strong chin. Some men with chins like that were trouble, but not Joseph. He held the reins to his own determination with a steady hand. It was unlikely to take him anyplace he didn’t wish to go, as long as he didn’t lose his faith.

  “In the darkness,” Naomi added softly, “we cling to what Gott showed us in the daytime, ja? It is like picking your way through your bedroom at night. We remember and we choose our path correctly, even though we cannot see.”

  “My father said something like that, just before—” Joseph stopped. “Daed believed that, too.”

  “Your daed was a wise man,” Naomi said. She heard the jingle of a harness and the creak of a buggy and glanced out the window. The light from Aaron’s buggy lamp beamed into the yard. “I have to go, but I will see you tomorrow, ja?” She turned toward the door, hesitated, then looked back over her shoulder.

  Joseph was still watching her, and when he caught her gaze, his eyes crinkled in the corner, just like always. After the chill she’d felt from him on the ride back from town, seeing that familiar, gentle friendliness made her want to weep in relief.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “Denki, Joseph, for your forgiveness and for allowing me to keep helping out here. I will try to do better.”

  There was a short beat of silence before he answered her. “I think you’re doing well enough, Naomi.”

  Naomi shut the splintery door quietly behind herself, smiling as she did. He hadn’t said much just then, but the firm certainty in his voice had reached past her guilt and set the last of her fears to rest.

  Like his shop, Joseph’s words might not seem like much on the surface, but there was a good bit of beauty in them, if you knew where to look.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, Joseph looked through the barn door and saw the bishop’s buggy slowing on the road, getting ready to turn into the drive. Joseph forked one last bit of hay into Titus’s stall, his sigh of relief clouding white in the wintry air.

  So Rhoda had come today, after all.

  Working in his woodshop yesterday, he’d mulled over what had passed between them next to the buggy, especially the regretful words Rhoda had choked back at the last minute. He’d understood what she’d nearly said, and he also understood why she would never say it.

  What he hadn’t understood, at least not right away, had been his own reaction. There’d been a time, only a few weeks ago, when hearing that Rhoda regretted marrying Caleb—that she wished she’d chosen Joseph instead—would have knocked him to his knees. The idea that she’d never even considered him as a husband had been a cold comfort, but at least it had been something.

  Then yesterday he’d heard from her own lips—or nearly anyway—that she wished she’d chosen him instead. He’d waited for the firestorm of feelings to hit—the grief, the regret, knowing that what had been done could not be undone, that he’d missed what he’d wanted most by a whisper.

  Instead he’d felt only pity for this sweet, strong girl who was in the middle of a trouble not of her own making—and who’d need every ounce of her faith to walk through the barren life that stretched ahead.

  If he could lift any trouble off her shoulders, he’d gladly do it, but he wasn’t in love with Rhoda any longer. Now his heart hoped for something—or someone—else.

  Naomi.

  He smiled as he set the pitchfork back in its place. Just the thought of her made a shy warmth bloom in his chest. The feeling was a sweet relief after the past months—like waking up one morning and discovering that an ache that had been plaguing you for weeks had eased overnight.

  When the Lambright buggy rolled to a stop, Rhoda climbed out with none of her former energy. She shot a furtive glance in Joseph’s direction on her way to the back steps. He gave a friendly nod, but she turned so that the side of her black bonnet shielded her face.

  Well, at least she hadn’t let the brief, almost-admission from yesterday shame her into staying away. That was best forgotten by everyone—including Katie Lapp. Joseph had been praying that for once in her life, Katie would find the strength to hold her tongue, and apparently, his prayer had been answered. Naomi had given no sign this morning that Katie had gossiped.

  He was thankful for that. After the tumult of yesterday, they all needed an ordinary day, some kind of reassurance that things could get back to normal.

  Or at least what passed for normal these days.

  He’d expected the bishop to turn the buggy back toward town, but instead Isaac set the brake and clambered down.

  “Joseph, may I have a word with you?”

  “Ja, sure. It’s a sharp morning, Isaac. Come into the house where it’s warmer, and we will sit down with kaffe.”

  The bishop threw a look in the direction of the farmhouse and shook his head. “Best we talk here, I think.” The older man’s voice sounded tired, and his shoulders were slumped. Whatever the bishop wanted to talk about, it was bad news.

  “All right.” Joseph straightened, bracing himself for the blow.

  It took Isaac a moment. He stared off over the fields for a moment before his eyes cut back toward Joseph. The bishop cleared his throat. “We met last night, and the decision was made. We will move forward to place Caleb under the ban.”

  Joseph had known this was coming, that it had to come, but there was something hard about hearing it spoken aloud. “I understand.”

  “We could find no way around it.” They’d tried. The pain and grief roughening Isaac’s voice told Joseph that much. But in the end, of course, they’d had no choice.

  Joseph sighed. Caleb was sowing trouble with a generous hand. Having a shunned son-in-law was a shameful thing for a man in Isaac’s position—and watching his daughter’s suffering would cut deeply. If Caleb didn’t return, there would be no hope of kinder to brighten Rhoda’s life and Isaac and Ida’s old age. The Lambright family would wither into nothing.

  And it could easily have been far worse. If Caleb had convinced Rhoda to leave the church with him, this kindhearted man would have been forced to shun his only child.

  “There is nothing else you could have done.” Because Joseph understood what Isaac was waiting for, he added, “I will abide by the church’s decision.”

  “We must both do that, ja, however much it grieves us. But we must not give up hope, Joseph. We will pray, and we will wait. Many people return to the faith once they are made to feel the full consequences of their decisions. Caleb has his faults as all of us do, but I believe—I have to believe—that his heart will lead him back to us in Gott’s time.”

  Joseph nodded. Privately, he’d caught himself doubting that even prayer could turn a heart as stony as his younger brother’s, and he was shamed by his lack of faith.

  Nothing was impossible for Gott. Joseph believed that. Lately, though, with trouble piling on trouble, he’d wondered how bad the Lord planned to let things get before He stepped in.

  Isaac glanced toward the house. “My dochder is grieving especially hard. She has come along this morning to say goodbye to Naomi and your sister. After what happened yesterday at Miller’s, Ida and I arranged for Rhoda to stay with some relatives in Pennsylvania for a while. We hope the change of scene and company may be helpful for her. When Caleb comes home and makes his repentance, Rhoda will rejoin him as his wife. We all pray that will happen soon.”

  “My brother has caused your family a peck of trouble, Isaac. I am sorry.”

  Isaac shook his head and held up a hand to wave off the apology. “That trouble is
not your fault. My family, like yours, must bear whatever trials Gott in His wisdom allows.”

  There didn’t seem to be much more to say, but still the bishop remained where he was, looking uncomfortable. Joseph waited, but when Isaac said nothing, he asked, “Is there something else?”

  “I’m afraid there is, ja. The sheriff came to see me yesterday. He’d been at the chamber of commerce meeting, and there was some news.” The older man sighed and raked a hand through his salt-and-pepper beard. “Some representatives from an Englischer movie studio down in Georgia were there.”

  “Why would such people be in Johns Mill?” Joseph hoped the answer wasn’t what he suspected. It couldn’t be, surely.

  But, of course, it was.

  “They want to make a movie about what happened to your parents, and they would like to film it here. The sheriff came to speak with me because he knew it would impact our community.”

  Ja, it would. Joseph shook his head in disbelief as Isaac went on.

  “The commissioners were all very excited about it, the sheriff said. Lots of money coming into the town, and maybe more movies coming behind this one, if the studio likes it here. Other towns have done well with such arrangements, they said. To the Englischers, this seems a good thing. Me, I am not so sure, and the sheriff agrees. We believe this will only cause more trouble.”

  Joseph believed that, too. He rubbed his forehead and tried to think, but his brain seemed to have shut down operations. “For my family especially.”

  “Ja, with your sister in her delicate state, this is of even greater concern for you.” The bishop’s lips tightened. “Sheriff Townsend showed me some unpleasant photos on his phone. Apparently, the man from the café has sold them to the people who buy such pictures, and the sheriff reckons he made a tidy sum from it. We fear that sort of thing will only get worse after this film is announced. Especially since—” Isaac paused. “We haven’t wanted to trouble you, but other things have happened, too.”