Amish Generations

by Kathleen Fuller

  His father’s head shot up. “What?”

  “You and Mamm asked me what mei plans were. I told you I wanted to find a job. You left before I finished explaining where I planned to work.” He drew in a deep breath. “I want to learn how to manage the restaurant.” He swallowed. He wasn’t any more interested in the restaurant than he’d been ten years ago, but it was clear this was the only way he could make up for what he’d done—and open the door to making up with his father.

  His daed looked at him, unblinking. “Why?”

  “Because I believe it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  Daed’s gaze narrowed. “That’s not much of an answer.”

  Everett’s anger sparked, as it always had when he talked to his father, especially in the month before he left. “Does it matter why? I’m here, and I’m offering. This is what you’ve wanted all along, ya?”

  “At one time.” He got up from the hay bale, much slower than he used to, and set the knife and wood on the bale. “Not now.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to work for you?”

  His father didn’t answer right away. Everett shifted his feet, wondering why he’d even bothered. He could find a job in Shipshe, one he would like a lot more than working at the restaurant. His father didn’t even want him here, obviously. What had been so clear to him before—returning home and offering to take the job his parents always wanted him to have—was turned on end. Have I made a mistake, Lord?

  “Yer mamm told me you were a manager at that RV place,” Daed said.

  Everett nodded. “For three years.”

  “Did you like the job?”

  He couldn’t lie. “I don’t have a problem being a manager. It was—” He stopped himself before he ruined everything. “Ya. I liked the job.”

  Daed’s expression was inscrutable as he stared at Everett. Finally, he spoke. “If you want to work for me again, you have to start at the bottom. Dishwasher/busser. That will be yer job.”

  Everett balked. “I already know how to do those things.”

  His father turned and started to walk away. “That’s the position available. As always, we’ll leave at three thirty, sharp. If you’re a second late, you’re fired.” Daed moved past him and left the barn.

  “Great,” Everett muttered, plopping down on the hay bale. He picked up the birch wood, which only had a couple of grooves whittled in it. He’d expected his father to give him a hard time, but he hadn’t anticipated this, making him start from the bottom. And Daed didn’t mean they were leaving at three thirty in the afternoon. The restaurant served only breakfast and lunch, and his father liked to be there far earlier than necessary.

  He glanced up at the barn rafters, still holding the wood. He wasn’t going to back down now because the circumstances didn’t suit him. He wasn’t the same young kid he’d been when he left for Indiana, and there was only one way to convince his father of that. But, boy, did he hate washing dishes.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Jemima and her mother walked into the Morningstar Diner at seven. When Mamm suggested having breakfast together, she thought she meant at home. But then she mentioned the diner, and Jemima had been tempted to say no even though the food there was delicious. But at least she didn’t have to worry about seeing Everett. He’d always despised working at his parents’ restaurant, and she had never held the Wengerds responsible for what happened between her and Everett. That had been 100 percent his fault.

  She had hoped she and her mother could spend some time alone together, so she could talk to her about looking for a job. They couldn’t have that conversation in public, that was for sure. But Mamm seemed set on eating breakfast here, so Jemima had reluctantly agreed.

  A familiar niggle ate at her as they sat down at a table near the back of the diner. The place was seat yourself unless it was busy, which it usually was the latter part of the week. Even though she was sure Everett wouldn’t come within one thousand feet of this place, the diner still reminded her of him. And for some reason, the thought that perhaps he might not have been completely to blame for the end of their relationship entered her mind. She had wondered about that shortly after he left, only to spend the rest of the last ten years blaming him completely. He was the one who left, not her.

  “Gute morgen.” Sarah Detweiler looked at Jemima. “Welcome home. I heard Julia is doing well. I’m so glad about that.”

  “Danki.” Jemima shoved Everett out of her mind and smiled at Sarah, a young woman she’d known since she was born. On the buggy ride over, Mamm told her she suspected Sarah might wed soon—to Andrew Miller, someone else Jemima had known his whole life. Jemima had frowned at the news, but not because she wasn’t happy for the couple. She wished them well. But it was one thing to see her friends and younger siblings all get married and quite another to see kids she’d known from their birth planning their weddings.

  “Would you like to start with some kaffee?” Sarah asked.

  “Ya. And nee need for menus. We’d both like the short stack, with sausage links.” Mamm grinned.

  Jemima nodded, but she felt a little off-balance at her mother ordering for her, even though she’d always done it when they came here. She liked the short stack and sausage, but maybe this time she wanted something different. Or at the very least to order for herself.

  “I have some news for you,” Mamm said, lowering her voice. She placed a napkin over the skirt of her light-purple dress, which was the same color as Jemima’s. “Susannah is having another boppli. I haven’t even told yer vatter yet.” She sat back, a satisfied grin on her face. “That’s the seventeenth grosskinner. God has blessed our familye once again.”

  “That’s wonderful.” But she wasn’t as enthusiastic about the announcement as she should be. Everett suddenly came back to mind. If he hadn’t left her, would they have kinner now?

  Sarah placed the coffees in front of them and looked at Jemima. “Sugar and—”

  “I’ll just have cream.”

  Sarah placed a small bowl with individual creamers on the table. “Yer breakfast will be up shortly.”

  “Nee sugar?” Mamm gave her a skeptical look as Sarah walked away.

  “I’m trying to cut back.”

  Mamm smiled. “That’s an excellent idea. You should particularly watch yer weight at yer age. The pounds creep up fast.” She took a sip of her black coffee. “Oh, I forgot to tell you this. Priscilla would like you to watch the buwe tomorrow afternoon while she and Miriam geh to the flea market. She would take them with her, but you know how they are at that age. They would be pulling things off the shelves. It will be much easier on her for you to watch them.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll keep them.” Her brow furrowed. Both her mother and sisters just assumed she would be available to babysit right after being gone for nearly a year. And what was that crack about her weight? She glanced down at her dress. It had become a little tighter over the months she was in Maine, but she hadn’t thought anyone else would notice.

  “Also, I haven’t had a chance to scrub the floorboards because I’ve been so busy working on dresses for Irene and Susannah’s dochders, and I have an appointment this afternoon to get mei eyes checked. Would you mind cleaning them for me?”

  “Nee, I don’t mind,” she mumbled, staring at the bowl of creamers.

  Mamm grinned again. “I’m so glad you’re home.” She pushed the bowl toward her. “Better add this before the kaffee gets cold.”

  Jemima picked up one of the creamers and slowly opened it. Scrubbing the floorboards, babysitting, breakfast at the diner—she barely had time to catch her breath. Not to mention she hadn’t slept much last night. Despite her vow not to think about Everett anymore, his words echoed in her mind. You owe me one. She didn’t like being in debt to anyone, especially to Everett. Now she couldn’t seem to keep her mind off him.

  Sarah brought their food and a bottle of pure maple syrup. The Wengerds didn’t scrimp on their servings, so their plates were
full. After she said a silent prayer of thanks, she opened her eyes and lifted her head—and saw Everett on the other side of the restaurant, gathering dirty dishes from an empty table. He put them in a bin, and when he turned his head, his eyes grew wide as they met hers.

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was he working here? How could that be possible? And as a busboy? Correction. Busman. If that’s even a thing. The one task he couldn’t stand to do, and here he was doing it.

  Mamm looked at her, then turned to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes filled with surprise. “Everett’s here?” She whirled around and faced Jemima. “Did you know he was in town?”

  Jemima slowly nodded as Everett lifted his own head in a short nod and then hurried to the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you say anything? How long is he here for? And is he back working at the diner?”

  Ignoring her mother’s questions, she reached for the bottle of syrup and flipped open the top. She’d cut back on how much she ate after breakfast today, but right now she wanted to drown her pancakes in plenty of sweet goo. “How many more dresses do you have to make for the maed?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Jemima Anne.”

  Jemima winced at the use of her full name. She’d dropped the Anne when she was in school, and her family had followed suit—most of the time. She poured syrup on her pancakes and set down the bottle, then looked at Mamm. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Mamm rolled her eyes. “It’s been ten years. Don’t you think it’s time to forgive him? Not to mention that you already should have.”

  She gripped her fork, her appetite gone. She knew she was supposed to forgive Everett and move on, but whenever she thought about what he did, the pain returned. The hurt hadn’t been as sharp as when he left, yet seeing him again had honed it to a new razor point. “I have forgiven him,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “It doesn’t look like it to me.”

  Jemima shoved the syrup bottle toward her mother, hoping she would focus on her pancakes and not on her daughter’s lack of forgiveness. But before Mamm could reach for it, the bottle hit the edge of Jemima’s plate, syrup spilling on the table—and all over the skirt of her dress.

  “Oh nee,” Mamm said, quickly handing her some napkins from the holder on the table. Then she stood and yelled across the entire restaurant. “Sarah! Jemima’s had an accident!”

  “Everett!” Sarah hollered into the kitchen. She was carrying a tray of food. “Clean up!”

  Jemima glanced around the restaurant, which had filled with patrons since they arrived. She dabbed at the sticky syrup, shrinking into her seat, wanting to disappear yet again as she saw Everett coming toward her.

  * * *

  Everett had been on the other side of the restaurant wiping a table when Sarah called his name, making him cringe. He’d also heard what Jemima’s mother said. The woman hadn’t meant to embarrass her daughter, but he knew in her own usual and clueless way, she had. And now he had to clean up the mess, which would bother Jemima further. But he had no choice. This was part of his job.

  He slipped into the kitchen, where he dodged the cook and his mother, who was making pies for the lunch crowd. Grabbing a fresh cleaning cloth, he rinsed it in water at the sink and wrung it out, then headed toward the sticky mess.

  “Goodness. I think half the bottle spilled out of there,” June Kurtz said as Everett approached the table.

  “It wasn’t that much,” Jemima muttered, rubbing a napkin against the syrup stains on her dress.

  June was exaggerating, but it was a pretty large amount, and syrup was a problem no matter how much spilled. He wiped the table as quickly as he could.

  “Oh, Everett, hello,” June said. “Welcome back home.”

  “Danki,” he mumbled, not looking at either of them for his sake as much as for Jemima’s. He wasn’t thrilled that she was seeing him working as a busboy, especially since she’d heard him complain so much about the restaurant. He could only imagine what she was thinking now. Here he was, age thirty-five, bussing tables and mopping up syrup. And she probably didn’t even know he was formerly a manager in an RV plant. Makes perfect sense.

  Some of the syrup had dripped onto the floor, and he’d have to get a bucket of water and a mop to clean it. He didn’t mind hard work, but mopping floors was as high on his list of distasteful tasks as dishwashing and bussing were. Yet he’d made a vow to himself and a promise to his parents this morning that he would do the job and do it right. Which meant mopping under Jemima and June’s feet.

  Then he made the mistake of glancing at Jemima, who looked miserable. His heart went out to her, which it had no business doing. But although she was thirty-four, at that moment she looked like the shy, serious girl he’d met in school when he and his parents moved here to take over the restaurant. He found out she had a passel of younger siblings, and it wasn’t long before he also learned that she had a lot of responsibility when it came to those siblings. More responsibility than she should have, he’d thought at the time.

  “I think it’s wonderful that you’re working here while you’re in town,” June said, oblivious to Jemima’s misery and Everett’s aloofness. “How long will you be here?”

  “Indefinitely,” he said, pulling his gaze from Jemima and moving her plate to the side so he could finish cleaning. His arm brushed against her shoulder. “Sorry.”

  She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. Of course she’d be confused. She knew more than anyone how much he’d disliked working here.

  “I’ll be back in a minute to finish,” he said, then retreated to the kitchen. He deposited the cloth near the sink, where the dishes were already piling up for him to attack. They had an electric dishwasher, along with all the appliances needed to run a restaurant while also making sure they didn’t violate the community Ordnung. But his father had insisted on the smallest dishwasher possible, and it didn’t keep up with the daily breakfast and lunch rush. Plenty of handwashing always needed to be done.

  When Everett came out with the bucket and mop, June was chattering away between bites of pancakes, but he could see Jemima hadn’t touched her food. Her mother wasn’t a bad person, or a cruel one. Oblivious was a more apt description, along with a little self-absorption. The Amish certainly weren’t perfect.

  Because June had so many kids in succession after Jemima was born, Jemima had always been her little shadow. When she and Everett were together, he’d never been able to convince her she was too involved with her family—to the point that she put them above everything and everyone else, including him more than once. But her loyalty had been one of the many things about her he’d fallen for. Still, there was loyalty, and then there was letting yourself be used. He often thought Jemima’s family had let her fall into the latter category, depending on her so much that she didn’t have a life of her own.

  “Are you going to clean the floor?” Jemima snapped at him, yanking him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized he’d been standing there looking at her.

  “Jemima Anne!” Her mother shook her head. “There’s nee need to be rude.”

  Oh, but there is. Obviously, she hadn’t told her mother everything said between them before he left. Or she had and her mother didn’t realize how deeply he’d hurt her daughter. That could go either way when it came to June.

  “Sorry,” he said again, and then he quickly mopped up the sticky mess. Jemima stared at the plate in front of her, and he saw the embarrassed blush on her cheeks.

  Then her gaze lifted and landed on her mother. To his surprise, he saw a spark of resentment there, and for once it wasn’t directed at him. His brow lifted. Was she finally seeing the light?

  He halted his thoughts. Why was he so concerned about how Jemima felt and her relationship with June? That had been his concern at one point, a concern he had the right to have. Now it wasn’t any of his business.

  He finished cleaning, and after saying a quick good-bye, he pushed the bucket and mop back
into the supply room. He washed the mop outside, behind the restaurant, before tilting it against the wood fence rail so it could dry in the sun. Then he went back into the kitchen and quickly took care of the stack of dishes before his father could direct him to. He and Daed had been keeping their distance all morning, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  When he went back into the dining room to bus more tables, Jemima and June were gone. He removed the dishes from their table and saw they had left Sarah a nice tip. He put it in the pocket of his half apron to give to her when she wasn’t busy. The breakfast rush, populated with the English who liked to sleep in late, had just begun, and she was hustling, as was his father, who was also taking orders. One thing he’d give to Daed—he was a hard worker.

  As he dumped most of Jemima’s food into the bottom of his bin, he spotted a small, folded piece of paper on the table. He picked it up and opened it, making sure one of the women hadn’t left something important.

  Sorry. Thank you.

  Jemima. She didn’t sign it, but he recognized that handwriting. He smiled, tucked the note into the pocket of his pants, and finished clearing the table.

  The rest of the workday went quickly, and Everett fell into the routine of his job, which hadn’t taken him long to do. When his father turned the Closed sign around on the front door, he was tired but not exhausted like he thought he would be. He enjoyed chatting with the customers, who had welcomed him back home and, of course, asked how long he was staying. He gave them all the same answer he’d given June—indefinitely. In his mind, he knew he would be here until he’d reconciled with his father—or until God nudged him to move on.

  An hour later he’d finished mopping the dining room floor, had cleaned a second mop, and had brought the mop he’d used to get up the spilled syrup back inside. He was ready to leave, but as always, his father was staying to work on the books. The restaurant was within walking distance of their house, and his mother had left two hours earlier, as she always had. When it came to the Morningstar Diner, not much had changed over the years.