Amish Generations

by Kathleen Fuller

  Mamm nodded. “I can see that.” She put her hand over Jemima’s. “You have our blessing. And our apologies that we’ve held you back. That never was our intention.”

  She hugged her mother, glad that she had finally gotten through to her. “I want to geh back out to the garden for a little while, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. Take all the time you need.”

  Jemima smiled, then slipped back outside to sit in the swing and pray. She’d forgiven Everett, and she knew she had the courage to start a new life only because of that forgiveness.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  Jemima locked up the small fabric store connected to Doris Lambright’s house, an elderly English woman who’d run the business for almost forty years. When Jemima heard Doris was considering closing her shop, she’d asked to take it over. Doris had eagerly agreed, having known Jemima and her family for a long time. Now Jemima had been running the shop for almost six months, and she’d never been happier.

  She buttoned her sweater as she walked down the driveway. As usual, Everett was waiting to pick her up. She could walk home from Doris’s, but Everett had insisted on taking her home every day. And he had, without fail. She smiled at him when she climbed into his buggy. “How was yer day?” she asked as he tapped the reins on the horse’s flanks.

  “Gut.” But he didn’t elaborate.

  After waiting a few moments, Jemima frowned. “Is that all? Usually you have a lot to tell me. Who you saw at the restaurant, what yer father is planning for next week’s specials—”

  “You don’t want to hear about boring restaurant stuff.”

  She looked at him, his expression concerning her. “Everett, is something wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t say wrong.” Then he sighed. “Daed and Mamm are retiring.”

  Her brow shot up. “What? When did they decide that?”

  “They’ve been thinking about it for months but didn’t tell me.”

  “Are they going to sell the restaurant?”

  “That’s a possibility.” He looked at her again, and then he turned down a road not many people traveled. He stopped the buggy along the side and faced her. “Daed asked me if I want to take over the restaurant.”

  Jemima clasped her hands together. “That’s wonderful. You’ve been managing the place for a while anyway.”

  “Ya, but I’ve never run it by myself.” Doubt entered his eyes.

  She reached for his hand. “Everett, you will be a wonderful manager. You love the business now—”

  “Which is a miracle in itself.”

  “God’s performed a lot of miracles in our lives lately.”

  He moved closer to her. “Ya. He has.” He paused. “Do you think I should take the job? Daed said he would sell the diner if I didn’t. He already has two people interested in it, so it would continue with or without me.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  He looked down at their clasped hands, then back at her. “It’s not just about me. Jemima, I want to marry you. This time I’m ready. And if you say you’re still not sure, I’ll wait for you. I’m not going anywhere, even if Daed sells the restaurant. But I don’t want to run it if you don’t want me to.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “If you want to run the restaurant, then I support you. Whatever you want to do, wherever you geh, I’ll be by yer side.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “And ya, I will marry you, Everett. You know how much I love you.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her ear. “That I do.” He smiled. “I love you too. But are you sure?”

  “Ya. I’m ready too.” Thanks to God, she had another chance at love with Everett—and she wasn’t going to let him get away this time.

  Chapter 1

  Charm and Ashtabula, Ohio

  Dear Benjamin,

  Here is the recipe for the éclair cake you asked for. I’m still surprised to learn you like to cook and bake! Marvin, my late husband, did everything he could to stay out of the kitchen, except when it was time to eat. For some reason he didn’t care too much for the éclair cake, but it’s been requested for a lot of potlucks and suppers in our district.

  I very much enjoyed my time in Charm. The wedding was lovely, as all weddings are. I pray that your niece and nephew-in-law will have a blessed life and plenty of children if God wills.

  I hope you enjoy the cake. It was nice meeting you at the wedding.

  Lora Beth

  Dear Lora Beth,

  Thank you for the recipe. I’ve already tried my hand at making it, and while it wasn’t as good as yours, it was passable. I took it over to the Bontragers’ to share after church this past Sunday. There wasn’t a crumb left over. Which is good, since it’s just me at home. I probably would have eaten half the cake if left to my own devices.

  My late wife, Elsie, was surprised, too, when she discovered I like to cook. She’s the one who showed me how to bake. She was a good teacher, not just with me but also with our son. I miss her very much, just like I know you miss Marvin. After her passing, some days I didn’t think I could take another breath. But God got me through. It’s a hard fact of life that you truly don’t know how much you need God until you are in a place where you really need him. I’m not sure if I’m explaining that right or not.

  I know Elsie wouldn’t want me swimming in sorrow over her, but even though it’s been nine years since she died, some days I think she’s still here, that I’ll wake up and she’ll be in the kitchen making buckwheat pancakes and fried ham steaks.

  Well, I didn’t mean to get all somber on you. I guess I just had this feeling from our short time of talking at the wedding that you would understand. On one hand, that’s relieving. On the other, I wouldn’t wish losing a spouse so soon in life on anyone.

  Take care,

  Ben

  Dear Ben,

  I’m glad the cake turned out well for you. I thought you might also like an old recipe I found the other day. You’ll find it on the back of this letter. It’s my grandmother’s recipe from the 1930s, and it’s surprisingly delicious. She used to call it the Poorman’s Meal, and I remember eating it when I was growing up on our family farm. Excuse my bit of nostalgia. I haven’t had this dish in a long time, and I think I’ll make it for my supper tonight.

  I understand what you mean about grief. It sneaks up on you sometimes, even after so many years. When Marvin died six years ago, I also had a hard time moving through life. The pain was so intense at times. Like you, I was in a place where all I could do was lean on God, and he saw me through. He still does. I don’t question why Marvin was taken from me at age forty-one, when he was so vibrant and had so much life to live. God’s ways are not our own, are they? But I have peace that Marvin is at peace, and that’s all that matters.

  Meanwhile, my daughters sometimes express concern about me living here by myself, but I tell them I’m fine on my own. Even though Marvin left me with savings, they worry about me making ends meet. But God has blessed me with enough part-time work over the years, like cleaning houses and sewing for others, to live comfortably. I’m only forty-seven. I’m not ready to move in with one of them!

  Best,

  Lora Beth

  Dear Lora Beth,

  That Poorman’s Meal looks really good. I make something similar but with rice instead of potatoes. And I use smoked sausage instead of hot dogs. Nothing better than some good smoked sausage, in my book.

  I see you have the same problem with your children as I do with my son. Paul has been after me to move in with him and his family so he can, in his words, “keep an eye on me.” I’m perfectly fine living on my own at forty-eight, but talking to him, you would think I was headed for a permanent spot in a rocking chair. I know he’s just trying to look out for me, but he says he worries I’m lonely. Which I am, sometimes. Can’t lie about that. But that doesn’t mean I want to move. It will probably happen eventually, but I’m not interested in rushing time.

  Si
nce we’ve been sharing recipes, I’d like to give you my favorite: yumasetti. I know it’s a common meal, but I’ve played around with it a little and made it my own. The secret is homemade cream of chicken and cream of mushroom soup, plus some provolone cheese on top. You can’t beat food from scratch, even though I’ve been known to cheat a time or two with some premade ingredients.

  I pray you’re doing well, Lora Beth. I’ve enjoyed our letters to each other. If it’s all right, I’d like to continue writing to you. If you’d rather I not, I understand. And I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but your letters have been a bright spot in my life lately.

  Best,

  Ben

  Dear Ben,

  I would very much like to continue writing to you too. I’ve looked forward to hearing from you. I can’t wait to try your version of yumasetti. I’ve made my own casserole a few times, but it’s not one of my children’s favorites. Maybe they’ll like yours better. They’re coming over Saturday afternoon, and I’m excited to see my two grandchildren, Rosetta and Katrina. They’re twins, which is unusual in both our families but such a blessing. They will be eight months old tomorrow, and they’re crawling all over the place. I’ll be washing the floors all day before they arrive.

  It’s nice to talk to someone who understands what I’ve gone through—and what I’m still going through. Two widows and one widower live in our district, but the women were each married for over forty years, and Lonnie, the widower, was married for nearly sixty. I can’t imagine being married that long and losing your partner in life, just like they can’t relate to being widowed so young. My children are also concerned that I’m lonely. We’re very blessed to have children who care, aren’t we? But sometimes that blessing can be a little annoying. Just don’t tell them I said that!

  How are you coping with the heat wave we’re having? Here in Ashtabula, you can fry an egg on the sidewalk. Did you ever try doing that as a youngster? My older brother did, but he just made a mess. Our mother wasn’t too happy that day. She didn’t like us to waste food. Come to think of it, that was the last time any of us wasted food on something so foolish.

  Best,

  Lora Beth

  Dear Lora Beth,

  No, I can’t say that I’ve tried to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Maybe I will one of these hot days, just out of curiosity. If I had tried doing that as a kid, my mother would have had a fit too.

  I spend a lot of time fishing when I’m not working at my accounting job. Summer is slower in my business, but it picks up at harvest time, and then, of course, during the tax season. My fishing trips have been pretty successful. The walleye and trout have been plentiful this year. I’ve got some fish in my neighbor’s freezer, a couple for me and the rest for him and his family. They’ve always been generous to share freezer space with me, and I try not to take up too much of their room with my food.

  I agree that it’s good to talk to someone about grief. When Elsie died, I had to put up a brave front for my child. He was in his early teens, and I must admit that I fumbled with him a few times. Paul even left the district for a while. He needed to explore the world outside of Charm. He didn’t go very far—just to Akron—and he came back a few days later. I guess he found out pretty quick that the world isn’t as great as it seemed to be. He joined the church later that year, but for a while I was wondering if he would. Those days were filled with worry for me, wondering if I could raise him right without Elsie. I spent a lot of time on my knees then. Still do.

  How did the yumasetti turn out? I made the éclair cake again. Couldn’t help it. I sent most of it home with Paul’s wife, Susan. She drops by and brings me treats, offers to do my laundry, and things like that. She’s a keeper, and she reminds me a little of Elsie. But I saved three big pieces for me.

  Stay cool in this heat, Lora Beth. Make sure you drink lots of water.

  Best,

  Ben

  Dear Ben . . .

  Lora Beth Schwartz flinched when she heard the front door of her house open. She looked at the clock. Almost ten already? It was only a little after nine thirty when she sat down to read Ben’s latest letter. But then she’d reread it several times and started writing him back, forgetting the plans she’d made with her daughter.

  Just as Rachel entered the kitchen, Lora Beth shoved Ben’s letter and her stationery into her keepsake box. “Sorry I’m not ready,” she said as Rachel set her purse on the table.

  Rachel lifted a brow, an expression similar to Marvin’s. “You’re running late? That never happens.”

  “I know, I know.” Known for her punctuality, Lora Beth was even a little obsessive about being on time. And she’d looked forward to getting out of the warm house for an afternoon with her oldest daughter, who had married last November. They were shopping for fabric to make dresses and a baby quilt for one of Rachel’s friends. Lora Beth had made two quilts for Rosetta and Katrina, one pale green and the other pale rose, and Rachel wanted her help with the pattern.

  “I got sidetracked,” she said as she stood, then took off her apron.

  “Oh? With what?” Rachel pulled a pitcher of lemonade from the gas-powered fridge.

  “Just things.” Lora Beth hung her apron on a peg by the doorway to the mudroom, then grabbed her keepsake box. “I’ll be right back and ready to geh.” She hurried out of the kitchen.

  Once inside her bedroom, she shut the door. Normally she didn’t hide things from her daughters. But she didn’t want them, or anyone else, to find out she’d been writing to Benjamin—or Ben, as he preferred to be called. She ran her fingers over the top of the box. She never thought she’d be writing to a man her age, not only to exchange recipes, which was unusual, but also to talk about the deaths of their spouses.

  Lora Beth had always kept her feelings about Marvin’s death close to her chest. Her daughters’ emotional well-being had been her priority, which meant she had to grieve in private, and that had been difficult. Knowing someone who had traveled this same road gave her some comfort, even after all these years. She wished Ben had never had to go through such pain, but as she’d told him, God’s ways aren’t their own. She’d been about to tell him she understood how difficult it was to grieve while keeping it from the children, hoping that would give him a little comfort too.

  She smiled as she remembered first seeing him in Charm, at his niece’s wedding. She’d agreed to go with a friend she was visiting, although attending a wedding was the last thing she’d wanted to do. Weddings hadn’t become much easier for her over the years, even her own daughters’ nuptials. She couldn’t help wishing Marvin were there, and it was hard to keep that from everyone. Rebecca, Rosemary, and Rachel’s weddings had all been beautiful, but after each one, she’d had a long, private cry.

  Because of her ambivalence about the wedding, along with not knowing anyone there besides her friend, she was standing off to the side after the ceremony, watching people enjoy themselves. To her surprise, Ben approached her and introduced himself. He’d learned she made the éclair cake she brought, and he raved about it. When he expressed an interest in making the cake—something else that surprised her—she surprised herself by offering to send him the recipe.

  Over the past three weeks, they’d been corresponding, and she looked forward to Ben’s letters. It was nice to write to someone who not only understood her deepest pain but also had a common interest. She’d never imagined that interest would be cooking, and it had been fun exchanging recipes with him along with commiserating over their losses.

  “Mamm?” Rachel said from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

  Her daughter’s voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and she yanked open her nightstand drawer. “I’m fine,” she called. “Be there in a minute.” She deposited the keepsake box in the drawer, then grabbed her purse off the dresser and determined she would put Ben and his letters out of her mind.

  “I’m ready to geh,” she announced when she opened the door, a wide grin on her face.


  Rachel frowned. “Are you sure nix is wrong?”

  “Ya. Why?”

  “Yer face is red.”

  She touched her cheek. It was warm. “Rachel, it’s ninety degrees outside.”

  “Not that kind of red. It’s like you’re blushing.”

  Lora Beth let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m not blushing,” she said, slipping past her. What a silly thought. What would she be blushing about anyway? Certainly not Ben. “Are we coming back here for lunch or eating out?”

  “I thought we’d eat at mei haus,” Rachel said, following her.

  “Sounds gut.”

  They climbed into Rachel’s buggy, and Lora Beth was glad her daughter had dropped the idea that her mother was blushing. She certainly wasn’t. But she had to admit that she would be eager to finish her letter to Ben when she got home. He was a punctual letter writer, and she would hear from him soon after he received her latest one. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

  Chapter 2

  “You sure have been making a lot of that éclair cake, Ben.”

  “It’s gut cake,” Ben said as he looked up at his friend, Menno. Then he took a big gulp of milk. Nothing went better with Lora Beth’s cake than milk.

  “Oh, I agree. But you’ve brought it to church dinner and to Vernon’s barn raising, and Paul said if he sees another slice of it, he’s going to ban you from yer kitchen.”

  “I’d like to see him try.” Ben chuckled. Then he shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d made this particular éclair cake for his son and daughter-in-law anyway, so Paul didn’t have to worry. This cake he wanted all to himself. Maybe he had made it too many times, come to think of it. But it reminded him of Lora Beth.

  He smiled as he thought of her last letter. She’d included another recipe, for peach crumble. If he kept making all the delicious recipes she sent him—and he intended to do just that—he’d have to work harder in his garden and yard to avoid putting on a few pounds. More than a few.