by Amy Clipston
Thaddeus brushed flour from her cheek. She had chocolate stains on her apron and her white kapp. Flour caked her hands—and now his shirt. “I ate plenty.”
Her second cousin Bertie was a good cook. Not as good as Mother, for sure, but she kept his belly full.
“Come in, come in.” She tugged on the screen door with such enthusiasm it banged on the outer wall. “I have chocolate pudding cake and the kaffi is hot. I’m making a chicken and vegetable potpie.”
Chocolate pudding cake and chicken potpie were his dad’s favorites. Thaddeus followed her into the kitchen. Dirty dishes decorated the counter. A basket of unfolded laundry sat on the table. Father was the neat one. They were opposites in every respect. She was short to Father’s tall. She exuded affection. Father could be stingy about showing his, although his five children always knew it was there. Thaddeus’s throat tightened. Father believed a firm hand and a strong hug, both carefully dispensed, were the recipe for bringing up respectful children. Breathe. Breathe. “Sounds gut.”
“When did you get into town? How did you get here? Are you back to stay? Have you talked to Ben, Cyrus, or Solomon—”
“Mudder. Mudder! Stop.” Laughing, he held up both hands. “One question at a time. Yesterday. I took the bus to Bethany. I spent the night at the Motel 6 out on the highway and hired a driver to get here. I borrowed a buggy from Mattie, but I won’t be staying at her place. I can’t.”
Just like he couldn’t stay here.
“What are you doing here?”
The words were spoken in that deep, disappointed tone that reminded Thaddeus of so many trips to the woodshed. His father stood in the doorway. Dirt and mud caked his boots. His rawhide skin aged by years in the sun was red with anger above a long, ragged gray beard. A familiar look.
“You best move along. Susie, you know better.”
“But, Declan—”
“It’s okay, Mudder.” Thaddeus edged toward the back door. “I only wanted to let you know I’m back. It didn’t seem right to be in town and not let you know.”
“Have you seen Hannah or Evie? She doesn’t have much to do with us, but we’ve been able to keep Evie for an hour or two a few times. We’re still her family even if you did—”
“I saw Hannah for a minute at the Purple Martin.”
“That’s none of our business.” Father removed his hat and laid it on the table. “Susie, I’ll take a glass of water. A big chunk of fence came down during that thunderstorm last night. It took all morning to fix it.”
Thaddeus had been dismissed. He pushed through the screen door and looked back for one last glimpse of his parents. Mother poured water from a plastic pitcher, but her wistful gaze connected with his. It seemed to say, Don’t give up.
It also said, I forgive you.
She was only one of many from whom he needed forgiveness.
He clomped down the steps. This wouldn’t be easy. It shouldn’t be easy. The entire trip from Indiana those words had pounded in his head. It shouldn’t be easy.
What he did was wrong. Now he had to pay the consequences. Only then could he ask for forgiveness and work to be worthy of receiving it.
“Talk to Ben.”
His mother’s words carried through the open window over the sink.
“I will.”
The window slammed shut.
Then the back door closed with a bang.
He was homeless.
CHAPTER 4
The smells of sawdust and wood mixed with varnish smoothed Phillip’s clenched stomach. He breathed in the scent. The shop, his home away from home, served as a refuge in times like these. Even though it belonged to Leo Graber, Phillip’s boss and friend.
The hodgepodge of tools and materials soothed Phillip. A miter saw, a band saw, the gas generator used to run the power tools, piles of wood, finished chairs, half-finished chairs, sculpted pieces of wood held tight in braces until ready for assembly, cans of varnish, tubes of glue, stacks of sandpaper, worktables, cabinets, all the tools of the trade hanging from peg boards on the walls. He could live here. Sometimes, too tired to drive to the home he shared with his parents, he slept on a skinny mattress stuck in the corner, under old quilts they used to cover finished pieces.
He grabbed a piece of sandpaper and went to work on a rocking chair. Work was the best way to forget the look on Hannah’s face that first second she saw Thaddeus Yoder standing in the Purple Martin. Before fear and anger shuttered the surprise, the joy, and the longing.
She wouldn’t be so fraught with warring emotions if she didn’t still care about Thaddeus.
It had taken two years, but Phillip had made progress. She would’ve gone on that ride with him tonight if Thaddeus hadn’t shown up. Gott, I know I’m supposed to forgive. I’ve forgiven Hannah for her sin of fornication. For giving herself to another man before me. For having a bopli with another man. Thaddeus hasn’t repented. He hasn’t asked to be forgiven. I don’t forgive him.
What would God make of such a strange prayer? He might reach down and whop Phillip on the backside of the head. What would Ben say? As bishop? And as a friend?
If Thaddeus and Hannah hadn’t sinned, Evie wouldn’t exist. She was the sweetest little girl on the face of the earth. She had her mother’s smile and cheeks, but no one would ever doubt that Thaddeus was her father with their shared black curls and deep-blue eyes.
He would always be reminded of the circumstances of Evie’s birth. Always. I don’t care, Gott, I forgive Hannah. She made a mistake. She’s paid for it. I wouldn’t hold it over her head. I love Evie. She’s a gift. I would raise her as my daughter.
“You’re back.” Gray plastic bags from the hardware store hanging from both hands, Leo trudged into the shop. His mutt, Beau, trotted in behind him. “How was breakfast?”
Leo’s roundabout way of asking if he’d seen Hannah.
“It was fine.” Phillip continued sanding the arm of the chair.
“Then why do you look like you just sucked on a gigantic lemon?”
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
Leo normally went hours without speaking. Naturally, he would pick today to run at the mouth.
“I have a stomachache.”
“I ran into Burke McMillan at Clayton’s.” Leo set the bags on the counter under rows of shelves filled with all manner of supplies.
Beau sat and scratched at his neck, then went to an old blanket laying in the sun. Light poured through the windows that graced one long shop wall. He circled twice then plopped onto the blanket and laid his gray snout on his front paws.
“He said the plopper on the toilet in the men’s room at the café broke.”
Of course it did. “So?”
“So then he mentioned Hannah had a visitor today.”
Burke had a big mouth. “Jah.”
“You don’t want to talk about it, fine.”
“Fine.”
Leo pulled cans of varnish, stains, and finish from the bags and sorted through them. “I bought some new natural bristle brushes and some tack cloth. I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“I asked Hannah to take a ride with me tonight and before she could answer me, Thaddeus walked through the door. After two years. Why now? I don’t get it.”
Leo stuck a can on the shelf next to a row of stains. He turned to face Phillip. “The question of the day. There are no coincidences. No luck, good or bad.”
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what.”
“Gott’s plan is unfolding.”
“Ask yourself this.” Leo tucked a new stack of sandpaper in varying grades under the existing pile. “Why didn’t you ask Hannah to take a ride with you before you found out about her transgression with Thaddeus?”
“I didn’t get a chance. She only had eyes for him.”
“Take it easy on that chair. You’ll sand the arms down to a bony point.” Leo stuffed the plastic bags in a trash can and eased onto a stool next to the workbench. “When I w
as about ten, I wanted new ice skates more than anything. It was a tough winter. No money laying around for such a thing. The more Mother said I wouldn’t be getting them, the more I wanted them. I imagined myself whirling around on the pond in my new skates. Christmas came and went. No skates.”
“Are you saying I’m like a kid who wants what I can’t have? Hannah and Evie aren’t ice skates.”
“I’m saying it’s human nature to want what you can’t have.” Leo folded up the sleeves of his faded blue cotton shirt. “This all started after Hannah’s confession.”
It started with a simple gesture of opening the door, so she could leave the barn while the district mulled her punishment. Her face had matched the white of her pristine apron against the emerald green of her dress. She was so contrite, so beautiful.
“You made her a cradle before Evie was born.”
The icy, frigid winter air was still vivid in his memory from that Christmas Eve two years ago. He delivered the cradle to the dawdy haus porch where Hannah served her bann. Laura caught him in the act, sending his heart into overdrive under a starry sky. Hannah’s great-grandma, bless her sweet heart, had been delivering her own present. She served as Hannah’s lifeline in a terrible season.
“Evie is a special gift from Gott.”
“You talk a lot about Evie.” Leo’s thick eyebrows rose and fell. “Almost more than you talk about Hannah.”
“I like boplin. I’m gut with boplin.”
“Even though you’re the youngest in your family?”
What was Leo’s point? Phillip was the youngest child because his mother couldn’t have any more babies after him. “I’m onkel to a dozen kinner. I have experience.” Phillip dropped the sandpaper, picked up a tack cloth and wiped down the rocking chair. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Most people don’t get to talk to their bosses like that.” Leo offered a good-natured grin. The man needed a haircut. His long curls stuck out from under his straw hat. He had to be in his late thirties, but only a few strands of silver highlighted his long beard. He made a show of looking at the clock on the far wall behind Phillip. “As a matter of fact, I put the finish on the Mitchells’ dining room table yesterday while you and Carl delivered the chairs to the Schmidts. I need to sand it down and apply another coat.”
“Shall I start on the chairs? They put a rush on that order, didn’t they?”
“They did. First do me a favor and carry that box of toys up to the store.” He pointed at a large cardboard box filled with hand-carved animals, trucks, and trains. When he wasn’t making furniture, Leo spent his time carving toys. “Jennie’s been asking for them.”
“I didn’t see her buggy in front of the store.” Leo’s wife rarely missed a day at their store. “Is Francis sick?”
“Nee. She took a day off to plant her vegetable garden. Francis is at school.” Leo began to whistle. Beau raised his head, his mournful eyes landing on his master. “Not you, hund. Stay. Christina took her shift at the store.”
Christina Weber. Her parents moved to Jamesport the previous year from Haven, Kansas. They had family here. That explained the whistling. Leo always whistled when he was up to something. And since his marriage to Jennie, he always seemed to be up to something. Marriage had changed his entire being. He smiled more. He talked more. Even to Englishers. Even to strangers.
Must be nice. “Fine.”
“Better get a move on.”
Muttering under his breath, Phillip heaved the box from the counter and headed out the door.
“I do not meddle or matchmake.” Leo’s lazy chuckle floated on the spring air, mocking Phillip. “At least not much.”
CHAPTER 5
Business at Leo’s store was booming. A load of senior citizens from St. Joseph—according to the sign on the back of their monster charter bus—swarmed around the Combination Store.
Winding his way past gazebos and fort playscapes, Phillip nodded at the bus driver who sat at a picnic table—made by Leo—eating a sandwich and Sun chips. Jennie had planted pink, purple, and white pansies in the flower boxes on the front porch of the building that had once been a barn.
Phillip thanked a silver-haired lady in a purple velour jogging suit and black tennis shoes for holding the door open for him. Inside, he inhaled the scent of wood shavings, scented soaps, and aromatic candles as he slid past two men wearing St. Louis Cardinals caps—twins in their blue jackets and gray slacks. They seemed flummoxed at the price of the quilts hanging on dowels by the door. They couldn’t know how many months went into hand-stitching those beautiful creations.
“Hey, Phillip. You brought the toys. Danki.” Cheeks red, Christina dashed by him, a green-and-purple double wedding ring quilt folded in her arms. “Unload them onto the empty shelves by the children’s books, will you?”
The lady following her shushed the man with her. “It will make a perfect wedding gift for Kathleen. She’ll love it. Don’t be so tight.” She settled a mammoth denim bag decorated with appliqued handprints and the words “I love Grammy” onto the scarred wooden counter. “You take credit cards, don’t you?”
Christina nodded. She smiled at Phillip. “When you get done, would you mind taking that rocking chair out to the Garcias’ van? Mr. Garcia had surgery a few weeks ago on a bulging disc. He’ll tell you all about it, if you let him.”
“No problem.”
George Garcia, a pharmacist who worked in Chillicothe, stood by the door fidgeting with a black brace that covered his middle.
Toys unloaded. The chair in the van. A box of jams from the storage room. The ladder to remove a wall hanging. Five minutes became an hour. Finally, the driver employed a coach’s whistle to round up his seniors. They filed out, chatting and showing off their purchases. The doors closed, and the motor fired up. Disc brakes squeaked.
They were gone. Silence reigned. Wiping at her face with a paper towel, Christina flopped into a rocking chair and laughed, a soft melodious sound, like music tinkling. “When they say Gott provides, they’re not kidding.”
Exertion brought out the pink in her cheeks. She was pretty. Looking away, Phillip straightened the peach and strawberry jam jars next to the canned goods including pickles, tomatoes, cherries, green beans, peaches, and more. He picked up the empty box.
“What do you mean?”
“I needed help and you showed up.” She fanned her face with the paper towel. “And you stayed. Danki.”
“Gern gschehne.” Phillip edged toward the storeroom. He should store the box and head back to the shop. “I guess Jennie didn’t think you’d have a crowd today.”
“It’s early. The tourist season doesn’t start for a few more weeks, but retired seniors—you never know when they’ll show up. The folks who just left attend a community center program, and they have travelogues called ‘Trips on a Tank of Gas.’”
“So they came to Jamesport.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“I’m glad they came. We can use the business.” He tucked the flaps back in the box for something to do with his hands. “There are just so many other places a person could go on a tank of gas.”
“I like Jamesport. It’s much more interesting than Haven, where I used to live. And prettier than Kansas. It’s so flat.” Her nut-brown eyes lit up as she said the words. “Haven is tiny and there are only a few shops. I cleaned English houses, but I’d rather do this.”
Her free hand fluttered toward the surrounding store with its expanse of goods. They sold all kinds of homemade items and furniture. Hickory rocking chairs, an oak desk, coat racks, dressers, cradles, bed frames, a beautiful pine table and matching set of chairs, all handcrafted by Leo, Phillip, and Carl, Leo’s latest apprentice.
Christina talked with her hands. She was a bundle of energy, unlike Hannah, who was so self-contained it was a wonder she didn’t combust. She kept her hands tucked in her lap as if afraid they would do something she didn’t like.
“Do you want some cold tea?” Chr
istina hopped up from the chair and tossed her homemade fan on the counter next to the oversize, old-fashioned cash register. “I brought a thermos from home. It’s fresh sun tea. My mudder made it yesterday.”
“I should probably go. Leo will wonder where I am.”
“He’s such a nice man. I love working for him and Jennie.”
“He is nice.” Aside from the unwanted advice and meddling. “I like working for him too.”
Christina pointed to the chair where she’d been sitting. “You made that chair, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“It’s so beautiful.” Her expression wistful, she sighed. “It would be perfect for rocking a bopli to sleep at night.”
Exactly his thought when he’d sanded and stained the wood. “I hope so. I pray over every piece of furniture I make, hoping it will become part of someone’s family. I learned that from Leo.”
“Someday I hope to have one as part of my family. Of course, now that I moved here it’s not happening anytime soon.” Christina’s face colored again. She rushed around the counter and began to straighten embroidered tablecloths, knitted sweaters, and crocheted pot holders that covered two nearby tables. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be spinning wool instead of working. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk to me.”
In their community, many of the men and women Christina’s age had already found their special friends. It would be hard to start over. Phillip hadn’t been to a singing in a long time. He wasn’t tuned in to the grapevine on such things. “People here are friendly. You’ll fit right in.”
“That’s what Jennie says.” Christina slipped past him and began to dust the jars of jam. “She says you’re a hard worker and you like boplin.”
So Jennie had been talking to Christina about him. Jennie and Leo were two peas in pod.
“I better get going. Lots of work to do in the shop.”
“Danki for your help.” Her smile was as sweet and simple as his mother’s shoofly pie. “And the conversation—it’s nice to have someone to talk to when I’m here by myself.”