The Photograph

by Beverly Lewis

  Chapter Two

  IN HOLMES COUNTY, OHIO, the maples and oaks were already flourishing against newly mown lawns and countless fields of sprouted corn. Amish farmers welcomed the season. A time of rebirth.

  From the pinnacle of a hill, Jed Stutzman couldn’t help noticing the Amish cemetery, the final resting place for his fiancée, Lydiann Coblentz. The peaceful, leafy green sanctuary of what-might’ve-beens was located not two miles from his work as an apprentice buggy maker. But today he urged his horse onward, not wanting to ponder what he’d so tragically lost.

  Rattling past the three-acre burial ground in his elderly uncle Ervin’s buckboard wagon, Jed felt the old, familiar pain, perhaps duller with the passage of a year. He’d spent hours there, contemplating his life without Lydiann, talking to his beloved as if she might hear him, and often as if she hadn’t left at all.

  He sped up the horse’s pace. “You have to keep movin’ forward,” Jed told himself, drawing a breath, aware of the air’s sweet fragrance. The wind had shifted in the past hour, pushing the smell of fertilizer away toward the south.

  “The whiff of success,” Dat says.

  Jed smiled wryly and recalled Lydiann’s opinion of what she’d called the “schtinkich scent,” in spite of the fact that she’d grown up on a farm not far from his own father’s. The truth was, his sweetheart had often declared how glad she was the Lord had seen fit to make her a woman, so she could keep house and cook for her future husband and keep him company by the evening fire.

  “You would’ve been a splendid wife,” Jed whispered.

  Plenty of young men had thought so, too, back before Jed swooped in and began to court Lydiann. Last week at market, an Englischer woman who’d known Lydiann for years had declared her an angel on earth.

  Lydiann trusted the Lord in a gentle yet mighty way. He considered all the times she’d prayed for God’s guidance in their lives as a courting couple—they’d planned to wed this very November. Theirs had been a short-lived yet precious love story, and their mutual friends in the youth group had often remarked about the light in their eyes when they were together.

  Heaven had other plans. Jed trusted in the sovereignty of their Lord. For him, as for all the People, there was no other way to approach such a profound loss.

  Just ahead, he noticed his cousin Sol Troyer approaching the intersection in the black family carriage. Sol was New Order Amish, so his buggy wheels were solid rubber, which made for a quieter ride on the roads. Jed had always been interested in the difference in buggies around Berlin and surrounding towns, including carriages that were a bit fancier. Not that he’d ever desire anything but what was sanctioned by his Old Order bishop, but because he loved the craft.

  “An Amish carriage must be made practically and properly,” Uncle Ervin liked to say about his shop. “Built well enough to last a lifetime.” This was his uncle’s motto, and the man was well respected all over Holmes and Wayne counties as a result of his quality work. People came from miles around to order carriages from Ervin Stutzman.

  As a lad, Jed had quickly learned that the buggy’s framework was made of solid hickory, and that the steel springs and axles were the next thing to permanent if built correctly. Thanks to Uncle Ervin’s patient instruction, Jed realized there weren’t many ways to build a buggy right, regardless of style and whether they came from Ohio, Indiana, or Pennsylvania, where Uncle Ervin’s cousin-in-law built the gray, boxlike carriages so typical of Lancaster County.

  Glancing at Cousin Sol again, Jed waved, but Sol didn’t see him. Jed thought of trying to get his attention, but he was mighty conscious anymore of all the ways something could go wrong on these narrow roads, especially coming into downtown Berlin with an older horse. The small town was becoming congested with eager tourists, most looking to purchase the fine souvenirs offered at Amish and Mennonite merchants.

  Jed directed the horse to turn west onto Main Street. He nodded to a friend waiting for the stoplight near the flea market, where dear Lydiann had worked for a number of years. How many times had she told Jed, her expression glowing, that she could hardly wait to get to work each morning, she enjoyed it so? She’d delighted in the customers and loved attending to the children, thrilled for opportunities to spread kindness and cheer.

  Jed pushed the memories aside. She’s with the Lord, he reminded himself. It was the one and only thing that brought him solace, particularly during the first six months after her sudden death.

  A few months ago, his family and closest friends had begun to encourage him to get back “into circulation,” so Jed had reluctantly gone to several barn Singings and other youth-related activities, if only to test the waters.

  Jed also had Uncle Ervin’s retirement heavy on his mind, along with the possibility of taking over the family business. That had once seemed like a sure thing—at least until Perry Hostetler entered the picture.

  My own fault, Jed thought. His uncle had always insisted the chosen successor be solidly grounded in the Amish church—a baptized member. Jed had intended to join church with Lydiann this coming September; it was all part of their plan. Now, though, he would be making his kneeling baptismal vow on his own, assuming he was ready. I’m dragging my feet, he thought.

  Like Jed, Perry was also a buggy-building apprentice, but Uncle Ervin’s cousin’s son had joined church last fall. And Perry reportedly had a serious girlfriend.

  Jed had attempted to date a few young women recently. The first, Phoebe Miller, while very nice, struck him as rather self-absorbed. Freida Burkholder, on the other hand, admittedly hadn’t cracked open a book since finishing eighth grade. Eye-opening, indeed, considering Jed enjoyed reading as much as his work at the buggy shop. And pretty Mittie Raber, well, she’d chattered nonstop, gossiping like a nosy parrot, which drove Jed narrish—crazy.

  In all truth, none of the young women had measured up to Lydiann. And he was beginning to wonder if any woman alive could make him forget his cherished first love.

  Jed spotted the Christian bookstore on the left-hand side of the road and recalled combing through the many shelves there with Lydiann. He, looking for volumes of biblical history, and she, partial to fiction by Mennonite authors.

  Continuing up the street, Jed eyed Boyd and Wurthmann Restaurant, their favorite. He and Lydiann had once snuck away to have breakfast together in the back room of the quaint eatery. Lydiann’s blue eyes had brightened at her first taste of rich sausage gravy over a breakfast haystack of biscuits and eggs. Even now, Jed relished that recollection, as well as the thank-you note she’d written, starting a chain of correspondence between them, even though they’d lived within a short buggy ride of each other. From the start, she’d made up endearing closures to her letters. In Jed’s opinion, Lydiann’s creative sign-offs—phrases like Love till the sea runs dry—would take the prize for such things.

  For me, she was the prize. . . .

  He made the turn into the hardware store parking lot, glad for the morning sunshine. Then, tying the horse to the hitching rail, he thought of all the times he’d allowed himself to imagine the sequence of moments leading up to Lydiann’s accident. He’d sometimes catch himself contemplating the foolhardy buggy race . . . with a speeding train, no less. It was no wonder the terror had managed to bombard his dreams, where he relived the devastating event. For weeks and even months afterward, Jed had privately blamed Lydiann’s younger brother, known for recklessness with his fast horse and new black courting carriage. The same boy who’d lost his life as a result.

  In that horrid accident, Lydiann’s parents had lost two of their children, yet they had expressed acceptance of God’s will. Jed had eventually learned he, too, must forgive, or he would be forever haunted by that terrible day.

  Only by Gott’s grace have I come this far, he thought, tying his horse to the hitching post. He willed his focus back onto the errand for Uncle Ervin.

  Just today Ervin had gently prodded Jed to pray about getting baptized. “And ya might find a go
od Amish girl to court, too,” he’d added with a wink. Jed couldn’t blame Uncle Ervin for being eager to retire and wanting to leave his shop to an established Amishman. If I don’t pull it together, I’ll lose this golden opportunity, he thought, tempted to give in to defeat as he proceeded to the hardware store.

  Chapter Three

  MANY TIMES SINCE CHILDHOOD, Eva had heard the charming story of her parents’ courtship, Mamma’s pretty face alight with the telling.

  The Plain People of Eden Valley knew well that Dottie Flaud had married Vernon Esch just one week following her eighteenth birthday. And while it wasn’t required by Pennsylvania law to get parental permission at that age, Mamma did so anyway, because she felt compelled to please those in authority. Indeed, Mamma’s thoughtful gesture put her fiancé on even better footing with his father-in-law-to-be, if that was possible, considering her parents had set their sights on him as a mate for their daughter back when he was but a schoolboy.

  Mamma had said there was an exceptionally large turnout for the Flaud-Esch wedding day, with more than four hundred Amish guests in attendance, including Mamma’s lifelong friend, Naomi Mast, like a surrogate mother to Mamma and her older sisters, since their own mother had died when Mamma was in her early teens. Naomi’s daughter, Ida Mae, had wed two weeks before Mamma herself, and Ida Mae and her young husband, Joel, set up housekeeping as neighbors to Mamma and Dat on Eden Road. In fact, their dairy farm was situated at the southernmost tip of the Esch property.

  But it was Naomi, twenty years older than Mamma, who was Mamma’s dearest confidante and closest neighbor. Naomi enjoyed helping Mamma at the drop of a Kapp, and the other way around. Some thought the two friends felt duty bound to make certain the other had adequate help gardening and canning and cleaning to host Preaching. It was a remarkably sweet shared conviction.

  As a result, when Mamma lost Dat to a farming accident, it was Naomi who immediately took a prominent place in the Esch kitchen, cooking and cleaning, even though Mamma’s own sisters were equally sympathetic and supportive.

  Then, in the days and weeks after Mamma’s own unexpected passing, Naomi began to reach out to Frona, Eva, and Lily, sharing privately that before Mamma passed away, she had asked Naomi to watch over her girls, covering them with prayer and compassion. Naomi especially bonded with Eva, though Naomi was old enough to be her grandmother. It wasn’t long before Eva found herself unburdening her sorrow and loss to Naomi . . . and even letting slip a few secrets about some of the fellows she’d gone with, including Alfred Dienner. This was so very out of character for Eva, who’d never shared as much with her Mamma. Yet never before had she needed such consolation, and she was grateful every day that Naomi was always there, especially when Eva felt the world caving in on her, when she needed to just sob and let it all out.

  Dearest Naomi. My only motherly source of wisdom now . . .

  Eva hurried to dry the supper dishes, working alongside Lily, who’d always preferred to wash. Their immediate goal was to have the kitchen spotless for Menno’s arrival. Scanning the large room, Eva noticed the pantry door ajar; bags of sugar and flour inside needed straightening. And the book Lily was reading, still open, spine out, on the kitchen table.

  Frona was outdoors sweeping the back porch and steps, giving them a careful once-over. It wasn’t as if Menno was coming to inspect, but they’d always tidied up especially well for this rather finicky brother.

  “Frona’s worryin’ herself into a tizzy,” Lily said, letting the hot water drip off the plate before she set it in the dish rack. “Like she wants to impress Menno.”

  “Well, it’s not like we don’t try.”

  “He struts around like he’s king, ya know.”

  “You might have something there,” Eva replied, wondering why Lily was dawdling with the dishes.

  “Yet I daresay Frona’s more rattled than we’ve seen her since Mamma came down sick. Remember?” Lily’s blue eyes were solemn. She washed the utensils last before drying her hands on her black apron. “Nee, ab im Kopp is what she is.”

  “Now, Lily. She might worry too much, but she isn’t crazy.”

  “But just look at her.” Lily nodded toward the door.

  “I honestly think you’re the one frettin’.”

  Lily laughed quietly and shook her head. “You think ya know me, sister, don’t ya?”

  Eva stopped drying, her dish towel in her hand. “Oh, I know you well enough, Lily. How could I not?”

  Lily walked to the table and ran her hands over the back of the chair that had always been their father’s. “All I’m sayin’ is we oughta be ready for anything.”

  Eva laughed a little. “You and Frona both . . . what’s got into yous?” She laid the dish towel over the rack and left the room.

  Why expect the worst?

  Naomi Mast rarely baked so late in the day, but just before supper she’d gotten word one of her English neighbors needed some cheering up. Realizing she would have no time for baking first thing tomorrow, she’d set right to work. Tomorrow, sometime after breakfast, she planned to visit daughter Ida Mae, who’d asked for help with her Lone Star quilt pattern in navy, rust, and tan.

  Besides, it was good for them to keep busy, what with Dottie Esch’s passing still looming in their minds. And hearts. Naomi wasn’t one to say much about it, but she could read between the lines when Ida Mae talked about “those poor, dear Esch girls.” Fatherless and now motherless, Frona, Eva, and Lily were very much on everyone’s mind.

  Sighing, Naomi pinched the edges of her rhubarb piecrust just so. Truth be told, she missed Dottie terribly and wanted to live up to the dear woman’s faith in her to look out for her unmarried daughters.

  I gave her my word.

  It hadn’t necessarily been easy keeping that promise, what with Lily’s head-in-the-clouds attitude and Frona’s anxious temperament. Thank goodness for Eva, thought Naomi with a twinge of guilt.

  To the best of her ability, she had lovingly embraced James 1:27: Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction. . . .

  Naomi carried the pie carefully to the counter, privately glad she wasn’t the only Plain cook clinging to the old way of doing things. Of course, she’d never think of judging any of the other Amishwomen in Eden Valley who had accepted Bishop Isaac’s long-ago nod to permitting gas stoves and other gas-powered kitchen appliances.

  Likely the bishop’s wife wanted one, thought Naomi, then chided herself.

  Pulling small logs out of the kindling box, she stacked them in the belly of the old black cookstove. All the while, she thought of fair-haired Lily, whom she’d seen walking through the wild flowers in the meadow while Naomi washed windows yesterday. The dear girl was often rushing out to Eden Road to check the mailbox. It was beginning to seem that, on any given day, Dottie’s youngest was in plain view. It was the oddest thing, considering all the work there was to be done with her Mamma gone.

  Here lately, Lily had been wandering up to the shared phone shanty on the property of the next Amish neighbor over from Esches’. Repeatedly so, in fact. Naomi wouldn’t have suspected anything amiss, except that personal calls were discouraged, so the frequency made her pause and wonder. A time or two, Naomi had actually spotted her twirling and singing, rare behavior for even Lily.

  The way I must’ve acted when I first started courting. Naomi recalled the rapturous feeling and thought Lily might have herself a secret beau. Naturally, most serious dating relationships were kept quiet around Eden Valley.

  Whatever the reason, Lily was running out to the phone shanty quite a lot, the family’s snow-white Eskimo spitz, Max, chasing after her. In fact, Naomi had seen Lily with their dog earlier this morning, before Eva’s candy shop opened for the day. Lily had practically skipped all the way back from the shanty to the stone wall running along one section of the road, across from Naomi’s mailbox. She’d sat there preening like a bluebird beneath the sky.

 
Not wanting to second-guess why, Naomi placed her pies into the oven and went out to the utility room to put on a lightweight shawl. She opened the side door and stood on the porch for a time, breathing in the fragrance of dogwood and hyacinth. Why did it bother her to see Lily behaving so? Indeed, for a moment Lily had covered her mouth as if to silence laughter. Then, just that quickly, the girl’s shoulders slumped and she hung her head, looking for all the world like she’d lost her dearest friend.

  Naomi knew the older Esch girls had their hands full, given their household and gardening responsibilities—and that very busy candy store, too. Oh, goodness, Naomi wished her friend Dottie were still alive. If so, she would go straightaway there and talk heart-to-heart with her about Lily. But alas, that wasn’t possible, and Naomi hoped and prayed Frona and Eva might be able to rein in their sister as soon as possible.

  Chapter Four

  EVA PICKED UP THE RED PLATE of peanut butter balls and carried it to the table, placing it smack-dab in the middle, minutes before Menno was expected to arrive. No more than what a caring younger sister should do, she thought. Yet she was unable to convince even herself that she was doing it for any other reason than to soften up her brother. If Menno needs softening. But certainly both Frona and Lily seemed to think their brother might require several of these yummy candies before they sat down to visit.

  “You have a gift,” Sylvia Lantz had declared outright to Eva that morning in the shop. To think Sylvia would say such a thing, and then to have Josie agree so wholeheartedly, too—it was both heartening and embarrassing. And yet Eva had been told this back when she first started concocting sweets. Especially by her father, who was always quick to compliment.