The Stone Wall

by Beverly Lewis

  “I can’t believe how busy it is on a Thursday evening,” Anna said, surveying the place as he held the door for her. Several families stood just inside the front door, waiting for tables.

  “It’s like this well into November—tourist season, you know.” He led her to a bench, where they sat, speaking just loudly enough to be heard above the din of the room. “We celebrated my dad’s birthday here last Tuesday night, and it was this packed then, too.”

  “I guess word spreads about great food.”

  “You’ll soon find out why,” Mart said with a grin. Then he asked, “I’m curious . . . you never really said. What interested you in becoming a tour guide at the buggy museum in your hometown?”

  She explained that a friend of her oldest brother had heard they were looking for a history buff for a guide position. “Since I had my nose in history books all the way through high school, it was an ideal fit.” She laughed a little. “In fact, I always keep a history book of some kind in my car. You never know when you’ll need something to fill your time.”

  Martin seemed intrigued. “What’s your favorite era?”

  Anna shrugged. “Oh, Colonial America, I guess. I like reading about the way things were done, especially how the women of the time lived and worked.”

  Mart nodded. “Nothing like a book to occupy the mind.”

  “What kind of books do you enjoy?” she asked.

  “Lately I’ve been reading about the Underground Railroad in Pennsylvania,” he said.

  “So, how did you get involved with conducting tours at the information center?” Anna asked, drawn to his attentive way.

  “Well, let’s see . . . I started out booking horse-and-buggy rides for a local New Order Amish couple—set up a website for them and helped them attract tourists. I got a kick out of interacting with people who seemed curious about the Plain culture.”

  “What do most center guides do during the winter months when tourism is down?” she asked.

  “Since some are retired, they don’t need as much income and just enjoy the time off. A few guides are right out of college, though, so they pick up part-time winter jobs. I work year-round at my uncle’s dairy farm, with extra hours during January and February. Things at the center tend to pick up again in March and April,” he said.

  Their number was called, and she and Mart walked toward the hallway, where a hostess led the way to their assigned table.

  Once they were seated beside windows looking out on Amish farmland, Mart brought up that Anna had mentioned attending high school. “I didn’t realize your church permitted higher education.”

  “Well, some Beachy families allow it, and others don’t,” she explained. “A few families homeschool their children, but our bishop leaves a lot of that up to the individual family to decide. One young man even went on to get his doctorate.”

  “But is college encouraged?” he asked.

  “Not really. Of course, there are also some who leave for so-called greener pastures, just as in any set-apart community.” She was thinking now of Atley Brenneman in particular.

  “I understand,” Mart said, holding her gaze. “The world can certainly be tempting.”

  The young waitress returned to take their orders, and Anna chose the traditional buffet at Mart’s encouragement.

  “You’ll have plenty of options for meats, vegetables . . . even a variety of soups, salads, and breads,” the waitress said.

  “And most important, a great selection of desserts,” Mart added with a smile.

  The waitress agreed and waved in the direction of the separate section for pies, cakes, ice cream, and other sweets. “You’ll find the meat station over there,” she said, “through that short hallway. Today we have baked ham with a mouthwatering cider sauce, slow-roasted top sirloin, fried chicken to die for, baked cod . . . all of that and more.”

  Anna thanked her.

  “You won’t find a better buffet around here,” Mart told Anna after the waitress left. Then he folded his hands. “Let’s give thanks.”

  She bowed her head, grateful for Mart’s kindness to her and for his prayer, which was reverent yet openhearted—much the way she had been taught to pray.

  The rest of the evening was filled with the enjoyment of the many delicious dishes, and Anna tried to pace herself, taking small portions of a variety of things while Mart filled up his plate more than once.

  They discussed their mutual hope to share God’s love with the clients they met, and Anna confided that it was one of the main motivators behind her pursuing this particular job. “Besides my fondness for local history, that is.”

  When they were ready to go to the dessert island, Anna smiled when they both reached for the warm chocolate pecan pie. Mart also took a large sugar cookie, one of Anna’s favorites, but she was too full to indulge in more than one sweet. And anyway, she could always have something later at Sadie’s, since the dear woman seemed to enjoy baking treats of all kinds.

  They ate their desserts leisurely in between sips of coffee. When they finished, Anna thanked him for the evening. She and Mart exchanged phone numbers, then walked together to the parking lot.

  “Have a nice weekend,” he said, waiting by the car until she unlocked it and got settled inside.

  “You too.” Anna waved to him as he stepped back. She exited onto the Lincoln Highway and found herself grinning as she drove back to the Flauds’. She’d felt quite at ease with Mart, almost as if they’d grown up in the same circles. For certain, the evening marked a promising start to her new life in Lancaster County.

  “I’m thinkin’ Anna has found herself a friend,” Sadie remarked as she and Glen sat in the front room, where an occasional breeze came in through the west-facing windows, a welcome relief from the warm day.

  “A possible beau, maybe?” Glen chuckled.

  “Could be one in the makin’.”

  “I daresay it’s real nice for her to have another young person to spend time with around here.”

  Sadie smiled and agreed. She knew from Rachel that it had been a year since Anna had broken up with her serious beau. “It wonders me if the young man is the Mennonite fella she mentioned before she went home for that short visit.”

  Glen nodded, but from his vague expression, it looked as if he had something else on his mind. Something completely unrelated.

  “Glen?” Sadie said, leaning toward him.

  “Oh, I was just thinking of makin’ a fresh batch of ice cream for tomorrow night,” Glen replied as he got up. He stopped to straighten the embroidered wall hanging Sadie had made years ago. “If Anna’s around, it’d be nice if Luke and family came over tomorrow after supper.”

  “Well, even if she’s not. And we can always do with more ice cream.” As Sadie rose to go to the kitchen for some cold water, she could hear Glen in the pantry, getting his hand-cranked ice-cream maker. He really wants Anna to spend some time with Luke and Marianna again . . . and to meet their little ones, Sadie thought. But making new friends her own age is surely her priority.

  Sadie got busy gathering the ingredients for a vanilla sponge cake with chocolate frosting. Summer baking was more tolerable early in the morning or later in the evening, when the sun was low in the sky. We’ll have us a delicious dessert, she thought, realizing that she, too, hoped Anna might be available tomorrow evening.

  Truth be told, the house was ever so quiet with Anna out, Sadie thought as she worked. Tomorrow morning I’ll visit poor Eva. Maybe Anna will come along. She recalled that, because as a newcomer Anna was considered a part-time employee, she was not on call Fridays and Saturdays. Of course, on Sundays the information center was closed for the Lord’s Day, so Anna would be busy with tours only four days a week. I could show her how to make my little cheer-up cards, if she’s interested, she thought.

  Sadie brought the water to a boil for the cake batter, then melted the butter and contemplated Anna’s parents’ willingness to let her move here to live with Old Order Amish folk, cousins
or not. It made Sadie wonder if they knew about Rachel’s mother’s experiences here decades ago.

  Mamm always said Eliza Hertzler was sorely tested that summer, thought Sadie, guessing that Eliza hadn’t told her granddaughter much, if anything, about those months.

  O Lord, may Anna’s time here be pleasant, surrounded by Thy love.

  Chapter 12

  TUESDAY, MAY 18, 1948

  Eliza Hertzler was busy cutting and bundling what Great-aunt Joanna had happily declared “a bumper crop of asparagus.” Her aunt was sitting over on the large back porch sipping cold meadow tea this morning as Eliza placed the bundles of asparagus in the faded red wagon that worked fine despite recent years of little use.

  After five long days in Strasburg working in the house or garden, Eliza was itching to see more of the area. Today she was responsible for pulling the asparagus-filled wagon up the road to the farmhouse of Joanna’s cousin Nellie. “She’ll make good use of it,” Aunt Joanna had declared at breakfast.

  Looking back at the wagonful, Eliza pulled a face at the thought of canning all of that produce. She’d never cared a whit for asparagus, despite its supposedly being a healthy vegetable and “good for what ails ya,” according to Mamma. Healthiness certainly didn’t stop Eliza from turning up her nose at the green vegetable.

  As if somethin’ ails me, she thought, picking up her pace on this mild and sunny day. She gazed ahead down the road, glad the pavement wasn’t too hot just yet, barefoot as she was. “The only thing ailin’ me is that I’m stuck here,” she murmured, feeling sorry for herself as she yearned yet again for home and wondered what Ephraim was doing this fine day.

  She kept rehashing the fact that Mamma had chosen her to come and assist Aunt Joanna. Strasburg had sounded like a foreign country when Mamma had first brought up the idea of sending Eliza here. Mamma didn’t know it, but I felt panicked at the thought of leaving home, she thought, missing her three older sisters, each one an expert in harvesting and putting up vegetables. Unlike Eliza, they were also skilled in the virtue of patience, knowing when to offer their opinion on a matter and when to hold their peace.

  Truth be told, Eliza wished to goodness her great-aunt hadn’t contacted Mamma, asking for help. And yet, Eliza did feel sorry for her, pining for her deceased husband as she seemed to be while pacing the creaky floors at night. Eliza had heard her more than twice in the past few days. The poor woman needed comfort, but Eliza wasn’t up to the task. Rather, she had simply covered her head with the sheet and quilt, knowing that if she didn’t get adequate sleep, she wouldn’t be any good for the long list of chores her great-aunt wielded daily.

  She keeps mentioning my boundless energy. Eliza lifted her face to look around her as she pulled the wagon to Cousin Nellie’s, who wasn’t Eliza’s cousin at all, at least that she knew of. So many kinfolk of kinfolk, it’s hard to know who’s who sometimes.

  One thing she did know, though—the fair-haired Old Order Amish fellow coming this way was mighty hasty over there on the other side of the road. She had just now noticed the young man, and as he approached, she could hear him robustly whistling.

  And just like that, the whistling stopped and he crossed the road, coming toward her. “Hullo,” he said with a wave toward the wagon. “Mind if I help?”

  “I don’t need help,” she said, struck by how good-looking he was.

  “A plucky one, ya are.” And without saying more, he leaned over and grabbed the wagon handle from her.

  As he began to pull the wagon, leaving her no choice but to fall in step behind him, she was stunned speechless, rare for her. “Where ya headed . . . and where ya from?” He turned back to eye her tan cape dress and white Kapp.

  It was all she could do not to make up a story, tempted to fool this self-assured young fellow. But she remembered the proverb Aunt Joanna had read earlier about speaking the truth and showing forth righteousness.

  “I’m makin’ a delivery to Nellie Petersheim,” she admitted. “And I’m from Mifflinburg, which may as well be halfway round the world.” This last bit she added more softly.

  “Ah, so you’re the one helpin’ Joanna Beiler this summer.”

  “Goodness—how many people know I’m here?”

  “Ain’t a single thing hidden from view round here, trust me.”

  She shook her head. “How on earth can that be?”

  “Just is.” He glanced at her now, his blue eyes serious—yet she felt sure he was doing his best to hold in a chuckle.

  “Okay, then, what’s my name?”

  “Eliza,” he said with a gleeful lilt in his voice.

  She wondered why she was still letting this cocky stranger pull the wagon and dominate the conversation. “Listen, if you know so much about me, it’s only fair I should know something ’bout you, too, jah?”

  He couldn’t seem to keep a straight face. “Like what?”

  “Do ya have a name of your own, just maybe?”

  “They call me Eb at suppertime.”

  “And what do they call ya other times?”

  “It’s Eb then, too.”

  “That’s not a name, though . . . it’s a nickname!” she said, rather enjoying this back and forth now, still looking for Cousin Nellie’s house to come into view.

  “You’re right. It is short for somethin’.” He paused and grinned at her. “Ever hear of Ebenezer in the Bible?”

  She nodded. “But that wasn’t a person.”

  “Well, no. And how I got it, well . . . it’s a complicated story. If ya want, I might tell it to ya sometime, Eliza.”

  She had to smile. Eb was unlike anyone she’d ever met. He seemed to have more gumption than even her older brother, who liked to nearly tease the life out of her.

  “Okay, I don’t have to know,” she said, though she really wanted to, if only to keep talking with him.

  “All right, then.”

  They walked together without saying more. When she saw Nellie’s house, Eliza breathed a sigh tinged with a bit of disappointment, knowing she might never hear Eb’s story. “That’s the house up there,” she said, pointing toward the rise.

  Eb chuckled. “I know Nellie Petersheim’s place like the back of my hand.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve worked for her husband, Yost, harvesting corn.”

  So, there was a possibility she’d see Eb again. “Well, how ’bout that?”

  He asked if she could find her way back to the widow Beiler’s place.

  Now she was the one laughing. “I should hope so!” There were only four farms between Nellie’s and Joanna’s.

  Eb pulled the wagon all the way up the rise, to the back door. “There you are.” He nodded. “Gut to meet ya, Eliza.”

  She almost said “You too,” but stood there silently as Eb turned and headed back down the lane, resuming his quick stride and his whistling.

  Chapter 13

  Anna rose just after dawn Friday morning and slipped out of the house for a walk, replaying in her mind the meal with Mart at Miller’s. She felt fairly certain he was interested in her, and goodness, they had learned quite a lot about each other in the space of a single evening.

  She strolled along the roadside and relished watching the horses and buggies—the clip-clop-clipping seemed soothing in its own way. “I like it here,” she murmured, recalling strolls along this same road with Wanita when their family came to visit off and on through the years. Though the place was as rural and tranquil as her father’s in Mifflinburg, it had a specialness about it.

  When she returned to the house, Anna partnered with Sadie to cook breakfast—fried eggs over easy and apple oven pancakes. Sadie set bananas in a large bowl for the table, then poured orange juice in small glasses and hot coffee in mugs.

  “Would ya like to go with me today to visit my sister Eva?” Sadie asked as they worked together.

  “Is this the sister who lives with her Maidel daughter?”

  “Jah, and once a week I spend a good part of the da
y with Eva to spell off Molly. I often take meals over, too. Eva’s sufferin’ from dementia, you see.”

  At that word, a shiver ran through Anna. “Oh,” she said softly. “I’m awful sorry.”

  Sadie bowed her head. “I can’t tell ya how hard it is to watch her forget everything she’s ever known.”

  Anna drew in a breath. “I understand . . . I truly do.”

  “Well, of course you do, with your poor Mammi.” Sadie shook her head like she was disappointed in herself. “I’ve had to learn to be careful what I say around Eva now that she’s like this . . . what things to mention and what not to.”

  Anna listened, nodding. “Mammi Eliza gets really anxious and upset if someone counters what she’s saying, even though she may be incorrect. We all simply agree with her, no matter what. One of her doctors shared with us pretty early on in her Alzheimer’s that we should come to expect this. It’s been so helpful.”

  “Gut to know, Anna. Denki.”

  “It’s been painful to witness Mammi’s slide from being an outgoing person full of ideas and life to someone so withdrawn and quiet. Such a contrast.” She looked away, gathering her thoughts. “It weighs heavy on my heart.”

  Sadie listened, her eyes bright now with tears. “I understand, dear. And Wanita’s sacrifices as a caregiver are a blessing for the whole family, not chust your Mammi Eliza. It takes a lot of extra energy and patience.”

  Anna agreed, thankful that Sadie seemed to comprehend what she and her family were going through, Mammi Eliza included. “Denki, Sadie . . . it really helps to talk about this.”

  On the ride over to visit Eva and Molly later, Anna gazed out the window at the wild yellow irises blooming along the ditch as the Flauds’ horse and buggy moved down the narrow road. It had been some time since she’d traveled this way. Back when her Mamm’s parents were both living, they had preferred to travel by buggy, even though they were also Beachy Amish and able to own a car. Sometimes, Mammi Eliza would even take Anna and Wanita to market in their carriage. Years ago, Anna thought, savoring the relaxing pace as Sadie commented on each farm they passed, talking about the Old Order Amish families who lived there—all of them devout church members and some ministerial brethren.