by Leigh Bale
“Ach, did you get the job?” His father sat down and looked at him expectantly.
“Ja, we got the job,” Hank answered for him. The boy beamed with eagerness and Martin didn’t have the heart to scold him for speaking out of turn. After all, the job was his, too.
Martin smiled with tolerance and purposefully waited until Timmy returned from the barn before speaking. Because they prayed before eating, they had to wait for the boy anyway.
Once everyone was assembled, David beckoned to his wife. “Mudder, komm and sit.”
David pointed at her chair and Martin watched as his mother sat at the opposite end of the table, nearest the stove. As each member of the familye bowed their head to bless the food, he couldn’t help loving this nightly ritual. His mom was always up and buzzing around the table to see to everyone’s needs. But during evening prayer, she sat reverently with her familye for these few minutes while they gave thanks to the Lord.
When they were finished, everyone dug in and she hopped up to pull a pan of fresh-baked cornbread from the oven.
“Hank and I will be doing handyman work.” Martin speared two pork chops and laid them on his plate. The clatter of utensils and eating filled the room, but no one spoke as they waited to hear every word he said.
“What kind of handyman work?” David asked as he spread golden butter across a hot piece of cornbread.
Martin sliced off a piece of meat and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for several moments before swallowing, then explained his tasks and asked his father’s advice on how to assemble the cabinets in Julia’s workroom. The conversation bounced around various topics but kept coming back to his new job.
“Julia’s nice, too. She’s real schee.” Hank spoke with his mouth full of cooked carrots.
David’s bushy eyebrows shot up and he looked at Martin. “Julia?”
“Ja, Julia Rose. She’s my new boss,” Martin said. “She lives with her mudder in that old building Walter Rose owned. Apparently, Julia was his granddaughter. It seems that old Walt died a couple months back and left the place to her. She’s renovating it so she can sell handmade soap.”
“Soap?” David said the word abruptly, like it didn’t make sense.
Martin shrugged and took a long drink of fresh milk. “Ja, she sells it to stores across the nation.”
“Humph, I guess the Englisch don’t make their own so they have to buy it somewhere,” David said. “But I thought you’d be working for a man. How old is this Julia?”
Martin took a deep breath, trying to answer truthfully while not alarming his father. After all, it wasn’t seemly that an unmarried Amish man should be working for a young, attractive Englisch woman. “She’s twenty-three but she stays in the house most of the time while Hank and I work outside. The job is only for six or seven weeks, so it’ll be over with soon enough.”
His father’s gaze narrowed and rested on him like a ten-ton sledge. Martin felt as though the man were looking deep inside of him for the truth. Linda also paused in front of the counter where she was slicing big wedges of cherry pie. She didn’t say anything, waiting for her husband’s verdict on this turn of events, but Martin could tell from her expression that she was worried.
“Ach, I guess you’ve got Hank with you all the time, so you’re not alone with this woman,” David finally said. “And once it’s done, you’ll have enough money to build your barn in the spring. But don’t forget who you are and what Gott expects from you, sohn. Always remember your faith.”
“I will,” Martin assured him.
“But she’s Englisch. Are you sure this is wise?” Linda asked, her brow furrowed in a deep frown.
“Mamm, don’t worry,” Martin reassured her with a short laugh. “I’m a grown man and know how to handle myself. Besides, it’s only for a short time. It isn’t as if I’m going to fall in love and leave our faith or something crazy like that, so rest your fears.”
“And besides, Julia’s gonna be my maedel, not Mar-tin’s,” Hank said.
David and Linda shared a look of concern, to which Martin quickly explained the boy’s desire for Julia to be his girl. “I’ve already told Hank that Julia isn’t Amish and she’s too old for him anyway.”
Without missing a beat, Martin’s sister Emily handed him a bowl of boiled potatoes. Martin forked several onto his plate. The whole familye knew the drill, having discussed issues like this a zillion times before.
“Why does it matter if Julia isn’t Amish?” Hank asked with a frown.
Linda shook her head and shooed Hank’s question away with her hand. “She’s not of our faith. She’s not one of us.” Handing plates of pie to Emily to pass around the table, she leaned against the counter and faced Martin again. “So, tell us something about this woman boss of yours.”
Taking a bite of buttered potato, Martin kept his voice slow and even, trying not to say anything that might overly alarm his mother. “She and her mudder live a simple life like us. They don’t wear makeup or fancy clothes. Nor do they own a car or use electricity. Julia has even asked me a couple of questions about our faith. And she’s devoted to her mudder, who is sickly.”
Linda winced with sympathy. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She has lupus. Julia’s father recently died of cancer. Julia’s been earning a living for them and taking care of her parents. From what I can see, she’s a gut, hardworking woman.”
“But she’s not Amish,” David said, his bushy eyebrows raised in a stern look that allowed for no more discussion on the matter.
Linda stepped near and rested a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Ach, you’ll be careful not to be drawn in by her, won’t you, sohn? I couldn’t bear to lose you. You’ll remember what your vadder and I have taught you and stay true to your faith.”
He met his mother’s eyes, his convictions filling his heart. He could never stand to hurt her by chasing after an Englisch woman. “You don’t need to worry about me, Mamm. I will only marry someone of our faith. This I vow.”
“Gut. It’s too bad you can’t convert Julia to our faith.” Linda showed a smile of relief and finally sat down to eat her own supper. The conversation turned to what the younger children were learning in school.
Martin ate his meal, listening to the chatter around him. He’d done his best to alleviate his parents’ concerns but knew they were worried. And he agreed that it was too bad Julia wasn’t Amish. If she were, his parents would have no reservations about him working with her.
As he carried his dishes over to the sink for washing, he listened to Hank’s incessant chatter and a feeling of expectancy built within his chest. He couldn’t wait to return to work in the morning and be near Julia again. And though he refused to consider the options, he knew deep inside that it had little to do with the money he would earn and more to do with his pretty employer.
But he meant what he’d said. He would marry an Amish woman or not at all.
Chapter Three
The following morning, Julia glanced at the clock she’d hung on the wall in her spacious workroom. She blinked, hardly able to believe it was barely five o’clock. She’d been up for two hours already. Like many mornings, she couldn’t sleep, so she’d started work early.
After she completed several tasks, faint sunlight filtered through the dingy windows, highlighting the bare wooden floors with streamers of dust. She really must wash the windows today, before she painted the walls. That should brighten things up quite a bit. With the delays from yesterday, she feared Martin might not have time for everything needing to be done. Careful not to let Mom work too hard, Julia had helped her clear most of the boxes and junk out of the room, stacking them in the backyard. Above all, her priority was to get the soap room operational. But a hole in the roof could create worse problems down the road.
Squinting her eyes, she worked by kerosene light. She’d acquired an old stainless ste
el sink from the discount store in town and wanted it ready once Martin built the cabinets she required. Using a mild cleanser, she scrubbed at a particularly grimy spot. The sink’s two spacious tubs would accommodate the big pots she used for soap making.
Martin would be here in a few hours to finish the porch. Then he’d check the condition of the roof. After that, she wanted him to—
Tap-tap-tap.
She looked up, thinking the sound came from above. Had Mom awakened early and was doing something inside their apartment? She caught the deep timbre of a man’s voice coming from outside but wasn’t sure. It came again, followed by Hank’s unique accent. She glanced at the wall clock and discovered it was almost eight. Ah, her handymen were already here and the sun was barely up.
“Be careful with that paint, Hank. You don’t want to spill any.” Martin’s muffled voice reached her ears.
Sitting back, Julia set aside the soft sponge. In her warm slippers, she padded over to the window and peered out.
Martin and Hank stood side by side in front of the porch as they perused their handiwork. Each of them held a brush that gleamed with white paint. Martin also clutched the handle of a paint bucket. No doubt they’d been trimming the porch and front of the building. A feeling of elation swept over Julia. She couldn’t wait for it all to be finished.
Martin had rolled the long sleeves of his shirt up his muscular arms. A smear of white paint marred his angular chin. Hank also wore several smatters of paint on his forearms and clothes. In the early morning sunlight, Julia caught the gleam of bright trim on the post nearest to the window but couldn’t see the rest of the porch from this angle. And all that work had been done while she was cleaning the new sink.
Hmm. Dallin had never worked this hard. He’d rather laze around and borrow money from Julia, which he never paid back. Maybe it was a blessing she hadn’t married him after all.
Walking over to the front door, she flipped the dead bolt, turned the knob and stepped out onto the porch. In that short amount of time, Martin had climbed to the top of the rickety ladder leading up to the roof. Hank held the ladder steady from below. Busy with their labors, they hadn’t noticed her yet. She watched as Martin dipped his brush into a bucket of paint he’d set on the pail shelf, then touched up a spot high on the side of the awning. As he concentrated on his work, he pressed the tip of his tongue against his upper lip.
The ladder trembled.
“Hold it steady, Hank. Just a few more spots and we’ll be finished. Then we can start on the roof.” Martin spoke without looking down.
Fearing she might break his concentration, Julia didn’t say anything. A tabby cat crossing the road caught Hank’s attention. Julia knew the animal was named Tigger and belonged to Essie Walkins, the elderly widow who lived two houses down. Tail high in the air, the feline picked its way across the abandoned street. No doubt it was hoping to cajole Julia out of a bowl of milk. She’d fed the cat many times, much to her mother’s chagrin. Sharon didn’t like strays.
Seeing the feline, Hank abandoned his post and hurried toward Tigger. Without the boy’s weight to hold the ladder steady, it shuddered uncontrollably.
Julia gasped as Martin grabbed on to the gutter to keep from falling. She rushed over and gripped the sides of the ladder, staring up at him with widened eyes. The ladder stabilized but too late. The bucket of paint plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud. Julia scrunched her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t get hit in the head by the falling object. Spatters of white struck the outer wall of the building, the mass of paint pooling in the middle of the wooden porch.
“Oh, no!” Julia breathed in exasperation.
Martin stared down at her with absolute shock. Likewise, Julia was so stunned that she was held immobile for several seconds. Then, Martin hurried down the ladder, his angular face torn by an expression of dread.
“Ach, Julia! Are you all right? The bucket didn’t hit you, did it?” He rested a gentle hand on her arm, his dark eyes filled with concern as he searched her expression.
She shook her head. “No, it missed me. I’m fine.”
Satisfied she was okay, Martin stepped away. She could still feel the warmth of his strong fingers tingling against her skin. As he perused the mess, his lips tightened. Then, his gaze sought out his recalcitrant brother.
Hank stood in the middle of the vacant street, clutching the tabby cat close against his chest as he stroked the animal’s furry head. Tigger looked completely content as the boy walked over to them, smiling wide with satisfaction.
“Ach, look at this bussli. Isn’t she beautiful? I saved her from being hit by a car,” the boy crowed, his eyes sparkling.
“Him,” Julia corrected. “The cat’s name is Tigger and he’s a boy.”
Hank’s expression lit up with sheer pleasure. “Ach, Tigger. What a fine name.”
“Hank, there are no cars coming at this time of the morning. You were supposed to be holding the ladder for me, not chasing after die katz.” Martin’s voice held a note of reproach but was otherwise calm. He wore a slight frown, doing an admirable job of controlling his temper. In that moment, Julia respected Martin even more.
“I know, but I saw Tigger and didn’t want him to get hit by a kaer,” Hank said.
Julia glanced at the empty street. Since it was so early, there wasn’t a single car, truck or person in sight. But being an agricultural community, Julia knew that would soon change as farmers came into town early to transact their business. Since Tigger freely roamed the streets at all hours of the day, she wasn’t too worried he’d be struck by a car.
“You know how fast motor vehicles go,” Hank continued. “Remember what happened to Jeremiah Beiler last year when an Englischer’s car hit his buggy-wagon and broke his leg? It nearly kilt him and his dechder.”
“Killed, not kilt,” Martin corrected the boy.
“His deck-der?” Julia asked, confused by some of their foreign words.
“Daughters,” Martin supplied. “They were riding with him in the buggy when the car struck them from behind.”
“Oh,” Julia said.
“Ach, I couldn’t let this sweet kitty get hurt.” Hank nuzzled Tigger’s warm fur, completely oblivious that his efforts to protect the cat had endangered his brother’s life and created a big mess that would now have to be cleaned up.
Meeting Martin’s frustrated expression, Julia showed an understanding smile. “It’s okay. No harm was done. We’ll just tidy it up.”
Martin rested his hands on his lean hips and gazed at the splattered paint with resignation. He certainly wasn’t a man who angered easily. That was another difference between him and Dallin. Julia’s ex-fiancé had raised his voice at her numerous times while kicking things and slamming doors. She hadn’t liked it one bit. In retrospect, she was so grateful he was out of her life. But who would she marry now? Would there ever be a kind, hardworking man for her to love? She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to trust another man.
“How exactly do we clean up the paint?” she asked, wondering if a thinner from the hardware store might remove the white stain from the wood.
“You don’t need to do a thing. I’ll get this straightened out as fast as I can and reimburse you for the waste,” Martin promised.
Again, she was impressed by his integrity. “There’s no need for reimbursement. The porch is all but finished and it doesn’t look like we lost much paint. In fact, everything looks great, except for the spill. Let me help you clean it up.” She reached for a bucket of rags sitting near the front door, grateful when Martin didn’t refuse her aid.
While Hank snuggled the cat, they shoveled the drying pool of paint into a heavy-duty plastic bag and set it in the waste bin to be disposed of later. Julia held the dustpan for Martin, wondering how they would get the streaks of white off the wooden porch. Since Martin was so good at his job, she decided to let him hand
le the problem.
“You’re up early,” Martin spoke as they worked.
Julia smiled. “I was thinking the same about you. There’s no need for you and Hank to come to work so early.”
He shrugged. “We’re always up early. I usually milk the cows and feed the horses before the sun rises. I had my chores at home finished and decided to get an early start here. I’m determined to repair your roof by the end of the day, although I didn’t expect this added chore.”
He chuckled and Julia stared. She thought the Amish were a very stern, serious people. She had no idea they laughed and was glad he found the situation amusing. After all, her mother had taught her there was no use crying over spilled milk. It was better to just clean it up and move on. It seemed that Martin was of the same inclination.
She laughed, too, suddenly so grateful he was here. Since her broken engagement and her father’s death, she’d felt so alone in the world. It was nice to have someone capable to depend on.
“Well, accidents are bound to happen now and then,” she said.
“You’re very understanding.”
He stood to his full height and she gazed up into his eyes. With the early morning sunlight gleaming at his back, it highlighted his red hair and seemed to accent the shadows of his handsome face. She was caught there, mesmerized for several moments. Then, she mentally shook herself. After all, Martin was Amish and she wasn’t. They could never be more than friends. It was that simple.
“How will we clean the wood siding?” she asked, forcing herself to look away.
“I believe I have some sand paper in my toolbox. If I’m careful, I can take off just the bare layer of paint without damaging the wood and no one will know it was ever there.” He indicated the box sitting nearby.