by Sarah Price
Myrna glanced around, taking in the muddy dirt road and the chipped paint on the porch railings. She wasn’t impressed. Everywhere she looked she saw the lack of upkeep of the property. The cow paddocks were in desperate need of dragging—even she could see that!—and there was a pile of rubbish behind the chicken coop. To make matters worse, she noticed that the wheel for the clothesline was broken. How on earth had his sister been able to set the clothing to dry with a broken clothesline?
“Surely he remembered,” her mother mumbled, a panicked expression upon her face. “But no one seems to be home.”
Myrna didn’t wait for her mother to say anything else. “Oh, Maem! You just didn’t knock loud enough!” Impatiently, Myrna stepped forward and pounded on the door with a closed fist.
Within seconds, it swung open, and Myrna heard the hinge squeak. She couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, this man did all day long. Rubbish in the yard. Manure piling up in the paddock. And a hinge that squeaked louder than any mouse she’d ever heard.
She was still contemplating this, her eyes staring at the rusty door hinge, when she heard the man speak.
“No need to knock so hard,” he said, his voice quiet despite the reprimand. “Give a man a chance to answer the door,” he added calmly.
Myrna was about to respond, irritated by his curt greeting, but as she raised her eyes to stare at his face, she caught her breath. This man was no stranger to her. “It’s you!”
He narrowed his eyes and stared back at her. “Hm.” That same noise, so guttural and noncommittal. She remembered it from their meeting at the store.
Myrna could sense her mother look first at Ezekiel and then at her, as if trying to make sense of the exchange between them. “You know each other?”
“We’ve met—”
“—We’ve never met.”
His denial stopped Myrna midsentence. Had he forgotten? “Ja, we did,” Myrna corrected. “At my daed’s store the Saturday before last. Don’t you remember?”
He seemed to consider this. “Hm.” That noise again.
“The hardware store?” she said, drawing out the word “hardware.”
Something softened in his expression as he stared at her with renewed interest, as if he’d found the memory tucked away in the recesses of his mind. “Ja, I reckon I do.” He tilted his head and studied her, the intensity of his gaze catching Myrna off guard. “So, you’re the maedel willing to help with my kinner—”
“Until you find someone more permanent,” Myrna added quickly.
His eyes traveled up and down Myrna. “You look too young to tend to small kinner,” he said, raising an eyebrow and meeting her gaze.
She bristled at his remark. “I can assure you that I’m not.”
“Hm.”
“Besides, as I said, I’m just helping out. Temporarily.” She stressed the word. “It’s my Christian duty.” She stood her ground, her hands on her hips and a dark expression of determination on her face. She didn’t want him to think she was one of those women who swooped in to rescue a recently widowed man, taking on the role of wife and mother, being pushed around and treated poorly like unpaid help.
Well, she corrected herself, at least she was getting paid.
Ezekiel’s eyes shifted away from her. “Temporary or permanent makes no difference to me. A man’s got to work to feed his family, and I can’t do that with four little ones underfoot.” He took a step backward and paused before he nodded, an indication that they should step inside.
Myrna entered first, walking past him as he moved to the side. Her shoulder brushed against his, and for a second, she caught his gaze, noticing a surprised look on his face. “Sorry,” she mumbled, which only made her feel more uncomfortable. Her cheeks felt warm, and she bent her head, hurrying past him and into the kitchen.
Standing in the middle of the small space, Myrna waited for her eyes to adjust to the poor lighting. The kitchen was dark, with only one dirty kerosene lantern lit, which cast a soft glow on the kitchen table. She looked around, seeing pots and pans on the counter and dirty dishes piled in the sink and on the counters. There were two small boys sitting on a bench in the far corner, their faces pale and their eyes wide as they stared up at Myrna.
“This kitchen is a mess,” she announced, turning around to face Ezekiel.
He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. But his expression remained relaxed. “Got too much to do outside to spend time washing dishes.”
“I thought your schwester was helping you.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Myrna couldn’t quite place what she saw in his expression. Was it remorse? Mourning? Or, perhaps, simply unhappiness? “My fraa’s schwester, not my own,” he corrected.
Myrna was about to speak, but her mother nudged her. Clearly, Verna or her mother was signaling her to say no more.
The man reached up and scratched at his chin. “She didn’t come today. Too busy getting ready for the move to her new haus. Reckon she has a lot to do before she leaves.”
Myrna chewed on her lower lip, her eyes scanning the room again. Nothing looked clean, that was for sure and certain. Clearly his sister-in-law was more focused on organizing her own life than his.
“But she’s still helping you this week?”
He shook his head, a blank look in his eyes. “Reckon so.” With that, he offered no more on the subject, and Myrna knew better than to inquire further. Asking additional questions would surely be prying into a private matter of which he clearly did not wish to speak. But Myrna couldn’t help wondering why the women of the community hadn’t stepped forward to assist him until he found another solution.
Something was definitely amiss.
Clearly Verna thought so, too, for she cleared her throat. “Reckon you wouldn’t mind if I washed those dishes while we talk about how Myrna can help you?”
“Temporarily,” Myrna was quick to add, not missing the opportunity to remind her mother that she had only agreed to work for him until he hired a permanent caregiver.
“Hm.” There it was again, that short, throaty noise.
Myrna looked over at him and could see his eyes had narrowed. He stood in the doorway, watching them as they began to gather the dirty dishes.
Myrna helped her mother, all the while feeling his eyes flicker between the two women as they worked. She dried the dishes while her mother washed, the two boys quietly remaining on the bench. Myrna was relieved to see how well behaved they were but couldn’t help feeling concerned for them. Shouldn’t they be outside playing on this beautiful day instead of cooped up in the dark kitchen? She decided she would have to take charge of their activities, as it seemed their father was willing to let them remain idle indoors all day.
At least the sound of the running water made the house feel homier, and keeping her hands busy helped her relax so she could reflect on what needed to be done.
“Exactly what sort of help do you need?” Myrna asked, deciding that it was a good idea to see what Ezekiel’s expectations were before she took control of the children and household.
He didn’t answer right away, and Myrna glanced over her shoulder at him. When he caught her gaze, she felt a jolt run through her, noticing how his dark eyes had specks of gold in them which seemed to glow in the darkness. She quickly looked away.
“Well, caring for the kinner, to start. Hard to work the farm with little ones about, although David sometimes helps me.” He paused to look over at the bench. “He’s eight.”
“And your schwester?”
“Katie Ruth’s schwester,” he corrected again, his tone flat. “She’s moving to Middlebury.”
Myrna already knew that from what her mother had told her.
“And housework, I suppose,” he added.
“Well, that’s to be expected.”
“Hm.” Once again, that short, guttural noise.
“What about gardening?” Verna asked. “Myrna’s quite handy in the garden.”
&n
bsp; As Myrna listened, she noticed Ezekiel tugging at his beard. “Oh, that. Ja, if she’d like. We haven’t had a garden for quite some time.”
Myrna frowned. How could that be possible? From what she knew, his wife had been sick for only a short period of time. And she’d only passed the previous summer. Surely Katie Ruth had gardened before she fell ill. Providing fresh vegetables for the family was something that every Amish woman did. Well, most did, anyway. Had Katie Ruth been one of those rare Amish women who didn’t tend to a garden?
It was a question Myrna didn’t ask but wondered about nonetheless. Instead, she changed the subject and asked, “Where’s the boppli now?”
“Napping. Just put her down so I could get the two older boys ready for schule,” he offered while glancing at the bench again.
School. Ah, Myrna thought. That solved half of the problem. Two in school meant she wouldn’t have to worry about them during the day. That would be helpful, and since she didn’t plan on staying through the summer, she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping them entertained during the long summer months. Myrna’s spirits lifted even further. So far, this job wasn’t sounding like much work at all.
“And the fourth one?”
He motioned with his head toward the back of the gathering room. Myrna followed his gesture with her eyes and saw a door. Most likely the master bedroom, which, in the older farmhouses, was typically on the first floor. “Naps on a cot in the mornings along with his little sister.”
“Two good sleepers?” Myrna asked hopefully.
“Sometimes they are.”
There was something ominous about the way he said that, but there were more pressing things on her mind, and she didn’t dwell on it further.
“So what, exactly will you need me to do in the house, Ezekiel?”
“Whatever women do in a home, I reckon.” His eyes scanned the room. “Clean. Wash. Organize.”
Organize? Myrna perked up. She liked organizing more than anything. There was no greater satisfaction than finding the proper place for all things. If a home wasn’t organized, then it would never run efficiently, and from the looks of things, she knew the first week would be spent getting things in order.
“Like your maem said, gardening would be helpful,” he added. “Canning.” His eyes met hers once again. “Mayhaps helping with haying and baling.”
“Well, I guess I can do all those things,” Myrna said, feeling a bit overwhelmed. It would be difficult enough to mind the children and do the household chores as it was, but helping in the barn as well seemed a bit much for one person to handle. She wondered if her mother had known she would be expected to pitch in with the farmwork as well.
“Hm.”
She frowned. What, exactly, did that noise mean?
Beside her at the sink, Verna looked over her shoulder. “Six days a week, then?”
Ezekiel shrugged noncommittally. “Would be gut, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Frowning, Myrna wondered at his statement. He had just rattled off a litany of chores, yet now he seemed unsure of her willingness to help him. With the lack of community support, she began to wonder if there was more to this man and his situation than met the eye. “How much is the pay?”
He blinked.
“You know, the wage for helping you?”
“Ah.” A frown creased his forehead. “I hadn’t thought that far,” he admitted.
Before Myrna could speak up, Verna stepped forward. “Two hundred a week. Does that sound fair?”
Two hundred? Her mouth almost dropped open. Myrna knew better than to counter her mother in front of Ezekiel. To do so would risk him thinking she was difficult and, perhaps, she would lose the job. But two hundred dollars a week was far less than she’d have earned elsewhere. Why! She’d been earning almost ten dollars an hour at the grocery store!
But Ezekiel nodded a silent agreement to the suggested rate. There was nothing Myrna could say now. Inwardly, she sighed. Hopefully, at least, he would appreciate her efforts, unlike the others, who thought her too outspoken and opinionated!
“When should I start, then?”
He gave her a blank stare.
“All righty, then.” She pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose. His communication skills surely needed improvement. “Monday it is.”
Verna shut off the water and shook her hands dry. “You can bicycle over after breakfast and mayhaps Daed can fetch you when he leaves to come home around four thirty.”
Her mother looked at Ezekiel and was about to say something else when they were interrupted by a wail from the room near the kitchen.
“Oh!” Verna tilted her head. “Is that the baby, then?”
He nodded. “Light sleeper,” he said. “Always crying, that one. At least as of late.”
“May I?” Verna didn’t wait for a response before she headed toward the door at the back of the room, which led to the master bedroom.
Myrna frowned as her mother disappeared into the dark room. Left alone with Ezekiel, she felt uncomfortable. He watched her with a curious gaze. She couldn’t help but wonder why he had said they hadn’t met before. Well, she thought, in truth they hadn’t really met. It wasn’t as if her father had introduced her to Ezekiel that Saturday when he had stopped by the store.
A few seconds passed, and the baby stopped crying. Surely her mother was soothing the little one. Myrna took advantage of the newfound silence to scan the room once again, her eyes taking in the tattered sofa in the gathering room just off the kitchen and the dusty floorboards. The windows had fingerprints on them, and the calendar that hung on the wall was two months behind. What, exactly, had his sister-in-law done while helping the family?
Feeling his eyes on the back of her neck, she realized that Ezekiel was still watching her. The burning sensation caused her to turn and face him. It struck her that he hadn’t moved from where he’d first stood; like a statue, he had remained rooted in place, offering little in the way of guidance.
For a moment she wondered if he didn’t like her. Plain and simple. Perhaps he was aloof because he didn’t care about her willingness to help. Just as he didn’t seem to care about the state of his home or the care of his children. But then she remembered what her mother had said the other day. Something about having compassion for the man’s loss.
That’s when Myrna felt her heart swell, every vein in her body burning with sympathy. Surely, he was still mourning the loss of his wife. Why, from what she had heard, eight months had passed and he still hadn’t stepped out to find a new wife. And from the looks of things, he was clearly not interested in doing so anytime soon.
Was it possible that he didn’t plan on marrying again? Had he loved his wife so much that the thought of replacing her was too much to bear?
Oh, she had known many people who had mourned the unexpected passing of a spouse or child. But the Amish way was to focus on the living. After a funeral and burial, people moved on rather quickly. To openly grieve was, in a way, to question whether or not those who had passed were indeed in a better place. For the Amish, grief was locked away and life continued as usual.
Perhaps Ezekiel was one of those men who couldn’t let go of the past.
Still, while she felt sorry for the Riehl family’s loss, she knew that her sympathy was not what they needed. And she didn’t give a hoot or holler if Ezekiel didn’t care for her. All she needed was to bide her time until she could find a right proper job, and this time she’d learn to still her tongue and keep her opinions to herself.
“Best go see what Maem’s doing,” she muttered at last and hurried to the doorway where her mother had disappeared.
Inside the dark room, Myrna took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. There was a cot on the floor where a young boy slept. He was not more than two years old by her best guess, with a thin sheet carelessly draped over his tiny body. The crib sat against the wall near the doorway, and she easily saw the silhouette of her mother holding a baby in her arms.
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“Oh, look at this sweet angel,” Verna whispered so as not to wake the boy up. She leaned down and brushed her lips against the infant’s forehead. “How long has it been since I’ve held such innocence?” Carefully, she resettled the baby against her shoulder and rubbed her back.
Myrna stepped forward and stared at the little face pressed against her mother. In the soft light, Myrna could see the cherubic cheeks and pursed lips as the baby’s eyes fluttered shut. All it had wanted was to be held. Soft arms and a kind voice had lulled the baby back to sleep.
Suddenly, Myrna felt a wave of panic.
Who was she fooling? She knew nothing about caring for small children, and certainly not for a tiny baby. That child wasn’t even one year old yet! And she was going to take on the responsibility—albeit temporarily—of running this household for a man whose heart was still filled with grief?
In that instant, Myrna knew she was not cut out for this responsibility.
“I . . . I can’t do this, Maem!” Myrna insisted, her voice a hoarse whisper and filled with more than a hint of desperation.
Verna shifted the baby in her arms and turned to face Myrna. There was something in her mother’s eyes that took her aback, a look of determination and purpose. “You can, Myrna, and you will. It’s high time you gave of yourself a bit more,” Verna whispered back. “This Riehl family needs someone.” She tilted her head so that she was no longer looking at the baby but at her daughter. “And I have a suspicion that someone is you.”
The adamant tone in her mother’s voice told Myrna that now was not the time to argue. When her mother had that look in her eye and tone in her voice, there was simply no reasoning with her. Instead, Myrna knew she’d have to bite her tongue and help the Riehls for a week before broaching the subject again.
Maybe then she could convince her mother that this crazy plan had been a mistake.
* * *
For the rest of the week, Myrna worked at her father’s hardware store in the late mornings and early afternoons when it was busiest. Her mother had managed to convince her father to cut back her hours. At least avoiding the early mornings and late afternoons meant that the storeroom wasn’t as cold or dark.