It would mean extra laundry, but he changed his trousers, too. He should have seen if the children’s clothing was passable after their day at school, but he hadn’t thought about it at the time. Every second with their Natalie was precious to them, and he didn’t see the point in calling them home only to change clothes.
Let them enjoy time with her; time which likely wouldn’t come again. As far as tonight went for him, he would try to keep an open mind.
When Jacob crossed the yard, he found the other men engaged in talk about Ephraim’s newest horse, ready for training to the buggy.
“Here’s Jacob, at last,” said Ephraim as he approached. “He’s still getting used to holding the reins of a buggy once again, aren’t you, my brother?”
He nodded. “Biscuit has only tried to run off once, though.”
“Saw the car in front of your house,” said Mr. Troyer. “Englisch friends? Or Mennonite?”
“Englisch friend, from near Pinecraft, in Florida, who was visiting family near Millersburg.”
“Ah, not far from where we used to live.” Mr. Troyer nodded. “Who is her family?”
“The name’s Yoder, I don’t recall her grandparents’ first names,” Jacob replied. He’d wanted to keep conversation from drifting toward Natalie, and hadn’t thought about the car parked in front of his house.
“Supper’s ready,” called Katie from the back door steps.
“Smells mighty good, Ephraim,” Mr. Troyer said as they flocked like a line of birds toward the house.
“I think she cooked a roast for the main dish. I’m sure it will melt in our mouths.” Ephraim nodded at Jacob.
They were greeted by the swarm of Ephraim’s children, along with jubilant faces of Zeke and Rebecca, who sat on either side of Natalie.
“Daed, look!” Zeke beamed, and patted Natalie’s shoulder. “She came to see us, all the way from Florida.”
“I know; she came while you were at school today.”
“I want her to stay with us,” said Rebecca.
Good thing he hadn’t started to eat the meal spread on the long table that ran the length of the kitchen. He’d have choked on the bite.
“Oh, I was planning to drive into Sugarcreek and rent a room,” said Natalie.
“You can have the girls’ room here,” said Katie. “They can pile in with their brother on the floor for one night. No need to go to the expense of a room.”
“All right then.” Natalie glanced at one child on each side of her. “I’ll stay the night and head out first thing in the morning.”
After they’d settled into their seats under Katie’s direction, and after Ephraim asked the blessing, introductions were made all around the table.
Jacob didn’t miss the similarities between Anne and Natalie, the same tone of dark brown hair, the same slim, yet strong build, the determined chin, and brown eyes that laughed when either woman spoke. Natalie’s face held a little more maturity than Anne’s rounded cheeks of youth. She glanced his way as she took a bite of mashed potatoes.
He had yet to address her again since talking to her about her locked car. Two seats away from Natalie sat Anne, who kept glancing from her plate to Jacob.
“So, Anne, have you enjoyed any time with the other young people in our district?” Jacob heard Katie ask.
“Yes, Mrs. Miller, I have. They are a good group, always something happening.” Her brown-eye focus shifted to Jacob. “However, sometimes they seem rather childish to me.”
“Anne Troyer,” her mother said.
“I think of myself as a grownup. I might only be nineteen, but I feel that I’m ready to assume more adult responsibilities. I was thinking of becoming a teacher. I love children.”
The hint wasn’t lost on Jacob. She was letting him know in front of everyone she didn’t mind their age difference, that she was ready to marry and head into adult life, and she was more than willing to take over the role of mother, should he choose her.
Or maybe he was assuming. No, he wasn’t. She smiled at him when no one seemed to be watching, while her younger brother was speaking of an escapade with some frogs at the creek.
After the meal, the ladies began clearing the dishes, with the Troyer women helping despite Katie’s protests. She didn’t protest about Natalie helping, Jacob noticed.
“There’s still enough daylight left to play some corn hole,” Ephraim said, after they’d seen to the animals.
“We can stay for that.” Mr. Troyer looked at Jacob. “So how’s your throwing arm? We could be on a team, with Anne’s brother making a team with your brother.”
Anne’s brother. Not calling the young man Eli, but Anne’s brother. Yes, he realized Anne was here tonight. Jacob didn’t want to keep reading more from people’s words than was there, but he couldn’t help it. His shirt collar constricted around his neck. He tugged to rid himself of the sensation.
“So, you work at the cabinet shop?” Mr. Troyer asked as they stood beside the corn hole box.
Jacob squeezed the beanbag, trying to gauge the distance from the hole and how hard to throw. “Yes.” He threw. The bag flew to the opposite end of the yard where Ephraim and Eli stood beside their box.
His beanbag hit the wooden surface and slid toward the hole. It stopped mere inches from the hole. Jacob grunted, then let Mr. Troyer take his turn.
“So what’s your job there?”
“Right now I’m a cutter. I cut out the pieces for each cabinet according to specifications. My old job, I was an assembler, putting them together. What I’d really like to do is work up to a quality control position.” The salary would be even better for him and the children. Part of him, though, missed working with Henry in Florida. It was hard work, but he realized he liked not having to punch a time card. But that was there, and not here.
“It sounds like you have some fine plans, there.” Mr. Troyer frowned when his own beanbag didn’t even reach the corn hole box.
“Gotte willing, it will work out. What about you?”
“Besides working the farm, I build yard furniture from logs. Chairs for the porch, swings, benches,” he said. “You should come see it sometime. I’d like a fellow craftsman’s opinion on my work.”
“I’d be glad to.” Again, that tightening around the neck feeling.
“Anne will make her specialty, chicken potpie.”
He didn’t recall agreeing to come to supper.
He hoped they’d end the game before his supply of air ran out.
27
Natalie missed Florida, but on her last night in Ohio, she realized she’d miss the quiet here, too. She turned down the covers of the bed, and listened to the giggles in the hallway of the children settling in for bed.
“Time to be tucked in,” she heard Ephraim say. “Now, I want no complaining when you wake up in the morning.”
A chorus of no’s was the response as they pounded down the stairs. Zeke and Rebecca had begged to stay with a solemn promise they, too, would behave and not complain. For the entire evening, they’d stuck to Natalie and she hadn’t minded in the least.
Come morning, they’d say goodbye once again, but this time it would be with promises to see each other in the winter. Upon saying goodnight, Rebecca had frowned.
“It’s a long, long time until winter,” she’d said.
“You’ll be busy with school and your garden and your friends.” Natalie tried to sound bright and happy. “The time will pass quickly, believe me.”
The little girl had looked doubtful.
Earlier in the evening, Natalie hadn’t missed the matchmaking nudges from the Troyers to Anne and Jacob. They barely knew him; how could they possibly know he was a good match for their daughter? Of course, the first time she’d seen him, he’d had an effect on her as well, one she hadn’t expected or looked for. She’d literally been minding her own business.
She turned out the lamp and once again looked out across a darkened yard at another house, just as she had the night before at her gr
andmother’s home. He hadn’t said good evening, or good-bye to her, either. But what should she expect? He’d made it clear before he left Florida it was her fault. She was the temptress, luring him away from his beliefs and causing him to compromise. She’d never felt that way—well, maybe after the circus performance, which she’d looked at through different eyes since.
Her cell phone warbled, a Florida area code and number seemed familiar but wasn’t in her contact list.
“Hello?”
“Natalie, this is Jacob Miller.” His voice sounded different over the phone.
She sat bolt upright and looked out the window. “You’re calling me. On the phone.”
“Yes. I had your number in my phone.”
“You still have your cell phone? Won’t you get in trouble for having it here?”
“I kept it. I just don’t show it around to people.” The words were tight.
He certainly wasn’t used to talking on the phone. It made her smile. “You do know we’re right across the yard from each other?”
“Yes, but it’s nighttime. I couldn’t come across to tell you goodnight without . . . without . . . people talking.”
She chuckled. It was as if they were a couple of teenagers. At least he wasn’t texting her.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I just never expected my phone to ring and for it to be you.” There was so much she wanted to tell him, to ask him, but it wasn’t right for a phone call, and probably wouldn’t work in a face-to-face conversation. She’d opened her heart to him in Florida, and he’d laid it splintered on the sand and walked away.
“I’m not planning to tell anyone around here about the phone.”
“Okay, it’s probably a good idea.”
“I, er, so what do you think about Anne Troyer? Her father has invited me to their home for supper one night.”
“Oh, Jacob . . . why are you asking me this?” The chuckles had vanished, replaced by the pang of a sore heart.
“Because I don’t know what to do, and I know my family and Order will tell me exactly what to do, because they think they know what’s best for me.”
“It’s not fair, though, to ask me.” She swallowed hard. “My . . . my feelings haven’t changed. You’re asking me, the source of your temptation, for advice?” Ouch, she sounded harsh. But it was the truth.
“I—I saw tonight, you with the children. Maybe I was wrong about some things. I still count you as . . . a friend.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. But I can’t tell you what to do about Anne, or anything, or anyone else in your life. In the end, Jacob, we’re held responsible for our own choices. Not our friends, or our family, or our church. Their opinion and input can only help so much. Or not. We don’t answer to them; we answer to God.”
The line fell silent, and for a moment, she thought the call was lost.
“I can see you in the window.”
She nearly darted back away from the window, but realized she was dressed modestly enough in her button-down shirt and cotton pants. She looked again at the house across the yard. A dark shape was framed by a faint light in one of the upstairs windows.
“I can see you, too. Sort of.”
“You’re leaving in the morning.”
“Yes. I need to be on the road. I—I might have a job interview when I get back.”
“You’re leaving the circus school?”
“I applied for a traveling trainer position with the circus. I’d be in Sarasota during the winter, but gone the rest of the year.”
“But you love teaching. And your students love you.”
“I, well, it’s time for a change. I’m praying—God’s will be done. Who knows? Anyway, I might not get the job.” She wanted to tell him there wasn’t much left in Sarasota for her, about the gap created when they left, and she didn’t know how to fill it, nor did she know if she wanted to fill it with anyone or anything else.
“I see.”
“Well, tomorrow comes early. I should go now.” Why’d he call her? Now she knew sleep would try to elude her after she turned out the light.
“Good night, then. If I don’t see you in the morning, see you in the winter, maybe?”
“Maybe. Good night.” She ended the call and turned off the light.
The tree outside the window made shadows on the wall and ceiling as it moved in the breeze. Stillness fell over the house again, but Natalie imagined the children whispering to each other in the dark. The cousins seemed close. She thought of her own cousins, not so far away. She hadn’t had those times with them, but she intended to keep in touch via letters, or a rare phone call, now she knew her uncle had the restaurant.
She lay there, thinking about her brief conversation with Jacob. On the phone, of all things. He had to feel something for her, to call her and talk as he did. But if he wasn’t 100 percent sure they should pursue a life together, then she wasn’t going to push, or ask.
“Lord, I don’t know what to do. Is this just a season of my life, ending? I feel as though a season was beginning, searching for my grandparents, getting to know the Millers, learning from the people in Pinecraft. But now, I’m not so sure.” She whispered the words in the dark. “Being with Jacob would mean big changes for me. Honestly, Lord, I’m not ready to be Amish. I—I can’t. I’m afraid I would start to resent not having conveniences, because I don’t think they’re evil and a distraction in themselves. He won’t change, and I can’t. Please, show me where to go and what to do.”
She lay there, listening to the silence, until her eyelids grew heavy.
A click of the door made her eyes open. Had she slept? It felt later. She checked her phone in the dim light. 3:05.
“Natalie,” came a small voice. Rebecca.
“What is it?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well, come on up for a few minutes.” She patted the bed beside her.
Rebecca padded on bare feet, with a hint of a limp, across the wooden floor. “I tried and tried to keep my eyes closed.”
“It happens to me sometimes, too.”
Rebecca piled onto the bed, pulling the covers off Natalie and tugging the blankets up to her own chin. “I like your night clothes. They’re pretty.” Natalie wore pink cotton pajamas, a shirt covered with tiny daisies, with pants to match. “The flowers look like flowers I see in the field on the way to school.”
“Thank you.”
“Sometimes I don’t like to be Plain. I like pretty things like that.”
“I understand. But your gown looks comfortable.”
“My mamm made it. She was a good sewer.”
“I heard she was good at a lot of things.” Natalie shifted from her side to a sitting position.
“Yes. She could sew and garden and cook. She could sing, too.” Rebecca yawned, and paused before continuing. “I don’t want Betsy Yoder, or that Anne Troyer, to be my new mamm.”
“Well, I know it’s up to your father to decide. I think you should pray he chooses the right person.” Natalie was waiting for the little girl to drop off again.
Rebecca remained quiet, then yawned once more. “I should pray for Gotte’s wille.”
“Yes, for God’s will. That would be best.”
“Sometimes I wonder . . .” Her voice drifted off. Another yawn.
“What’s that?”
“I wonder if Gotte minds us telling Him what we want to happen.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to tell Him what to do.” Natalie smiled at the idea.
“No, I mean, I tell my daed I’d like to make ice cream after supper, and sometimes he lets me. That’s what I mean.” Rebecca sighed. “I miss Big Olaf’s.”
“You’re right. I don’t think parents mind, or God minds, hearing us talk about what we want, as long as we have a right attitude about it.”
“Yes, a right, attitude.” Rebecca worked over the word, which made Natalie smile.
Another yawn came from Rebecca, which Natalie couldn
’t help but echo.
“Natalie?” Rebecca finally murmured.
“What is it?”
“If I am going to have another mamm, I’m going to tell God I’d pick you.”
Jacob looked at the phone on the chest of drawers as he paced the room. He shouldn’t have called her. No, he should have left the phone in Florida, with Mammi Rachel. She could use it if she needed it, although she probably wouldn’t.
He couldn’t help it, though. All evening long, he’d been keenly aware of Natalie. How could he not? Yes, Anne Troyer was a pretty young woman who seemed to have had a good upbringing, but she was no Natalie.
Then they’d all parted ways and he left without so much as a good night or good-bye to Natalie.
Letting the children stay at Ephraim and Katie’s on a school night had probably not been the best idea. They would probably laugh and play all evening, despite his brother and sister-in-law’s chiding to settle down and sleep. Tomorrow’s day would probably begin with a pile of young bear cubs, grouchy from lack of rest.
That, and tonight left him rattling around in the farmhouse like a solitary pea in a pod. His thoughts rattled in his mind as well.
Tomorrow, he reminded himself. Tomorrow morning Natalie would head off down the driveway and not be a regular part of their lives anymore. A friend, someone they knew in Florida.
What had surprised him most was her admission she was seeking another job, this one a traveling job. She was prepared to reenter the life of a nomad. He couldn’t imagine how people did that, sleeping every few nights in a different city, driving for days on end in a traveling show. The Pioneer Trails bus trip to Florida was plenty of travel for him.
He couldn’t imagine her, either, not teaching. He still recalled the faces of her students as they greeted her after that show. Even in his haze, at the height of his temptation at seeing her in pink froth, he’d recognized she was a good teacher.
And she’d be alone, still.
It’s your fault, too.
She’d begged him to figure out a way for them to be together, back in Florida, and he’d dismissed it without even trying. He closed his eyes, remembering the early evening on the nearly deserted beach, when he’d broken a dozen or more of his own rules by yielding to temptation, and let himself kiss Natalie.
A Season of Change Page 25