by Sarah Price
“Ja, that she is.” He glanced at Sylvia. “If she was willing to help the neighbor, Whitey’s granddaughter could work for Jacob Zook on those days. Whitey has some goods he could sell, too. Jacob is willing to share the stand with him.” He smiled at Sylvia and, to her surprise, added, “And I get the impression that Sylvia is more comfortable closer to home.”
With a deep breath, Katie nodded her head. “It wouldn’t hurt Sylvia to learn more about caring for the house, I suppose. And to help someone like a widower, ach vell…” There was a hesitation in her voice. “But an Englischer, Jonas?”
Jonas took a deep breath. “Can’t say I like that idea much, our girl working for a fancy man, but Whitey vouched for his character and, like you said, he is a widower.”
“Daed, when would I start?” Sylvia asked.
Jonas stood up to leave the table. The other two boys followed his lead. It was time for the evening milking. “Suppose I can take you over there in the next day or so to meet the widower, see what he needs, and make proper introductions. Now, it’s time for afternoon chores. You finish helping your Mamm, Sylvia, then come to the barn for the cows.” And with that, the conversation was over and the afternoon routine had begun.
Chapter Four
By the time that Jonas mentioned the widower again, it was Thursday. Sylvia had all but forgotten about this new arrangement. She had been busy helping her mother with the spring house cleaning and getting the laundry washed. Laundry was an all day affair in the Lapp household, especially if her sister-in-law, Lillian came over from the grossdaadihaus with the children’s dirty clothes. While Sylvia always thought that the fellowship was wunderbaar gut, she didn’t like that her arms ached and her fingers got puckered from wringing out the heavy, wet clothes in the machine, then hanging them outside on the clothesline.
But, on Thursday, at the noon meal, Jonas reminded her about the new arrangement. Since the man wanted Sylvia’s help on Fridays, Jonas had said, they should go over to meet him later that day.
Sylvia was surprised to find that she was experiencing mixed feelings. Part of her dreaded the meeting. She didn’t like meeting new people, especially older ones. She had never worked for a complete stranger, either. Yet, part of her was excited for something new and different. She knew that her mother was concerned with how often Sylvia tried to rush through house chores in order to help her father and brothers outdoors. That wasn’t a fine quality for an Amish wife. But Sylvia didn’t care.
Unlike some of her friends, she was not in a hurry to get married. She liked being at home and enjoyed helping her family. She didn’t look forward to the responsibility of caring for her own house and, hopefully, farm. At nineteen, she was becoming a concern for the family. She had not experienced her share of beaus yet, nor did she like to go to the singings on the weekend. Even when Steve tried to persuade her to go, Sylvia shook her head shyly and would disappear into the barn or fields.
She looked forward to when Steve finally made his own announcement with Emma Weaver. The family expected a fall wedding. It would be a happy time with the entire family coming together to celebrate with the community. Then Steve would move away with Emma. While he didn’t talk about it, Steve had hinted about buying a small 20-acre farm near brother Emanuel’s place. Farms were not easy to come by since they often were passed down through the family. Those that did come onto the market were often too expensive or too small to live off of the acreage. But, when a reasonable one came along, even if small, it didn’t usually take too long for some young Amish man to venture out on his own.
In this case, being near Emanuel and Shana would be an extra special blessing. Steve would help work his brother’s farm until he could expand his own. Sylvia had her own reasons to be extra happy: her father would really need her help on the farm when Steve left. There wouldn’t be any talk of going to Farmers Market or cleaning widowers’ houses then, she thought to herself. And, at least for a while, she wouldn’t have to worry about their unspoken concerns that she might remain a maedal and never get married. She knew it would happen in time but she wasn’t ready yet to think about such things and certainly not with any buwe that she had met.
The ride to the new neighbor’s farm was quiet. It was closer to walk through the fields since the road went up the hill before cutting left along the top of Daed’s farm. The fields along the road were all plowed with the hint of new growth in each row. Some of the growing crops were taller than others. She knew those would be the wheat fields. The horse and buggy sang across the macadam, with the wheels humming behind the rhythmic clip-clop, two beat, of the horse’s hooves. No one else was on the road. For the moment, it was theirs alone. Her father didn’t speak and Sylvia didn’t initiate any conversation. The silence was reflective and she shut her eyes, letting the gentle rolling of the buggy soothe her nerves.
Whenever she had to meet new people, her stomach was in a turmoil. Going to Farmers Market was starting to look like it wasn’t such a bad deal, she thought. At least she knew what to expect from the tourists. And to have to work in a stranger’s house? She began to wonder why she had agreed to this. Yet, she knew that the decision rested with her parents. Between the church and her parents, her freedom was limited. Arguing was never an option so, as usual, Sylvia accepted her fate and tried to be agreeable with the decisions that were made on her behalf.
When her father turned the horse into a narrow lane, Sylvia sighed. It wasn’t far from her father’s farm but it would take her a good fifteen minutes to walk there if she cut through the fields. She knew her father wouldn’t drive her during the week. He was too busy with other things. While she didn’t mind the walking, she did mind being left alone in the company of a stranger. She hoped he wasn’t too unorganized or critical. She knew plenty of older men that became cantankerous in their old age. While her supply of patience was rather plentiful, it was not endless.
The farm was larger than she thought. When her father had mentioned it, she envisioned one that sat on a few acres. He had called the widower a “gentleman farmer” so she was surprised to see rolling acres of green pastures and a large white barn. It was surrounded on two sides by trees, which separated the rear and far side of the farm from neighbors. She imagined there were a good thirty acres or more; small compared to her Daed’s place but certainly not a gentleman’s farm.
The house was small, an old farmhouse with a crooked porch. It was two stories and looked like a box. There was moss growing on the roof. Since it sat under the shade of two large oak trees, it was likely to be cooler in the summer as well as the winter, the sun not being able to penetrate the full coverage of leaves to warm it. There were electrical wires running to the barn, which surprised her, but also a windmill by the house. Unlike most houses in the area, it hadn’t been added onto for the typical Amish family expansion. It would be easy to maintain, she realized.
“I’ve never been here before,” she said quietly to her father.
“Ja, me neither.” He stopped the horse and buggy in front of the house. They looked around for a moment before he reached to open the door. “I didn’t even know it was back down that lane. Farm was abandoned, Whitey said. No one lived here for years. House looks it, ja?”
Sylvia didn’t respond but accepted her father’s help getting out of the buggy. She looked around. The gardens by the house were jumbles of weeds. The house needed a fresh coat of paint and some repairs. But the barn looked wonderful. It was large and new. It was obvious that the widower had done quite a bit of work on it since he had moved to the farm. For all that the house was neglected, the barn was magnificently well tended. For an older man, Sylvia thought, he certainly must have been busy…no wonder he needed help with the house. For a lone man with no sons to help, the barn would keep him busy from sunup to sundown and beyond.
“Hullo?” her father called out.
They heard a faint reply from the barn. Jonas nodded to Sylvia and they walked over toward the side door. Sylvia let her father ent
er the building first but she stayed close behind him. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her palms sweat. They saw the man’s back as he bent over a large piece of equipment. Sylvia recognized it as a dairy cooling system, but it was old and rusty. It hadn’t been used in years. The barn itself was unused and, from the looks of it, had needed a lot of work. She could see some of the widower’s efforts in new boards on the walls and swept floors but there was still need for more attention and repair.
“Alright then! I give up!” the man said good-naturedly. He stood up and turned around to greet his guests, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Well, hello! You must be Jonas!” When he turned to look at her, Sylvia felt her heart skip a beat and her eyes widened. She saw him start to say something but she gave a quick shake of her head. He hesitated then, understanding the hidden meaning, he quickly regained his smile and said, “And you must be his daughter. Jake Edwards, nice to meet both of you.” He extended his hand to Jonas and smiled at Sylvia, his eyes twinkling with unasked questions.
“You trying to get that started, eh?” Jonas said, suppressing a smile as he shook Jake’s hand. “Think that has seen better days.”
Jake laughed and ran his hands through his sweaty curls. “I think you’re right.”
“You looking to raise cows, then?” Jonas asked. “My Sylvia can help you with that. She knows a lot about the dairy farm.” He put his strong hand on her shoulder, pride apparent in this gesture, if not in his words.
Jake eyes locked onto hers for just a moment. “Good to know.” His voice was low and soft. It soothed her nerves. She wanted to look away but his gaze was too steady. She felt a flutter inside her chest, especially when he smiled softly at her. “I’m sure she’s quite resourceful. But I’m not certain about getting into cows yet. Horses, definitely. Cows…well, we’ll see.”
“Whitey said you needed a woman’s hand around this place, Mr. Edwards,” Jonas said.
“Please, just call me Jake. We’re neighbors after all,” he said. He gestured toward the house. “Whitey said you’d be bringing your daughter so we could talk.”
“Ja, Sylvia would be right gut helpful if she can help you,” Jonas said.
Jake smiled, his eyes briefly meeting hers. “Well, that would be much appreciated. Come on inside the house and I’ll show you the place.”
The tour was brief. As Sylvia suspected, the house was small. There were two rooms on the first floor and three small bedrooms upstairs. The smallest bedroom didn’t have much furniture but there were boxes stacked inside. The master bedroom was larger and was at the top of the staircase. Still, it was sparsely furnished. It wouldn’t take long to clean the upstairs.
There was only one bathroom on the first floor. It looked as though it had been added years ago as an afterthought. On the first floor, the kitchen was smaller than Katie’s and the appliances were old. But the room adjacent was a nice size. There was a sofa and two chairs plus a television that, clearly, didn’t work. Sylvia noticed a piano against the far wall. That, too, needed repair.
“It’s not much,” Jake said. “But I have my hands full trying to get the barn ready. I don’t have time to cook and clean.” He sounded apologetic, perhaps a bit embarrassed.
“Know much about farming, Jake?” her father asked.
He cleared his throat. He knew it was the question that everyone was asking. All of the locals that he had met in the past few weeks seemed to want to ask the question. Their expression gave it way. But none of them had ventured forward to ask. They all knew too well that privacy was of the upmost importance in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
“I know about horses, Jonas. But not much about farming.” There was a brief silence. Sylvia stole a glance at his face. His jovial expression was gone and a look of deep pain covered his face like a shadow. “I suppose you’re wondering…” Jake started.
Jonas held up his hand. “No explanations to questions that aren’t asked,” he said good-naturedly. Her father was not one to pry. “But, if you need help, we are neighbors, ja?”
“That sounds fair,” Jake said. The shadow vanished and he looked back at Sylvia. She felt small in his house, standing next to her father. It was surreal, almost as if it wasn’t happening. He held her eyes in his stare and added, “If your daughter could help out two…maybe three times a week, clean up the place, maybe prepare some food, I’d be quite thankful for that. I’m not much of a cook and getting tired of eating out every night.”
Sylvia frowned. She had thought it was just two mornings a week, not three. And now he wanted her to prepare meals? She wasn’t certain how she felt about this arrangement anymore. She had expected an older man, not a young handsome one, and clearly not one that she knew. But to tell her father this would be to admit what had happened at the market and that she had rode home in this stranger’s car. She had never kept a secret before and realized that the weight of it was heavy on her shoulders. And the secret became heavier when she heard her father commit that she would start working for Jake Edwards in the morning.
They rode home in silence, Jonas thinking about his afternoon chores and Sylvia wondering what she had just gotten herself into.
Chapter Five
Sylvia walked down the lane toward the house. When she had arisen that morning, she had felt butterflies in her stomach. Leaving her parents farm always caused her anxiety. This time, she was nervous about working so closely with an Englischer. After morning chores, she sat down with her family for breakfast. Unlike other mornings, when she had finished her eating, she didn’t help her mother clean the dishes. Instead, she had left immediately, carrying a small-bagged lunch with her, as she made her way to Jake Edwards’ house.
The walk was long but the morning was cool so she didn’t mind. She waved to the few buggies that passed her along the way. No one stopped to ask if she wanted a ride. She was glad. She needed the time to think and to sort her mind. Each step brought her closer to Jake’s farm. Each step took her further from her parents’ farm. She could feel something in the air, an invisible hand guiding her down the road despite her desire to run the other way.
When she arrived at the house, it was quiet. She set her bag onto the table and gave a quick assessment of the room. There was electricity in the house, which surprised her. She hadn’t seen wires leading to the house the day before, only to the barn. She had thought that it had been an Amish farm in the past. There were hints of Amish in the house, from the color of the paint on the walls to the simple layout. Nothing was complicated, just as if an Amish family had lived here. Apparently not.
The kitchen wasn’t necessarily untidy but it was clearly dirty. It would never have passed her mother’s inspection. From the dusty baseboards to the dirty windows, it was a neglected room; yet, Sylvia knew that the heart of every house resided in the kitchen. The kitchen was the source of nourishment and fellowship, the place of good smells and happy laughter. It was a place to be cherished and maintained. Instead, at Jake’s place, there were dishes in the sink and a pot of coffee on the stove. It was still warm but not hot.
Jake must have gone off to the barn already. She didn’t know whether she should find him or get started. She contemplated the choices and, quickly, decided to immediately set to work on the kitchen. He was paying her to tend his house, not to keep tabs on his whereabouts.
Thirty minutes later, she had finished the dishes and stood drying them by the sink. It was quiet in the kitchen. She liked the quiet. At her mother’s house, Junior’s children were always running around, playing with kittens, and making noise in the yard. When Sylvia washed the dishes at home, she could look up from the sink and peer through the window, watching them as they played in the yard.
Unlike her mother’s house, there was no window over the counter at Jake Edwards’ house. On the other side of the wall was the next room. There were, however, cabinets over the counter. She was stacking the dishes when she heard his footsteps on the front porch. She waited but there was only silence. She tur
ned around, not really surprised to see him leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey you,” he said quietly.
He was smiling at her, his tall frame filling the doorway. He wore faded blue jeans with a plaid shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and not tucked in at the waist. Sylvia averted her eyes, uncertain how to respond to such a familiar greeting.
“Full of surprises, aren’t you?” Again, she didn’t respond. The silence was broken only by the gentle tick-tock of the old fashioned clock on the wall. Jake cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the awkward silence. “You’re probably wondering…”
When he hesitated, she quickly looked up and frowned. “I’m not wondering anything, sir.”
“Sir? We can’t start off like that. It’s Jake, please,” he insisted. “Sir sounds so…old.”
“I’m not wondering anything, Jake.” She lowered her eyes again.
He walked toward her. “You mean you aren’t wondering why I didn’t tell you that I lived down the lane? You aren’t wondering why I moved here? You aren’t wondering about this farm?”