by Mary Ellis
“With weather as hot as this, cold temperatures are hard to imagine.” John gazed at a sky already beginning to darken as the sun slipped behind the hills.
“Our hot weather lasts barely a month, not three like in Pennsylvania. And the growing season is shorter here. We can’t plant until late May and must harvest silage corn in September, not November. At best we’ll get three hay cuttings, not four, and sometimes snowstorms come in October.”
“You don’t say? I bought a book to read about New England agriculture for the bus ride. I worked on a construction crew back home to save money toward a farm. Because I already know carpentry, maybe I could learn woodworking and help out in your shop this winter.” John paused to admire the three-story barn with a gambrel roof. “Almost every barn I saw today was brand-new like yours.”
Thomas batted away a mosquito. “Most barns in Waldo County have to be knocked down. Farming dried up here forty years ago, but it’s slowly coming back. Young Englischers have started organic produce farms and welcome us with open arms. Everyone wants this section of Maine to return to its former productivity.”
“Did you buy an English home?” asked John, selecting a hay bale for a perch.
“Jah, the house came with the land. The bishop gave me a year to pull out the electrical wiring, but it needed lots of other work. Nobody had lived here for years other than mice. But at least we had a roof over our heads during the reconstruction.” Thomas peered up at the rough-sawn rafters overhead. “The old barn was falling down, so we had it demolished by a materials recycler. He paid me enough money to buy lumber for the new one. Englischers and Amish alike turned out to put the barn up, but it took several days, not one like back home. There are probably more folks in Lancaster County than Maine has in the entire state.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” said John, splaying his hands across his knees.
Thomas nodded. “We’ll have time to discuss crops and farming down the line when you start looking at land or a farm to buy. Right now we have more important things to talk about.”
“Should we light up a pipe of tobacco like daed did when he needed to talk man-to-man with his sons? We’d better be careful none of the womenfolk smell it on us.” John snickered companionably.
His older brother didn’t laugh. In fact, he looked as sour as sugarless lemonade. “Nein, there’s no tobacco use in our district. None. And no alcohol use, either. No one here allows the last batch of cider to ferment into apple jack for a midwinter nip during a blizzard.” His expression didn’t soften.
John shrugged his shoulders. “Fine by me. You know I don’t smoke, and I’ve never even drank a beer, let alone anything stronger. Very few districts in Lancaster allow members to imbibe.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, but there’s something else. You didn’t tell me Amy’s younger sister would be coming with you.”
John felt a muscle tighten in his neck. “I didn’t know about her plans until shortly before we left, Thomas. There wasn’t time to write to tell you.” The overcooked dinner and burnt apples churned in his belly.
“If you had I would have told her to wait a bit.”
“She’s not welcome in your home?” John stared at him. Had his brother lost the charitable side of his nature since becoming a minister? That didn’t make sense. Surely he knew what the Good Book said about taking in strangers.
“No, no. She’s welcome here. Forgive me. I’m not expressing myself well. It’s just that Nora hasn’t committed yet to the faith. She hasn’t taken the vow to the Amish church.” Thomas met and held John’s gaze. “There’s no rumschpringe here—no testing of the waters and deciding if a person wants to remain Amish. We have no big volleyball parties or cookouts or bonfires or any other social events for the youth. For one thing, we’re only twelve families. There are not enough young people for a decent volleyball game.” His forced laugh rang hollow in the cavernous barn. “If you had written, I would have advised Nora to remain in Pennsylvania until her running-around days were behind her. She will probably find our conservative district too confining for the uncommitted.”
John blinked several times. “I don’t know what to say.”
Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is nothing to be said. She is here now, and here she’ll stay with Sally and me. But don’t be surprised if Nora doesn’t buy a one-way ticket back to Pennsylvania. I wanted you to know the lay of the land, and I don’t just mean with agriculture.” He patted John’s back and walked out through the open doorway
John was left alone with his thoughts—and he had much to think about. He’d never heard of no rumschpringe for youth, although the practice had always been optional. He remembered his own running-around days fondly—playing a battery-powered CD player in his buggy, going on a canoe trip down the river one hot summer afternoon, and taking a bus trip to see a minor league ballgame with his pals. All in all, he could have skipped both events and still died a contented man. But Nora? How would she react to no socials to meet eligible young men? She would probably go back to Lancaster to live with her grandparents. And that might be a good idea, as far as he was concerned.
His Amy would make a smoother, easier transition to their new district if her willful, free-spirited schwester wasn’t a constant companion.
THREE
Be of sin the double cure
Amy awoke to sunlight streaming through her curtainless window. She left her bed to push up the pane and inhale fresh and decidedly cooler air. Yesterday’s showers had washed away much of the heat and humidity, leaving the world a more comfortable place.
Nora burrowed her head deeper under the covers. “Haven’t they heard of shades in Maine?” she muttered from beneath the quilt.
“Upstairs windows don’t need shades. And if the sun’s up, that means you should be too.” Amy slapped the rounded hump playfully.
“Ugggh, please leave me be a while longer. I have a headache. Make my excuses to Sally and Thomas.” The lump didn’t budge.
“All right, but you’ll go hungry until lunch. No one caters to spoiled women here.” She poured a glass of water from the pitcher on her dresser and dug out the bottle of aspirin from her suitcase. “Except for me. Sit up and take these.” Amy shook two tablets into her palm.
Nora complied, looking haggard with red-rimmed, watery eyes. “Danki. What would I do without you?” She swallowed them with a long drink before retreating into her cave.
Having showered the evening before, Amy washed her face and hands at the basin, slipped on her favorite navy dress, and headed downstairs.
In the kitchen, Sally hummed a hymn while spreading grated cheese on what looked like an omelet. John and Thomas were already at the table. John appeared to be studying the local newspaper, while Thomas played a game of peekaboo with his infant son. The father laughed as heartily as the boppli.
“I was ready to rap on the ceiling with the broom handle,” teased John with a wink. “We don’t want the day to get away from us.”
“Mir leid if I’m late,” she apologized. “I’ll have to set my alarm clock.”
“You’re fine,” said Sally over her shoulder. “They just returned from chores, and you’re in time to lift the bacon from the grease.” She handed Amy a pair of tongs.
Once all the strips were draining on paper towels, Amy poured herself a much-needed cup of coffee. “What do you have in mind for us today?” She aimed her smile in John’s direction.
“You, Nora, and I can take Thomas’s buggy into town for some more exploring. And I have a surprise for you.” John set down his newspaper as Sally carried the omelet to the table.
Amy brought over the platter of bacon and then slipped into a chair across from her fiancé. Everyone bowed their head in silent prayer. After Thomas said “Amen” and Sally began serving the eggs, Amy cleared her throat. “I believe the field trip will be just the two of us. Nora has a headache and will stay in bed a while longer.” She looked at Thomas and then Sally. “She’s pron
e to migraines.”
Thomas hesitated while scooping up eggs, his spoon aloft. “Normally unmarried couples do not take buggy rides together unchaperoned.”
John glanced at Amy and then his brother. “But we were published in Pennsylvania—our intentions to marry have been made clear.”
“I understand that.” Thomas put a small portion of breakfast in Aden’s bowl. “But as I explained, we’re more conservative here. Because you’re new, and many will assume only visiting, I give you my permission.” He dug into his food with gusto.
Amy picked up her fork and ate too, hungry because she’d eaten only a chicken wing and some potatoes last night at dinner. Although curious about the district’s rules, she realized this wasn’t a good time to ask. Once Thomas left for morning chores and John to hitch up the horse, Amy rose to scrape plates into the compost bucket. “Danki for loaning us your buggy.”
Sally fed her son eggs while finishing her own meal. “I’m glad Thomas will let you go today. I was worried about that.” She wiped the boy’s chin with his bib.
Let us go? Amy didn’t know what to make of that. At twenty-two, it had been a long time since she’d had to ask anyone for permission for anything.
“Be sure to wear your full black bonnet as though going to church.” Sally gazed up at her. “Women don’t go to town in just white prayer kapps. They’re okay for working in the garden or hanging laundry, but not out in public.” Then she added in a barely audible voice, “We might have to widen your brim. I’ll have to check it.”
Amy glanced at Sally over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t joking. She’d heard of districts that required brims so wide on either side that you had to turn your body to see left or right. The head coverings sounded like blinders for an easily distracted horse.
But she looked perfectly serious.
Once Amy finished the dishes and put them away, she went upstairs to hunt for her full bonnet in her suitcase. She’d worn it while traveling and then tucked it away. It was a good thing Aunt Irene had insisted she take an extra one because she had no time for sewing. Nora still slept soundly, a soft snore emanating from her cocoon. With bonnet in hand, Amy ran down the steps and out the front door without asking Sally to check it.
John pulled up in the buggy just as she reached the driveway. Soon the issue of full blinders seemed trivial as they trotted down the road toward Harmony. Once beyond sight of the farmhouse, John brushed her cheek with a chaste kiss. “You smell nice,” he said.
“Raspberry shampoo—that stuff smells good enough to drink.” Amy leaned out the side window to catch some sun on her face. “What a gorgeous day for an outing.”
“We have several hours before I must help Thomas cut firewood. Sounds like folks here spend half their summer getting ready for winter.”
When they reached the center of town—a crossroads where the bank, post office, historical society, the English church, and an insurance office stood—he turned right instead of left.
“We’re not heading toward the grocery store and pizza shop?” she asked, remembering yesterday’s tour.
“No, but don’t worry. Thomas gave me good directions. We won’t get lost.”
“Our second day in Maine and we disappear, never to be seen again.”
“Only if we want to.” After a mile he turned left down a road into a public park.
“We brought no picnic lunch today. What a shame. The benches in the shade look cool and inviting.”
“No need for packed sandwiches.” John remained secretive, however, as the lane continued past picnic tables and swing sets. Dense woods encroached on both sides as the roadway narrowed. Two vehicles could barely fit side by side. They drove past a well-kept cemetery, but no houses, cabins, or even driveways into the dense forest.
After several miles she asked, “Are you sure about this? You didn’t misunderstand your bruder?” No sooner had she voiced her concerns than the road curved and a parking area opened up before them. Cars, trucks, and boat trailers filled at least half the spaces.
“Goodness, John. Who would know this was back here?” Amy gaped at a large body of water not fifty feet away. Dappled sunlight sparkled off the smooth surface for as far as the eye could see. Boats crisscrossed the waves, their white sails fluttering in the gentle breeze.
“Only the locals, and now that description includes us. Welcome to Harmony Pond.” He stopped the buggy in a parking space and set the brake.
“Pond?” she squawked. “I’ve seen lakes smaller than this.” She jumped down and ran toward the beach. Several families had spread blankets across the sand to enjoy a day in the sun. Children filled colorful buckets with plastic shovels, giggling merrily. No one gave her more than a passing glance as she approached the water’s edge. Apparently the Amish here, though few in numbers, generated fewer stares than in well-populated Lancaster County. Amy walked onto a fishing dock that dipped and swayed under her weight. “It floats,” she called back with hands cupped around her mouth.
John climbed down too, but he remained with the horse as there was no hitching post. He grinned from ear to ear. “Gut idea. The dock can rise and fall with the water level,” he hollered back.
Shielding her eyes from the glare, she gazed across the water. Tiny cottages dotted the far shore, but to her left she could see no end to the so-called pond. She loved watching the boats, the children splashing in the shallows, and seagulls diving for fish that ventured close to the surface. “What a hidden treasure,” she called on her way back to him. “I wish Nora were here to see this.” Impetuously, she threw her arms around him and hugged.
“According to the book I read last night, glaciers formed this lake. It has only one water source—no separate intake and outlet.” He helped her back into the buggy. “I wonder what happens during heavy spring rains.”
“You’ll have to keep reading that new book of yours.” Amy only vaguely understood the concept of glaciers, but it didn’t matter. “Danki for bringing me to see this, John. I love it here. Do you think someday we could come back when Nora can join us?”
“Maybe after we’re wed, providing you wear the proper head covering.” He winked for the second time that day. “We should start back so we have enough time for lunch. I spotted a deli on our way here.”
“I thought you might have a plan up your sleeve.” She settled back to enjoy the scenery, relaxed now because she knew they weren’t lost. At the main road, she noticed there was no sign pointing the way to the lake. Harmony Pond truly was for locals and not tourists.
John parked the buggy in a grassy area near the railroad tracks within an easy walk of the local diner. Inside, Amy found more than delicious food. She spotted a “Help Wanted—Part-Time Baker” sign in the window. She inquired about the job while the woman fixed their sandwiches.
“Three days a week ought to do it,” said the manager. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You could bake enough on those days to last for two. We’re closed on Sundays. Everything in town is closed around here.”
“May I talk to my fiancé and come back to fill out an application?”
“Sure. I’ve had that sign up for two weeks with no takers.”
Amy hurried back to the buggy with their lunch and her news. She began explaining the details before even climbing inside. “I could work for a year or so until bopplin came along to help pay for our new farm. What do you think?” she asked, breathless with excitement.
John unwrapped his chicken salad sandwich, laughing. “If working for a while would make you happy, why not? On your days off you can teach my sister-in-law to bake. Did you ever taste such awful pie as last night’s? I thought apple was just about foolproof.”
Amy pinched his arm. “Be kind to Sally. Any woman can lose track of time. I’ve burned a few things myself.”
“Never when you were cooking for company, I would venture to say.” He easily guided the buggy onto the road. Harmony had little traffic no matter what time of day.
“J
ohn Detweiler, show some compassion. Anyway, we’re family now, not company.” She nibbled her ham-and-cheese.
“You’re right. Sally is my brother’s wife, but Thomas would benefit if his fraa took a job as a baker.” He tried to slide away from her, but she pinched his arm once more in the small buggy.
As it turned out, neither Amy nor Sally were destined for such a vocation. At supper that night, Amy told Thomas and Sally about the Help Wanted sign in the restaurant’s window.
Thomas’s jaw dropped down to his chest. “Impossible,” he said without hesitation. His gaze shifted from her to John, where it stayed. “She cannot take a job. That’s simply not done here. Women do not work outside the home, even if they are still single.”
John’s features registered surprise. “We didn’t know that, but it’s no problem. We can swing buying an existing house and de-electrifying or building on bare farmland without Amy working. It was just an idea.” He resumed eating his supper of stew and pickled beets without another word on the subject.
But Amy’s head swam with ideas—all of which she kept to herself. She ground down on her back teeth, annoyed that Thomas addressed the matter with John and not with her. Thomas hadn’t glanced in her direction again—not after his original shocked scowl. But for now she held her tongue. What choice did she have? Her home in Pennsylvania was nothing but a pile of ash and debris. She’d sold the land and ventured north into a new world, never imagining just how different that world would be.
John didn’t know if his indigestion stemmed from supper or from the recent turn of events. Sally’s beef stew had been so bland and flavorless it couldn’t have caused stomach acid. The meat was tough, while everything else had been cooked so long it looked like rainbow mush in his bowl. Her biscuits were dry and the pickled beets too sour. Only her peanut butter cookies tasted good. He’d contemplated stuffing his pockets with the rest but stopped himself with great self-control.
He tried to remember that Sally’s cooking was not his problem. His brother cleaned his plate and smacked his lips no matter what his wife prepared. And the more he thought about it, John was happy local Ordnung wouldn’t permit Amy to work. He suspected Nora triggered his latest bellyache. Did the girl think she was on vacation? When he and Amy returned from town, Nora had been sitting on the porch swing, reading a paperback novel. Had she even asked Sally if she needed help with supper? Sally’s garden overflowed with produce ready to pick. Tomatoes were so overripe that their skins had split. Green beans dangled from heavily laden bushes, while carrots and green onions pushed themselves up from the soil. If someone didn’t start harvesting and canning soon, those plants would go to seed, spoiling the vegetables. Couldn’t Nora see weeds sprouting between garden rows or shiny apples hanging from tree branches on her frequent strolls around the farm? At supper she had rambled on about fictional characters in the novel she read. Didn’t she know nonsensical conversation was inappropriate at a minister’s table?