by Mary Ellis
“Did they move to Michigan to live close to his kin?” Hope filled Amy’s heart that her long-lost aunt, a woman she hadn’t seen since she was a girl, had found compassion and acceptance with this Amish man’s family.
“Nein,” said Thomas, dashing her idea. “His Michigan district would have viewed the situation the same way. They are banned, Amy. Their sins are grievous.”
“Maybe they never went through with it. Maybe they came to their senses and simply parted ways.”
“I hope so, for the sake of their eternal souls.” The zeal had gone out of his voice. He sounded sad and weary.
For several minutes they rocked in the growing darkness, each lost in their own thoughts. Prudence going against the Ordnung in so many ways? Who was this man from Michigan who turned her away from the Amish community after she’d regained a home?
While Amy tried to understand another woman’s motivations, Thomas simply rocked, seeming troubled and anxious. He didn’t return to his evening Bible study or check on his wife and sons. Then he spoke in a soft, troubled voice. “I have her address. The bishop supplied it, in case you wish to write to her.”
“Jah, of course I do.” Amy sprang from the chair.
But Thomas stopped her with an upraised palm. “She is banned and will remain so as long as she lives in sin. But in God all things are possible, including Prudence’s salvation. Write to say you have come to live in Harmony.” He met and held her gaze. “Tell her about the unfortunate passing of her sister and brother-in-law. She probably knows nothing about the fire. Perhaps she will be made to consider the brevity of life. We are here for a fleeting moment, but eternity is forever. Let Prudence know she still has family and friends who care for her and pray for her.” He stretched out his hand with the slip of paper. “Here’s the address. Tell her God won’t turn His back on a penitent heart.”
“Danki, Thomas. I will write tonight.”
He struggled to his feet, as though stiffer than when he sat down. “Gut nacht, Amy.”
After Thomas walked into the house, she was left with only questions. What would make Aunt Prudence turn from her faith and the Lord? Had her husband been so horrible that only an English divorce could provide the peace she sought? Amy clutched the piece of paper tightly in her hand. A woman married to find a sense of security and protection. Could a husband be the source of fear and suffering? It was a blessing Prudence and Leon had no children. God, in His infinite wisdom, had protected the unborn from a life of turmoil. But according to Thomas, God would close the gates of heaven if she married again. What was this new ehemann like that Prudence would risk the fires of hell for him?
For a moment Amy wondered if she would chance such a destiny for John’s love, but it didn’t take long contemplation to figure that one out. She would not. There was too much ado made about love. Some things were more important, such as a person’s soul. And feeling safe and secure. Strong people knew how to feel secure inside. It seemed to come easier for men, but Aunt Prudence must have found some sense of it, or she never would have struck out with this new man. Ever since the fire, Amy had felt like a leaf on the wind, helpless to determine where she would land. But one thing was certain. Her mamm had loved Prudence and had never given up on her sister, shunned or not.
Amy opened the screen door and crept to the kitchen table, careful not to wake the rest of the family. She drew paper and pen from one of Sally’s drawers and began her letter to the long-forgotten aunt. She had barely explained her present circumstances in Maine when John strolled into the room. He carried an empty coffee cup with the newspaper tucked under his arm.
“Ah, Amy,” he said. “I’d hoped to see you yet tonight.” His eyes twinkled with excitement.
She smiled fondly at him. “I’m writing another letter before bed.”
“Gut, gut. I just read an interesting story in the Harmony paper.” He paused, waiting for a murmur of acknowledgment before continuing. “A while back, a reporter from a Boston newspaper wrote an article about how the Amish have been welcomed by the Englischers of Harmony.” He settled into the chair next to hers and then picked up the paper to read aloud a sentence. “Folks are eager to restore the proud agricultural heritage of the area, and the Amish will be a tremendous asset in that regard.”
She glanced up from her writing. “That’s nice.”
“Well, some rich person in Boston liked the article and the town so much he sent a check for twenty thousand dollars to the fire chief for a new truck.” He laid the paper down, beaming.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because the community needed a new fire engine.” His nose twitched as though it tickled. “The department is all-volunteer and operates on a small budget, as you can imagine.” He folded back the paper to a different page.
Amy shrugged. “Couldn’t Boston use some new equipment?”
John furrowed his brow. “I have no idea. That’s not the point. The generous man wanted to help Harmony, not where he lived.”
“I see, but I wonder if he told his wife about the donation.”
He lowered his brows and stared at her. “Why don’t we change the subject?” He tapped the classifieds with a finger. “I found listings of land for sale in the area. Shall I read you the descriptions?”
She shook her head. “Why don’t you read them at breakfast? I’m sorry, John, but I really want to finish this letter and post it tomorrow.”
His face turned dismal as he set the listing aside. “Who are you writing to? Rachel and Beth?”
“No, to Aunt Prudence. Thomas gave me her address. She still lives in Maine.” Amy unfolded the slip of paper.
“Do you think that’s wise? She is banned, Amy.”
She patted his clenched fist. “I know that, dear heart, but she hasn’t heard about the fire. Even your brother feels she should know that her sister is no longer among the living.” Amy’s voice cracked as a lump formed in her throat. It still hurt to say the words about her parents’ deaths.
“That is true. She needs to know about the fire.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll tell you about the farms for sale in the morning.”
As he reached the doorway, Amy asked, “John, did you know Elam was home? Nora spoke with him this afternoon.”
“I didn’t. I’ll seek him out to say hello.”
“I can’t believe he prefers to sleep in the cellar with the spiders.” She shuddered at the thought.
John rubbed his eyes. “It’s his choice to separate himself from the family. He hasn’t joined the church yet and refuses to abide by district rules. The cellar has an outside entrance for his comings and goings, and his old bedroom doesn’t.”
“I look forward to meeting him.”
“Don’t expect too much, and you won’t be disappointed.”
“Isn’t that how life is in all regards?”
“More so for some than others.” He turned on his heel and marched down the hall.
Amy picked up the pen for the third time, puzzling over his cryptic remark only briefly. She had plenty to say to her banned and mysterious aunt without worrying about John and Elam’s strained relationship.
When Wednesday finally arrived, Sally breathed a sigh of relief for a pair of reasons. First, Elam had left at dawn to return to his job up north. Because an unseasonable rainy spell gave the workers a couple of days off, Elam had come home. Although he’d tried to stay out of Thomas’s way, she had listened to several conversations with raised voices. He hadn’t gone to the meetinghouse for Sunday school with them. He hadn’t sat down to a single family meal, preferring to forage like a raccoon after everyone left the kitchen. In fact, she could think of plenty of critters to compare him to. Although he worked around the farm, he avoided people like a coyote. Elam was wild and impetuous, while Thomas was tenderhearted and predictable. It was hard to imagine that those men shared the same parents.
The overdue reunion between Elam and John had not been warm and cuddly, either. From what she’d o
verheard, Elam seemed determined to talk John out of buying property in Harmony, while John appeared determined to keep Elam away from Amy and Nora. When Amy finally met her future brother-in-law, she shook his hand and then jumped back as though he might bite. She hid behind John’s back for the rest of the get-acquainted conversation. That gal needed some backbone. Elam wouldn’t hurt a fly, despite his rather unkempt appearance.
However, Nora marched right up to him asking question after question: Where do you sleep? Why don’t you eat meals with us? How do you get back and forth to the logging crew? Why is your hair cut like that?
After a while Elam stopped answering her questions and just stood there laughing. But John found no amusement in the situation. He finally sent Amy and Nora inside so he could have a private chat with his younger brother. Unfortunately, Sally couldn’t listen to their conversation because they had wandered into the woodshop. But when John returned to the house, he wasn’t smiling.
When an Englischer arrived to pick Elam up, he filled his jacket pockets with muffins and biscuits and took the leftover fried chicken and pie. Sally didn’t mind. The young man needed to eat. Besides, she’d baked several more pies for tonight’s special supper—her other reason to rejoice—an evening in town for the women. They would attend a fund-raiser at the community center for a local family who lost their furniture and personal possessions in a trailer fire. Every Amish family in the district would be there, as well as most of Harmony’s English population.
Who would think a metal enclosure could possibly burn? mused Sally, setting her three peach pies into a hamper.
“Those look delicious,” said Amy from over her shoulder. “Dinner will be worth the price just for a slice of your pie.”
“Danki.” Sally felt her cheeks warm from the compliment. “Everyone is bringing food for the potluck. The organizers are hoping that twenty dollars a plate will raise enough cash to pay the family’s rent for the next six months. People will also bring whatever they can spare to help furnish their new home. I’m donating two quilts and two sets of sheets. A furniture store in Waterville promised new beds, and an appliance outlet here in Harmony donated a washer and dryer.”
“Very generous,” said Amy. “Because Nora and I brought little other than our clothes with us, we’re each chipping in a hundred dollars. I placed the cash in an envelope.”
Sally gasped. “Talk about generous!”
“I transferred my portion of the farm sale to your bank here, so I have enough to share with the less fortunate. Nora left her inheritance in Lancaster, so I’ve covered her portion too. How did the fire start?” she asked softly.
“A malfunctioning hot water heater allowed propane gas to leak. A single spark set off the blaze. By God’s grace, no one was hurt.”
The kitchen door swung open, and Nora stuck in her head. “Come along, you two. The men are already in the buggy.” She tugged on her full-brimmed bonnet with a scowl—horse blinders, as she called it—and marched back out.
“I hope the ladies like my pies. I don’t bake much for potlucks. My baking doesn’t stand up to local standards.”
“Everyone will enjoy them, I’m sure.” Amy lifted one handle of the hamper. “And it’s a standard crust recipe. What could possibly go wrong?”
Sally took the other handle and followed her, pulling the door shut behind her. She appreciated Amy’s flattery because she always cringed whenever her cooking or handiwork was subject to Amish scrutiny. Two elderly widows acted like self-appointed county fair judges, despite the fact that Plain folks didn’t enter competitions. With any luck, Englischers would select her pies from the buffet.
But luck—or divine providence—wasn’t kind to Sally that night.
The Detweilers and Kings paid for their suppers at the door and then greeted the organizers and the needy family. Amy and Nora slipped their contribution into the envelope box and, as newcomers, were soon surrounded by district women. Sally placed her pies on the dessert table and wandered over to the housewares collection area. Fine-looking cookware, dishes, towels, and bedding had been donated, as well as a large amount of children’s clothes. With Jeremiah perched on one hip and Aden clinging to her skirt, she took up a position by a post to watch the English couple welcome each new guest. Truly, they didn’t seem to have expected such an outpouring of goodwill.
“No need to brace up the pillar, fraa. The building will stand without your assistance.” Thomas materialized by her side and draped an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m just making sure. These people don’t need any more nasty surprises.” Sally smiled up into his handsome face. “Almost everyone brought something practical for them and put money in the box besides paying for supper. Why do Englischers always seem shocked by Christian charity? The husband and wife look ready to faint.”
“That they do,” he agreed. “This family will never forget tonight and will probably be the first to help others in need for the rest of their lives.” He took her arm as the organizers signaled it was time to eat. “Let’s get our dinner. I’m starving.”
Sally and Thomas loaded their plates and found seats near Amy, John, and Nora. The assortment of food was exceptional, encouraging everyone to indulge more than usual. Thomas foraged the dessert table, returning with several things to share with his tablemates. “I would have sampled your peach pie, fraa,” he said, “but there was none left. The lady in front of me took the last piece.”
“Was she an Englischer?” Sally asked, feeling a twinge of unease.
“No, a district woman, even though all of you probably use the same recipe.” He swung his long legs over the bench and looked at his brother. “There is no figuring out women.”
“I’m starting to discover that myself,” agreed John, taking a brownie from the plate.
Sally slouched lower in her seat and tried to finish her potato salad and ham. Within another minute, a woman’s voice rang out from the table behind them.
“Goodness, Sally Detweiler, there’s a housefly in my dessert! Aren’t these the peach pies you brought?”
Sally turned around to watch in horror as Clara Yoder flung the offending bug off her fork to the floor. Murmurs rose from the table of Amish diners.
“Everybody’s heard of shoofly pie, but you shouldn’t take the name seriously,” Clara said, not trying to be subtle.
People in the nearby vicinity broke into peals of laughter. All except for Sally. She prayed that the town hall floor would open up and swallow her alive.
SIX
Could my zeal no respite know
On the final stretch of open road, John slapped the reins on the new gelding’s back, encouraging him to go faster. He was eager to get back to his brother’s farm and even more eager to talk with Amy. The information he’d learned today was too good to keep until dinnertime. If he was fortunate, everyone would still be at the table eating lunch.
John felt certain that Thomas and Sally would appreciate some good news to wash away the memory of Friday’s potluck and yesterday’s preaching service. How could Sally have been so careless as to not notice a fly in her sliced peaches? The district ladies had giggled and guffawed merrily, but the Englischers within earshot hadn’t looked quite so entertained. John noticed more than one poking around their desserts for unwanted ingredients.
But Thomas, always the indulgent husband, had made light of the situation. “Oh, that little fly wouldn’t even hurt…a fly.” All the district men laughed, diffusing the uncomfortable situation. The pie went into the trash and the elderly woman selected a different dessert. Sally had been mortified—and rightly so. She’d sat pale and silent for the rest of the meal, as though waiting for someone to arrest her for pie sabotage or attempted assault.
John liked his sister-in-law. She was a fine mother, but her careless housekeeping and bad time management made her a poor example for Amy and Nora. But after what he’d found out today, they would soon be moving to a farm of their own.
He turned the hor
se into the driveway, pulling hard on the reins so his new buggy wouldn’t topple over on its side. Inside the barn he rubbed down the Morgan and filled the water trough and grain stanchion with a bucket of oats. When he entered a nearly empty kitchen twenty minutes later, Amy stood washing dishes at the sink, elbow-deep in sudsy water. “Am I late?” he asked. “Did I miss lunch?” He hung his hat on a peg.
She glanced back at him. “I’m afraid so. If you give me a minute, I’ll fix you a sandwich.”
“Danki. I need to wash anyway.” When he returned two sandwiches, a pile of potato chips, and a glass of lemonade waited at his usual spot at the table.
Amy sat down across from him with a drink of her own. “How did it go in town? Did you find the information you were looking for?”
“Indeed, I did. I visited the office of the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardener’s Association.”
“That’s quite a mouthful.” She took a swallow of lemonade.
“They use letters to abbreviate the name. Anyway, they explained the whole process of how to get part or all of my acres certified organic. A woman even gave me the necessary forms to fill out.”
“This special certification is important to you?”
“Jah, I want my…our…future kinner to eat fruits and vegetables without toxic chemicals stuck to the skin.” He bit into sliced roast beef hungrily.
Her left dimple deepened. “You could refrain from spraying or adding dangerous substances without bothering with English paperwork. Plain people have used good, old-fashioned horse manure for centuries without undue consequences, except for stinky neighborhoods when everyone tills it under in the fall.” Ice cubes clinked in her glass as she drank.