Living in Harmony

by Mary Ellis

  Amy nodded, ashamed she couldn’t confess her true anxiety. “Perhaps, if John finds us a farm, the bishop will speed things up.” She snapped another bean and threw the stems into the colander.

  “All in good time.” Sally nudged her aside. “I’ll finish these. Why don’t you walk down to the road? No one has fetched the mail yet.”

  “I go too?” asked Aden in Deutsch.

  “Jah, you go too. We could both use some fresh air.” Amy dried her hands on a towel and took the toddler’s hand. Tension left her back and shoulders the moment she stepped from the stuffy kitchen. Aden’s short legs made for slow going, but aunt and nephew were in no hurry to reach the road.

  Hollyhocks bobbed their heads in the gentle breeze, surrounding the Detweiler mailbox like sentinels—the only mailbox for as far as the eye could see. Amy dug inside to retrieve the stack of flyers and junk mail, which she shuffled through as she and Aden walked back up the drive. Third from the top, she spotted a Mount Joy postmark and her grandmother’s small, precise handwriting.

  Amy swung the little boy to her hip and hurried up to the house as fast as she could without running. “Nora!” she called, cutting across the front yard. “We have a letter from home.”

  By the time she and Aden reached the steps, Nora appeared in the doorway. “Who from? Rachel or Beth?” she asked.

  They both expected a letter from one of their sisters or perhaps even from Aunt Irene. All three liked to write frequently. “Neither. It’s from grossmammi.” Amy set down the child on the porch. “Go find your mamm.” She opened the door and patted his head when he scampered past. She waited until she heard Sally greet him in the kitchen.

  “Read it aloud,” demanded Nora. She sat down on one of the rockers.

  Amy lowered herself onto the other one and with trembling fingers pulled the sheet from the envelope. A letter from their grandmother was rare because her stiff hands made holding a pen difficult. Inhaling a deep breath, she began to read.

  My dear Amy and Nora,

  I hope this letter finds you well. We are thriving, but your schwestern miss you terribly. They inquire several times a day what Irene or I think you might be doing at that exact moment. Finally, I told Beth that Amy probably took up lobster fishing, while Nora no doubt stands knee-deep in a cranberry bog.

  “Everyone thinks of cranberries when they speak of Maine,” Nora interrupted, “but all we’ve seen so far have been blueberries and more blueberries.”

  “We’ve hardly seen much of the state. Maybe cranberries grow elsewhere. Let me continue.” Amy set her rocker into motion and continued reading.

  What grace the Lord has shown you—running across a quilt made by Prudence, and to find out she had once lived in your community. Grossdawdi would prefer I not speak of her, nor even think of her, but I can’t help myself. Your Aunt Prudence lived a sorrowful life through no fault of her own. First, she discovered she was barren. Then her husband fell under the curse of alcohol. He was mean when drunk, and toward the end he was drunk most of the time. Nothing anyone said or did made any difference to him. He refused to seek help, and refused to treat his wife any way other than with hostility. His evil ways drove Prudence to sin.

  No one was sorry when Leon left Lancaster not long after his fraa left him and filed for divorce. He moved to Holmes County, Ohio, but he stayed mostly to himself. I heard from a niece that he died a year or two ago. It was left to her to see him properly buried because she was the only kin in the area. Leon kept drinking until the end, stating he suffered from a broken heart. The death certificate stated acute liver failure due to chronic alcoholism. I believe that cause is the more accurate of the two. May God have mercy on his soul.

  Prudence was your mamm’s favorite sister, I daresay—the closest in age and in temperament. Her life here had been unbearable torment. I hope she finds peace, and that the Lord will find in His heart to forgive her transgressions.

  Danki for telling me that she is well—at least, the last time anyone has heard. I hope you both find your places in the world, even if it must be far from those who love you.

  Mammi

  The last sentence of the letter had barely been audible because emotion choked off Amy’s ability to speak. Tears coursed down her face, dripping unheeded onto her apron.

  “Uncle Leon is dead?” asked Nora in a tiny voice.

  “Apparently he is. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I can’t. I feel no sympathy for a man who tormented such a gentle woman.”

  They both just rocked quietly for a few minutes, listening to Sally’s wind chimes tinkling in the breeze.

  “All right,” said Amy, wiping her face with her apron. “Let’s say a short prayer for Leon and a longer one for Aunt Prudence.” Both women folded their hands in their laps and bowed their heads. But the silent prayer for her uncle did not come easily. Leon was responsible for Prudence’s banning. Now she would live out the rest of her life without her family and, more importantly, separated from God’s love. Amy seldom thought about the concept of eternal damnation, but she contemplated it now as a shiver of dread ran up her spine.

  Please, Lord, don’t let that be the fate of my dear aunt.

  SEVEN

  Could my tears forever flow

  Thomas pulled up the collar of his chore coat. It was barely September, but the breeze held a bite as the first autumn leaves swirled around his boot heels. He carried two pails of fresh goats’ milk to the house, careful not to let the contents slosh over the sides. Ahead, he spotted a kerosene lamp through the kitchen window, indicating Sally had finished feeding Jeremiah and would be fixing a hot breakfast. A waft of warm air greeted him when he opened the back door. Aden sat in his high chair, and Sally was spooning cinnamon oatmeal into his little mouth. If she fed him as opposed to allowing him to eat by himself, more food landed in his stomach rather than on the floor.

  Suddenly an acrid, scorched smell assailed his nose. “What’s burning?” he asked, sweeping off his hat.

  For a moment Sally froze. Then she dropped the spoon and ran to the stove. “My biscuits!” Grabbing a pot holder, she extracted a charred pan from the oven. A curl of smoke rose to the ceiling from the contents. “They’re ruined.” She set the tray on the counter and stared at it angrily, as though the biscuits held culpability.

  Thomas leaned over to assess the damage. “I’m afraid they are. They have blackened and dried out beyond redemption.”

  “Maybe if I scrape the bottoms and slather on plenty of butter—”

  “No, let’s just have toast instead.” Using the pot holder, he dumped the pan into the compost bucket.

  Sally returned to the table, where Aden had begun feeding himself. “We need to buy a pig. It will eat anything I ruin.”

  “Most people say that about goats, so I think we’ll hold off on more livestock. Where do you want the milk?”

  She glanced up from wiping Aden’s face. “Next to the stove. I’ll bring it to a boil and then chill it in glass bottles I sterilized.”

  “Where are the Kings?” He poured himself coffee up to the rim.

  “Amy’s sweeping floors upstairs, and I believe Nora is still sleeping. The girls talked long into the night about that letter. I could hear them until I finally dozed off around midnight.”

  Thomas carried his mug to the table to await his scrambled eggs. “A letter? Did they hear from Prudence Hilty? The sooner they know their aunt is safe, the sooner they will be able to concentrate on important matters—such as conforming to district Ordnung.”

  “Nein. It was a letter from their grossmammi.” Sally met his gaze over Aden’s head. “Prudence’s husband is dead. His drinking finally killed him.”

  “May the Lord have mercy,” he murmured, bowing his head. After a minute of prayer, he took a long swallow of coffee.

  “At least now the man can never remarry and subject another unsuspecting fraa to his malice.” Sally wiped the boy’s chin with his bib.

  Thomas had just opened his m
outh to chastise his normally nonjudgmental wife when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Amy entered, nearly hidden behind a huge bundle of linens. “I stripped the beds. Let me start a load of laundry before I help with breakfast.” Her face looked especially pale this morning. Her freckles had faded since her arrival. She disappeared down the cellar steps but reappeared within minutes. “What can I help with?” she asked, pouring coffee and refilling Thomas’s mug.

  “Make toast, please, while I start the eggs.” Sally lifted Aden from his chair and set him on the floor. “We’ll forget about the biscuits we planned earlier.”

  “After we eat,” said Thomas, focusing on Amy, “I’d like to start marriage counseling with you.”

  It apparently would be a day filled with inopportune moments, because John walked into the kitchen and overheard his comment.

  “Oh, gut!” he said, shrugging off his coat. “I’m glad to get this ball rolling. Did the bishop give permission for you to assume the duty?” Without waiting for Thomas’s response, John continued. “I have time before I muck out horse stalls.” He reached for a mug from the dish drainer, grinning in the direction of his fiancée. Amy concentrated on lining up bread slices in rows.

  Thomas cleared this throat. “Just Amy to start with. I’ll speak to you another day.”

  John set his mug on the table with a thud. “Just Amy? How can you counsel a couple for marriage unless they are together?” His forehead wrinkled as his brows stitched together.

  Amy’s rack of toast hovered in the air for a moment before she slid it into the oven.

  “I’d like to talk to you separately before the bishop begins more formal classes. Does that bother you, bruder?”

  John shook his head. “No. I’m surprised, that’s all. Aren’t you, Amy?”

  Every adult in the room stared at her, but several seconds spun out before she realized she’d been addressed. “I’ve never planned to be married before, so I don’t know what to expect. And I am the eldest daughter.” She carried jam, butter, and homemade cheese to the table.

  “Don’t be afraid of Thomas,” said Sally, pouring egg mixture into a sizzling skillet. “He is a lamb beneath his tough skin.”

  Thomas tried to hide his smile. “That’s not true. I’m stern and unyielding, especially when I counsel family members.”

  “I’m not frightened in the least,” Amy replied as she sat down with the plate of toast. In fact, she seemed downright carefree as she bowed her head in prayer.

  Once they finished eating, John hovered close to the door with hat in hand. “Should I wait in the living room for my turn?” He spun the brim between his nimble fingers. “No sense getting dirty in the barn if you’ll call me in soon.”

  Thomas refilled his and Amy’s coffee mugs. “No, I’ll counsel you another day. You can see to your chores, John.” He offered him a patient smile.

  Wordlessly, his brother put on his hat and left.

  Sally lifted up Aden. “Time to try potty-training again,” she announced. “So far, we’ve made little progress.”

  “I’ll clean the kitchen.” Amy stacked breakfast plates as Sally carried their son to the bathroom.

  “Leave the dishes for now and sit,” Thomas ordered.

  Amy complied, blanching to a shade of porcelain white.

  “You realize lying is a sin, don’t you?” he asked as soon as Sally closed the door behind her.

  “Of course I do. ‘You must not testify falsely’—the ninth Commandment.”

  “Jah, but not telling the entire truth can also be considered lying when a person asks you a question.”

  She sat very still, clutching the mug tightly.

  “It’s important that you are completely honest with me.”

  “I will be, Brother Detweiler. What would you like to ask me?” Her face remained composed, her luminous blue eyes betraying no emotion.

  “Is marriage to my brother what you want right now? Think carefully before you answer. There’s no shame in changing your mind.”

  She took a sip of coffee. “Jah, I wish to marry John. I made up my mind about that a long time ago.”

  “I understand, but much has happened since then. Your parents’ sudden and tragic deaths might cloud your judgment, forcing you to take steps you’re not ready for. Don’t let John rush you into anything. He’s always been in a hurry—to ride a horse when he couldn’t yet reach the stirrups, to drive a team alone in the fields, to start shaving when he barely had a single whisker. And he can be mulish about getting his way.” Thomas clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t intended to disparage his own flesh and blood.

  But Amy laughed off the warning. “He can be persuasive, but he hasn’t talked me into this. I know he loves me very much, and his love makes me feel secure.”

  “And you love him?” he asked, though it was an odd question coming from an Amish minister.

  “Jah, I do,” Amy said with an air of perfect poise.

  Thomas waited in vain for further elaboration. “Then you still wish to marry in the fall?”

  Finally, her mask began to crack. “There is one matter I wish to see through before the wedding. I need assurance that my aunt is fine, and I want to tell her about Uncle Leon’s death. John doesn’t approve because Prudence is shunned.” She folded her hands on the table as though she’d reached a decision. “I don’t wish to disobey him or begin marriage being disagreeable.”

  Thomas ran a hand through his hair. “I see, but understand this: There is nothing you can do for Prudence. The situation cannot be helped.”

  “But we don’t know if she—”

  “We do know she married Will Summerton as soon as they left Harmony in October of the year past. She is no longer Prudence Hilty.”

  Amy’s eyes seemed to grow larger. “Have you heard from her? I received no reply to my letter.”

  “Nein, I have not. But the bishop checked into this to put the matter to rest. She is married and living on a farm with Will, without contact to an Amish community and without God. She is banned, Amy. Forever.” Thomas swallowed the last cold dregs, along with a mouthful of coffee grounds. “Perhaps she will write to let you know she’s in good health, but then you must forget your aunt.”

  Amy winced as though in pain. “The Lord forgave Mary Magdalene. She became one of His devoted followers.”

  “Mary Magdalene sought forgiveness for her sins and was washed clean. Prudence Summerton hasn’t asked to be forgiven. Her behavior has been selfish and willful.” Thomas waited, fully expecting the argument to continue.

  But Amy clamped her jaw shut. After a few moments she said softly, “I will wait for a while to see if she writes. Then I will proudly become John’s bride.”

  “So be it,” he said, exhaling a weary sigh. Thomas patted her hand and rose to his feet, unclear why he felt unsatisfied with the first session.

  He would wait before talking to John to let his own questions and insecurities settle, if for no other reason.

  Crack! Like a well-oiled machine, John bent down for the pieces of split wood, added them to the growing stack, and placed another chunk on the chopping block. Crack! Two more pieces of firewood would keep his brother’s family warm that winter—and perhaps the King sisters and himself too, considering how things were proceeding. Thus far, chores kept Amy too busy to accompany him to look at farms for sale. And he hated to make so important a purchase without her input. Of course, at the rate his brother and the bishop were dragging their feet, getting hitched before the first snow seemed unlikely.

  Crack! He’d seen one property with a fairly livable home large enough for a growing family, but the majority of land was wooded and had already been signed over to a wilderness preservation organization in a hundred-year lease. Another farm had plenty of tillable acres, but the house need to be bulldozed, not salvaged. He would hate to force mice, raccoons, bats, and snakes to relocate from their habitats. Crack! And why had Thomas put him off for the last few days? Since his counselin
g session with Amy, his brother had avoided him. “All in good time” was his answer for every question other than “Are there any more pickles?”

  Crack! Despite cooler temperatures, sweat ran down John’s neck and forehead as he hefted another chunk up to the block. He planned to chop wood until his pile stretched to the road or he worked off his frustration, whichever came first.

  Another hard to handle aspect of living in Harmony was the separation from Amy. In Lancaster they had been trusted to spend time alone without fear they would behave shamefully. They had gone to a restaurant once a month and swapped tales from childhood, laughing over each other’s exploits. He’d taken her on moonlit buggy rides, where they would plan their future without Sally’s frequent eavesdropping or Thomas’s hawkeyed supervision. If they tarried too long saying good night on the porch, his brother invariably wandered out to offer bug spray or some other thinly disguised interruption. How he missed her companionship, her friendship, and her attention. If he dared to take her hand walking from the barn, she would pull away as though touching a toad. And stealing a kiss as he had under the grape arbor? He didn’t dare. How he missed her soft lips, the scent of strawberries from her shampoo, and her tender touch on his arm.

  How he longed for her! Crack! Another length of firewood split into equal halves.

  The sound of squeaky door hinges mercifully distracted him from his depression. Nora struggled to drag his buggy from its parking spot under the barn overhang. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Nora is trying to hitch up the buggy? Even more shocking than her labor was her attire—the same pale-green dress she brought from Pennsylvania, along with a white prayer kapp on her head. Her full-brimmed, black bonnet was nowhere in sight. John set down his ax and wiped his face with his handkerchief. This is Amy’s sister, he told himself as he approached. Treat her kindly and don’t lose your temper.

  “Can I help you with that?” he asked, reaching her side.

  “Ah, John. You’re a sight for sore eyes. I can’t believe how heavy this is.” She dropped the wooden slats that attached to the horse’s harness.