Living in Harmony

by Mary Ellis

  “I included that one because it was close to my brother’s house, knowing how fond you’ve grown of Sally.”

  “Well, that would be an advantage.” She smiled politely as a twinge of motion sickness began. Backseats wreaked havoc on her stomach.

  The second farm was indeed in better condition, but the one-story house had small, cramped rooms. Amy longed for large, airy second-floor bedrooms. She marched through the house as though running a marathon—in through the front door and out the back in record time. “On to the next property, Mrs. Chadd,” she announced.

  “Absolutely, Miss King. I aim to find the perfect home for you two.” The Realtor’s smile never faltered the entire afternoon, as though smiling was part of her job description.

  The third stop yielded no house whatsoever. Eighty acres of tillable farmland on a high plateau suitable for a homesite were up for sale. Another forty acres of backwoods could be optioned, along with stream access for an additional sum.

  “What do you think of a three-story, four-bedroom frame house set maybe fifty yards from the road?” John used his hands to form a picture frame in the direction where he would position their house.

  “Sounds like an awfully long driveway in the winter. Plus, we have no architect or builder, and where would we live during the construction? We shouldn’t rely on your brother’s generosity indefinitely.”

  “If I had my way, we would be married already,” he whispered into her ear. “Thomas is the one dragging his feet regarding our wedding date.”

  “How much are the owners asking?” she asked Mrs. Chadd. Amy gasped upon hearing her reply. “But that’s more than the first property. And it had a house.”

  “Not one you would live in.” John’s veneer of patience began to crack.

  “True, but that price sounds high for bare land.” Amy tightened her cloak against the wind.

  “Didn’t your fiancé mention you moved here from Lancaster County?” Mrs. Chadd’s demeanor also faltered a notch. “The price per acre here must be much cheaper than back home.”

  “I suppose so, but I wasn’t in the market to purchase anything in Pennsylvania.” Amy rocked on her heels, chewed on her lip, and tried not to look at either of them.

  “Not to worry, liewi. I’ve saved the best for last.” He offered her his arm. “We have plenty of daylight left—”

  “I’m starving,” she interrupted. “Could we stop for lunch? I didn’t pack us a hamper.”

  John’s lips thinned as he frowned. “I suppose so, but I want you to have enough time to see the final property.”

  “I know just the place,” chirped Mrs. Chadd. “We can grab a quick sandwich and cup of coffee and still get out to Thorndike. Have you tried the deli by the railroad crossing? They make the best homemade soups and salads.”

  On the woman prattled while Amy and John climbed back into the car. It was a good thing Mrs. Chadd was talkative because Amy needed a chance to think. Four different properties in one day seemed too much to evaluate.

  But she found herself in better spirits after lunch, revitalized by food and caffeine. Her interest piqued with the Realtor’s description: seventy acres—equally divided between pasture and cornfields—and only one year fallow. The former owner had farmed organic, so the soil contained no pesticide residue. And the property was being sold to settle an estate.

  “The elderly couple died ten months ago, within weeks of each other,” said the agent, heading out of town toward Thorndike.

  “How sad,” Amy murmured. She rolled down the window for fresh air.

  “That often happens when people have been married as long as the Morrells had.”

  “And you said when we looked at this property before that neither of their children wishes to take over the farm?” John said, turning toward the agent.

  “That’s right. Both kids are lawyers in Boston. They just want the property sold to finalize the estate.”

  “That’s the truly sad part.” John shook his head from side to side. “Giving up their family’s heritage.”

  “The eldest son would love to sell the place to a farming family rather than see it cut up into development lots.” Mrs. Chadd grinned at Amy over her shoulder.

  Amy shrugged, but she felt her excitement build as they drove up the Morrell driveway. Perched on the highest point, the house commanded a view of almost the entire property. It faced south, so the front windows would catch the afternoon sunlight in the winter. A stand of pines directly behind the house would block frigid winds from the north. It had a dark-green metal roof, white siding, and black shutters. A windmill spun lazily in the breeze on an adjacent hill. Shrubbery and flower beds looked as though they had been tended this past summer. “Oh, my. Is that the kitchen garden?” she asked, pressing her face to the glass. A white picket fence enclosed a quarter-acre plot. Hollyhocks and sunflowers stood sentinel along the fence line.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” Mrs. Chadd parked the car near the back porch. “The landscaping service tilled everything under last spring to await the next live-in gardener, except for those flowers. They were too lovely to chop down.”

  Amy jumped out when John opened her door. “There are two barns?” She gazed up at two huge, gambrel-roofed outbuildings.

  John beamed as though the property already belonged to him. “Yes, one for livestock and one for grain storage with a small office and a workshop. The office and workshop have a concrete floor and electricity, but the wiring can easily be removed. Even inside the house, wires run through conduit, not hidden inside walls. The electricity had been added after the house was built.”

  The agent scanned the computer printout. “The house is well constructed too. There are no shoddy materials in this old beauty.” She opened the front door, allowing a few leaves to blow onto a faded area rug. “Remember, no one has lived here for more than a year. But with fresh paint and a little elbow grease, this could be a showplace again.”

  “We’re not interested in showplaces, Mrs. Chadd,” corrected John. “Only a sturdy Amish home in which we can raise a family.”

  She grinned, taking no offense. “Then we’ll forget about custom drapes. Go through the Morrell homestead on your own. Take your time. I’ll wait for you right there.” She pointed at an antique bentwood rocker, the sole item of furniture in the room. “Whoever cleaned out the parents’ possessions decided to leave this piece behind.”

  Amy stood behind the chair to assess the view from the front room window. Rolling hills and valleys stretched as far as the eye could see. She hurried through the first two floors and up to the attic, and then she wandered through the whole house slowly a second time. John kept pace with her but wisely remained silent, allowing her to form her own opinion. In short, she loved it. It had a huge country kitchen with an L-shaped dining area, a large front room, a small nursery or den, and one bathroom on the first floor. Four additional bedrooms and another bath sprawled across the second floor. The third-floor attic had two dormer windows from which she was certain you could see the ocean on a clear day. The basement offered an outside entrance and plenty of cold storage space for vegetables.

  No broken windows, no gaping holes in the roof, and no tenant family of raccoons. “This is a very large house,” she said to John. Amy clasped his hand as they stood in an attic dormer, transfixed by the panoramic view.

  “It is, but the Morrells never turned it particularly fancy with floor tiles, wall-to-wall carpeting, or carved staircase bannisters.”

  “Would Thomas or the bishop think it too much house for a young couple just starting out?” She couldn’t hide her mounting excitement. It was the nicest house on the prettiest piece of land she’d ever seen.

  “I think they’ll agree it’s a tremendous value for the money.”

  “This wouldn’t be too many acres for you to handle alone? It will be years before our sons are old enough to give you a hand…if God graces us with sons, that is,” she added with a blush.

  “No problem. I sud
denly feel as though I possess the energy of five men.” He squeezed her hand.

  “Then let’s ask Mrs. Chadd what we need to do to put down a deposit or down payment or whatever.” Amy began digging in her purse for her checkbook.

  “I just knew you would like it as much as me!” He enfolded her in a hug. “I’ve already given her a thousand dollars earnest money to put a hold on the place. I didn’t want someone snapping it up while you were out of town in Chestnut.” He released his embrace unexpectedly. “Let’s go back downstairs. I told her the full down payment wouldn’t be a problem because you have already deposited your inheritance at a Harmony bank. Come, my love. Let’s not keep Mrs. Chadd waiting.” John disappeared down the attic steps to the second floor.

  Amy was left feeling as though that faded, threadbare rug had just been pulled from beneath her feet. He put down a deposit before I even saw the place? What if I hadn’t liked it? Would that have even made a difference?

  If John lived to be a hundred years old, he still wouldn’t understand women. Amy had said she loved the house. He reassured her it would neither be too big for them, nor too many acres to farm. Yet for some reason her back had stiffened as though someone slipped a two-by-eight under her dress.

  She said to Mrs. Chadd, “Give me a couple of days to think about this” at least three times in response to the woman’s questions, including, “What did you think of the separate tub and shower in the upstairs bathroom?”

  Mrs. Chadd kept glancing at him to say or do something, but he couldn’t engage Amy in a serious discussion in front of an outsider. Finally, after the Realtor dropped them off at their buggy, he tried to open up a conversation. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what’s wrong?” He spoke softly so as not to intimidate her. “I thought you liked the Morrell farm.”

  Amy pulled the wool blanket over her knees. “I truly did like the house, but I panicked when you said you already gave her a deposit. Things are moving too fast.” She drew the cover up to her chin, even though she wore a heavy cloak.

  “I understand, but I feared someone else would snap it up. It hasn’t been on the market for long. And their asking price was more than fair.” He pulled gently on the reins to slow the pace. The horse was eager to get home to his hay and a bucket of oats, but John wanted some time to talk. “I was unsure how long you would linger in Chestnut.”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “If someone else bought the farm instead of us, then it would have been God’s will.”

  John bit his tongue to keep his temper. “Sometimes God expects us to step up and show some initiative. He never promised to hand life on a silver platter to His believers.”

  She snorted. “At that dear price, I’d hardly say we’re being handed anything.”

  He flinched from her sarcasm. “Is that what this is about? You’re afraid we’ll overpay? Amy, because you’ve never shopped for real estate, you have no idea what land costs.” He patted her knee. “I assure you I’ve looked at plenty of farms, both here and back in Lancaster. This one is a good deal. That’s why I don’t think it’ll remain long on the market.”

  Amy cocked her head to one side. “The earnest money you paid Mrs. Chadd—how much time does it give us before someone else can place an offer?” Clouds drifted across the sun, bringing an immediate chill to the air. He would have preferred any other question. She didn’t need additional excuses to drag her feet. John floundered for the best response.

  “How long do we have, John?” she repeated.

  “A bit less than three weeks. We had a month total.”

  She sighed with obvious relief. “Gut. I won’t feel pressured to decide in a day or two. It’s a big decision. Most folks will only buy a big house like this once in their lifetime. I might wish to look at one or two more properties for comparison.” Amy buried her hands beneath the wool.

  He couldn’t argue with her logic. But if she hadn’t put off viewing farms for sale, he wouldn’t have taken so rash a move in her absence. “We’re permitted thirty days but not required to take that long. So why don’t we play it by ear?” He forced his most benign expression.

  “All right. That will give us time to see bankers about a mortgage in case we decide to go ahead and buy before our wedding.”

  His smile vanished. “Mortgage? What are you talking about? With your share from the sale of your parents’ farm, along with the money I’ve saved, we won’t need a mortgage.”

  Amy threw off the covering. It fell into a heap by her feet. “If we pay for the farm in full, I won’t have anything left to my name.” Her face scrunched into such unpleasantness that no one would misunderstand her opinion of that idea.

  John began breathing hard through his nostrils. “Amy, you know Plain folk don’t borrow money unless absolutely necessary. It is unavoidable back in Lancaster because of real estate prices, but that’s not the case here. We have enough cash to pay for the farm in full and not have to pay a single dime in interest.” He appealed to her practical nature while guiding the buggy up Thomas’s driveway.

  She shook her head back and forth like a stubborn mule. “Again, I must ask for more time. You’re throwing too much at me at once. You picked out our home by yourself while I was out of town. And now you have already decided how I’ll spend my entire inheritance from my late parents. Have I no say in matters?”

  “Jah, of course. That’s why we drove out there today. If you didn’t like the Morrell homestead, Mrs. Chadd would have refunded our deposit. She assured me of that.” He sounded weak because he felt as though a stubborn mule had just gut-kicked him.

  “Well, that’s good to know.” Amy jumped down as soon as the buggy stopped, not waiting for him to come to her side.

  John hopped down to grab the bridle of the hungry, prancing horse. “I acted with your best interest in mind. I thought this house would make you happy. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds as your fiancé.”

  Her features softened considerably. “And it probably will make me happy someday, but not today. I’m tired and cranky and need to figure out if we should give every cent we have to this fancy-dressed Englischer. How much common sense does the woman have to wear high heels to show people a farm?” Her crankiness grew ever more apparent.

  He considered explaining that their money would be given to the Morrell heirs, not to the overdressed Mrs. Chadd, but he wisely held his tongue. Unsure as to how to proceed, he tipped his hat ridiculously, like some elderly grossdawdi. “Good afternoon, then. I’ll tend to the horse and see you in the house later.” He turned on his boot heel and led the gelding to his oats and a rubdown inside the barn. An errant, shameful idea crept from the recesses of his mind. It wouldn’t be all the money we have if you hadn’t sold your farm to your cousins for a song.

  Thomas knew something must have happened while John and Amy toured properties for sale, but he didn’t have the heart or the energy to inquire what it was. He and Sally were tired after visiting with the other minister, but a consultation with the other ministerial brethren had been long overdue. Tomorrow, he would call on the bishop at the home of his married daughter. Their church leader usually arrived in Harmony the Wednesday before a preaching Sunday to prepare the main sermon and conduct district business. Minor disputes were brought to him for an Ordnung decision or some sort of compromise between members. It was time Thomas discussed the problem of Elam. He needed to tell the bishop about his brother’s latest fall from grace.

  While Thomas pondered tomorrow’s meeting, everyone else at the supper table apparently had their own crosses to bear. Amy pushed the food around her plate untouched, gazing anywhere but at her intended spouse. John hunched over his supper eating as though he was a condemned man at his final meal. Even Sally seemed distracted and distant. The only one with any enthusiasm or appetite was Nora King, for a change. Despite the fact that she hadn’t crawled out of bed by the time they had left this morning, Nora smiled dreamily and ate her chicken-and-rice with unusual zeal. Ther
e was no figuring out these King sisters. Were the two who remained behind with their grandparents equally as enigmatic? That must have been some household.

  After evening chores, Thomas opened his Bible to the book of Revelation. If a person read some of the most depressing and hard to comprehend Scripture, everyday conundrums seem small potatoes in comparison. When he finally drifted off to sleep that night, his dreams were filled with fiery lakes and plagues of locusts and earthquakes that tore huge rifts through Waldo County and the rest of Maine. Elam appeared in the nightmare, passing out pint bottles of whiskey to the youth of Harmony, aided by a wild-eyed Nora King. When Thomas shook himself the next morning, he had no more anxiety about seeing the bishop. Difficulties with a willful brother fell into perspective after battling swarms of insects devouring crops and bottomless chasms between farms.

  Blessedly, the world appeared unchanged during his ride.

  “Guder mariye,” greeted Andrew, sweeping open the door. “How did you know my daughter was baking pumpkin pies today? They are your favorite, jah? Come in, come in. Let’s have coffee.” The white-haired clergyman limped into the kitchen.

  “Is your rheumatism worse today?” asked Thomas, pulling out two chairs.

  “Jah, always so when the weather turns cold and damp. Maybe I’ll visit the homeopathic doc in town for one of his cures. Those compounds usually work wonders till your body adjusts to them. Then they are not so effective.” Andrew massaged his kneecaps with a grimace, while his fraa placed two large slices of pie, the coffeepot, and two mugs before them. His wife, meek and retiring, never spoke unless directly addressed.

  “Danki,” said Thomas. “But I’m not here for a social visit. I’ve come to discuss my bruder Elam.”

  “Still sitting on the fence, is he?” The elder man pulled his long white beard sagely.

  “I’m afraid it’s more serious than a man who cannot commit. He showed up unexpectedly at the Stoll pig roast, though I doubt the hosts even knew he was there. He ate by himself and clung to the shadows, mostly.”