Living in Harmony

by Mary Ellis

  “Seems like a long way to go for a free meal.” Andrew gave his beard another pull.

  “True enough, but one of my houseguests, Nora King, came upon him eating supper in his buggy. He gave her…or allowed her to take…a couple of his beers. He brought a six-pack to the party. Later I searched his basement room and found both cigarettes and whiskey.”

  Andrew recoiled from the words. “Send him back to his English logging crew! Those sort of pastimes might be acceptable among them, but not here. Tell him he can’t return to your home until he is willing to accept your rules.” The bishop cut into his pie with a fork.

  “That’s part of the problem. Elam was fired from his job—for fighting, I think. He has no crew to return to and no other place to stay other than my cellar.” Thomas took a big swallow of coffee without sipping it first and scalded his throat with the hot liquid.

  “That is, indeed, a problem.” The bishop focused on his food while mulling the matter over. When he finished his pie, he riveted Thomas with his gaze. “You have been too lenient with him because he’s a family member. And now he’s caused another, Nora King, to stray from the path. Speak to him man-to-man. Insist that he give serious thought to his future instead of bouncing from one experience to the next. Ask him to also consider his eternal future—the hereafter. His soul is at stake. Invite him to join our district and commit to the faith of his parents and their parents. But make sure your meaning is crystal clear. The time has come for him to decide. Set a date, Thomas.”

  “How much more time should I give him?” Thomas finally cut into his dessert, heartened by a corner turned.

  “Why not till Christmas? That will give him seven weeks to give up his English habits. Or he must leave your home and not return until ready to be baptized and join the church.”

  Thomas nodded and then voiced his confirmation. “I will speak to him soon and honor our decision come December.”

  FIFTEEN

  When I soar to worlds unknown

  Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” asked Amy. “Maybe there will be more work to do than you figure.”

  Sally smiled over the lid of their largest picnic basket. “No, you’re a big help by keeping the home fires burning. I’m not sure when I’ll get back, so if you will serve dinner at our regular time, I would be obliged.” She loaded the stuffed chicken, pan of roast pork, and sweet potato casserole into the hamper.

  Amy wiped her hands on her apron. “Nora and I will make sure none of the menfolk starve to death while you’re gone.” Then her pretty face furrowed with concern. “How did you find out that Agnes Miller was ailing?”

  “When Thomas visited the bishop yesterday, his daughter mentioned that Agnes was suffering from a flare-up of gout. That can be very painful.”

  “Aren’t you afraid to visit her alone?” asked Nora. “That woman has always been critical of you, Sally. Never a kind word comes from her mouth.” Nora turned back to her sink full of dirty dishes.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. When I brought out my sign-up sheet, she was the first to pick a category.” Sally squeezed half a loaf of bread next to the casserole in the basket.

  Nora laughed with a caustic, unpleasant sound. “Jah, but she also made a wisecrack about not having to contend with turkey sandwiches week after week.”

  “Is any room left in the hamper?” Amy went to the pie safe, angling her sister a glare along the way. “Please take the Millers this extra Dutch apple pie. I’ll cut the other into smaller slices so that one will be enough for us tonight.” She quickly wrapped her contribution with foil.

  “Good idea,” agreed Nora over her shoulder. “Bribe your way onto her good side with sweets.”

  Sally shook off Nora’s skepticism. “You girls, really, with your worries. I’m going to give Agnes a hand with housework and take them supper for a few days. Her ehemann is too old and in too poor of health to help when Agnes feels sick.”

  “Well, I hope she won’t criticize you. After all, you’re on a mission of mercy. Because the Millers have no children, they must rely on district members for help.” Amy set her pie on top of the other food. “Let that be a lesson to those planning never to marry and bear kinner.” With great animation, Amy turned toward her sister.

  “I’ll carry Jeremiah to the buggy,” volunteered Nora, turning off the water. She stuck her tongue out at Amy on her way to pick up the baby.

  “And I’ll carry the hamper.” Amy lifted the handles and headed out the door.

  “Come along, Aden.” Sally reached for his hand and the diaper tote. “It looks like we’re ready.”

  Outdoors, Sally saw no sign of Thomas, John, or Elam. Waving goodbye to the two women, she felt relieved to spend the day away from the farm. John had remained out of sorts since the house-hunting excursion with his bride-to-be. Amy explained only that they needed to work through a few minor details. If minor details could cause so much tension, Sally predicted a rocky road for their first couple of years together.

  Thomas confided that today would be his long overdue showdown with his brother. Last night, as they huddled under their heaviest quilt, he told her about his conversation with the bishop, along with a blow-by-blow account of what happened during and after the cookout.

  “It’s about time,” she mused aloud now as she guided the horse along the road.

  “For what, mamm?” asked Aden, peering up from under his dark eyelashes.

  “For you to snuggle under the blanket.” Sally pulled it up to his neck. Usually, once the boy was toasty warm, he would fall asleep against her side. Today was no exception, so Sally spent the forty-five-minute drive to the Millers’ mulling over how to help Amy and John. The man did love Amy despite his stubborn streak. And she seemed devoted to him. But if they kept arguing, Thomas would never bless the marriage. Sally wasted no time thinking about her younger brother-in-law. The sooner that thorn-in-her-side returned to his English friends, the better. She thought there was little chance Elam would hop down on the Amish side of the fence.

  Sally spent so much time contemplating the rocky romance of her houseguests that she forgot to fret about the upcoming visit. She was negotiating the ruts and potholes of Agnes’s driveway before she knew it. Unfortunately, peeling paint on the house, sagging porch steps, and overgrown flower beds indicated that the Millers hadn’t felt well in a while. Thomas had suggested that the district help with major chores, but his offer had been soundly refused. The elderly couple didn’t seem to recognize that their property was falling into disrepair.

  After tying her horse to the post, Sally inhaled a deep breath and marched up the path with her sons in tow. “Guder mariye,” she greeted the moment her knock was answered.

  Agnes Miller stood in the doorway wearing a spattered, wrinkled apron and a prayer kapp that hadn’t been starched or ironed.

  “Sally Detweiler, what are you doing here?” Her gaze scanned the baby carrier and Aden with little joy. “I hope you hadn’t planned to ask me to babysit for a few hours. I’m really not up to it.” Agnes sounded fatigued beyond description.

  “Goodness, no. I just brought them along for the ride when I decided to come visit today.” Carrying Jeremiah, Sally pulled Aden by the hand into the room, fearing an invitation to enter might not be extended. Her peripheral vision took in more clutter and disorganization than normal for a Plain home, even by her own modest standards.

  The older woman wrung her hands. “I wasn’t expecting company.” She looked around her kitchen with apparent unease. “I hope you won’t gossip that Agnes Miller allowed her house to go to seed.” She forced a laugh and moved to block Sally’s view of a sink filled with dirty dishes. “My gout has flared up something awful.”

  Sally placed the baby carrier on a chair and bent down to Aden. “You sit next to your brother and do not move.” Her tone of voice meant business. “Of course not,” she said to Agnes. “The fact that you’re under the weather is why I’m here.” She held up a hand when the other
woman began to protest. “Hear me out, Agnes. You did me a great service after a preaching service not long ago. You came to my rescue, so I’m here to return the favor. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Confusion pinched the woman’s face. “How do you mean?”

  “You were first to volunteer to bring potato salad for the after-service meal. Once you stepped forward as a district elder, the other women followed your lead.”

  “I’m no elder, unless we’re only talking age.” But her features softened while her posture relaxed. “And why shouldn’t I have? It was a good idea. We should have started doing that a while ago. No sense in one woman bearing all the work and expense while the rest of us sit around.”

  “I appreciated your support because the women respect your judgment.”

  Agnes nodded modestly and then gestured toward a kitchen chair. “Care to sit a spell and tell me how you aim to return the favor? I have coffee that’s still warm.”

  Sally grinned. “Coffee sounds gut, but I need to get something from my buggy and unhitch my horse into your paddock.” She hooked a thumb at her sons. “I promise you’ll only be stuck watching them for five, maybe ten minutes at the most.”

  “That long I can handle.” Agnes opened her cupboard for mugs.

  Once Sally returned with the food, she noticed the woman had donned a fresh apron.

  “What have you brought?” Suspicion returned to Agnes’s voice.

  “Well, because you haven’t been feeling well, I made a few meals to tide you and Joseph over. I expect you’ll do the same for me one day when I’m ailing.”

  Agnes peered into the picnic basket. “Is your pork roast with braised purple cabbage in here? And maple syrup sweet potatoes?”

  “They are.” Sally lifted out the pie. “Amy King insisted I bring this pie she baked, even though everyone knows your Dutch apple pies are the best around.”

  Agnes lifted a corner of the foil and sniffed. “That may be, but I’ve had plenty of practice. And there’s no reason to hurt the young woman’s feelings.” She carried the pie to her windowsill as though it were still cooling from the oven.

  When light from the window illuminated her face, Sally saw just how much Agnes was suffering. “Why don’t you sit down? I heard from Thomas about your gout and know it’s really painful.”

  “It’s my own fault. That doctor in Waterville gave me a list of foods I shouldn’t eat, but most of my favorites are on it. Don’t eat meat or broth? All Joseph ever wants is either meat and potatoes or a big kettle of soup. How can you make soup without broth?” She limped toward the table and lowered herself slowly into a chair.

  “That can be a challenge. But that doc didn’t say anything about purple cabbage or sweet potatoes, did he?”

  A smile brightened the color of Agnes’s cheeks. “She did not.”

  Sally perched a hand on her hip. “Now, you sit and tell me the district news. I’m going to wash those dishes, scrub the kitchen floor, and maybe run a few loads of laundry. I’ll bet the cellar steps are nearly impossible these days.”

  “I can’t manage them or the ones up to our bedroom. I started sleeping on the living room couch. Joseph refuses to spend the night apart, so he sleeps in the recliner.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The wash is frightfully overflowing the hamper.”

  “Then I will start on that first. I’ll ask Thomas and John to stop by to move the washing machine from the basement to the back porch. That should make things easier. And I have a foldaway bed no one is using. Why don’t you borrow it just until this flare-up passes? That’ll give Joseph the couch—better for his back, jah?”

  Agnes stared down at her liver-spotted hands. “Jah, truly so. Danki, Sally. You’re a godsend to me today, especially because I’m not the most deserving woman in the district for your kindness.” She didn’t lift her gaze from her hands.

  “Nonsense. I’m still figuring out everything a minister’s wife is supposed to do. So don’t be surprised if I come to you for a little advice now and then.”

  When Agnes looked up, Sally saw tears in her eyes. “I’d be happy and honored to help.”

  Sally pulled crayons and a farm animal coloring book from her tote bag for Aden. “Don’t forget, while I’m downstairs with the laundry, you’re stuck babysitting my kinner up here.” She winked impishly.

  Agnes hooted with laughter. “I had a notion you would rope me into that, Sally Detweiler! But I suppose I can manage these rascals for a little while.” She smoothed back a lock of Jeremiah’s hair as a tear ran down her face.

  Sally left to search for the overflowing laundry hamper before she started crying too.

  Amy waved until Sally’s buggy reached the bend in the road. Nora was already halfway back to the house. “You shouldn’t have reminded Sally about Agnes’s comment on the turkey sandwiches.” She ran to catch up.

  “Why not?” asked Nora, waiting for her on the steps. “A person should be prepared to enter the lion’s den.”

  “And what would you know about that?” Amy held open the door.

  “I attend services here in Harmony, don’t I?” Nora walked into the warm, cozy kitchen. “What shall we mice do while the cat is away?” She winked one shiny green eye. “Maybe call the hired van to take us shopping in Waterville? We can bring home pizza for supper.”

  Amy stared at the girl. “Have you lost your mind? I assured Sally we would tend to chores in her absence—not run off the moment she turned her back. We have lunch and dinner to make. And I thought we would wash walls to start fall cleaning.”

  “I’m not sure who we’re cooking for. I’ve haven’t seen hide nor hair of Thomas or Elam. And John seems to be avoiding you lately.”

  “He has chores, same as us. You finish up in here while I scrub the bathtub.” Amy walked away from her sister before she lost her temper. The woman had landed too close to the truth—John did seem to avoid her. But, after all, hadn’t she requested some thinking time? Perhaps he was only giving her the space she wanted.

  Their self-imposed separation ended at lunchtime. The side door banged against the wall as John paused long enough to toe off his mud-caked boots. Then he bounded into the room like a stallion jumping a fence. “Where are you, Amy?” he called.

  “I’m right here!” She stepped from the walk-in pantry into the kitchen, flashing him a smile.

  “Sorry about shouting. I didn’t see you.” He hung up his chore coat and hat. “I talked to Thomas in the barn. The bishop agreed at last to let us join the marriage counseling classes. Thomas will provide any information we might have missed during the first class.” He grasped the chair back but didn’t sit down. “Isn’t that wundabaar?”

  Amy felt a surge of affection for his excitement. Few men approached mandatory marital sessions with such enthusiasm. “It is. I’m glad he finally realized we’re not running back to Pennsylvania on the next train from Portland.” She pulled bags of cold cuts, cheese, and condiments from the fridge for their lunch.

  “A few new rules won’t scare us off. Not since we’ve come to the land of milk and honey.”

  “And where would that be?” Nora materialized in the doorway. “Surely you don’t mean here. The thermometer says it’s only twenty-five degrees outside. The bees are all dead and milk would freeze solid.”

  John swallowed hard. “I am speaking of Harmony, sister. When someone is ready to buy a new home, he or she appreciates properties still affordable by the common man.”

  Nora set the loaf of bread on the table and turned toward Amy. “It’s too late to marry this season. November is half over.”

  “Couples in this district can marry anytime—December, January, February. There’s no wedding season here,” said Amy. “At least we can join the group that will marry before Christmas.”

  Nora shrugged her thin shoulders. “They have no season because the district is so small. Who would come to these weddings that you don’t already see each and every Sunday?” She slumped into a chair.


  “Probably so,” agreed John, building himself a huge sandwich.

  Nora placed a modest portion of ham on her multigrain bread. “I wonder who’ll be here for Thanksgiving dinner. Will it just be the six of us….and maybe Elam?”

  Amy heard the note of delight at the mention of Elam’s name but said nothing. But she set jars of pickles and beets down with a thud.

  “It will be the same people who eat here every Thursday evening.” Thomas had entered through the back door silently and walked to his seat at the table. “The English holiday has no place in a Plain household.” He bowed his head in silent prayer as did the others.

  When they finished, Nora stared at him. “What’s wrong with Thanksgiving? It’s simply a time to give thanks for the bounty of the Lord.”

  “We need a special day on the calendar to do that?” Thomas aimed his piercing blue eyes at Nora. “We should express our gratitude daily, without fail.”

  Nora picked up her sandwich but met his gaze. “I agree, but I don’t understand the harm in this particular English celebration. It’s just family and friends coming together to share a big meal.”

  A muscle jumped in Thomas’s jaw. “I’ve been to Thanksgiving dinners on occasion. Folks usually stuff themselves until painfully uncomfortable and then they fall asleep in their chairs. That’s nothing but an exercise in gluttony.”

  For several seconds no one spoke. Then Amy said quietly, “I do like the holiday, but you’re right about overeating. I’ve been guilty of that myself in the past.”

  “So, no Thanksgiving in Harmony?” Nora pressed the issue while nibbling her sandwich.

  “Nein.” Thomas scooped pickled beets onto his plate.

  “What about Christmas?”

  He stared at her. “Surely back in Lancaster you didn’t decorate a Christmas tree, hang stockings by the fire, and place a wooden Santa with sleigh and reindeer across the roof?” His tone was soft but deadly serious.

  Amy exchanged an uncomfortable look with John. He held his giant, gluttonous sandwich in midair.