Living in Harmony

by Mary Ellis

  Elam’s color heightened. “I won’t eat Sally’s tasty vittles down in a damp old basement.” And with that, he strode out the side door, grabbing another piece of chicken as he passed the stove.

  Thomas exchanged glances with his pale, wide-eyed wife. “The time has come,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. To Prudence he nodded and said, “I apologize for my brother’s behavior.” Then he threw on his chore coat and followed Elam out the door.

  His youngest brother hadn’t gone far. He sat on the porch swing chewing meat off the bone as though at a summertime picnic. “Ya know? That Sally does make some good fried chicken.” He smacked his lips to emphasize his point.

  Thomas advanced until he stood a foot from the swing. “You’re drunk.” It was a declaration of fact, not a question.

  Elam wiped up the last of the gravy with his buttermilk biscuit. “Might have had a nip to take the edge off…meeting new relatives and all.” He laid the plate of bones beside him on the swing.

  “You have no right to come to my table drunk and stinking of your infernal cigarettes.” His breath vaporized into white fog.

  Elam lifted his chin and squinted. “I thought I’d like to have one final meal with my family before I leave. I will truly miss your wife’s cooking. She’s improved considerably since the early days, jah?”

  Thomas ignored the second compliment to Sally, concentrating on the new information. “Where are you going? Did you find another job?”

  “Nope. But I’m moving on, taking a road trip before we get buried in another avalanche. I’m heading south. Thought I would stop in Lancaster to see if anybody remembers me, and then I’ll move on through Kentucky and on to Missouri. Maybe stop and see the Ozark Mountains, wherever they are.” Elam leaned back on the bench.

  “How do you plan to get around? Hop freight trains?”

  Elam scowled, not taking what he considered an insult lightly. “I’m no hobo, Thomas. I’m driving. I bought a car. I got my license and saved a few bucks. Making a fresh start where there’s more to do than watch icicles drip five months a year.”

  Thomas shifted his weight. “Is that right? Then I suggest you be on your way.” There was nothing warm or hospitable in his tone.

  Elam glared from under his black eyelashes. “I’ll start packing. It won’t take me long.” He rose unsteadily to his feet with false bravado, stomped down the steps, and disappeared around the house.

  Thomas gazed toward the empty fields feeling a pervasive sense of loss for someone not yet gone. How did this happen? Was there something I could have done to keep Elam from turning away from his heritage, his family, and his faith?

  For the life of him, Thomas didn’t know.

  Two days later the sun rose to its winter zenith, offering a deceptively pleasant ambiance to the world despite frigid temperatures. Nora, Amy, John, Thomas, Sally, and their two sons stood in formation to bid Prudence goodbye. As the taxi driver loaded her suitcase into the trunk, even Nora felt tears moisten her eyes. Aunt Prudence was a remarkable woman—kind, patient, and gentle, yet still feisty and independent. She’d had a difficult life, but the Lord had blessed her with happiness in her later years.

  Nora hoped to be like her one day. But not in the near future.

  John hugged Prudence in his shy, backward fashion. Sally embraced her with spine-snapping vigor for so small a woman. Amy stood mute and teary-eyed, despite Aunt Prudence’s assurance that she and Mr. Summerton would return for the wedding. Thomas promised to smooth matters with the bishop and district to make that possible. Nora gave her a hug, and then Amy kissed their aunt on both cheeks like a tourist before Prudence climbed into the backseat of the cab. With a toot of the horn, the taxi crunched down the driveway to the street and on to the bus depot.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be back.” Nora slipped an arm around Amy’s waist, while John hovered on her other side.

  “I know,” Amy murmured. “I’m just sad about all the wasted time.”

  John waited until the others wandered off before buzzing a kiss across Amy’s forehead. “See you at lunch,” he said next to her ear.

  “Dinner, more likely. Could you hitch up the buggy, please?” asked Amy. “The roads aren’t bad, and I’d like to run some errands in Harmony.”

  “It’ll be ready before you can layer on your warmest clothes.” John practically ran to the barn.

  Amy watched him go with a sly expression on her face. Then she said to her sister, “Why don’t you bundle up too and come with me? I have some phone calls to make and wish to stop at the bank. I’ll treat you to lunch and a cappuccino later.”

  Nora thought for a moment. “Why don’t you just use Elam’s phone again? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Amy’s carefree countenance faded. “Because he’s gone, Nora. He left yesterday.”

  “Gone?” Nora moved into face-to-face position. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yesterday morning I went downstairs to ask to borrow his phone. I wanted to leave another message on the Realtor’s answering machine. Elam was packing his stuff into two ratty old duffel bags. He said the battery was dead on his phone anyway.” Amy paused, as though this were of primary significance.

  “Go on,” prodded Nora.

  “He told me best wishes for the wedding and that I should tell everybody goodbye after he was gone. He wanted a day’s head start so there wouldn’t be any embarrassing scenes.”

  Nora stamped her feet on the frozen ground to improve circulation, fighting the urge to shake the details out of her sister. “You didn’t bother to ask where he was going?”

  “Of course I did. He said he’d be taking a grand tour in his new car. Can you believe it?” she interjected. “Unbeknownst to everyone, he got his driver’s license and purchased an automobile!”

  Nora looked away, ashamed of her deception.

  Amy didn’t notice. “He’s stopping in Pennsylvania and Kentucky, and he wants to see the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas for some strange reason. Then he’ll settle for a while in Paradise where Sally came from. He said by then he’ll be broke and will need to get a job.”

  A dozen questions rose up Nora’s dry throat, but suddenly Amy stomped her own feet. “Goodness, that wind cuts right through this shawl. We’ll talk more on the way to town.” She bolted toward the porch, leaving her sister thunderstruck.

  Nora waited until the kitchen door closed, and then she ran around the house to the outside cellar entrance. Half slipping down the icy steps, she entered the former residence of Elam Detweiler. Inexplicably, her heartbeat quickened as though she would soon face the man impossible to stop thinking about. She focused on the twin bed, neatly made with Sally’s patchwork quilt, the rag rug beside it, and the rickety old bureau that leaned to one side. Several drawers were still open, as though he’d packed in a hurry. Nora gazed at the spots where Elam had stored his worldly possessions—the upturned milk crate, the shelf above the stationary tub, the row of pegs along the wall. Empty. Nothing remained of the occupant other than settling dust motes and the faint, stale odor of tobacco.

  She felt an overwhelming, near-paralyzing sense of abandonment. How could he leave without as much as a simple goodbye? She stood in the gloom until the damp walls with hidden spiders began to close in on her. Then she ran up the interior stairs, not stopping until she reached the sanctity of her bedroom.

  Later, as she drove to town with Amy, wrapped snuggly in a lap robe, her disappointment only increased with each passing mile.

  “Are you warm enough?” asked Amy.

  “Jah, quite. It was nice of John to heat the blankets by the woodstove.”

  Amy grinned. “Sure was. I can’t wait to talk to Mrs. Chadd. I checked the date. We’re still within the thirty-day hold for the earnest money deposit. We haven’t lost our chance for the house.” Her tone equaled that of someone heralding a cure for cancer.

  “I’m happy for you. I look forward to seeing it…on a warmer day.”

 
“Oh, you’ll be seeing it plenty, schwester, while you help me paint the bedrooms.” Amy laughed uproariously. “We’ll swing by the bank first to set up a transfer of funds. John and I will pay cash for the farm so we’ll own the place free and clear, without any encumbrances.” Her tone now implied the end to global hunger.

  Nora politely waited until Amy’s exuberance waned a bit before asking, “Elam just left? He had no message for me? I’d thought we had become friends during the short time I was here—my only friend in Harmony.”

  “Mir leid, sweet sister, I’ve been self-absorbed. There was a message. He said to tell you that it was nice meeting you and that you should stay adventurous. And not to let Harmony moss grow up your backside.” Amy giggled like a schoolgirl with the mental image.

  “He said that?”

  “Jah, he did. Apparently, he appreciated your short friendship too. I know he had few other pals in town.” Amy slapped the reins lightly on the horse’s back. “I hope he finds what he’s looking for. He surely wasn’t happy here. That’s why he indulged in those bad habits.”

  Nora struggled not to expose her turbulent emotions. “What do you suppose that is? What does Elam want in life?”

  Amy shook her head, hidden inside the oversized bonnet. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I can’t stop fixating on the meatball sub with a big cappuccino I plan to order for lunch.”

  Nora sank down into her heavy wool cloak and layers of blankets for the rest of the ride. Yet two particular words that Amy used earlier regarding Aunt Prudence settled in her head and refused to dislodge.

  Wasted time.

  Nora was no longer thinking about Amy or Aunt Prudence or even Elam.

  TWENTY

  All by His hand and for His glory

  Three months later

  God graced the ecstatic bride and nervous groom with abundant sunshine on their wedding day. The sky was a fathomless blue with wisps of white clouds so high it seemed they could barely be in our solar system. No one appeared to mind that temperatures had dropped into single digits, even though it was the beginning of March.

  While Nora slept, Amy knelt beside her bed to send up prayers of thanksgiving. She had found the answers she had been seeking. By nightfall she would be Mrs. John Detweiler, and Amy couldn’t think of anything that would make her happier.

  She bathed and dressed and wound her hair into a tight coil. Tonight, in the privacy of their bedroom, John would see her waist-length hair down for the first time.

  And today would be the last day he would shave off his whiskers.

  She didn’t mind that her new dress wasn’t the soft shade of blue it would have been in Pennsylvania. And there would be no reception with tables brimming with gifts and sweet desserts, including a multitiered frosted wedding cake. Their Harmony bishop would cringe at the gluttonous excess of a Lancaster wedding meal. But none of that mattered. Amy could eat stale saltines washed down with well water and still enjoy herself.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Sally had the kitchen in a flurry of activity.

  “Well, there you are! I thought you would never finish.” Sally pushed up the window and shouted. “John, get in the shower! Time’s a’wasting.” She slammed it shut to stem the draft of cold air.

  Amy assessed the countertops. “Did you even sleep last night?” Several types of pie cooled on metal racks, while one huge roaster of braised purple cabbage with roast pork and another of her maple syrup sweet potatoes waited by the door. “Is anybody else cooking food today?” she asked.

  Pleasure mingled with pride on Sally’s face. “Jah, the ladies are making their new assignments from my list. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to make this day special for you.” Impulsively, she threw her arms around Amy’s waist and squeezed. “The bishop will shake his head and grumble under his breath that there’s too much food, but he’ll allow the feast for you and John as long as nothing goes to waste.”

  “Danki,” murmured Amy, feeling emotion clog her throat for the first of many times that day. “What’s in here?” She lifted the lid on a huge stockpot, releasing the fragrance of celery and onions.

  “Your sister insisted on making traditional Lancaster wedding soup. Except she had no written recipe and guessed at the ingredients and proportions. Nora admitted she never cooked it before, only watched your mamm a few times.” Sally’s dimples deepened. “We’ll hope for the best. I haven’t sampled it yet.”

  John stomped into the back mudroom and shrugged off his outerwear. He called “Guder mariye” to Amy with an ear to ear grin before disappearing into the bathroom. There was no rule against the groom seeing the bride before the ceremony as in the English world. He emerged fifteen minutes later with his damp hair neatly combed, dressed in his Sunday black coat, pants, and crisp white shirt.

  Amy leaned against the kitchen counter, savoring the details of the Detweiler household. She wanted to remember her wedding day forever. For a few moments she thought about her parents, picturing what her mamm would be doing and saying to her. Then she forced those memories away, not wishing to cry. No bride wanted to look blotchy and swollen-eyed. Her sole regret was that her sisters, Rachel and Beth, and her grandparents couldn’t make the trip with the unpredictable weather. Late winter still packed plenty of wallop for stalwart New Englanders.

  In a few months she and John would take a wedding trip once mild weather returned. Who wanted to walk the rugged Maine coastline in forty-mile-an-hour winds? They would honeymoon in Portland at a bed-and-breakfast near the water. Amy would view the ocean for the first…and perhaps last…time. But it didn’t matter. Whatever God had planned was fine with her. Then they would travel by train to Philadelphia, on to Harrisburg, and finally to Lancaster County by bus. A taxi would take them to grossmammi’s farm for a month-long vacation. Amy planned to sleep little to enjoy the maximum visit with her sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and, of course, her grandparents. Time marches on, bringing new bopplin and taking away those whose allotted days on earth are over. Only our faith in the hereafter softens the sting of the relentless cycle.

  Just as Sally bustled away to tend her children, Nora appeared in the doorway. “Won’t be long now,” she murmured.

  “Bring it on!” Amy used her sister’s favorite English phrase to the girl’s utter delight. They both erupted into a fit of giggles like many times before. “Don’t forget the crate of surprises,” Amy cautioned once she regained her composure.

  “Not to worry. It’s already on the porch.” Nora rocked back and forth on her heels. She looked very young and pretty today, even in her drab olive-green dress.

  “Thank you for standing up as my attendant.” Amy studied her sister to memorize every detail, even though it would be weeks until she and John moved into their new home.

  “Who else would do it? I’m your only sister in Maine.” She rolled her eyes and hurried to the stove. “Why don’t you see if Sally needs help? I want to be alone when I sample my pot of soup in case it needs last-minute adjustments or a quick dump into the compost pile.”

  On feet barely touching the floor, Amy did as Nora suggested, feeling more cherished than any woman had a right to.

  Later that morning Amy and John listened with heightened awareness to two sermons, plenty of Scripture readings, and tuneless singing by the congregation. When the three-hour service ended, the bishop married them in a simple but reverent exchange of vows before a crowd of joyous faces. Will and Prudence Summerton sat in the back row on their respective sides of the meetinghouse. They would kneel and confess their sins at a later date to be restored to their former Amish community. Perhaps they would someday move back to Harmony or, more likely, they would remain in their quiet world up north. But Amy would never be far from her aunt’s support again.

  As they were joined together as man and wife, John’s face glowed, while Amy couldn’t stop holding her breath. Then the newlyweds moved to the front steps to greet their guests. Inside, men moved the benches and set up long
tables. Women carried in roasters of food from their buggies for Sally to organize into a buffet. As her special soup reheated atop the wood-burning stove, Nora set out the sisters’ pre-wedding handiwork. She placed jelly jars filled with cut celery sticks on each table; their leafy tops lending the appearance of flower bouquets.

  Sally flitted among the ladies like a trained tour operator. She directed, organized, and praised everyone’s contribution, smiling the entire time. Women young and old turned to her as their leader. Agnes Miller followed Sally around, eager to assist wherever needed. Agnes had not forgotten Sally’s intervention and never would. The younger woman gained a new adopted mamm for her act of Christian compassion. The change in Sally over the last six months had been astonishing. Amy experienced a rare moment of pride that she’d helped transform her into an exemplary pastor’s wife.

  Once Sally organized the buffet, she ladled small bowls of Nora’s creamy soup for the meal’s first course. Amy and Nora delivered the bowls to the tables, determined to transplant a Lancaster tradition to central Maine. They watched one wedding guest hold his soup to his nose and sniff. Another man took a spoonful and lifted his eyebrows. Most, however, began eating and didn’t stop until the soup was gone. After Amy and John finished their lunch of chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, applesauce, and warm bread, they wandered between tables to thank the guests for their gifts. People lingered over coffee and dessert in no hurry to venture into the cold. Amy presented each woman with a packet of celery seeds for their spring gardens. If the district enjoyed the soup recipe, the new tradition might catch on.

  Only two young faces didn’t seem to enjoy the jubilant occasion. After doing her share of serving and cleanup, Nora stood along the meetinghouse wall like the proverbial wallflower. A few women attempted conversations with her, but their interactions were brief. Nora, in her drab dress, black kapp, and high-top shoes, looked shrunken and forlorn. But whenever Amy looked at her, Nora’s face bloomed into a smile.

  She so wants me to be happy, thought Amy. Can’t she understand I want the same thing for her?