An Amish Harvest

by Beth Wiseman

  After prayer Amos grabbed the platter of deviled eggs. He was about to put one on his plate when he looked at her. “Would you like one, Dinah?”

  She saw David and Judith exchange a puzzled glance, as if they were surprised he’d thought of her first. “Y-ya,” she said, not even able to say a proper thank-you. David was making her nervous. She took an egg from the plate, then Amos took two and set them on his dish.

  When everyone had the food they wanted, they began to eat. “Amos,” David said, taking a swig from his glass of tea. “Getting that field mowed?”

  “Ya,” Amos said over a mouthful of food. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only to stop halfway and pick up the napkin next to his plate. He finished cleaning his mouth. “I’ll be almost done by tonight.”

  “Almost?”

  “There’s a lot of hay.”

  “I know exactly how much hay there is, Amos. That’s why you need help.”

  “Dinah Keim is helping me. She did a gut job this morning.”

  David looked at Dinah, his stern features relaxing a bit. “I, uh, appreciate it.”

  She nodded, too intimidated to respond. She was also getting angry. Amos was working hard. David should acknowledge that instead of berating him.

  He turned back to Amos. “After you finish eating you need to rake the hay and spread it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t tarry. You know the hay has to dry on the top before you rake it into a stack.”

  “Ya, Daed. I know.”

  “What about the animals? They get fed?”

  “Ya.” Amos’s good-natured expression disappeared. “I always feed them.”

  “Sometimes you forget.”

  Amos kept his head down as David continued to talk. “Can’t let anything happen to the pigs, so make sure they get enough feed. Did you collect the eggs this morning?”

  “David,” Aenti Judith said, her soft voice holding a bit of an edge. “I get the eggs, remember?”

  “Oh.” He glanced down at his plate. “That’s right. Reminding Amos is a force of habit. He doesn’t remember very much.”

  Dinah met Amos’s gaze. It hurt her heart to see the shame and defeat in his eyes. Amos had nothing to be ashamed of. His father, on the other hand, was a different story. She couldn’t believe he was talking to Amos as though his son was stupid.

  Suddenly Amos pushed his half-eaten plate away, stood, and walked out of the kitchen without saying a word.

  “A-Amos, w-wait.” Dinah pushed away from the table.

  “Dinah,” her aunt said. “Maybe you should give him some time alone.”

  “I-I c-can’t.” Dinah couldn’t help but look at David. His grayish-brown eyebrows flattened above his eyes with disapproval. Of her or Amos, she had no idea. And she didn’t care. She lifted her chin and spoke directly to him. “L-like y-you s-said, there’s w-work t-to do.” She stormed out of the kitchen, clenching her teeth. No one should feel belittled by family. Especially someone as wonderful as Amos.

  Amos stomped to the field, feeling anger growing inside his chest. His face was hot and not only from the sun beating on top of his head. He frowned. He’d forgotten his hat. Daed was right about him being forgetful. That just made Amos angrier.

  “Amos!”

  Dinah’s voice brought him to a stop. Why did Daed have to treat him like a stupid little kid in front of Dinah? She probably thinks I’m stupid too. But it was the truth. He was dumb. He could barely read. He laughed at the wrong times. He was a messy eater. He didn’t know how to talk the right way to girls—or to anyone else.

  “Amos?” Dinah came up beside him. She sounded like she needed more air, the way he did after he’d been running for a while. “Here.”

  He looked down and saw his hat in her hand. He snatched it from her, then felt bad. He wasn’t mad at her. He was ashamed . . . ashamed of who he was. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Amos looked out over the freshly mowed hayfield. There was still a lot of hay to mow. He might not be able to mow all of it like he’d told Daed. That would make Daed mad all over again. “For being me.”

  Dinah stood in front of him. Her light brown brows looked like two arches above her pretty eyes. “You have nix to be sorry for, so stop apologizing.”

  He couldn’t look at her. “I wish I was normal,” he whispered. He’d never admitted that out loud before.

  “You’re exactly how God made you.” Dinah moved a step closer to him. “But I know what you mean. I wish I didn’t stutter.”

  “You’re not stuttering now.”

  Her eyes grew big. “Nee . . . I’m not. But I think that’s because I’m with you. I feel safe when we’re together, Amos. I don’t have to worry that you’ll make fun of me.”

  “I would never make fun of you.”

  “I know. And that’s why I like you.”

  The tops of her cheeks turned pink. He really wished he could draw her portrait. He studied her. He knew she would be leaving in two weeks and he wanted to remember. Her sunny smile. Her warm face. The bright blue sky behind her. His anger disappeared. “You make me feel gut, Dinah Keim. Very gut.” He stared at her and she stared back. He could see sparks of light in her eyes. He wanted to draw those too.

  She didn’t say anything. His stomach turned. He’d said the wrong thing again.

  Then she looked up at him with a smile. “You make me feel gut too, Amos.” Then she backed away. “We should get to work, ya?”

  She was right. Daed would be mad if he saw Amos talking instead of working. He watched her pick up the hayfork. He would draw her tonight, he decided. And he knew exactly where to put her portrait.

  Chapter Seven

  Dinah spent the rest of the afternoon raking hay. Jeremiah and Anna Mae had been right—it was a lot of work. Amos continued to mow the hay while she was still getting the hang of how to make a loose roll that also stuck together. She was getting tired. She was also thinking about Amos. She’d been surprised by what he’d said, and she was more surprised that she admitted her own feelings. But then again, why wouldn’t she like Amos? He was so easy to like.

  What she didn’t understand was why he liked her.

  She finished one more roll of hay as the sun started to set. They had put in more than a full day. Her back hurt. Her whole body was damp with perspiration. Her arms ached from the repetitive motion of moving the hay rake. When she was done, she leaned on the rake. She should probably help Aenti Judith with supper since they were eating late tonight, but right now all she wanted to do was rest for a minute.

  “You’re tired, Dinah Keim. You need to geh inside.”

  “I can wait for you.”

  He took the hay rake from her. “I’ll be finished in a little while.”

  She didn’t argue and went back to the house. When she went inside, Aenti Judith was making supper. David wasn’t in the kitchen and Dinah was relieved. She was too tired to face him right now.

  “Dinah,” her aunt said, “geh upstairs and take a shower.”

  “I-I c-can h-help w-with s-supper.” Her stutter always worsened when she was tired.

  “It’s almost done. Geh on,” she said, ushering Dinah out of the kitchen. “A shower will help those sore muscles.”

  Her aunt was right. Dinah took a long, hot shower—probably longer than she should have. But the water had felt so good. She was still tired, but she wasn’t as sore. She dressed quickly, combed and pinned up her damp hair, and put on a light yellow kerchief before going downstairs for supper.

  Amos and David weren’t in the kitchen, and Dinah saw that they had eaten already. “I took too long,” she lamented.

  “Nee worries. You’ve had a busy couple of days. We all have. I saved a plate for you.” Her aunt gestured to a foil-covered plate on the table among the other dishes.

  When Dinah sat down to eat, she noticed her aunt didn’t get up to clear the table. She looked tired, and Dinah could see the toll David’s injury had tak
en on her. “I’ll clean up after I’m finished,” Dinah said.

  “Nonsense. I just need a few minutes of rest. You’re our guest and you’ve been working harder than me.”

  Dinah knew she hadn’t, but she didn’t argue. She was hungry and she dug into the food, not caring that it was slightly cold.

  “You’re different.”

  Looking up from her plate, Dinah met her aunt’s eyes. “What?”

  “You have been since you arrived. First you stitch up David’s leg like you’ve been doing it all yer life, and then you stand up to him.” Aenti Judith smiled. “I like the new sense of confidence.”

  Dinah brushed a few crumbs off the table. “I’m not sure where it’s c-coming f-from.”

  “That’s because you don’t give yerself enough credit.”

  It was just like her aunt to be so supportive, but Dinah couldn’t take the compliment seriously. “I’m sorry if I-I was rude to D-David.”

  “I know. And believe it or not, he understands. David’s not usually like this. He’s worried about the crops. He and Amos have always worked the harvest together.” Judith glanced at the top of the table. “He has trouble seeing Amos as an adult.”

  Dinah took a bite of the cooked, buttered cabbage, silently agreeing.

  “Once David’s leg heals up enough for him to work, he won’t be so crabby. He doesn’t like to sit still. He’s always worked hard, and he’s always had a heavy burden on his shoulders.”

  “Amos isn’t a burden.”

  Aenti Judith shook her head. “Nee, not Amos. Although at times they have a complicated relationship.” She sighed. “I need you to know that David is a gut mann. He loves his sons very much. He sometimes has a strange way of showing it.”

  Dinah nodded. Who was she to judge David Mullet? Perhaps that was her aunt’s point.

  “I’m glad you and Amos are getting along,” Aenti Judith said. Then she grew serious. “It’s gut for him to have a friend.”

  Friends. Somehow her relationship with Amos was becoming more complex than friendship.

  “How is yer mamm?”

  “She’s f-fine.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to respond to mei invitation so soon.” After a pause she added, “That was yer mamm’s decision, ya?”

  “Ya. She said I needed to g-get out m-more. I w-wish she understood that I l-like being a-alone.”

  “Do you? Or is it just easier?”

  Dinah put down her fork. “Both.”

  “There’s nix wrong with spending time alone. But you need to be with people too.” She squeezed Dinah’s hand. “People who enjoy yer company. Like me. And like Amos.” She let go of Dinah’s hand. “As soon as David’s back to full strength I’ll start harvesting the garden.”

  “I c-can h-help you with the c-canning.”

  “I’d like that. It will be nice to have another woman in the kitchen. Plus you and yer mamm always make the best tomato sauce. Will you share yer recipe with me?”

  “Of course.” She’d be making tomato sauce after all.

  “We have church this Sunday. I’d like to introduce you to our friends. But only if you feel comfortable.”

  “I’d like to meet th-them,” she said, meaning it.

  “I better check on David.” Aenti Judith got up. “I’ll be back to do the kitchen.”

  “Nee, I’ll get it. I’ve got a second wind.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Geh be with David.”

  Her aunt gave Dinah a grateful look. “And you get plenty of sleep.”

  Dinah finished her meal, then cleaned up the kitchen. She was wiping off the table when Amos walked in. “Where’s Judith?” he asked. “She always cleans the kitchen.”

  “She’s t-tired.” Dinah took the damp dishcloth to the sink and shook out the crumbs.

  “I’m tired too.” But he didn’t tell her good night or leave the kitchen.

  She hung up the cloth to dry, then turned to him. She wanted to ask him where he’d been for the last few hours, but she wouldn’t pry. “I should g-geh upstairs. I h-had some reading I planned to do t-tonight.”

  “Oh.” His tone was wistful.

  “Is everything all r-right?” she asked. “Do you need s-something, Amos?”

  He met her eyes. “Do you like reading?”

  “Ya. I like it very much.”

  He paused, but continued to hold her gaze. “I wish I could read.”

  Dinah was stunned. “You don’t know how to read?”

  He shook his head. “I can read a little. But not much.”

  “What if I taught you to read?”

  “You can’t. Mei teacher couldn’t and she was a gut teacher. Jeremiah tried and he couldn’t do it. Anna Mae tried too.”

  “But I haven’t. I love to read, Amos. Especially poetry. Have you ever read poems?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then we can start with those.” She was warming up to the idea. How wonderful it would be to share something she loved with him. “We can have lessons after s-supper each night.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Ya. We can s-start tomorrow night.”

  Amos grinned. “Danki, Dinah Keim.” Then he left.

  Dinah smiled as she turned off the battery-powered lamp in the kitchen, then went upstairs. She closed the bedroom door and eagerly opened her book of poems. Which one should she use to teach Amos? The poems were her personal collection and she had read them over and over until she had them memorized. She’d started copying poems when she was fifteen, and now had over three notebooks full. But this volume held her favorites. She flipped through the pages. “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe? No. Not only was it a love poem, but it was also sad. The last thing she wanted was for Amos to equate reading with sadness.

  The middle of her notebook contained several of Shakespeare’s sonnets. She glanced at “Sonnet LIV”.

  O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem.

  By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.

  That wouldn’t work either. Too complicated, and she didn’t want him to get frustrated.

  Then she found the perfect one. “The Autumn” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

  Go, sit upon the lofty hill,

  And turn your eyes around,

  Where waving woods and waters wild

  Do hymn an autumn sound.

  The summer sun is faint on them—

  The summer flowers depart—

  Sit still—as all transform’d to stone,

  Except your musing heart.

  He might not understand the meaning of the poem, but the words weren’t too challenging or too easy. Afterward she could tell him what the poem meant. They would work on one stanza each night, she decided. Smiling, she closed her notebook, eager for tomorrow night to arrive.

  Chapter Eight

  Amos was avoiding her.

  Sure, they worked together the next few mornings, Amos mowing the hay while she raked it. The hay would need a few days to dry, which meant spreading it out with the hay rakes so it would be exposed to the sun, then raking it back up into hay piles. Fortunately it hadn’t rained, so the hay was drying fairly quickly. The green grass was now the color of typical hay, a light brown with green undertones. In the afternoon she picked tomatoes from the garden and helped Aenti Judith can. Amos spent the afternoons raking and turning the rest of the hay, then harvesting the corn. She didn’t see him until suppertime, and even then he wolfed down his food and then went back outside. She waited for him to return for two nights in a row, but when he didn’t, she’d gone upstairs, tired and dejected.

  By Saturday morning she and Aenti Judith had canned forty jars of tomato sauce. “More than we need,” her aunt said. “God has blessed us with enough to share.”

  But there was more work to be done, and Dinah settled herself on the front porch that afternoon and husked corn, trying not to be irritated with Amos. What was he doing after supper that was so important? Barn
chores didn’t take that long. Then again, he was a farmer, so maybe there were some chores he had to do that she didn’t know about. She wanted to follow him and offer her help. If he wanted yer help, he’d ask for it.

  Maybe it had been a mistake to offer to teach him to read. Maybe he didn’t want to learn and had only agreed out of politeness. But that didn’t explain why he had initially said he wished he could read.

  There was another reason he could be avoiding her. Perhaps he didn’t want to spend time with her anymore.

  She tried to focus on the corn, but the thought stung. She’d read too much into their friendship. He was a busy farmer, and although David had gotten the go-ahead from Anna Mae to go outside, he still wasn’t allowed to do any work. Dinah was sure David was barking out plenty of instructions, though.

  For the first time since she’d arrived, she felt a pang of homesickness. She’d accomplished what her mother wanted her to do. She’d spent time with other people. Tomorrow she would actually be meeting strangers at church. She’d had fun canning tomato sauce and Chow Chow with her aunt. But now that David was on his feet, Amos didn’t need her anymore.

  Neither did anyone else here. She yanked on the tough corn husk. She wanted to go home. She wanted the sanctuary of her room, the comfort of her pets. Her mother said she could change her ticket. Extend her trip were the exact words, but Dinah didn’t see why she couldn’t shorten it too. She’d pay the extra money if she had to.

  The next morning Dinah woke up early, her stomach a bundle of nerves. Her mouth was already turning dry at the thought of meeting strangers. She’d been truthful when she told her aunt she wanted to meet the people in this community, but that had been when she felt more confident. Now that she would be facing them soon, she wished she hadn’t seemed so eager.

  She put on her best Sunday dress, a light blue one that she had sewn this past spring. She also took time with her hair, even though no one would see it under her kapp. But Amos had seen it. She shivered, remembering the way he touched it. Then she shook her head. She should be thinking about worship, not about Amos.

  After she dressed, she went downstairs to get a muffin for breakfast. She froze as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Amos was there, drinking milk from a large glass. His black pants, crisp white shirt, and black vest enhanced his good looks. He drained the glass and put it down on the table, then looked up. His hair was neatly combed, the neatest she’d seen it since she’d met him.