Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2)

by Mary Ellis

  Leah patted Emma’s hand as though comforting a younger sibling and then walked off to set the breakfast table. “Danki, sister, but what we really need is for you to earn money—as much as possible. Make as many grapevine wreaths as that gift shop will take, plus wool scarves and shawls and throws. Winter is coming—time for stores to stock up on woolens. How many skeins of yarn do you have ready to sell?”

  Emma scratched her head. “I don’t rightly know, maybe a dozen or so.” She didn’t think Leah knew what went on in the barn loft because the dust and animal dander made her allergies worse.

  “I think you should double your production. I’m going to bake pies to sell in town in my spare time. We’ll need extra money for mamm’s prescriptions. If I know her, she’ll insist on paying the other bills first and not take the proper dosage of medicine.”

  “But Leah, you’re only thirteen years old. You can’t possibly do all the housework for this family.”

  Leah gazed at her patiently. “Who do you think has been handling it lately? Mamm hasn’t been able to help for some time now. I will need you on laundry day, that’s for sure, but the canning and herb-drying is done for the season.” Leah slid the rest of the pancakes onto a platter. “When I need you, I will know where to find you, won’t I? Please, Emma, just make all the money you can. I’ll be fine in here.” She hurried to the refrigerator for milk and juice.

  “I did notice a carpet and rug manufacturer when I was riding with James. They buy bulk wool. I’ve got plenty of wool that’s too stiff and scratchy to spin on my wheel. Nobody wants a sweater made from that next to their skin. I should never have let daed buy those Dorsets and Suffolks to build my flock. Merinos would’ve been a better choice.”

  Leah set the plate of bacon on the table. “A rug sounds like the perfect use for that stiff wool. It’ll never wear out.” She cocked her head to the side. “I think I hear them on the steps bringing her down. Why don’t you go see if you can help. I’ve got things handled here.”

  Emma took a long look at her sister before heading toward the stairwell. When had the child turned into a capable and generous-hearted young woman? It must have been while Emma had been busy daydreaming about a big, fancy English wedding.

  October

  Get up there,” Seth called to his team of draft horses. Two of the four Percherons lifted their gray heads and shook their manes side to side. Although a human would interpret the action as a negative response, they nevertheless picked up their feet and started down the long row of corn. With a final wipe of his brow, Seth settled his hat back in place and tightened the reins. Breaktime was over. The team was pulling a motorized corn harvester that picked the corn and fed it into the wagon following alongside. His nephew Matthew drove the horses pulling the wagon.

  When the bishop allowed the district to switch from ground-driven harvesters to motorized, speed and efficiency greatly improved. And it was a good thing too, because he needed to get the last of the corn picked. He had waited, hoping the ears would grow larger and fill out. But the rain he’d prayed for never came. A particularly dry September with near-drought conditions yielded a crop far less than his expectations. Since October so far had been equally dry, there was no sense in waiting longer.

  Sitting on the corn harvester for hours at a time gave a man opportunity to think. And the thoughts Seth dwelled on this autumn afternoon were filled with recrimination. He’d been farming long enough that he didn’t need a scale to know this crop was light. A meager harvest with poorly formed ears meant a lower price. This delivery wouldn’t compare with the earlier one, but he had no choice but to keep going. He still had to bundle stalks and shred into silage before a heavy frost. If cold weather hit before he filled his silos, the feed would mold and become unusable.

  With great joy Seth spotted Simon and his nephew Henry along with their wagon and team of Belgians. They entered the field from the opposite end with Simon’s corn harvester. Despite his bruder’s position against the corn alliance, he’d come over with his son and team to help. Seth sent up a prayer of thanks for his family. And he also asked for forgiveness for his stubbornness and pride. Why hadn’t he listened to Simon’s wise counsel? If he’d stuck to the tried-and-true Amish ways, he would be cutting hay for the last time and facing the long winter with full silos. Instead, he was playing a game of beat-the-clock—a game he was fairly certain he would lose.

  When his horses needed rest, he provided feed and water and headed to the house for lunch. Hannah greeted him at the door with a warm smile and cool drink. “How goes it, Seth? How much longer?”

  He entered the kitchen, fragrant with the rich smell of simmering soup. “The picking goes well, but the quality of the harvest leaves much to be desired.”

  Hannah murmured words of consolation as she ladled soup into three bowls. Phoebe was already at the table with spoon in hand. Her faceless doll had been propped up in the opposite chair with a toy bowl before it. “Don’t forget my dolly, mamm,” Phoebe said.

  Hannah pretended to fill the small bowl with her ladle. “I saw from the window that Simon came with Henry and their team. That should speed things up.”

  “Jah, it will. I invited him for lunch but Simon won’t stop yet. He brought sandwiches in a sack for when they get hungry. Matthew will be in soon.” Seth tried not to convey his downheartedness. It wasn’t his family’s fault he had made a bad decision.

  They bowed their heads in silent prayer and then Seth stared into his bowl. “There’s more corn in my soup than on the ears I’ve been picking,” he said wryly.

  No one laughed at his joke. Luckily, Matthew walked in with his hair wet and plastered to his head. “Sorry I’m late, Aunt Hannah. I took a quick dip in the pond to wash off. It might be October, but that sun is still hot.”

  Hannah handed him a towel. “Not to worry. We’re grateful for your help. How is Julia today?” She filled her nephew’s bowl to the brim.

  “The same, I guess.” He slurped his first spoonful noisily. “She’s not happy we turned our front room into a sick room. That’s what she called it. She says it’s disgraceful to have grown adults sleeping in a room with eight windows.” The boy ate his soup faster than Hannah had ever seen done before.

  Hannah and Seth exchanged amused glances. “After she gets her new knees she might be able to move back upstairs, maybe in the spring,” Hannah said, refilling his bowl again.

  “Jah, maybe, but she’s making Pa close in the back porch and turn it into a bedroom. That will be his wintertime project. Leah’s excited about getting her own room upstairs.”

  Seth took another helping too, not to be outdone by a fourteen-year-old boy. “Tell your daed I’ll help him with the room addition. And thank him for sending you over. You’re a big help, Matty.”

  The boy grinned with delight. “I like helping, Uncle Seth. Are you taking a wagonload to the elevator this afternoon?”

  Seth nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. If it’s all right with Simon, you can deliver the corn tomorrow.”

  Matthew looked ecstatic. “Danki, Uncle Seth. I’ll check with Pa tonight. Now I’d best get back out there.” He stood, carried his bowl to the sink, and headed for the door. “Danki for lunch, Aunt Hannah.”

  “You’re welcome,” she called. He had wolfed down two bowls while she was still eating her first.

  Seth poured a cup of coffee and spent a full minute studying the dark liquid.

  His preoccupation didn’t escape Hannah’s notice. “Something wrong, Seth? Or is something curious swimming around in your cup?” She leaned over to look.

  “I’m only delaying the inevitable, fraa. And I won’t allow anymore self-indulgence. I’m heading for Mount Eaton.” Seth rose, patted his daughter’s head, and kissed his wife. No peck on the cheek or buzz across the forehead—this kiss expressed his love and respect for a patient woman. Hopefully, her patience would still remain after he returned from the corn buyer. Although he certainly deserved it, he prayed he wouldn
’t hear “I told you so” from his cherished bride.

  By the time he reached Mount Eaton with his fully loaded wagon, a flock of crows was trailing behind, ready to devour any ears that fell out. The crisp fall air heightened every sensory nerve in his body. With long sunny days and without the humidity of summer, October was his favorite month. Turkey vultures wheeled high in the wind currents, apparently not ready for southern migration. Seth settled back and enjoyed the ride with little traffic and beautiful scenery.

  But his peace of mind was short lived. The grain elevator in town buzzed with activity; long rows of horse-drawn wagons waited their turn to deliver corn. Men congregated on the loading dock, talking animatedly in tight knots. No one was smiling. Seth parked around the corner and entered the building from the front. He recognized a few familiar faces from his district and walked over to join them. They were speaking in German so fast he could barely keep up. One friend pointed at the grain buyer standing in the office doorway. Another wildly gestured at the chalkboard hanging on the wall. Seth squinted his eyes to read the scribbled numbers.

  His jaw dropped open when he saw the current price being paid per bushel of corn. It was bad enough his crop had been inferior to expectations, but this price was a fraction of what the alliance had counted on.

  “What…how?” he croaked in a raspy voice.

  Everyone began talking at once—what they had heard from other farmers, what the grain dealer had explained, and what they had read in English newspapers. A large surplus of Ohio corn, coupled with a recent drop in oil prices, had reduced interest in ethanol production and triggered a price free fall.

  Seth listened to one man after another and then moved to a different group, where he only heard more of the same. His mouth went dry as he felt the burn of stomach acid working on Hannah’s chicken soup. He glanced at the chalkboard once more before walking onto the loading dock, feeling lightheaded and disoriented.

  He had no choice but to join the queue of wagons and deliver his low-weight corn. The price he would get made it hardly worth his investment in extra seed corn and fertilizer. And he realized his crop not only didn’t produce the windfall that the community fund needed, but he had to go home and face his brother and wife with his well-deserved shame.

  “Mamm, are you awake?” Emma asked. She crept into the front room, looking around as though seeing it for the first time. The sofa had been moved out to the porch and covered with plastic. The chairs remained, but they had been grouped around the bed for visitors. Julia’s sewing projects had long ago been turned over to Leah, who had arranged a table under the window with her notions.

  Julia’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on her daughter. “Jah, I was just dozing. Your pa insists I take extra pills, but they only make me sleep too much.”

  “I can come back later if you prefer,” Emma said softly from the doorway.

  “Nonsense. I’d like to visit with my girl.” Julia patted the side of the bed. “Sit by me. Tell me about your trip to Sugar Creek. We were happy you kept your curfew, early by twelve minutes, I believe.” She smiled, looking briefly as though pain didn’t cloud every day of her life.

  Emma hurried in and perched on the edge of the mattress. She began talking about the yodelers, the Grand Parade, the assortment of food, and the costumed dancers. She mentioned riding the Ferris wheel, Sarah’s accurate selection of the pageant winner, savoring a taste of the championship Swiss cheese, and the scenic train ride to Baltic.

  Julia smiled during the narration but asked no questions and offered few comments.

  Emma did not mention James’ kisses or holding hands as they left the station, or how happy she felt when they were together. She also kept quiet about his grandiose plans for a big house and wedding trip. No sense causing a fuss over things unlikely to happen.

  “Say little to your daed about this date unless he asks you, especially not the train ride,” Julia cautioned. “Even though he won’t stop you, he isn’t happy about this courting.”

  Emma nodded. “They’ll be no more dates for a while. James has left for college and must stay on campus to catch up with homework.”

  Julia patted her hand. If the news pleased her, she hid it well. “You have a long life ahead of you, Emma. Don’t rush things. Since he will be busy, I’d like you to start going to Sunday singings. Don’t miss the activities other Amish girls will be enjoying.”

  Emma had always looked forward to Sunday singings before she met James. Now, however, wouldn’t the young men there think she was interested in courting? And wouldn’t that make her fickle or a phony? Each passing day brought no clarity, only more confusion.

  “Do this for me, Emma. I’ve not asked many things of you before.”

  When Emma looked into her mamm’s moist brown eyes, the answer was clear. Isn’t James going off to school to please his parents? Don’t I love my mother just as much?

  “Jah, I’ll go to singings. Sarah mentioned there’s one this week.”

  “Danki. Go meet new people—boys and girls. You only get one Rumschpringe. Enjoy it. Don’t look back on this period of youth with regret. Even if you choose not to follow our path, you’ll at least understand exactly what you gave up.”

  There it was. Not in so many words, but her mamm acknowledged that she might someday turn English. How difficult that must be for the woman who had changed her diapers as a baby.

  By the time the three-hour preaching service was over on Sunday, Emma was looking forward to the singing. Sarah’s family was hosting the evening get-together, so Emma had planned to walk until Matthew insisted on taking her, even though he wouldn’t be able to attend for another two years. Emma baked a batch of Apple Betty bars for the snack table—the kind James had so loved at the bonfire. She felt a bit disloyal, but unlike Leah, Emma had few special recipes up her sleeve. She knew how to bake pie, cornbread, cookies, and muffins, but a variety of treats to impress new friends was beyond her experience.

  Matthew drove the pony cart pulled by Emma’s new horse. She hoped her bruder wouldn’t pester her with endless questions about James on the way, but she needn’t have worried. The boy prattled on endlessly about the Appaloosa he’d been training with excellent results.

  James had brought the filly back the very day he received Emma’s letter explaining her parents’ decision. He’d accepted her down payment, produced a bill of sale, and agreed to the payment terms all under Simon’s watchful eye. Emma named the new pony Maybelle to honor her predecessor. Belle now contentedly grazed in the high pasture, preferring to sleep outdoors in mild weather rather than in her stall.

  “Here you are, sister,” Matthew said, bringing the pony cart to a smooth stop with only a light tug on the reins.

  “Danki. I’ll be able to get a ride home,” Emma said. “Several in the district pass right by our farm.”

  “I could wait for you,” he suggested while helping her step down. “I could hang out with Sarah’s bruders in the barn.” He tipped his hat back and grinned.

  “No, daed gave you no such permission. Help yourself to something from the snack table and then go on home. You’re time will come soon enough.”

  He tied the reins to the rail and ran off, leaving Emma alone to walk to the Hostetler outbuilding. Suddenly, she felt like an outsider, as though everyone would know she might someday leave the Plain community. But soon Sarah spotted her and enveloped her with warm friendship. She introduced Emma to the people she didn’t know and then sat down beside her.

  At a singing, boys sat on one side of a long table and girls on the other. The young people visited and caught up with news while the songbooks were passed out.

  “Guder nachmittag, Miss Miller.”

  Emma’s head snapped up. She’d been studying notches carved into the walnut surface of the table.

  “Hello. Joseph Kauffman, right?” she asked politely. “You live over near Berlin.”

  “Jah, that’s right. Nice that you remembered me.” His clean-shaven cheeks flush
ed to a shade of bright pink. “That is my sister, Elizabeth,” he nodded to the girl sitting next to Emma. The girl smiled shyly.

  Emma remembered the very bashful boy from a few weddings. Tall and thin, his jacket cuff revealed quite a bit of wrist, an indication that his poor mamm’s sewing probably couldn’t keep pace with his growing. “Your father is the harness maker, right? My daed bought new harnesses from him a few weeks back.”

  Joseph’s blush deepened to cherry red as he leaned forward and whispered, “I didn’t think it right what my pa told yours, but I know he didn’t mean to cause trouble.” He settled back on the bench.

  Emma had no idea what Joseph was talking about, but the singing was about to start, so any explanation would have to wait. Within a few minutes Emma forgot Joseph’s odd apology and relaxed into the evening. They sang all her favorites in German and a couple new songs that were fun to learn. They even sang one gospel-type song in English. Many girls and boys exchanged secret looks, because singings often led to courting for many young people, but Emma refused to think about courting or entertain any romantic notions of her beau, James Davis. Whatever he was doing on the campus extension of Ohio State was sure to be far different than this.

  Sarah clutched her hand tightly several times, smiling. In between songs, Emma asked her why Sam wasn’t there.

  “Only our district and the next one to the west were invited,” she whispered. “No New Order districts.” Yet that fact didn’t appear to trouble her. She seemed to glow with an inner joy and contentment. It was impossible not to be uplifted in her company.

  During the last few songs, Emma noticed Joseph stealing glances at her. Each time she met his eye, he blushed and glanced away. Perhaps he was fascinated by her choppy bangs, which had grown out long enough to hang in her eyes. She constantly kept tucking them under her kapp.

  When the singing concluded, everyone milled around the snack table, helping themselves to desserts and cups of cold cider. With a jolt of horror, Emma noticed not one of her Apple Betty bars had been taken from the plate. A woman’s worst nightmare—to go home with your food contribution untouched! Taking one for her plate would only draw attention to her embarrassment.