Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2)

by Mary Ellis

  Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table when he pushed open the door. Mom sipped her afternoon tea while his father savored a cup of coffee.

  “Jamie, welcome home,” his mother said, greeting him with a smile.

  “I’ve only been gone a few weeks. You couldn’t have missed me yet.”

  “That’s more than enough time. How goes it, son?” Dad asked. “How are your classes?”

  “Not too bad.” James shrugged off his coat and hung it on a peg.

  “Pull up a chair and tell us all about it.” His father looked intrigued.

  “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” Barbara added. “We’re having your favorites—fried chicken, creamed corn, and coleslaw.”

  James looked from one parent to the other. They both wanted him to succeed so badly. “Give me just a few minutes, and then I’ll divulge the exciting news from Wooster land lab,” he teased, “but first I want to read Emma’s letter.”

  “We’re not going anywhere, son.” His dad picked up the newspaper.

  James ran up the steps two at a time. He found the letter where his mom said it would be, read his name and address—twice—and then ripped open the envelope.

  Dear James,

  I must apologize for my rude behavior on your school campus. You went to a lot of trouble, and it probably seemed unappreciated. I must confess the fancy world made me uncomfortable. Although I have enjoyed our outings together and have treasured our friendship, I do not wish to turn English. Your world isn’t for me. I don’t want to dishonor my parents, and I am afraid to leave my faith. So I think it would be best if we no longer see each other and I start courting Amish fellows. I wish you much success with college, and I hope nothing I said last Friday will discourage you from getting your degree.

  Your friend,

  Emma Miller

  Your friend, Emma Miller? This was the girl he had proposed to—the one he wished to pledge himself to for the rest of his life. And she referred to herself as a friend…a companion for horseback riding, canoeing, and Swiss Cheese Festivals? But it seemed that now that she wanted a serious beau, she would look only among the Amish.

  He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He wanted to cry but wouldn’t allow himself. He was a grown man, not a spoiled little boy. Instead, he reread the flowery sheet of stationery three times to make sure he didn’t miss a detail that would clear up his confusion.

  Five or ten minutes passed, yet no rational explanation arrived. Vacillating between anger and sorrow, James tucked the letter into his sock drawer and trudged downstairs. Apparently, his disappointment was written across his face.

  “Oh, dear, Jamie. Bad news from Miss Miller?”

  “You could say that,” he said, slumping into a chair.

  “What happened, son?” Dad asked. His forehead furrowed with concern.

  “Emma broke up with me—just like that, without a reason other than the English world wasn’t for her.” He couldn’t look at either parent—not his dad, for fear his weakness would be all too apparent, and not his mom, for fear he’d see some sign of relief. So James stared at the rooster wall clock, whose silly face failed to cheer him up.

  “She’s very young, Jamie. I’m sure she’s simply not ready for serious commitment.” His mother spoke without a trace of satisfaction in her voice.

  “I love her, Mom. I love Emma. I thought she felt the same. And Amish girls get serious around this age or at least start courting. That’s all I wanted for right now. We have a lot in common, despite the fact I’m English.”

  The rooster on the wall marked the passage of time as three people tried to find the right words to say.

  “Don’t get too upset, Jamie. Your ma and I had plenty of rocky patches before we took that stroll down the aisle,” Dad said, trying to lift his spirits.

  “I’m willing to work out rough patches. I don’t like the part where she won’t see me anymore and wants to court Amish guys.” Unfortunately, James’ voice rose in intensity while anger welled from deep within.

  James Davis Sr. looked to his wife.

  His mom stared at her hands for a minute before meeting his eye. “You say that you love this girl. And I believe that you do. But when you love someone, sometimes you have to put their best interests ahead of your own. Emma may have fallen in love with you too, but she might not be ready to disappoint her family and face shunning from her community. Everything that Emma knows in this world would be lost to her.”

  James slicked a hand through his hair. “You’re saying her family would disown her if she married me? That doesn’t sound very Christian.”

  “They wouldn’t disown her exactly. Their actions would be more along the lines of ostracizing her. They believe they must maintain separation from the modern world in order to obtain salvation. They see the tremendous amount of sin, temptation, and evil in our English world and want no part of it. The main difference between their Christian faith and ours is they believe we can never feel assured of salvation, but must walk the narrow path until the moment of our death. They would ostracize Emma to protect the family from falling away from Amish ways. Do not judge them, son. We are all struggling to maintain a lifestyle acceptable in God’s eyes.”

  “So there’s nothing I can do?” he asked, recognizing hopelessness when he saw it. “If I convince her that I love her and wish to make her happy, and if she marries me…she might grow to resent me if she can’t find contentment being English. Everything will be lost to her.” He slumped in the chair and hung his head.

  “There are two things you can do,” Barbara said, walking to the oven. She pulled out the pan of fried chicken. “You can give her time to sort things out while you finish your studies. Keep your mind busy while she has a chance to grow up. She may see things differently in a year or two.” Barbara emptied a jar of corn into a saucepot and turned on the stove.

  James folded his arms and tried to calm down. “What’s the second thing?” he asked. “You said two.”

  His mom looked at him with eyes full of compassion. “You can pray. If it’s God’s will for you to be together, nothing can stand in the way. But if God has other plans for you or for her, then trying to win her will only result in heartache. For the time being, give it up to the Lord and pray that He watches over your little Emma.”

  James felt his face grow hot and his scalp start to tingle as emotions rose to the surface. His mom’s empathy clutched at his heart. This wasn’t the resolution he’d sought, but he knew she was right. He inhaled a deep breath and said, “I’m going out to the horse barn for a while so I can think. I’ll eat later, if that’s okay.”

  With a nod from both parents, he rose and headed for the door. “Thanks, Mom,” he mumbled.

  If he had stayed longer or had tried to speak louder, they would have found out that a small Amish girl from Winesburg had brought him to his knees.

  Hannah awoke the day after Thanksgiving at dawn. She washed and dressed as quickly as she could and hurried downstairs. Her dear Seth had already started breakfast. The smell of frying bacon failed to whet her appetite as it usually did, but after seeing that he had fixed a pot of cinnamon oatmeal, she relaxed. No way would she get into a moving vehicle with an empty stomach again, not after her experience on the way to Wooster.

  “Guder mariye,” she said upon reaching the kitchen. “Am I later than usual? Or are you an especially early bird today?”

  “The latter, fraa. I wanted to make sure you ate a hearty meal before your trip to Canton. You arrived home green around the gills from your last outing with Emma.”

  She peeked into the pot. “You sliced up bananas into the oatmeal? Just how I like it! Danki, Seth.” She wrapped an arm around his waist.

  He buzzed a kiss across the top of her head. “You’re welcome, but tell no one what you have seen this morning. I don’t want to ruin my reputation among Amish men.”

  Hannah laughed as she poured a cup of coffee, but she also knew there was truth t
o his jest. Amish men seldom attempted domestic chores.

  Seth took the remaining bacon from the pan with tongs. “Sit down and start eating, Hannah. I’m going out to see what’s taking Phoebe so long in the henhouse.”

  He disappeared before she could volunteer to go, so Hannah settled into a chair with her bowl of cereal and contemplated the second trip in a month with her niece.

  Julia was worried about her daughter. Ever since Emma wrote to young Davis to terminate their friendship, the girl had done nothing but work. If she wasn’t in the herb shed or loft, she was baking or sewing or cleaning house. And if she ran out of tasks, she would read the Bible curled in a chair close to her mamm. She never left the farm except for preaching services. And Simon had noticed that his eldest was losing weight.

  Emma was brokenhearted, even if she didn’t admit it.

  Mrs. Dunn’s invitation to attend a giant craft fair in downtown Canton couldn’t have come at a better time. The two-day exposition would give them a chance to sell handmade woolens and wreaths at good retail prices. And sleeping in a hotel and eating in restaurants might provide enough change of scenery to boost Emma’s spirits.

  Hannah had broached the subject yesterday during the family turkey dinner. Simon readily agreed to the Rumschpringe trip. Julia and Leah both gushed with excitement about staying overnight. However Emma’s reply had been, “Okay, Aunt Hannah, if you think we can sell some crafts.”

  Not exactly bubbling with enthusiasm, Hannah thought while packing her overnight bag. She didn’t like leaving her family even for one night, but they would be fine. It was Emma who needed her. And Hannah wanted to help.

  Because Seth had packed her saleable woolens the night before, they were able to leave for Simon’s right after breakfast. Phoebe came along for the ride and to visit her cousins. Within half an hour of Mrs. Dunn’s arrival, Hannah and Emma had loaded their goods inside the large paneled van, and they were on their way.

  Emma seemed happy enough. Although Mrs. Dunn did most of the talking, Emma explained her ideas on how to set up the booth. After they reached the convention center, they were so busy hauling, unpacking, and arranging stock that no one had time to mope. The craft fair proved hectic but rewarding. Emma was paid plenty of compliments on her workmanship, and all three ladies earned more than they had hoped by day’s end.

  Emma said little during dinner, and once back to their hotel room she seemed only interested in slipping on her nightgown and going to bed.

  “Come look, Emma,” Hannah called. “I made us hot chocolate in the micro-oven. Audrey explained how to do it. Let’s sit at the little table and talk for a minute.” Hannah heated the beverage to near scalding to prevent quick consumption.

  Emma reluctantly complied, eyeing the cocoa suspiciously. “How come the Styrofoam cup didn’t melt in the oven?”

  “I have no idea,” Hannah answered, studying her cup also. “How did you like the Mexican food for supper? I thought the steak fajitas were quite tasty once you added all those toppings.”

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “They tasted good, but they were awfully messy to eat. I took a bite and half of it shot out the other end onto my dress. The Mexicans must have to do lots of laundry.” Her attention returned to the steaming cocoa.

  Hannah tried again. “Isn’t this craft fair amazing? There are so many different kinds of things for sale. It’s much bigger than I ever imagined.”

  Emma turned stormy. “Some people brought mass-produced wreaths from foreign countries that they were able to sell cheaper than mine. I thought this was supposed to be for handmade crafts.” She sipped her drink, burned her tongue, and emitted a yowl similar to the cat’s when someone stepped on her tail.

  Hannah pushed their two drinks aside for a moment and opted for the direct approach. “Emma, your mamm wanted you to come to the fair primarily for a change of scenery—to get your mind off your broken courtship. It doesn’t seem to be working. Are you still pining over James Davis?”

  Emma met her eye and then glanced away. “I’m trying not to, believe me, but I can’t seem to forget him. He was the nicest person I’ve ever met, let alone the nicest boy!” She burst into tears.

  The direct approach had been a disaster. Hannah patted Emma’s hand until her sobs subsided.

  “I still love him, Aunt Hannah,” she whispered, “but please don’t tell my parents. I don’t want them to worry about me since I don’t plan to see James again. I must be content with spinsterhood and being a good aunt to Matt, Leah, and Henry’s future kinner, like you’ve been to me.”

  Her young face was so filled with despair, Hannah willed herself not to laugh at a sixteen-year-old’s grim summation of her future. “There might still be a chance for happiness, dear, but not if you’re always hiding in your loft. You told your mother you’d go to Sunday singings. Julia said you’ve only gone to one so far.”

  Emma slid her drink back and cupped her hands around the warmth. “Jah, that’s true. My heart hasn’t been in it.” One teardrop fell into her cocoa. “But I suppose I had better go again before mamm finds out how miserable I am and starts worrying.”

  Hannah smiled inwardly, knowing a parent never stopped agonizing over their offspring. Before she slept tonight, Hannah would toss and turn, fretting over what Phoebe ate for supper and if Seth remembered to feed Turnip and the barn cats. She reached for her own drink. “Good idea. Try to go out as much as possible. These are the years to do so, and it will take your mind off your lonesomeness. You don’t know what God has in mind for you, Emma. Give your problems over to Him and be brave.” She took a sip of the hot chocolate. “Now tell me how you plan to prevail over the cheaply priced wreaths at tomorrow’s fair.”

  Emma took a cautious sip from her cup. “Mmm, this is delicious once it cools down.” A corner of her mouth turned up. “Tomorrow, I plan to hang a poster board sign that reads: ‘Handmade Christmas Wreaths.’ I’ll make the first word huge with red letters. And since the other booth had a bunch of sourpusses, I intend to smile at every shopper who walks by.” She grinned to practice her technique.

  Hannah relaxed against the chair back. “Sounds like the perfect solution. Your competition doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Hannah would be pleased to know Emma didn’t have to wait until the next singing to enter back into Amish society. Daed announced the following Saturday that today was a cider-making frolic at a district member’s farm and they would all attend. Julia was hobbling around much better with her aluminum walker. Leah, Emma, and Henry would accompany their parents immediately after lunch. All chores were to be completed beforehand. Matthew would ride over in the buggy after finishing his shift at Macintosh Farms. He couldn’t wait to get to the cider-making party since hearing that a hayride for young people had been planned for the evening. Simon would let Matthew attend as long as he sat with the driver and not with the courting couples.

  Emma tried not to think about courting couples while they loaded the last of their apples into the back of the wagon. They had already canned enough applesauce and sliced apples for pies to last the winter. Today the remainder would be pressed down to make cider. She loved a glass of cold cider with a meal or a mug of warm cider in the winter.

  “This is my favorite kind of frolic,” announced Henry during the ride. He was wedged in between his two sisters in the small second row of the wagon.

  “Why is that?” Emma asked. “Because apples are your favorite fruit?” She gave his suspenders a playful snap.

  “No, because it’s a lot less work than a barn raising or house painting. Most of us get to stand around and just watch.”

  “And drink the cider and eat plenty of goodies,” Leah added. “I’ve baked chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. Did you make your famous Apple Betty bars when I wasn’t looking?” she asked Emma.

  “No, and they are not famous. I figured we’d get our fill of apples today. I made a pan of Rice Krispies squares.”

  “Joseph from Berlin will be might
y disappointed. His sister Elizabeth told me he’s fond of your Apple Betty bars,” Leah said, and then she pretended to be fascinated by the stark, empty field on her left.

  “Joseph Kauffman?” Simon asked, glancing back at Emma. “He comes from a fine, hardworking family.”

  When their daed turned his attention back to the road, Emma muttered under her breath. “You’re a tad young to be carrying gossip like that, Leah.” She pulled the lap robe up to her waist.

  “It’s not gossip, sister, if the man truly enjoys your baking. And there’s nothing wrong with him paying you a compliment.” Leah tugged the robe back over her own knees.

  Henry began squirming on the bench. “Could you two settle this when I’m not stuck in the middle?” He pulled the flaps of his hat down over his ears.

  Leah smiled sweetly, Emma clucked her tongue, and Henry rolled his eyes. And so it went on the drive to the frolic. Luckily for Henry, the hosting family lived only forty minutes away. When the Millers turned up the lane, the yard and barn were already buzzing with activity.

  “Looks like everybody in the county is here,” Julia murmured.

  “Oh, good,” came from Leah.

  “Oh, dear,” was Emma’s reply. But by the time they helped unload the baskets of apples, she had caught some of the infectious conviviality.

  Since it took a bushel of apples to yield three gallons of cider, much work went into preparations. Apples needed to be fully ripe; windfalls made an excellent choice as long as they weren’t wormy. They discarded any heavily bruised or damaged apples and then washed, cut up, and ground the rest into applesauce consistency. Finally, they fed the mash through a large apple press to separate out the juice. The resulting sweet cider was usually dark brown in color and contained plenty of pulp. It had to be kept cold and would remain sweet and unfermented for about two weeks. If a facility filtered and pasteurized the cider, it became apple juice, which had a longer shelf life.