The Middlefield Family Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  His words reached through her resentment. “All right.” She shoved past him and went inside the barn. Two of the dogs, Archie and Rodney, came up to her, their long tails wagging. Archie rubbed his black muzzle against Emma’s leg.

  “New dogs?” Adam opened Dill’s stall.

  “Archie was a stray. Rodney was hit by a car last year.” She knelt down and rubbed both dogs’ backs, and got several slobbery licks as a reward. “He’s fine now. I never did find out who he belonged to.”

  “What about Molly?”

  Emma was surprised he remembered her other dog, a bluetick hound. “She’s getting old. Her favorite place is underneath the porch.”

  Adam didn’t respond. He had already gone into Dill’s stall. Emma didn’t want to keep talking to him anyway. She added a bit more food to the dog dishes and listened as he spoke to the horse in soft tones.

  Adam could sense when horses weren’t well, and he usually knew what to do to make them better. Despite being upset with him, she hoped he could find out what was wrong with her horse.

  The stall door hinges squeaked, and Adam came out. He didn’t look at her. Instead his gaze flicked over his shoulder, back at Dill.

  She knew that look, and it wasn’t good.

  CHAPTER 9

  “What’s wrong with mei horse?”

  He rubbed his beard, wishing he didn’t have to break the news to her. But he didn’t want her to hear it from anyone else either. “I’ve seen it before, in a couple of my father’s horses. It’s a type of arthritis. Navicular disease.”

  “She’ll get better. Right?”

  He paused. “It’s incurable.”

  She backed away. “Nee. She can’t die.” A desperate whisper.

  He took a step toward her. “Emma, she’s not going to die. She’ll probably live several more years.” For a minute he thought she might lean against him.

  She straightened. “When will she feel better?”

  Archie rubbed against Adam’s leg. He reached down and patted the mutt on the head. His gaze remained on Emma. “Rest will help with the pain.”

  “How much rest? A week? Two?”

  “Emma.” He said her name as gently as possible. “Dill can’t pull the buggy anymore. Or do any other hard labor. It’s time for her to retire.”

  She walked over to the stall and stood on tiptoe, looking in at the horse. Adam moved next to her.

  “But she’s going to live, right?”

  He lifted his hand to put it on her shoulder. A gesture he would have done before. But not now. Too much had changed. He let his arm fall to his side. “Ya. She will. And she’s still a gut horse.”

  “I know that.” Emma pressed her lips together and faced Adam. “I have to geh to the store.” She walked past him. He followed her.

  “Emma, do they still have the horse auctions in Bloomfield?”

  “Ya.”

  “Then I can take you to get a new horse.”

  She faced him. “Nee.”

  “I’ve got a truck. I can hitch up a trailer—”

  She shook her head, turned, and hurried to the house.

  Adam heard the back door slam. Was she that angry at him that she wouldn’t even consider his offer to help her get the new horse she needed?

  Ya, he thought. She is.

  Emma leaned against the kitchen door and shut her eyes. Dill wouldn’t die. But she couldn’t work either. Her eyes grew hot. She couldn’t afford a new horse. She couldn’t even afford to keep Dill fed, not if she wasn’t working. A horse was an expensive pet. Yet Emma couldn’t part with her.

  She banged the back of her fist against the door. She could sell Dill; the money would help pay for a new horse. But the thought tore her heart to pieces. It would be like selling a member of the family. And who would buy her anyway?

  She could go to Adam’s father. As the deacon, he could secure funds through the church community to purchase her a new horse. But then Adam would get involved.

  Or she could give in to Clara about the fabric shop.

  Sorrow and frustration combined in her stomach, a lump heavy as lead. What was she going to do? Sell Dill? Accept charity? Ask for Adam’s help? Cave in to Clara?

  No good choices, as far as she could see.

  After Emma left, Adam had looked for his father in the barn, then in the pasture. Adam couldn’t find him anywhere. His mother was busy baking. At loose ends, he had to do something. Replenishing the woodpile seemed as good a task as any.

  He dropped a piece of wood on the woodpile and leaned against the handle of the heavy maul. Despite the fall chill, perspiration rolled down his back. The physical labor strained his unused muscles, but he felt energized. He picked up another chunk of wood and split it neatly.

  If only he could deal so easily with Emma. He tried to get her empty expression out of his mind. He had expected more emotion from her: Doubt about Adam’s diagnosis of Dill. A plan of action, at the very least. But she left without a word, an invisible cloud of defeat hanging over her.

  That wasn’t the Emma he knew. She never refused a challenge. He’d once spent six weeks in a cast because he dared her to jump over his uncle’s pond using the rope hanging from the tree. She made it. He missed. She didn’t accept circumstances, not without trying to change them. How hard had she tried to change his mind about leaving?

  His gaze drifted to the Shetler house. It needed a lot of work. Four black shingles lay on the ground in the backyard. White paint peeled and flaked off the house. The two poles holding the clothesline tilted inward. Anyone passing by would see a house desperately in need of repair.

  Adam remembered what the place used to look like. Emma’s father had kept it in pristine condition. Now it looked sad and broken. Not just the house. Emma too.

  He was tempted to go over there and offer to help. But why bother? She’d refuse him anyway.

  She would not, however, refuse his father.

  Adam finished splitting the wood just as he saw his father pull the buggy into the driveway. He set the maul against the woodpile and hesitated. They had barely spoken since he arrived, only those few words over breakfast. Anything they said to one another was likely to dissolve into an argument. Still, he had to try. For Emma’s sake.

  He walked toward the buggy as his father pulled to a halt. “Put Samson away,” he said.

  Thirteen years disappeared with one statement. Adam was ten years old again, following his father’s terse orders. He gritted his teeth and took Samson’s head. His father got out and went inside the barn.

  Adam unhitched Samson and led the horse inside the barn. His father picked up a bucket and filled it with water from the hydraulic pump in the back corner of the barn. He and Adam both reached the stall at the same time.

  “Geh ahead.” His father nodded.

  “Nee, you,” Adam said at the same time.

  The men looked at each other, not speaking. His father went inside the stall. Then Adam. Norman poured water into the trough while Adam settled the horse. The men walked out. Adam closed the latch.

  His father headed for the barn door.

  “Daed.”

  He stopped, then turned. “What?”

  “I took a look at Emma’s horse today. Dill.”

  “I know the horse’s name. She’s got a sore foot.”

  “It’s worse than that.”

  “How do you know?”

  Adam grimaced at the doubting tone. “I’ve seen it before. Navicular disease.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ll call the vet in the morning.”

  “Daed, I’m not wrong.” He went to his father. “Remember Casey? And Onkel John’s horse? They both had it.”

  “I’ll call the vet.” Norman turned around.

  “You should have caught it.”

  His dad halted. His fists closed and opened. He faced his son. “And you should shut your mouth.” He walked out of the barn.

  Stung, Adam stormed over to the wall and slammed his fist. Pain exploded thro
ugh his knuckles and shot up into his wrist. Dummkopf. He couldn’t control his emotions, like his father and so many other Amish. Another reason he didn’t belong here.

  But at least something would be done about Dill and getting the Shetlers a new horse. Emma might refuse his help, but she wouldn’t refuse a deacon of the church.

  “I’m glad you wanted to take a buggy ride this evening.” Peter smiled at Clara. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this. Just the two of us.”

  Clara gave him a tight smile. She turned and looked out the window as they traveled the road.

  “Although we could have stayed home.” His words held a mischievous tone. “Julia would have taken the kinner next door, and Mark said he wanted to walk around the area and do some exploring. Knowing him, he wouldn’t be back for at least a couple hours.”

  She turned and looked at his profile. “Doesn’t that sound odd to you?”

  “Not if you knew Mark. When we were kinner he could never sit still. Was always doing something. Coming up with crazy plans. I reckon after he’s spent some time in New York he’ll move on to somewhere else.”

  “How come I never met him before?”

  “He was living in Tennessee at the time.”

  “And now he’s going to New York.”

  Peter looked at her. “That’s Mark.”

  Clara settled back against the seat. Two cars sped past them, but Peter kept the buggy moving at a leisurely pace. Suddenly he reached for her hand. She pulled away.

  He didn’t say anything.

  After a long silence, Clara spoke. “Peter, we need to talk.”

  “I figured that.” He said the words through gritted teeth. “What about?”

  “I think you already know.”

  Peter sighed. “I’m not sure I know anything anymore, Clara. So why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I’m thinking we should move.”

  “Move?” Peter looked at her. “We’ve already had this conversation. What’s changed?”

  “You invited not only mei schwester and grossmammi to live with us, but now also Mark. Our haus is too small.”

  “Emma doesn’t want to live with us. She’s already said as much. And Mark will be here only temporarily. And as you keep saying, we don’t have any money. So how could we afford to move?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it. It just makes sense. We could move into Grossmammi’s haus. Let them move in here.”

  Peter turned into the Middlefield Cheese parking lot. He brought the buggy to a stop and angled his body toward Clara. “Nee.”

  “But, Peter—”

  “I said nee.” His eyes narrowed in the dusky light. “I invited them to move in with us because it was the right thing to do. But Emma has made her feelings clear. And I understand why. Your grossmammi has lived in that house for, what, fifty years? I’ll not deprive her of her home and memories. The matter is settled; we’re not even going to ask.”

  He stared out into the night. “You wanted to move back here from Kentucky. I agreed to it. I spent every dime I had saved to build our haus.”

  Clara crossed her arms. “To make me feel guilty.”

  “Because I love you.” He moved closer to her. “Clara, I would do anything for you. Except move again, especially since we don’t have to. I didn’t build our haus alone. You helped. Remember the kitchen?”

  “Ya.” Her arms relaxed slightly.

  “We painted the cabinets together. White. I can still see that glob of paint on your nose.”

  “The one you put there.” She put her hands in her lap and looked down. She wasn’t going to let him get her off track. “If you won’t move—”

  “I won’t.”

  “Then I had another idea.” She told him about converting grossvadder’s workshop into a fabric and yarn store. When she was finished she held her breath and gripped the edge of the seat, bracing for his negative answer.

  “What does Leona think about it?”

  “I haven’t told her. I’ve only talked to Emma.”

  “And she agrees?”

  Clara hesitated. If she told Peter the truth, her husband would probably side with Emma. He seemed to be on everyone’s side but hers lately. “She’s considering it.”

  “Really? I would figure she’d say nee right away.”

  “Because she’s so stubborn?”

  “Or because now isn’t a gut time for her to be making any big decisions. Especially about something so permanent.”

  “So you don’t think it’s a gut idea.”

  “I didn’t say that.” He moved closer to her. “I think it’s a great idea. And if Leona and Emma agree to it, I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “You will?”

  He nodded and smiled. “This is the happiest I’ve seen you for a long time, Clara.”

  Her smile grew. On impulse she leaned over and kissed him. Once they had the business up and running, there would be no more worries about money. They wouldn’t have to go to any of the deacons or the bishop and ask for help. They could afford to build an addition on the house.

  For the first time in ages, they would have a little breathing room.

  They would have hope.

  CHAPTER 10

  Typical Amish country.

  Mark King strolled down Bundysburg Road. He took in the white Amish houses and barns. The square plots of land bordered by woods. A buggy passed by, two men inside. He waved. Even grinned. They didn’t give him a second look. Yes, he could stay here unnoticed. Blend in with the rest of the community. No one would think of looking for him here.

  Exactly the way he wanted it.

  He continued down the road as dusk descended. There was nothing special about Middlefield. Plain. Just like Kentucky. Tennessee. A hundred other Amish settlements. Unremarkable. Like Amish life itself.

  A life he hated.

  Peter was plain and boring too. Not very smart either. Growing up, he had been content working in his father’s shop. Going to school and church. Getting up on Monday and doing it all over again. All he wanted was a wife, children, and an Amish life.

  His cousin was so shortsighted. Such a fool.

  But Peter’s wife—now, she was different. Thin, not too pretty, but decent looking. She had an edge to her, one he didn’t see in too many Amish women. A sense of desperation. She didn’t think much of her husband, that much he could tell. She thought she was smarter than Peter. Maybe even better.

  That attitude came from somewhere. It wouldn’t take him long to find out where.

  He had a plan, and somehow Clara would be a part of it. He continued to walk, nodding at a young Amish girl playing with a tiny kitten in the front yard of her house. He smiled at her. Such innocence.

  But that child wasn’t innocent. No one was.

  After a while he turned and headed back toward Peter’s dreary little house. His dull-witted cousin wouldn’t suspect anything. He had already opened his home to Mark, just as any proper Amish family would. Offered him food and shelter without asking for anything in return. And Cousin Peter could barely afford to feed his own children, if the contents of his pantry and the worn-out furniture were any indication.

  As for his cousin’s wife, well . . .

  Mark grinned, his first true smile since arriving in Middlefield. Clara would give him everything he needed. And she wouldn’t even realize she was doing it.

  Leona peered through the smudged window in her bedroom. Her gaze swept the Ottos’ property. She wiped away a fingerprint and saw Emma walking up the driveway, lugging four bags of groceries from Nature’s Nook. Leona moved to get her cane, but stopped. By the time she managed her way downstairs, Emma would have most of the food put away. Instead she remained at the window and watched Emma’s cat, Tommy, chase a gray squirrel across the yard.

  Maybe Adam was outside. Maybe he would notice Emma struggling with the groceries and offer to help. Something he should have been doing for the past two years. As Emma’s husband. />
  Leona sighed and moved to Ephraim’s old hickory rocker on the opposite side of the room. Her arthritic fingers caressed the smooth wood handles as she remembered how her husband’s thick, roughened hands would curl over them as he rocked back and forth in the chair. Even twenty years after his death, she could still feel the texture of his skin. Hands that had built a house big enough for their six children, created a wood shop, raised a barn. Those hands, that could repair any machine, build any structure, till any land, had also caressed her with love. Cradled and comforted their babies. Buried three of their children.

  “Ephraim, what are we going to do?” she asked. “We had many troubles over the years, but plenty of happiness too. Yet our grossdochders are suffering. Where is their happiness?”

  Silence met her words. She let out a bitter chuckle and shook her head. “I know, I know. You want me to mind my own business. To remember that the Lord will work this out.” She squeezed the wood crafted by her beloved’s hands. “But you know me, mei lieb. I can’t sit here and do nix.”

  But she would have to. She was too old to do much else. She couldn’t force Clara to see the special man God had set apart for her. For some reason Clara had scales over her eyes when it came to her husband—a good provider, a decent man, strong in his faith. What would it take for her to appreciate Peter?

  Then there was Emma. For years Leona had been certain that Emma and Adam would marry. Adam Otto was one of the few people who appreciated Emma for herself. He didn’t seem to care that she liked to spend hours in the woods with her pets, or that she could fish better than he did. She didn’t get mad when he beat her at checkers, or when he sometimes forgot he’d promised to help her with something. They understood each other. Accepted each other’s faults. Even embraced them. Or so Leona thought.

  Then Adam left, surprising them all and breaking Emma’s heart. Though Emma would never admit it.

  But while Leona prayed that Emma and Adam would find their way back to each other, that wasn’t the reason she’d asked Adam to return to Middlefield. Something had happened to Adam’s mother. Carol needed her son. And she needed all their prayers.