But why? Clara loved her sister, but Emma was plain, even among their plain people. She had always been round, and over the past year Clara noticed Emma had put on more weight, especially in her hips. Clara had remarked about it a few times, only to be met with a glare and an order to mind her own business.
There were several other single girls in their church district. Unless Mark flirted with every woman he saw, why would he choose Emma over anyone else? Especially since he just met her.
During the rest of the afternoon, Clara watched, waiting to see if Mark paid attention to any of the other girls. He talked to several single young women, all of whom were quite pretty. But she couldn’t tell if he’d made a connection with any of them.
Later that afternoon they walked home. Peter lagged behind with a sleeping Magdalena pressed against his strong shoulder. The boys ran a few feet ahead. It amazed her that they still had energy left after spending the afternoon playing and dashing around. Melvin whapped Junior on the back with his hat. Peter admonished them, and Melvin stopped. Soon they started kicking at pebbles on the road.
Mark moved up to walk beside her. “I met your schwester today,” he said. “Nice maedel.”
“There are lots of nice maed in our district.” She stepped over a tiny puddle on the side of the road.
“Ya. I talked to a few.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Is Emma married?”
Clara paused. “Nee. She’s not.” She glanced at Mark. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I’d like to get to know a few people around here. Especially familye. Living in Tennessee, I spent a long time being without relatives close by. Got kind of lonely sometimes.”
She’d never known family members to make the flirty gesture Mark did with Emma. “My schwester lives with mei grossmammi. Their haus is about a mile farther down from ours.”
“I see.” He looked at Clara, his expression serious. “Maybe I’ll have to visit sometime soon.” Before she could respond, he ran to Junior and Melvin. “Race you buwe home!” Mark and her sons sprinted, Mark slowing his steps to make it an even competition.
“What were you and Mark talking about?”
Clara hadn’t heard Peter come up beside her. She looked at her husband. “He was asking about Emma.”
“He was?” The corner of Peter’s lip lifted in a half smile. “Now that’s interesting.”
“I don’t see anything interesting about it.”
The expression of amusement vanished. Magdalena shifted restlessly in Peter’s arms.
“Here, let me take her,” Clara said.
“I can carry her the rest of the way home.”
“I’ll take her.”
With a shrug Peter handed his daughter to his wife. Then he lengthened his strides until he was well ahead of her.
Clara barely noticed.
CHAPTER 12
When Emma arrived home, she saw Adam’s truck in his parents’ driveway. Apparently he hadn’t left yet. But it was only a matter of time.
She tried to put him out of her mind and headed toward the barn to check on Dill. She’d given the horse extra oats before church—as if that would make up for her lame leg. Spurred by guilt, Emma hurried. As she neared, she heard a tapping sound coming from inside the building, from Dill’s stall. She looked over the top edge of the door. Adam was inside, pounding nails into Dill’s foot.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up at her, two nails stuck between his teeth. Instead of answering, he took one of the nails and hammered it into the metal shoe. He had Dill’s foot anchored between his thighs, but instead of wearing the leather apron a farrier would use, he had on his baggy blue jeans. Dust from Dill’s feet covered his legs. When he finished putting in the final nail, he gently released her leg. She stepped on it gingerly.
“She needed special shoes.” Adam patted Dill’s back flank. The horse nickered in response.
“Your daed told me he called the vet,” Emma said. “He’s coming tomorrow.”
“I know. I thought I’d save him the trouble and you the bill by picking up the shoes this morning. I also put a pad between the shoe and hoof. It will help even her hoof out a bit. Take a little of the pain away.”
Emma forgot her anger with Adam and went inside the stall. She knelt next to Dill. “Was she in a lot of pain?”
“Hard to tell. Dill’s a tough horse. A gut one too.”
“Ya,” Emma whispered. “She is.” She rose and looked at Adam. “Why did you do this?”
“Because I could. I wasn’t about to let Dill suffer because of your stubbornness.”
Any gratitude she felt toward him disappeared. “I would never let my horse, or any of my other animals, suffer. You have no right to say that to me.”
It was an instantaneous, defensive response. But she knew that on some level, Adam was right. She had let Dill down. The horse was suffering, just as her mother had suffered while she was sick. And it didn’t matter how many people told her it wasn’t her fault, that she had done the best she could, Emma didn’t feel any better.
As tears threatened, Emma left Dill’s stall. She didn’t want to break down. Not now. Not in front of Adam. She’d humiliated herself in his presence before, and it was not an experience she ever intended to repeat.
Tommy meowed from the back corner of the barn. He did figure eights between her legs, and she poured a few more morsels of food in his dish, even though it had been full before she left for church. She sat down on the square hay bale nearby. Away in the woods she could hear the sharp sound of dogs barking, probably chasing the birds or squirrels. At least some of her pets were happy.
Adam went to her. He paused, then sat down. She angled away from him, her hands pressing the dark green skirt of her Sunday dress against her legs.
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the knees of his dirty jeans. “Emma, I didn’t mean it that way. I know you would never hurt anyone, or anything you care about. Dill’s leg isn’t your fault. I wanted to do something to help her, that’s all.”
She pulled at the strings of her kapp, hard enough that she felt a bobby pin loosen. As she breathed in, she smelled the mixture of soap and barn dust on his skin and clothes. Why couldn’t he just leave? She didn’t want to be beholden to him for anything. But as usual, she never got what she wanted.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“How do you think I’m doing?” She glared at him, sighed, and looked away. “Mammi died. Dill’s lame. I’m—”
The rest came unbidden to her mind: I’m alone and shattered. She swallowed down the truth and said, “I don’t need your pity.”
“I didn’t come back to Middlefield because of your mammi, although I am upset she died. And I am sorry about your horse. But I don’t pity you.”
She turned toward him but couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“You don’t need my pity, Emma. You’re stronger than that.”
She looked down at her shoes. Brown specks of dirt covered the toes. “I don’t feel strong,” she whispered.
“You are. You’re the strongest person I know. Except for maybe your grossmammi.”
His words made her smile for just a moment, and that made her resent him even more. She was supposed to be mad at him, not charmed by him.
“The reason I came back was because of mei mudder,” Adam said. “Leona wrote and said she thought there was something wrong with her. That I should come back and see for myself. But I don’t know what she’s talking about. Mamm seems fine.”
Emma shot up from the hay bale. “And you figured that out in a few days? Maybe if you’d been around longer, you would know more about what’s going on.”
“Do you know something? If you do, you’d better tell me.”
She shook her head. “Nee. But if mei grossmammi thinks something is wrong, then I believe her.”
She heard movement behind her. Felt the heat of his body as he stopped, inches away. But he didn’t touch her.
And after all that had happened between them, she still wanted him to.
“I am sorry, Emma. About everything that’s happened.”
“So am I. But being sorry doesn’t change anything.”
“I know. I can’t change it either. I can only do what you’ll let me. And right now, other than taking care of Dill’s foot, that isn’t much.”
She heard his fancy tennis shoes shuffle across the straw and dirt of the floor. When she thought he had left, she turned around. He was standing in the doorway, looking at her.
“When the time comes, Emma, let me know what I can do. I’m sure you don’t believe this, but I miss you. I don’t think I realized how much until now.”
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Mark pushed the toe of his boot against Peter’s back porch. The swing moved back and forth. He stared at the small yard. Grass turning brown. Two rows of dry cornstalks edging a dying garden in the corner. A wooden sandbox, covered. Beyond the warped wire fence, a herd of black-and-white cows grazed on the last stubble of edible grass.
Not Peter’s cows, or his pasture. He couldn’t afford that much land and livestock. The lowing of the herd interspersed with the twitter of birds, the chirp of crickets, the beat of a horse’s hooves on Bundysburg Road.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Peter was inside. No doubt trying to talk to Clara, who was probably ignoring him. Maybe even arguing. The two of them did that a lot. Mark had noticed Clara watching him during church. At the fellowship gathering after the service. But most of all, he saw the spark of envy and confusion in her eyes when he asked about Emma.
Emma. His prospects were getting better by the day. He’d had no trouble winning over Clara, and it would be even easier with Emma. Single. Homely. Fat.
But Emma’s looks didn’t matter. Neither did her feelings. All that mattered was what she had to offer. What she could give him. She ought to kiss his feet and thank him for even noticing her.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
The back screen door banged shut. Junior ran out carrying a baseball and two gloves. “Wanna play catch, Onkel Mark?”
“Sure.” Mark hopped up from the swing and took one of the gloves from Junior. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more.”
Adam walked out of the barn. He didn’t want to leave Emma alone, but what else could he do? Dill’s problems paled next to Emma’s, and Adam figured he didn’t know the half of it.
He slapped his hands against the legs of his jeans as he walked toward the house. Barn dust and the smell of horse rose in a cloud from the fabric. His father had taught him the skill of horse shoeing when Adam was very young. It felt good to work with a horse again. He’d missed that while living in Michigan. But it wasn’t enough to make him come home. Definitely not enough to make him stay.
Adam went inside the house. He wasn’t used to quietness, and the silence nearly overwhelmed him. It hadn’t taken long for him to become accustomed to constant sound once he’d moved away. Appliances humming, televisions blaring, cell phones ringing. He thought he was used to it, didn’t even register the noise anymore. But his soul welcomed the calm quiet of his parents’ empty home.
The back door creaked open. His mother came in alone—his father probably unhitching their horse and settling the animals in for the evening.
Basic care of stock was the only work they could do on Sunday. Adam had broken that rule by driving his truck, buying supplies, shoeing the horse. Would his father be surprised, or angry? Adam shrugged. Like it mattered what his dad thought.
He went upstairs, put on a less dirty pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt, and tossed his dirty stuff into a corner of the bedroom, just the way he did at his apartment. Then he reprimanded himself. He wasn’t a two-year-old. He shouldn’t be depending on his mother to pick up after him. And besides, he’d better go ahead and wash them, or he’d have to resort to wearing the Amish clothing hanging in his closet.
He grabbed the dirty clothes and took them downstairs. As he passed by the living room on his way to the basement, he saw his mother sitting on the couch. Heard her sniff. He stuffed the clothes underneath his arm and went to sit down next to her. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head. Wiped her eye with the heel of her hand. “Nix, Adam. Just missing Mary.”
But his mother didn’t look at him when she spoke. Instead her gaze drifted to the left and fixed on the wall. There was nothing to look at; no decorations of any kind in the house, other than a couple of plain white candles that were rarely used. Still she stared at the blankness.
Adam studied her. Her eyes were wet, despite the reassurance that everything was okay. He didn’t doubt she missed Emma’s mother. The funeral had been less than a week ago. Yet there was something else. He sensed it.
He set his clothes on the floor next to his feet. “You’re not telling me everything, are you?”
She rose from the couch, smoothed the skirt of her blue church dress, and looked down at him. “There are some things a mudder doesn’t share with her sohn. Or anyone else.” She went upstairs. The door to her bedroom closed.
Leona had been right, and so had Emma. Something was wrong with his mamm, and if he’d been here instead of in Michigan, he would know what was going on. Maybe even have stopped it from happening. Instead he had no idea why his mother was upset, or what he could do about it.
When he came back to Middlefield at Leona’s urging, he had thought his mother might be sick. But she didn’t seem physically ill. It had to be something else. Something deeper.
He had to find out. And the only place to start was with his father.
He found his daed leaning against the white fence surrounding the pasture. The fence he and his father had made out of thick, heavy oak and painted with milk paint. Adam could practically feel the sweat dripping down his back and the sides of his face as he recalled weeks on end during that blistering August, digging post holes by hand. All he could think about was how easy and quick it would have been if they could have used a tractor with an auger attachment. They could have done the entire job in less than a week. The Amish way, it took almost a month.
Adam used to look at that fence with contempt, a reminder of time and effort wasted. Now, seven years later, it stood as straight and sturdy as it had the day they had pounded the last nail. And this evening, as the sun streaked the sky with purple, pink, and orange hues of dusk, a sense of pride and accomplishment coursed through him. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Adam moved to stand next to his father. “There’s something wrong with Mamm.”
His father didn’t say anything. He stared at the pasture, his forearms resting on the edge of the top oak beam, his expression iron-hard.
“Did you hear me? I said something is wrong with Mamm.”
“I heard you. Your mudder’s fine.”
“If she’s fine, then why is she inside the haus crying?”
A muscle twitched on his father’s cheek, but he didn’t look at Adam. “Women cry. It’s their nature.”
“What if she’s sick?”
“She’s not sick. You would know that if you still lived here.”
Adam clenched his fists. “Sounds like you don’t care why she’s upset.”
His father slowly turned and stared at him. “Never tell me how I should feel about mei fraa.” His tone was low, flat. “You are a stranger to us. You don’t belong here anymore.”
Adam had spoken those same words to his parents many times before he left, but hearing them echoed back to him from his father felt like a punch in the gut. “I may not belong here, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“If you cared, you wouldn’t have left.”
“I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stand it here anymore. You know that.”
His father’s rough, wrinkled hands curled around the fence. “All I know is that mei sohn rejects his familye. He rejects his faith.”
“Nee! That’s not what I’m doing. I re
ject the rules. The limits on what I can and cannot do.”
“We are doing just fine without you here, Adam.” His daed released his hold on the fence. “As I see you are doing just fine without us.”
Anger built up in Adam. His father remained cold. Emotionless. Never raised his voice. Never yelled. For once Adam wanted him to show some shred of emotion. Even raw fury would be preferable to talking to a wall.
“That doesn’t sound like forgiveness, Vadder. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Forgive me? Try to make me stay?”
“When there is no repentance, there can be no forgiveness.”
Adam knew that wasn’t true. Scripture taught, and the Amish believed, that forgiveness was to be offered whether a person was repentant or not. Adam would have to repent in front of the church if he ever wanted to rejoin, but that didn’t mean his father should withhold mercy. “You never wanted to understand me,” Adam said. “You never tried.”
“I can say the same for you.” His father turned around. “I’m going inside.” He walked away with his usual slow, measured steps. As if their conversation had never taken place.
Adam gripped the fence so hard that a splinter of wood dug into his skin and drew blood. Maybe he should leave. No one wanted him here. Not his father. Definitely not Emma. Only his mother seemed happy he’d returned. Maybe Leona too.
Then again, what did he expect?
CHAPTER 13
“Here you geh, maedel.” Emma coaxed Dill into eating a carrot from her palm. She stroked the horse’s nose. Her appetite seemed off this morning. Emma wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because Dill had spent several days in the barn, when she was used to getting exercise and working.
“Is that it? Do you need fresh air?”
She held on to Dill’s bridle and opened the door to the stall. She led Dill outside. The horse whinnied and pranced a few steps. Then she settled down and allowed Emma to tether her in the backyard.
The Middlefield Family Collection Page 9