The Middlefield Family Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  She didn’t respond.

  “Maybe if Adam had a reason to stay, he would.”

  “He had a reason to stay. He chose to leave.” She looked at her grandmother. “I know you don’t trust Mark. But at least he came to check on me today. I haven’t seen Adam since this morning.”

  Grossmammi nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “Mark will be here tomorrow at four. We’re going on a buggy ride. I’m going to show him a little bit of Middlefield.”

  “Is that something you want to do? Or do you feel you have to?”

  Emma shrugged. “What I want doesn’t matter anymore.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The next morning Adam woke up late again. Without his cell phone alarm clock, he was having trouble getting up at a decent hour.

  When he was a kid, his parents had often reprimanded him for oversleeping; his daed had been especially hard on him about that. But now his father and mother never woke him. They didn’t even knock on the door of his bedroom, which they had to pass to get downstairs. They probably thought he was old enough to get up on his own.

  And they were right. He would have to try harder.

  He dressed in Amish clothes again and went downstairs to the kitchen. Breakfast had come and gone, and the kitchen was spotless. Sounds of the hand-cranked washer came up from the basement as his mother washed clothes. He took a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter from the pantry, made himself a sandwich, and wolfed it down with a glass of milk.

  When he was done, Adam went outside. He’d spent a restless night thinking about the question Leona had asked him. Who was in charge of his life?

  As a child and a young teenager, he would’ve said God. He had been taught all his life that God was in control. Everything you did, from the time you woke in the morning until the time you fell asleep, had to be your best, done for the glory of God. Living humbly, plainly, remaining separate from the world.

  As he grew to adulthood, Adam couldn’t reconcile that part of his life. How did living with all these rules bring him closer to God? None of it made sense. And so he’d left the community and tried to find a place in the world.

  But since he’d been back in Middlefield, he’d begun to think about things differently. What if, despite his father’s harsh and rigid outlook on things, making a connection with God wasn’t really about the rules at all? What if, instead, it was about the heart?

  When he entered the barn, he saw his father putting up hay for the winter. Adam stood and watched for a minute as his daed tucked his fingers in the twine around the hay bale and tossed the bale to the loft above. At fifty, he had the strength of a man two decades younger.

  Without saying a word Adam joined him. Soon they were both in the rhythm of loading the bales to the upper loft.

  “What made you so sure you wanted to stay Amish?”

  Adam’s father froze, his hand still gripping the twine wrapped around the bale. “I don’t understand the question.”

  “You were once my age. You went through rumspringa. How did you decide to stay Amish and not live in the Yankee world?”

  His father dropped the hay bale and glanced away. Adam took note of the threads of silver in his brown beard and bushy eyebrows.

  Maybe the question was too personal. But Adam wondered what might have happened in his life if he had taken the time to ask it two years ago, instead of waiting until now.

  “I just knew.” His father turned, grabbed a bale, and threw it into the loft.

  That was a lot of help.

  Adam waited for his father to elaborate. After a minute he realized he wasn’t going to get anything else. But he shouldn’t have expected more. His dad was always a man of few words, and those words were often harsh, especially when aimed in the direction of his son.

  Adam clenched his fists and felt the familiar bile of resentment rising in him.

  Who is in control of your life, Adam? You or God?

  He took a breath and tried to relax. He wasn’t going to get the answers he needed from his father. He had to take his father’s response for what it was, his own personal reasoning. Simple, like the man himself. He didn’t have to justify it to anyone, especially Adam.

  His father’s truth was not his own. Adam would have to find his own answers, his own way.

  He and his father worked until all the bales were in the loft. Then they swept the floor and fed the horses. By the time they left the barn, midafternoon sunlight slanted across the pasture.

  Adam pulled down the brim of his hat and looked at his dad. His father’s mouth was set in its usual serious line. Without a word, his daed turned and walked toward the pasture. No invitation for Adam to follow. No thank you for his help.

  Adam had seen this behavior all his life, and it invariably left him feeling frustrated, neglected, taken for granted. But somehow this afternoon things were different. The harshness in his dad’s eyes had softened.

  Adam didn’t fully understand why. But he hoped he would. Eventually.

  In the meantime, he had to accept that it was just his father’s way.

  Emma picked up Tommy and walked into the workshop, wanting to look at it one last time before it changed. Despite her doubts, Emma knew her grandfather would rather see the shop put to use, instead of rotting away into a pile of dust.

  “Ephraim loved working in here.”

  Emma whirled around to see her grandmother standing in the doorway, leaning against her cane. “Grossmammi. I didn’t realize you were here. I thought you were resting inside.”

  The old woman shook her head. “Too many things on my mind. Thought I’d get out into the fresh air. Clear my head.”

  “The air’s not so fresh in here.” The cat wriggled out of her arms and raced out of the shop.

  “But it’s filled with memories,” her grandmother said. She glanced around the building and sighed. “Goodness. I haven’t been in here in years.” With measured steps, she walked over to the pegboard that held her husband’s tools. She leaned against her cane and touched the empty space where an awl had hung. “I still miss him,” she said softly.

  Emma went to her grandmother and put her arm around her shoulders.

  The old woman looked up, her eyes damp. “The Lord’s seen fit to give me seventy-five years of life, and maybe more if that’s His plan. So much has changed. I’ve buried three babies. I’ve outlived my husband, my grown sohn, and my daughter-in-law. My other two kinner have left the Amish and live in other states.”

  Emma thought about her Uncle Eli and Aunt Lois. Their visits were infrequent, although they did write regularly. Pain filled her grandmother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Grossmammi.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. We’re not guaranteed an easy life. And I’ve had far more joy than heartbreak. God has healed my pain, Emma.” She looked at the tools again. “The memories I hold inside are the happy ones.” She let out another shaky breath. “This building is about to change, and that’s as it should be. But I want to remember it the way it was for just a while longer.”

  Nodding, Emma quietly left her grandmother to her memories. She stepped outside into the clear afternoon sunshine. Like her grandmother, she had lost the ones she loved most in her life. Yet her grandmother could thank God in her sorrow, celebrate His mercy in her grief. Emma had done neither of those things. Instead she’d felt sorry for herself. But why? How could her grandmother find healing when it was just out of Emma’s grasp?

  A few moments later Emma saw her grandmother leave the workshop. She went back inside to savor a few final memories, before they changed forever.

  Adam was about to go inside when he saw Emma enter the workshop. He wasn’t sure if he should follow her, yet he couldn’t stay away. He needed to find out what happened yesterday, especially with Mark. Thinking about the two of them alone, even for only a short time, didn’t sit well with Adam.

  From her place under the Shetlers’ porch, Molly, the bluetick hound, came toward him. The old dog moved slowly,
but her tail still wagged with vigor.

  Adam crouched down and waited for her to meet him. He stroked her graying muzzle and spoke in soothing tones to her.

  She rewarded him with a wet and sloppy kiss. Adam patted her head and scratched under her chin. “Gut maedel.”

  In that moment he realized he’d missed everything about this place, even Molly. How could he not have understood all he’d given up when he moved away?

  His Yankee friends always talked about the “modern” things the Amish lacked—technology, entertainment, labor-saving devices. But now that he was back in Middlefield, his life in Michigan seemed empty and hollow by comparison.

  He petted Molly a little longer, then went to the workshop. Emma was at the back of the room, sweeping the floor again, this time with slow, deliberate strokes. Suddenly she stopped sweeping and looked up at an old tilted shelf on the wall.

  Adam leaned against the door frame. She still hadn’t heard him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He liked watching her.

  The thought surprised him. How long had he felt this way? Was this the first time he was aware of it—or merely the first time he had admitted it to himself? Either way, he definitely liked it.

  What was she up to? She picked up a hammer lying on the dusty counter. Along the windowsill were glass mason jars filled with nails. Emma peered inside a couple of them, stuck her fingers in one of the openings, and pulled out a short, rusty nail.

  When she walked back over to the shelf, he understood what she was planning to do. His first instinct was to stop her, or at least offer help. But she’d refuse it anyway. Better to let her realize her problem herself.

  She pushed one end of the crooked shelf up and leaned back to look at it, presumably checking to see if it was even. It wasn’t, but she didn’t notice. She started pounding the nail into the bracket beneath the shelf. To her credit, she didn’t hit her thumb.

  Emma propped her hands on her hips and stood back to check her work. Adam found his gaze drawn to those hips. Out of the blue, he wondered what it would be like to touch them. The unexpected thought jolted him with such force he started to cough.

  She whirled around, wielding the hammer like a weapon. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long.” He cleared his throat and avoided looking anywhere but her face. “I just got here.”

  “You scared me.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” He drew closer and nodded toward the shelf. “What are you doing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “It was crooked.”

  Adam worked hard to suppress a smile. “And now it’s straight?”

  “I did the best I could.” She frowned at him.

  A creaking sound from the plank of wood warned that the shelf wouldn’t be stable for much longer. He took the hammer from her hand. “What kind of nails did you use?”

  “Metal ones, of course. What other kind are there?”

  He chuckled. “Nee. I mean what size?”

  “I don’t know. A big one? Medium-sized? Does it matter? I just grabbed a nail and started pounding.”

  “It matters.” Adam examined Ephraim’s old collection of nails and found one long and thick enough to support the shelf. He turned to Emma. “Do you mind?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “You know more about this than I do.”

  With the claw end of the hammer he yanked out the nail. The shelf dangled on the wall. “Would you happen to have a level?”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. I’ll eyeball it.”

  He straightened the shelf, examined it for a moment. Placed the nail in the bracket, and with a few whacks of the hammer it was secure against the wall.

  He stepped back to check his handiwork, his hip brushing against the long, narrow counter lining the back of the shop. “I think that should stay.” He noticed the twitching of her lips. “What?”

  “I’d brush your backside off if I were you. There’s enough dust on that counter to cover your daed’s field.”

  He twisted around. She was right. He batted his hands against his pants and looked back at her. There it was. A twinkle in her eyes. Tiny, barely there, but he saw it. “Better?”

  Instead of answering she turned and placed her hands on her curvy hips again. Adam surveyed the dusty, abandoned shop alongside her. Dirt coated everything, from the junk on the floor to the long counter that was nailed to the south wall. Above the counter were two more wooden shelves, which barely clung to the wall. A pegboard hung on the back of the building, covered in dark, shadowy shapes where tools must have hung. The place was a mess. Was this building even stable anymore?

  “Emma, what are you doing here?”

  “Fixing the shelf. Doing a little sweeping.” She didn’t look at him. “Trying to help get this place ready for the store.”

  “I thought you didn’t want the store.”

  She moved away from him. Ran her finger through the dust on the counter. “Things change. They have to. It’s time I accepted it.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “There’s only one thing I’m sure of.” She faced him, and the expression of misery in her eyes nearly broke his heart. “I’m not in control of what happens in my life. I don’t have a choice. This shop is going to happen with or without me.”

  Adam frowned. “I don’t think you believe that.”

  “About the shop? Mei grossmudder already told me. Clara and Peter will be here later today to go through the tools.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  He leaned against the counter again. Dirty pants didn’t matter to him right now. Emma did. “Leona asked me an interesting question yesterday.”

  “She has a tendency to do that.”

  “She asked me who was in control of my life—me or God?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t have an answer for her. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

  She turned away from him. “So what’s your point, Adam? Do you want me to help you solve your spiritual dilemma?” She glared at him over her shoulder. “I tried that once.”

  “I know.” He came up behind her. “This isn’t about me, Emma. It’s about you having choices. And about you knowing who is in control of your life.”

  Emma turned around. Adam Otto, talking of spiritual things? Questioning her the way her grandmother would? She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “It’s just that . . .” She sighed. “You’ve changed, Adam.”

  “I guess so. I hope so. I’m trying to work some things out. Things I avoided for a long time.”

  As he stared at her with his honey-colored eyes, a warmth kindled within her—empathy coupled with attraction. She glanced away, not wanting to be drawn in. At one time she appreciated his concern and his friendship, yet she’d also wanted more. She still wanted more, and always would.

  “Have you prayed about this, Emma?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn’t. And she wasn’t going to admit it and get a lecture from this new incarnation of Adam. She picked up a jar of nails to move it from the windowsill to the counter near the front of the shop. Pointless, yet it allowed her to avoid the question. “Clara is right. So is Grossmammi. I have to let geh of the past if I’m going to move forward.”

  “Does that mean you’re willing to let geh of what happened between us?”

  The jar slipped out of her hand, crashing to the floor. Sharp nails and shards of glass flew everywhere. She sank down to the ground and blindly grabbed at the mess. Pain shot through her hand. A bright stream of blood flowed from her palm.

  Adam appeared at her side. “Emma.”

  His voice, soft in her ear, sent chills through her. She tucked her hand inside the cuff of her sweater. “I’m such a klutz.”

  “Nee. You’re not.” He picked up a few pieces of glass, found an old bucket, and tossed them in. “We’ll put the glass in here.”

  Sh
e nodded, trying to ignore the throbbing in her hand. She reached for a chunk of the glass jar and saw a dark spot seeping through the navy blue fabric of her sweater.

  “Let me see.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Adam put his hands on his hips and stood in front of her. “I’m not budging until you show me.”

  “Fine.” She pulled up the cuff of her sleeve. Blood was smeared all over her hand. “It looks worse than it is.”

  “I hope so, because that looks pretty bad. We need to geh inside and clean it up.”

  “I can do it myself.”

  “Okay, then you geh inside and take care of it. I’ll pick up the rest of the glass and nails.” He bent down and carefully lifted a large shard of glass.

  “Adam?”

  “Can’t hear you.” He tossed the glass in the bucket. “I can’t hear you because you’re already inside cleaning up your hand, like you told me you would.”

  Behind his back she smiled. A little. Then she turned and went into the house.

  “Adam.”

  Adam turned to see Mark standing in the doorway. He stood up, tossing the last pieces of glass into the bucket. “Mark.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  Mark strolled into the workshop and looked around. His face registered disgust as he took in the ramshackle place. “Needs a lot of work.”

  “Ya. It does.”

  “More than Clara realizes, I believe.” He turned to Adam. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

  “You’re right. I haven’t.”

  Mark smirked. He rolled his shoe back and forth across one of the loose nails on the floor. “I suppose you don’t think you owe me an explanation.”

  “Not really.”

  “And I don’t owe you one.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles. “When are you leaving?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” He looked Mark directly in the eye. “In fact, I’m thinking about staying around for a while. A gut long while.”