Phoebe's Gift

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Once the coffee cups were filled, Mrs. Broman took a careful sip and pronounced, “It’s excellent, Phoebe. I’ve never had Amish coffee before.”

  Phoebe brushed the praise away with a toss of her hand. “Coffee is coffee, I suppose.”

  Mrs. Broman smiled. “So where shall we begin?”

  Ruth held her breath until Phoebe finally asked, “If you could fill me in on what the expectations are for the pony farm, maybe that would be helpful.”

  “Certainly,” Mrs. Broman began. “We’re looking for a farm where young children can come for a week at a time. These are troubled children—even physically abused, perhaps—but all of them would benefit from what a quiet place in the country could offer. There would be inspections of the farm, conducted primarily by myself or Ethan Thompson, and training for the person in charge. We’re looking at property worthiness, cooking issues, and bedroom space. After that, we would begin sending a few children a week. Perhaps we could increase the number as time goes on and we all learn what works and what doesn’t.”

  Phoebe appeared a little pale. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only cared for my grandma and my younger siblings, but I suppose the training would help.” She finished with an apologetic laugh.

  “But you can cook, wash, and keep house.” Mrs. Broman chuckled. “The Amish know that naturally, don’t they?”

  Ruth jumped into the conversation. “Yes. We all do.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Broman said. “Another issue of concern would be your business structure. But that shouldn’t be a problem, considering how community minded the Amish are. Everyone oversees everyone else, don’t they?”

  “Yah, I suppose so,” Phoebe allowed. “Exactly what are you referring to?”

  “Something like a board,” Ruth offered.

  “What’s a board?” Phoebe asked.

  Ruth looked away, but Mrs. Broman explained patiently. “Surely you have older relatives who could form a business group to oversee the farm, offer you advice, and provide consultation if we have concerns with how things are going.” Mrs. Broman smiled sweetly. “In a worst-case scenario, of course. You always have to be prepared for such things.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I do have two uncles and an aunt in the community. We already had a meeting last week about this, and my Aunt Millie told me this morning I could go ahead if I wanted to. They plan to allow the use of the farm since Grandma Lapp left a share to all of her children.”

  “A family business. There’s nothing wrong with that, but families are notorious for not getting along. I guess you know that.”

  “Oh, we get along,” Phoebe assured Mrs. Broman. “That’s the least of my worries. Whether or not I should do this is the question. It is a little unusual for Amish people.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Broman paused. “Of course, I don’t get involved in those issues. You either have the farm here for our inspection and usage, or you don’t. But let me say, unofficially, that I would welcome the existence of such a place, and I would see that you received all the help you need with the required paperwork. You would have a full house at all times. I would want the venture to succeed, and so does Ethan, who…” Mrs. Broman cast her gaze at Ruth. “You’re not his fiancée, are you?”

  “Not yet,” Ruth chirped.

  Mrs. Broman smiled. “My heart is with you on that one, Ruth. Ethan’s not an easy man to nail down.”

  Ruth pressed her lips together as the conversation continued.

  “They would bring their own clothing for the week, then?” Phoebe asked.

  “Certainly,” Mrs. Broman assured her.

  “And will they all like Amish cooking?”

  Mrs. Broman laughed. “Who doesn’t? But if there are any special needs, we would let you know.”

  “I hope I’m up to that,” Phoebe muttered.

  Ruth jumped in again. “Any Amish woman can handle cooking if she has the recipe.”

  Mrs. Broman smiled, and Phoebe seemed satisfied.

  “Can you give me a quick tour of the place?” Mrs. Broman asked. Her smile was kind.

  Ruth waited while Phoebe took Mrs. Broman through the whole house, and then she followed the two other women out to the barn.

  Phoebe called to the ponies, and they trotted up to the back barn door.

  “Real Assateague ponies!” Mrs. Broman gushed. “And tame at that. But I’ve always heard they make great pets.”

  “One of Ruth’s brothers, David, has taken care of them since I came,” Phoebe offered. “And they have never misbehaved.”

  “You may have to get more of them if this idea takes off, you know,” Mrs. Broman said.

  Phoebe shook her head. “We’ll take one step at a time for now. But I am so thankful that you came out and answered my questions.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted this any other way.”

  After a last nuzzle from the ponies, the party moved back to the car. Mrs. Broman handed Phoebe a stack of forms and papers to read.

  “Just look these over and call me with any questions.” Mrs. Broman’s finger traced one of the pages. “No concern is too little.”

  “Thank you so much,” Phoebe told her.

  Mrs. Broman opened the car door and turned to Ruth. “Are we ready?”

  “Ah…I believe I’ll walk back home,” Ruth told her. “I want to talk with Phoebe a little bit.”

  “See you later, then.” Mrs. Broman climbed in her car and waved goodbye.

  Phoebe groaned once the car was back out on 170. “My head is spinning! I think I’m going to faint.”

  “Here!” Ruth took the stack of paper from Phoebe’s arm. “Does that help?”

  “No, that’s not the problem. Courage is my problem. I’ve been a coward for too long.”

  “You are not!” Ruth retorted. “You’re a woman of strength, and Grandma Lapp was a praying woman.”

  “I wish Grandma were still here with her prayers,” Phoebe said. “How much easier that would make things.”

  Ruth’s thoughts raced. Should she confess what she knew? Snooping wasn’t that bad a sin, and she was desperate to encourage Phoebe. “Grandma Lapp has some prayers written down,” she admitted. “I looked through them once when the house was empty. I mean, I know how that sounds, but David and I were given the run of the place. We never misbehaved—”

  “I believe you,” Phoebe interrupted with a smile. “What did you find?”

  “Grandma Lapp had a prayer book. They were goot prayers.”

  “Do you mean a prayer book like the ones at church?” Comprehension dawned on Phoebe’s face.

  “No, silly. Her own prayers.”

  “Her own prayers?” Phoebe appeared dumbfounded. “But where?”

  Ruth shrugged. “I found a tablet sitting beside her bed on the dresser. I don’t know where it is now.”

  “A prayer book.” Phoebe seemed lost in thought. “Maybe Grandma left an answer.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I must find it.” Phoebe grabbed the stack of papers from Ruth’s arms and hurried up the walk. “Thank you for everything!” she hollered over her shoulder.

  “You’re welcome!” Ruth called back. She had done everything she could do. Ethan’s opinion of her would not be advanced if this plan didn’t work. Not after they had gone to all this trouble.

  SEVEN

  A week later, on Saturday morning, Phoebe again bustled about Grandma Lapp’s old farmhouse with a dustpan and broom in her hand. Aunt Millie was due any minute for a visit, and the kitchen and living room floors must be spotless. The upstairs hadn’t been swept since that early morning effort after the funeral, but a lot of dirt shouldn’t have accumulated from her solitary activities. Still, a quick check wouldn’t hurt. With all the idle time she’d had on her hands these past two weeks while she thought about the proposed pony farm, a clean house was the least Aunt Millie could expect.

  Phoebe took the stairs two at a time. A quick glance around revealed a clean hallw
ay. Maybe the bedrooms should be looked into? If nothing else, she might find the cranny where Grandma’s mysterious prayer book was located. She’d spent every spare moment this week in a thorough search of the house, right up to the attic.

  Grandma had a lifetime’s worth of things stuck in every corner of the house. Somewhere Phoebe had missed the book—if Ruth’s memory was correct. Ruth had seemed so certain.

  Phoebe opened the first bedroom door to peer inside. The place was clean, but the book had to be either hidden or sitting in plain sight somewhere in the house. Phoebe pushed the broom under the bed and came up with a slight puff of dust that had gathered since her last cleaning. She gathered up the offending particles and proceeded to the next room. Twenty minutes later, the entire upstairs was spotless, but there still was no sign of a prayer journal.

  Phoebe paused to listen. She heard the sound of buggy wheels in the driveway, meaning Aunt Millie was here. Maybe she knew where the book might be. If not, she might help with the pile of papers Mrs. Broman had left. Phoebe had set them out on the kitchen table downstairs and had been through each one until the words ran together. Even so, they had never made sense. The Englisha words about this and that were mumbo jumbo. Certainly not Amish sounding. Grandma’s dream was doomed. Phoebe’s courage had failed her again. Why couldn’t she grab on to Grandma’s vision and make this work?

  Phoebe slowly made her way down the steps and hung the broom and dustpan in the hall closet. Aunt Millie had tied her horse and was halfway to the house when Phoebe stepped out on the front porch.

  Aunt Millie waved. “Goot morning!”

  “Goot morning!” Phoebe hollered back. She hurried toward her aunt.

  The two embraced, and Aunt Millie held Phoebe at arm’s length. “You are looking great.”

  Phoebe forced a laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Oh, you know why. You’re living by yourself in this big old house, worrying about things, and trying to figure out what must be done. Am I not right?”

  “Well, almost,” Phoebe admitted. “I’ve been busy worrying. But I did tell you Sunday about the visit Ruth Fisher arranged with Mrs. Broman to give me the information I needed.”

  Aunt Millie took Phoebe’s arm to lead the way toward the house. “This plan shouldn’t have been indulged in the first place. That’s what we’re thinking now—Homer, Noah, and I. I know I was very supportive that first evening, but are you really up to this, Phoebe? If it weren’t for Mamm’s memory…”

  Phoebe drew a long breath.

  Aunt Millie continued before Phoebe could answer. “You’ve lived in the valley this past year, dear, and you are a timid and cautious person. Isn’t this—”

  “I wasn’t always this way.”

  “But you are now.” Aunt Millie gave Phoebe a kind smile.

  Phoebe pressed back the tears. “Grandma seems to think I can be someone else. Someone I used to be. I want to try, Aunt Millie. Deep down I do. I want to be like Grandma.”

  “We all want to be like her.” Aunt Millie paused to take Phoebe in her arms and give her a quick hug. “Think of how the other evening I spoke up to my brothers when I should have been quiet. A meek and mild spirit is also what Mamm was, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe wiped her eyes. “Ruth told me about something that I think could play a big part in my decision.”

  “Your decision?” Aunt Millie looked at Phoebe. “I know we wanted you to make up your own mind, but we are also involved. The truth is, all of us are getting cold feet. This seems so…”

  “Yah, impossible,” Phoebe finished. “And yet Grandma wanted this. I know she did. I can see that most clearly when I’m speaking with David and Ruth.”

  “The Fishers!” Aunt Millie tugged on Phoebe’s arm. “You know what the community thinks about that family. That’s another thing. This is a Lapp decision.”

  “Yah, but Ruth told me something that we should look into. At least, that’s what my heart tells me.”

  “Your heart!” Aunt Millie paused again in their walk toward the house. “This comes down to a question of the head—not the heart, Phoebe. Take that from a woman who lets her heart get away from her at times. Mamm’s gone, and so is her dream. We all have to face the truth.”

  “Maybe,” Phoebe allowed. “But first I’d like to find Grandma’s prayer journal. The one where she wrote down her words to the Lord.”

  Aunt Millie paled but didn’t answer.

  “So you know about this?”

  Aunt Millie looked away.

  Phoebe gripped her arm. “Do you know where this tablet is? This…this prayer book?”

  Aunt Millie faced her. “Mamm was a little strange in some ways, Phoebe. This is one of those times—writing down prayers in a book. You know how that would appear if such a tale got out to the community.”

  “I want to read them.”

  Aunt Millie hung her head for a moment. “I told Mamm I’d take the tablet home with me for safekeeping, but we both knew the real reason. I was afraid you would find the prayer book while you were taking care of her.”

  “Then I must read them. I am part of the family.”

  “You are the next generation. This is not something we wish to have passed on.”

  “But prayers? What can be wrong with prayers?”

  As they arrived at the front porch, Aunt Millie sat down on the steps before she answered. “Writing them down, Phoebe! The answer is plain enough. What if the ministers heard of another prayer book in the community—one that was written by a woman?”

  Phoebe met Aunt Millie’s gaze squarely from the bottom of the porch steps. “If Grandma wrote them, I have a right to read them.”

  “You are like her,” Aunt Millie muttered. “Can we just forget about this? I wish Ruth had never told you anything. Then you could go on with your life.”

  “Go on the way I am now?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Do you know what was said to me when I was in school?”

  Aunt Millie attempted a smile. “Children say things all the time. We are taught better as we grow older.”

  Phoebe tried another angle. “What about the pony farm?”

  “We had best be forgetting that, I’m thinking.”

  “Not until I have read what Grandma wrote.” Phoebe turned toward Aunt Millie’s buggy. “Take me to your place right now so I can read these prayers.”

  Aunt Millie tugged again on her arm. “I understand how you feel, Phoebe, but it would have been best if Ruth had never seen them.”

  “But she did, and Grandma must not have been ashamed of what she wrote if she left it lying around for Ruth to read.”

  “I suppose Mamm wasn’t,” Aunt Millie allowed with a little smile. “And she seems to have chosen her friends well to carry on this dream of hers.”

  “Then there is something in there about the pony farm?”

  Aunt Millie hesitated. “I’ll bring the tablet to you, Phoebe. It’s best that you read it over here. I don’t want anyone else to know about it.”

  “Do Uncle Homer and Uncle Noah know?”

  Aunt Millie nodded and turned to scurry back toward her buggy. Phoebe watched from the porch as Aunt Millie drove out onto Highway 170 and headed north at a fast trot. She retreated inside and stood in the kitchen doorway. What should she do with the time until Aunt Millie returned? Maybe make lunch? But twelve o’clock was still a few hours away. On Wednesday she had begun a dress pattern, which now sat on the dining room table. But could she focus enough to avoid mistakes? She would have to. She couldn’t sit idly around.

  Phoebe pulled up a chair and took a firm grip on her scissors. She had already cut most of the pieces, but there were still two smaller ones left. She made the first cut and then paused to steady her hands. The sewing machine was buzzing by the time Aunt Millie drove back into the driveway. Phoebe kept her head bent over the whirling needle until Aunt Millie walked through the front door, a small parcel tucked under her arm.

&nb
sp; Aunt Millie extended her hand as if she expected the tablet to leap out and bite her. “Here!”

  “Did you have to explain your trip home?”

  Aunt Millie forced a laugh. “My daughters presumed I was just scatterbrained and forgot something.” Aunt Millie stopped with her gaze fixed on the unopened book.

  “Where shall I start?” Phoebe asked.

  “It’s not fit reading, any of it. But there’s plenty in there about the farm.”

  “You mean her dream?”

  Aunt Millie nodded. “Read for yourself, dear. I know where one is. I’ll show you.”

  Phoebe’s hand trembled as she sat down in front of the sewing machine again. Aunt Millie found the page and then waited as Phoebe looked at it, her vision blurry. The pages were written in Grandma’s handwriting. She knew from the letters Grandma used to write to Mamm.

  “Read out loud,” Aunt Millie ordered. “I would like to hear the words again while we’re at it.”

  “‘Dear God in heaven,’” Phoebe began. “‘You are the great Redeemer of mankind and the One I so greatly love. You have become even more precious to me as life around me fades away and grows so very dim. I love my family and my dear Tobias, who is waiting by Your side, I am sure, but it is Your face that I long to see. Someday soon, I hope. Oh, the joy that flows over me when I think of that dawning morn, when the sun will come up upon that golden shore, and we shall never grow weary or weep again.’”

  “Do you see what I mean?” Aunt Millie whispered. “Such prayers! Who has ever heard of such a thing?”

  “But the dream of the farm,” Phoebe replied. “Where is that?”

  “It’s coming up.”

  Phoebe read on as Aunt Millie waited in front of her. “‘I thank You, dear Lord, for the vision of that land You gave me the other night. My eyes could only see so much of the glory before I was blinded, but soon I’m thinking I’ll have better eyes with which to see. Oh, for that day to come soon…but all in Your will and in Your time. We have been given our days on this earth for reasons that only life over there will fully show. I know I have gained great treasures from the pain of this world, and for that I give You thanks. And for the dream You have given me in these last years of my life. I have raised my family, and I pray my dear Tobias will have kind words for me when we meet again, as he did in this life. I know I failed You many times, dear Lord, but You loved me and I loved You in return. For this I give thanks, and for the final burden that has been given to me. The marks of Your love are all over this dream of a farm that ministers to hurting children. I know what must be done. I saw that too. I have only my little farm down here on this earth, so feeble and frail, and yet something can be done to touch the sufferings of this world through my weak hands.’”