The Tinderbox

by Beverly Lewis

  Danny mentioned that he had worked there in the summer to keep things redded up in the barn and the grounds. “Really great people to work for.”

  They enjoyed their ice cream, grinning when the cats came over to lick up any crumbs from the cones that fell to the porch floor.

  Suddenly, the peacock let out a shrill shriek, and Alma jumped, startled.

  “This must be your first time here,” Sylvia said.

  Alma admitted that it was.

  “Well, now you’ll know if ya come here again,” Danny observed, eyes squinting nearly shut as he grinned. Throughout the evening, Sylvia had noticed Danny paying close attention to Alma, thoughtfully responding to her comments and purchasing her cone. I think he likes her!

  After finishing their ice cream, they sat and talked, Danny sharing about a handful of true-life situations he’d read about in The Budget, and Titus hamming it up, too. “S’pose ya heard ’bout the Amish fella in Colon, Michigan, who calls himself an Uber driver,” Danny was saying. “Five bucks for a horse-drawn buggy ride into town or wherever.”

  “I wonder how that guy gets by with it,” Titus said, shaking his head and glancing at Sylvia.

  “Their bishop must be more tolerant than ours,” Danny said, then looked a bit chagrined for having said so.

  Later, during a pause in conversation, Danny mentioned that he’d seen Sylvia’s father and Ernie working with Preacher Zook’s sons at his farm. “They’ve been sorting out some of the farm equipment,” Danny said. “Made me wonder if there’s gonna be an auction soon.”

  “There is,” Sylvia replied, “but I’m not sure just when.”

  “Are ya goin’ to bid on some items?” Titus asked Danny, and the two of them starting talking about that.

  Sylvia exchanged smiles with Cousin Alma, asking how Jessie and her other siblings were doing.

  “Well, ’tween you and me, Jessie’s out with a fella tonight, too,” Alma said quietly, tucking a strand of dark brown hair beneath her white head covering. “Her first date ever.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  Alma nodded. “Jah.”

  “Who?” Sylvia said it so loudly that both Titus and Danny turned simultaneously and glanced her way.

  “Tell ya later,” Alma mouthed to Sylvia.

  “Okay.” Sylvia nodded. “Just don’t forget.”

  She glanced at Titus, who caught her eye and winked. He planned the best evening, she thought, blushing.

  At the end of the evening, Titus dropped Alma off at her house before taking Danny home. Repeatedly Danny thanked Titus. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he suggested, and Titus agreed.

  On the drive back to Sylvia’s, Titus slipped his arm around her. She couldn’t help but smile in the dark as they rode snuggled up that way, Titus doing most of the talking. Being alone with her beloved again was just what she’d hoped for.

  Yet as they rode, she began to feel downhearted at the thought of returning home. Our once happy house . . .

  A mile or so before the turn to Hickory Lane was to come up, Titus said, “You seemed so content when Alma was with us.”

  Sylvia wondered what he meant.

  “I mean, really happy . . . more so than now or when I picked you up tonight,” Titus added. “Are ya sure somethin’s not bothering you? You’re awful quiet.”

  She groaned inwardly, wishing he hadn’t brought this up. “Oh, I’ll be fine,” she replied.

  “So there is somethin’.” He looked at her, a concerned frown on his handsome face, and she felt trapped. No matter what she might say, she could get herself in a pickle. If she fibbed, she would be lying, and if she told the truth, she would be breaking her promise to Dat.

  “Sylvie?” Titus touched her arm. “You can tell me anything.”

  She shrugged and wished that he would drop it.

  “Is it somethin’ I did . . . or said?”

  “Oh, not at all,” she replied quickly, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. “You’ve been so thoughtful tonight, Titus. But let’s talk ’bout other things, all right?”

  He nodded in agreement but fell silent the rest of the way. Truth be told, she didn’t know what to say, and her thoughts flew back to her conversation on the porch with Dat, and how very different he and Mamma seemed.

  And suddenly, Sylvia worried that she’d somehow let the cat out of the bag to Titus . . . even though she really hadn’t revealed anything specific.

  Even so, he knows something’s wrong.

  CHAPTER

  Nineteen

  Sylvia walked to Lois Peachey’s for the canning bee the following Tuesday morning, still fretting about Mamma. Only a half mile away, the quick walk would do Sylvia good, and besides, she wanted to escape the house again. It alarmed her that she was thinking this way, though she had tried to get her mother to come along, too, as mournful and haggard as she looked. These days Mamma was hardly eating more than a few bites at dinner and even less at suppertime.

  She’s making herself sick.

  The past few nights, Mamma had gone to bed very early while Dat had worked late—much later than Sylvia ever remembered. Ernie must have noticed, too, because he mentioned it when he helped her carry the trash out to the burn barrel yesterday afternoon. But Sylvia had shrugged it off and hoped her brother wouldn’t bring it up again.

  Truth be told, Mamma could look rather pleasant one minute, almost her usual cheerful self. Then when she thought no one was looking, her face would sag into a sad frown.

  Sylvia breathed in the warm air, thinking ahead to school letting out for the summer tomorrow at noon. All the while, a great black cloud of birds was making a commotion in the large tree ahead. She wondered what it would be like to be a bird, flying high and free. No cares, except for finding food and shelter.

  She dismissed that idle thought and realized that in two days, the May fourteenth Ascension Day picnic would take place at the schoolyard on Cattail Road. Volleyball nets would be set up, as well as all kinds of outdoor games, and plenty of food. I can bake the chocolate cakes I promised Titus.

  As she contemplated doing her baking tomorrow evening, Sylvia saw a gray buggy not too far up the road, coming this way. Upon its approach, she could see Eva Kauffman with her youngest daughters, Lavina and Connie. The dark-haired girls waved, both smiling and wearing matching plum-colored dresses and aprons.

  Slowing and then stopping the horse, Eva motioned for Sylvia to cross the road to them. “Where’re ya headed, dear?” Eva asked, the driving lines held loosely against her black dress and apron.

  “There’s a canning bee at the deacon’s house,” Sylvia said as she crossed the road. “Aren’t yous goin’?”

  “Well, we were just heading to your Dat’s shop,” Eva answered. “Connie’s havin’ trouble with her bedroom wind-up clock. We thought maybe it could be repaired, instead of us buyin’ a new one.”

  Connie nodded, her pretty brown hair parted perfectly straight down the middle. “Do ya think your Dat can make the alarm work again?”

  “Oh, he can fix any kind of watch or clock, but he’s been backlogged since Preacher Zook’s funeral. You might have to wait a week or so.” Sylvia smiled.

  “I’d wait a month,” Connie said, her blue eyes bright.

  Lavina gently poked her sister, as if to make her stop talking so much.

  “Did ya bring your clock along?” Sylvia asked.

  Connie leaned down to look in her burlap carryall, searching through it. Then, shaking her head, she looked disappointed. “I thought for sure I put it in,” she said. “Sorry, Mamma.”

  “Another time, then,” Eva said. “Guess we’ll just head over to the General Store for a few sewing notions.” She smiled at Sylvia. “Are ya sure you don’t wanna come with us?”

  It warmed Sylvia’s heart to be included. “I would, but my cousins are expectin’ me. Maybe another time?”

  Eva glanced at her girls. “I think Lavina and Connie would really enjoy that.”

  “All
right. I’ll see to it.” Sylvia waved as they headed down Hickory Lane, delighted by the prospect of having such thoughtful sisters-in-law not many months from now.

  Sylvia glanced at Deacon Peachey’s second-story balcony as she approached his lane, recalling that her father had once mentioned wanting to build something similar on their own home in the future. The deacon’s farmhouse sat on seventy acres, including vast meadows and cropland. But what Sylvia liked best was the long screened-in porch that ran across the front and partway down one side of the house. She could just imagine sitting out there evenings, enjoying the breezes without the bugs.

  Several carriages were already parked in the side yard close to the stable, and when Cousin Alma burst out the back door with the biggest smile, Sylvia knew something was up.

  “Hullo!” Alma called. “You’ll never guess what happened.” Right there in the middle of the lane, Alma whispered in her ear.

  “Well, that is somethin’,” Sylvia answered quietly as Alma stepped back. “Danny’s already asked ya out for next Sunday night?”

  Alma’s brown eyes squinted nearly shut. “Jah, just as I said.” She walked with Sylvia toward the backyard. “You don’t mind us doublin’ up with ya again, after Singing?”

  “How could I mind? You’ve been hopin’ for this.”

  Alma grinned and lifted the hem of her skirt to head up the steps to the back door.

  Following her inside, Sylvia smiled, thinking that this canning bee would be so enjoyable if she weren’t carrying such worry in her heart for Mamma. Dat too. But at least Cousin Alma’s happiness had lightened her spirits for the time being.

  Later, during a short break when Lois Peachey served a large vegetable tray with multiple kinds of dips, Alma asked Sylvia, “Is your Mamma all right?”

  Surprised, Sylvia replied, “Why should ya ask?”

  “One of my brothers saw her out walkin’ down the road with a teddy bear early one Sunday mornin’.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “Can’t think why Mamma would do that. Must’ve been someone else—if your brother even saw right.”

  Cousin Alma shrugged and bobbed her head, seeming to accept that.

  Sylvia forced a smile and went to get some fruit punch, hoping that the subject of her mother wouldn’t come up again.

  That evening, during family prayers, Earnest sounded more expressive than he had lately. But except for the three meals they’d eaten together, he and Rhoda had not spoken two words to each other all day. He had been working over at Zooks’ with Mahlon’s sons to get ready for the farm auction, and Rhoda understood there was plenty to do. To be honest, she was glad Earnest was spending his time with Mahlon’s family, even though it might be putting a crimp in his usually brisk clock business. Or maybe he was managing to stay on top of things—right now, she had no idea how late he worked, since he was sleeping over in his shop at night.

  He could’ve moved to the spare bedroom downstairs, she thought, but maybe he feared the children finding out.

  While finishing up some embroidery in her room, Rhoda saw Sylvia standing in the open door in her long white nightgown and matching summer duster. “May I come in?” her daughter asked, frowning and looking nervous.

  “Sure, sit with me,” Rhoda said, pointing to Earnest’s easy chair.

  Sylvia came and sat down, a solemn look on her face. “I just had to see ya . . . need to talk to ya, Mamma.”

  “Well, I’m here and so are you.” Rhoda offered a smile. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m worried,” she whispered with a glance at the door still standing ajar. “Do ya mind if I close the door?”

  Surprised as she was by this, Rhoda nodded. “If it makes ya feel better.”

  Sylvia got right up. “Will Dat be comin’ up soon?”

  Rhoda wasn’t going to say where Earnest had been sleeping. “He’s workin’ late to catch up some. He’s been at Zooks’ so much, preparin’ for the big auction this Saturday.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t sure just when it was.”

  “Just now I’m not sure I’ll go,” Rhoda admitted suddenly, surprising herself.

  “Why . . . ’cause it’s farm equipment and whatnot?”

  “Jah, it’s mostly that sort of thing.”

  “Then I guess there’s no need for me to go, either.” Sylvia gently touched her hand. “I’ll stay home with you, all right?”

  “That’s awful kind,” Rhoda said, her throat tightening.

  “You’re not gonna cry, are ya, Mamma?” Sylvia looked tenderly at her. “Sometimes when I see ya in the kitchen, I think you’re on the verge of tears.” Now Sylvia looked like she might be about to give in. “It hurts me to see ya like that.”

  “Don’t worry, Sylvie. The Lord loves you and your brothers. And He loves your father, too. We’ll get through this, one way or the other.”

  “Is this about what Dat told ya . . . ’bout what I found in the tinderbox?”

  Rhoda nodded slowly, not wanting to divulge more. In order to protect their precious family, wasn’t it as important to keep the dreadful truth from Sylvia as it was from everyone else?

  They talked now about the various embroidery projects Rhoda wanted to do, and the plans she had for canning and whatnot this summer. “We’ll keep real busy . . . and you and the boys can take turns runnin’ the roadside stand again this year.”

  Sylvia nodded. “Jah, busy as bees.” Then she rose and said, “Gut Nacht, Mamma . . . sweet dreams,” and tiptoed out of the room.

  Bless her heart, Rhoda thought, reaching for her embroidery again, aware of how very tired she felt.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty

  Late the next morning, Sylvia walked around Uncle Curtis’s cornfield over to Mamie’s, wanting to see Dat. Arbors of Preacher Mahlon’s blooming pink rambling roses released a powerful fragrance worth drawing several deep breaths for, and Sylvia did just that as she passed by the deeply hued Old Garden roses. She had helped her father and Mahlon paint these very arbors the past few years, making sure they were nice and white.

  As she’d hoped, she found her father, ready to head home for the noon meal.

  “Surprised to see ya,” Dat said.

  “Want some company for the walk back?” Sylvia asked.

  Dat was quick to agree, but she noticed his lips press together and wondered if he had an inkling what was coming.

  Once they were heading out of Zooks’ long lane, Sylvia said with as much confidence as she could gather, “Dat, what’s wrong with Mamma? She’s not eatin’ much, and I’ve caught her crying.”

  Her father inhaled slowly, not meeting her gaze.

  “What on earth did you tell her?” Sylvia pressed him. “This can’t just be about one of your old girlfriends givin’ you that pocket watch, can it?”

  Dat looked down at his feet. “I loved another woman before your Mamma.”

  “I guessed as much, but why would Mamma grieve so over that?”

  Shaking his head, her father groaned like he was ill. “I never wanted you to know.” He grimaced and met her gaze. Several seconds played out before he sighed, as if releasing a terrible burden. “Sylvie . . . when I was a young college student, I married against my parents’ wishes.”

  “Married?” The word stung her heart, and she had to look away.

  Dat nodded. “The woman who gave me the pocket watch . . .”

  “She’s your wife?” Sylvia blurted out, terribly confused.

  “She was, but Rosalind divorced me after a few months. And the worst thing is, I never told your mother about it . . . or the brethren. I was honestly afraid of losing the young woman and the community that I’d already come to care so much for. I realize that’s not much of an excuse, but it’s the truth.” He coughed now and looked away again, as if ashamed.

  “I wish I’d never asked,” Sylvia said, unable to fully process this upsetting news and anxious to get home and be a comfort to her poor, dear Mamma. “Why didn’t ya tell Mamma before you courted her? W
hy weren’t ya fair to her?”

  Dat was silent.

  Sylvia sighed, pondering all this. Dat had seemed sincere just now, so open. And she told him so. “My whole life, I wished I could know you better, Dat. Really know you—about your family, who your friends were, what your modern life was like. And now I understand why you never told me.”

  He stared ahead, saying nothing.

  “What’ll the ministers do if they find out?” she asked suddenly, thinking Dat should come forward and make things right.

  “That’s just it: Your Mamma wants it to be kept quiet. And I agreed—you can surely understand why.”

  So, now Mamma and I are in the same boat, both keeping this secret, thought Sylvia, trying not to let her emotions overtake her. No wonder she’s lost her appetite and sits in her room alone at night. No wonder!

  When they arrived home, Sylvia hurried into the house, hoping for a private moment with her mother before Dat came inside. “I need to talk to ya, Mamma.” She opened the utensil drawer to help set the table for all of them, since the younger boys would be home soon, out of school early for this last day. “Dat told me ’bout his first wife,” Sylvia ventured.

  Mamma’s head jerked toward her. “He did?”

  “Jah, so hard to believe. . . .” She wanted to embrace Mamma, let her know how much she cared.

  “A shock, for sure, and I’m real sorry your father told ya,” Mamma said quietly.

  Sylvia opened the cupboard for the plates. “Am I s’posed to pretend like I don’t know?”

  Just then, Dat came in the back door and through the narrow hallway into the kitchen. He washed up at the sink and slowly went to sit at the head of the table. “Did I interrupt?” he asked, looking at Mamma.

  “Sylvie was just sayin’ that you told her about Rosalind,” said Mamma, brushing her hands on her work apron.

  Dat nodded, looking downright dejected. “I thought she should know.”