The Tinderbox

by Beverly Lewis

  Sylvia was spellbound. “I never would’ve guessed you ran around after you were baptized. Or that you were ever shunned.”

  “’Twas der Hutsch of my youth, but that and the Bann kept me from making an even worse mistake. I’m grateful to this day to God and to my wise father.”

  Sylvia shook her head, surprised. “Strange as it might seem, it’s a relief to hear it all turned out fine for you . . . like my Dat’s not alone in this.”

  “Ach nee . . . a number of folk in this district have been shunned, truth be told. The youth can be especially schpankich at times. Why, even some of the ministers got off the straight and narrow before they were ordained.” Ella Mae glanced heavenward. “Only our Lord lived a spotless life. And ’tis a blessing to have the love of the People at such a needful time, ain’t so?”

  Agreeing, Sylvia nodded. “You’re such a help to me.”

  “Well, don’t be shy about comin’ over to see me, if ya ever wanna talk more.”

  Then, hearing Mamma calling to them, Sylvia said, “I guess we should get back inside.” She offered a hand to help Ella Mae out of the rocker, but the woman refused, clucking as she managed to pull herself to a standing position. Together, they walked around the corner and to the back door, where Sylvia’s mother waited, smiling.

  Earnest wanted to talk with Rhoda before bedtime, so after supper, when she and Sylvia were done redding up the kitchen, he approached his wife in the sitting room, where she was reaching for the newspaper on the big hassock near her comfortable chair. “Would you like to take a walk?” he asked, his voice raspy with uncertainty.

  “Well, if ya don’t mind, I was lookin’ forward to just sitting here awhile and reading,” she said, glancing up at him. Her hair was a bit untidy on the sides where it had been twisted that morning into her hair bun.

  “Just a short walk?”

  “I’m all in,” she replied.

  “All right, then.” She does look tired, he thought as he turned to leave the room. But he’d felt sure this would be a good evening for a walk, since she had been over at Curtis’s place with Hannah and the womenfolk. Even so, he was disappointed.

  He trudged back to his shop and sat in his work chair, staring at the note that had arrived in the mail from a long-time acquaintance, not far from here, who’d written to Earnest to say he was no longer interested in a custom-built grandfather clock. Earnest hoped this wasn’t the first of many such notices. He could not stay afloat if his business fell off any more than it already had.

  I’ll be relieved when the Bann is over, he thought, looking down at the cupboard where the tinderbox was hidden. Rhoda sure didn’t know what she was getting into when she agreed to marry me, he thought, standing up and going to the screen door to look out. But I’m not that foolish young man anymore.

  He could see Ernie and Adam going from the barn to the stable, Ernie with a piece of straw hanging out of his mouth. And Adam looking down at his bare feet as he came along behind his brother.

  He recalled Adam’s remark to him. “Is there anything else ya haven’t told us?”

  The question had struck him hard, circling in his mind till it gave him a headache. Adam’s sorely put out with me, he mused. But then, looking out at the woodshed, the meadow, the beautiful landscape so familiar to him now, he hoped he could get through till the final Sunday when Bishop John asked him the expected questions in front of the church membership.

  It had been humiliating to overhear the men at the hardware store, and to see the couple in their buggy looking away . . . and to be shunned from eating at Rhoda’s table. It wasn’t just painful—the foreignness of it seemed almost wrong to him, given the way he was raised, though he hadn’t let on to anyone that he felt that way.

  He eyed the woodshed again and recalled the time he’d caught Ol’ Isaac Smucker out there puffing on a cigarette after Earnest gave his gentleman’s handshake on this property. Isaac hadn’t minded getting caught; in fact, he’d boldly offered Earnest a smoke. Even though he’d always liked the smell of tobacco, Earnest had refused. As he recalled, Isaac had relayed then how he often pushed the limits of the Old Ways, yet it was clear that the elderly clockmaker had become well respected, even loved, amongst the People. His honesty saved him, Earnest thought, pushing the screen door open and moving toward the area where the sun shone on the porch. And eventually he gave up his smoking habit. Was it on his own . . . or did the ministers convince him?

  Earnest leaned against the porch rail. Just now, he didn’t care to go out and help with the evening chores, and there was really no need to, not with the boys working. It was Rhoda’s affection he wanted. It had been weeks since they had been even close enough to kiss, let alone to hold each other as they fell asleep. He yearned for her, and the thought of living without her love made him feel dejected. At the same time, he did not fault her for keeping her distance.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Three

  Rhoda could see Earnest heading this way across the side yard from her easy chair near the sitting room window. Dusk was another hour or more away, and it had been relaxing to read by the light of the waning sun. Occasionally she glanced out to see the boys cutting up and calling back and forth to one another, having fun doing chores. For the longest time, Sylvia had been sitting out front on the porch writing a letter, presumably to her beloved Titus. Maybe she, too, needs a reprieve from the day, Rhoda mused, recalling how very quiet Sylvia had been at Hannah’s earlier. It was good of Ella Mae to seek her out, Rhoda thought, grateful for the woman’s tender heart.

  Earlier, while doing the dishes, Rhoda had considered staying up later again so that Earnest was asleep when she came to bed. The ongoing lack of the intimacy they’d once enjoyed really wasn’t something she could talk about yet. But in the weeks since his startling revelation, she sometimes felt it was an achievement for her to simply keep house and keep up with meals, doing her very best to make this place the home it had always been—or something like it.

  We’re all just holding our breath till the Bann’s behind us.

  Friday was particularly demanding for Sylvia. Even before the sun rose, she’d gotten up with the early birds to churn butter with Mamma. They had also baked bread and extra desserts for Sunday, an off-day from church, since they were planning to visit several relatives. As was her way, Mamma wanted to have some goodies to bring along.

  Presently Sylvia tended the roadside stand, rearranging the remaining produce after a visit from an enthusiastic group of tourists. Sylvia thought ahead to seeing Titus tomorrow evening, wondering how that would be.

  As for her father, he’d seemed less talkative than ever before and often looked disheartened while going outdoors for their awkward mealtime arrangements. She supposed that she or one of the boys could go out there and eat with him, since none of them were baptized church members. But when she came close to talking to Mamma about it, she simply could not do it, not wanting Mamma to misunderstand her reasons.

  Lately, she found herself thinking more and more about how she’d opened the tinderbox and stirred all of this up.

  If only I’d left well enough alone.

  Earnest opened every window in his shop and left the door standing open to the screen that evening, hoping for some cross-ventilation. Then he removed the tinderbox from the low cupboard and took out his family photos—his parents’ engagement picture and their wedding photo, followed by several school pictures of his sister, Charlie, and himself. He admired the Yankees ball cap and the prized ticket his father had spent hard-earned money to purchase, surprising him with a trip to Yankee Stadium on his eleventh birthday.

  Earnest twiddled the key chain, a birthday gift from his best pal in seventh grade. Last of all, he studied the red crocheted tree ornament from his little sister, recalling how many hours Mom said it had taken for Charlie to have it ready by Christmas Eve.

  He studied his high school diploma, and the letters from his Papa and Grammy Zimmerman. He had felt compelled to examin
e these items again. And to remember . . .

  But Earnest had left Rosalind’s pocket watch, wrapped in its protective cloths, inside the tinderbox. There was no need to bring that out to gnaw at his memory. Why did I keep all this? he wondered.

  Thinking back on his boyhood with his loving family, he was hit with a wave of longing to see sweet Charlie again. How he missed his little sister!

  Leaning forward, Earnest located her first-grade school picture and peered at her little pixie face. “She had Mom’s heart-shaped face,” he murmured, “and Dad’s thick head of hair.” He wondered if she would still be involved in his life, had she lived. Would she have kept in touch after he left for Hickory Hollow?

  I’d like to think so, he mused.

  Sighing, he reached for what Mahlon Zook had always called the Good Book and turned to the verses Bishop John had urged him to meditate on first thing in the morning and before retiring at night. As he had every day these past weeks, Earnest read each one aloud, then recited the last one a second time. “‘For we ourselves also were sometimes foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving divers lusts and pleasures. . . .’”

  Nodding his head, Earnest whispered, “Pretty much describes me.”

  In the wee hours, Earnest dreamed of Papa Zimmerman and the large fishing hole where Earnest had learned to cast off and reel in. And, like the ever-changing clouds, the dream evolved into young Earnest holding the end of a skipping rope, the other side tied to the yard fence as little Charlie jumped and chanted a silly song while he turned the rope over and over again.

  Earnest reveled in the lovely dream, then rose to dress for the day. As had become the norm, he headed to the shop before dawn to work on a cherrywood mantel clock special ordered by an Amish fellow he’d met at market. More than likely, he hasn’t gotten word of my shunning. Earnest hoped that was true as he stained the wood to the desired hue. I have to earn a living somehow.

  Later, when Rhoda and Sylvia were up and ready to serve breakfast, he went to sit on the back porch to eat apart from his family—his required routine these weeks. My discipline, he thought solemnly.

  Young Tommy came outside carrying a heaping plate of hot biscuits and gravy, one of Earnest’s favorites. “Denki. Tell your Mamma that, too,” he said, accepting the plate, and Tommy bobbed his head.

  “How much longer must ya eat alone, Dat?” Tommy asked with a frown, his hair still uncombed.

  “Just eight more days.”

  “That’s a whole week and one whole day,” Tommy muttered, then turned toward the back door. “Adam’s real sad ’bout it . . . doesn’t understand why ya can’t eat with us.”

  “Adam said that?” Earnest was surprised. Better than being miffed like he has been for the past weeks, he thought. “Have him come out here a minute.”

  Very soon, Adam wandered out, standing there without suspenders, his trousers baggy around his skinny waist. “Tommy says ya wanna see me, Dat.”

  “Bring your breakfast out here, son. Kumme esse.”

  “With you?” Adam blinked and glanced back at the door. “I’m allowed?”

  Earnest motioned for Adam to go and get his meal. “Tell your Mamma I want your company.” I need it. . . .

  A hesitant smile appeared, and Adam turned to hurry inside.

  While he waited for his second-oldest son to join him, Earnest wondered if and when Amos Kauffman might stop over again to talk. So far the man had only come twice to pray and admonish Earnest. Considering that Titus was the one who’d reported Earnest to the bishop, it was hard not to rule out the notion that Amos might be feeling ill at ease around Earnest. Perhaps that was the reason Amos had been rather scarce.

  It was midmorning when Earnest walked over to the house and asked Rhoda to come with him to the clock shop. “I’d like to show you the things I saved from my days as an Englischer,” he said.

  Rhoda stopped washing windows and went with him, her little white work apron over a long black one, and her navy blue bandanna sliding back on her head.

  Hoping this was a good idea, he showed her the contents of the tinderbox, beginning with the family pictures.

  “Why’d ya keep these?” she asked, looking a bit surprised and confused.

  “I couldn’t part with them.” He explained that they were the last vestiges of the best parts of his old life. “All but the pocket watch, of course, and I’ve already told you why I kept that.”

  “Oh . . . thought ya might’ve sold it by now,” Rhoda said, looking with interest at the Miller family pictures.

  “I’m ready to sell it, jah.”

  “Maybe use the money as a dowry for Sylvia?” Rhoda smiled momentarily as she glanced up at him. “What would ya think of that?”

  Earnest nodded, noticing she seemed quite taken with one of the photos of his sister. “That’s Charlie . . . well, Charlene. She was such a vivacious, happy girl . . . liked it when I bought her bubble gum.” He chuckled a little. “We used to have bubble-blowing contests, you see. Usually I was the one who ended up with gum plastered on my face.”

  Rhoda continued to study the photo. “She died so awful young.”

  “It nearly killed my parents.” He wanted so badly to slip his arm around Rhoda, but he hung back, not wanting to spoil this moment. “I wish they could have known you, Rhoda.”

  “I would’ve liked that, too,” she said, examining each photo at length. “I can see why you’d want to keep these, but I’m not sure what Bishop John would say. Though he has become more accepting in the past few years.”

  “That’s partly why I wanted you to see all of this. Tell me what you think, Rhoda.”

  She fingered his high school diploma, then thumbed through the letters but didn’t open the envelopes. “These things won’t cause any concerns, but the pocket watch from your first wife prob’ly will.”

  “Then I’ll go into town soon and talk to a jeweler,” he said, glad for Rhoda’s kind demeanor.

  “All right, then.”

  “I appreciate your help.”

  She nodded. “I enjoyed seein’ what your family looked like.” A brief smile crossed her face. “It was also nice to see into your heart a little, too, Earnest.” With that, she moved to the screen door and headed back to the house.

  Quietly, he returned everything except the pocket watch to the tinderbox, thinking that he and Rhoda had made some small steps forward. At last . . .

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Four

  Sylvia’s outing with Titus on Saturday evening involved another double date with Cousin Alma and Danny Lapp, and the four of them played volleyball with other young people at the farm of James Zook, one of Mahlon’s married grandsons. On the same team as Titus, Sylvia was relieved to be surrounded by others and tried to let herself join in the fun, setting up the ball for his hits. Alma and Danny were on the opposite team, whereas Cousin Jessie and her beau, Yonnie Zook, played against each other, and Sylvia noticed him glancing Jessie’s way quite a lot.

  During a break in the play, James and his young sons brought out slices of watermelon for everyone, and right away a number of the young men began a seed-spitting contest, Titus, Danny, and Yonnie cheering them on.

  They’re trying to impress us with their good manners, Sylvia thought, sweet watermelon juice dripping on her bare feet.

  Much later that evening, when Sylvia was alone with Titus, she breathed a prayer, waiting for the right moment to bring up what was on her mind. Titus had been uncharacteristically reserved tonight, but Sylvia knew it was vital that they talk.

  The horse’s clip-clop-clip matched the timing of Sylvia’s heartbeat as she tried to think how to start the discussion with Titus.

  “Did ya have a nice time tonight?” he asked then, breaking the stillness.

  “Jah.”

  “How are things goin’ at your house?”

  My parents are trying to survive, she thought, somewhat peeved that he should ask. How did he think they were going? “My father’s workin’ through t
he Bann . . . carefully following the ministers’ instructions.”

  Titus glanced at her, then looked away. “My Dat told me that your father was married before comin’ here as a seeker.”

  She jerked her head around to face him. “He told ya?”

  “He thought I should know.” Titus was slow to continue. “It was all very confidential, just between him and me.” His voice sounded strained. “Dat told me only because of our plans to marry. And I vowed not to tell anyone else.”

  Sylvia felt ill. “Even so, I’m real surprised.”

  “Well, we’ll be married in four months, Sylvia,” he said. “You can’t keep something like that quiet from family.”

  He’s right, she realized.

  “Mamm urged me to tell you that I know,” Titus said.

  “Your Mamm? So telling me wasn’t your idea?” This set Sylvia off! And while Sylvia was expected to be compliant in her relationship with her fiancé, she couldn’t help wondering why he always chose to do what his mother suggested. “Seems to me your Mamm’s still leadin’ the way.”

  Titus turned to look at her. “What’re you sayin’?”

  As important as it was, she couldn’t simply blurt out that she wished he would be the one to decide things for them.

  “I was just relaying what Mamm said, Sylvia.”

  She reached down for the hem of her long apron and fanned herself with it, the night so hot and sticky. “I know ya want to please your parents, jah?”

  “I’m just doin’ what I believe they want me to—they’re not insisting I do things a certain way, Sylvie. Please don’t mistake that.”

  She looked at him, the air tight in her chest. At this rate, she feared his mother was likely to run their marriage, and with her parents’ rocky relationship right now, it was all too much. And it didn’t help that Titus hadn’t told her whether or not he had been the one to tell on her father. “Honestly, Titus, I don’t think I know you as well as I should.”