Meanwhile, Sylvia had kept busy picking tomatoes to sell at the vegetable stand. There were tomatoes of all shapes, sizes, and colors in Mamma’s enormous garden, enough to keep tourists coming back for more. She even had a silly dream about tomatoes overrunning the house—tomatoes rolling about everywhere.
The sweet corn harvest was also in full swing in Hickory Hollow, and Mamma served corn on the cob or cut corn swimming in butter nearly every suppertime.
This evening, though, Sylvia was on her way over to help Cousin Alma start cleaning house for the Preaching service her family would soon be hosting.
When they were alone upstairs washing floors, Sylvia confided in Alma about Titus. “Wanted ya to hear it from me, since you and Danny doubled up with us a lot.”
Thankfully, Alma didn’t react dramatically. She just quietly said, “Well, sometimes steppin’ away for a little while can help a relationship.” Alma’s face was flushed from the heat. “If it’s meant to be, things’ll work out in the long run.”
Titus has to become independent of his family, Sylvia thought, feeling strongly about that. “At some point, he and I need to discuss all of this and come to an understanding, so we can decide ’bout our future.”
“With the Lord’s help,” Cousin Alma added, her brown eyes shining.
Sylvia nodded. “Most definitely.” She was glad Alma understood and hadn’t asked, even jokingly, who she and Danny Lapp would double-date with now. No, her cousin had handled the whole thing with grace. She’s ready to court on her own, thought Sylvia.
In an attempt to beat the day’s muggy heat on this last day of July, Sylvia and her family had gotten up at four-thirty to do their outdoor chores. By the time she took her turn at their vegetable stand that midafternoon, she was ever so thankful for the dark green awning Dat had erected over the roadside stand years earlier.
The air was thick when a red sports car pulled into the driveway a few yards and stopped. Out stepped a tall woman in white jeans and a blue-and-white-striped blouse. She smiled at Sylvia as she came over to look at the produce. “Everything looks delicious,” she said, removing her sunglasses.
“The cherry tomatoes are real hearty this year,” Sylvia said, engaging in the sort of small talk she was used to with customers. “Are ya from round here?”
The fancy woman shook her head. “Actually, I’m in the area looking for a clockmaker by the name of Earnest Miller,” she said, pushing back her light brown hair on one side. “Might you know where he lives?”
“Jah,” Sylvia said. “He lives here.”
“Are you acquainted with him?”
Sylvia wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Well, I’m his daughter, Sylvia.”
The woman’s lips parted, as though she was surprised, if not shocked. The scrutinizing gaze she gave Sylvia felt strange even though Sylvia had long since adapted to Englischers staring at her and her Plain family.
“So . . . you’re Amish?”
Sylvia nodded.
“Oh no . . .” the woman murmured. Then, glancing toward the house, the woman’s color seemed to pale.
Something’s wrong, Sylvia thought as she studied her, noting her long dark eyelashes.
“Would it be possible to speak with your father?” the woman asked.
“I’ll have to check,” Sylvia said, and it crossed her mind that the woman looked familiar somehow. But how could that be when she didn’t seem to recognize her? “Does my father know you?”
“I don’t believe so, but I can’t be sure until I speak with him.”
How odd! Sylvia thought.
Abruptly, the young woman turned away, looking back at her car. “Now that I’m here, I think this might be a mistake.”
She seemed so troubled that Sylvia reached out and touched her arm. “Are you all right, miss?”
She straightened as though gathering a measure of courage. “I should at least tell you my name. It’s . . .” She smiled with obvious uncertainty. “I’m Adeline Pelham.”
“Adeline,” Sylvia whispered. “That’s a perty name. I can’t say I’ve ever met an Englischer with that name before.”
The woman smiled, but the expression seemed less happy than pained, and another awkward moment dragged by.
“Wait here just a minute,” Sylvia said, seeing a couple more cars pull onto the shoulder near the roadside stand. She needed to get one of her brothers to spell her off, and she dashed up the driveway to the backyard. Spotting Calvin, she called to him. “Can ya go down to the vegetable stand right quick?”
“Somethin’ wrong?”
“Just go!”
“Ain’t my turn,” Calvin muttered, but he headed toward the driveway anyway.
Sylvia hurried to Dat’s shop, where Mamma was setting a tumbler of lemonade on the worktable. Ach, she thought, wishing her father were alone.
Sylvia pushed open the screen door, perspiration on her neck and face. “There’s a young woman parked in the driveway—an Englischer—who wants to see ya, Dat.”
Turning in his chair, he nodded. “Bring her here to the shop.”
“Well . . . but I told her to wait down there.” Sylvia lifted her long black apron and wiped her face and neck with the hem. “Hope I did the right thing.”
Her parents exchanged confused looks. Then Dat got out of his chair. “I’ll see about it. I need some exercise, anyway.”
After he left, Mamma gathered up yesterday’s newspaper, redding up a bit. “Maybe she wants to purchase a clock,” she said absentmindedly.
“I don’t think so.”
Mamma looked at her just then. “Are ya feelin’ all right?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Somethin’s strange ’bout this.” She tried to pinpoint just where she had seen the fancy woman, but hard as she tried, she could not place her.
The sun was beating hard on the blacktop, and Earnest was glad he’d worn his work boots instead of going barefoot. The woman near her car was fanning herself with a black folder, and he happened to see her red toenails peeking out from white sandals. “Hullo,” he called to her. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you Earnest Miller?” She looked him up and down.
“I am, and who might you be?”
“Adeline Pelham.” She paused, still staring at him. “Uh . . . my fiancé helped me locate this area. Hickory Hollow, right?”
Earnest gave a nod and waited expectantly. Something struck him—a familiarity, a feeling so strange he immediately dismissed it.
She pursed her lips. “You know, I had this all planned ahead of time—what I wanted to say—but I’m afraid it falls flat, now that I’m standing here, talking to you face-to-face.”
“I don’t understand. How can I help you?”
She seemed to steel herself. “I believe you knew my mother, Rosalind Ellison . . . from Hilton Head, South Carolina.”
Rosalind? Instantly he recalled the image of the young, beautiful blue-eyed woman he’d fallen for much too quickly. But wait . . . had this woman just said that Rosalind was her mother?
“Before she died, my mother told me that she was once married to you,” Adeline explained.
“Rosalind is your mother?”
Adeline nodded. “Yes . . . she passed away four months ago.”
Shocked to hear it, Earnest was unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
More awkward silence followed as he tried to make sense of why Rosalind’s daughter would be seeking him out. “You look very much like her,” he said softly, observing the set of her blue eyes, the similar engaging smile.
“People have said that.” Adeline nodded, clearly embarrassed. “But my mother, now, she was beautiful.”
He shifted his weight. “You know, it’s been so long since I saw her, more than twenty years. . . .” Earnest pondered the passage of time. “Again, I’m very sorry to hear of her passing.”
“There are no words. . . .” Adeline said, glancing away, then back at him. “I loved her so much—we sh
ared everything, really.”
———
Sylvia was standing near one of the front room windows, watching Dat and the tall Englischer, noticing the shape of the woman’s pretty face and thinking again how very familiar she looked. Where have I seen her?
Her father folded his arms abruptly, and she could see his expression suddenly change. Something was definitely troubling him.
Sylvia shook her head and muttered under her breath.
“What’re ya fretting about?” Mamma asked.
“I think that woman might be a relative of Dat’s—a cousin, maybe. I can’t be sure.” She stared at Adeline. “Actually, she kind of resembles a girl in some photos Dat has.”
“Charlie, ya mean? But that’s peculiar,” Mamma said, joining her at the window. “I didn’t think any of his family knew where he lived—so how’d she find us?” Mamma watched for another minute or so. “Ya know, I think I’ll go out there.” She sounded quite determined.
“Oh, I’m sure Dat can handle this,” Sylvia suggested gently.
But Mamma merely shook her head and headed out of the room.
Ach . . . nee, Sylvia thought, feeling prickly with stress, though she did not know why.
———
Earnest listened carefully there in the scorching sun as Adeline explained why she’d come. “My mom was ill for more than a year before she died from a serious lung condition, but up until then, she lived a very comfortable and happy life.” She sighed. “My stepdad was very good to her . . . and to me, until he passed away when I was twelve.”
Earnest hugged himself all the harder.
“After his death, my mother showed me my birth certificate. . . .” Adeline paused.
Where’s this leading? Earnest thought, feeling lightheaded.
She inhaled deeply, as if steeling herself. “Your name is listed as my father.” Her face crumpled like she might tear up. “And so I find myself here in an Amish village too small to be on any map, talking to you.” Her eyes met his.
Earnest was floored by this news. There must be some mistake!
Then he stopped himself, thinking now of Rhoda’s likely reaction to this news—if Adeline’s declaration were true. Rhoda will be devastated all over again.
At that moment, he heard someone behind him and turned to see his wife coming down the driveway.
CHAPTER
Thirty-Seven
Everything all right?” Rhoda asked, taking note of the pretty young woman as she walked toward Earnest.
Her husband unfolded his arms quickly, touching Rhoda’s elbow as he introduced her to Adeline Pelham. Then, looking at Rhoda, he said, “And this is my wife, Rhoda Miller.”
Adeline extended her smooth hand to Rhoda. “I apologize for just showing up like this.”
Curious, Rhoda offered a smile and faced Earnest, who was frowning, his bangs damp with perspiration. “I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this, Rhoda,” he began quite deliberately.
Rhoda caught the woman’s anxious look and wondered what was going on.
Earnest continued with a nod toward the young woman. “Adeline here believes she might be my daughter.”
Rhoda stepped back slightly, unsure if she was hearing him right, eyes on Earnest as she tried to comprehend his strained expression. She blinked, then exclaimed, “Ach, what a surprise that would be!”
“Certainly, though, Rosalind would have told me about a pregnancy before she left,” Earnest insisted, folding his arms across his chest again.
Adeline flinched, anxiety registering on her pretty face. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to come—”
“Wrong?” Rhoda said, regarding Adeline and trying to remember the family photos Earnest had shown her in his shop, particularly the ones of Charlie. “I wonder if I see a resemblance between Adeline and your sister, though. Do you, Earnest?” She looked at him intently, hoping she wasn’t speaking out of turn.
Adeline clutched a photo album. “I brought my birth certificate,” she said breathlessly.
Earnest looked at Rhoda, clearly seeking her input.
“Why don’t ya come to the house and have some cold lemonade,” she said to Adeline.
Adeline suddenly looked relieved. “Are you sure?”
“Jah, no sense standin’ out in this sweltering heat,” Earnest agreed, leading the way, his shoulders slumped.
Adeline walked alongside Rhoda, her dainty sandals making clicking sounds on the pavement, and Rhoda scarcely knew what more to say.
How is this even possible?
———
“It’s nice to meet you,” Adeline said to Sylvia as the four of them stood in Mamma’s kitchen. “Each of you.” Adeline smiled again at Dat and Mamma.
Dat was clearly shocked at Mamma’s generosity—inviting the strange young woman into the house. Just now, he looked at Sylvia and shook his head as he took his seat at the table.
Over lemonade and a dish of salted almonds, Adeline began to explain that, after months of deliberating, she had driven all the way from South Carolina to Lancaster County. Then, just as quickly, she handed the photo album to Dat, her birth certificate on top.
Sylvia clasped her hands firmly beneath the table as she sat there, completely stunned by the news that the young woman before her might be her own half sister.
Taking several sips of lemonade, Adeline said, “I knew that I eventually had to find you. Before she died, Mom encouraged me to do exactly that, warning me that it could be difficult.” She stopped to take a breath. “You see, Mom had tried to find you when I was born, but you had vanished.”
A silence fell over the room, and Sylvia heard the bray of a mule in the near distance. But she could still scarcely grasp what she was hearing. And how was Dat taking all of this? There was so much astonishing information to absorb! And how could such a jaw-dropping revelation help her parents’ relationship when it was just starting to get back on track? Holding her breath, she kept her gaze on her father as he paged through the album.
Dat’s face grew more ashen as he turned each page. When he was finished, he looked at Mamma with sadness in his eyes before handing it to her. “I had no idea Rosalind was expecting a baby,” he said. “It’s hard to understand why she didn’t want me to know . . . when she was pregnant.”
“I don’t blame you,” Adeline said, looking miserable. “I’m still trying to process all of this, too.”
Dat and Mamma exchanged glances.
“Well, you must stay with us, dear,” Mamma said, breaking the silence, “at least for supper, if not the night.”
At that, Sylvia nearly fell off her chair, and Dat’s mouth literally dropped open.
Adeline looked at Mamma, seemingly shocked. “I really don’t—”
“You’ve traveled such a long way,” Mamma said.
Sylvia could hardly believe her eyes and ears. Mamma had invited this English stranger to eat with them . . . and to spend the night!
Meanwhile, Dat wasn’t actually staring at Adeline, but close to it.
“Kumme mit . . . I’ll show ya where you’ll be sleepin’,” Mamma told Adeline. “Earnest will help ya bring in your things later.”
Sylvia got up from the table, too, and left the kitchen, stepping back outside. Calvin undoubtedly was wondering where she’d gone. After all, it was her turn to help customers, not his.
Hurrying down the driveway, she tried to understand what had just taken place. I have a half sister who’s an Englischer, she thought, her head still spinning.
Nevertheless, she managed to put on a smile as she took Calvin’s spot at the vegetable stand, thanking him before he scurried away.
“A dollar and a half for a pint of cherry tomatoes,” she told the middle-aged female tourist he had been helping. After so many years of working the stand, Sylvia could automatically recite the price of everything there without having to stop and think.
But now the rest of her brain was in a dense fog. My father has another daughter. . . .
> ———
While Adeline was getting settled in the spare room, Earnest asked Rhoda to come with him to the utility room. There, he closed the door leading in from the narrow hallway.
“You amaze me, Rhoda,” he said, longing to take her hand. “This girl’s an outsider—apparently even my daughter—yet you’ve opened our home to her.” He looked at his wife, thinking how deeply upsetting this must be for her. And just when things were starting to calm down.
“Adeline’s the spittin’ image of your sister, ain’t so?” Rhoda replied, looking at him with tender eyes.
Earnest nodded and glanced out the row of screened-in windows, toward the barn and beyond. Then, looking at her, he said, “You were so kind to her.”
“It’s the right thing to do, Earnest.” Rhoda smiled up at him, reaching to touch his arm. “Ain’t easy, believe me . . . but there’s no doubt she’s your flesh and blood.”
In that moment, his love for Rhoda knew no bounds. He reached for her hand, and she accepted. And for the first time in months, he had hope that at long last they were on the path to peace and eventual reconciliation.
Epilogue
Sunshine glistened on the west side of the large trees near the meadow gate that evening as I headed that way, barefoot. While Dat, Mamma, and Adeline were talking in the house, I’d decided to go for a walk . . . missing Titus.
I tried to picture what I would tell him on such an earth-shattering night, if things weren’t so unsettled between us. Would I have the nerve to talk with him about my father’s other daughter, appearing out of nowhere? Was our relationship strong enough to openly share such personal things? Honestly, I wasn’t sure anymore.
Skipping back in my memory to our early days, before I uncovered the secrets in the tinderbox—back before I realized that Titus must have believed it was his obligation, as a preacher’s son, to report Dat’s counseling sessions with his Mennonite great-uncle—I remembered imagining what it would be like to go out in Titus’s rowboat on a clear and moonlit night.
The Tinderbox Page 23