Second Chance Proposal

by Anna Schmidt

  “I’ll go, then.” He turned back toward the stairs and she followed him. “You’ll be all right?”

  “It is Greta we must pray for,” she reminded him.

  “I know, but she has a whole town looking out for her. Who do you have, Liddy? Who takes care of you?”

  There was a time when I hoped you and I would take care of each other, she thought as she met his intense stare that demanded an answer. “I am fine,” she said instead.

  She walked with him to the top of the stairs. From below, Lydia heard the laughter of the children. Behind her she heard Greta begin to moan again. “I have to go to her,” she said, but it came out a whisper as if she weren’t yet ready to let John go.

  “I know,” he answered as he took hold of her hand and brought her fingertips to his lips. “Drink the tea,” he added. He kissed her fingers then walked slowly back down the stairs and out the front door.

  Could they find their way back to each other? Was it possible to re-create the past—the time when they had been everything the other needed or wanted?

  “Liddy,” Greta moaned.

  “Coming,” she replied.

  Chapter Eight

  John knew that he could not work on Sunday without enduring the disapproval of Hilda Yoder, not to mention his uncle. Sundays were reserved for the activities of faith and family. Even though the Amish met only every other week for formal services, the alternate Sundays were given to more leisure activities. On Sunday evenings the single young people in the community would gather for a hymn singing and, more important, a rare opportunity to explore the possibility of a courtship that could eventually lead to marriage. In their youth he and Liddy had attended such gatherings and afterward he had driven her home in his courting buggy as the two of them talked of the day when they would marry and start a home of their own.

  Many times they had sat long into the night on the front porch of her father’s house planning their future, oblivious to hours passing or the oppressive summer heat, the mosquitoes and pesky gnats known as no-see-ums that were native to Florida. On Sundays when there were no services they often went to the beach. John would borrow a small rowboat and row them along the shore, weaving close to the tangled roots of the mangrove trees that formed a barrier between the water and land. Liddy would bring a picnic lunch and they would spend the whole day together.

  Having been assured that there was no more he could do for Luke and the children, John drove his uncle’s buggy to the Hadwell house on the edge of town and arrived just as Gert and Roger did with Liddy’s buggy.

  “Is everything all right, John?” Gert asked.

  “Liddy’s with her. Luke thinks it might be something she caught from one of the children—a stomach bug.” He unhitched and stabled their horse, then returned to climb onto the seat of Liddy’s buggy. “I’ll take care of this for her,” he said.

  “You’ll come back?” Gert called from her position at the back door of their small cottage.

  The idea of sitting for an entire evening with his aunt and uncle in the small, dark house while Gert read Scripture and Roger dozed was not at all appealing. “I thought I might keep Luke company—maybe carve the children a soap animal to keep them quiet while Greta rests.”

  “Tell Luke I’ll bring them some supper,” Gert said.

  By the time John had unhitched and stabled Liddy’s horse and walked back down the street toward Luke and Greta’s he saw another buggy parked outside the house. Luke was sitting on the porch with one child while the other two played in the yard. Sitting across from him was Jeremiah Troyer, Liddy’s half brother-in-law and Bishop Troyer’s great-nephew.

  Jeremiah’s story was not all that different from John’s. He’d left home, settled in a new community, started one business—the ice-cream shop—and eventually bought another—the ice-packing company.

  Not so different in some ways. Worlds of difference in others, John thought as he walked down the street. For one thing, Jeremiah Troyer had had the good sense to seek out a new Amish community instead of trying to make his way in the Englischer world. For another, by the time he was ready to court Pleasant, he was making a good living and had a secure future to offer her.

  And what do you have to offer Liddy? The question was never far from his thoughts.

  He should stay away from her. But he willingly admitted that the reason he was heading back to Luke’s house had little to do with wanting to help out. It was because Liddy was there and he was drawn like a moth to a lantern to wherever she might be.

  “John Amman!” Samuel shouted when he saw John approaching. John smiled as he recalled how George’s son had once called him by his given name and been reprimanded by George’s wife. “This is Mr. Amman, young man,” she had instructed. But in the Amish world such titles were never used, although often a person would be called by his or her full name.

  “Did you forget something?” Samuel asked, his eyes wide with curiosity as he walked alongside John up the steps of the porch.

  “In a way I did,” he said as he nodded to Luke and Jeremiah and took a seat on the top porch step. He pulled out his pocketknife and the bar of soap he’d picked up after stabling Liddy’s horse. “Do you like horses, Samuel Starns?” he asked as he started to carve the soap made pliable by the warmth of the day.

  “Yah.”

  Samuel’s younger brother scrambled down from his father’s lap and took his position beside her brother. “I do, too,” he announced.

  “Das ist gut,” John replied as he concentrated on shaping the rectangular bar into the form of a pony. “Ask your dat if he might have an extra bar of soap around and we’ll make a team of horses.”

  Behind him Luke chuckled as the boy, Eli, looked imploringly at him. “In the house,” he said. “By the kitchen sink.”

  Eli was gone and back in an instant, presenting the partially used bar of lye soap to John as if it were a bar of gold. “Ah, looks like these ponies will be a matched set,” John said, showing him that the two bars were identical in color.

  Eli giggled. “They’ll be bruders like me and Samuel.” Then he frowned as he glanced back to where his little sister was crawling around the porch. “My maet is getting a brother or sister for Sarah there,” he whispered. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s a surprise.”

  John nodded. “I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, and Eli giggled again.

  He finished Samuel’s horse and turned his attention to carving one for Eli. “Greta feeling any better?” he asked as the two children sat apart, admiring Samuel’s soap horse and plotting out the game they would play as soon as John finished the second one.

  “Lydia and Pleasant are with her. Pleasant said they were able to get her to take a little of the clear broth that she brought.” Luke sounded tired and more than a little worried. “She’s never had trouble before,” he added, and his voice trailed off as if he hadn’t meant to say this part aloud.

  Jeremiah cleared his throat. “John, Luke tells me that you’re making a rocking chair for him to give Greta. That’s your trade, then? Making furniture?”

  Normally John was reluctant to discuss his work, always aware that the discussion might eventually stray to those years he’d spent in the outside world. But he understood what Jeremiah was doing. He wanted to turn Luke’s attention away from his sick wife. “It is a gift that God has given me,” he replied.

  “I’m in need of some extra tables for the ice-cream shop,” Jeremiah continued. “If you have the time you could stop by the shop tomorrow and see if that might be something that would interest you.”

  Ever since John had lost everything he’d ever acquired, he had been especially sensitive to strangers who might think they were doing him a favor by offering some charity. He glanced up at Jeremiah, trying to gauge the man’s purpose.

  “I have
a bid from Josef Bontrager for the work,” Jeremiah continued. “Seems high.”

  “Josef has not known much competition in this,” Luke said, and John realized that Luke was encouraging him to agree to at least consider the project.

  “Tomorrow, then,” John said as he blew the last shavings off the second horse and handed it to Eli. The youngster squealed with delight and ran off with his brother to play under the shade of the live oak tree that dominated the front yard.

  John leaned back against the column that supported the porch roof. He could hear the women moving around upstairs and speaking softly to each other, their voices drifting out through the open windows.

  “Have the elders come to a decision about the school?” Jeremiah asked Luke.

  John’s ears perked up.

  “It’s still under discussion.”

  “But Liddy...” John blurted. The other two men exchanged a look. “Teaching is her whole life,” he added.

  “She’ll still be able to teach—privately in her home,” Luke said.

  “But in Celery Fields not many have money for private lessons. How will she make her way?”

  “The final decision is not yet made,” Jeremiah assured him. “Perhaps there will be a way that the elders have not yet seen. God will show us in time the decision we must make for the good of the community.”

  And Liddy?

  * * *

  Lydia was sure that she must be imagining things. She thought she heard John’s voice rising up to the open windows from the porch. He sounded upset. She edged closer to the window and listened.

  She sighed. They were talking about closing the school. It was a topic that was often discussed when men gathered these days. Waiting for the decision to be finalized had been a little like waiting for the next nibble on her line in the days when she and her father used to go fishing in the bay. But she had no doubt that the school would close. She was a practical woman with simple needs. She had put aside a portion of her stipend from the past year in preparation for the time after the school closed. And she had other skills. If all else failed she could clean houses for families in Sarasota, although she did not like the idea of working for outsiders. She took comfort in knowing that whatever happened with the school, this was Celery Fields. Her family and friends would make sure she had everything she needed.

  What truly bothered her about John’s comment was the focus on her and not what was best for the community. Perhaps his coming back here had been a mistake. Still, she had begun to allow herself to hope that in time...

  “Liddy?”

  Pleasant was studying her curiously and Lydia realized that a question had been posed to her, one she had not heard. “Sorry,” she said, moving away from the window.

  “I was just saying that the worst seems to have passed. Greta’s fever is down and she’s likely to sleep through the night now. Jeremiah and I need to get back for the milking and other chores. But I can send Bettina to take charge of the little ones and stay the night so Luke can get some sleep. What do you think?”

  “It is a good plan, Pleasant. I’ll stay until Bettina gets here. I can fix supper for Luke and the children.”

  “And eat something yourself?”

  Lydia smiled sheepishly. It was well-known that she often got so caught up in her teaching or her chores at home or some other project that she forgot all about meals. “I will eat.”

  “Bettina will bring back one of the peach pies I made for services today. No one touched it,” Pleasant grumbled. As the town’s bakery owner she was frequently irritated when others did not line up to devour her wares, especially when they were freely offered as they were at any community gathering.

  “Your peach pie is my favorite—you know that,” Lydia replied, and was relieved to see her half sister smile.

  From outside they heard a buggy approach and then stop outside the gate. Pleasant glanced out the window. “It’s Roger and Gert Hadwell,” she announced. “From the looks of it they’ve brought enough supper for half the town.”

  “I’ll go help them bring things to the kitchen,” Lydia said, glad of the excuse to go downstairs and see for herself that John was there, that he had returned. Because of me? Her heart beat a little faster as she digested that thought. But then she forced her steps to a slower pace as she descended the stairs. Sitting with Greta while she slept, Liddy had allowed herself to get lost in the memories of the Sunday afternoons she had shared with John when they were younger. She had gotten so caught up in those pleasant daydreams that she’d actually begun to convince herself that maybe they might find their way back to what they once felt for each other.

  But she had seen that faraway look cross John’s handsome features more often than it should if indeed he had come back to stay. He might be deceiving himself but she knew him too well. His determination to make a success of himself was the one thing that had not changed. And she could think of nothing that she might do to persuade him that such things did not matter to her and should not matter to him.

  You are a foolish woman, Lydia Goodloe.

  The chorus of voices from the gathering on the porch brought Lydia back to the present. She smoothed her apron over her dress, tucked a wisp of her hair back under her prayer covering and then went to open the screen door for Gert.

  “Let me take that for you,” she said as she relieved John’s aunt of a heavy basket and led the way to the kitchen. “You’ll stay for supper?”

  “That’s the plan,” Roger Hadwell said with a chuckle as he set down a second basket filled to the brim. “I don’t think my wife left us a single thing to eat at home.”

  “Oh, stop that,” Gert said, but she was smiling.

  It had been a day for Lydia to be surrounded with couples whose marriages were strong and even inspiring. Watching Luke worry and fuss over Greta, then seeing how Jeremiah took his lead from Pleasant and got Luke and the children settled on the porch so that she and Pleasant could minister to Greta, had made Lydia more aware than usual of the beauty of a shared life. Now the Hadwells were taking over Greta’s kitchen, their gentle teasing and laughter a testimony to the comfort and security they had found in each other’s company.

  There was a time when she and John had thought to have a marriage like any one of these. There was a time when they had assumed that they would grow old together. But at this moment she had to face reality. And the reality was that she was a single woman and would likely always be so.

  She turned to get a platter from Greta’s cabinet and found John watching her. Surely in time she would not feel her heart lurch with unexpected joy every time their eyes met. Surely in time they would be able to settle into the kind of easy friendship she shared with her brothers-in-law. She stood on tiptoe to reach the platter from the top shelf.

  “I can get it,” John said as he stood behind her and easily retrieved the platter. He stepped back so that she could turn and take it from him. “What else?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, her voice barely audible. “It’s fine. I’m....”

  “You men go back outside while Liddy and I take care of things here,” Gert instructed, shooing the men from the kitchen. “We’ll never get this meal on the table with you in the way,” she added as she swatted at Roger’s hand when he tried to take a slice of the cheese she’d just unwrapped.

  In the commotion that followed, John leaned in closer. “May I come by tonight?”

  Lydia’s nod of agreement was automatic. She should have refused. She should have used the excuse that Greta might need her. But Greta would be fine under Bettina’s care. He was asking to see her in a way that could hold only one meaning.

  John Amman is asking to court me again.

  The shy smile that thought carried to her lips froze when he added, “We need to talk about this business with the school.”

 
“That will be decided by others,” she replied curtly, and walked back to the kitchen.

  While the others ate supper together in Greta’s large kitchen, Lydia insisted on sitting with Greta.

  “She’s sleeping,” Gert said. “And you have to eat something. You came directly from services and Pleasant told me that you haven’t eaten a thing since I arrived.”

  “I’ll take a tray up with some broth for Greta and something for myself, as well. I don’t want to leave her alone until we’re certain her fever has run its course.”

  Gert wasn’t one to give up easily, but she agreed to Lydia’s terms on the promise that she would let the older woman prepare the tray of food and send it up with Bettina as soon as the girl arrived.

  Over Gert’s shoulder Lydia saw John watching her from his position on the front porch. He was scowling at her. John had never been pleased when she dared to dispute something he had said. But the closing of the school was not for him to decide, or her, either. The elders would do what was best for all, and John’s need to discuss the matter only served as more evidence that he might have moved back to Celery Fields but he had not entirely left the ways of the outside world behind.

  * * *

  John left as soon as supper was over. He accepted Luke’s heartfelt thanks for his part in bringing Lydia to care for Greta and encouraged him to follow up on giving Jeremiah a bid for the tables he needed for the ice-cream shop. His aunt tried hard to get him to stay for a second piece of pie but he declined, having realized that Liddy had no intention of coming downstairs as long as he was still there.

  He walked back down the main street, deserted now and nearly dark with shadows. The woman was as stubborn as ever. Did she not understand that what he wanted to do was help her devise some alternate plan that she could bring to the elders to perhaps keep the school open and her job secure?

  She hadn’t even given him the opportunity to discuss the possibilities, rejecting any such conversation out of hand from sheer obstinacy. It was becoming an old story with them, this refusal to even consider his ideas for making things better. It was as if, having not trusted him when he left to make enough money to get his business going, she had decided never to trust his thinking again.