An Empty Cup

by Sarah Price

  Rosanna, however, had learned that someone else had laid claim to being the source of demand for Reuben’s goods.

  The previous Friday morning, Rosanna had been heading to the market in the van with the other Amish. As she rode in the back, Rosanna praised God several times that this was her last Friday covering for Annie Yoder. Apparently gasoline hadn’t been too expensive for the Yoders to travel out west to visit family!

  During the first leg of the trip, Jonah Yoder, a distant cousin of Annie’s husband, had commented to Rosanna, “Met that young woman managing Reuben’s shop. Sure seems lively, that one.”

  Rosanna was quick to correct him. “She’s not managing the shop. Just working the front desk.”

  “That so?” Reaching up, he scratched the bare skin under his nose. “Heard it’s been awful busy in there.”

  “Lots of orders, ja,” Rosanna agreed.

  “Heard from that woman . . . what’s her name . . . yet?” he asked, trying to recall it.

  “Nan,” she responded drily.

  He nodded. “That’s it. Nan told me she’s been doing extra marketing these past few weeks, drumming up the business and all.” He gazed off into the distance, unaware that Rosanna felt as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. “Shame she can’t do the same for my daed’s wood shop.”

  Rosanna didn’t respond. She knew that it was better to silence her tongue than to speak evil.

  Over the weekend, Jonah’s words echoed in her ears. With Reuben working long hours, he seemed to talk less and sleep more whenever he was home. On Sunday she’d caught him asleep on the porch, his Bible on his lap and his mouth open while he dozed. She didn’t wake him for supper, but covered a plate so the flies wouldn’t get on his food and left it on the counter. But when he finally woke, he merely shuffled into the bedroom and crawled into bed.

  By Tuesday she had decided to take a ride down to the shop to find out what exactly was happening there. If Nan was spreading stories of her grandiose business acumen and taking credit for an increase in sales, Rosanna wanted to see firsthand if it was true.

  After leaning the scooter against the side of the shop, she smoothed down her freshly laundered black apron and made certain the hem of her green dress was straightened. No sense in visiting if she didn’t look proper, she thought as she reached for the basket of food and headed for the shop’s front door.

  When she entered, the voice that greeted her was not her husband’s.

  “Rosanna!” Nan said with a forced smile. She walked around the counter and extended her hand. “How wunderbar to see you!”

  Shaking the proffered hand, Rosanna returned the smile. Manners count, she reminded herself. “Danke, Nan. You, too.” Her eyes skimmed the room, searching for Reuben. Instead, she saw Daniel bent over the cutting equipment while Rebecca and Martin worked at the loud sewing machines. Somewhere back there was Reuben’s desk, but Rosanna could tell that he wasn’t there. Disappointed, she returned her attention to Nan, who watched her expectantly. “Reuben’s not here, then?”

  “Nee, Rosanna.” She reached for some papers, shuffling them on the countertop. The crisp noise strung Rosanna’s ears, almost as much as Nan’s next words. “He took a ride over to Peter Miller’s farm in Strasburg.”

  “Strasburg!” That was too far to travel by horse and buggy. Certainly he had hired a driver. “Whatever for?”

  At this question, Nan beamed. “Peter’s a cousin of Jake Miller. Reuben went out to deliver a new harness.”

  Jake Miller? He had hosted the worship service just two weeks ago. Like most Amish, he had extensive family throughout Lancaster County. Still, any relatives that lived in Strasburg were most likely distant, both in miles as well as familiarity. “Why wouldn’t Jake’s cousin use a local harness maker?” And since when, she wanted to add, did Reuben deliver new harnesses?

  From the expression on Nan’s face, Rosanna knew that she’d asked the exact question that was anticipated. Nan lit up, and she straightened her shoulders, grinning as she did so. “I talked with Becca Miller after worship service. Was telling her about how the Troyer Harness Shop has the best harnesses I’ve seen, even after working at my daed’s shop in New York! She must have told her husband.”

  Feeling as if she had walked into a trap, Rosanna tried not to let her emotions show. After all, it was good that Nan promoted the business, she told herself. But deep in her heart, Rosanna didn’t feel like rejoicing at the younger woman’s enthusiasm. Nan’s pride felt dirty to Rosanna, like a pile of laundry that was long overdue a good washing. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it sinister, for that implied evil, but she felt as if a foreboding cloud hung over Nan’s words. Something was amiss. Rosanna just couldn’t figure out what.

  “That’s awfully kind of you, Nan,” Rosanna said, forcing each word. “And to think, it’s only been . . . what? . . . four weeks?” She knew the words implied how novice Nan was, but she’d pray for God’s forgiveness later. Only Jesus was perfect, she reminded herself.

  Nan didn’t seem to notice the undertone of sarcasm in Rosanna’s voice. Instead, she grinned even wider, if that was possible. “The opportunities here are endless!” she gushed. “And I’m learning so much!”

  Was it possible that harness making in New York differed so much from Lancaster, Pennsylvania? Rosanna wanted to ask, but knew that she shouldn’t and wouldn’t. One sin was enough for the day. “Learning is gut,” she managed to say. She started to walk around the counter, the basket of food still on her arm. If nothing else, she could leave Reuben’s dinner on his desk so that he knew she had stopped by and had been thinking of him.

  Rebecca looked up as Rosanna paused by the big oak desk. Her large green eyes lit up and she smiled. “Why Rosanna!” She stopped working and sat back in her padded chair. “So gut to see you!” There was something joyous about her face, cherubic in appearance and angelic in nature.

  Rosanna returned the greeting.

  “I never did thank you for the other weekend,” Rebecca said softly, her eyes flickering to the floor. “I meant to send you a note to say how nice it was to visit.”

  Rosanna felt a presence behind her. Without turning around, she knew that Nan stood there, lurking and listening.

  “Oh dear me!” Nan said, waiting until Rosanna looked at her to wring her hands apologetically. “I’ve been working so much that I forgot, too!”

  Her words sounded as contrived as her sorrowful expression. Rosanna forced herself to lift a hand, a gesture meant to calm both of them. “Never you mind,” she reassured them. “It was our pleasure to have you.” Another smile, only this one was directed at Rebecca. “Sharing fellowship with others is always a welcomed treat,” she added.

  She couldn’t leave the shop fast enough. As she pushed the kick scooter toward home, her mind reeled. Call it women’s intuition or a basic gut instinct, but Rosanna knew that something was not quite right about Nan. On the surface she seemed pleasant enough, but there was a dark and disturbing shine in her chocolate-brown eyes that concerned Rosanna—especially when Nan talked about the business. And the changes in Reuben? Anxiety welled inside Rosanna’s chest, and she focused on taking a few deep breaths to calm herself.

  Mayhaps, she thought as she passed by the street that led home, it was time to pay a quick visit to Mary King.

  As soon as the thought struck her, Rosanna felt a new sense of confidence. Just the other week, when Rosanna had been visiting Mary King and her cousin, Barbara Glick, hadn’t Mary indicated some familiarity with a Keel family from New York? While she hadn’t offered any information about them, she had certainly recognized the name. Maybe Mary would feel more comfortable disclosing what she knew about the Keels from New York if Rosanna shared her feelings of discomfort about Nan.

  The Kings lived two streets past Rosanna’s farm. Mary King was spry and lively, quick to laugh at private jokes, but also the first one to shake her head when she heard gossip. Approaching her to disclose anything about the Keel famil
y would not be a simple task.

  “Rosanna Troyer, so right gut to see you,” Mary said when she opened the door, surprised to see her unexpected visitor. “This isn’t your normal visiting day!”

  “Was riding home from Reuben’s shop,” Rosanna said as she entered the small house. “Thought I’d swing by to visit a spell.”

  “I’m right glad you did! Barbie’s visiting her dochder in New Holland. Awful quiet around here when she’s gone.” She gestured toward her sitting area just to the side of the kitchen. “Go sit, Rosanna. I’ll fetch some meadow tea!”

  As Rosanna entered the room, she looked around. It was always tidy and clean, with the smell of furniture polish in the air. She made her way to one of the recliners and sat down, realizing that the room was hot. Without the windows open, the air hung heavy. “It’s terrible hot in here, Mary. Shall I open the windows for you, then?”

  The elderly woman glanced up from where she stood at the counter, pouring her homemade tea into two glasses. She seemed to contemplate the closed windows, a frown on her face as she realized that she had been suffering needlessly. “Oh help,” Mary muttered. “I thought I had opened them earlier!”

  She laughed, more to herself than to Rosanna. Without waiting, Mary shuffled across the floor and, with a firm hand, flung open the windows, clearly indicating that she did not need Rosanna’s assistance. “Wondered why it was so stuffy in here!”

  Rosanna watched as Mary hustled back to her recliner. She had been reading the Budget newspaper, a battery-operated light shining on the table next to the chair to help her see. A pair of reader glasses rested upon the folded paper. The lenses, smudged with fingerprints, certainly made it hard for Mary to see through them. Without thinking, Rosanna reached over, picked up the glasses, and wiped the lenses with her apron.

  Mary chuckled as she sat down. “Always thinking of others now, aren’t you, Rosanna?”

  Surprised, Rosanna looked up. She hadn’t even realized what she had done. Embarrassed, she set down the glasses and tried to shrug off her kind gesture. “No more than others,” she mumbled.

  “Ja, vell, remember one thing,” Mary said, wagging a finger at her guest. “An empty cup cannot give!”

  Her words caused Rosanna a moment’s pause. Most days, that was exactly how she felt . . . like an empty cup. Each morning she woke up and prayed for God’s blessing and to renew her commitment to live a godly life that centered on Christ as her savior. She always felt refreshed then, but slowly, throughout the day, her cup began to empty. With each request for help or demand from her family and friends, she felt increasingly hollow until, at the end of each day, she was, indeed, a shell of the woman she wanted to be.

  The silence rang in her ears.

  Too much time passed without a response. Mary stared at her with an intensity that made a wave of heat rush to Rosanna’s cheeks. She flushed and chewed on her lower lip. Mary continued staring at her. Her face was wrinkled with age, and there was a profound sense of wisdom about her. The mother of nine children, all but one who had joined the Amish church, Mary had worked hard to raise those children and then help with her grandchildren.

  As if reading her mind, Mary leaned forward and wagged her wizened finger at Rosanna. “I know a thing or two, Rosanna Troyer,” she said, a mischievous lilt to her voice. “You weren’t just stopping by to see me. Something is amiss, and I bet I know what this visit is about!”

  That was unexpected and caught Rosanna off guard. “You do?”

  “I can see it in your face,” Mary said, leaning back in the recliner. “You’re worried that Reuben won’t make a gut daed!”

  “He is a gut daed,” Rosanna replied, quickly jumping to the defense of her husband. “He treats Aaron and Cate quite well. Why, just the month past he bought a horse for Aaron, and he takes Cate to work with him, which she loves.”

  Mary pursed her lips and shook her head. “I meant to the new boppli!”

  At this, Rosanna made a face, worried that the older woman might be getting addled in the brain. “Whose new boppli?”

  “Yours!” Mary laughed. “You thought you could hide it, but us old-timers can tell.” She reached down and, with a swift gesture, pulled the handle so that the chair reclined and the footrest popped up. “Could see it in your eyes at our last gathering, and during the last worship service, I saw you sneaking out!”

  Is that what people thought? Morning sickness? Rosanna exhaled, quickly trying to think of how to approach this new twist to her visit. Honesty, her maem had always told her. Be upfront and honest. “I’m not having a boppli,” she said softly. “That’s not why I came to visit.”

  Mary blinked as if she hadn’t heard Rosanna.

  “I came because I wanted to ask what you know about the Keels from New York,” Rosanna admitted.

  “The Keels?” Mary seemed taken aback. “That’s what this is about?”

  Rosanna nodded her head.

  The older woman looked disappointed. Clearly she had thought she knew something that others did not.

  While it had given Rosanna the opening she needed to ask about the Keels, her question had caught Mary off guard. “Why would you think I know anything about the Keels?”

  “When I mentioned where Reuben’s new employee, Nan, was from, you seemed to respond.” Rosanna paused, watching Mary’s reaction. “As if you, mayhaps, recognized the family name?”

  For a long, drawn-out moment, Mary said nothing. She tapped her finger against the arm of the chair, contemplating her answer. With narrow eyes, she stared into the distance before looking at Rosanna and clicking her tongue. “Gossip is evil,” she started. Before Rosanna could say anything, Mary held up her hand. “So I won’t ask why you might want to know, and I won’t say anything more than what I know.”

  Rosanna waited for Mary to continue. If only Mary would ask, Rosanna would gratefully unburden herself by telling the older woman of the pain she felt, the pain that weighed on her shoulders from worry and stress. The weight of the burden that was so heavy that Rosanna had begun to walk slightly hunched over. Between Gloria’s animosity and Nan’s stories of ambitious—and possibly fictitious—advancement, Rosanna knew that she no longer had the strength to suffer silently.

  But she sat in silence, waiting.

  Finally, after moistening her lips, Mary spoke. “I’ve never been to this community of Amish, but I know of them through my cousin, Susan.” She looked at Rosanna from the corner of her eyes. “You know Susan, ja? Melvin’s Susan?”

  Rosanna shook her head.

  “From Ephrata?” Mary seemed genuinely disappointed when she realized that Rosanna didn’t know her cousin. Dropping her hand back into her lap, she frowned and exhaled sharply, a short little puff of air to express her exasperation. “Ja, vell, anyway . . . Susan and I were in the same youth group. Another one of the girls, Lydia Huber, married a young man from that Conewango Valley area. He had been here visiting a cousin, I seem to recall.” She paused, blinking rapidly as if something was caught in her eye. “That was many years ago, Rosanna.”

  Rosanna nodded, understanding that Mary’s memory of people and places from so long ago might be inaccurate.

  For a long moment, Mary seemed to stare over Rosanna’s shoulder, as if searching for details that had been long forgotten. “Ah,” she said, lifting her hand and pointing her finger in the air. “Ja, I wouldn’t have remembered anything about that girl, that Lydia Huber . . . but last winter . . . I think it was February . . . I went to a quilting bee. Not that these old eyes can see so well anymore.” She laughed. “Ja, a quilting bee when I last saw Susan. She mentioned that Lydia had a daughter who died. An accident.”

  Rosanna sat up straighter in her chair.

  “Said there were two grandchildren.” Mary leveled her eyes at Rosanna. “I never knew their names, mind you. But Susan was concerned over Lydia’s health, seeing that she was upset over the loss of her daughter, and one of the grandchildren was creating a ruckus over something. I did
n’t think to ask no more about it, seeing that would be gossip and all.”

  “What does this have to do with Nan Keel?” Rosanna asked.

  Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, Rosanna. Do I have to spell it out for you? Lydia’s grandchildren are Keels.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, for their meaning to unfold in Rosanna’s mind. “I thought that Nan’s parents both died in the accident . . .”

  Mary shook her head. “Nee, ain’t so. The maem died in the accident. The daed died afterward, after quite some time in the hospital.”

  “Oh,” Rosanna said, her lips pursed. She felt as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. Why would Nan have misguided everyone about the accident? Was there a reason to hide her daed’s hospital stay? “I see.”

  “Your question answered?” Mary asked.

  Rosanna wasn’t certain, but she suspected that something was amiss with Nan’s story. There were inconsistencies between what Nan had shared with her and Reuben and what Mary had just told her. Rosanna didn’t want to say as much to Mary. “You’ve told me what you know,” Rosanna managed to say. “That’s all I can ask for, ja?”

  “That’s for sure and certain,” Mary laughed, but when Rosanna didn’t even smile, Mary tilted her head and studied her face. “You look tired, Rosanna. Something else bothering you, then?”

  It felt good to finally have someone interested in what she had on her mind. “Been having some issues with the neighbor behind the farm,” Rosanna said. “Constantly yelling and screaming at us.” She paused reflectively. “Mostly me, and now Cate some.”

  Mary disapprovingly clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. “Those Englische . . . tsk-tsk.”

  “And she’s just so mean about everything. I even tried to make peace with them, brought over my first batch of ripe tomatoes.”

  “You did that?” Then Mary gave a soft smile. “Of course you did. I shouldn’t even be surprised!”