The Amish Blacksmith

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Because it was a Saturday, Stephen would be around. I’d asked him to listen for Natasha’s arrival because I would need him—and Comet—once she arrived. Now, as she and I walked toward the stable, boy and dog emerged from the side of the house and headed our way.

  Natasha gave him a warm hello. “I understand you were a big help to my horse.”

  He smiled shyly, otherwise ignoring the compliment. “Where are Hope and Samantha?”

  As the three of us plus the dog continued on toward the barn, Natasha explained that Hope was at her gymnastics class and Samantha at her first riding lesson. “Hope loves gymnastics, and Samantha was thrilled to start her lessons, but when they found out where I was going this morning, they both wanted to ditch all that and come here instead.” She laughed. “I don’t know who they wanted to see more, Stephen. You or your dog.”

  I smiled. “Speaking of dogs—”

  “Yes, I spoke to January’s previous owner, and he confirmed that his stable master, who lives on-site, does have a dog. After we talked, he checked with the guy and then called me back again to give me a little more info, which I thought was nice of him.”

  We entered the barn and crossed to the smaller stable area where January was housed.

  “Apparently, the dog has been a constant figure around the stable for a long time, and she was especially fond of January. The man described her as a medium-to-large-sized mutt with long, brownish-gold fur, so I already have my people on the hunt for a nice golden retriever, or maybe a collie, that we can buy. In the meantime, a friend is loaning us her Irish setter, who will be there waiting for us when we get home.”

  I had groomed January just a short while before Natasha arrived, so the beautiful animal looked sleek and shiny and majestic when we came to her stall. Making sure that Comet was clearly visible to the horse, I unlatched the door, attached her lead, and walked her out. Handing over the rope to Natasha, I grabbed the big rubber ball and we all returned to the driveway.

  Natasha led January out to the middle of the gravel, and then I told Stephen to position himself on the other side of the horse.

  “Check this out,” I said to Natasha with a smile. Then, checking to see that the dog was still nearby, I dribbled the ball a few times, raised it up, and tossed it in an arc over January to Stephen, who caught it. The horse didn’t bat an eye.

  Stephen tossed the ball back to me, and I tucked it under my arm as I pulled a plastic bag from my right pocket. Moving closer, I crinkled the bag not a foot from January’s head. Again, she seemed not to notice one bit.

  “I can keep on demonstrating as long as you want,” I said, turning to Natasha, “but I think you can see this problem has been solved.”

  I expected a grateful smile in return, but Natasha’s eyes were on her horse. As she reached forward to place her hand on January’s neck, I could see the relief and joy on her face.

  “Good girl, such a good girl,” she cooed to the animal. “I think it’s going to be smooth sailing for you from now on.”

  I spent the afternoon over at Amanda’s. It wasn’t our usual routine, but she was still flying high from last night’s party and wanted to go over everything. The fact that I couldn’t care less—and told her so—didn’t seem to matter. Undaunted, she replied that she had to talk about it with somebody, and because Priscilla was my responsibility too, it was my place to sit and listen.

  We ended up at the kitchen table, the plans and lists and charts that Amanda had used for the party spread out in front of us as she went through and recounted even the tiniest detail. I would have been bored out of my mind after the first five minutes had it not been for the presence of her mother and her twin sisters, Naomi and Nettie, who were over at the counters working together to can what looked like about four bushels of peaches. Not only did they let me hop up and pitch in whenever they needed something heavy lifted or a jar twisted open, but they all talked and laughed a lot as they chopped and sliced and boiled and stirred and poured, making a difficult job quite fun. They also kept up a running banter about the over-the-top event Amanda had pulled together, forcing me to stifle a smile several times.

  They were just teasing, but I knew there was a little truth behind their words. Amanda’s mother, in particular, seemed rather put out with her daughter, and I didn’t blame her. The Amish had things like parties and gatherings and food and games down to a science. There was a way you went about this stuff that followed a fairly standard formula. That made it easier for everyone, and it lessened the possibility of pride because no one party was ever more outstanding than another.

  Amanda, on the other hand, had been determined to put on something truly unique and special, qualities not valued among our people. The longer I sat listening to her, the more I had to wonder whom she had been trying to impress. Not until I was leaving did it strike me that perhaps she’d seen it as an opportunity to show off to me the kinds of skills one might look for in a wife. My only wish was that her gifts with planning and cooking and entertaining were equaled by a gift of humility.

  As I drove home late in the afternoon, pondering these things, my mind went to the party’s guest of honor, the one who had been the beneficiary of Amanda’s efforts. With a laugh to myself, I realized that, in a sense, Priscilla was the un-Amanda. For her, just the thought of being unique and special and impressive and noticeable would send her running in the opposite direction.

  Priscilla was still on my mind as I neared the Kinsinger farm and turned into the driveway. The first house on the left was Owen and Treva’s, the same house where Priscilla had once lived—and where her mother had died.

  As I reached the barn and pulled to a stop, I sat there for a long moment, thinking again of that tragic accident, a fatal slice of the knife while canning acorn squash. That, in turn, led me to think of Naomi and Nettie at the Shetlers’ today, working with their mother to put up the peaches. Then it struck me.

  Canning was hard work that required many hands. Any other 14-year-old Amish girl would have been in the kitchen with her mother at canning time, not out in the barn nor up in her bedroom.

  This thought led me to a new theory, that on the day Sharon Kinsinger died, mother and daughter had had an argument, one that ended with Priscilla being sent to her room. Later, when Sharon accidentally cut herself, she had gone up there for help, expecting Priscilla to be inside. But she hadn’t been. Instead, she must have slipped out when her mamm wasn’t looking, leaving the room empty. No wonder Priscilla felt responsible.

  By sneaking away from the house, she’d essentially sealed her mother’s fate.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Amanda’s vision of romantic bliss between Priscilla and Matthew did not materialize. Over the course of the next week, Amanda popped in to see Priscilla a few times, chatting up all of Matthew’s qualities and his general wonderfulness, but it seemed to make no difference. Priscilla wasn’t interested. Realizing that for himself, Matthew had already politely declined to pursue things with her on his end. Or, as Amanda put it, he was going to back off, despite how much he liked her, because he wasn’t a pushy kind of guy.

  I wasn’t all that sure, however, whether his interest in Priscilla was genuine or just a figment of Amanda’s imagination. From what I had seen at the party, at least, Matthew hadn’t exactly been falling all over himself to get to know the guest of honor. Instead, he had been shy and stiff and his usual scarecrow self, treating her like one guest among many.

  And yet Amanda persisted. After her third “girl chat” with Priscilla of the week, I felt just bad enough about her intrusiveness on the matter that I decided to apologize on my girlfriend’s behalf.

  Here at the end of June, the days were growing longer and sunnier, and a brief cool snap had been making the weather just about perfect. It was nearing sunset on the last Saturday in June when I finished up some chores and went looking for Priscilla. I checked all the obvious places and finally found her down in Treva’s vegetable garden, alone, carefully thinning o
ut some cabbage plants on her left and replanting them in an empty row on her right.

  I asked if I could help, and though her expression made it clear she wished I wouldn’t, she said I could if I wanted to. I jumped right in, glad to have something to do with my hands as we talked. That always made for easier conversation, just two people chatting as they worked on something together.

  “If you’re the second wave sent in to extol Matthew’s virtues, don’t bother,” she said.

  In return, I couldn’t help but laugh. Loudly. “Quite the opposite, in fact,” I assured her. “Mostly I just wanted to, um, apologize for what has turned into a one-woman crusade that is probably driving you crazy. I don’t know why Amanda is so determined to see you and Matthew together, but the next time I talk to her, I’m going to request she back off.”

  Priscilla continued with her digging without a reply.

  “If you don’t feel like dating anyone, then you shouldn’t have to date anyone,” I added diplomatically.

  Her head jerked up. “You don’t think I should be dating?”

  “Of course not. I—”

  “That there’s not a man alive who could possibly be interested in poor, weird Priscilla?”

  And there it was. The side of this woman that was as prickly as a pinecone. The side that drove me crazy.

  I couldn’t even think how to reply, and I didn’t want my tone to sound as irritated as I felt, so I kept silent for a while, doing my part with the digging. In the quiet, she must have realized she’d overreacted, because after a while she glanced over at me again and spoke in a much softer, almost repentant tone.

  “There is someone, a man back home,” she said, her face blushing a pretty pink. “He’s older than I am but quite kind. And he doesn’t think I’m weird at all.”

  My first thought was a snarky one. Even if he did, he wouldn’t say so because he needs a mother for his eight children. Of course I couldn’t blurt that out loud. I dug at the ground with vigor as I replied.

  “I never said men wouldn’t want to date you, Priscilla. I was just saying don’t feel bad if you don’t feel like dating Matthew—or any other guy around here, for that matter—if you don’t want to.”

  I looked up to see that she was staring at me with an odd expression, one I couldn’t read. Then she returned her attention to the earth in front of her and said, simply, “I’m here only temporarily, remember.”

  Again, for some reason I couldn’t explain, I found myself digging with intensity, my jaw set. Finally, I could hold my tongue no longer. Sitting back on my heels, I stabbed the spade into the dirt and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Seriously? You’re seriously considering that guy’s offer?”

  Priscilla also sat back, her eyes narrowing as she looked back at me. “Offer?”

  With a flush of heat, I realized I had no business sharing with her something Amos had told me in confidence. Backpedaling just a little, I muttered, “You just said there’s a guy back home. I assume he wants to court you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Jake, but Noah and I have already been courting. He’s asked me to marry him.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Again, not your business, but I said I would have to think about it first.” Waving away a persistent bumblebee, she added, “When I felt God leading me to come back here to Lancaster County, I broke things off with him—temporarily, at least. I didn’t know how long I would be gone, and I felt he should be free to date others in my absence.”

  “Sounds like true love to me,” I quipped.

  She ignored my sarcasm. “Like I said, I told him I would have to think about it first. So that’s what I’ve been doing. Thinking about it.”

  “Thinking about it.”

  “Ya. Would you have me say yes—or no—in an instant? Without genuine consideration? Without certainly of God’s will?”

  “It seems to me that you either know or you don’t.”

  “It seems to me that I already told you this was none of your business,” she said. Then she put aside her tools, stood, and marched off toward the house.

  I didn’t see Priscilla again until the next morning, as we all gathered in the driveway, ready to go to church. I’d had all night to think about our conversation, and I felt terrible about it. Even though apologies never came easily to me, I didn’t hesitate now to pull her aside to tell her how sorry I was for butting into her private affairs.

  “I was way out of line. I don’t know what got into me.”

  She seemed to consider my words thoughtfully and then responded with a nod. “Danke, Jake. I forgive you.”

  She turned to move away, but I reached out and caught her elbow.

  “One more thing.”

  I dropped my hand as she paused to look back at me.

  “Next Friday is the Fourth of July, which, you know, is big with Englischers. Natasha is having a barbecue at her estate, and she’s hired me to be there for the fireworks part, just to stay in the stables and help keep an eye on any of the horses that might get spooked by the noise. I told her how you helped with January, and she suggested I bring you along too.” When Priscilla didn’t respond right away, I added, “She’ll pay by the hour, in cash, at the end of the night.”

  Looking into Priscilla’s face, I could almost see the battle raging. After our conversation in the garden, I was most likely the last person she wanted to spend time with. On the other hand, not only was this a paying job—albeit a brief one—but it would mean spending time with horses.

  “Ya. I could do that.”

  I thanked her and turned away before she could see the relief in my smile.

  Because I had the Fourth of July off, as did everyone at my daed’s buggy shop, my parents decided to have a big family picnic at their place. Priscilla and I didn’t have to be at Natasha’s until the evening, so I decided to come for the day—and to bring Amanda with me. Mamm said that would be fine as it would provide a nice opportunity for the whole family to get to know her.

  Amanda was nervous about coming, but any anxiety was quickly eclipsed by her love for parties, get-togethers, and games. I thought she would fit in just fine with all the members of my family, but as the afternoon wore on, I found myself wondering if everyone else was as relaxed and comfortable around Amanda as she seemed to be with them. Mamm, who I thought would be the most excited about my courting a beautiful girl, seemed to be contemplative throughout the afternoon. Tyler and Rachel also weren’t nearly as enthusiastic about Amanda as I thought they would be, which I found perplexing. Amanda was as easy-going as they come. She laughed at everyone’s jokes, was kind and helpful, cooed at the babies, and seemed for all the world as though her mascara days were long behind her.

  I had to leave by five, and the opportunity to ask Tyler or my mother what was up never came. As a happy and chatty Amanda and I drove back home, I wondered if perhaps I had only imagined these things.

  I certainly hoped so, anyway.

  After all the stress of the day and the long ride to Amanda’s and then home, I was tired by the time I had to go to Natasha’s. Back at the cottage, I changed into a fresh set of clothes, and then I wearily headed out to the driveway, wishing we could have done this on a different night. But then Priscilla came out of the house to join me, and as soon as I saw the anticipation in her eyes, I could feel myself begin to perk up as well.

  I didn’t bother kidding myself that her excitement had anything to do with me. She was about to be paid to spend an evening with a bunch of beautiful horses, helping to get them through a difficult situation. That was her idea of bliss. Everything and everyone else was far, far secondary to that.

  Ryan showed up right on time, and though I hadn’t thought to prepare Priscilla for our driver’s eccentricities, he seemed to dial things back a bit once she and I were both inside the truck, much to my relief. He offered us something to drink, so before she could reply, I reached into the console with absolute nonchalance, pull
ed out a bottle of water, and held it toward her. “Perrier?”

  The look she flashed me from the backseat was a mixture of amusement and astonishment. Had we been alone, I would have warned her that it was only to get more bizarre from here.

  Once we arrived at Natasha’s, I couldn’t help but see the place through Priscilla’s eyes. Like me the first time I had come here, she seemed to find it beautiful and impressive, but also like me, she did not seem covetous of it. “This world is not my home,” was something Christians often said, but being in a place like this, it felt more like, “And this world is really not my home.”

  I thought we would be ushered right to the stables, but Ryan said Natasha had insisted we come to the party to say hello and hit the buffet first.

  “You have about an hour before the fireworks start,” he told us, peering toward the darkening horizon, “so you guys can just fill up a plate and then head on down to the stables yourselves. That should give you enough time before all the noise to walk around and let the horses hear your voices and get used your scents. You know the drill. You can eat as you work.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, but I could see Priscilla instantly stiffening beside me.

  “I’ve already eaten,” she said quickly to Ryan, “so maybe I’ll just go on straight to the stables.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, but you and Jake and your success with January are all anyone’s talking about. Natasha is eager to meet you in person, Priscilla.”

  I shot my companion a consoling glance, but she seemed okay. This was a paying gig, after all, and I guess the worker in her accepted her fate, knowing it was just part of the job.

  What was not part of the job, I realized a few minutes later as we were greeted by Natasha and introduced to her guests, was being someone’s token Amish, as if we were party favors that could be shown off and passed around. More than once she laughingly referred to us as her “little pair of Amish horse whisperers,” which felt rather offensive to me. At least when I glanced Priscilla’s way, I was glad to see that her expression was more bemused than anything else.