“You must be Mr. Hostetler. I’m Amanda Barker.”
I clasped her hand with a quick, gentle touch, and then released it. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Her smile widened. “You must call me Amanda. And is it okay if I call you Seth?”
I nodded.
“My husband is sorry he can’t join us. He’s in Philadelphia on a business trip and won’t be back until tomorrow. Oh! What am I thinking?” A quick laugh emerged, and I thought then that she was a touch nervous herself. “Please come inside. I didn’t mean to leave you standing on the porch.”
She backed up, swinging the door wide, and I hesitated. If her husband was not home, would it be inappropriate for me to be in her house? Of course, we would not be alone. I waited for Robbie to enter first and then followed him inside.
A large, sweeping staircase drew my attention, the dark wooden steps and polished banister gleaming with care. Wide, arched doorways on either side of the entry hall led into other rooms. On my left, a living room filled with color and furniture that bore no resemblance to the sturdy wooden furnishings that stood in my family’s home. The walls displayed many paintings, and though I was reminded of my visit to Marilyn’s house in Philadelphia, these paintings were noticeably different. Some were no more than multihued splashes of paint on giant canvasses. What they were supposed to represent, I couldn’t imagine.
At a glance into the room on my right, my heart stuttered. A huge, glass-topped dining table dominated the space, surrounded by ornate white chairs. The largest flower display I’d ever seen rested in the center of the table. Would we eat our supper in there? I was certain I would not be able to force down a single bite in such fancy surroundings.
Instead, Amanda led us past the staircase and down a short hallway. The entire rear of the house was open, one giant room that could easily have housed our entire district on church Sundays with plenty of room to spare—if it were not stuffed with furniture, that is. Why did the Englisch feel the need to crowd their houses with so much stuff?
But even I, with my Plain sensibilities, could see that this giant room, unlike the two in the front, was meant to be informal and comfortable. A large kitchen area lay to the left, a granite-topped island the only thing that separated the cooking space from the rest. A second glass-topped table sat tucked into a windowed alcove, this one round and just large enough for four chairs. To my relief I saw that this table had been set for three. Still fancy, and not at all what I was accustomed to, but at least it felt less formal than the giant one in the front room. To my right lay another living room, though the furniture in this one appeared to be of overstuffed leather. Above a fireplace on the far wall hung the biggest television I had ever seen. The screen was dark, and from somewhere soft music played.
“I hope you like chicken piccata,” Amanda said as she rounded the island.
I attempted a smile to break the tension that had clenched my jaws so tightly together. “I will tell you after I have tried it.”
She laughed, this time an easy sound. “Robbie, find out what Seth wants to drink, would you?”
My young driver looked as relaxed as I’d ever seen him. Well, that would make sense. He was at home, a place where he felt comfortable.
“We’ve got Coke, Diet Coke, Dr Pepper, green tea.” He ticked off fingers as he listed them.
Though Aaron enjoyed soda, I’d never developed a taste for it. “I would like water, please.”
“Okay.” He opened a shiny, stainless steel refrigerator and bent to inspect the contents. “Hey, Mom, where’s the Dr Pepper?”
Amanda turned from the stove with a platter of delicious-smelling chicken in her hands. “You’ll have to get some out of the fridge in the garage.”
They had a refrigerator in the garage too?
Robbie left through a door I hadn’t noticed. The moment he was gone, Amanda set the tray down and pierced me with a look across the island.
“I hoped I’d have an opportunity to thank you for all you’ve done for Robbie.” She spoke quietly, holding my gaze without looking away. “My husband and I are more grateful than we can say.”
I shook my head. “I have done nothing except take advantage of his services and pay him too little.”
A shadow appeared in her eyes. “You’ve done a lot more than you know. He needs to feel like he’s helping. It’s…” She bit her lip. “It’s important.”
Though I itched to ask for more details, Robbie returned at that moment with a can of soda.
Amanda’s lips widened into a bright smile. “Seth, I’m going to put you to work too.” She slid the platter toward me. “Would you carry that to the table, please, while I get the potatoes?”
I did as she asked, curiosity burning. Though Robbie seemed like a sensible, friendly young man, obviously his parents were concerned about him. Whatever trouble he’d gotten into during his last year at school must have been serious.
When I finally arrived at home, I was peppered with questions about Mammi’s condition.
“Will she be able to walk again?” Tears sparkled in Becky’s eyes.
“According to the doctor, she will walk better than before.” I eyed her and Saloma. “Has she mentioned pain in her hips?”
“Mentioned?” Saloma shook her head. “But she moves more slowly than before, and I have noticed she sometimes winces when she stands after sitting awhile.”
I explained what the doctor said about a possible second hip replacement, and how Mammi had scoffed at the idea.
“We will insist,” Daed said.
Sitting in our familiar living room, surrounded by Plain furnishings, some of the tension seeped out of my taut muscles. The children were already upstairs in bed, and the rest of the family sat working quietly, waiting for me to arrive home with news. Becky stitched at a colorful patch of fabric, her latest quilting project, while Saloma mended one of the boys’ shirts. Daed and Aaron shared a yellow circle of light from an oil lamp to read, and Noah applied a sharp-bladed knife to a piece of soft wood, whittling away at what would probably become another set of toy farm animals to be offered for sale at one of the Amish craft stores in Strasburg.
“Worse than her hip, though, is the doctor’s concern about her heart.” I told them briefly about the cardiologist’s visit in the morning.
“She tires more easily than before.” Becky glanced at Saloma, who agreed with a nod. “We’ve noticed and have tried to involve her in tasks that require little effort, like peeling potatoes while she sits.”
Aaron leaned forward, forearms planted on his knees, his book forgotten. “Did the doctor say when she will come home?”
“She could leave the hospital as soon as in four days, but he wants her to stay in a nursing facility for several weeks where they can take care of her.”
Saloma straightened. “We can take care of her here.”
I saw Mammi again in my mind, looking fragile in her hospital bed. The doctor did say we would be surprised at how quickly she recovered from the hip replacement, but what of her heart? If the wave of dizziness I witnessed several weeks past recurred, she could easily fall again. The next time she might break something harder to repair.
“I worry about her being alone at night and us not able to hear if she calls for help. Especially if the cardiologist says her heart is as fragile as her bones.”
Daed studied me for a long moment, his fingers absently stroking the bristly hair of his beard. “Perhaps it is time for a change.” Though he spoke softly, the intensity in his words caused everyone to stop working at their individual tasks and fix their attention on him. “For some time Joan and I have discussed moving into the daadi haus.” He looked toward Aaron. “We thought to make way for you and Saloma to take our room and Mammi to take yours, but perhaps that move will need to wait a while longer.”
I immediately saw why. Our house had only one bedroom on the main floor—Daed and Mamm’s. The rest were upstairs. With Mammi’s increasing age and now fragile joints
, a bedroom upstairs would not be advisable. The best place for her would be on the first floor of this house, where all of us would be nearby if she needed help in the night.
But such a move would officially accentuate the fact that the family farm would now be in Aaron’s complete control. While Daed and Mamm occupied the large main-floor bedroom, he was still the acknowledged head of the family and the farm, at least in name. A move to the daadi haus would send a clear message to our community that Daed was retired and Aaron in charge.
Aaron and Saloma exchanged a look full of unspoken meaning. Not only would management of the farm fully and officially transfer to Aaron, the running of the house would become Saloma’s responsibility. When a husband retired, so did his wife. Of course, Saloma would no sooner wrest control from Mamm than Mamm had from Mammi when the previous move occurred. The change would be gradual, but it would also be inevitable.
Daed closed his book and set it on the table beside his chair. “The move makes sense in many ways. It is time.”
“Before we make any decisions, let us see what the doctor says tomorrow.” Aaron, too, closed his book, though he held his in his lap. “And Mamm should be included in our discussion.”
The suggestion held wisdom and acted as a dismissal for the night. Saloma and Becky began folding their sewing projects, and Noah stowed his knife and wood in the box where he kept them.
“Do I need to milk the cows?” I asked.
Aaron shook his head. “I took care of them.”
Saloma looked up from her sewing basket. “Seth, have you eaten? I can fix for you a sandwich.”
I shook my head. “I was invited to eat by Amanda, young Robbie’s mother.”
Everyone halted in the midst of whatever they were doing to turn curious gazes my way.
“And how was that?” Noah asked.
I tilted my head, considering how to answer. The meal had threatened to be awkward, but Amanda proved to be a gracious and lively hostess. She kept me entertained with stories of Robbie’s mischievous childhood, and once I laughed so hard I had to cover my mouth with my napkin—paper, something not used at our table—to stop myself from spraying my plate with water.
“Fancy, but enjoyable.”
Becky’s eyes gleamed with interest. “What did she serve?”
“Chicken piccata.” The term felt odd on my tongue. “Thin pieces of tender chicken covered with a sauce of lemons and butter and capers. Also roasted potatoes and beans and salad, much like we would have here.”
“Capers.” Saloma’s forehead wrinkled. “What did they taste like?”
I shrugged. “I pushed them to the side. But the chicken was very good. She sent some to Mamm at the hospital, too, so she would not have to eat in the cafeteria.”
“And for dessert?” Becky asked.
“No dessert. She apologized and explained that she did not typically have dessert.”
Saloma stood and scooped up her basket in the crook of her elbow. “Then I will fix you a piece of peach pie and a glass of milk.”
The words were on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but at the mention of peach pie, anticipation flared on my taste buds. A slice of pie before bed would be good.
“Would you fix two?” Hope showed in Aaron’s eager expression.
His wife planted her free hand on her hip. “You ate a piece after supper.”
He shrugged and ducked his head, managing somehow to look as wishful as one of his sons even with the beard.
Saloma returned his look with a stern one, which broke into a smile after a moment. “Oh, all right.” She left the room chuckling.
Standing, Daed picked up his book. “Is your driver coming in the morning?”
“Ya, at nine o’clock.”
“I will go to the hospital tomorrow.” He doused the light. “Then I can speak with Joan and Mammi together. I will have this thing settled.”
How like my daed. Once he set his mind to a thing, he did not rest until it was accomplished. It would not surprise me if the move were completed by this time tomorrow.
His plan made sense and would resolve every issue except one—the fate of the younger bruder, the extra. It was time I had a plan for myself that made sense.
TEN
Robbie drove Daed and me to the hospital at nine o’clock as arranged, but when we arrived, Daed informed me that he would like to have the conversation privately with my mamm and Mammi. Feeling slightly rebuffed, even though I understood his reason, I went up to Mammi’s room long enough to say hello and assure myself that her condition was no worse. In fact, she seemed much improved for her night’s sleep, sitting up in her bed and awarding smiles all around. I left the hospital encouraged.
Before climbing into Robbie’s car, I eyed him across the roof. “Do you have the time to take me to Strasburg?”
“You bet,” the young man assured me. Then a shadow fell across his face. “But I have an appointment at one o’clock. It’ll last about an hour.”
He’d just arranged to pick Daed up at two thirty for the drive home.
I waved a hand. “I will find someone else to take me home. Either Kevin or someone in Strasburg.”
“No.” Robbie’s expression became almost injured, as though I’d hurt his feelings by even suggesting another driver. “It’s just that I’ll either have to come get you at noon or it’ll have to be after I drop your father off.”
Amanda’s words returned to me. He needs to feel like he’s helping. It’s important.
I aimed for an easy tone. “All right. How about I expect you around three?”
Relief lightened his features. “Sounds good.” A boyish grin appeared. “Or as your people would say, Das gut.”
Laughing, I slid into the car.
When I entered the pottery shop, Leah was helping an Englisch couple select a set of dishes. At the jangle of the bells she looked up at me, and a smile lit her face. The gesture was so unusual, my heart skittered. Today her Plain upbringing showed. She wore a simple dress, and though it buttoned at the neck instead of being pinned like an Amish dress, the pale blue color might have been worn by any of the women in my district. She’d pulled her hair back and wound it into a knot secured at the back of her head. No kapp, of course, but without the distraction of flowing dark hair, her eyes appeared clearer and bluer in her face.
Blue. I hadn’t noted the color until this moment.
Without the sarcastic curl of her lips I was accustomed to seeing, she looked lovely. Even the scar, though still apparent, didn’t detract from her appearance.
“And here is the potter who created these,” she said to her customers.
They turned and voiced appreciation for my work. My cheeks burned as I acknowledged their praise, and then I turned my back to shut the door.
Leah did not leave the couple when she directed a question at me. “How is your grandmother?”
“Better. A broken hip, which the doctors replaced.”
I didn’t go into the extent of our concerns for Mammi’s condition. Instead, I made my way across the room and left her to her work.
Elias looked up from his wheel when I stepped into the workroom. “I did not know whether to expect you or not. I hope your presence means things are going well at home?”
“Ya, better. At least for now.”
As I moved about the now-familiar workshop gathering my tools, I went into more detail describing Mammi’s condition to Elias. He shook his head in sympathy when I spoke of my concerns about her heart and the acceleration of Daed’s retirement.
“Age can be unkind, and not only to the elderly.”
An insightful comment. I agreed with a nod as I set my tools on my favorite wheel and headed toward the shelf to retrieve one of the canisters I should have trimmed yesterday. My gaze fell on a table along the back wall containing two huge pots that had not been there before.
“You threw the planters.” I almost added without me. I’d looked forward to learning a new skill, working with somethin
g as large as this.
“Ya. I promised to get them done as soon as possible.”
I drew near to inspect them. They were nearly identical, with the differences being so minute that no one with a casual eye would notice. Each stood around four feet tall, the lines smooth with a graceful curve around the middle, the widest part. A rounded ridge formed the lip around the top. I bent close to study one. Though I detected no break in the clay, there was only one way Elias could have managed to achieve a lip that thick and so perfectly formed.
“You added the lip after the pot was finished?”
“A coil of wedged clay. I added many coils, in fact, one at a time, each achieving additional height.”
So that’s how the process went. I understood in a flash. Wedging and centering so much clay at once would be a trying and difficult task. Instead, he’d started small and built the pot a bit at a time. How I wished I could have seen him work.
Elias laughed. “Do not look so downcast. You will have a chance to throw your own one day, I promise. Leah will post these on the computer, and perhaps that will bring orders for more. In the meantime, go trim your canisters. We sold the last finished set yesterday.”
I retrieved my pieces from the shelf, noting that Elias had wrapped them in thick plastic to keep them from becoming overly dry. Taking one from beneath the covering, I tested the consistency by pressing a fingernail into the thick bottom edge, which was about to be sliced off. The clay was leather hard, perfect for trimming. Satisfied, I returned to the wheel I’d come to think of as mine and centered the piece. When its spin was perfectly even, I applied the trimming tool. An immense feeling of satisfaction settled on me as the thick, ugly, unwanted ridge sliced away in clay ribbons that curled as I severed them from the pot. The result, when smoothed with a damp bit of sponge, was a perfect foot that would sit firmly without wobbling on a table or counter.
The Amish Widower Page 13