The Lexus turned onto the main road, and then I heard the squeal of tires on pavement as it sped away. I couldn’t help but laugh. No wonder Amanda did not often allow her son to drive her expensive car. Shaking my head, I followed my family inside.
Dinner that night would have been a festive occasion with all of us together again, except for one huge change. Aaron sat at the head of the table, and Saloma at the opposite end. The twins were full of questions about the reason for the different seating arrangement, and Sadie kept pointing at Aaron and then Daed and giggling.
Saloma had come home from the hospital with a stack of papers outlining a heart-healthy diet, and throughout the meal she chattered about new recipes she wanted to try and the need to do more roasting and less frying.
When the meal was finished, Mammi reached for her walker and, moving slowly and with much wincing, rose from the cushion Becky had placed on the bench for her. One hand braced on the walker, she reached for her plate, but Becky took it out of her hands.
“We will clean up tonight. You go and rest.”
I thought from the stubborn pursing of Mammi’s lips that she might refuse. How she thought she could help with clearing the table while using the walker, I couldn’t imagine. The same thought must have occurred to her, for in the next instant her expression changed to one of resignation. With a nod, she began her slow way toward the living room.
I picked up the cushion and trailed after her, ready to place it in her usual chair near the fireplace. Instead, she limped through the living room and into her new bedroom. I followed her and placed the cushion in the chair there.
She glared at it. “I never thought I would have to sit on a fancy thing like that.”
“It is only for a while.”
“Humph.” She ignored the chair and hobbled instead to the bed. Her features seemed to be set in stone as she lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress.
“You are moving well for only a few days after hip replacement surgery.”
“I hate it.” Bitterness that I’d never heard saturated her voice. “The doctor showed me a picture of the device he put inside me, and I hate it. A fancy thing in my body.” She waved toward the cushion. “Much worse than a fancy thing in my bedroom.”
I seated myself in the cushioned chair and made a show of wiggling to settle myself. The wool stuffing was soft and would no doubt feel much better for someone in pain than unyielding wood. “If you would rather not sit on padding, I can take it away. But it seems a shame to suffer unnecessarily.”
“You can’t take this thing out of my hip, though.”
This attitude was so unlike my peace-loving grossmammi, even given the discomfort she must be feeling. “You are upset about Daed and Mamm’s move to the daadi haus.” I spoke softly so our family in the other room could not hear.
She did not bother to temper her tone. “And who wouldn’t be? I leave for a few days, and when I come back, everything is different.”
Because I knew exactly how she felt, I remained silent. After a moment, she heaved a sigh and the bitterness seeped away. Her shoulders drooped.
“This was my room before, you know.” She patted the bed with a wrinkled hand that still had a bandage covering the place where the IV had been. “I slept here with my husband. Your father was born in this bed, him and six others. Three did not survive.”
The reason for her sullenness became clear then. This room held so many memories for her, memories she’d never thought to face again. What would it be like for her, to sleep in the bed where she’d slept with her husband, my grossdaadi?
“You lived with Grossdaadi in the little house too,” I pointed out.
But she shook her head. “It is not the same. I have stayed there longer without him than with, but here…” The hand caressed the quilt, and a bittersweet smile curved her lips. “I never lived here without him.”
Of everyone in our family, I was the only one who had an inkling of the turmoil she must feel. Though I had never lived in this house with either Rachel or Hannah, having moved in with their families after our marriages, we did stay here on occasion. If those few memories haunted me in my room upstairs, imagine how many ghostly visions filled this room for Mammi.
“When your hip is well enough to handle the stairs, you can have my room.”
The suggestion elicited a laugh, which was at least better than the sad visage of a moment before. “And where will you sleep? Here?”
I shook my head. “I would move to Aaron’s room, and they would move here, and when Becky and Noah leave, their room will become a nursery.” I hesitated. My plans were not firm enough to discuss with anyone, but maybe Mammi’s ears were a good testing ground. “Truth be told, I have been considering another kind of move. I have not approached Aaron with my request, but I would like to build a small house here, on our farm.”
“Another daadi haus?” She shook her head. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“Not a daadi haus.” I grinned. “An onkel haus. I can be out of the way there, but still close enough to help with the farm. And maybe the new house can have two bedrooms, one for you and one for me.”
She laughed then, the full-throated laughter that was so much like her old self. When the laughter faded, her eyes glistened. “My Seth, you make me proud. But it is not your responsibility to care for me in my old age. Nor is it your lot in life to make your home with an old woman.”
Her emphasis on the word warned me of what would come next. I stood, ready to flee before she could continue, but she would not be stopped.
“You will marry again. I know it here.” She pressed a fist against her chest, over her heart. “And when you do, your wife will not want to live in an onkel haus.”
I left her still chuckling at the silly term I’d invented. With barely a word for my family, I picked up the slop bucket and left the house, heading for the pigpen. Mammi’s laughter had turned the good food in my stomach sour. Though I knew she did not intend to be unkind, she had treated my plan as a joke. And now that I had given voice to the idea, it sounded ridiculous in my own ears. Why would Aaron want his bruder hanging around his farm forever? Sooner or later I would have to move away. Mammi was right about that.
But in one respect she was wrong. I would not marry again, not ever. How long would it take for my family to accept that?
ELEVEN
When I stepped into Elias’s, I was struck by the pleasant scent that permeated the shop. I came to a halt, inhaled deeply, and tried to identify the smell.
“Are you baking cookies?” I asked Leah, who stood behind the retail counter jotting notes on a pad of paper.
She shook her head. “Good guess, though. It’s a candle called Sugar Cookie.”
Pointing with a pencil, she directed my attention to the display table in the front window, where one of my carved candleholders sat. I stepped close to inspect the display.
“You glazed it already.” The last time I saw this piece, it had been ready for the bisque firing. Now it was finished.
“I hope you don’t mind.” She came out from behind the counter and approached. “You said I could glaze mine however I liked, and we had room in the kiln for your three pieces.”
Elias liked to fill the kiln completely, which was the most efficient use of electricity. The last time I’d been in the shop, we’d had almost enough pieces for a firing.
“Not at all.” I knelt to look more closely at my candleholder. She had selected a red glaze that I’d used on a few of my bowls. Once fired, it darkened to the color of the reddish sandstone soil found in the eastern part of Pennsylvania. Light shone from inside, though the daylight shining through the front window rendered it virtually invisible. This had been the third candleholder I’d trimmed on Wednesday, the pattern not nearly as intricate as the one based on Hannah’s quilt. I’d dreamed up the decorations for the second and third myself, designing as I carved. This one, a series of circles that I thought resembled bubbles, was the one I’d be
en least satisfied with.
I straightened and glanced around the room. “Where is the other?”
“The one with the curves?” She splayed her hands. “Gone. I set it out this morning, and a woman bought it about ten minutes ago.”
The door opened and Robbie entered. “I forgot to tell you that I have another appointment this afternoon.” He raised his nose and sniffed. “Hey, it smells good in here.”
Leah pointed to the source of the aroma. “Look at Seth’s candleholder.”
Interest showed on his face as he approached. “Wow, that’s really pretty. I thought all you made were plates and bowls and stuff.”
I didn’t answer, because at that moment the door opened again and a trio of Englisch shoppers entered. Leah went to greet them.
“So it’ll probably be two thirty before I get back here,” Robbie said, “unless you want me to come get you early?”
One of the shoppers gravitated in our direction, and we stepped back, out of her way.
“Two thirty will be fine,” I told him.
The woman reached for one of Elias’s pitchers, but then she stopped, her hand hovering over my candleholder. “Louise, come look at this.” She carefully turned it around to examine it all sides. “I’ve never seen one like this.”
Leah cast a grin in my direction as she followed the pair. “It is a custom design, created by one of our potters.”
I was glad she didn’t identify me. I found the inevitable praise that followed uncomfortably embarrassing.
The woman blew out the candle and, handling it gingerly, held it high to inspect the bottom. “How much is it?”
“Seventy-five dollars.”
Though Leah did not bat an eyelash as she quoted the price, I nearly choked. Who would pay such an outrageous price for a canister with holes?
The shopper held it toward her friends. “Do you think Rhonda would like it?”
“She’ll love it,” answered one of them. “In fact, I love it. If you don’t get it for her, I’ll buy it myself.”
The first woman shook her head. “Too late. I found it first.” She handed it to Leah. “I’ll take it.”
The other lady turned in a circle, her gaze traveling around the shop. “Do you have any others?”
“Not yet,” Leah answered as she carried the candleholder to the counter. “But check back in a few days. I’m sure the potter has plans to make more.”
She gave me a pointed look as she removed the candle and began wrapping the holder in newspaper. I stood rooted to the floor, stunned. Seventy-five dollars.
Robbie turned to me. “You know what? My mom’s birthday is next week. She’d really like something like that. Think you could make one for her?”
His comment overheard, the two ladies closest to us looked at me, their faces alive with interest. I grabbed Robbie’s arm and steered him into the workshop before they could say anything. At his questioning gaze, I shrugged.
“I would prefer they didn’t know I did the work.”
“Most people would be proud to show off something like that.” He cocked his head. “You’re a weird dude, Seth, you know that?”
Though his odd Englisch phrasing was not how I would describe myself, I could not help but agree with the sentiment, for a variety of reasons.
“Ya. I am a weird dude.”
Elias emerged from the small supply closet. His face brightened when he caught sight of me. “I am glad you are back. Remember the big planters?”
A glance toward the table where they had rested on Wednesday revealed that they were still there, now bisque fired and ready for glazing.
“The Englisch lady who ordered them came yesterday to select the glaze, and liked them so much she has commissioned four others.” He shook his head, smiling. “She must have a very large porch, that lady.”
A few days before I’d been disappointed at missing the opportunity to learn to throw large pots. Oddly, now I found myself frustrated at the delay the huge pots would cause.
I faced Robbie. “If you do not mind, could you come back for me even later? Around four thirty?” That would give me time to work on both planters and candleholders.
“Sure.” He started to leave and then stopped. “But you’ll make something for my mother, right?”
“Ya, I will make something nice for your mother.”
The design had already begun to take shape in my mind.
Throwing my first big pot proved to be enough of a challenge that I forgot all about candleholders for several hours. Elias had only one wheel that could handle the weight required for a giant planter, so I worked with him standing beside me, directing my movements.
The pot began like any other, though with a large amount of clay. When I had centered that piece I added a second mound of equal size, which Elias had wedged and ready. Combining the two so that they formed one base took a great deal of effort, and then I was ready to begin forming the pot itself. Several times I paused in my work and left the wheel to inspect Elias’s completed planters. The shape of mine had to match them, at least close enough that any differences were not easily detectable.
When the bottom part was formed to my satisfaction, Elias instructed me to score the upper edge, and then he brought over a thick, snakelike coil of clay to lay over the top.
“Now combine the two, but take care to leave no seam. There must be no weak place.” He left me to the task and returned to the worktable to roll another coil.
The technique was difficult in a different way than a smaller piece would be. By the time I had worked the final coil seamlessly into the others, sweat poured down my face and dripped into my beard. My sleeves, which I’d rolled up, were stiff and salty from wiping my brow.
Though the work absorbed my full attention, I was aware that every so often the curtain parted and Leah peeked through. She never entered the room. She merely watched me work for a moment and then disappeared again.
At last I formed the rounded lip. When it was as smooth as I could make it, I sat back and inspected the finished pot. All along I’d used my fingers to create the circular grooved pattern along the outside that was Elias’s trademark, though he’d corrected my technique a few times. The result was nearly identical to the other two.
Elias bent close to examine the lip, and then he straightened and gave a satisfied nod. “So now you have thrown large.” He smiled. “Large and in charge, as my own daed used to say. What do you think?”
I arched my back and circled my shoulders. “I think I like bowls better.”
“Ha!” Eyes twinkling, he finished wiping his hands on a towel and tossed it to me. “So do I, young Seth. So do I.”
The curtain parted and Leah peeked in. “You’re finished?”
“Ya. Come and see.” I waved the towel toward my giant pot.
She entered carrying a covered basket, which she set on our wedging table before making a show of walking around the planter. Bending close, she examined it through narrowed eyes. “It looks good.” Then she awarded me one of her sardonic expressions. “It took you long enough. Daadi could have done two in that time.”
It was the first time I’d heard her refer to Elias by any name, and the use of the Amish Daadi for grandfather surprised me. In the next instant, I realized it should not. She had, after all, been raised Amish.
“I am merely a student and not a master like Elias,” I told her, a little defensively.
She grinned, an expression I’d seen more and more of late. “I’m teasing, Seth. You did a good job. But I like your candleholders better. Especially mine.”
The grin softened, and the glow in her eyes sent an unexpected flood of warmth through me. Becky had been thrilled with my gift of bowls and plates, and she had praised my work to the point that I’d flushed with embarrassment. But the candleholder, so special to me because of its design, seemed to have touched Leah deeply. To think that something I had made with my hands brought such pleasure to another was at once humbling and exhilarating.
I returned her smile with a soft one of my own.
She broke the moment by jerking her gaze from mine. The smile evaporated, and she was once again no-nonsense Leah as she turned to Elias.
“Grossmammi brought lunch while you were working.” She nodded toward the basket. “The chicken is cold by now, but come and eat it anyway.”
Elias rubbed his stomach. “Cold chicken is just the thing to fill this empty belly. Come, Seth. Cold or not, once you’ve tasted my Lily’s chicken, you’ll never be satisfied with anyone else’s.”
I hesitated. In all the weeks I’d been working with Elias, I had never shared his meal. Usually Mamm packed a sandwich for me, which I ate in hurried bites between throws. But after breakfast this morning, she’d returned to the daadi haus, and Saloma hadn’t thought to make a lunch for me. Nor had I remembered it myself.
Leah was watching me. “There’s plenty. My grandmother always sends enough food for a dozen.”
“If that is so, my belly is as empty as Elias’s.”
“But not nearly so big.” He patted his midsection, which did fill out his trousers more than mine.
Leah lifted the basket and indicated that I should wash the table. I did, scrubbing away clay residue left over from the wedging. Then she covered the surface with the cloth from the basket and began pulling out bowls covered with filmy plastic. Apparently, Lily Beachy had anticipated my inclusion in today’s meal, for Leah removed three plates.
I must have looked curious, for when she handed one to me, she gave a small shrug. “I noticed you didn’t have a lunch sack today, so I called the neighbor’s house and asked her to take a message to my grandmother.”
The gesture touched me. Twice in one day I’d been surprised by Leah. For the first time, I could see behind that caustic tongue and solemn countenance. Once she must have been a kind and caring woman. What had changed her? Was it whatever had caused the scar on her face?
“Danke.”
My tone came out softer than expected, almost tender. She looked startled, and then she busied herself with uncovering the bowls.
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