Love's Abundant Harvest

by Beth Shriver

  Lucy’s head lifted as she caught him staring directly at her. Abner wiped his nose with his sleeve and averted his eyes.

  “Mornin’.” Manny took note of the mounting silence with each step he took into the kitchen. He stopped within reach of Lucy but looked over at Abner.

  “Good to see ya, Manny.” Abner’s shoulders dropped a little, and Lucy hadn’t taken a breath, obviously uncomfortable with Manny’s presence.

  “Nothing will leave this room.” He looked at one and then the other, making eye contact long enough for them to know he meant it and that he was aware of their exchange. “Sorry for busting in on your conversation. I’ve been listening, not knowing when to step in.”

  The flush on Lucy’s neck was spreading to her face. She glanced out the kitchen window. Chop, chop. The sound of Sam’s ax seemed to make the color increase.

  “Has he laid a hand on you?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off her until now.

  Abner choked, taking a hanky to his mouth as if to stifle his discomfort with the discussion.

  Lucy jolted, obviously not expecting the question but knowing what he was most worried about. “Nee.” The air pushed through her lips, and she looked through the kitchen window in thought.

  Abner grunted. “Well, thank Gott for that.”

  Manny wasn’t so quick to accept her one-word reply. “I take it that’s not how you feel about it.”

  “At times, I wish he would. Words hurt worse.” She finally gained the courage to meet his eyes. “If it wasn’t for the baby, I wonder sometimes if the physical pain would hurt less.”

  “Somehow, I knew you’d say that.”

  She waved a hand at him. “I can’t . . . ” That was all she could say. He understood. This was too close, and Sam was too near.

  “You don’t need to do anything. That’s why we’re here—to keep an eye out if you need us.” He gestured to Abner. He decided he’d ask him to bow out, for his own safety. He didn’t want the kind old gentleman to get in the middle of Sam and Lucy’s marital problems any longer.

  Her eyes grew round as she took in his words. Fear and anger could easily seep up and out at them for interfering. Manny got the feeling he might have overstepped his bounds.

  “I appreciate your coming, both of you. But please go.” She turned away, and when neither of them moved, she walked out of the room.

  “Would you mind bringing Lucy their mail?” Abner wiped his nose again and kept his eyes averted. “As long as I know someone stops by now and again, I’d feel all right about handing it over to you.”

  “You go on now, Abner.” Manny took the letter Abner still held in his hand and dropped it to his side. “I’ll take this and all the mail from here on out.”

  “Danke, Manny.” Abner watched Sam out the window and lifted his bottom lip. “You know it’s just a matter of time until it comes to blows, especially with the baby on the way.” His lip trembled. “So help me Gott, if he ever lays a hand on her, I’ll—”

  “Abner.” Manny softly but firmly cut him off. “Allergies bothering you?” Manny thought he’d save the man’s dignity and the emotions that were welling up in him as well.

  “Must be.” Abner nodded once and walked out the back door. When he shut it, Lucy came back into the kitchen.

  Manny held up a hand. “I’ll go.” He handed her the letter. “I’m your new mailman.” He tipped his hat and turned to leave. Then he stopped and lifted his chin toward the letter she was tearing into. “Hope it’s good news.”

  Her eyes moved over the words. And then she smiled. It was as bright as a rainbow and made him grin a little too. “Fannie’s coming!”

  Manny lifted his brow when Lucy giggled. He’d never seen her so happy and wondered who this person was who made her act this way. “Who’s Fannie?”

  Lucy pushed a dangling strand of hair off her face. “My sister. She’s coming with my mamm. You’ll have to be sure and meet her, Manny.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Manny wanted this high-spirited talk to continue, such a change from the discussion they’d just had. “When will she be here?” Seeing Lucy’s face light up and her animation stirred something inside him as he saw a glimpse of her true personality.

  “Who?” Sam’s voice made them both stop and stare as he kicked off his boots and walk toward the kitchen table. “Well?”

  She should have breakfast on the table. Actually, it was past breakfast. Manny had distracted her and now felt responsible. “It’s my fault, Sam. I had some mail to give her—”

  Sam held up a hand and sat at the table with a fork and knife in hand. Manny wondered whether he always did this or if he was trying to make a point. The pan was starting to heat up again, but the ham and eggs weren’t ready.

  “Abner does that,” he said.

  “I’m gonna do it for a while. He’s not feeling up to it, and I’m glad to help.” Manny wondered how long it would be legitimate for him to bring them mail. Abner was their next-door neighbor. Manny lived three hauses down—not convenient at all.

  Sam frowned. “Just until Abner’s up to it again.”

  “I’ll be on my way, then.” The coffee smelled good, but Manny could hardly be in the same room with the man. He didn’t know how Lucy could either. “I’ll see you later, threshing the bishop’s wheat.”

  “Will do.”

  When he shut the door behind him, he wished it was him sitting at that table, not Sam. The change in Lucy’s demeanor was understandable with a man like that.

  Manny got into his buggy and made his way to Bishop Atlee’s. His home had two add-ons for dawdihauses from both sides of their families. The appearance was deceiving in that three sets of families actually lived in their own hauses. The bishop was a firm man. Manny preferred to go to one of the deacons rather than the bishop. Both were conservative in their thinking. Although Manny followed their rules, he didn’t always agree with their adherence to the old ways.

  “You’re late.” Caleb greeted him with a grin. “Where have you been?”

  “Why?” Manny was deep in thought, and must have had a crusty look about him.

  “You seem irritated. Have you been by Lucy’s place?” Caleb said it like he knew what went on at her place, but he surely couldn’t know what kind of morning Manny had had.

  “As a matter of fact, jah.” Manny jumped down and gave the horse’s reins to a group of boys who took the buggies, unharnessed the horses, and let them out into a corral, and then put up the buggies. “How’d you know?”

  “I had a feeling you’d find an excuse to go to her farm. Sounds like you and Sweet Pea have a lot in common.”

  Manny stopped in his tracks, wondering how Caleb had gotten so perceptive. Then he thought about it for a minute. “Emma.” He shook his head.

  “If you tell her something, you’ve told me too.” Caleb grinned then turned serious. “Watch yourself, my friend. Lucy is married, and Sam is not one to tangle with.”

  Manny nodded, wanting the conversation to be over. He valued this time to set his mind straight and be around others. His time alone in his haus was nearly killing him. He felt if he didn’t have that horse, he’d really be lost.

  He grabbed a handful of wheat stalks that had been tied together with twine. The women stood by a large can and vigorously beat the bundles against the insides of the cans to separate the kernels from t
he stalks. They transferred the wheat kernels to a bucket, hoping for a nice breeze to separate the chaff away naturally. As they poured the wheat between the two buckets, they chatted about the lunch menu. The men preferred to use a wooden hammer to move the process along, beating the wheat away against a flat surface. When no more kernels remained, they threw away the stalk and started the process over again.

  The young men took loads to the granary silo. The boys would back up the wagon and use large buckets like a conveyer system to load the wheat at the top of the silo.

  “Make sure you sweep up that floor before a single piece of wheat is dropped in that silo,” the bishop told the boys in his authoritarian manner.

  The boys gave him their full attention and scrambled onto the wagon, hanging off the sides. When they were about to transfer the wheat into the silo, Manny went over to make sure the floor was clean.

  When Lucy and a handful of women came up to give the boys some lemonade, he glanced over, but she made herself busy with the little ones who appeared, running around near the silo. The older boys started pouring down gallons of grain without giving a signal, and the dust and pouring grain pounded down on them. The women rushed to pull them away.

  “Stop! Children are down here!” Manny yelled to the young men above them as he climbed up the stairs. The grain stopped falling, so Manny stood still and glanced up at them.

  Mothers scolded and consoled the little ones, and Manny knew the older boys would get an earful for not giving a signal. He looked up at the pillar above him, thinking how dangerous the massive structure could be.

  The next morning Sam walked through the kitchen without a sound except for his boots hitting the floor. Lucy entered the mudroom just as he shut the outside door behind him. She didn’t understand. She’d done nothing wrong, from what she could tell, anyway. Had his former wife gone through this too? No one talked about her or what had happened to her. Lucy didn’t know whether it was because of Sam’s reclusive ways or whether his first wife was more like him than Lucy was, wanting solitude.

  She peeked out the window, watching him walk to the barn to milk. She looked down at her swollen stomach and wished she wasn’t pregnant—a horrible thing to think. She wanted her baby, but not with a man like Sam. She prayed for a boy, in hopes that someday he’d be able to take care of himself if Sam didn’t treat him well. She was on her way to feeling sorry for herself when a buggy rambled down the road.

  “Nellie,” she whispered. Lucy closed her eyes and praised Gott’s timing. A visit from her was just what she needed. She opened the door and stepped outside. Her forehead began to perspire, and the sun wasn’t even up. Yet she waited for Nellie in the heat.

  “Gut morning, you!” Nellie climbed out and handed Lucy the reins to tie onto the hitching post Sam had carved from an old hickory tree. She held the brown suede bag in which she kept her quilting materials. This one was larger than others Lucy had seen.

  “You’re here early.” Lucy didn’t mind, but Sam might. Anything that took time from the farm was more than frowned upon.

  “I’ll help with your chores.” She tucked a finger under Lucy’s chin and looked into her eyes. “You look tired.” Nellie shook her head. “I understand your situation, but definitely don’t agree with it. I have little patience for Sam’s treatment of you.”

  “But complaining only makes things worse.” Lucy whispered, in hopes Nellie would do the same.

  Nellie lifted a hand. “I know. That’s why I’ll just bite my tongue and stay out of his path.”

  “I’m always tired these days, with this little one keeping me up at night.” Lucy opened the door for Nellie, and they walked into the kitchen. “Sam already ate, but there are plenty of pancakes if you’re hungry.”

  She knew the look in Nellie’s eyes, and averted hers. Lucy was worn out of . . . well, just about everything right now. She didn’t have the energy to do much but keep food on the table and try to make it through the day without taking a nap.

  “I’ve eaten. Your mammi doesn’t give anyone a choice.” She walked through the kitchen. “Let’s sit in the family room.” Nellie sat and placed the bag on the floor next to her. “Are you up to quilting?” Her brow furrowed as she studied Lucy’s face.

  “Jah, I’m fine.” Lucy wasn’t, but of all the quilters she knew, Nellie was the best around, and she always learned something new from her.

  “You can’t fool me. You look exhausted.” The lines in Nellie’s forehead deepened, and she shook her head. “And it’s not just the baby. You’re only halfway through your last trimester.”

  Lucy rubbed her eyes, keeping the tears away. “Why didn’t you ever get married, Nellie?”

  “Funny you should ask. I took a different path.” Nellie glanced down, grabbed the bag, and set it beside her on the couch. The large satchel was filled to the brim.

  Lucy examined it. “That’s a big bag.”

  “It’s a big story.” She pulled out one of the largest quilts Lucy had ever seen.

  Lucy tilted her head, thinking back to her question about marriage. “What other path is there?”

  Nellie smiled. “I’ll show you.”

  Lucy took one end of the quilt, marveling at the variety of colors, shapes, and sizes. The elaborate decoration and thoughtful design were like none Lucy had ever set her eyes on. “I could spend hours looking at this quilt. Who made this with you?”

  “Only me.” Nellie’s smile showed pride. Even though she was not well looked upon in their community, how could she not feel proud of such an incredible piece of art?

  Lucy gave her a look. “How can you have possibly done all of this by yourself?”

  “I made a profession of quilting.”

  Lucy puzzled over how that could happen. It sounded too . . . English. “How can that be? We sell them at the mud sales, but do you mean a real business?”

  Nellie nodded. “People came from all around to purchase them. Eventually I needed more room, and I rented a store.”

  Lucy’s mouth dropped. This was unreal. That Nellie could be so independent and support herself dumbfounded her. “You did? Where?”

  “Right here in Lititz.” She turned to look at Lucy. “I expected you to be surprised, but not this much.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t doubt you could do that, especially without a family to tend to. I’m just surprised I never knew about it.”

  “Things got a little messy with the bishop. That’s one reason why I came here to live with your mammi. She was one of the few who didn’t judge me for what I did.” She paused just long enough to take in a breath. “Your mammi’s a special lady.”

  “Jah, I don’t know what I’d have done without her.” Lucy was secretly envious of Nellie’s boldness, knowing that she could never do such a thing but also that she didn’t want to. A loving husband was all she truly wanted.

  “Lucy, I’m telling you all this to show you how strong you are.”

  Lucy started to speak, but Nellie stopped her with a raised hand.

  “You just don’t know it yet. Do you think I knew what to do or how to do it when I started up that store?” She moved her head slowly back and forth. “I started from the ground up, and it was only by the grace of Gott that it all came together.”

  She sat back and smiled contently. “You should have seen it, Luce.” She lifted her hands in front of her. “I na
med the shop Pieces of Life.”

  Lucy sighed. “That’s a great name.” She looked up with Nellie, envisioning what it would look like in the storefront window. “What stories, though? Our quilts usually symbolize something.”

  “These were different. These quilts were about the customers’ lives. What they did, where they lived, the experiences they had, and whether they included it or not, I’d ask them about their faith. These quilts are like the Bible, filled with parables and stories. True stories.”

  Lucy chuckled. “You were a storyteller and evangelizer all wrapped up into one.” She tried to imagine it but instead leaned forward and studied the quilt for the answer. “Is this one yours?”

  “Jah, this here is one with your mammi.” She pointed to a block with a stalk of celery in the middle, the Amish tradition at most weddings. The green color was obscure, not quite the dark color it should be.

  “Is this her wedding?” Lucy frowned, knowing something wasn’t right.

  “Nee, your mammi can tell you her story.”

  Lucy glanced over at her. “You have her story in here? No wonder it’s so big.”

  “Nee, not their stories, but she and Rosy were so involved in my life, they are in the quilt quite a bit.”

  “And your sisters are in here too?”

  “Jah, but I didn’t have the same relationship with them as your mammi and Rosy. As they are widows, and there are no men in our lives, we created a life of our own together.” Her eyes squinted. “Do you see the beauty of the story as well as the beauty of the quilt?”

  Lucy scanned the many patches and wondered what each and every one said, like pages of a book. Some were obvious, and others didn’t make any sense to her at all. Maybe in code or secrets that only Nellie would understand.

  “What a beautiful way to track your story, like a memoir in a quilt,” she murmured. “What is this one with the rainbow?”