by Tricia Goyer
After she finished sorting through her books — choosing only a few cookbooks to add to the box — Sarah paused and looked out the sitting room window. The small room was upstairs, and the window sat in the peak of the roof. She enjoyed this room for the view it gave of their front yard, the forest, and the peak of Robinson Mountain in the distance. It was a good place to get away, to think, and Sarah had a lot of thinking that needed to be done today.
She would miss this view some, but inside was an eagerness of what was to come. She looked forward to living in a large Amish community again, to making new friends, to discovering a new place. She’d read some about Holmes County in the Amish newspaper, The Budget. Berlin was just one small town in the largest Amish community in the world. Not only that, there were Old Order, New Order, Swartzentruber Amish, Troyer Amish, Mennonites, and more all in one place.
She thought of all the people up in the West Kootenai — so many different personalities in such a small place. What would it be like in a bigger community? She couldn’t even imagine. Young, old, strict, joyful, outgoing, quiet, eager, reserved. Hopefully, working in the bakery, Sarah would be able to interact with them all.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up to the sitting room, and Sarah turned. It was Mem who walked up with such slow steps. She wore a tender smile and carried something in her arms. It looked to be a jar. Sarah wrinkled her brow. It wasn’t one of Sarah’s memory jars; those had already been packed away.
Mem neared, sat in the chair next to Sarah, and placed the jar on her own lap. Her face was blotchy as if she’d been crying, or at least holding back tears.
Sarah leaned forward to get a better look. The jar was filled with things she recognized. A matchbook, a pinecone, a yellow quilt square. Her heart pounded and the room seemed to spin. Her eyes widened and she looked at Mem’s face. The sadness in Mem’s eyes confirmed what it was. It wasn’t one of Sarah’s memory jars. It was Patty’s.
The wrinkles on Mem’s face deepened as she tried to hold back her emotion. After Patty’s death, Mem had cried with Sarah more times than she could count. “I’ve been holding this fer you for a while.” Mem’s lower lip quivered slightly as she spoke. “I’ve been waiting fer the right time, a gut time, and I knew it was today.”
Questions tossed in Sarah’s mind, fighting to be first on her lips. “How? When? When did you get it?”
“About three weeks after Patty’s death, I saw someone walking down the road to our house. It was Patty’s bruder Michael. He said they were packing up and moving back to Pennsylvania. Some people grieve differently, he told me, and his Mem needed to be surrounded by her family — her parents, brieder, and sisters.
“He said his Mem was cleaning out Patty’s room and was going to throw the jar out. But Michael knew you’d want it. Yet he also knew you weren’t ready fer it. That yer heart was jest as broken as anyone’s in their family. He asked me to save it fer you. To hold it and give it to you when the time was right.”
Sarah struggled to swallow. Tried to take in Mem’s words, but her eyes were too busy focusing on the items. The empty spool from Patty’s finished quilt. The handkerchief Patty’d paid Sarah to embroider for her, just so she didn’t have to do it. There were other items too, ones Sarah didn’t know the story behind. A paper clip, a small mirror, a letter opener. Sarah puckered her lips, realizing no one would ever know now. The only thing she knew was that everything in this jar was important enough for Patty to keep, so Sarah would keep it too. Always.
Sarah reached for the jar. The glass was cool under her fingers. The tears came, and Sarah’s throat grew tight. She wanted to thank Mem, to tell her how much she appreciated this, but from the look on her face, Mem already knew.
Sarah picked out a few items, fingering them, and then focused her gaze on Mem. “How did you know?” she asked. “How did you realize the right time was now?”
Mem wiped a tear from her own cheek, and Sarah’s lips pressed tight. Mem had loved Patty too.
“I knew there would be a day when yer gaze would be more focused on the future than the past. I never wanted this jar to be a weight that held you back, but a warm breeze that would carry you forward with Patty’s unique way of looking at life. Carry you forward with her sweet memories.”
“I’m so thankful,” Sarah finally managed to say. Her own tears weren’t tears of sorrow, but rather of joy. It was the second time it had happened in a week.
“I’m so thankful I can look at this jar and remember the times we spent together. I’d almost forgotten some memories until I saw this again.” She sighed deeply. “But now those memories will forever live in my thoughts.”
She recognized more of the items lying on top. The piece of green glass they’d found on the shore of Lake Koocanusa. Patty had claimed it was her favorite shade of green. A red bead Patty had found on the forest floor. She’d been so sure it was from a Native American moccasin. A piece of yarn tied into a bow. Patty had worn it on her finger to remind herself to pick up her younger brother from school after she’d forgotten him three days in a row.
“She’ll never be far away, will she?” Mem asked.
Sarah shook her head. She pressed the jar against her chest, close to her heart. “ne, Mem, not very far at all.”
Sarah reached into Patty’s memory jar and pulled out the stub of a candle. “Mem,” she said.
“Ja?”
“Thank you fer giving me this. Thank you fer waiting fer the right time.” She folded both hands around the candle stub and held it tight. “I needed the reminder that one person makes a difference. Just like Patty was a light fer me, I have a new hope. I want to support Jathan, ja, and discover if our dreams fer the future include each other. But for some reason, I also want to make a difference in the community. I have a feeling I might be there not only to shine God’s love, but maybe to spread that love to others in unexpected ways.”
“I have no doubt about that, Sarah.” Mem kissed her cheek. “I have no doubt about that at all.”
Fifteen-year-old Sarah stretched her legs across the sofa and looked around the living room. She and Patty had left a mess, if she said so herself. Patty had gotten the wild idea that they could make Christmas wreaths and sell them at the store.
“The materials are free. We can walk ten feet behind our house and cut down all the branches we want.”
With Patty’s parents and other family members out of town visiting relatives in Pennsylvania, they’d turned the living room into a work station with pine branches, wires, and red ribbon. What they hadn’t counted on was how quickly the wood stove dried out the branches. Or that everyone else in the West Kootenai could step outside to the backs of their homes and cut down branches for their own use. Why would they pay for wreaths when they could make them for free?
So after a day of selling only one wreath to a tourist who seemed more impressed that they were Amish than by their handiwork, they’d found Patty’s father’s hammer and nails and hammered their creations onto the trees along the road. If they couldn’t make money, at least they could pretend that the forest was holding the biggest Christmas celebration and all were invited.
“We should have made cupcakes,” Patty said as she rose and took another turn at sweeping up the needles.
“I think that’s the fifth time you’ve said that.”
“I pay for yer cupcakes. I buy them all the time at the store. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that. Why did we spend time making something people don’t need, rather than something they want? Two hours and yer cupcakes are always sold out.”
Sarah took a deep breath. “Ja, well, at least the pine needles smell good.”
Patty laughed. “It smells exactly like it does outside!”
Night was lengthening its shadows, but instead of lighting the kerosene lamp, Patty lit a candle and the small flame flickered and danced, brightening the room. She cupped her hand and placed it near the flame.
“What are you doing, trying to burn yers
elf?”
Patty pointed to the wall with her free hand. “An alligator, look.”
Sarah glanced over and saw that the shadow did look like an alligator chomping its way along the log walls.
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea.” Sarah sighed. “I know yer Dat asked you to keep the fire going, but didn’t they ban you from candles?”
Laughter shook Patty’s shoulders. “Ja, when I was ten, and I don’t remember them lifting that ban. But it’s been five years, and I think it’ll be fine as long as I’m careful,” Patty announced with authority and then winked.
Patty showed her a shadow rabbit next, then an eagle. Sarah was enjoying the game until Patty’s face grew serious.
“Isn’t it strange, Sarah, that one little light can make such a big difference?” She glanced around the room.
“Ja, in a way, but I understand it too.” Sarah sighed. “Yer sort of a candle to me, Patty.” Sarah tilted her head as she gazed at her friend. “I don’t want to imagine how boring my life would be if you hadn’t come into it. To think I would have spent the days making Christmas cookies instead of decorating the forest.”
Sarah watched the flame dance and leap, and she thought of a Scripture her father had read from their Bible earlier that morning. He’d been doing that more often — reading God’s Word to her and her siblings after dinner instead of them just hearing it at church. It made such a difference and Sarah often thought about those words throughout the day.
“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden,” he’d read this morning. As he read that, Sarah had pictured how Mem and Dat’s home looked when she walked down the road after babysitting. The lanterns in the kitchen and living room could be seen from quite a distance away.
Like their lighted windows on the dark country road, this candle made such a difference because the room around it was dark. During the day, if the same candle were lit, it wouldn’t get much notice, but at night, it made all the difference.
Sarah and Patty sat for a while, settling down and allowing thoughts of sleep to cause their eyelids to grow heavy. Sarah saw Patty point to the candle. It had burned down and only a few inches were left. Had they really sat there that long?
That was a sign of good friends, she knew. That each could be perfectly content together, though lost in her own thoughts.
Patty left the room and returned with a tall candle, using the shorter one to light it. She placed the taller one in the candle holder, and then blew out the shorter one. “A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.” She looked over at Sarah. “Or so I’ve heard it said.”
“I like that.” Sarah replayed Patty’s words in her mind. “Ja, I really do.”
Then she watched as Patty carried the smaller candle to her room.
“Where you going?” Sarah asked, not wanting to submit to sleep yet.
Patty returned seconds later with empty hands. “Do you really have to ask?”
The memory jar. Of course. If Sarah had thought of it sooner, she would have taken the candle first. She released a sigh. Then again, she had a feeling she’d remember this night for a while.
“Spreading our light, that’s what it’s all about,” Patty said. And then she finally submitted to a yawn.
Sarah covered her mouth with her hand and did the same. “Ja, the world needs more of it, don’t you think?”
“Not only the world but our neighbors.” Patty stretched. “Sometimes it seems the ones who have the light are the worst at realizing all they hold within. With sharing it.”
Dear Jathan,
It was wonderful hearing your voice on the phone the other morning. What a surprise!. I never thought I’d hear from you so soon, and for certain didn’t think I’d hear your voice through a phone call. You should have seen Edgar running down the road to come and tell me. He bounced as he ran, and his white hair was tousled in all directions by the wind. He looked like a fawn frolicking in a high meadow.
What surprised me even more than hearing from you was you asking me to come work with your mem and aunt. That means a lot. I’m thankful you trust my work and trust me to work well with them. I’m sure I can learn much working in their kitchen. Just like you learned to roll nuts within waxed paper!
I also hope they’ll be interested in some of my recipes and ideas. I’ve been thinking of some things I’d like to bake first. I am also bringing some of my favorite cookbooks.
Enclosed is a slip of paper with my time of arrival and location. Annie, from the store, said it’s a bit of a drive to come get me, and I thank you for hiring a driver to do that.
One of the things I’m also excited about is making new friends and getting to know members of the community and tourists. My aunt has told us before that millions of people come every year to Holmes County to enjoy the countryside and to buy Amish products. She said they like stepping out of their busy lives for a time to enjoy our quiet existence. I had to laugh about that! Yes, things might be quieter without the radio and television and the noise from all their machines, but it seems like I’m always busy. Do they not know we make our own clothes, grow and raise our food, bake our own bread? It seems going into their world for a time with machines that do all those things might be a vacation for me.
But enough about that. I really didn’t mean to share so much. What I do hope is that in addition to the things I bake, God will use my smile — and his love within me — to brighten a person’s day.
I have so much to do (in my quiet and simple life) before I leave. I’ll say hello to Amos and Edgar for you. I’ll also give Robinson Mountain a wave from both of us.
Looking forward to seeing you soon!
With care,
Sarah
CHAPTER
21
In both directions, the tracks stretched as far as his eyes could see, and goose bumps rose on Jathan’s arms. How many people did the trains carry on these pieces of steel? Millions, he supposed. Yet although the train would be carrying hundreds tonight, he cared about only one. He knew what he hoped for, but he also knew life rarely turned out how one hoped. His brothers believed he was making a big mistake, and Jathan’s thoughts flipped between confidence he’d prove them wrong and worry they’d seen the facts all along.
Sarah was coming and Jathan didn’t know if he was setting up his own ideas of what could come of it — come of them. While he wanted them to spend more time together and wished their relationship would grow, he also hoped he could prove his brothers’ expectations wrong. His father’s expectations wrong.
Jathan had never known a time when he didn’t understand expectations. As a small child, he knew he must be quiet and behave during their church services. From the time he could grasp the handle of a pitchfork, he knew he was expected to muck stalls. As soon as he could sit on a stool, he watched his father in the workshop and knew he would soon begin to help. He supplied Dat with nails and helped choose the best pieces of lumber at the lumberyard. He knew what he had to do and was good at it, but just because he could find a fine piece of maple didn’t mean it brought joy to his heart.
Of all the siblings, Jathan was the only one who never went wild during Rumspringa. What good would it have done?
He knew what people expected from him as an Amish man too. As the youngest son, his role was to care for his parents. To see they lived their last years on earth well. His father had reminded Jathan of that often. And when Jathan’s woodworking proved to be too slow, Dat had come up with the idea of working at the factory. It was a good job and Jathan knew many Amish men worked there and were thankful for the job. The fact was, it just wasn’t right for Jathan. He knew it as clearly as he knew his own name.
The breeze picked up and he flipped up his collar, protecting himself from the nip of the wind. Was he making a mistake asking Sarah to come? She came to experience a new culture. Her letter had said she looked forward to baking and trying out new recipes. His heart ached at the thought of that — of her play
ful side and her joy in the kitchen. Those were two things he enjoyed about her most, but he also guessed they were the very things that would cause his mother and aunt to raise their eyebrows. He’d worried about that before he’d called. He’d worried that asking her to come would be like taking a racing stallion and penning it up in a barn for the rest of its life.
Yet it was longing to see her smile that convinced him to drive his buggy to the grocery store at the end of the lane and use the telephone. That and the small hope that things would be different. A hope that the rest of the family would fall under Sarah’s trance as he had.
The train approached, and Jathan straightened. He searched the windows for any sign of Sarah, but he could only see the moonlight reflecting off the glass.
“Sarah.” His lips whispered her name onto the breeze. His finding her in those dark woods had led to this moment now. He just hoped that tomorrow, when light dawned, she’d be as excited about this new adventure as he was. If only the morning light would also push his concerns — his fears — into the shadows.
Sarah rubbed her eyes as she looked out the train window, waiting to see the train station in the distance. The train slowed, but there was no station. Rather than a beautiful train station with flower baskets decorating the platform like the one in Whitefish, Montana, this small Ohio town had no fine building — no building at all — only a small shelter to keep waiting travelers out of the rain.
By car, the train station was an hour from Berlin, and Jathan said he’d have a driver there waiting for her. It was the silhouette of an Amish man, however, that caught her attention. Sarah’s heart leaped in her chest. It wasn’t only the driver who was waiting for her. Even though his wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face, Sarah recognized Jathan’s wide shoulders and stance. She placed a hand to her neck, telling herself to breathe. He’d come. He hadn’t just sent a driver; he’d come for her.
She tucked a stray hair under her kapp and grabbed the small basket Mem had used to pack food for the long journey. She was still limping, but not nearly as badly. When the train stopped, she walked cautiously down the aisle and down the steps of the train. A moment later, she stood on the platform where the cool Ohio breeze caused her kapp strings to dance. Her heart did a dance of its own.