by Adina Senft
“She said almost exactly the same thing. You’ll be married by then, though,” the boy pointed out. “You might not even be living here.”
Henry breathed deeply to calm the sudden jump in adrenaline. You’ll be married by then had sounded like the boy had meant himself and Sarah. Since when had he become so sensitive? “Maybe not living—it makes more sense for me to live with Ginny at the Inn, because she has to be up so early cooking breakfast for the guests. If she had to drive a couple of miles every morning, particularly during Christmas season, it wouldn’t be very convenient.”
Caleb nodded. “Plus, she can’t just leave people on their own in her house.”
“That wouldn’t be very hospitable,” Henry agreed. “So I’m thinking we’ll rent this house, maybe to an Amish family since I never got around to running power in here. I’ll keep the barn as my studio and be the guy driving back and forth.”
Now it was Caleb’s turn to frown as he stuffed the letter in the pocket of his broadfall pants.
“What?” Henry prompted, though he probably didn’t need to. Caleb was so transparent that whatever was in his mind usually came out through his mouth whether you wanted it to or not.
“You’ll have a hard time renting to an Amish family if the barn doesn’t come with it,” the boy finally said. “Where are they going to put their buggy and the horses?”
“Oh.” Henry gazed at his studio, seeing it as it had been when he’d first moved here six months ago. The wheel sat right in the middle where the buggies had once been drawn up, and he’d converted one of the horse stalls to be an enclosed, draft-free area for the kiln. The remaining stall was storage for cartons of clay and the five-gallon buckets of glazes he’d mixed.
It had taken a lot of hard physical labor by himself, Caleb, and even Eric to get the studio into efficient working order. It would take just as much to tear it all out again—and then where would he put it? Unless he built a shed for himself in Ginny’s back garden or used her boathouse, there was nowhere at the Inn for him to work.
“You could rent it to an Englisch family,” Caleb suggested. “Once they got used to not having electricity, it would be all right.”
“That, my young friend, would be a very short line of people. Well, I’m sure we’ll work it out somehow. I can’t give up my studio now that we’ve got it all shipshape, and I can’t move it all to Ginny’s. So whoever rents the house will have to do the compromising.”
Caleb glanced outside, where twilight was thickening in the trees. “I’d better be getting home or Mamm will worry. How come you don’t come for dinner anymore?”
“Because I have dinner with Ginny now.”
“You could bring her.”
“It’s customary to have an invitation before events like that. Now, you’d best be getting home. I still need to clean up.”
“Okay. Good night, Henry.”
“Good night, Caleb. It’s good to see you.”
With a wave, the boy loped off up the hill. The track that he and Eric had worn into the grass during the summer had become a little overgrown since Henry had asked Ginny to marry him.
Which was just as well. Some things weren’t meant to be kept up. Especially friendships with gray-eyed Amish widows whose very existence reminded him of everything he wanted to forget. But after Christmas, he would never need to worry about those things again.
* * *
Dear Henry,
Thank you for your letter telling us of your wedding plans. I remember when you sent a similar letter on your engagement to Allison, and how Mother cried when she read it. I wonder if she would cry again now if she were alive.
I know you think you are happy—but Henry, how can you be when you are deliberately turning your back on God and closing the door on His family forever? I exhort you in love to give your life to God before it is too late. I’m sure that Geneva is wonderful and that you love her. But should you not love God more? We are to put Him first in all things, and then He will provide for us more than we could ask or think. I want that joy for you, Henry, more than anything—and so does my husband Ervin—and so did Mother and Dad before they passed.
We have been invited to help in the kitchen at two weddings here in Sugarcreek that same week, and we are expecting Ervin’s two brothers and their families for Christmas, so we will not be able to travel to Pennsylvania to see you married. Lizzie and the children send their greetings, and Lizzie says to remind you that you’ve owed her a letter for four months.
Your loving sister,
Anne
Ginny read the letter, folded it up, and without a word, went into his arms. “Does it hurt?” she asked, turning her cheek into his shirt, her warm breath against his skin. “Because if it does, I can send them an answer.”
In spite of himself, Henry smiled. “It’s got nothing to do with you, and everything to do with how we were raised. And no, it doesn’t hurt. It hasn’t for a while now—this isn’t the first letter of this kind that Anne has sent me.”
“Would it make you feel better to know that my parents and my sister are raring to come for a visit, just so they can meet you?”
“Which sister? Sienna?”
“No, that’s the one in California. Venezia. She’s the single one, remember? The one who’s the pharmaceuticals sales rep. She’s still in Philly. Both Daddy and Venezia called today to see when they could come.”
“I thought your dad was a pastor. How’s he going to feel about a son-in-law who doesn’t go to church?”
“He’s pretty good about saving his sermons for people who want to hear them.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” he said, and kissed her.
For as long as Ginny kept the Inn, he’d be living here among the Amish—among his relatives—and enduring their constant silent reproach. But if that was the price he had to pay to be with this vibrant, joyous woman and to practice the art he loved, then so be it. He’d pay it happily—and do his best to arrange the pattern of his life so that it didn’t intersect too often with the rhythms of the Amish around him.
“How about I invite them down this weekend? With the kids back in school, bookings have dropped a little, and two of the four rooms are free.”
“That would be great.” He gave her a squeeze and released her. “I’ll look forward to it.” And he took his eldest sister’s letter and dropped it into the fire he’d laid and lit for Ginny in the sitting room’s old-fashioned hearth. At least that way it would be good for something.
Chapter 6
Isaiah Mast, Priscilla’s father, treated off Sundays with the same solemnity as he treated church Sundays. Both were the Lord’s Day, and both were to be observed with the reverence that such a day merited.
So, in the morning after breakfast and family prayers, they gathered in the front room, where Dat read a chapter from the Martyrs’ Mirror and taught them a little, as though he were preaching a very short sermon in church. The lot had not fallen upon him, of course, so actually speaking in church was not his place, but Dat believed in being prepared. If ever der Herr were to choose him, there would be no doubt of his unworthiness or unfitness for the task—but at least he would be as prepared as it was possible for a man to be.
After the chapter, each member of the family took it in turn to read so many verses out of the old Bible. Every year they started fresh in Genesis, and by the end of the year, they reached the end of Revelation. Priscilla was always glad to get into the New Testament around this time of year. Everyone—particularly the twins, who were just learning English in school—found the begats and battles in the Old Testament exhausting. The New Testament was interesting, especially when Jesus was feeding the crowd with the loaves and fishes, or when Paul fell to his knees on the road to Damascus. Pris could see it as if it were happening in front of her, and the reading was consequently much livelier.
After lunch, since a person only did absolutely necessary work such as milking, or the dishes, Priscilla had some rar
e free time. This afternoon they were going to Mammi and Daadi Byler’s for dinner at four o’clock, but the two hours between one and three were Pris’s own. Her eldest brother, Christopher, had already taken the buggy over to Dan Kanagy’s—he was sweet on Dan’s sister Malinda, though privately Pris thought he was wasting his time. Malinda never treated him as anything more than a friend, the way she treated all the young men. While Saranne and the twins started on the twelve-hundred-piece puzzle that Saranne had been given for her birthday, Priscilla and Katie wrapped their black knitted sweaters around themselves and slipped out the door. This clear weather wouldn’t last forever, and Pris wanted to savor the sunshine while she could.
“We should have caught a ride over to the Kanagys’ with Chris,” Katie said. “Rosanne might want to come for a walk with us.”
“It’s only two miles. Let’s go over. I haven’t seen Rosanne in ages.”
“Well, between being practically grounded for three months after the fire, and then making pot holders as well as working, it’s no wonder,” Katie said. “If it weren’t for people seeing you in church, they’d probably think you’d gone away for the summer, like Simon and Joe.”
“I’d never go that far away,” Priscilla said. “I like it right here just fine.”
“But what if you meet a boy from another district and he asks you to marry him? Would you move away then?”
Priscilla snorted. “The likelihood of that happening is zero. Besides, I’m Joe’s girl, and he lives right here.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
“Katie, for goodness’ sake. I’m not even eighteen yet. When I’m—” She stopped.
Katie looked at her curiously. “When you’re what?”
“Katie. Look. Is that…”
The road took a long dip into the creek bottom, and on the top of the opposite hill, two figures came into view. One had a firm stride, as though each footstep rooted him to the earth, connecting him somehow with all that grew and lived. The other ambled, as though there was all the time in the world to get to his destination, but his long legs got him there much faster than anyone usually expected.
“It’s Joe!” Priscilla exclaimed. “And Simon!”
“We’ll be the first to meet them,” Katie said, grabbing her hand. “Come on!”
Kapp strings flying behind them, they ran pell-mell down the hill and up the other side. Of course the boys saw them, and picked up their pace until they met under a maple that was just beginning to turn red around the edges of its leaves.
Priscilla was not a demonstrative person, but when Joe dumped his canvas duffel on the ground, snatched her up by the waist, and whirled her around, she couldn’t help shrieking with glee and hugging him hard when he finally put her down. She almost thought he might have kissed her, but that would never do, right out here on the county highway, so she laughed and spun to hug Simon, who wrapped his arms around her and buried his chin in her shoulder.
Goodness.
The sensation of being held by Simon Yoder was so strange that she pushed out of his arms, and when Joe released Katie, Pris stuck herself to Joe’s side, taking them both in from that safe vantage point.
“Look at you!” she exclaimed. “So tanned, and you’ve both grown taller and broader.”
“Neh,” Joe said. “You just haven’t seen us for a while. These are still the same pants I left in, just a little more worn.”
Neither one was dressed in Sunday black, but in brown work pants and blue shirts. But despite what Joe said, Pris could see with her own eyes that they looked different. More confident somehow. They’d seen a little of the world and were now coming back to the old and familiar and taking it in with new appreciation.
“Does it feel good to be home?” Katie asked. “Because it’s sure good to have you back.” Then she blushed scarlet.
“It does.” Simon took a deep breath. “Even the air is different here. In Colorado it’s dry and you can see for miles because there’s no haze. I never knew the air here was so soft.”
“Smells carry farther,” Joe said in his practical way. “Old Joachim Hostetler’s using pig manure for fertilizer, I can tell from here.”
“Don’t you be talking about fertilizer when you’ve only been home five minutes,” Pris scolded. “Surely you didn’t walk all the way from the bus station in Whinburg?”
“No, we caught a ride with one of the Youngie who were on their way to a feed over at Kanagys’,” Simon said. “Their buggy was full, but we squeezed in on the running boards. We didn’t want to take a chance on no one coming out this way, and eight miles is a lot farther when you’re hoofing it.”
“We were on our way to Kanagys’, too,” Katie offered. “But we’d much rather walk home with you and hear about Colorado. Or…maybe you don’t want company?”
“I do,” Joe said, and squeezed Pris against his side. “I want to hear everything you didn’t write in your letters.”
“Me, too,” Simon said. “Come on, Maedeln. If we walk slow, you can have us up to date by the time we get to Old Bridge Road.”
So they did. There was a lot to tell—Henry and Ginny getting engaged, the Englisch boy running away to make pots with Henry, the Peacheys’ invention and the cell tower in their field, Jake getting arrested—
Joe’s arm fell away from Priscilla’s waist. “What? My brother Jake? Drove a car?”
Pris nodded. “It’s good you’re home. He’s been running wild lately and you’re about the only one who can hold him in without him slipping the rein.”
Joe shook his head in disbelief. “I wonder what’s got into him. And Dat’s still letting him live at home?”
“I think so.” What would it be like to be a fly on the wall tonight while Joe tried to talk some sense into his twin?
They reached Old Bridge Road and turned left, talking and laughing until they reached Corinne and Jacob Yoder’s lane. From there it was only a few hundred feet to his own lane, and Simon stood with his hand on the mailbox. “It hasn’t changed at all—except, wow, Mamm’s crazy garden is still going strong.”
“I think it’s a beautiful garden,” Pris said loyally. “Your Daadi and Caleb turned over a whole new section for the herbs when she ran out of space, see? Behind the chicken house is all bushes and small trees now—lemon balm, elder, rosemary. It smells beautiful. I love going back there.”
“I won’t be surprised when I see you, then,” Simon said easily. “Thanks for the escort, Maedeln. I’m going to go give Mamm and Caleb the surprise of their lives.” He strolled off down the lane as though he’d just been visiting across the road, his duffel over his shoulder.
Katie did something expressive with her eyebrows and vanished down the next lane, where there was a shortcut to the creek and home. Joe shifted his duffel to the other shoulder and Pris stepped to his free side. “Are you coming home with me, or should I walk you to your place?”
“I don’t think your folks need extra people around when it’s you they’ll want to see.”
“But it’s you I want to see.” He took her hand.
She hardly knew what to do with honesty like that. Didn’t boys beat around the bush more, and tease, and make jokes about serious subjects? And how strong and warm his hand was, calluses and all. Even if she hadn’t known he’d been handling horses all summer, she’d have known he’d been doing heavy outdoor work by the strength in those hands. Her own felt soft and pale in comparison, though they worked every bit as hard in their own way.
“Come home with me, Pris,” he urged. “They’ll be wanting to hear all about it, and that way, you can be there to hear it, too.”
It would also make a statement that even his two-year-old brother, Amos, couldn’t miss if she were included in a family reunion as momentous as this. Priscilla saw at once that she was standing in a place where two ways met. She could choose to go all in now, and make it plain to his family that she was committed to being his special friend, or she could go home and put their friend
ship back on its old footing.
Was that what she wanted? To go back to accepting the occasional ride from him, or going with him in his courting buggy to singing on Sundays? How long would he be willing for that before he decided she wasn’t as interested as he was, and broke up with her to pursue another girl? She was seventeen now, and while it was still too early to be thinking of marriage, part of her yearned to form a deeper relationship with him—especially since he’d been nothing but loyal to her no matter how far away he was. Just as she’d been loyal to him—and she’d had an opportunity or two not to be.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s go to your place. I can’t wait to see Barbara’s face when you walk in the door.”
He squeezed her hand, and they turned around, heading back to the county highway. They had about half a mile to walk from the intersection to the Byler lane, and Priscilla had never been so glad for a bright, sunny day—perfect for a homecoming. A path ran along the top of the bank beside the road so that people didn’t have to walk on the asphalt, and now and again when a buggy went by, someone would lean out to call, “Joe Byler! Welcome home, boy! Hallo, Priscilla!”
Which meant, of course, that it would be all over the district by suppertime that Joe was home and the first person he’d sought out even before he saw his parents was herself.
“Why didn’t you tell us what train you were coming in on?” she asked him. “Any one of us would have met you at the bus station.”
“I know, but then the trip home would have been all noise and talking, and we wanted to ease into it slowly, without anyone knowing we were here. It was just a stroke of luck that you and Katie were out walking.”
“You don’t mind my noise and talking?” she teased.
“Not one bit. You can talk all you like while I enjoy the scenery and how good it is to be home.”
“Do you think you’ll go back next summer?”