An Amish Year

by Beth Wiseman

  Eli was relieved to see Gracie coming across the front yard. He would ask her later where she’d been, but for now, he was just glad she was okay. After breathing a sigh of relief, he noticed the woman walking next to his daughter.

  “Don’t get any notions,” Amos said, then snickered. “That’s Miriam Fisher, and she ain’t the woman for you.”

  “I just assumed she was married.” Eli had noticed Miriam earlier in the day, mostly because she had blood seeping down her leg. He’d been about to ask her if she needed help when another woman handed her a paper towel. “You said there were only two widows in this district.”

  “There are.” Amos grinned. “Miriam has never been married.”

  Eli opened his mouth as Gracie and Miriam took seats at different tables. “But she looks like she could be close to thirty.”

  Amos whispered, “Ya. She’s our resident old maid. She’s twenty-eight.”

  Eli watched Miriam reach for a slice of bread, thinking she was pretty. Not beautiful, like Ruth, but pretty. “What’s wrong with her?” he finally asked.

  Amos chuckled. “The list is too long to recite, mei friend. Just take my word for it and keep your eyes focused on Elizabeth and Ruth. Either of those two ladies would make a fine fraa and mudder to your kinner.”

  Eli nodded, but he couldn’t stop wondering about her. “Is she . . . sick? Or maybe ab im kopp?”

  “Nee, she’s not sick that I know of or off in the head. Miriam grew up here, and for as long as I can remember, she’s been . . .” Amos grinned. “Strong willed.”

  “That is gut, a strong woman.” Eli pulled his eyes from Miriam and put another slice of bread on his plate, then lathered it with church spread and took a bite, savoring the flavor. Nothing in God’s perfect world was better than marshmallow and peanut butter mixed together and swiped across a piece of homemade bread. It had been Leah’s favorite too.

  “Miriam isn’t just strong willed,” Amos went on. “She’s different. I ain’t been in her house in years, but rumor has it that she can’t host worship service because the haus is barely fit for living in. Sarah says Miriam don’t cook, have a garden, or know how to sew.” Amos raised his eyebrows. “Does that sound like a woman you’d want to be married to?”

  Eli stole another look at Miriam. “Doesn’t she want to be married? You would think she might work on some of those skills to marry a gut man.”

  “She’s a mystery.” Amos tapped a finger to his chin. “Although . . . I recall her dating someone a long time ago. She was barely of age. But the courtship seemed to end before it really got going.” He pointed a finger at Eli. “And another thing. She plays baseball with the young people when they gather on Saturdays, and most think she’s a mite too old to be doing that. And she’s got cats . . . lots and lots of cats.”

  Eli had loved playing baseball as a boy, but Amos was right—there comes a time when a person must put the joys of their youth behind them in order to work, marry, and raise a family. But for a few moments, Eli imagined hearing the crack of the bat when it collided with the ball and the adrenaline of running with all he had. And he loved cats, although he hadn’t been around many since finding out he was allergic to them.

  Amos was still talking when Eli said, “Who is that?” Eli pointed to where Gracie was standing with an Amish boy who looked to be around her age. His daughter was grinning as the boy whispered in her ear. It was still hard for him to believe that his daughter was old enough to be interested in boys. But he reminded himself that he and Leah had gotten married at seventeen. Most Plain people married young, but Eli hoped Gracie would wait awhile.

  “That’s Wayne Huyard,” Amos said as he glanced up before grabbing the last pickle on a nearby platter. “He’s a gut boy, a hard worker. I ain’t heard nothing bad about him. His parents are fine people. They’ve raised the boy well.”

  Eli was glad to hear that, but he remembered being Wayne’s age, and he planned to keep a close eye on his daughter, no matter what. He stood up and eased his chair back. “I think I’ll go introduce myself to Wayne.” He pushed his chair in and began making his way toward his daughter and her new friend. While walking, he took the opportunity to catch a better look at Elizabeth and Ruth, both of whom were busy cleaning tables with the other women. He wasn’t sure which one of them he might like to ask out, or if they’d even accept his invitation, but he couldn’t help but feel hopeful that he might find love again.

  He was several yards from reaching Gracie and Wayne when Miriam crossed in front of him carrying at least six empty plates, three glasses piled on top, and a half full pitcher of tea. Some of the tea was sloshing over the side as she struggled to keep everything balanced. Eli reached for the pitcher. “Here, let me help you.” It was customary for the women to serve the men and children, then they’d eat, and after the meal, the women cleaned up. But Eli couldn’t help but think it was a bit unfair. Over the past two years, he’d been forced to learn to cook, and he realized he enjoyed cooking almost as much as eating.

  “Danki,” she said as she got a better grip on the plates and glasses. “If you’ll put that pitcher on the table, someone will get it, or I’ll come back for it.” She smiled at Eli, and when she did, tiny dimples indented her cheeks, which deepened even more when Eli smiled. Eli couldn’t tell if her rosy cheeks were sun kissed or windburned, but either way, it made her dark eyes stand out even more. And when her long eyelashes swept down over her high cheekbones, Eli thought she might be flirting with him. He recalled everything Amos had told him about her, but Eli believed in forming his own opinions.

  “I’m Eli Byler,” he said. “We just moved here a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Wie bischt.” She set the stack of plates and glasses on the table and brushed back a strand of dark hair. “I think I met your kinner. But, um . . . oops. I can’t remember their names.”

  Eli grinned. “I’m not gut with names either. Grace is my daughter. She’s fifteen. And Ben, my son, is eleven.”

  She nodded. “Welcome to Paradise; it’s gut to meet you.”

  Shrugging, Eli said, “I don’t have a fraa.” He felt his face turning red. Why in the world did I say that? He felt silly when she grinned at him.

  “I hope you find one.” She picked up the plates and glasses again. “I’d better get these inside and help with the cleanup. Again, nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too.” Eli told his feet to stay where they were, that Amos had made it perfectly clear that Miriam was not someone he should pursue, but within seconds, he’d sauntered up beside her.

  “Would you like to go to supper with me sometime?”

  Miriam didn’t even slow down or look at him. “Nee, but danki anyway. It’s kind of you to ask.”

  “Wait.” She was almost to the porch steps when Eli gently touched her arm.

  She turned to face him. “Ya?”

  She wasn’t smiling anymore, and maybe that should have been his clue to walk away, but something outside of his own thoughts seemed to be controlling his movements. “I could, uh . . . cook for you. I like to cook.” He grinned. “And I heard you don’t cook. I like to,” he repeated. Eli held his breath as he waited, wondering who had taken over his brain. What a dumb thing to say.

  Miriam’s expression softened. “So, you are asking me to come to your haus, and you will cook for me?”

  Eli looped his thumbs beneath his suspenders, feeling a little bit taller all of a sudden. He nodded, smiling. “Ya, I am.”

  “Aw,” she said softly as she took a step closer to him, so close he could have kissed her. “I guess it’s pretty well known that I’m not very handy in the kitchen. And I’ve never had a man offer to cook for me. Are you any gut at it?”<
br />
  “Ya. I am. After mei fraa died—Leah—I had to learn how. Grace was thirteen, but she was still in school, and she tended to cook things that weren’t all that healthy, so I started spending some time in the kitchen and realized . . . I enjoy it.” He chuckled. “And I’d be happy to cook for you.”

  Miriam looked down at her feet for a few seconds, then back up at him. She flashed him a thin-lipped smile. It was an expression he recognized. Leah used to give him the same look when she was irritated, before she scolded him for something. Uh-oh.

  “Eli . . .”

  He waited, feeling hopeful by the gentle tone of her voice. Maybe he’d read her expression wrong. “Ya?”

  “I can’t come to your haus for you to cook for me. And I will never go on a date with you. But I wish you God’s blessings and a happy life here for you and your family.” She turned and headed up the porch steps, and this time, Eli’s feet remained rooted to the ground beneath him.

  Chapter Three

  GRACE SAT ON THE MAKESHIFT BLEACHERS THAT FACED THE baseball field at the Lantzes’ place the following Saturday. The bleachers were six logs lined up in a row behind home plate. Bases were marked with large bags of rice. There were eight boys and . . . Miriam?

  Grace was sitting next to three girls she didn’t know very well. She’d tried to talk to them the couple of times she’d been around them—once at the singing when she’d met Wayne, and then again after worship service. They were friendly enough both times, but when they saw Grace and Wayne walk up together today, the girls met her with a stony expression and hadn’t said much. Jealousy was a sin, but that was clearly the girls’ problem. Grace had never wanted to move here. Their former community was small, but at least she’d had a couple of close girlfriends she’d grown up with, even if the shortage of available boys was disappointing.

  Grace turned to the girl sitting to her right, Rachel. “Why is Miriam playing with the boys?” She waited until Rachel finished whispering to Naomi and Linda. Hopefully they weren’t talking about Grace.

  Rachel pulled her sweater snug as she turned to face Grace. The first cold front had blown in, and it was starting to feel like fall. Grace was wishing she’d brought a sweater too. “The boys all think she plays to show them up.” Rachel grinned. “We don’t think that’s it.” She pointed to Naomi and Linda, who had leaned forward to hear. “Miriam babysat all of us when we were young, and since she’s not married, she seems to make it her job to look after us.”

  “More like spying,” Naomi added. “I think she reports back to our parents if she sees us with a boy, doesn’t approve of something we’re doing, or finds us somewhere we aren’t supposed to be.”

  If that was the case, why didn’t Miriam tell Grace’s father that she’d been kissing Wayne? Or maybe Miriam cared about these girls since she’d known them so long.

  “We’re in our rumschpringe,” Linda said. “So it’s really none of her business what we do.”

  Grace nodded, recalling that Wayne had said the same thing to Miriam: none of your business. Grace couldn’t wait until she turned sixteen in a few months. Then she’d be able to enjoy her running-around period too. In a way, she already was—with Wayne. Her father hadn’t even missed her on Sunday when she’d snuck off. He was too busy identifying the widows in the community. Daed could say whatever he wanted, that they’d moved for more work opportunities, but Grace knew the truth. Daed was on the hunt for a fraa, and there hadn’t been much to choose from back home.

  “She looks old not to be married,” Grace said as Miriam pitched the ball to the other team. Her arm was as good as or better than the boys’.

  “That’s what she is, an old maid.” Rachel chuckled. “It probably has something to do with the fact that she can’t cook, her house is always a mess, she doesn’t garden, and she’s a tomboy.”

  Linda leaned forward until she met eyes with Grace. “Don’t listen to Rachel. Miriam is a gut person.” She shrugged. “She’s just different than most of the grown-ups here. But she’d do anything for any of us.” Linda glared at Rachel. “Shame on you, Rachel.”

  Linda leaned back, and they all went back to watching the game. Naomi and Linda cheered the loudest each time a boy named Jessie made a good play. Grace couldn’t help but smile when Wayne hit a double and slid into second base, but when she glanced to her right, Rachel was glowering in her direction.

  Grace knew it would take time to make friends. But at least she had Wayne. She smiled again when he winked at her from second base. And she didn’t bother looking over at Rachel.

  Eli sat down in the rocking chair in his bedroom and thumbed through the cookbook he’d bought last week. It was his guilty pleasure, and after the day he’d had, he deserved some downtime. He and Ben had repaired a long stretch of fence along the back of the property, and then they’d cut enough firewood to last most of the winter. Ben was as exhausted as he was, and last he saw his son, he was napping on the couch. Eli glanced down at his paint-splattered clothes at about the same time he got a whiff of himself. Next stop, bathtub. But he’d allow himself a few more minutes to skim the cookbook. He ran a hand through his beard, a gesture that made him think of Leah and the way she’d playfully yank on his whiskers to get his attention.

  Eli lifted the bottom of his beard. Tiny threads of gray had emerged over the past year, and he found himself checking it often. Sighing, he refocused on his book. A moment later, someone knocked on his bedroom door.

  “Daed, there’s a lady here to see you,” Ben said as he rolled his eyes.

  Eli wondered if Ben made the gesture because he’d been disturbed while napping, or if he was just irritated because a woman was visiting. Neither of his children had made a big secret about not wanting Eli to date and therefore stayed suspicious about all females close to Eli’s age. Eli got another whiff of himself and grimaced. “Who is it?” he whispered as he lifted his stinky self from the rocker.

  “She said her name is Elizabeth.” Ben yawned. “And she’s carrying a pie.”

  Eli put a finger to his mouth, narrowing his eyebrows at his son. “Whisper,” he said. “And where is she?”

  “On the porch.” Ben closed the door, and Eli made a mental note to speak with his son about manners.

  He couldn’t just leave her on the porch while he got cleaned up. Shaking his head, he hurried into the living room, and when he didn’t see Ben, he assumed his son must have gone upstairs to finish his nap. Eli had briefly been introduced to Elizabeth and Ruth last Sunday after worship service, but he still hadn’t decided whom he might be interested in courting. He’d ruled out Miriam right away, since she’d ruled him out before he’d even put his best foot forward. He opened the wooden door and saw Elizabeth through the screen.

  “Wie bischt, Elizabeth.” He eased the screen door open and motioned for her to come in, noticing Ben’s almost-empty plate on the coffee table; just one half-eaten cookie remained. “I apologize for my son leaving you on the porch.” He nodded to the coffee table. “And please forgive the mess.” Although the biggest mess was himself.

  “Nee, nee,” Elizabeth quickly said. “Not to worry.” She handed Eli a pie, and the aroma of freshly baked apples swirled in the air. “I wanted to bring your family a welcome present, so I made this apple crumb pie.” She smiled as she lifted up on her toes for a second. “My own recipe.”

  Amos had told him that Elizabeth might be the best cook in the community. She seemed mighty young to have earned that title at twenty-five, but Eli loved apple pie. “Danki. It’s so nice of you to do this.” He looked down at himself. “Please don’t take notice of the way I’m dressed. Ben and I repaired the fence and chopped wood today.”

  “I feel awful for just dropping in like this, but I felt a proper welc
ome was in order, and I didn’t have a shanty number . . . or cell phone number, if you happen to have one.”

  Eli was pretty sure that was a hint for his phone number, and as a warm and flattering feeling wrapped around him, he pondered what to say.

  “I-I think I’m going to go now. I caught you at a bad time.” She gave him a quick wave, then turned to leave.

  “Wait.”

  She turned to face him, her hand on the doorknob.

  “I never eat pie alone. It’s a rule I have. So you have to stay and have a slice with me. I’ll get some coffee percolating too.”

  A full smile swept across her face as she folded her hands in front of her. “I would love to.”

  “This way.” Eli motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen, and once he had the percolator on the stove top, he pulled a knife from the drawer, along with two plates.

  “Allow me,” Elizabeth said as she gently took the knife from him. “You sit down and let me serve you.” She pulled out a chair, and when Eli didn’t move, she added, “I never let a man serve me. It’s a rule I have.”

  Eli grinned but shook his head. “Nee, you are in my home. Please let me—”

  “I insist. It is obvious you have done a hard day’s labor, so you rest.”

  After hesitating a few more seconds, Eli sat down. His own exhaustion had won that argument.

  “This is the best apple pie I’ve ever had,” Eli said a few minutes later. And he meant it. “Where did you learn to bake like this?” He shoveled another piece in his mouth, fully aware that his manners weren’t any better than his son’s at the moment. “You said it’s your recipe?”

  She nodded, taking tiny bites of the small slice she’d cut for herself. “I like to play around with recipes. If I see one that looks gut, I’ll usually make it as written, but then I make a list of things I’d like to try to make it better. Sometimes it takes two or three times before I get it exactly the way I want it.”