by Sarah Price
She guided them inside, catching Wilma’s woeful gaze. Usually during their gatherings, the four women laughed and talked, sharing stories about their families. Occasionally there were a few tears over little disagreements or worries. As of late, it seemed that Verna was having the worst of it with her daughter, Myrna. But today, clearly Mary needed to vent as well.
Edna prayed she’d made enough cinnamon rolls to get them through both women’s complaints.
* * *
By the time everyone had settled in and begun mixing the batches of sugar, flour, and other ingredients, both Mary and Verna had relaxed a bit. For this, Edna thanked the good Lord. She had been looking forward to a fun afternoon with her friends. Since it had started out with a litany of complaints, though, it was apt to be anything but.
“Your haus sure is quiet,” Wilma said as she mixed the sugar cookie dough with her hands. “Can’t remember the last time I had such a luxury.”
Edna laughed. “Your twins still at it?”
“Oh, wouldn’t you know it!” Wilma squished the dough between her fingers, then began forming a ball. “Rachel and Ella Mae just about wear me out with their constant bickering.” She patted the dough ball and left it in the bowl to rest. “Can’t wait for them to get married and move on out!”
“Oh now, Wilma!” Edna clicked her tongue. “You say that now, but we all know you’ll be feeling the blues when that time comes.”
“Hmph. Don’t be so sure of that.” Wilma wagged a plump finger in Edna’s direction. “When your boys finally settle down—”
“Finally,” Edna repeated good-naturedly.
“—you’ll be wondering why you were in such a hurry for them to get married!”
Edna rolled her eyes. “What. Ever.” But there was a teasing tone to her enunciated words.
“I’d take the bickering of your two girls over the deafening silence from my Bethany,” Mary offered in a soft voice. “Why, I’ve never seen such a deathly shy girl in my life. Just the other day, I asked her to run into town to fetch me some cheese from Yoders’ Store and she nigh ’bout fainted!”
Edna clucked her tongue again. It was such a shame that Bethany wasn’t more outgoing. Not only was she a pretty girl, but she was also a hard worker. She’d make someone a right good wife, if only a man could break through the wall of silence that surrounded her. But she’d always been a quiet child, and her shyness hadn’t changed now that she was nineteen.
“I don’t know what to do with her,” Mary continued, her voice full of concern. “It’s just not natural to be so introverted.”
“Be glad your dochder is not extroverted,” Verna countered. “Like mine.”
Immediately, the energy in the room shifted from Mary to Verna. Edna braced herself for what she knew was undoubtedly coming: another Myrna story.
“That girl,” Verna began, shaking her head. “She’s never going to change.”
Taking a deep breath, Edna pinched a piece of the dough ball and began rolling it between her palms. “What did Myrna do this time?”
A scowl crossed Verna’s face. “She went and got fired. Again.”
“Again?”
“Ja, that’s right. Again!”
Edna shut her eyes. “Oh help.”
Tossing her hands in the air, Verna’s eyes widened. “She’s been hired and fired from every shop in Shipshewana!”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Edna couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
Verna began counting on her fingers. “The auction haus. Yoders’ Store. The tea shop in the Red Barn. The theater. The quilt shop. And now the grocery store!” She made a face. “No one gets fired from the grocery store!”
Wilma rolled her eyes. “No one except your dochder.”
“Exactly!”
Edna placed the ball of dough onto the cookie sheet so that Mary could press it down with the bottom of a canning jar. “What happened this time?”
“She scolded an overweight man for buying chocolate and soda. Said it was unhealthy for him. She refused to ring up his order!” Verna sighed. “Who does such a thing?”
Edna swallowed the laugh that threatened to escape from her lips. She could only imagine Myrna shaking her finger at the man as she gave him a tongue-lashing. “Oh my,” she managed to say with a straight face.
Wilma made a noise of disapproval. “Certainly has her opinions, don’t she now? Comes from being so spoiled, I reckon.”
Edna shot Wilma a stern look.
“Well, you must admit that Myrna had good intentions,” Mary offered in defense of the girl.
“Those good intentions just cost her another job!” Verna grabbed some more dough from the bowl and began rolling it in the palms of her hands. “Who will hire her now? Her reputation is downright awful. I’m sure all the store owners in town have heard about her by this time.” She sighed. “I told her she’s going to have to start doing childcare or cleaning haus for the Englischers. But I’m not certain that would be such a good idea, either. I can’t imagine what she’d do if the kinner talked back to her or the Englische tried telling her how they wanted their haus cleaned.”
Edna knew what would happen: Myrna would certainly explode. At twenty-one years of age, Myrna wasn’t about to let anyone tell her what to do or how to do it. “Whatever are you going to do with that child?”
The expression on Verna’s face shifted from distress to exasperation. “Short of putting duct tape over her mouth, I’m not sure what can be done.”
Mary clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Yours talks too much and mine doesn’t talk at all!”
“If only we could find her a right gut job,” Edna said with a sigh. “One that would embrace her”—she paused, searching for the right word that wouldn’t offend—“peculiarities. That would just solve all your problems, Verna.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Verna quipped. “I’ll just keep praying for something to calm her tongue a bit. Otherwise, she’ll never settle down and get married.”
Even though Edna believed in miracles, she suspected that God would have to work overtime on this one.
A few minutes later, after the cookie dough was placed on the baking sheets and into the oven, the women moved over to the sitting area near the back window that overlooked the pastures and fields. As they settled into the chairs and sofa, silence engulfed the room. Shortly, the only noise was the gentle clicking of knitting needles and the soft sound of yarn being pulled from skeins. With MayFest only a few weeks away, Edna knew they had their work cut out for them. Not only were they each donating ten baby blankets to raise money for Amish Aid; the four women had agreed to work the table, selling their goods throughout the day of the event. Anything Amish always sold better when an Amish woman was there to sell it.
As she crocheted, Edna’s thoughts drifted to each of the women seated in her sitting room. Years of friendship had not been dimmed by marriages, new homes in new church districts, or the raising of many children. Very different children, she reminded herself. Throughout the years, they’d kept in touch, helping each other through the good times and the bad.
They’d always been there for each other.
“Why should that stop now?”
Mary looked up, her fingers stopping in mid-chain. “What did you say, Edna?”
Surprised, Edna’s eyes widened. Had she said that out loud? Feeling a bit foolish, she gave a slight shake of her head as if to remove the cobwebs that clearly had gathered in her mind. “I was just thinking,” she began, trying to hide her embarrassment at having spoken her thoughts, “that we’ve been through a lot over the years. We’ve helped each other in times of trouble, haven’t we?”
Wilma, always the boisterous one, slapped her hand on her knee as she loudly proclaimed, “That’s what friends do, ja?”
“Well, seems to me that the three of you have some worries right now,” Edna continued, carefully choosing her words. “Your dochders all hav
e their own little quirks, wouldn’t you say?”
Mary pressed her lips together and reached up to push her round reader glasses, which she always wore when she crocheted, farther up the bridge of her nose. “I much prefer to think of Bethany as unique.” She looked up, peering over the rim of her glasses. “An individual.”
Wilma gave her a mocking frown. “She has her quirks, as do my two, that’s for sure and certain. Only yours won’t open her mouth, while Verna’s and mine won’t shut theirs!”
Swallowing the laugh that threatened to slip through her lips, Edna nodded. “Whatever you want to call them, your dochders do present some interesting challenges when it comes to finding a suitor, wouldn’t you say? Mayhaps it’s time we came up with a plan and helped each other out a bit.”
When she surveyed their reactions, Edna found the other women staring back at her, blank expressions on their faces. She remained silent, letting her words sink in and waiting for one of them to speak first.
After a few drawn-out seconds, it was Verna who cleared her throat and leaned forward. “You mean as in matchmaking?”
Mary’s expression changed to horror.
“Oh, I couldn’t!” she exclaimed.
Wilma laughed. “You can, and you will if you ever want a boppli from Bethany!”
Mary looked away.
Edna tried to explain. “Mayhaps we start with Myrna. After all, she’s the most pressing problem at the moment—”
“Not if you lived in my haus!” Wilma interrupted.
“—so I say we find her a job. A new type of job. Perhaps as a mother’s helper or something of that sort.”
Verna moistened her lips as if tasting the words. “Mother’s helper.”
“Surely among the three of us”—Edna gestured to Mary and Wilma—“we can find a young mother who might need some help.”
“Or mayhaps an elderly woman,” Mary offered. “They often seek help with tending to the haus and cooking.”
Verna made a face. “I don’t see Myrna being one to put herself in either of those positions.”
Wilma rolled her eyes. “Oh, Verna! That girl’s been coddled too much. Time for her to learn how to be a caregiver,” she declared. “Mayhaps then a young man will take notice of her.”
Edna shot Wilma a warning look. “We all have our imperfections,” Edna said softly. “‘And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?’”
“Hmph.”
Verna turned her shoulders, just enough so that she faced Edna but blocked Wilma from view. “Do you think this might work?” She glanced at Mary. “I mean, a job in an Amish haus might be just what Myrna needs. Less interaction with Englischers—”
“They always ask such silly questions!” Wilma quipped.
“—or dealing with business things. And she can develop some other useful skills that might, indeed, improve her temperament.”
Edna lifted her chin, feeling just a little pride at having thought of the idea. “It’ll work, for sure and certain. No one knows these young women better than we do. And if they can’t find their way on their own, then surely we have to lead them. Now, let’s keep our eyes and ears open and see if we hear of any opportunities. If we can get Myrna a job where she can foster her maternal skills, maybe then she will settle down a bit and start courting someone!”
Chapter Two
Verna ran the hard brush along the flank of the horse, barely noticing the dirt and dust that rose to the top of the mare’s brown coat. Her mind was elsewhere and certainly not on grooming the animal. Instead, she was thinking about the conversation at Edna’s house that afternoon.
It was embarrassing enough that Myrna kept losing jobs. But to take advice from Wilma, of all people? Why, her daughters were almost as incorrigible as Myrna! At least Myrna had good intentions, unlike Rachel and Ella Mae, who just bickered all the time. She should have known better than to say one word about Myrna. In hindsight, she knew that she should’ve kept her mouth shut and remained mute on the topic. At least around Wilma.
So opinionated, that Wilma. If she ever wondered why her two daughters were so competitive, she had only to look in the mirror!
“Easy there, Verna.”
Startled, she glanced over her shoulder and, when she saw her husband, frowned. “Easy there what, Simon?”
He gestured toward the horse. “Gonna groom that mare bald, you keep up that pace.”
Verna dropped the hand that held the brush and with her other one touched the horse’s back. “Sorry, ole girl.”
Simon stepped forward and took the brush from her. He reached out and began to gently run it over the horse, who responded with a soft nicker. “Everything okay today at Edna’s?”
For the briefest of seconds, she debated not telling Simon. Surely she would sound petty and childish, complaining about Wilma’s thoughtless comments. Knowing her friend the way that she did, Verna realized that Wilma meant no harm. She sighed. Why share her aggravation with her husband?
But after mulling it over, Verna decided that she couldn’t keep her bruised feelings—or the event that had caused them—from him.
“Nee, not entirely,” she answered slowly.
“Oh?” Simon’s expression changed, his face etched with concern. “That’s unusual. You usually have such a right gut time with your women friends.”
“Not today,” Verna admitted.
“So, what happened?”
Verna took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She knew that he’d be unhappy when she confided in him. But would he be unhappy with Wilma or with the fact that Verna had shared their daughter’s woes with her friends? “I told them about Myrna losing her job,” she admitted, her voice soft and full of remorse. “I know I shouldn’t have, Simon, but I needed to talk with someone about it.”
He pursed his lips in a thoughtful way. “I reckon that’s understandable.”
Leave it to Simon to be so tolerant, she thought. Other husbands might reprimand their wives for sharing such personal matters with others. Most Amish people liked to keep family problems close to the heart and far from the mouth. She was already disappointed in herself. It helped that Simon didn’t see reason to add to her burden.
Reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, Simon cocked his head and looked at her. “Still, I’m not sure how sharing that would ruin your gathering. Seems a bit extreme, unless something else happened.”
“Ja, you’re right.” Her shoulders drooped, and she stared at the ground. “Wilma made a comment about Myrna and it just didn’t sit well with me.”
“Ah, Wilma.” He made a noise and shook his head. “Leave it to Wilma to have something to say. And now I’m curious, Verna. What, exactly, was that comment?”
Taking a deep breath, Verna forced herself to speak. “She said that’s what happens when a dochder is spoiled.”
For a moment, Simon didn’t say anything. His silence caused Verna to look up and she noticed that his right eyelid twitched, just a little. Surely he was as bothered as she had been by Wilma’s comment. Yes, Myrna might be treated a bit differently from their other children, but to call her spoiled? That statement just wasn’t true. Verna couldn’t help but wonder why Wilma would think so. Even worse, she wondered if other people thought Myrna was spoiled as well.
“Is that right?” Simon said at last.
Verna pressed her lips together. “You don’t think others believe that, do you?”
He reached up, removed his hat, and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Seems to me that Wilma sure has an awful lot to say regarding something she knows little about. It also seems to me that she should be focusing on her own two dochders, who, if I know one thing at all about them, are rather spirited and quarrelsome young women, aren’t they now?”
Despite the truth in Simon’s words, Verna could only focus on one thing. She gave him a pleading look as she asked, “But Myrna! She’s not spoiled, is she?”
Simon frowned. “Now, why would you even ask such a question, Verna?”
“Well, she does get away with a lot.” Verna wrung her hands. “Have we been too lenient with her? Coddled her?”
“Spoiled? Coddled?” His expression sobered as he returned his hat to his head and, with his other hand, pointed the horse brush at his wife. “We’ve treated her no different from our other kinner and not one of them has turned out poorly. Myrna’s just a bit more forthcoming with her opinions and it gets her in trouble, that’s all. She’d be spoiled if she were pampered and catered to, Verna. But she ain’t. Whenever she gets herself into a tight spot, we don’t bail her out. And when she loses a job, we don’t let her sit home, now do we?”
Verna felt the tightness in her chest slowly dissipate.
“Rewarding bad behavior would be spoiling her, Verna. But we don’t do that.” Simon rested his arm on the backside of the horse. “Now, you just leave our dochder to me, Verna. She won’t be sitting around tomorrow. I’ve told her she needs to come to the hardware store and help out there until she finds something else.”
“Oh help!” Verna shut her eyes. “Just keep her away from your customers, Simon.”
“She can stock shelves or clean the inventory room.” Simon gave a little chuckle. “She wasn’t happy about it, but I laid down the rules. I reckon she’ll be fine.”
“Well, God does perform miracles.”
This time, Simon outright laughed. He reached over and placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder before drawing her into his chest for a brief embrace. “Now, Verna, we both know God has more important things to do than waste a perfectly gut miracle on Myrna.”
His joke lightened Verna’s mood, and she found herself enjoying the moment with her husband.
Not quite thirty years ago, she had fallen in love with Simon Bontrager, and when, after a one-year courtship, they wed, Verna had never looked back. For the first few years, she’d worked alongside him at the small hardware shop he’d opened just outside Shipshewana. Together, they turned it into a thriving business. Even after their first son, Peter, was born, she’d managed to keep helping Simon at the store. But after Luke was born, Simon insisted that she stay home. It was one thing to bring Peter to the store when he was just a baby, but it was quite another to have a toddler ambling around while a newborn fussed in the back office. Of course, it hadn’t taken long for Myrna, Samuel, and Timothy to arrive and, by that time, there was no question of Verna being able to help her husband.