by Sarah Price
“And die grossmammis, too!” Susan teased. “Mayhaps your cookie club might machscht meh!”
“Make more? Why, with all the cakes and pies, there’s plenty of choices for all,” Edna replied lightheartedly. “But I can certainly suggest as much. We’ll be meeting again on Wednesday. We’re making baby blankets to sell at MayFest.”
“Oh, to be young again.” Susan sighed.
Edna laughed. She would be fifty the following year, not that much younger than Susan. Still, it pleased her that Susan thought of her as being “young.”
“Why! You and your three friends have so much energy, Edna Esh,” Susan continued. “I often think I should do the same thing with my friends, but I never seem to get to it. Puts us to shame.”
Immediately Edna regretted having brought up making the blankets for MayFest, fearing that her mention of the charitable act sounded as if she were boasting. The last thing she wanted was to sound prideful. “No more than any other woman with grown kinner,” she said hastily. “And, truth be told, our gatherings are as much for the fellowship as for the charity, if I’m perfectly honest.”
This time, Susan nodded her head, understanding the implication of Edna’s words. “Fellowship with friends is wunderbarr. I wish I’d made more of an effort to keep in touch with my childhood friends.”
There was a wistful longing in Susan’s voice and Edna couldn’t help but get an idea. While Susan was only in her midfifties, she was older in body and spirit than others her age. It seemed she had aged beyond her years when her husband passed away three years ago, a heart attack in the fields which unexpectedly took him home to God.
Perhaps, Edna thought, his death had taken its toll on Susan. Surely, she must be lonely and in need of companionship. But how to ask such a personal question without reminding her that she was aging, and not very well at that?
Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how to put her thought delicately. She didn’t want to offend Susan, but if she didn’t ask, how could she know how to help Susan? Quickly, she decided on the truth, for surely that was always the best policy. However, she found a roundabout way to get there. A way that wouldn’t hurt Susan’s feelings. “Speaking of my childhood friends, you remember Verna Bontrager?”
For a split second, Susan struggled to match the name to a face. Suddenly, she brightened. “From the Bontrager Hardware Store in town, ja?” When Edna nodded, Susan nodded, too. “She’s a kindhearted woman. Her sohn Peter helped my husband rebuild our barn years back, and Simon donated quite a bit of the supplies. Lumber and nails. Remember that? When the barn burned down?” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “My husband baled up and stored the hay too soon that year. The barn burned to the ground in a matter of minutes.”
Edna did remember that. It had been the talk of all the local Amish communities, a harsh reminder to farmers about properly drying their hay before baling. There had also been whispers circulating along the Amish grapevine regarding Susan’s now-deceased husband, a seasoned farmer who was blamed for allowing it to happen. Barn fires were a rare occurrence, but when they did happen, it was usually because the less experienced farmers baled too soon, anxious to get the crop inside. The older farmers knew better than to set damp hay inside before it had time to dry thoroughly in the sun. The moisture could cause a chemical reaction that would lead to spontaneous combustion.
“And her dochder, Myrna?”
Susan sobered and made an odd face. “Ach, ja, I remember her well. Found her in my pantry reorganizing the shelves. Funny one, that Myrna Bontrager.”
“Verna’s looking for some housework for the girl,” Edna told her. “Mayhaps you know of someone who might need a helper? Or even a companion?”
This time, Susan took a deep breath and knit her brows together. Putting her hand up to her face, she repeated Edna’s request. “A helper, eh? Companion . . .” She tapped her finger against her cheek and thought on it for a moment.
Watching her and feeling hopeful, Edna waited patiently. It was obvious to her, but apparently not so obvious to Susan.
Suddenly, the older woman’s eyes widened, and a smile broke over her face. “Why, I know just the person!”
“You do?”
Satisfied with herself, Susan nodded. “Ja, I sure do.”
Edna waited patiently for Susan to acknowledge that the person she knew was herself. But to her surprise, Susan didn’t come to that same conclusion.
“Ezekiel Riehl!”
Taken aback, Edna took a minute to digest what she’d just heard. “Excuse me?”
Susan lit up. “Ezekiel Riehl. His wife, Katie Ruth, passed away last summer. I hear tell that Ezekiel isn’t doing so well with those young ones.”
Edna frowned. She knew a few Ezekiels, but the name Ezekiel Riehl didn’t ring a bell. “Ezekiel?”
“Over in my schwester’s church district?” Susan gave the platter in her hand a final wipe with the now-damp dish towel. “Just south of Shipshe.”
But that didn’t help Edna. “I don’t know him, I’m afraid. What happened with his wife?”
“Oh, terrible story, that. Katie Ruth passed away after refusing to get medical attention. Wouldn’t let those doctors in the city operate on her.” Susan shook her head. “So sad. She was just twenty-eight and had breast cancer.” She whispered the words “breast cancer” as if just saying them might cause her to contract the disease.
“Oh help!”
Susan nodded. “Ja. Just up and refused treatment. Said God would heal her.”
Edna caught her breath. While she didn’t know Ezekiel Riehl and his family, she had heard about the young mother who passed from cancer. “Oh ja, I think I do remember that story,” Edna said. “She was the bishop’s dochder, ja?”
“Exactly. Some say it was her daed’s influence that made her refuse the treatment. Others said it was her husband’s.”
“So very sad,” Edna whispered. She’d heard similar stories before, mostly about conservative Amish who shunned modern-day medicine and chose to rely on prayer instead. While she knew that prayer helped in all situations, she also knew that medicine had its place, too. A little help never hurt anyone, Edna always said.
“She left behind those little children,” Susan continued, a sorrowful expression on her face. “Three boys and a little girl. A boppli, no less. Why, just for their sake alone, she should’ve gone to the doctor, regardless of what others advised.”
Edna couldn’t agree more, but she held her tongue.
“And Katie Ruth’s youngest schwester was caring for the kinner, but I hear tell that she married last autumn and will be moving to her new haus in Middlebury soon. So that leaves Ezekiel without a helper.”
“Surely his family will step in.” Edna knew that was how it usually worked when a mother died, leaving behind young children.
“Nee, Ezekiel has no family in the area, I hear.” Susan exhaled. “Not sure how he’ll manage that farm with those little ones.”
“He’ll need to hire help, that’s for certain.” Edna wiped down the counter and carefully hung the towel over the edge of the sink. “Unless his fraa’s family will help. Don’t you think they will?”
Susan took a second to respond, as if pondering the question. “I’m not sure he gets on so well with the bishop, and Katie Ruth only had the one schwester.”
And that left the perfect opening for Myrna.
Edna caught her breath. Could it really be so easy? she wondered. “If he’s in need of someone to care for his kinner and haus,” she said, “Myrna might be the person to help.”
Susan gave her a broad smile. “You can stop by my haus and let me know after you speak to her maem on Wednesday.” She paused. “It was Wednesday you said you’d be baking cookies again?”
Edna suppressed a smile. She suspected she knew what Susan was suggesting: stop by and bring cookies! “Nee, we’ll be making baby blankets on Wednesday.” When she noticed the disappointed look on Susan’s face, Edna lowered her vo
ice. “But I’d never stop by your haus to visit empty-handed.”
Delighted, Susan clapped her hands as if she were a child. “Oh, wunderbarr! Mayhaps you might make your chocolate chip cookies this time? Or the oatmeal ones?”
Unable to hold back any longer, Edna grinned. “If Myrna gets this job, Susan, I can assure you weekly batches of both!”
* * *
On Wednesday, Edna could hardly wait to hitch the horse to the buggy and make the thirty-minute drive to the Bontragers’ house. It had been quite some time since she’d visited Verna at her home. Life on the farm, especially during the tourist season when Edna served meals to the Englische, did not make visiting others easy. And, of course, during the winter months, Elmer often needed the buggy for running errands, and other times the weather didn’t cooperate.
Edna was blessed that her friends were happy to travel to her farm. Perhaps they enjoyed escaping their own houses for their Friday afternoon gatherings as much as Edna enjoyed having them. The routine had been set long ago, and without anyone complaining, no one had felt the need to change it. Besides, Edna’s large farmhouse kitchen accommodated them most comfortably, especially when it was cold outside and they could gather by the old stone fireplace in the kitchen.
However, when they had agreed to meet on Wednesday for an impromptu knitting circle—which hopefully no one would start calling a “knitting club,” Edna thought wryly—they had agreed to do it at Verna’s house. Edna had never been to Verna’s before and found herself readily agreeing, curious to see where her friend lived.
When she pulled down the Bontragers’ driveway, Edna found herself surprised by how small the property seemed. She paused the horse and buggy, staring at the small contemporary house on its small plot of land, and thought it couldn’t be more than half an acre at best. There was a garden plot on the eastern side of the house, the earth recently tilled and ready for planting. And a clothesline hung from one corner of the breezeway to the back fence. Several bed linens hung there, the light April breeze causing them to flutter.
While everything was neat and tidy, it appeared far too modern for Edna’s taste. She could never imagine living anywhere but on a farm.
She had forgotten what it was like for Amish families who lived near town. More and more of them were finding their livelihoods outside the family home. The ever-increasing cost of farm land and the decreasing price of milk made dairy farming a hard life, and it was harder and harder to support a family in the traditional way. Still, some Amish families chose to supplement their dairy by growing crops like hay, wheat, and corn. But, that, too, took land, which was hard to find. Many of the younger Amish were choosing to modify their lifestyles, adapting to the ever-changing ways of the world.
Even Edna had made concessions, like serving meals to the Englische during the tourist seasons—something she never would have imagined she’d do when she was a young bride. But, with farming becoming less and less lucrative, every gathering brought in much-needed income to help Elmer with the rising costs of running the dairy.
As for the Bontragers, they owned a local hardware store on the edge of Shipshewana. Most of their customers were Amish, but there were a few local Englischers who frequented the store as well. The Bontragers were one of the lucky families who didn’t need to cater to tourists.
“Edna!” Verna opened the kitchen door, a broad smile lighting up her face. “You’ve arrived at last!”
As Edna walked into the room, she noticed that Wilma and Mary were already seated on the sunporch, busy working on their baby blankets for the MayFest sale.
“How is everyone today?” Edna asked as she set her knitting bag on the floor beside the sofa.
Settling in next to Mary, she leaned over and lifted the flap, withdrawing a skein of yarn and her crochet hook. Without skipping a beat, she began working on her blanket, a pale yellow and white design that reminded her of springtime. She had always preferred crocheting to knitting, just like Mary, and was glad they had that in common. But Wilma and Verna seemed to be partial to knitting, their long needles clacking loudly as they worked.
Before anyone could respond to Edna’s question, a car horn blasted as it passed by the house. Wilma started, her large eyes practically bulging. “Oh help!”
Mary jumped at Wilma’s unexpected shout. “My word, Wilma! It’s just a car.”
“I know that!” she snapped back. “I’ve no idea why they think they must do that! So noisy.”
Edna glanced at Verna, who tipped her head, clearly fighting the urge to smile.
“Speaking of noise, those dochders of mine,” Wilma started. She sat in the rocking chair, her feet planted firmly on the floor as she pumped back and forth, a fierce scowl on her face. “They’re so competitive. Why, if I ask one to do laundry, the other one is practically running to do it faster and better! And bickering all the while.”
Edna laughed. “Twins. I reckon that’s something to be expected.”
Wilma made a noise from deep in her throat. “I reckon they raced to see which one could be born first! Surprised they weren’t pulling each other by the heel to try to squeeze past!”
At this comment, the other three ladies laughed, although Edna suspected Wilma spoke the truth.
“I just don’t know where they get it from,” Wilma continued. Suddenly, she stopped rocking and leaned closer to Verna. “How on earth did you get so far along? My word, Verna. You’ve just done twice as much as me in half the time!”
Verna responded with a soft smile.
Wilma began rocking again, fast and furious, as her needles continued clacking together. “I’ll have to knit three times as fast to catch up.”
Mary lowered her voice as she whispered to Edna, “And she wonders where her dochders get their competitive nature from?”
Wilma’s needles stopped moving. “What’s that?”
“Nothing, Wilma. Just admiring Edna’s blanket is all.”
“Hmph!” Wilma returned her attention to her knitting. “Ja, well, as I was saying about Rachel and Ella Mae”—she looked directly at Edna—“I was thinking—you know, about our discussion regarding our dochders?—with spring coming and all—”
Edna slowed her hands, feeling a pit form in her stomach.
“—tourists will soon flood the area, and I reckon you’ll have an awful lot of customers wanting a home-cooked Amish meal.”
Edna stiffened, knowing where Wilma was headed.
“Seeing that you don’t have any dochders of your own—”
With three unmarried sons—all of them still living at home—Edna didn’t need to be reminded of that painful fact.
“—mayhaps you’ll need some spare hands setting out the meals?”
And there it was, in all its glory.
Edna didn’t have to look up to know that both Verna and Mary were staring at her, quietly anticipating her response.
And how could she respond? The truth was that between readying the garden and tending to her chores, it was hard to find the time to do everything and prepare the nightly dinners for tourists. But how on earth would she get anything done if Rachel and Ella Mae were constantly bickering and battling each other?
“I . . . I suppose that’s something to ponder a bit,” Edna managed to say. It was her polite way of declining without upsetting her friend’s feelings.
Wilma smiled to herself, clearly hearing what she wanted to hear. “You do that and let me know, ja?”
Edna nodded her head, then changed the subject, focusing her attention on Verna. “Speaking of working, how is Myrna doing?”
Verna frowned. “As well as can be expected. She’s got an awful lot of ideas that Simon has no interest in hearing. Makes for some tense supper conversation.”
Mary clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh help!”
“Exactly. That girl is just impossible, Edna. Sometimes I think her lack of tolerance for others’ imperfections is most unchristian.” She set down her needles, the beginning of
the baby blanket resting on her lap. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
Edna gave her a knowing smile. “Well, funny you should mention that,” she said in a deliberate manner. “After worship on Sunday, I may have heard about an opportunity. Thought of Myrna right away, seeing she needs a job, and it sounded as though it would be a right gut fit, too.”
Mary caught her breath. “Already? My word, Edna! You work fast, don’t you?”
“I didn’t even have a chance to inquire after our worship service!” Wilma added, clearly feeling left out.
Verna, however, glowed. “Oh, Edna! I want to hear more details.”
“It’s caretaking for an Amish man with little ones. His fraa died last summer and he’s got no one to mind them.”
Edna didn’t need to look at Verna to know that the color had drained from her face. “A widower?” She swallowed. “With kinner?”
It was a common story among the Amish when a young mother died: the husband would find a second wife before very long. Perhaps not because of love, but due to necessity. Edna wondered if Verna was concerned that he’d find someone to marry and replace Myrna. Verna, however, quickly explained her hesitation.
“Oh, Edna! I think you are wunderbarr gut to find something so soon,” Verna said, her face still pale. “But can you see Myrna tending to kinner without the help of their maem? She knows next to nothing about childcare. It’s one thing to be a mother’s helper. It’s quite another to be a stand-in mother. She simply has no experience, Edna, and that just worries me.”
While there was some validity to what Verna had just said, Edna remained undeterred. “Verna, she has to learn sometime, and besides, sometimes learning on the job is the best way, ja? Besides, the opportunity presented itself, just when we needed it. Perhaps God placed it before us for a reason?”
“I don’t know,” Verna replied, her words slow and drawn out.
Wilma frowned. “What’re you afraid of?” Her sardonic tone made Mary blanch. “They’re just kinner, after all! And it’s not as if she’s likely to burn down the haus!”
Giving in to Wilma’s argument, Verna sighed.