by Sarah Price
“Oh help,” she muttered. “And here I thought it was something truly important.”
He gave her a weak smile.
“I suppose they’ll settle down when they are ready,” Edna said, returning her attention to her blanket. Another six rows and she’d be finished with it. “They’re social enough, I imagine. Besides, both Jonas and Jeremiah are not even twenty-two yet. They’ve time.”
“I reckon you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “But John?”
Edna hesitated before responding. Now that she thought about it, the oldest of her sons, John, was most definitely a concern. He worked at the auction house in Shipshewana, a job that kept him busy Thursday through Saturday, but his checks certainly helped with the bills at home. On the other days, he worked on the farm with his father and younger brothers. He was a hard worker and loved farming, apparently preferring that to courting young women. In fact, he rarely went out with friends. At twenty-five years of age, he should’ve already settled down.
But Edna didn’t say that.
“He’s a gut man, Elmer. I’m sure God has a plan for him. In His time, not ours.”
“Quite true,” Elmer said, his tone sober. “I know John wants to take over the farm one day, but how will he do that without a wife and sons of his own? It would be nice to start winding down a bit, don’t you think?” He shut his eyes and rolled his head from one side to another. “A man’s body grows weary after tending the land and dairy herd for so many years.”
His words startled her. In all of their years of marriage, Edna had never once heard her husband complain. She studied him for a long few moments and realized with a start that he was no longer the young man she had married. His youthful face had been replaced with one that spoke of wisdom and weather. His hair had grayed out, with hardly any dark brown left at all on his crown.
When had he aged so much? Even more importantly, why hadn’t she noticed?
Perhaps, she thought, it’s because I still see him as the Elmer Esh who came calling on me. She smiled at the memory of Elmer in his Sunday best, nervously asking her to ride home from a singing in his buggy. She hadn’t known it then, but Elmer had been nervous about asking her to step out with him. He had wanted to ask for several weeks, but he’d always been too shy to do so. It was only when he heard that Timothy Mast had interest that he finally mustered up enough courage to ask her.
They had married less than six weeks later.
Behind her, the clock on the wall chimed eight times. When it finished, a comfortable silence filled the room. She loved this time of the day. The house was quiet, John having already retired to his bedroom and the two younger boys out with friends. It was nice spending time alone with Elmer. It wasn’t often that the boys weren’t around.
“Did I tell you that Myrna will be working for Ezekiel Riehl?”
“Riehl, eh?”
She glanced up in time to see Elmer stroking his graying beard.
“Not familiar with an Ezekiel Riehl,” he added.
Edna wasn’t surprised. The Riehl farm was too far away for Elmer to know the young man. “He farms just south of Shipshe,” she said. “Simon knows him, apparently. And Verna met him earlier this week. His wife died last summer.”
“Oh ja?”
She nodded. “Cancer. Her father is a bishop, but I didn’t think to ask his name.” She made a mental note to inquire when she saw the women on Wednesday. Maybe their own bishop would be familiar with the Riehl family and know more about Katie Ruth’s passing.
“But she had a baby before she passed?”
Edna knew exactly what her husband was thinking. She had thought the same thing. What a bittersweet moment for the young mother, giving birth to a child while knowing she’d never have the chance to see the baby grow. “Terrible tragedy,” she added in a soft voice.
“As you said earlier, it’s all about God’s plan, not ours. Faith is more than just something we say; it’s something we do.”
She smiled. “Faith is a demonstration of complete trust in God.”
He put the Bible on the end table, then stood up and reached for her hand. “And right now, I have faith that you are as sleepy as I am.”
Setting aside the unfinished baby blanket, she laughed as she took his hand. “You know me so well, Elmer.”
“Almost thirty years of marriage will do that to a man,” he said and leaned over, planting a soft but chaste kiss upon her lips.
Chapter Eight
“Those kinner sure do like these sugar cookies,” she heard someone say behind her.
Standing in the kitchen of the Hostetlers’ house, where the table was laden with plates of cookies, pies, and cake, Verna turned around and smiled as Miriam Schrock approached her. “Mayhaps as much as I like making them.”
It was Sunday and the Hostetlers’ house bustled with people. The three-hour worship service had ended almost an hour ago and most of the congregation had already enjoyed their fellowship meal. Now the men stood outside, enjoying the early afternoon sun while clusters of women lingered around, some still seated at the long tables while others stood in groups near the open windows.
Verna had just put the last of the cookies on a tray to bring over to where Mary sat with some of the other women when Miriam had walked over to her.
Leaning against the counter, Miriam reached out to take not one but two of the cookies from a tray. She was an older woman, and a widow at that, who lived with her youngest son and his family just up the road. But, despite her advancing years, she was still as young and spry as they came.
“Now, Verna, you tell the truth, or I’ll be reporting you to the bishop for fibbing!”
Verna’s mouth opened. What had she said that would make Miriam say such a thing? The older woman was known to be a bit of a gossip, prone to sharing as much as (and sometimes more than!) she heard. The last thing Verna needed was to be the subject of Miriam’s tall tales.
“Miriam Schrock! You know I’d no sooner lie than paint my face with makeup!”
“Mm-hmm.” Miriam took a bite of a cookie and smacked her lips together. “Best sugar cookie I’ve ever tasted.” She turned her steely gray eyes toward Verna. There was a mischievous glow on her face. “But I know that you enjoy the company you keep when making them more than just baking these cookies!”
It took Verna a few seconds, but when she realized that Miriam had been teasing her, she gave a relieved laugh. “Well, you do have a point there.”
“Some of the other women are talking about making their own little clubs—”
“It’s not a club,” Verna interrupted. “I so dislike when people call it that.” She couldn’t remember when that had started. Calling their cookie-making visits a “club” made it sound as if they were excluding others or required a membership, and that was not true. They only wanted to enjoy each other’s company—although Verna could’ve done without Wilma’s taunting last Friday, that was for sure and certain.
Miriam laughed and patted her arm. “Now now, Verna. Don’t you mind me. I’m just teasing you. And if other women want to start their own clubs, what harm would be in that? I, for one, would favor an Apple Pie or Peach Cobbler Club and my husband wouldn’t mind an Apple Snitz Pie Club, either.”
Sensing the lightness in Miriam’s tone, Verna relaxed. “Well, I suppose there sure would be plenty of people who’d favor an Apple Snitz Pie Club.”
“Exactly.” Miriam finished one cookie and waved the other at her. “Me? I’d prefer to head up the Let Me Sample Your Sweets Club!”
Verna laughed. “That does sound like a fun club to belong to. Mayhaps we should start that one!”
“We’d have a waiting list, no doubt.” Miriam chuckled. “So never you mind what people call your gatherings, Verna. There’s nothing wrong with women getting together and sharing fellowship, especially given how long the four of you have known each other.”
Since childhood, Verna wanted to add, but, once again, she didn’t want to sound prideful. The
re weren’t that many women in the community who had lifelong friends.
“Now, what’s this I hear about your dochder?”
The sudden change of topic and the question itself made Verna’s eyes widen. Oh, how she hoped Miriam hadn’t heard about Myrna being fired from the grocery store! The last thing Verna wanted was more scrutiny concerning her daughter. Then again, that type of news always traveled swiftly. Leave it to the older woman to have nothing else to do but gossip about the unfortunate situations of others.
“Myrna?”
“Have you another dochder I don’t know about?” Verna felt heat rise to her cheeks. Her eyes scanned the room, and she saw Myrna standing beside Bethany. It warmed Verna’s heart to see Myrna interacting with Mary’s daughter. Bethany didn’t have many friends. While Myrna had a few, she didn’t socialize too often anymore—attending youth gatherings was her least favorite thing to do. She complained that most of her friends were married and she felt too old to hang around with younger women who had just started their rumschpringe.
Miriam leaned over and lowered her voice. “I hear tell that she’ll be tending some kinner for a widower.”
Verna gave an inward sigh of relief. “Oh, ja. She starts on Monday.”
Nodding, Miriam appeared to approve. “Always makes sense to have young women care for those little ones, I say. How did that come about anyway?”
“Well, the other week, Edna heard about Ezekiel Riehl needing some help—”
Miriam’s expression changed. “Ezekiel Riehl! A farmer from south of Shipshe?” When Edna nodded, Miriam clucked her tongue, an intense look about her eyes.
“You know Ezekiel, then?”
“Ja, I sure do. His fraa was the dochder of my second cousin, Daniel Gingerich, from this side of Nappanee.”
Verna’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought to inquire about Ezekiel Riehl among members of her own church district.
“A stern man, that one,” Miriam continued. Frowning, Verna tried to think back to when she met Ezekiel on the previous Monday. He hadn’t seemed overly stern at the time. Sad, perhaps, and soft-spoken, but hardly stern. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
Miriam shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it, I reckon. But I heard tell that my cousin didn’t think too highly of him. Ezekiel’s a farmer and all, but a poor one. Works hard, but didn’t always take the greatest care of his family.”
She took a quick breath and exhaled slowly. She didn’t care for this type of talk. Gossip. That’s all it was. Even if it were true, it meant nothing to Verna. “Have you met him?” Verna managed to ask.
“Nee—”
Verna interrupted her. “Then I reckon the rest is hearsay.”
Miriam raised her eyebrows. “Reckon you’re right.” She reached out and took another cookie. “But my grossmammi always said that where there’s smoke, there usually is fire.”
Verna pressed her lips together, unwilling to ask any further questions. She had the distinct feeling that Miriam wanted to tell her something, and Verna knew better than to egg her on.
“In fact,” Miriam continued after taking a bite of her third cookie, “that Riehl fellow’s not on speaking terms with my cousin—and Daniel’s a bishop, mind you. I heard that he refused cancer treatment for his fraa.” She made a noise of disapproval. “Can you imagine that? Refusing her treatment.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Such a shame. No wonder they aren’t speaking with him.”
At this, Verna caught her breath. Was it possible? Would a husband do such a thing? “Surely you’re mistaken.”
“Nee, I’m not.” She took another generous bite, talking with her mouth full. “Wanted her to try natural remedies, which only made the cancer worse, I hear.” She gave a little smirk as she leaned forward and added, “Or so they say—reckon that’s why they call it ‘hearsay.’”
* * *
After Sunday supper—a light meal, as Verna only reheated leftovers on the Lord’s day—she sat at the kitchen table, writing a letter to her cousin who lived in Sugar Creek, Ohio. She was happy to share the information about Myrna starting a new job, but as she wrote the words, her mind wandered back to what Miriam Schrock had said.
“My word, Verna,” Simon said as he set down his Bible. “That’s the third time you’ve sighed in ten minutes. What’s on your mind?”
Setting down the pen, she looked over to where he sat in his tattered recliner. The light from the large kerosene lantern washed him in brightness, a striking contrast to the little glow from her own tiny hurricane lamp.
“Do you really think Myrna will be okay with this Ezekiel fellow?”
Simon frowned. “Well, I’d no sooner send my child to a place that I felt wasn’t safe than I’d take the Lord’s name in vain.”
Verna forced a quick, apologetic smile. “I don’t mean it that way, Simon. I’m sure she’ll be safe. It’s just”—she bit her upper lip—“we don’t know much about him, is all.”
“Reckon if there was much to know, we’d have heard.” She fingered the pen on the table and spun it between her fingers. “I suppose.”
“Verna?”
There was no fooling Simon. Verna sighed once again, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She’d never been able to hide anything from her husband. “It’s just that, well, Miriam Schrock made a comment about this Riehl fellow today. It just didn’t sit well with me, Simon.”
The corner of his mouth lifted as if he wanted to smile. “Miriam Schrock? You mean the largest root in the Amish grapevine?”
Verna cast a look of disapproval in his direction. “Seems to me that by saying such a thing, you’re one of the roots, too.”
He chuckled, but when Verna didn’t join in, he sobered. “All right, then.” He adopted a serious expression. “What was it that she said?”
“Well, she said she’d heard about Ezekiel and his wife. That the wife died of cancer—”
“That’s true,” Simon interrupted. “Breast cancer, I believe.”
“—but Ezekiel refused to let her seek treatment.”
Simon froze. His eyes narrowed, and his brow wrinkled into deep-set lines. “Refused to let her get treatment? Why, I’d think her family would’ve had something to say about that.”
Verna felt relieved at having set things straight. At least now Simon understood what was bothering her. While there were very conservative Amish families who preferred holistic medicine to hospitals or relied strictly on faith, such families weren’t common in their area. After all, God made mankind intelligent enough to discover medicine—that was part of God’s plan. To accept treatment wasn’t a denial of faith, as some conservative Amish claimed. And if anyone thought such a thing, it surely spoke volumes about their true character.
“It just don’t sit well,” she repeated.
He tugged at his beard again as he mulled over what she had shared with him. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to find out a bit more, but I do agree with you,” Simon admitted slowly. “It does make me wonder, especially since this news doesn’t seem to fit with the man I’ve come to know.”
Chapter Nine
On Monday morning, Myrna lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while she waited to hear the familiar creaking of the stairs, a sign that her mother was up. Myrna always waited to rise until after her mother was already downstairs and setting the coffee to brew.
This morning, however, Myrna had been awake long before her mother. Her mind reeled. Why on earth had she agreed to help Ezekiel Riehl take care of his kinner? Four of them! What on earth did she know about children?
It wasn’t as if her mother had given her much of a choice, though. The truth was that Myrna needed to work and no one else had offered to hire her. And Ezekiel Riehl was, indeed, in a bind.
True, at first, she’d been hesitant: Myrna knew how widowers behaved. A few months after losing their wives, they were on the prowl for a replacement. And Myrna was not looking for that job! Not with Ezekiel. Not with any man.
And yet, for some unknown reason, she’d still agreed to work for him.
She’d been a little relieved when Ezekiel had showed up at the store on Thursday, clearly intent on telling her that he had no interest in remarrying. While that gave her comfort, more than once, Myrna had found herself wondering if there was something wrong with her that he hadn’t even considered her as a contender. Just as quick as that thought popped into her head, she dismissed it. Like Ezekiel, she, too, was not looking for marriage and, even if she were, definitely not to a widower with four small children, that was for sure and certain!
But then Ezekiel had made that strange request. Why would he be so concerned about her giving him proper notice? Did he really think that she’d leave him high and dry? Just not show up one day? Despite what everyone thought, Myrna loved to work. She just didn’t like working in disorganized places or interacting with people who weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. Still, she had wondered about why he’d have asked that.
Her thoughts were interrupted when someone rapped at her door.
“Myrna?” her mother’s voice murmured from the hallway. “You up yet?”
“Ja, Maem.”
“Okay then.”
Myrna waited until she heard her mother shuffle down the hallway before she willed herself to toss back the covers and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Despite not being thrilled at the prospect of tending to four small children, Myrna felt anything was better than working at her father’s store. And she was never one to back down from a challenge.
God, please guide me today so that I say the right words and do the right deeds as I start this new job, she prayed as she sat on the edge of the bed.
In the darkness of the morning, she quickly dressed, pausing for a brief moment in front of the small round mirror that hung over her dresser. She ran her brush through her hair with expert precision, then twisted and pinned it into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Then she reached for her white prayer kapp and placed it on her head, securing it with one pin so it sat straight.