Amish Generations

by Kathleen Fuller

  “I put miniature marshmallows in it, but they melted.” She rested her hands on her lap.

  He looked at her. “Aren’t you having any?”

  “I meant to pack it, but I left mei mug at home.”

  “Here,” he said, handing her the lid, which was still half filled with the drink.

  She shook her head. “I can’t drink yer hot chocolate.”

  “We can share it.” He gave her a long look before picking up the reins.

  She nodded and took a sip. “Danki.”

  He maneuvered the buggy out of the small school lot and headed for Fern’s house, letting the horse move at the slowest pace possible.

  “Would you like a ham and cheese sandwich?” she asked.

  “I would. I’ll hold the cup while you get it.”

  She gave it to him, and he noticed her wince when she bent down to get the sandwich from the tote bag on the floor. He frowned, concern building up in him again, along with a little irritation.

  “Fern, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

  * * *

  Fern cringed as she picked up the tote bag. She set it on the seat this time, which is what she should have done in the first place. Her body ached all over, and it wasn’t all because of the tumble she took from the sled. She was familiar with this pain, with the stiffness overcoming her as she sat in the cold buggy. She should have known her body would betray her.

  She glanced at Dan, seeing the concern in his eyes. How could she explain this to him? She hadn’t been hurt in the accident, but she was hurting now, probably from going up and down the hill so many times. Why couldn’t she do a normal, fun activity without feeling like she was ninety years old? But she had to tell him something.

  “I guess I didn’t realize it at the time,” she said, not looking at him. She quickly unwrapped the sandwich, which she’d made with fresh, soft bread she’d baked last night and the good Swiss cheese her father always got as a treat from the Walnut Creek Cheese store. “Here you geh,” she said, mustering a smile. “One ham and cheese sandwich.”

  He gave her a dubious look but took the sandwich. She stared straight ahead, feeling like she’d spoiled their time together. What had started as a great afternoon had come to a grinding halt. She should have checked the sled. It hadn’t been used since she was a young kid, and when she found it in the shed, she had to wipe dust and cobwebs off it.

  Dan ate his sandwich but didn’t say anything on the way to her house. He also didn’t ask for more hot chocolate. As for her, she had lost her appetite.

  When he pulled to a stop in her driveway, she scrambled out of the buggy with her tote the best she could, her limbs stiff and sore. “Danki,” she said, not looking back at him, and then she hurried into the house, trying to hide both her physical and emotional pain. When she got inside, she leaned against the door, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks.

  Mamm came into the living room. “You’re back so soon? Yer note said you’d be gone all afternoon . . .” Concern crossed her features as she walked toward Fern. “Oh, lieb, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  She closed her eyes. “Another flare. A bad one. I’m going to bed.”

  * * *

  On the drive to church the next day, Dan was still concerned about Fern. He hoped she was okay. She had shot out of his buggy like a wounded, fearful animal, in contrast to the vibrant, joyful woman he had picked up two hours earlier. He was certain she was hiding some sort of injury from him, but he didn’t know what it could be or why she would do such a thing. It wasn’t her fault the sled had broken.

  When he arrived at the Miller place, he immediately looked for Fern on the other side of their barn, where the service was being held. He didn’t see her, and throughout the service he kept glancing around to look for her. Once church was halfway over and she still hadn’t arrived, he realized she wasn’t coming. His concern shifted to worry. Had she sprained an ankle? Broken a bone? Thrown out her back? He could barely concentrate on the rest of the service.

  As soon as church ended, he sought out Fern’s father, who happened to be talking to Alvin near the front bench. Dan waited until they finished their conversation, then gave his brother the get lost look. “I can take a look at that wheel for you this week,” Alvin said. “Just drop it by when you get a chance.”

  “Will do,” Melvin said.

  Alvin frowned at Dan, then walked away. As soon as his brother was out of earshot, Dan blurted, “Is Fern all right?”

  Melvin tilted his head, a confused look in his eyes. Then it disappeared and he smiled. “She’s a little under the weather, but she’s fine.”

  Dan blew out a breath. “Glad to hear it. I was worried about her, considering the wreck with yer sled.”

  Her father frowned. “What are you talking about? I know you and Fern went for a ride yesterday, but she didn’t say anything about sledding.” His jaw dropped. “Did she use mei old sled?”

  Now Dan knew he’d stepped in it. “Um, ya.” He explained what happened, including how Fern had insisted she wasn’t injured.

  Melvin’s expression grew impassive. “If she said she wasn’t injured, then she wasn’t injured. I’m sure she just has a cold.”

  “Gut. I mean, it’s not gut she has a cold, but gut—”

  “I know what you mean, Dan.” He paused. “Don’t worry. She’ll be all right.”

  Dan could only take the man at his word. He went home, declining to stay for lunch with the members of his community. He didn’t go straight into the house but to his shop. He looked at the broken sled pieces Fern had left in his buggy. He picked up a sliver of wood, still confused not only about her behavior but also about her father’s reaction once he’d heard about the accident. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. Something that isn’t mei business. But Fern didn’t owe him an explanation, and neither did Melvin. He and Fern didn’t have that kind of relationship . . . even though he wished they did.

  He went into the house, so quiet with his parents in Sarasota. He never minded being alone, and sometimes he preferred it. But right now, he longed for some company. Fern’s company, to be specific. He threaded his fingers through his hair. Lord, I don’t understand this. I’ve known this woman all mei life, and I had never given her much thought. So why am I falling for her now? Why is it that when I think about the future, she’s always right beside me?

  None of it made sense to him. Then again, he couldn’t think of a time when his relationship with a woman had. For a brief period, he’d thought Miriam was the one for him. And look how that turned out. But Miriam hadn’t consumed his thoughts and invaded his heart like Fern did. Maybe this was one of those things he wasn’t meant to understand.

  * * *

  Fern rolled onto her side, the covers on her bed shifting as every muscle in her body ached. Her joints were swollen and felt hot. She had taken her medicine and used warm compresses, but she hadn’t been able to go to church yesterday morning. Today she felt slightly better, but she wasn’t in any condition to meet with Johnnie today, and she’d called Alvin’s business phone and told him she had to cancel.

  She’d been in bed most of the day yesterday and half of today, and she couldn’t stand lying there anymore. She winced as she sat up and rubbed her knees, which were hurting the most. She never should have agreed to go sledding with Dan, and once her sled broke, she should have stopped sledding. She could have watched Dan sled without her. She’d cheered enough people from the sidelines before.

  But her pride got in the way, and now look where she was. Sore, tired, and sure Dan Kline wouldn’t want anything more to do with her. She hadn’t even truly thanked him for the afternoon, just run off with her tail between her legs, embarrassed that she couldn’t keep up with him.

  Fern slipped on her dress and braided her hair, then pinned on a yellow kerchief. She glanced in the small mirror above her dresser and frowned at the dark circles under her eyes and the weariness on her face. Over
the black tights she’d also donned, she put on her socks and slippers to keep her feet warm. That often helped with her symptoms in the winter. Then she grabbed her compresses and went downstairs.

  Her mother was in the kitchen baking bread for the week. She looked up from the dough she was kneading as Fern walked into the room. “Glad to see you up,” she said, brushing the flour off her hands. “How are you feeling?”

  “Lousy. But a better lousy than yesterday.” She smiled weakly as she went to the sink. She rinsed out the compresses and then laid the cloths on the dish drainer.

  “Just a few more minutes, and I can put these in the bowls to rest. Then I’ll make you something to eat,” Mamm said.

  “I was thinking about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I can make that.” PB and J might be a kid’s food, but to her it was comfort.

  Mamm put one of the large dough balls into a bowl and covered it with a damp towel. “I plan to geh to the grocery store in a couple of hours, after the bread is done. But there’s some milk left if you want some.”

  Fern moved to the gas-powered fridge, then pulled out the milk. It took her a little longer to make the sandwich than it would have if she’d felt better, but a short time later she had her sandwich and a glass of milk on the table. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, thanking God for the food. And I know this may sound selfish, but I hope Dan doesn’t think too poorly of me. Or think I’m weird. If you can make that happen, I would appreciate it.

  She opened her eyes and started to eat. But after a few bites she pushed the sandwich to the side.

  Mamm was cleaning the excess flour from the table. “You’re not hungry?”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t only feeling bad about Dan. She also felt guilty about Johnnie. She’d tutored him only once before she had to cancel because of her health. She’d given Alvin her usual excuse when she was having a flare—that she had a cold. But she felt so irresponsible.

  Her mother shook out her cloth in the sink and then laid it over the dish drainer next to Fern’s compresses before sitting down at the table. She patted Fern’s hand. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

  “It’s not yer fault.” She stared at the partially eaten sandwich. A drop of strawberry jelly dripped onto the plate.

  “I know, but it hurts mei heart to see you in so much pain.” Mamm paused. “Is it only the arthritis that’s bothering you?”

  Fern looked at her. “Ya. What else would it be?”

  “You were so upset when you came home Saturday afternoon, and I assumed it was because yer arthritis flared again. Then yesterday at church, Dan asked yer vatter if you were all right and told him about the sledding accident. But did something else geh wrong? Between you and Dan?”

  She shrugged, averting her eyes.

  “Clara told me you’re still interested in him.”

  “Neither of you can keep a secret, can you?” she muttered.

  “I didn’t realize yer feelings for Dan were a secret.”

  She picked at the edges of the sandwich. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone with him.”

  Her mother frowned. “I’m confused. Dan is a nice yung mann. When I read yer note saying you two were spending the afternoon together . . .” She paused. “I guess I assumed it was a date.”

  “I know you’re eager to get me married off.” Fern heard the bite in her tone, but she couldn’t help it.

  Mamm sighed. “Fern, we’ve talked about this. Do yer vatter and I want you to get married and have a familye? Ya, we do. But only if that’s what will make you happy.”

  “What if I said being single makes me happy?” Fern met her eyes.

  Mamm’s brow lifted. “Then I would say you’re lying, because I don’t think a desire to be single is the reason you’re single.”

  Fern tried to wrap her head around her mother’s logic. She wasn’t sure if it was her brain fog or her mother’s convoluted words, but she wasn’t sure what she was saying. “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you’re afraid.” Mamm lifted her chin. “Afraid to admit to anyone other than our family that you have a chronic disease.”

  That concept Fern did understand, and she couldn’t deny it. “Who wants a wife like me?”

  “Maybe Dan does?”

  Fern shook her head. “Even if that were true, he wouldn’t want me after what happened on Saturday.” She told her mother how she’d immediately had pain and stiffness following the sledding accident and had made it worse by climbing the hill twice after that. “I was so embarrassed,” she said, running her fingers down the side of her glass of milk.

  “Why? Because he saw you in a weak moment?”

  “Ya.” Fern was starting to get irritated. “You don’t understand what it’s like to not be able to do what you want to do.”

  “Nee one gets to do everything they want to do, Fern.”

  “I know that. But this is different. I can’t even sled down a hill without a problem.”

  Mamm gave her an incredulous look. “Yer sled broke. It’s a gut thing you weren’t seriously hurt when you tumbled down that hill.”

  “But I hurt just the same.” She looked at her mother. “Because of this disease, I ruined a date with Dan, and I had to cancel tutoring with Johnnie today.” And I had to give up mei dream of teaching. That stuck in her craw the most, because she thought she had accepted that reality. Apparently, she hadn’t.

  Mamm frowned. “I’m surprised at you. You’ve never been one to throw a pity party for yerself.”

  Her brow lifted. “I’m not.”

  “Ya, you are. If Dan is so shallow that he can’t understand you have an illness that sometimes knocks you off yer feet, he’s not worth yer time. And if you can’t be up-front with Alvin and Iva about yer illness and that you might have to cancel tutoring Johnnie every once in a while, you shouldn’t be tutoring him.” She shook her head and got up from the table. “We all have our crosses to bear. Yers happens to be RA. You can let it get you down, or you can manage it and live yer life the way you want to.”

  “What about teaching?” Fern said, a lump in her throat. “I can’t be a teacher, and that’s all I ever wanted to do.”

  “You’re the only one who said you couldn’t.” She looked at Fern intensely. “You can do anything you want to do if it’s God’s will. If you’re meant to teach, he’ll make it happen. But you have to do yer part. How will you know if you give up before you even try?”

  Daed came into the room. The front of his clothes was grimy from his work on the farm. “Dan’s here,” he said to Fern. “He’s asked to see you.”

  Chapter 6

  Dan paced in the living room as he waited for Fern to arrive. He’d second-guessed himself all the way over here from Alvin’s, but when he found out Fern had canceled her tutoring session with Johnnie, he had to make sure she was okay.

  Melvin came back into the room. “She’ll be here in a minute,” he said. Then he motioned to the couch. “Have a seat. Do you want something to drink?”

  He shook his head and perched on the edge of the couch. “I’m fine.”

  Melvin nodded and sat down across from him. He looked at Dan for a long moment, but he didn’t say anything.

  Dan squirmed under the older man’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry about the sled,” he said, grasping for any kind of conversation.

  “It was pretty rickety. Had that thing ever since I was a kid. I should have taken better care of it. I thought I might pass it down to mei grosskinner, but their parents already bought them sleds. If I’d known Fern was planning to use it, I wouldn’t have let her.” He looked at Dan with the same curious expression.

  Dan couldn’t take it anymore. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just a little surprised you’re here. Surprised and curious. This is the first time you’ve come to see Fern.”

  “Melvin, don’t pry.”

  Both men turned as Fern’s mother entered the living roo
m. She stopped beside her husband and tapped him on the shoulder. “Let the two of them have some privacy.”

  “I wasn’t prying,” Melvin said, getting up from the chair and giving Dan an intense look. “I was just stating a fact.”

  Fern’s mother rolled her eyes, and then they both left the room.

  Dan waited another minute, and he was about to stand and pace again when Fern came into the room. She was wearing a light-blue dress and a blue cardigan sweater, and she had a yellow handkerchief in her hair. The bright color looked good contrasted with her dark hair. When she was closer to him, he could see how tired she looked. Now he felt like a heel for bothering her.

  “Hi,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Hello.”

  She sat down across from him in the chair her father had vacated and folded her hands in her lap. “Daed said you wanted to see me?”

  Dan’s heart thumped. Even tired, she looked lovely. He noticed she was walking a little slowly, but not as if she were seriously injured. “I was just checking to make sure you’re all right. You missed church yesterday, and then when you canceled tutoring Johnnie, I thought something must be wrong. Yer father told me you might have a cold, but . . .”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  He frowned. While she wasn’t in as bad a shape as he’d imagined, she wasn’t fine either. “Fern, I can tell something is wrong.” He moved closer to the edge of the couch, keeping his gaze locked on hers. “I’m worried about you.”

  “There’s nix to worry about.” She smiled.

  His breath hitched a bit at her attractive smile, even though he was sure she was still holding back from him. He asked himself again if he had the right to interfere with whatever was going on with her, but he couldn’t help it. “Are you sure? If you’ve got a cold, mei mamm has a gut recipe for some salve. I still have some at home. I could get it and bring it back to you.”

  She shook her head, her brow furrowing. Then she sighed. “It’s not a cold.”

  * * *

  Fern’s stomach turned as she looked at Dan. His worried expression touched her. His kindness was one of many traits she had always liked about him. He genuinely cared about people, and right now she had the feeling he cared about her. And that made her hold back from following her mother’s advice and telling him about the arthritis.