Amish Generations

by Kathleen Fuller

  “Not according to him.” The words slipped out, and Elva bit her tongue. “Maybe I’ll make an extra pie for Jerald,” she said, hoping the mention of Regina’s partial nemesis would distract her friend from asking any questions.

  “He’d like that, I’m sure. The mann does enjoy his desserts. You can take it over to him if you want to.”

  “Me?”

  Regina lifted a brow. “It was yer idea.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? Lori is coming over this afternoon to work on some curtains she’s donating to the auction,” she said, referring to her oldest daughter. “She says she’s behind and asked me to help. Unless you’d like to do some more sewing?”

  Elva paused. She had enjoyed the quilting bee, but only for the company, not the actual stitching. Yet she didn’t like the idea of taking a pie over to Jerald either. “That seems a bit bold, don’t you think?”

  “Elva, it’s Jerald. You don’t have to worry about that. You can take our buggy too.”

  “All right,” she finally said. She also had to admit it would be nice to see him again, if only because she knew he would appreciate her pie.

  She and Regina spent the rest of the morning baking. After lunch, Lori, who was the spitting image of her mother down to the dark eyes and plump figure, arrived. Then after asking for directions to Jerald’s, Elva decided she’d walk to his house instead of taking the buggy. It was a nice fall afternoon, not too cold or windy, which would make for a pleasant stroll. She put the pie in a picnic basket, making sure it was securely placed.

  As she made her way, she questioned what she was doing. Why had she decided to bake Jerald a pie? Or to agree to take it to him? Although Regina had mentioned Henry, which had alarmed her, Elva could have distracted her friend with a number of topics. But for some reason, baking a pie for Jerald was what popped out of her mouth. And as she neared her destination, she couldn’t explain the flittering feeling she had inside. It was more than just a desire to see someone enjoy eating a dessert she’d made. Surely she wasn’t excited about seeing Jerald again. Was she?

  * * *

  Jerald sanded down the top of the casket he was working on. This one was for an Amish man thirty minutes away in a nearby community. He’d lived to the ripe old age of ninety-seven. Jerald couldn’t imagine living that long. Some days he even felt ninety-seven. But if the Lord wanted him here for more than nine decades, Jerald would make sure he made the most of his time serving him.

  He thought about Nelson. Unlike his friend, Jerald didn’t have crippling arthritis, and he would keep working until he couldn’t work anymore. He blew on the sawdust that covered the lid of the casket, and a cloud of dust flew into the air. He was almost finished with this one.

  “Hello.”

  He looked up at the soft feminine voice, and his brow lifted. Elva was standing at the opening of his workshop door. He dusted his hands and walked over to greet her. “Hi,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “I’m surprised to be here,” she mumbled. Then she lifted the picnic basket in her hands. “I brought you a blueberry pie,” she said, her speech rushed. “But not for any reason other than I thought you’d like it.”

  He would have laughed except he saw how uncomfortable she was. “I appreciate that. And don’t worry, it never would have crossed mei mind that you would have any other motive.” He glanced at the sawdust on his shirt and pants. “I’m a little messy, though. Give me a few minutes to clean up. You can wait in the kitchen if you want.” Then he paused. “That is if you want to stay. I should have asked you that first.”

  “Regina’s busy helping Lori,” she said. “So ya, I can stay.”

  Jerald’s heart took a leap. He almost put his hand to his chest, the feeling was so surprising. “Uh, then you should probably follow me.”

  Now he was the one who was uncomfortable. No, that wasn’t the right word. Awkward definitely worked but anticipating was more like it. When he realized he wasn’t even thinking about the pie, his heart leaped again. Yet another time when he was presented with a dessert, but his mind was on something else. And both times he’d been with Elva when it happened. Did that mean something?

  Of course it didn’t. He shook off the thought as they entered his mudroom, where coats and boots and other items were strewn around in messy fashion. He quickly picked up a few things. “Sorry,” he murmured as he lifted one of his jackets. “The place is a bit untidy. I don’t have company too often, and it’s been nearly a year since I hosted church.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m not offended by a little mess.” She smiled, and he realized how much it transformed her face. She was a pretty woman, but when she smiled, she nearly took his breath away.

  “Uh, gut,” he said, trying to stay on an even keel. But as they walked into the kitchen, he remembered he’d forgotten to clean up after breakfast that morning—and after supper last night too. He held up his hands. He’d never worried about neatness very much, even though he wasn’t a slob. “I’m not the best housekeeper, that’s a fact. I would have gotten to the dishes tonight, though.”

  She glanced around the room. “It doesn’t look too bad to me.”

  He knew she was just being nice. Clean and tidy was the Amish way, and while his house wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t remotely tidy. He started clearing the table of what was left of his toast and two boiled eggs while Elva set the pie on his counter.

  “Jerald, why don’t you wash up, and I’ll cut the pie?”

  “Well, all right.”

  In the bathroom, he decided to not only put on clean clothes but also wash his hands and face and run a comb through what little hair he had left. All that primping took longer than he thought, so he hurried to the kitchen, not wanting to keep Elva waiting.

  He found the table cleaned off, and he heard water swirling down the drain. Elva was at the sink, wiping the rim of the metal basin with a dishcloth. Then she draped it over the side of the sink to dry before drying her hands on a towel. When she turned and found him just standing there, she said, “There you are. Do you want tea or kaffee?”

  “I should be making that offer, not you. And you didn’t have to do this,” he said, gesturing around the room. His kitchen was sparkling clean.

  “I didn’t mind. Where are yer plates?”

  “Upper cabinet to the right. I don’t have that many,” he said, feeling a little pathetic. “Don’t really have a need.”

  “I gave a lot of things away after Henry died.” She pulled two dessert plates out of the cabinet. “I don’t like a lot of clutter.”

  “Well, we have that in common.” He went to the stove. “I’ll be the one making the kaffee or tea. Which do you prefer?”

  “Kaffee, please. Black.”

  Another thing they had in common. Jerald smiled as he prepared the percolator.

  A short while later, they were enjoying the coffee and blueberry pie. “This is really appeditlich,” he said, finishing off a second piece. “Is it a special recipe?”

  She shook her head. “Just one mei mamm gave me. She always said it’s not the ingredients or how you put them together but the love that goes in.”

  Jerald grinned. “There must be a whole lot of love in that pie, then.”

  Her cheeks turned red. “I do enjoy cooking.”

  Uh-oh. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. She poked at a few crumbs on her plate with her fork, but she didn’t look at him.

  After a stretch of awkward silence, he said, “I hope I didn’t say something that bothered you.”

  She glanced up at him. “Oh, nee. Just thinking.”

  He wanted to ask her what was on her mind, but he knew he shouldn’t be nosy like Regina was. He also realized this was uncharted territory for him. He and Elva weren’t on a date, but he also didn’t spend time socializing alone with women. Or socializing anytime with them, for that matter. Not to mention he still sensed Elva kept something carefully guarded below the surface.

 
“I’ll wash the dishes,” he said, starting to get up from his chair. “You’re probably eager to get back to Regina’s.”

  Before he stood, she put her hand on his forearm. “Nee, Jerald. I’m not.”

  Chapter 5

  Elva looked at her hand on Jerald’s forearm. His well-muscled forearm, which had come from decades as a woodworker. She knew she should move her hand, but she couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t stop herself from telling him she wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

  She pulled away and hung her head. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “There’s nix to be sorry for.” He frowned, confusion in his eyes. “Elva, are you all right? I hope I’m not overstepping, but I sense you’re upset about something.”

  Elva almost laughed. She’d been upset for forty-five years. She almost couldn’t remember what it was like not to be upset, not to hide herself from everyone. Except for when she arrived in Millersburg. Regina and Nelson had been so welcoming, along with the community. But something about Jerald was special. Or maybe she was just starving for some kindness. “Nee,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’m fine. And you’re right. I should be getting back to Regina’s. Besides, I don’t want to keep you—”

  This time his hand touched hers. “You can stay as long as you want, Elva.”

  Oh bother. Tears formed in her eyes, and she turned away. “Sorry,” she said again. Apologies were second nature to her, and she had said them so often during her and Henry’s relationship.

  “Don’t be.”

  “Henry used to hate when I cried.” She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have said that. But it was out there, and she couldn’t take it back.

  “I don’t mind a few tears. Been known to shed some of mei own.” He paused and let go of her hand. “Like I said, people grieve in their own way, and their own time—”

  “I’m not grieving.” She put her hands over her face. “I don’t know why I can’t stop saying these things.” She started to cry.

  After a long moment, Jerald got up and left the kitchen. She removed her hands and wiped her tears on the back of her hand. When he returned, he silently handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped the rest of her tears with it.

  He sat back down and looked at her, kindness and concern in his eyes. What she wouldn’t have done to get the same expression from Henry. “I’ll be okay,” she said.

  “I know. I have a feeling in mei gut that you’re a strong woman, Elva Gingerich. And I’m usually not wrong about my gut feelings.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not strong at all. At least I don’t feel like it.”

  “And that’s when we turn to the Lord, ya?”

  Elva started to nod, only to shake her head. “But what if he doesn’t answer? What if he remains silent, for years, while every prayer you’ve ever uttered is ignored?” Her eyes grew wide. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? She was edging closer to telling him the truth about Henry after spending forty-five years of keeping the truth to herself. Maybe that was the problem. She could hold in the pain for only so long.

  The compassion in Jerald’s eyes changed to concern. “I take it yer marriage to Henry wasn’t easy.”

  She popped up from her chair and grabbed their plates. “I shouldn’t speak ill of anyone,” she said, hurrying to the sink. “Especially a man who isn’t here to defend himself.”

  Jerald gasped. “He did things that need defending?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She put the dishes in the sink and turned around. She’d made a mess of this, and she had to set things straight before Jerald jumped to conclusions. “My marriage was complicated. I’d known Henry since he was twelve and I was eleven. He told me on the playground he would marry me, and I believed him. We dated when we were old enough to, and we married at seventeen. For the first two years, our life was wonderful. We were waiting on God to bless us with a child. When he didn’t . . . That’s when things changed.”

  Jerald didn’t say anything, just continued to look at her with kind, encouraging eyes.

  She twisted the kitchen towel in her hands, spurred by Jerald’s expression and silence, and continued. “He blamed me for us not having children, and he took his frustration out on me. I had always known he had a temper, even when we were kinner. But that temper grew worse as the years passed. Every difficulty in our lives made him angrier and angrier at home. Somehow he was able to hide that anger around others.” She sighed, but no tears came this time. In fact, she felt a little relieved. “I’ve never told anyone this. Not even Regina.”

  He got up from the table and came toward her. “What did you and Henry do for fun?”

  “Fun? What do you mean?”

  “Did you ever geh camping? Or hiking? Or on a vacation to Florida or Pennsylvania or anywhere else? Did you have picnics or walks by the lake or friends over?”

  She shook her head, bewildered that he would ask her this after what she had just revealed. “Other than hosting church, we didn’t have anyone over. I did geh over to mei friends’ hauses, though. Henry liked to keep to himself, however.”

  “You were pretty isolated, then.”

  “You could say that.” She frowned. “What are you getting at, Jerald?”

  His mouth tightened, and she saw his beefy hand form a fist. “I know I shouldn’t ask this question, and you don’t have to answer it. But I can’t help myself. Elva, did Henry ever hurt you?”

  * * *

  Jerald couldn’t remember ever being this angry. As he heard Elva’s story, he had a harder and harder time keeping his feelings in check. Now her question about being a terrible person that night they watched the sunset at Nelson and Regina’s made more sense. She blamed herself for the wrongs in her marriage, because her husband had always blamed her. And as he was asking the most personal of questions, it dawned on him that if he had more experience with women, he might know better than to bring up something so horrible. But all he cared about now was whether his suspicions would be confirmed. He just wasn’t sure what he was going to do if she said yes.

  Fear entered her eyes. “I—I—”

  “He’s not here anymore.” Jerald approached her but kept a good-sized distance between them. She looked like a scared rabbit, and he didn’t want to frighten her. “But if you don’t want to say—”

  “Nee. He never hurt me. Not physically.”

  “But words can cut just as deep.”

  “Ya.” She nodded, her gaze locking with his. “They can.”

  He clenched his fists again. He’d never been a jealous man—or a violent one. But that didn’t keep him from wishing Henry were still alive. Because if he were, Jerald would give him a piece of his mind and probably more. Forgive my terrible thoughts, Lord. Those thoughts weren’t helpful to Elva, and they were pointless. Henry was gone, and Jerald could do nothing to make up to Elva what she’d suffered from her late husband. He also couldn’t stand here not saying anything. But for once in his life, he was at a loss for what to say.

  Then a strange idea occurred to him. “Do you like to fish?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never been fishing. Mei daed wasn’t interested, and Henry never took me.”

  “I’ve got some poles in the shed, and there’s a pond two houses down with some pretty gut fishing. The English family there owns it, but they give me free rein. Would you like to geh for an hour or so?”

  Elva nodded. “I would like that very much.”

  “Let’s geh, then.”

  As he got the poles and gave one to Elva, he realized he had made the right decision. She couldn’t go home looking like she had just attended a funeral, and she seemed genuinely interested in fishing. He hadn’t known too many women who liked to fish, but he enjoyed the hobby very much. If she ended up not liking it, he would come up with something else to distract her. He’d do anything to keep her mind and heart off the man who had hurt her so much.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Elva stood in the dark and watched Jerald’s buggy dis
appear down the driveway and then down the road. She turned and looked at Regina’s darkened house. A slash of guilt penetrated her otherwise sense of peace. She should have let Regina know she’d gone fishing with Jerald instead of just taking off with him. But she’d been so surprised when he asked her to fish—and because talking about Henry had upset her—that she’d been eager for the diversion. It was as if Jerald had known that, and somehow, he chose the right activity.

  For someone who’d never fished before, she’d caught quite a few, surprising herself and Jerald. “You sure you’ve never done this before?” he said, giving her a side eye as she awkwardly cast her line back into the water after nabbing another smallmouth bass.

  “Nee, never.” She grinned. “But it’s so much fun!”

  They’d caught so many that she’d helped Jerald put some of the fish in freezer bags, although she had let him scale and gut the catch on his own. She was brave enough to fish but not to clean the fish. They’d kept out four trout for supper, and she’d coated the fish with cornmeal and fried them in a cast-iron skillet as well as roasted a couple of large red potatoes in the oven and boiled green beans on the stove. After they finished eating the meal Jerald proclaimed “scrumptious,” they split another piece of blueberry pie.

  During their time together, they’d talked nonstop about everything. He wanted to know about her community in Michigan, and since she was now relaxed, she was able to tell him the good things about her district—how she picked cherries with her friends and their families in the fall and that Henry always tapped the maple trees in winter so she could put up maple syrup. Her community also held several activities to support Haiti and other missions, which Jerald was very interested in. She realized that, all in all, living in Michigan, while it had been difficult because of her relationship with her late husband, wasn’t all bad.

  Jerald had talked about Millersburg and the surrounding Amish counties in the area. She hadn’t known there were so many Amish in Ohio. He told her about his family, his niece and nephew in Kentucky with whom he was close, and that he’d made caskets almost his entire life.