“Do you like selling there?” Jane waved to another departing vendor.
“It’s not a question of like, it’s a question of practicality. It’s convenient.” Levy stopped at an intersection, then guided the horse through. “During the summer and early fall, I earn almost my entire year’s income from the farmer’s market or Community Supported Agriculture subscriptions. That means I have buyers who take excess produce every week.”
“And during the rest of the year, you supplement your income with accounting?”
“Ja. It gets very busy before tax day, so I do a lot of bookkeeping over the winter. It’s been a precarious income, but this is the first year I’ve done better financially.”
“Seeing how hard you work makes me feel guilty for accepting money to nanny the baby.” She hugged the quiet baby resting in her arms.
“You work hard too. I think it’s Gott’s timing. My business started doing well just when I needed to hire a nanny. We roll with the punches in this life, dealing with whatever Gott hands us.”
“Ja, I suppose.” She lapsed into silence, idly watching the town pass by. Finally she thought to ask, “I assume you won’t need me tomorrow on the Sabbath?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Levy’s mouth curved into a thin smile. “But it’s the Sabbath. I can’t ask you to work on your day of rest.”
“But no rest for the weary onkel, eh?”
“Right. I’ll cope somehow.”
Jane had her private doubts that he would be able to, but she let it go.
He dropped her off directly at her aunt and uncle’s house. “Vielen Dank, Jane. You were incredibly helpful and useful today.” He touched his hat brim, spoke to the horse and drove away.
Jane stared after him. Useful again. She blinked back tears and realized she didn’t want Levy to appreciate her useful qualities, but perhaps something more.
All day long she had worked side by side with Levy. Perhaps it had been her imagination, but she got the impression he was appreciating her for more than her usefulness. Now, it seems, she was wrong.
A small part of her wanted him to appreciate her for more than that.
Chapter Five
Sabbath mornings were different from the rest of the week. Jane looked forward to the church services. It was more than a chance to take a break from the relentless work, to focus on Gott, to pray.
It was also a chance for the community to come together, for her to see the friends she’d made and perhaps meet new ones. The thought made Jane clasp and unclasp her hands in her lap. Making new friends was difficult for her.
Wearing clean clothes and a freshly starched kapp, she rode with Uncle Peter and Aunt Catherine toward the home of the Millers, who were hosting the week’s worship service. Many buggies joined them on the road as they headed out, with occupants waving greetings.
“Ach, there’s young Lydia Yoder with Jacob. Looks like she’s about to have her baby any day now,” commented Catherine.
Jane peered around the edge of the buggy and saw a pretty young matron, heavily pregnant. “Is it her first?”
“Ja. She’s very happy.”
“And there’s Phillip Herschberger.” Uncle Peter waved an arm. “He broke his leg last month. I think he’ll be getting the cast off shortly.”
“And that’s the Stoltzfus family. They own the hardware store near our store.”
“I see Moses Bontrager.” Uncle Peter nodded toward an incoming buggy. “He’s been down with the flu. I’m so glad to see him up and about.”
So the comments about friends and neighbors in the community continued all the way to the Sabbath service. The older Miller boys directed buggies and horses, and men unhitched their animals and led them into a spacious shady corral for the day. Uncle Peter swung out of the buggy, handed down Jane and Catherine and unhitched his own horse.
Back in her hometown of Jasper, Jane had loved Church Sundays. People came together for a single purpose—worship—but it was so much more. It was a reinforcement of their identity, a chance to visit and strengthen bonds of friends and family and an opportunity to learn who might need help.
And now she had to join a whole new community. Jane resisted the urge to cling like a child to her aunt’s skirt and hide from strangers, as she used to do with her mother. She was a grown woman, and grown women weren’t supposed to be tongue-tied or self-conscious.
Everywhere she looked, people clustered in groups, chatting in subdued tones. Many women carried covered bowls and platters of food into the Millers’ kitchen, even though the service was being held in the large barn, where benches had been set up the day before. Children ran around, their shirts or dresses as colorful as flowers.
There were so many new people to meet, many of whom were her age. Jane’s heart should have swelled with the thought of new acquaintances who would not consider her a useful person, but instead a fun, even enjoyable person—but she was fooling herself. With sudden insight, she realized one of the reasons she made herself useful was that she knew she’d never be popular. She didn’t have the slightest idea how. So...she found other ways to be valuable to the community instead.
Despite the bustle, there was an air of solemnity. It was Sunday, the day to formally worship Gott. Socializing would come later, after the service.
Jane spotted Sarah and Rhoda, but there wasn’t time to speak with them before the community filed into the Millers’ barn and found places on the benches. She spotted Levy carrying Mercy, the only one on the men’s side holding a baby. He gave her a nod and settled down on a bench.
Jane found it very coincidental that the deacons settled on the biblical theme of service and how to use one’s gifts to the service of Gott.
Jane’s gifts—of soothing babies, of being “useful”—sometimes seemed like curses. Over the years, she’d struggled with a defiant spirit that rebelled against being plain, against the expectation from others that she enjoyed the hard work, that she never minded the times romantic dreams took a back seat to utility.
But there were times she longed to stop being viewed as merely useful and start being viewed as a woman with hopes and dreams of a family of her own. None of that was possible if she shrank from meeting new people.
Her friend Rhoda said it best at the barbecue a few days earlier. “That’s why I think you should keep coming to singings and other youngie events,” she had advised. “How else will you get to know anyone?”
So she sat and listened to the sermon and grappled with the awkward longing to get to know more people, which fought against the biblical call to service.
The worship service ended and people rose from their benches, stretching and talking.
Rhoda beckoned her over into the yard before the meal started. “Come here, Jane! I want you to meet some people.”
Jane hesitated, fighting a desire to avoid the laughing, chattering groups. But she mastered her reluctance and prepared herself to endure her inevitable lack of social graces.
Rhoda introduced her to more young people their age, pulling her toward the more gregarious of the bunch. She received numerous invitations.
“We’re having a barbecue—can you come?”
“I’m going to the singing next week, will you be there?”
“Everyone’s going to the hot dog roast at the Herschbergers’, can you make it?”
Jane smiled through clenched teeth. Of course she would attend all these events. How else would she get to know anyone? And if a young man among the group should ever see beyond her glasses and plain features, perhaps she might have a hope for a family someday. The only way that would happen was if she forced herself to become a social butterfly.
At last she excused herself from the group and caught up with her aunt. She began bringing food out of the kitchen to the long tables set up under the shade of some trees.
“It’s to
o nice a day to be inside. I’m glad we’re eating outdoors.” Jane placed a platter of fried chicken next to a bowl of potatoes.
“Ja, it’s been so warm lately.” Catherine wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with a corner of her apron. “It looks like you’ve made some friends.”
“I’m trying. I’ve received a lot of invitations.”
“That’s gut. You’re a bit on the shy side, child, so going to social gatherings will help.”
“I hope so. Everyone seems very nice.” Jane bit her lip. “I just feel so awkward. It was bad enough back in Jasper, so why did I think it would be easier here, with a bunch of strangers?”
“It’s putting you outside your comfort zone, for sure and certain,” chuckled Catherine.
Jane remembered Levy using that very phrase when it came to learning salesmanship at the farmer’s market. “Ja. That’s exactly it. When will that end?”
“I don’t know, but perhaps you’ll meet a special young man at one of these gatherings.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.” Jane spoke with a tartness she hadn’t intended. “I’m sorry,” she added.
Her aunt smiled. “I think things will get easier for you the more you go.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Come now.” Aunt Catherine gestured. “Let’s eat. People are starting to sit.”
Everyone except Levy. Jane saw him at the edge of the large yard, standing under a tree, gently bouncing the baby. He looked ill at ease. Jane thought about taking over the care of little Mercy, and her conscience stung as she justified not following through. It was her day off, after all. And Levy had gotten enough baby lessons from her that he should be able to wrestle with his tiny bundle of responsibility.
Shouldn’t he?
* * *
Juggling the baby in his arms, Levy watched the young people gathering around Jane. It concerned him to see her mingling with so many youngies. From where he was, he couldn’t tell if she was enjoying it or not. He realized he didn’t want Jane to be popular among her peers. Popularity wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
His sister, Eliza, had been a popular young woman, and look what had happened to her.
He fought the instinctive reaction down. Jane wasn’t like Eliza. She was a baptized member of the church, while Eliza was not. Still, it worried him.
Mercy stiffened in his arms, and her tiny face screwed up. She began to wail. Levy unslung the diaper bag from his shoulder and seated himself on the grass, rummaging for a bottle of formula. The minute the tip was in her mouth, she stopped crying.
Despite himself, he softened. Caring for a baby was a lot more work than he’d ever anticipated, but it had its redeeming moments. This was one of them. He even fancied he could see a resemblance to Eliza in the infant’s features.
Did his sister think about what she was missing? Did she regret not seeing Mercy’s first smile, her first step, her first word...
It was hard to think about that. He said a silent prayer for his sister’s health and safety.
“There, little one,” he crooned.
“You’re getting good at that,” said a voice.
Levy looked up to see Peter Troyer, Jane’s uncle. “I don’t have much choice.” He lifted the baby into his arms.
“Seems like you’re getting more comfortable holding her,” Peter chuckled. “Though it was definitely an odd sight, having a baby on the men’s side during worship.”
“I felt pretty funny about it,” admitted Levy. “But it’s not as if I could ask Jane to take the baby for me. She’s entitled to a day off like anyone else.”
“I’ll admit, Catherine said she was itching to give you a hand. But sometimes a man has to just cope, no matter whether it’s babies or crops, ain’t so?”
“Ja.” Levy bounced the baby. He liked Peter Troyer. He was a solid man who never shirked his responsibilities, and managed to keep a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face. “I’ll admit, this little one has her good and bad moments. When she’s not crying, she’s cooing. It melts the heart.”
“It’s Gott’s way of keeping us from doing our children harm,” chuckled Peter. “Come, we’re deciding on the Church Sunday hosting schedule. We need your voice.”
* * *
Levy drove his buggy home with Mercy asleep in the basket he used as a traveling cradle. He’d gotten through the entire church service with minimal fussing on the part of the baby. He was rather pleased by this accomplishment. Maybe Jane’s baby lessons were sinking in.
The boppli remained asleep as he parked the buggy in the barn and unhitched the horse. Not until he entered the house did she open her blue eyes. She wasn’t quite ready to smile yet—she was too young—but that would come soon enough.
“Ach, liebling, I need to think what to do with you,” he murmured to her as he lifted her from her basket to the bouncy seat on the kitchen table. He sat down in front of her and toyed with her tiny foot. “What’s a bachelor uncle going to do with a baby girl?”
He always thought his adult life would follow the usual course of events—courtship, marriage then babies. But here he was, unmarried and with a baby to care for.
The usual twist of agony at the thought of his sister’s fate hit his gut. After their parents had died in that horrible buggy accident, he honestly thought he could handle raising Eliza. At eighteen, he believed he was grown up enough to handle the responsibility.
But Eliza’s headstrong behavior taught him differently. Never easy to handle, the grief of losing her parents at the age of twelve meant she no longer had the steady guiding hands of their mother and father to rein in her rebellious nature.
That’s why seeing Jane surrounded by youngies at the Sabbath service disturbed him. All he could see was his sister...until she was gone.
And now... He tickled Mercy’s little foot. And now Eliza had a baby she couldn’t raise, and he had her baby who he refused to give up. It was all very confusing and frightening.
What was a bachelor uncle to do, indeed?
* * *
Jane showed up at Levy’s farm bright and early one morning a few days later. She felt refreshed by the sunny weather. But Levy, she soon found out, had gotten out of bed on the wrong side.
“Just overwhelmed, I guess,” he replied when she asked what the matter was. “I have so many things to do. Here.” He thrust Mercy into her arms. “I’m already late milking the cows.” With that, he stalked out of the house.
Jane stared after him. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed his moodiness sprang from a different reason than his workload.
She gently bounced the baby. “Your uncle is cranky this morning.” She touched the infant’s nose. “But I’m not going to let him get to me. C’mon, I suspect it’s time to wash some diapers.”
Jane washed and hung the baby’s laundry, then gathered other dirty clothes, swept the house, fed Mercy, put her down for a nap and made lunch. Whatever the cause of Levy’s attitude, she would respond by making him a good meal.
She did not, however, eat lunch with Levy. She settled in the living room rocking chair to feed Mercy a bottle of formula.
He didn’t say a word, either before or after the meal. Instead, he finished eating, put his plates in the sink and went back to work. As Jane washed the dishes, she looked out the kitchen window and noticed the raspberry bushes loaded down with fruit. She knew how difficult it was to keep up with berries when they peaked.
Picking up Mercy and tucking her in the sling, she descended into the cellar. “Let’s go look for canning jars,” she told the baby.
The high windows in the home’s foundation gave dim light, and Jane was gratified to find hundreds of empty canning jars, which doubtless had belonged to Levy’s mother. She picked up a box holding a dozen jars and brought them back upstairs. Then she took a bucket, went out to pick raspberries and
came back in to set about making raspberry jam.
In the midst of the hot and sticky process, Levy suddenly entered the kitchen. “I owe you an apology, Jane,” he stated without preamble.
Stirring the boiling jam, Jane looked up and wiped a trickle of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh?”
“Ja. I worry about my sister, and sometimes I project my worries about her on to you. It makes me bad-tempered, and I’m sorry for that.”
Now that she was a bit more familiar with his background, Jane understood his fears. “But I’m not your sister. And I’m not doing anything against the Ordnung.”
“Neither did she, until she left. But she was always going to youngie events. I thought she was on the path toward baptism, but I was wrong.”
Jane softened. He was clearly tormented over the fate of his sister, not Jane’s social life.
“I have three sisters,” she said. “If any of them disappeared into the Englisch world, I would be frantic with worry too. Do you want to talk about it, or is it too painful?”
“Too painful.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dropped his hand. “How many brüder und schwestern do you have?”
“Five. Three sisters, two brothers. My older sister is married and expecting her first baby. I’m the second oldest. My younger sisters and my brothers, they’re all teenagers.” She smiled. “It’s a lot for my parents to handle at once.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Ja, sure, of course. But they’re all gut kinner. They don’t give my parents any trouble.”
“Unlike my sister.” He removed his hat, stared at the straw brim for a few moments then plopped it back on his head. “I need to get back to work.” He stalked out the side door.
Watching him stride away toward the fields, Jane wondered why he felt the sudden need to apologize. But she was right—if anything happened to her sisters, especially her younger sisters, she would be panicky. It seemed he bore a lot of guilt over Eliza’s fate. It must have been difficult to try to be a parent at such a young age. She supposed she could understand his odd quirks of behavior. Besides, his moods were none of her business. She was here to watch the baby and make herself useful. Nothing more.
Amish Baby Lessons Page 6