by Sarah Price
Rolling his eyes, John clicked his tongue and slapped the reins on the horse’s back, urging the horse to move ahead and toward the barn so he could unhitch the horse. As the buggy lurched forward, Fanny jumped back, dragging Henry with her.
From the porch, two young women sat on a bench, a wooden crate of corn between them. Both wore black dresses and white, heart-shaped prayer kapps that covered most of their brown hair, neatly groomed and pulled back into small buns at the napes of their necks. The older of the two glanced at her sister and noticed the look of disdain in her blue eyes.
“Now, now, Mary Ann,” she said softly. “Best be getting used to this.”
“Oh, Eleanor!” The younger sister reached down for another ear of corn and tugged at the husk. “Daed isn’t even passed two weeks yet! Have they no compassion?”
“Vell, it is their farm now.”
Mary Ann ripped at the corn husk. “Two weeks, Eleanor,” she hissed under the breath. “Poor Maem!”
Eleanor understood what her sister meant, but she also had enough sense to know that there was nothing they could do about it. Their half brother, John, had warned them that Fanny was intent on moving into the farmhouse right away, even though the grossdaadihaus stood open and available to them. Their mother had accepted John’s implied request that they move, knowing that she was at the mercy of her stepson and his wife. Besides, with it now being mid-July, the growing season was well under way, and they needed John’s help with the farm. After their father passed away, neighbors had pitched in to help with chores, but that could not continue indefinitely.
So for the past two weeks, the small family of four had focused their grief on cleaning the smaller grossdaadihaus and moving their mother’s belongings into it. In many ways Eleanor had recognized that the distraction (and anger) seemed to help everyone focus their attention on what they now had left rather than on what they had just lost. But the distraction was over, and now, as Eleanor and Mary Ann sat on the porch watching the buggy’s occupants look around, they realized that a new reality had just arrived at the farm.
Both of the women watched as Fanny began walking toward the gardens, a disapproving expression on her face and a bored, distracted look on her son’s. Her words carried in the still air, although Eleanor was not beyond suspecting they were spoken just a little louder than necessary for the benefit of anyone who could hear.
“These weeds! Just horrid!” Fanny said to Henry, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. “And the fencing! Why, a simple paint job would suffice in making at least this part look far nicer!” She shook her head and clicked her tongue as if in great despair.
Mary Ann threw the husked ear of corn into the crate and stood up, turning rapidly to disappear through the screen door into the house.
Alone, Eleanor sighed. Such a time, she thought to herself. How would all of them, especially Maem, get through this awkward and stressful transition?
“Hello there, Eleanor!”
John approached the porch at last, an awkward smile on his face. Eleanor could tell he was uneasy by the way he kept touching his beard and averting his eyes. Even though they had grown up together, for their father had remarried shortly after the death of John’s mother, they had never had a close bond.
The oldest (and only) son in the family, John always felt a touch of possessiveness over what should rightfully be his. As a child, if any of his sisters received attention from their father, John would make a fuss and rage, his jealous temper tantrums shocking everyone else in the family. As the girls grew and matured, John remained a rebellious child at heart. Feeling sorry for his young son’s loss of his own mother, their father catered to John’s whims rather than discipline him. Their mother seemed helpless over how to handle her stepson, who answered most of her attempts to both nurture and regulate him with, “You’re not my real mother.”
Eleanor knew she hadn’t been the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when, seven years ago, he had married Fanny and moved off the farm. The grossdaadihaus would have been the logical place for John to bring his new bride. Fanny, however, would not hear of living in such cramped quarters, preferring, instead, to remain at her own family farm.
John’s departure from the family farm, at the insistence of his wife, had created a void Eleanor had been forced to help fill. Still, the thought of having to listen to Fanny complain about every little thing, from the condition of the house to the smell of the dairy barn, made Eleanor and even Mary Ann willing to step up and help out. So instead of helping on the very farm he was set to inherit, John spent those seven years living with his in-laws and working alongside his father-in-law.
The irony was not lost on anyone that the moment their father passed away—the catalyst for the farm to change hands—Fanny insisted on moving to what she had previously considered inferior accommodations. Of course she had insisted on living in the farmhouse rather than the grossdaadihaus.
“Good day, John,” Eleanor said in as pleasant a voice as she could muster. “Have you your things, then?”
John glanced over his shoulder toward his wife and son. “Nee, schwester. Fanny’s hired a company to move them. I reckon they’ll be here later this afternoon.”
“John!” Fanny called out his name as she approached the porch. “You simply must hire someone to paint that fence around the garden. I’ll not be having folks judge me on its appearance!”
“The fence is fine,” John muttered, still avoiding Eleanor’s steady, emotionless stare.
Clearing her throat, Eleanor forced a smile and looked at her sister-in-law. “I’m sure Maggie could tend to the fence, Fanny. The weather is just right for it.”
As if seeing Eleanor for the first time, Fanny’s dark eyes narrowed. Her face bore no other expression and her lips never moved to greet her sister-in-law. Instead a moment’s silence lingered between them until little Henry lifted one foot and scratched the back of his leg, losing his balance and bumping into his mother’s leg. Abruptly, Fanny lifted him back to his feet. “Careful,” she warned her son.
He ignored her.
“Perhaps,” Eleanor said, “you would like to come inside. Maem prepared some fresh meadow tea and sugar cookies for your arrival.” She said the last part directly to Henry, a smile still on her face. “I don’t suppose anyone here would like sugar cookies?”
“Me! Me!” He jumped up and down excitedly.
“It’s not even ten o’clock!” Fanny snapped. “You know there are no sweets until at least the afternoon.”
“Just this once, Fanny,” John said. “It’s been a long morning.”
Fanny protested no further, but her arched eyebrow and stern look at her husband spoke of her disapproval.
As they walked into the house, Eleanor gave herself a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim light in the room. Fanny took no time to huff and walk over to the shades. With a quick snap of her wrist, she raised each one so that light beamed into the large kitchen and gathering room.
“The heat—” Eleanor started to say.
“Oh, Eleanor,” Fanny interrupted. “I prefer bright light, not living like a little mole in the ground! Surely the sun cannot warm this room so much!”
Eleanor bit her lower lip, knowing there was no need for any additional attempts to persuade Fanny. Her sister-in-law’s headstrong ways and determination to prove everyone else wrong, or even beneath her, was renowned among Eleanor’s family. Instead, she changed the subject. “Maem and Maggie have moved into the grossdaadihaus. Mary Ann and I are still upstairs, and Henry’s room is prepared for him.” She watched as Fanny studied the kitchen area. “And we made certain to clean the kitchen extra well.”
“Danke.” The single word of gratitude from Fanny surprised Eleanor.
“I’ll let you get settled, then,” Eleanor said, moving toward the side door of the house. “The lemonade’s in the refrigerator, and the cookies, under that covered plate.” She didn’t wait for a response. Quietly, she slipped throug
h the door and crossed the small walkway that connected the grossdaadihaus to the main house. For the first time since her mother had moved into the smaller residence with Maggie, she felt a wave of relief instead of resentment. The practicality of moving next door suddenly made a world of sense to her. If only there were enough room for her and Mary Ann! But a grossdaadihaus was not meant to be a house for an entire family to reside, just young couples starting their lives together or elderly couples enjoying their twilight years. Only now it would house Maem and her youngest daughter, Maggie.
Leaving the main house was hard enough on her mother. While Maem had not expected one of her daughters to inherit it, she certainly had not expected her husband to pass so suddenly. Now a widow at only forty-four, Maem was also at the mercy of her deceased husband’s son from a first marriage. Eleanor knew her mother struggled to remain calm and pleasant while, in the privacy of the kitchen, she had confessed to feeling devastated by this unforeseen change in her situation. But only to Eleanor, her oldest daughter.
Now, in the kitchen of the grossdaadihaus, Mary Ann stood at the counter, her arm draped around Maem’s shoulders. Eleanor joined them and followed her mother’s gaze out the small window, watching as John began dragging several suitcases from the back of the buggy. He disappeared from view, and Eleanor thought that was probably for the best.
“Now, Maem,” she began. “This is just the way things are.”
Maem turned away from the window and twisted the white handkerchief in her hand. As Eleanor looked at her, she realized how much her mother had aged in just two weeks. Her hair looked grayer and the wrinkles by the corners of her eyes appeared deeper. So much had happened, with Daed falling ill so unexpectedly and then passing away. To add John and Fanny throwing them out of their home was almost more than a person could bear, Eleanor thought.
“Oh, Eleanor,” Mary Ann cried out. “How can even you possibly try to make sense out of this? Why, any decent person would have waited longer.”
Maem glanced at Mary Ann as she reached over to pat her hand. “Now, now, Mary Ann. Your sister is correct.” She returned her tired eyes to Eleanor. “Remember Job encountered far worse trials in his life. Daed’s passing, while unfortunate—to say the least—is part of God’s plan. We dare not question it, but accept.”
“Oh fiddle-faddle!” Mary Ann stepped away from her mother and sister. She spun around, the skirt of her black dress billowing out as she turned. “There is nothing about Fanny’s behavior that can be accepted by even the most holy of people!”
“Mary Ann!”
Ignoring her mother’s rebuke, Mary Ann continued. “She’s about the most self-serving person I have met! And I’m including Englischers in that statement! Everything revolves around that little Henry. If she pops one more sweet into his mouth, he may well explode, although she pretends to regulate his sugar intake. Pure hogwash!”
Despite her best attempt to remain stoic, Eleanor failed to hide her smile at Mary Ann’s last comment. It was true that little Henry was more than cherubically chubby. He was downright obese from all of the sweets Fanny permitted him to eat, regardless of whether or not she made him wait until the afternoon before having them. “Mary Ann,” Eleanor finally said, hoping she sounded more disapproving than she felt over her sister’s remark. After all, as the eldest of the three sisters, it was Eleanor’s job to act the role model.
Mary Ann waved her hand at Eleanor. “I saw you smile. You know it’s true!”
“True or not, there are just some things we should keep to ourselves,” Eleanor said, her voice soft and even. “I reckon that would be one of them.”
“The true part or the keeping to ourselves part?” Mary Ann asked the question with such a straight face that Eleanor found herself, once again, resisting the urge to smile.
The back door to the kitchen, over near the sitting area, opened and twelve-year-old Maggie slipped inside, the screen door slamming shut behind her. Her hair had fallen from her bun and hung in wisps down her back. With her dirty feet and bare legs, she looked more a tomboy than a future Amish woman.
“Oh, that dreadful Fanny!” she said, her dark eyes blazing.
“Now, dear child,” Maem said softly. “She is your sister-in-law and the mistress of this house now.”
“More like an outlaw than an in-law,” Maggie quipped.
Ignoring Maggie’s sassy remark, Mary Ann and Eleanor directed their attention to their youngest sister. Between climbing trees and hiding under tables to read verboten books, Maggie seemed to hear the most interesting discussions that she was always more than willing to share with the rest of the family.
“Tell us, dear schwester,” Eleanor said. “What have you learned?”
“Vell,” Maggie started, enjoying the attention of her family. She took her time, dramatically drawing out her story. “Seems that Fanny invited her bruder, Edwin, to come stay for a while.”
“Edwin? To come here?” Maem exclaimed, clearly surprised by this news. She began twisting her handkerchief again. “I wonder why. I was under the impression that he’s to inherit his own farm on the other side of Route 100. Why should he come stay here?”
Maggie reached behind her mother’s back and took two cookies from an open plastic container. She took one bite before she continued talking, bits of crumbs falling from her mouth. “To help John make this farm more efficient.” She enunciated the word efficient, using the mocking tone of Fanny. “I always thought Daed did a right gut job, don’t you think?”
Mary Ann shook her head, a scowl wrinkling her otherwise porcelain-smooth skin. “Such rubbish! They haven’t been here an hour yet and they are changing how things operate? Doesn’t seem much to improve on. You feed the animals, milk the cows, clean the manure, and then head out to the fields. Such an addled-brain woman she is!”
This time, Maem did not let her comment slide. “Really, Mary Ann. You know there is a lot more involved in operating a dairy farm. I reckon it’s rather nice that Edwin is sacrificing his time to help his brother-in-law learn the business.”
Maggie wrinkled up her nose. “The worst part is that he’s to take my room. Fanny says it’s inappropriate for him to stay with Eleanor and Mary Ann on the other side of the house.”
Eleanor glanced up and met her mother’s eyes. Neither spoke what they thought, about their disapproval of uprooting a child from her bedroom not once but twice, as Maggie had already moved to make way for little Henry.
“Ja, vell, I shan’t like him,” Maggie said with complete defiance. “Especially if he’s anything like that mean old schwester of his!” She walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a red apple from the fruit bowl. “Maybe I’ll just sleep in my tree house!” Without waiting for a response, she tossed the apple in the air, caught it, and hurried out the door.
The three other women remained silent for a few long moments, as if digesting Maggie’s news. Eleanor knew how Maggie felt; she too wished she could just climb a tree and disappear from Fanny’s presence. However, doing so was not an option for a twenty-year-old young woman. Nor would it make the situation go away.
Mary Ann was the first to speak. She turned to her mother, hand on her hip, and sighed. “Really, Maem. Must we tolerate this? Now Maggie is to be displaced? Again? It’s bad enough that she had to give up her room for little Henry! What honorable and righteous woman would do such a thing?”
Before Maem could respond, Eleanor placed her hand on Mary Ann’s arm. “We are fortunate enough to have John’s help with the farm. At least now you can return to the garden center.”
Prior to their father’s illness, Mary Ann worked outside of the house, her income a welcome addition to the household. Gardening had always been Mary Ann’s passion. She knew all of the flowers and spent her spare time poring over seed catalogs and books about flora and fauna. When springtime began to bud, Mary Ann spent her free evenings in the gardens, creating such beautiful flower beds that, at one point, Maem worried that one of their neighbors mig
ht complain to the church district’s bishop. The last thing that either of her parents wanted was to appear proud and vain. However, the members of the g’may had a surprisingly different reaction: instead of complaining, they often sought out Mary Ann’s advice on how to duplicate her efforts.
Working for the garden center in Manheim had been a natural, and easily predictable, next step for her.
Since their father fell ill, however, she had been forced to leave her job in order to help with the farm chores. It was a decision made by the entire family, but one that left Eleanor feeling as if she had failed her sister by being incapable of managing the farm without her assistance. While Mary Ann never once complained, Eleanor knew that her sister felt a longing to help people design flower beds.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mary Ann said, a hint of caution in her voice. “Dare I leave you and Maem alone with Fanny? Especially with people still visiting to pay their respects?”
“It will begin to taper off,” Maem said, the corners of her mouth downturned at the reminder of her husband’s passing. “Life must go on.”
Eleanor nodded. “We’ll handle Fanny, schwester. You should leave a message for the garden folks this evening. The sooner you contact them, the sooner you can start working there again.”
With nothing left to argue, Mary Ann hurried outside, most likely to use the phone in the barn to call the garden center. Eleanor crossed the room toward the kitchen area and fetched her mother a glass of fresh meadow tea. When she handed it to Maem, she smiled. “Everything happens for a reason, ja. God’s plans are not always our own.”
Her mother merely nodded once, and with little conviction, as she accepted the glass of tea and returned to what she had previously been doing: nothing.
Chapter Two
I DARE SAY, JOHN, giving them money on top of everything else? Haven’t you done enough for your stepmother and her dochders?” Fanny’s voice carried through the partitioned wall of the kitchen and into the great room that separated the main house from the grossdaadihaus. It was a large room, mostly devoid of furniture, used only on worship Sundays, quiltings, and special events. The hardwood floors shone from being polished because most recently it had been used for a funeral.