by Sarah Price
But today Eleanor had wandered into the room to collect a guest book that resided on the built-in bookshelves in the back. She remembered that she had placed it there after her father’s casket had been removed from the room by four men and put into the back of a special buggy used to carry the deceased on their final earthly journey to the cemetery. As the men and women slowly departed from the room, Eleanor noticed the guest book on a pine bench. She hadn’t wanted anyone to misplace it, so despite her despair over losing her father, she took advantage of the moment to place it on the middle shelf.
Earlier that day, however, her mother remembered the guest book and remarked that she wanted to send notes of gratitude to the four hundred people who attended her husband’s viewing and funeral. With so many notes to write, she knew she should get started right away.
Without missing a beat, Eleanor got up from the sofa where she had been crocheting a lap blanket and hurried to fetch the guest book. She opened the door that connected the grossdaadihaus to the main house by way of the large gathering room. Without any lights and with the shades drawn, the room was dark. But after twenty years of living in the house, she knew exactly where to walk in order to reach the bookshelves.
That was when she overheard Fanny talking with John.
At first, when she heard Fanny complaining, Eleanor almost didn’t pay attention. Fanny and complaints went hand in hand. Just ten days had passed since John, Fanny, and little Henry moved into the house. Ten very long days, Eleanor thought. During that time Fanny made her disapproval of the farm more than clear to everyone and anyone who stopped by. Visitors who came to offer their condolences to Maem needed to pass by the main house before getting to the smaller grossdaadihaus located in the rear of the building. At times Eleanor had wondered if Fanny stood at the window, waiting for someone to arrive so that she could burst through the screen door to greet them and pull them into her kitchen. Many of them never even made it back to see Maem; by the time Fanny was done talking to them, they needed to return home and attend to evening chores.
On more than one occasion Eleanor opted to rescue a visitor. She cringed when she entered what used to be her mother’s kitchen. It wasn’t just seeing Fanny sitting on Maem’s favorite chair. No, it was subjecting her ears to Fanny’s harsh criticism about the condition of the farm her husband had inherited. The more Fanny complained, the more Eleanor realized that Fanny’s negative comments reflected poorly on Fanny rather than on her and Mary Ann’s feeble attempts at managing the farm when their father took ill.
According to Fanny the fence needed mending, the hay cutter needed sharpening, and the population of cats living in the barn needed culling. But when Fanny began criticizing the gardens, Eleanor would politely interrupt and direct the visitor through the large gathering room so that neither she nor the guest would have to listen to any more of Fanny’s long list of grievances.
After all, gardening was Mary Ann’s forte.
Eleanor seemed to be the main conduit between her mother and Fanny. Maem felt intimidated by Fanny’s steady stream of protests about the wrongs done to her by having to move to the farm. Maggie refused to go over there, opting to remain with her mother or stay outside in her tree house. And as for Mary Ann, her inability to deal with the idiosyncrasies of Fanny made everyone unanimously agree that she could not interact with Fanny unless it was under the most controlled of situations.
Now, however, as Eleanor overheard Fanny talking with John and realized that her mother and sisters were the focus of the discussion, it was all she could do to remain silent. Truly Fanny tested her each and every day she lived on the farm.
“Your daed may have said you should take care of your family, but are half sisters really family? I mean, you barely know them!” She stressed the word know, drawing it out as if it was the worst of words for his situation. “Besides, they’ll marry, if they’re fortunate, and move off to live with their husbands’ families.”
“Ja, vell, at least Eleanor and Mary Ann both took their kneeling vows last autumn,” John said.
“Exactly. They are ready to get married and will do so sooner rather than later, I hope. Let them be someone else’s burden to carry.”
Eleanor straightened her back and stared at the door that separated her from Fanny’s kitchen. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had just heard correctly. Had Fanny just insinuated that she and her sisters were not truly his kin? That family should not take care of each other? That once married—if married!—the connection between the family would be severed? The enormity of such a claim spoke volumes about Fanny’s character, something that wasn’t really in question by her or her sisters. Eleanor waited patiently for her older brother—half brother, she reminded herself—to defend his sisters.
“Fanny, I merely wanted to invest some money for them. We have, after all, saved enough over the past seven years from living with your parents.” It sounded as if John might have been reading a paper, The Budget most likely, for the crumpling of paper filtered through the thin wall. “And there wasn’t much left for them. After all, Daed used his savings to upgrade the dairy equipment before he fell ill. We are, after all, the beneficiaries of that investment.”
Eleanor waited for Fanny’s response. It was true that Daed had not known of his illness when he depleted most of his savings to fix the cooling system and to purchase a new diesel-powered milking system. When he had taken ill and the prognosis determined to not be in his favor, Eleanor had learned of the financial straits that faced them.
Everything was gone.
Daed was a very successful farmer. Between the dairy cows and crops, Daed worked hard and prospered because of it. Learning that Daed had not planned for their future shocked Eleanor. It was only with the greatest of reluctance that she spoke to her mother. Between the two of them they knew they needed to scrape together some savings. While they could not replenish what was lost, they managed to save enough for Maem to live on for the rest of her life, that was for sure and certain.
The only problem was that she still had three daughters to take care of.
“Beneficiaries?” Fanny set down a plate on the counter, the banging loud and sharp. “Really, John! We’ll be working from sunup to sundown just to milk that herd of cows and tend to the crops! While investing some money for them is quite thoughtful and kind—I can think of no other bruder who would do such a thing!—the real question is what can we afford? Heavens to Betsy, I do not wish for you to leave me in such a situation as your daed left them!”
“Perhaps just a small investment, Fanny,” John said, his voice sounding exasperated with the discussion. “A small amount of money to help until the girls marry.” He sounded pleased with his solution. “That should be sufficient, ja?”
“Providing them with the grossdaadihaus is more than sufficient, don’t you think? I mean, it’s not like they need money for running a farm,” Fanny scoffed. “That responsibility has landed squarely on your shoulders, if I might say so myself.”
“Hmmm.”
“And what would giving them money actually do?” Fanny gave a light laugh.
Eleanor did not need to see her sister-in-law. She could envision Fanny’s expression, her brown eyes partially shut and her lips pressed together. Since her upper lip was so thin, it would barely be visible. And her chin would be tilted in the air as she spoke in a haughty manner.
“Truly, John, too much money placed in their hands and you could have a real situation.” The way she said the word situation made it quite clear to Eleanor that Fanny meant it in a negative way. “As it is, they have so few needs anyway. They only have to pay for food, and certainly they have enough for that. A surplus of money is going to lead to a sense of worldliness that will never attract the attention of any suitors!”
After a brief hesitation, John cleared his throat. “You do have a point there, Fanny.”
Eleanor caught her breath. If anyone was worldly, it was Fanny. She was already discussing repainting the house a
nd barn, even though neither needed much more than a touch-up here and there. And she wanted to change the clothesline so that it could be seen from the road, not hidden behind the house. Eleanor suspected she knew why; Amish women liked to secretly compete with each other, trying to be the first person to hang out their laundry on wash days. Some even went so far as to hang out dirty clothes, just so that any passing-by Amish women would admire her work ethic.
Without doubt, Eleanor thought, Fanny is a dirty-laundry hanger, for sure and certain.
Unaware of Eleanor’s eavesdropping, Fanny continued, sounding inspired by her husband’s words of agreement when she added, “And it isn’t as if your stepmother has any experience handling money. It would be disastrous. Mismanaged money would surely create unnecessary stress in their lives, and that means just one more thing that you’d have to handle.”
Eleanor felt the heat rise to her cheeks. While it was true that Maem had never handled money, Eleanor knew that her mother was anything but ignorant. Hadn’t she been a teacher at the Narvon schoolhouse when she met their father? A smart woman who knew what it meant to work from before sunrise until well after sunset, Maem did not shirk at responsibility either. She had always been beside Daed, whether it was milking the cows or working in the fields.
“I never did look at it that way,” John said.
“And anything you give to them takes away from our little Henry.” Clearly Fanny was on a roll now. Her passion for her son outweighed any compassion for others. “What about future sons? We’ll have to buy them a farm too, ja? If you give money to your stepmother and her dochders, why, we’ll have nothing left for our boys!”
“Farms are expensive . . . ”
Eleanor could listen no more. With her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks burning, she grabbed the guest book from the bookshelf and hurried back to the door that led to the grossdaadihaus. She knew she could never tell Maem about that conversation; her mother would be horrified at the greed and selfishness expressed by John and his wife. And Mary Ann already had nothing kind to say about Fanny; telling her sister would just add fuel to the fire. No, this was a secret Eleanor must keep to ensure that peace reigned in her small family.
Facing John and Fanny was hard enough as it was. Now, however, Eleanor knew she’d have to work extra hard to hide her true feelings.
Chapter Three
ELEANOR RAISED HER hand to her brow and wiped away the beads of sweat. Her navy blue dress clung to her body, and she knew that she had perspiration marks under her arms and down her back. It was unseasonably hot, even for late July. The air in the dairy barn didn’t move, even with the windows opened as wide as possible. The stench of manure seemed extra pungent because of the humidity. And while she didn’t mind the odor so much, the heavy air felt oppressive.
The long row of cows, their heads dipped down to eat the hay in their metal mangers, waited patiently to be milked. Twice a day, once at four in the morning and once at four in the evening. The chore did not take very long with two people doing it. However, after the morning milking, the cows were let out to pasture and the long, concrete aisles needed to be cleaned of manure and dirty hay. Once the barn chores were completed, something else always needed attention, such as the garden (although Mary Ann tended to both the vegetable and flower gardens), laundry, cooking, canning, cleaning . . . The list of things to do never seemed to end.
It was a long day’s work for anyone. And the added heat made the day that much more unbearable. She was glad that it was almost evening. Once the chores were finished, she could enjoy supper with her mother and sisters before retiring to her shared bedroom on John and Fanny’s side of the house. Hopefully she could get through the main room and up the stairs without having to exchange niceties with Fanny. Running into Fanny was something she did not look forward to, so she and Mary Ann often tried to figure out when she would be putting little Henry to bed so that they could scurry upstairs and into their room to avoid seeing their sister-in-law.
In the evening hours, after the sun set, the second floor of the main house seemed to cool down. With a cool breeze blowing through the open window, Eleanor found it much easier to sleep at night. That was something she looked forward to. But for now, she needed a break from the heat.
“Let me go fetch some water, John,” she called out. “I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked around a cow and headed toward the door that led outside. She wasn’t certain why it wasn’t propped open, so she took an extra minute to find a large rock to place on the ground and hold the door in place. A little extra breeze might help cool down the dairy.
“Hello there!” a voice said from behind her.
Startled, Eleanor spun around and placed an open palm on her chest. “You scared me!”
A young man stood before her, his blue eyes seeming to dance as he stared at her, smiling. “I can see that.” He removed his straw hat and held it before his chest, his curly brown hair flopping over his forehead. He was a handsome man in a plain sort of way. Taller than many other Amish men, he appeared willowy. His clothes were perfectly pressed and there was not one blemish on his white shirt. However, she noticed dust on his boots.
Without appearing too forward, the man glanced down at her dress and then her bare feet before he lifted his eyes back to her face. “Hot in the dairy barn, ja?”
Too aware of her appearance, including her dirty dress, her messy hair, and the sweat stains under her arms, Eleanor looked away. “Quite,” she responded softly.
“A sign of a hard worker is one who works without complaint,” the man said. “God favors those who toil while others play.”
A strange thing to say, she thought, and stole another look at him, wondering if he was being judgmental or sincere. When he smiled, the one corner of his mouth lifting just a touch higher than the other, she saw nothing but admiration in his expression.
“And you are . . . ?”
He held out his hand so that she could shake it. “Edwin Fisher, at your service.”
Eleanor couldn’t help but notice that his grip on her hand was strong and his skin calloused, an indication that he too was a hard worker, and from the dark color of his skin, she suspected he spent many days working in the fields.
“Edwin Fisher?” she repeated. “You’re Fanny’s bruder, then?”
“Ja, that would be me.” He withdrew his hand and slid his hat back on his head. “One of them, anyway.” He paused. “The eldest one.”
“We’ve met before?” She couldn’t recall meeting him at John and Fanny’s wedding. Surely she would have remembered such a striking man, even if the wedding was almost seven years ago.
He seemed to ponder her question, taking time to think before responding. “Mayhaps,” he said. “But you were a bit younger at the time.” Again he smiled, his teeth perfectly even and white. “If I do recall properly, you were a bit busy tending to your youngest schwester, Maggie.” He touched his finger to his lips as if trying to remember something. “Seems like she was quite the handful, if I recall properly.”
“Oh!” She felt her cheeks burn. Of course he had been at the wedding! Seven years ago, at thirteen years of age, why would she have noticed a man anyway? Embarrassed that she had even asked such a question, Eleanor looked down at the rock she had just placed by the barn door. “Ja, vell, I reckon not much has changed in that category, I fear. Maggie is still quite the handful.”
“Ah,” he said. “True character never changes, so I should not be surprised.”
Eleanor didn’t respond. She wasn’t certain whether his words reflected personal philosophy from a critical perspective versus a favorable one. When she detected no malice in his words, just a quiet shyness surrounding his observation, she couldn’t help but wonder if he truly was Fanny’s bruder. The contrast between the two personalities was so remarkable that, as she led Edwin to the main house, Eleanor pondered the mystery of how two people born in the same house and raised by the same pa
rents could be so different.
Eleanor suspected that having Edwin around the farm for a few weeks would be far more pleasant than they’d anticipated.
“Why, Edwin!” Fanny was seated on the blue sofa in the sitting area of the great kitchen. She was patching up a tear in little Henry’s black pants. When she saw her brother, however, she immediately set down her sewing and hurried to properly greet her brother. “We expected you several days ago, Edwin,” she said, a stern look in her eye. “You might have called to let John know you’d be delayed.”
“And it is so nice to see you, too, schwester,” he replied.
Eleanor quietly excused herself and hurried over to the grossdaadihaus to alert her mother and Mary Ann of Edwin Fisher’s arrival.
“Different from Fanny? Why, that is enough that I should love him right away, then!” Maem said shortly.
Eleanor smiled. The last straw between Maem and Fanny had been over the family china. Fanny had claimed it far too fancy for Maem to have, and since John was bequeathed the farm, that meant he should have the china too. True to her nature, Maem did not argue but merely shut down, focused on her mending, and never discussed the subject again. But Eleanor knew that Fanny’s selfishness was taxing Maem’s nerves.
“I’m quite sure we will like him well enough when we get to know him better,” Eleanor responded.
“Like him? That seems a far inferior sentiment, Eleanor, for a man that you say appears to be everything Fanny is not,” Maem commented wryly.
Later that evening Maem and Eleanor discussed whether they should visit the main house to meet him, especially when it became clear that Fanny was not in a hurry to make the effort to provide proper introductions. Maggie, however, refused to join them, choosing to stay in her tree house, for she vowed to live there rather than give up her bedroom to this strange newcomer. And Mary Ann remained resolute in her determination that anyone related to Fanny must have inherited the same self-centered manner. She, therefore, refused to extend herself to the guest.