An Amish Gift (11 page)

An enclosed carriage brought the coffin to the cemetery, followed by a stately procession of horses and buggies. As they walked from their car, Jennie and Shep noted the plain tombstones in the cemetery, marked only with a name, the dates of birth and death, and the person’s age in years, months, and days. They couldn’t see Mattie or the children, who stood at the center of a sea of Amish relatives and visitors. At one point, Jennie caught a glimpse of Peter, pale and with an expression she could only interpret as panicked.

There was no singing, just a hymn read as the coffin was lowered into the ground and covered with dirt. Jennie cried softly for the loss of this kind man and the hardship it would cause Mattie and her children. When the burial was complete, everyone was directed to say the Lord’s Prayer in silence. Then it was over. Some of the guests returned home, while others went to the Fishers’.

“Simple and spare, like Abraham himself,” Shep murmured as they got back into their car.

“Peaceful,” Jennie replied. “It was beautiful, although they probably wouldn’t like that description. But to me, it was.”

“The way these people live is so …” Shep trailed off.

“I know.”

He smiled at the way she understood without his having to explain, then turned the key in the ignition. Oh, my sweet husband, she thought as she watched him, in so much emotional pain and so far away from me. She reached out to touch his face. He looked at her in surprise, then gently took her hand and turned it over to kiss the palm.

Over the next weeks, it was obvious to Jennie that Shep was mourning the loss of his friend. He was more withdrawn than usual, and sadness was evident in his eyes. In the early mornings, he went over to help with the morning milking. On weekends, he went back, assisting the other Amish men who were there to keep the farm operating as usual. When she tried to discuss how Shep felt about losing Abraham, though, she got little response. Jennie tried to visit Mattie often, but invariably found the house crowded with family members or friends. Mattie was always glad to see Jennie, although they didn’t have any time alone. Jennie tried to gauge how her friend was holding up. She appeared tired and a bit thinner, but nothing in her expression gave away what she was going through. With the children, she remained decisive and in charge. Jennie envisioned eight baby birds, all needing food and care from their mother. And she was always right there for them.

On one visit, Mattie did find a moment to explain to Jennie that Abraham’s brother and his family would be staying with them, at least through the fall. Efraim Fisher had his own carpentry business, but he and his wife would come to help Peter with the farm until they all decided on a long-term plan. Everyone understood that Peter would take over the farm, but he couldn’t manage it alone, and they would have to plan for the future.

“That’s wonderful,” Jennie said when she heard the news. “And Abraham’s brother is able to leave his own business?”

Mattie nodded. “His eldest son and daughter-in-law will manage. Efraim has another grown son who will come also and
will bring his wife and children. They are actually about to move, so they have agreed to stop here for a while before they go on. It will be very good for all of us. Many more hands. And best, I think, for Peter. The spring and summer are so busy on the farm.”

Jennie considered the disruption this other family would be undergoing. She could only marvel at the loyalty and selflessness of people willing to be uprooted that way.

Then, startling her, the image of her sister, Hope, flashed across her mind. It had been years since she had allowed herself to think of the sister who had chosen never to see her again. Yes, she had sent money that had been a lifeline for Jennie back when she lived at home with their mother. What she remembered most clearly, though, was Hope’s cruelty in disappearing without a word, making sure she couldn’t be found. Jennie had pushed that hurt as far away as she could, but she had never been able to get rid of it.

It dawned on her that somehow, without realizing it, she had come to view a family as people tied together by blood rather than love. After her father had left, her mother, her sister, and she had been such a family. She thought of the bonds between her husband and his brother, Michael, once so strong, getting weaker every year. Now she and Shep and the children were starting to feel like the same kind of unit: bound by obligation, no one willing to open up or ask anyone else to help with their dreams or even their needs.

The Amish might not spend a lot of time talking about what they needed, but they didn’t have to; they
acted
—to assist, to
protect, to support one another. She had seen it every time she came by. It was in the way they all carried out an unending list of chores without complaint, or how the children took care of one another, whether an older sister helped a younger one put on her shoes, or several of them sat, examining flowers and bugs outside in the sunshine, talking about what they were seeing. It was also in the way they gathered every other Sunday to worship in someone’s home, committed to their faith, their community, their families. She knew from the Fishers’ modesty that they did not brag about what they did or draw attention to themselves in any way. They just did what needed doing and seemed all the stronger for it.

From their doing came strength. Jennie knew there was a lesson in there for her, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

The raspberry preserves from a local farm had become a favorite of Shep’s. Jennie decided to buy two jars, since she didn’t get to the marketplace that often. An elderly Amish woman took her money with a solemn expression, but Jennie wished her a good day and was gratified to receive a small smile in return. She settled the jars into her net shopping bag, thinking she might as well pick up some dried green peas while she was here.

When she got to the end of the aisle and turned the corner, she stopped in surprise. There was a booth she had seen many times before. She had bought a few of their freshly baked pies and breads in the past. What surprised her was that the person behind the counter today was Mattie.

Waiting until her friend finished taking care of a customer, Jennie approached. Mattie’s face brightened when she saw who it was.

“Wow, this is a new development,” Jennie said. “I had no idea you were working here.”

“I started last week. It is really the booth of my aunt and uncle. They went to Ohio for a few months to visit my aunt’s family, so I am running the booth for them.”

“Do you bake all this?” Jennie gestured to the array of pies, breads, coffee cakes, and her own favorite, sticky buns.

“Oh, no. The family does the baking. I pick it up in the morning and bring it. Then I work here to sell it.”

A woman behind Jennie tapped her shoulder in annoyance. “Are you going to talk much longer? I’d like to buy something.”

Taken aback by the woman’s rudeness, Jennie wondered if she might actually be taking up too much time. Perhaps the slower pace of life here had slowed her down as well. That didn’t seem like such a bad thing, she thought. Not wanting to ruin Mattie’s chance to make a sale, she apologized and backed away with a wave.

“We can visit later,” Mattie called to her before turning to the customer with her usual sweet smile.

Jennie resolved to take Scout on a walk to the farm that afternoon. She hadn’t had a good visit with the Fishers in far too long. Ever since Abraham had died three months ago, the house had been busy with Amish friends, family members, and visiting relatives who had traveled from all over to get there. Plus, there were the members of Abraham’s family who had moved in, which turned an already busy house into what felt to Jennie like a small hotel. Fortunately, there was plenty of room for everyone, due to the two additions that had been built over
the years to house different generations. It was common among the Amish to live that way, Mattie had explained, grandparents and even great-grandparents residing with younger generations, yet having independence and privacy with their own kitchens and living facilities. Abraham’s parents had both lived on the farm until their deaths a few years back, but their rooms had remained empty since then.

Well, the space was being put to good use, Jennie reflected. Having met the people who had come to stay with Mattie, she had been struck by how quickly they’d settled into a routine. Abraham’s brother Efraim and his wife, Barbara, seemed to know at once what needed doing. They took care of things with little discussion and few questions. Jennie found them reserved with her but always kind. They had brought their grown son, Red, and his wife, Ellen, whose young children were as sunny-natured as Mattie’s. She supposed Barbara and Ellen were watching all the children so Mattie could take this job. She could imagine them effortlessly handling such a big brood. It was barely spring, but Jennie had already seen these women working hard in the garden, and the men were out in the fields all day. Everyone there was incredibly busy.

Unlike her.

She walked to her car, thinking about how useless she was beginning to feel. Nothing further could be accomplished in her house without spending more money, which wasn’t an option. The children were settled into their school routines, complaining at every turn and bickering with each other. Willa was still hiding out in her room, Tim was still fighting with his father.
Shep continued to work long hours, although his business was picking up slightly as the warmer weather moved in, at least enough for them to get by if they watched every penny. Yet he kept his thoughts to himself and drank enough beer to get him through the nights, enough to make him numb to his own unhappiness. She knew that if he was on his way to becoming an alcoholic, he would drink more over time, not less. No one, she had to admit, was any happier than they had been before. They were merely treading water. Her contribution to fixing this mess was—what? she asked herself. Nothing. She seemed to have become paralyzed, uncertain what it was that her family needed to bring them together in some way.

Then there was Mattie. She had lost her husband and been left with a farm and eight children. Yet she didn’t wallow in her sadness; she barely showed the emotional pain Jennie knew she was in. Occasionally, she would look off, sometimes lose track of what they had been discussing. In those moments, Jennie knew she was thinking of Abraham. Still, she refused to give in to her grief. Every day she got up and forged ahead. I need that kind of steel spine, Jennie thought.

When she arrived home, she found Willa had returned from school and was standing in front of the open refrigerator, mulling over what to choose for a snack. Scout was dozing under the kitchen table.

“How are you, honey?” Jennie asked Willa, setting down her bag on the counter. “Can I fix you something?” She pulled out her purchases and held them up. “Some dried peas with jelly, perhaps?”

“Very funny, Mom, thanks,” Willa answered, taking an apple from the vegetable bin. She bit into it. “Ew, mushy. I hate that.”

“It’s apple season in the fall. That’s when we get the really crunchy ones.”

“Do I have to finish it?”

Jennie shook her head. “Leave it for me. I’ll use it with the others to make applesauce.”

“Thanks.”

“Homework?”

“Not much.”

“Why don’t you take Scout for some exercise in the front yard? Throw him a ball.”

At the sound of his name, Scout got up from under the kitchen table and came over to Jennie.

“Okay.” Willa didn’t sound excited, but she told Scout to come with her, and the two left.

Jennie could hear her daughter entreating the dog to fetch the old tennis ball they kept outside for this purpose. Deciding to set the table early, she opened the silverware drawer and was gathering forks when she heard Willa scream the dog’s name in the front yard.

There was a screeching of car brakes, a moment of quiet, then another screech.

“No!” Willa shouted. “Scout!”

Jennie ran to the front door. Willa was kneeling by the dog, who lay on his side in the middle of the street. She looked up at her mother in horror.

“He was hit by a car,” she shouted as Jennie raced over to them. Her voice took on the edge of hysteria. “He ran into the street to get the ball. I didn’t mean to throw it there, I swear. And the man just drove away, really fast.”

“It’s all right, Willa, it’s not your fault.”

Jennie dropped to her knees. Come on, Scout, please, she begged silently, please be okay. The dog’s eyes were open and he was breathing shallowly. At least he was alive.

“Stay here with him,” she ordered Willa, running back into the house.

With shaking fingers, she frantically looked through the county phone book for the number of an animal hospital. She spoke to a nurse, then grabbed her car keys and drove the car closer to where Scout lay. They gently moved him into the backseat, his head on Willa’s lap. Jennie sped to the vet’s office as her daughter tried to talk soothingly through her tears to the whimpering dog.

“Will he be okay, Mom? Will he?”

“I hope so, honey.”