The Fiddler (13 page)

Imagine traveling together all bunched up like that.
The girls looked nearly identical—were they twins? She recalled several sets of twins in one family up the road from her grandparents’ old farmhouse. Grammy had once told her that she’d known seven sets of twins from that area, which had made a big impression on young Amelia.

She watched the boxlike buggy go up Hickory Lane, feeling a bit strange about spying from her high perch. The sun cast its radiance over the carriage, causing the gray to look nearly silver.

She wiggled her bare toes against the hand-braided rug on the wooden floor. The homey scent of a chocolate cake baking drifted up from the kitchen below. The slow, lazy pace of the day lulled her—so perfectly relaxing.

Giving in to the peace, Amelia leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She thought of Michael’s remark about Providence.
Maybe I was supposed to get stuck in the storm last night.

J
oanna’s eyes twinkled when she returned with a stack of colorful piecework for a quilt she planned to make with the women of her family. “We’re passing on the art of quilting to the young girls in the Hollow,” she said as Amelia ran her fingers over some of the more intricate designs. “My school-age nieces have already learned to make simple knotted coverlets for their dollies.”

“Did you teach your nieces?” Amelia was taken by Joanna’s obvious devotion to them and to her nephews. Surely she would have many children someday, like most Amish.

Joanna happily nodded. “I’d rather quilt than do most anything.” Then she stopped. “Well, not more than write stories.”

Amelia asked more about her stories, but it was quickly apparent when Joanna changed the subject back to quilting that she did not wish to share more about her writing. So Amelia listened as Joanna told about the upcoming quilting bees.

Then, later, when there was a break in the conversation, Amelia asked, “Should we watch for Michael to return?” She didn’t want to sound in a hurry to leave, nor did she wish to be rude, but she also didn’t want to wear out her welcome. The truth was, she enjoyed Joanna’s company.

“Ach, he’ll throw a pebble up at the window . . . if he doesn’t see us outdoors,” Joanna assured her.

Glancing at the open window, Amelia guessed he might also hear them talking. “It’s been wonderful getting to know you, Joanna,” she said, “but I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“
Puh!
I’ll catch up—I always do.” Joanna began to lay out the squares on her bed. “Here, would ya like to arrange them, just for fun?”

For fun . . .
There it was again. Amelia so rarely took time to relax—really she should be rehearsing her newest pieces even now. “Sure, let’s do it.” And she began to move the squares around, creating a design that pleased her.

When she finished, Joanna went to get a disposable camera and snapped a picture of the design. “We don’t take pictures of each other, but it does help to have some of the quilt patterns.” She smiled.

“Great idea.” Amelia stood back and eyed her pattern. “I think I could get used to creating such lovely quilts.”

“Well, it’d be nice if you came to visit in the wintertime, then. There are lots of work frolics goin’ on when the soil’s resting.”

“I’d like that,” Amelia said before even thinking.

“Well, you could stay now, too, if you’d like. At least for the weekend.” Joanna’s eyes danced with the idea. “I’d love to have you—and with Cora Jane gone, there’s a nice, quiet bedroom right across the hall from me. What do ya say?”

Joanna’s unexpected invitation tugged at her heart. “Really? Would you mind?”

“Mind? I’d love it!” Joanna reminded Amelia of a youngster at a birthday party, not sure which present to open first. “Will you stay, then?”

Amelia had told Byron she was taking a little detour, but she hadn’t intended to make a weekend of it. “How would your family feel?”

“My sister wouldn’t mind at all—she’s away in Strasburg bein’ a mother’s helper. And Mamma, well . . . we’ve never had an Englischer stay with us before, so she might want to dress you up Amish,” Joanna joked. “But really, she’ll be fine with it, especially when she sees how happy it makes me.”

“You must miss your brothers and older sisters.”

“Jah, something awful. But I do see them quite often. It’s just not the same, though, with most of them not livin’ here in the house anymore.”

Amelia considered what seemed like a genuine invitation. As was typical, she’d overpacked for her trip to Philly, and she had the dress she’d worn last night, as well as several flowing skirts and blouses in a similar retro vein. She even had a pair of sandals along, something to soothe her sore feet.
Ideal for spending time with Joanna.

“All right, I accept,” she said, thrilled at this rare opportunity. “But I hope you were kidding about my wearing Plain clothes.”

“Oh, I was.” Joanna rushed over and gave her a hug. “This is wunnerbaar-
gut
!”

“I do have one small favor to ask,” Amelia said tentatively.

“Sure.” Joanna’s face shone happiness.

“I’ll need time to practice my fiddle—several hours a day, at least.”

Just that quick, Joanna’s face fell. “You play?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I guess not, since you aren’t Amish.” Joanna paused and glanced out the window. “Sure, it should be fine.”

“Well, what if I played somewhere other than in the house?”
Out of respect,
she thought.

“Jah, I believe that would be best.”

“I can easily drive somewhere . . . practice in a meadow, under a nice shade tree.”

“Where’s your car now?”

“Parked at Michael’s uncle’s house.”

“Jerry Landis’s?”

Amelia wondered if she’d blown Michael’s cover. “Um . . . not sure you’re supposed to know that.”

“Oh, all the young folk know about Michael’s car, so don’t think anything of it.” Joanna lowered her voice to a whisper. “And if ya do play your fiddle outdoors, maybe take me along.”

“I need to retrieve it—and my bag—from the car. Usually I try not to leave it there long, especially on a warm day like this one.”

“Well, we rarely get to hear instruments here in Hickory Hollow—that kind of music is forbidden,” Joanna said. “Though word has it that Ol’ Mathias Byler up on Grasshopper Level used to play the mouth organ while he sat on his front porch come twilight . . . serenading the courtin’ couples as they rode by. But he’s passed on. The night he flew to Jesus, Ol’ Mathias was thought to have seen his lovely Mattie, long since dead, come to take him to heaven with her.”

Amelia was struck by the account. “That is the dearest story,” she said. “But how would anyone know what he experienced as he was dying?”

“Well, according to the account in
The Budget,
his daughter found him slumped down in his hickory rocker, his harmonica lying on the porch . . . and all around was the sweet scent of lily of the valley—his wife’s favorite fragrance.”

Amelia blinked back a tear. “But can you explain why music is forbidden?”

“Unaccompanied music is okay, especially if it’s from the Ausbund—our hymnal.”

“But many types of music offer hope,” Amelia insisted.

“Maybe so, but you’ll do best to hide your music makin’ here, like one of our girls did some time back.”

“Someone related to you?”

“Well, I s’pose Katie Lapp
is
kin but by adoption—we perty much all are related one way or another, ya know.”

“What instrument did she play?”

“Guitar—and oh, did it ever sound perty.”

“You heard her play?” Amelia was surprised.

“Only once. I came upon her just a-strummin’ and crying her eyes out, over near the crick one afternoon.”

“Did she know you were listening?”

“She never did.” Joanna shook her head solemnly. “And she eventually got caught.”

“What happened?” asked Amelia, curious to know more.

“It’s a real sad story. Katie’s under the Bann for the rest of her life. But Mamma knows for truth that Katie’s adopted mother sometimes slips away to the convenience store in Bird-in-Hand to call and talk to Katie—others have some fellowship with her now and then, too. The bishop lifted the shunning a bit is all I know.”

At Joanna’s forlorn expression, Amelia let the subject drop, thinking that if Joanna wanted to share more, she would without further probing.

Joanna turned now to talk about the people who lived neighbors to her on Hickory Lane, including the revered bishop, John Beiler, who had once been a rather young widower with a houseful of children. “When he remarried, it was to a girl twenty years younger—Katie’s best friend, Mary,” said Joanna, a faraway look in her eyes. “Each and every one of these folk has an interesting life story, ya know?”

“Don’t we all,” Amelia whispered.

Joanna nodded her head. “What’s
yours
, Amelia?”

She laughed quietly. “I can only tell you if you promise not to put me in one of your stories.”

“Ach, I can easily promise that.” Joanna blinked repeatedly. “Goodness, we
both
have promises to keep, jah?”

“We certainly do.” Amelia had every confidence that she could trust a young woman like Joanna Kurtz with any secret, even her fiddling life.
Without a shadow of doubt.

J
oanna excused herself to help her mother make the noon meal. And while Amelia had also offered, Joanna insisted she relax. “You can help make breakfast tomorrow, jah?”

So Amelia went outside to sit beneath the soaring shade tree in the backyard to wait for Michael, assuming he would return any minute. Now that she’d agreed to stay, she was looking forward to seeing more of life on an Amish dairy farm, although she’d definitely keep her shoes on when exploring!

She recalled all too well the time she’d stepped in a cow pie in Papa’s barn—the squishy, smelly manure was still vivid in her mind. She’d smelled it for days afterward, even though she took long bubble baths each night to wash away the stench.
Fun times,
she thought, smiling to herself.

Amelia was still under the tree when Michael appeared, hurrying across the back lawn, his straw hat pushed back slightly on his head.

“How’d it go?” she asked, eager to know.

“Just terrible.”

She stared up at him.

“I couldn’t go through with it.” He crouched beside her.

“What happened?”

“Daed took great pains to apologize. I don’t know when he’s been so appeasing.” His voice trailed away, and he sat near her in the soft grass. “Guess I won’t be moving out this week.”

“You’ve changed your mind?”

“Daed changed it for me, and so it goes.” Michael forced air into his cheeks, puffing them momentarily. “Things are mighty complicated, Amy . . . Amelia, I mean.”

She felt for him. Even though she had never tried to talk openly to her own father about her hesitations, she couldn’t imagine things turning out much different than they were for Michael right now. For all the gumption he’d exhibited earlier, Michael surely felt fenced in.
More spunk than I could muster,
she thought, not blaming him for caving. With his father’s compassionate welcome, how could he do otherwise?

Three birds flew overhead and Michael glanced up, watching for the longest time, seemingly deep in thought. Then, looking back at Amelia, he said, “Daed wants me to park my car in his driveway.”

“Really?”

“I don’t understand any of this.” Michael picked at a few blades of grass. “Offering the right hand of fellowship . . . a very peculiar tactic, I daresay.”

“Will you take him up on it?”

“Well, it would be more convenient.” Michael nodded slowly. “I just can’t get over this.”

Amelia wondered what Michael might think of her agreeing to stay with Joanna and her family. Would he be pleased, or would it further complicate things for him with his parents?

“So tell me about your morning,” he said. “Did you get acquainted with Joanna?”

“Oh, wait until you hear this.” She filled him in quickly—the barn tour, meeting Joanna’s mother and neighbor, laying out a quilt design, the entire delightful visit. Except for Joanna’s secret. “She’s even invited me to stay for the weekend.”