The Memory Jar (13 page)

Jathan stepped farther into the bright kitchen, and she dared to glance up. He wasn’t smiling. No, his gaze was more tender than that. He seemed to take her words and breathe them in. Her comment had done more than make him happy. Her words seemed to give life to his heart.

He removed his wide-brimmed hat and placed it on the coatrack and then ran a hand through his hair.

“Do you mind if I sit and watch?” he asked. “I’ve been working with Abe Sommer, but he’s back in Indiana fer a spell, and I have the day off.”

“Mr. Sommer? Oh
ja
. They’re back for a wedding. Of course I don’t mind if you sit and watch. Not at all. I’d like the company. And I can use help too. Can you get me the flour and oil? Both are in that large pantry.” She pointed.

Jathan rose and moved to the pantry. He returned with the flour and oil, and he’d also grabbed baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Then, without her asking, he moved to the walk-in refrigerator and got the butter and a jar of buttermilk.

“Is this what you use?” he asked, holding up the glass jar.

“
Ja
. I can understand how you figured out I’m making buttermilk biscuits, because I make them every morning I’m here … but how did you know the ingredients?”

He shrugged. “A good guess.”

Sarah lowered her head and looked at him from under her eyelashes. “Good guess indeed.” Then she folded her hands on her apron and watched as he pulled a large mixing bowl off the top shelf and picked a wooden spoon from out of the drawer in the workstation — the exact spoon she would have chosen.

“There’s something different about you, Jathan.”

The words were just barely out of her mouth when he stiffened. He still smiled, but it seemed forced. He turned his back to her, pretending to be interested in something outside the window.

Did I say something wrong?
Sarah measured the buttermilk and then slowly stirred it into the dry ingredients.

A sinking feeling came over her, just like it had when they were in the woods and she’d asked about the scar over his eye.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way. Yer different, easy fer me to talk to, and you seem to be comfortable around the kitchen. I like that.”

He nodded, but as he glanced back at her there was a distance in his gaze that she hadn’t seen before. “I’m glad you do, Sarah, but I have to say there’s others who —” He paused. “Never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

“I don’t want to ruin the day — a beautiful day with a beautiful girl.”

“If you say so,” she commented, feeling her own heart withdraw. Is that how others felt when she kept to herself? No
wonder she hadn’t found love. Who would want to fall in love with a wall?

Jathan offered half a smile and then measured a tablespoon of baking soda into the triple batch.
How did he know the right amount?

He wasn’t ordinary, that was for certain. And she liked that. But would the special friendship they both obviously wanted end before it was given a chance?

After all, how could she open her heart to someone who kept himself guarded as if chained up by lock and key? And how could she offer her jumbled mass of emotions to him in return? As with a ball of knitting yarn, she didn’t know where pulling one string of thoughts and feelings would lead.

In math, two halves made a whole. But in life — and with relationships — two halves offered up from broken souls seemed a poor way to begin something wonderful.

Being the youngest of eight, with all his siblings married, Jathan thought he understood what to do when one desired to court a lady. Long walks and heartfelt talks were in order. Buggy rides, picnic lunches, and sharing stories by lantern light brought a couple closer.

Some of his brothers had participated in bedroom courtship, bringing their intended home — or to the house of a friend — and sleeping side by side through the night with a bolster between them. Jathan had never liked a woman enough to even consider that … until now. Yet as he watched Sarah measure all her ingredients, he realized he didn’t need to follow in the footsteps of his siblings. He’d never experienced a
more intimate moment than being in the kitchen with Sarah, especially when he saw her bow her head.

“What were ya doin’?” Jathan asked when she lifted it less than a minute later.

“Saying a simple prayer. My
oma
said the surest way to make
gut
food is to bake it with love … and to ask the Lord to bless yer kitchen and yer home.” She giggled. “This is neither my kitchen nor my home, but I still pray over the food I prepare, that it may turn out well and bring joy and nourishment to those who eat it.”

Jathan nodded, not knowing what to say. Words could not express the respect he had for Sarah, the appreciation he had that God had brought someone into his life as wonderful as Sarah.

Although neither of them had stated anything more than friendship — well, not in clear language at least — he sensed her care for him was growing. He’d noticed it in the way her face had brightened when he walked into the kitchen, as if he was the one she’d been hoping to see most of all.

Sarah pulled her lip between her teeth, concentrating hard as she measured the last items for the recipe. When she’d gotten everything she needed into the mixing bowl, she looked up at him and cleared her throat, as if picking up where their last conversation left off.

“There’s something special about making
gut
things and being able to serve them. It makes me feel like I’m part of God’s creative process.”

He nodded as he washed his hands in the sink. “I agree.”

Her words stirred his own desires to open his own business. Some days he considered a retail store for his father’s and brother’s furniture. Some days, a store and restaurant like the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery that Annie ran. But most
times, he knew he’d like to run a bakery best, one with someone as skilled and caring as Sarah to head things up. What would she think of that?

Jathan shook his head. He wouldn’t mention it. Not yet. He didn’t want Sarah to think he was more interested in her baking skills than her heart — no, it was her heart he wanted most.

After he dried his hands, he wiped down the counter and spread out flour, making it easier for her to roll out the dough for the biscuits when it was time.

Sarah cocked her head and eyed him. “How did you know to do that? I realize you have been coming in early in the mornings, but you haven’t been here early enough to watch me bake.”

He cleared his throat. “My
Mem
has a bakery, remember? I, uh, have watched her more than once.” Jathan rubbed the side of his nose, hoping she didn’t question him further. He thought about offering to roll out the dough for her, but then he changed his mind.

He enjoyed spending time with Sarah, and he wanted her to remember him as the one who carried her out of the forest. He didn’t want her to see him as weak, as someone who did women’s work. So instead of helping, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched.

“Tell me a little about yer
oma
, Sarah,” he asked, remembering the smile on Sarah’s face when she mentioned her.

She shrugged. “Before her passing, she lived her whole life in Kentucky, and the one thing I remember is that her cookie jar was never empty.” She sighed. “Her cookies were like a gift to me. Very yummy gifts, and I felt special every time I ate one.”

“Yer customers feel that way too. I’ve heard the other diners commenting. I’ve felt the same. When a plate is brought out by the server, well … it feels like you made something special jest for me.”

“I’m not the only baker and cook. Annie and Marianna also bake and cook. And Jenny is helping and learning too.”

“
Ja
, I know.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t come in here for the last two months to see any of them.”

Embarrassed by his words, Jathan took the lid off the jar of buttermilk and then looked at it closer. “Is this still good? There’s something floating in it, like little flakes.” He sniffed it. “Hmm. It smells good.”

Sarah laughed. “Haven’t you seen old-fashioned buttermilk before? My
Mem
showed me how to make it from churning butter. Those flakes are butter, and you can smell it, but I don’t recommend you drink it. It’s much sourer than regular buttermilk.”

“That’s what must make yer biscuits so good.”

“And my pancakes, too, if I say so myself.” She jutted out her chin slightly and her
kapp
strings danced where they hung. “Although you must promise you never heard me say that. I’m supposed to be
demut
, remember?”

“Sarah, you needn’t worry about that. Yer one of the most humble women I know.”
And one of the most beautiful
, he wanted to add, but knew he shouldn’t.

Sarah was pretty. He’d been attracted to her from the first time he saw her — with her heart-shaped face and light hair and eyebrows. Of course, it was also her joy in the kitchen that had drawn him in from the beginning. She was just the type of woman he’d enjoy spending a lifetime with, and he still had all of summer, fall, and into winter to discover if she could have such feelings for him in return. Feelings that went deeper than playful banter.

Jathan thought about Ohio. If it was up to him, would he return at all? There was nothing drawing him back. There
were expectations. Expectations from the woman who’d told him from the age of sixteen that they were to be married. Expectations from his father and brothers, who all believed a stable job, no matter how boring and meaningless, was all one needed to aspire to in life — and they thought that’s all
he
needed to aspire to.

“What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked, kneading the biscuit dough into a ball. “You left this kitchen about five minutes ago, or at least that’s how it seemed.”

“
Ach
, so sorry. It’s jest that I’m regretting having to go back home after hunting season.”

Sarah nodded and then looked at him, narrowing her gaze. “Regret it? Returning to family and yer
Mem
’s bakery? It sounds delightful to me.”

He eyed her, his curiosity piqued. “But going back means leaving what I’m growing to care for here.”

Sarah pointed to the window. He followed her gaze and noticed the sunrise had transformed the snowy peaks, making them look like they were frosted in pink.

“Oh, the mountains. It will be hard to leave them,” she said. “
Ja
, I understand.”

Jathan cleared his throat. “Sarah, you know I’m not talking about the mountains….” He couldn’t come out and say it, but by the light that appeared in her eyes, he sensed she understood.

“Jathan … do you read the Bible?” She lowered her voice so it sounded deeper, as if mimicking his words from yesterday.

“Ja.”

She stroked her chin and unknowingly left a smudge of flour there. “If I remember right, there is a verse that says, ‘Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will
worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’ Perhaps there will be a way that everything you dream fer will come true.”

“That’s true. We’re not to worry. But it’s hard; especially when someone else has yer whole life planned out fer you. Yer ideas and dreams. With my dreams taken from me, sometimes it seems the only feelings I have left fer myself are my worries.”

“What do you mean, yer dreams taken away?”

He held in a breath.
How can I explain? How can I let her know that when I do return, I’ll have little or no time to enjoy
Mem
’s bakery?

As much as he’d enjoyed spending time with Sarah yesterday, and as much as he hoped conversations like today could lead to a growing relationship between them, a part of him said to walk away and not get her involved. What he wanted to offer Sarah and what he could offer were two different things. Who he wanted to be and the son and brother he would step back into being when he returned to Ohio were two different men.

“I suppose I should tell you. My life is planned out fer me. Since I finished grade eight, I’ve been working around the farm and in my
Dat
’s workshop, but my family needs more money coming in. My
Dat
has already talked with a friend of his who works in a local factory. They have a job fer me when I return. And then there’s the farm.
Dat
and
Mem
had already begun to move their things into the
dawdi
house before I left. The big house will be mine … and all the responsibilities. They figure when I start my job, they can keep the shop running and keep the farm from going under.”

“The shop?” She slowly rolled out the dough.

“My
Dat
and oldest
bruder
, Yonnie, are woodworkers. It was Yonnie who came up with the idea of me going to the factory. He and
Dat
have ideas for expanding their wholesale market
beyond Holmes County but need some money to invest to do that.”

“Money you’ll bring in from yer job?”

Jathan nodded.

“But that doesn’t seem right. I know we are called to care fer our elders, but I know you — you’d do that anyway.”

“I would — in my own time and own way maybe — but all the ways I imagine spending my life can’t help them now, with their current needs.”

“And how would you like to spend yer life?” She tilted her face up to his. The morning light from the kitchen window sent a beam of radiance across the narrow strip of hair her prayer
kapp
didn’t cover. More than anything, Jathan wished he could bend down and kiss that spot.

“Like you, Sarah, I enjoy spending time with people. I appreciate our Amish heritage and faith and know not everyone has that. Day by day, I’d love to interact with customers and remind them it’s the simple things in life that matter most — to share a bit of our heritage with
Englischers
. To provide fer their needs and …” He looked away.

“What?” She adjusted her stance, keeping the weight off her sore ankle and reached out and touched his arm. “What were you going to say?”

He lifted his head and looked to the ceiling, imagining the sky outside and heaven beyond. “I was going to say, I would like to spend my days doing something closer to this —” he waved his hand around the room —“than being part of an assembly line. But you see, Sarah …” He returned his gaze to her. “That’s where my struggle is. It’s impossible for me to honor my
Dat
and follow my dreams at the same time.”