The Memory Jar (17 page)
Authors: Tricia Goyer
17
S
arah watched him leave, unsure of what had just happened. He was gone, just like that. She placed a palm on her forehead, chiding herself.
He was here for months. He sat at the first table nearly every day since he arrived, yet I didn’t talk to him, at least not more than a few sentences and not about anything that truly mattered. Not until I was lost, did I find what I’d been looking for
.
Why? She’d been foolish, paying more attention to Amos. Amos was loud and playful, yet because he’d captured her attention, she’d missed the opportunity to get to know Jathan’s heart.
Her ankle began to ache. She moved to the stool and sat, not realizing until that moment how long she’d been standing. Maybe it had been aching all along but she hadn’t noticed until now. Maybe because the pain in her heart matched.
The oven timer buzzed for her banana bread, but Sarah didn’t move.
After a minute,
Mem
hurried into the kitchen. “I’ll get that.” She pulled out the loaves of banana bread, placing them on a cooling rack.
“I feel so bad about his family — his father. Yer
Dat
and I will pray. Poor Jathan, to have to hear the news from so far away.”
“Ja.”
Sarah felt bad for Jathan, but she felt horrible for herself too. Robbed. Just like when Patty was taken. Jathan still lived, yes, but Sarah felt the glimmer of hope inside go black, as if someone had blown it out.
“I hope his
Dat
will be okay,” Sarah whispered. “I’ll miss him.”
Tears filled her eyes. How could this happen so quickly? A month ago she hardly knew Jathan existed and now …
She swallowed and felt a flash of dread. She was going to have to work tomorrow knowing Jathan wouldn’t be there, and the next day, and the next. She’d also be waiting not-so-patiently for the mailman, wondering every time he showed up if he brought a letter from Ohio.
Lord, why did you bring someone into my life jest to have that person snatched away? Once again …
Thinking that made things seem even worse.
When did this become about you, Sarah?
She could hear the voice in her head.
When did a man’s serious injury — and his son’s suffering — become all about you?
Fourteen-year-old Sarah looked at the quilt pieces spread before them. The Amish auction was coming up and for some reason Patty had volunteered them to make a quilt
.
She blew out a puff of air and looked at the colors before her. Red, blue, yellow. Boring
.
A few of the older ladies had raised an eyebrow when Patty announced they’d donate a quilt too. They were going
to be watched. Watched closely. One woman had chuckled, and Sarah had overheard her whispering to her friend, “Do those girls even know how to sew?”
This upset Sarah. They weren’t girls, for one. Both Sarah and Patty had finished school and both had jobs helping mothers with their children. Patty helped care for a family with five young boys, which suited her just fine. Sarah’s job was working for a mother with twins. Thankfully, the mother enjoyed tending to the children and asked Sarah to focus on the kitchen duties
.
Sarah frowned at the spools of thread. She would rather peel potatoes than quilt. Not only were the women in the community going to be eyeing their work, having it at an auction meant it would be displayed for all the world to see
.
“Maybe we should jest choose one color,” Patty suggested, “and make a subtle pattern with the different shades.”
Sarah shook her head and tossed the squares she was holding back onto the table. “Yer acting like you know what yer talking about. It’s going to look drab, and I’m gonna look like a fool.”
Patty stood there silently. Sarah expected her to answer with a smart remark. Or stomp out. Patty did neither
.
“Sarah, when did this become about you?” Patty’s voice was calm
.
“Excuse me?”
“We’re making a quilt for the benefit auction. The money’s going to help the school. This quilt will cover someone’s bed.” Patty closed her eyes. “I can imagine two little girls — friends — lying under it and sharing whispers jest like we did when we were ten.” She opened her eyes again and looked at Sarah
.
Sarah jutted out her chin. “Are you reprimanding me? Trying to make me feel bad?”
“
Ne.
Not that.” Patty shrugged. “Jest making an observation.”
Sarah crossed her arms. Anger bubbled inside like oatmeal at full boil. How could Patty act so calm? It made her mad that her friend’s motives were so pure
.
Patty placed two squares side by side. “I think blue and yellow will look pretty. It won’t be the best quilt but —”
“Don’t you care that yer name will be on it?” Sarah interrupted. “Everyone will judge you.”
Patty placed a hand over her chest. “I know I’m not the best quilter. Everyone else must guess that, too, since I don’t sit here all day with a needle in my hand.”
Patty rose and moved to the window, looking out at the larch trees that had turned brilliant yellow. “Do you ever consider it odd how we live our life? We know what pins and snaps to use fer our garments. We count the pleats in each other’s
kapps.
Our dress, our humility, everyone judging each other all the day long — fer what you do and you don’t. They’ve already judged me before they’ve seen anything I’ve sewn. Some might see my attempt as weak, but fer one person — the buyer — the quilt will be a true gift, and I choose to focus on that.”
Sarah understood what Patty was saying, but tension mounted inside
. Why am I always so worried about others’ approval?
As if reading her thoughts, Patty placed her hand over Sarah’s. “You don’t have to do this with me. I won’t be mad if you don’t.” Patty wrinkled her nose. “I doubt I’ll get it done, but I won’t be mad.”
Patty’s words eased the tension building inside
.
“I wish you would have jest talked to me about it first,” Sarah muttered
.
“Yer right. I’m sorry, Sarah. Since I’ve known you, I’ve been bossing you around. It’s a hard habit to break, mostly because you usually go along with my ideas jest fine.”
Patty picked up the photocopy of the sign-up sheet and ran her finger down the list of volunteers until she came to their names. Then with a pen she crossed out their names. And over them she wrote “Patty’s Quilt.”
Sarah frowned. Had she just been … fired?
Patty turned to her and smiled. “Sarah, I volunteered to make a quilt fer the auction. Everyone knows I don’t sew well, and it’s a project I can’t finish in time. I was wondering if you — as my loving best friend who I appreciate — would be willing to help me.”
Sarah looked from Patty’s gaze to the scattered colored squares before her. Red. Blue. Yellow. Bold colors just like Patty. She rushed over and swept her friend in a hug
.
“Ja,
Patty. I would love to help you with yer quilt.” Sarah released a long sigh, and then followed it with a smile. “Thank you for asking.”
Thirty hours had passed since Jathan’s train had left Montana. Thirty hours and thoughts of Sarah had only been halted for a time by a few hours of sleep and by worries about
Dat
.
If there was ever a moment Jathan had wished he could turn back time, it was now. He’d go back to the day he left home.
Dat
had been out in the barn and Jathan had waved a quick good-bye. If he could do it again, instead of waving,
he would give
Dat
a handshake. He would tell
Dat
that even though they hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, he cared.
But Jathan couldn’t turn back time. Would he even see his father alive? He couldn’t imagine life without him. The thought made his burden even heavier. Heavier because there’d be more to care for, but also because it made him think about something he’d given up considering …
Without
Dat
’s opposition, would it be possible to approach
Mem
about helping her with the bakery? Would she listen to Jathan’s ideas? He’d always known she’d never go against
Dat
’s wishes. Still, for a season, she’d enjoyed having Jathan in the kitchen as much as she enjoyed being there herself.
Another thought struck. If he could talk
Mem
into it, would Sarah come and help in the bakery? Jathan clung to the thought like a lifeline. Would that be too much to hope for, dream about — especially after the way he’d left things?
If ever there was a second moment he could also return to, he’d go back and give Sarah a good-bye hug and tell her that maybe, with God’s help, their dreams could work out someday.
The train rocked gently as it moved down the tracks, and the bright daylight cast shadows across the expansive fields and hardwood forests. He recognized the area. He was in Ohio again.
Yet Jathan wasn’t as interested in the view as he was in the newspaper sitting on the seat next to the businessman nearby. The older man had set it down ten minutes ago and hadn’t picked it back up.
Jathan leaned forward. “Sir, are you done with that newspaper?”
The man lifted his eyebrows, surprised.
“Uh, yes.” He handed it over.
Jathan flipped through it to the article he’d been trying to
read from across the aisle. It was an article about the growth of small businesses and how to determine if one would succeed.
He’d just neared the end of the article when the man cleared his throat. Jathan glanced up.
“Do you have a business?” the man asked. Then he leaned forward and offered his hand. “I’m Bob, by the way.”
“I’m Jathan. It’s nice to know you. To answer yer question, well, my family has two businesses.
Dat
— uh, my brother makes log furniture and my
Mem
runs a bakery. She makes the best bread I’ve ever had. Have you been to Holmes County, Ohio, before?”
“I haven’t, but my sister goes there with her friend. She likes to buy quilts and other such things.”
“You should tell her about the bakery. It’s in Berlin. Our Daily Bread is the name of it, right on Main Street.” Jathan smiled. “The tourists come year round, but more come in the summer. I’ve seen the line go out the door.”
“I imagine it would. Do you have other baked goods, too, like cakes and pies and such?” There was an interest in the man’s eyes Jathan didn’t understand.
Jathan nodded. “
Ja
, but they’re not
Mem
’s specialty.” They were good, but not like what Sarah made. He smiled, thinking of her again, of how she’d taken his breath away the first time he’d seen her. How much he liked her smile … and her cupcakes.
Jathan pushed away those thoughts and instead launched into talking about his mother’s cinnamon rolls and fall pumpkin bread, which always brought big orders. Talking about those things was easier than accepting that the train was taking him farther away from Sarah with each passing minute.
The man listened with interest. He asked about their baking
methods and focused on Jathan’s words. When the train slowed, Jathan rose to get off.
The man stood and took a step closer. “Listen, I know we don’t have time to talk about it fully now, but I’d like to talk to you about some sandwich shops I have in New York State. If you think you could find a way to service some orders of bread and pastries, I’d love to talk to you more about your business.” He pulled out his wallet and handed his business card to Jathan.
“It’s not my business. My
mem
—”
The man interrupted. “If you haven’t talked your mother into hiring you, son, you should. I listen to business presentations all the time, and if they were half as informative or interesting as what you just talked about, I’d love my job much more than I do. I won’t keep you, but email me …” The man paused as if remembering to whom he was speaking. “I mean —” He looked at the floor as if wishing it would open up and swallow him.
Jathan chuckled deep from his gut. “There is a phone down the street. I can borrow it.” Excitement caused his heart to pound, and he felt his heartbeat in his throat. He’d just thought about the idea of helping
Mem
when he returned and here he was meeting a possible future client.
Even though his Amish community believed in the importance of prayer,
Mem
had taught him something else too: True followers of Christ took time to listen. Not only to listen to the still, small voice of God the Bible talks about, but to also listen to the people and circumstances God brings into their lives, to consider where God is at work.
Lord, are you telling me something?
Jathan felt a stirring inside, something that told him to wait and pray about it. But was there really a need to pray when the answer had been placed right in front of him?
With enthusiasm Jathan stretched out his hand, accepting the man’s handshake. “Thank you, sir. You’ll be hearing from me. I’m not sure how we’ll work it out, but I have a feeling we will.”
Jathan grabbed his small suitcase and exited the train. Two men in Amish dress stood by the curb next to an
Englisch
driver.
Seeing their solemn faces, guilt rushed over him. How could he think about the bakery when the only reason it was a possibility was because his father had a stroke?
He hurried to Yonnie and Otto and stopped before them. Tears rimmed Yonnie’s eyes and Otto’s eyes were red. Neither looked as if they’d slept at all in the past week.
“
Dat
, is he …”
Otto placed a hand on Jathan’s shoulder. “He’s home. He’s resting.”
Jathan let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Yet
Mem
says not to tarry in heading home. With
Dat
’s condition, you never know.” Yonnie shook his head. “You jest never know.”
18
J
athan walked into the
dawdi
house and hung his hat on the hook. The last time he’d been there was when his
oma
was still around. His parents had cared for her then. Now they were the ones being cared for.