Treasuring Emma (15 page)

She heard the buggy lurch to a stop, and she got up and brushed the grass off her dress. Archie and Rodney loped off into the woods, while Molly slowly made her way to her spot under the back porch.

Emma checked on Dill one last time, breathed in the fresh morning air as if it would make her stronger, and went to face Clara.

Her sister wasn’t in the kitchen. She went into the front room. “Clara?” she called. No response.

Then she heard a noise coming from the woodshop, metal clanging against metal. She ran to the shop and opened the door in time to see Peter drop a hammer into a wooden crate. “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t Clara tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I was coming to get your
grossvadder’s
tools today.”

Emma stalked over and looked down into the crate, which was rapidly filling with her grandfather’s tools, then scowled up at Peter. “No, she did not.” She snatched the hammer out of the box and hung it back on the pegboard.

Her brother-in-law lifted his hat and scratched the top of his head. “I don’t understand. She was supposed to tell you yesterday at church.”

“I left early.” Her frown deepened. “What are you planning to do with them?”

“Sell them, of course. What did you think we were going to do?”

“You can’t do that.”

He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Emma.”

“Calm down?” She jerked away from him. “You’re stealing G
rossvadder’s
tools!”

“I’m not stealing anything.” He started to reach out to her again, then stopped. “Listen to me. Clara said you two had discussed this. That you didn’t have a problem with me taking the tools to the Middlefield Auction. We could get a
gut
price for them there.”

“I don’t care what kind of price you could get.” Pressure filled her chest. “Clara didn’t say anything about selling his tools.”

Peter shook his head. “I wouldn’t have come over if I knew you weren’t ready to do this.”

Emma forced an even tone. He didn’t deserve her anger. He was only doing what Clara had told him. “It’s not your fault, Peter. Please put the tools back.”

She would never be ready to sell these tools. Or change this woodshop.

But instead of complying, Peter tugged on his beard. “Let’s talk about this for a moment,
ya
? You do know about Clara’s idea about transforming your
grossvadder’s
shop into a fabric store. Right?”

Emma swallowed. “I do.”

“And did you agree to it?”

Her head started to pound. Had she said something to Clara that put that thought in her sister’s head? With everything that had happened the past week, she wasn’t sure. “I can’t remember.”

“Emma, I understand how you feel.” He looked around the dust-covered shop. Motes danced in the sunbeams coming through the one and only cloudy, smudged window. “If this belonged to
mei grossvadder
, I’d feel the same way. I’d want to keep part of him around me. But Clara’s idea about turning it into a shop is a
gut
one. She’s worried about how you and Leona will make ends meet. I am too. And we both know the tools aren’t being used anymore.”

“I see now. Clara sent you over here to convince me to agree to all this.”

He shook his head. “
Nee
, that’s not what—”

“Get out.” She moved toward him, pointing at his chest. “I mean it, Peter, leave.”

He paused for a moment. “All right, Emma. I’ll
geh
.” He headed for the doorway. “Believe me, I didn’t mean to make you upset. And I’m not trying to talk you into anything.”

“
Ya
, you are. Both you and Clara are.”

Peter glanced down, then left.

Emma took in a deep breath. She coughed. Inches of old sawdust and dirt covered almost everything. The tools remained where her grandfather had last touched them. Most of them hung on the pegboard, but there were a hammer and screwdriver on the worktable, two mason jars of nails on the windowsill, and chunks of leftover wood stacked in the corner. Time stood still in the small building. It was the one thing in Emma’s life that hadn’t been changed or taken from her.

She leaned over Peter’s crate and pulled out the wood plane. Her hands shook as she placed it back in its spot on the pegboard. “This is where you belong,” she said out loud, “and this is where you’ll stay.”

“Clara!
Clara!
”

Mark heard Peter’s booming voice echo throughout the house. He cast a sidelong glance at Clara, drying the dishes at the sink. Mark pushed a few pieces of oat cereal toward Magdalena. She grabbed them off the tray of her wooden high chair and shoved the cereal into her mouth. Drool dripped from her tongue in strings, and tufts of fine baby hair stood all over her head.

It was all Mark could do not to vomit. Children were messy, smelly, useless brats, the lot of them. But he had Peter and Clara convinced he thought their children were blessed gifts from God, to be nurtured and loved and shaped into good Amish people.

“Clara!” Peter stalked into the kitchen, his face red, eyes blazing. His gaze locked on her. “You lied to me!”

She dropped the kitchen towel, her eyes wide with shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Your
grossvadder
’s tools? Emma?” Peter hovered over her, seeming not to notice that Mark was there. “You didn’t tell her I was coming, did you?”

Mark gave Clara credit for not shrinking back. “She and I had already talked about it.”

“Not according to her.”

“Emma doesn’t know what she wants.”

Peter took a step back. He held on to his hat with a death grip, rolling and unrolling the brim in his hands. “Of course she doesn’t. She’s hurt. She’s grieving. She wants to hold on to the memories she has left. Can’t you understand that?”

“She has
Grossmammi
.” Clara bent down and snatched the towel from the floor. “She has that big drafty
haus
that’s going to fall down if it’s not repaired.”

Magdalena banged on her tray for more cereal. Mark tossed a few pieces in her direction, the way he might pacify a dog with a couple of kibbles. He focused on Clara and Peter’s argument. This was getting interesting.

“It’s not a pile of splinters yet.” Peter tossed his hat on the counter. “You’re pushing her before she’s ready. I thought you were worried about her.”

“I am.” Clara twisted the towel in her hand. “But I’m worried about us too.” She moved closer to him.

Mark had to strain to hear her voice.

“Think about what the shop could do for our
familye
, Peter. You wouldn’t have to worry about finding a job. We would have our own business. The bills would be paid. No more scrimping and saving, hoping we can make it from month to month.”

“You mean praying we make it month to month. Right?”

“Right.”

Mark smirked at Clara’s doubtful tone. She didn’t believe that drivel any more than he did.

“What if this isn’t God’s will?” Peter asked. “What if He has something else planned for us?”

“Like what?” Her voice rose. “This is perfect, Peter. We have the facility. The tools we sell will help us start the business. We should have enough customers on our road alone to make a profit right away.”

“And what about Emma? What does she get out of this?”

“A part of the profits. Financial security.” She stared at Peter. “A purpose.”

“And it’s your job to decide your
schwester’s
purpose?” He turned around and froze. “Mark.” He pressed his lips in a grim line. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I’m sorry.” He stood, making sure his expression reflected not only the solemn nature of the conversation but enough contrition to ease his cousin’s anger. “I should have left as soon as you came in.”

“
Ya
. You should have. This was a private argument.”

“That you held in the most public room of our
haus
.” Clara moved to stand by Mark. “Don’t apologize,” she said to him. “It’s no secret Peter doesn’t have a job. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that when no one’s working, no money is coming in.”

Peter looked ready to explode. He grabbed his hat off the counter, slammed it on his head, and stormed out of the room.

Clara leaned against the chair. She looked spent. Mark hid a smile. It wouldn’t do for her to see him enjoying her suffering. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“He was a little hard on you. Considering everything you do to keep your
familye
together and happy.”

“I wish he understood.” Her tone was filled with defeat. “He thinks as long as we pray hard and have enough faith, God will provide.” She looked up at Mark. “He hasn’t provided for nine months. And when a perfect opportunity for God’s provision does come up,
mei mann
rejects it.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand him.”

“How about if I talk to Emma?” Mark looked at her. They both ignored Magdalena’s yammering in the background. “Maybe I can convince her that this is an opportunity she can’t pass up.”

Clara paused. A shadow passed over her eyes. “You barely know her.”

“But I know you. And you’re
schwesters
. You can’t be all that different.”

“You have
nee
idea.” She sighed. “Why would you do this?”

“Because you’re right. You and your
kinner
deserve to be taken care of, to not have to worry about money. But most of all, because we’re
familye
.”

“And that’s the only reason you want to see Emma?”

Mark shrugged. “She’s single.” He gave Clara a crooked little grin. “Maybe if she had something else to occupy her mind and time, she wouldn’t be so resistant to what you want to do.”

Clara raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you’re right.” Then she frowned. “But, Mark, I don’t want you to feel you have to like Emma. Or pretend to be interested in her. I’m frustrated with her right now because she’s not being reasonable. But I don’t want her to get hurt. She’s had her heart broken before. I don’t think she could take that again.”

Mark looked into her eyes. “Clara, I promise you, I won’t break Emma’s heart.”

Adam shoved the last bite of a sausage and egg biscuit into his mouth as he turned onto Bundysburg Road. He hadn’t seen either of his parents since yesterday evening, and this morning his mother hadn’t come downstairs to make breakfast. When Adam looked outside the window, his father’s buggy was already gone. He must have left before sunrise. Which meant he must have taken care of the animals a couple of hours before that.

Adam would have made his own breakfast, but he didn’t want to mess up his mother’s pristine kitchen. A cherry Danish in a bag sat on the seat next to him, and a Styrofoam mug of coffee in the truck’s cup holder. Cherry was her favorite. She deserved a treat.

A buggy came toward him in the opposite direction. He slowed his speed, remembering his aggravation at rude drivers when they whipped by him in their cars, sometimes honking their horns. Usually reckless teens did that, trying to spook the horse. They had no idea how dangerous that was, not only to the horse and buggy driver, but to everyone on the road. Still, that didn’t keep some morons from doing it.

He parked the truck in the driveway, grabbed the coffee and Danish, and got out. It was an odd juxtaposition, the big black pickup truck and his Amish clothes. He hadn’t been able to wash his Yankee clothing yesterday. Work on Sunday violated the Sabbath, and he wouldn’t do that to his mother. He couldn’t care less about what his father thought.