The Amish Clockmaker (27 page)

Their room.

Clayton set the boxes down against the wall as she had asked and then crossed to the bed as well, wishing for all the world that he could do so without limping and drawing such attention to getting there. He sat beside her, wanting to say just one more thing, needing to say one more thing before their life as husband and wife truly began.

“I will share my bed with you, Miriam. But I won't… I don't think we should… I could never force myself on you. I want our bed to be… ” But he could not finish. He could not find the words to tell her he did not want to give his body over to her or to take hers as his own if she still loved another man.

Miriam reached up with a hand and wiped away a tear that had started to slip down her cheek. I would sleep in the other room…”

“That's not what I want from you.”

“Then what?”

She let the hand at her cheek fall to her lap, and Clayton reached over to cover it.
I want you to want to be with me
, he wished he could say.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said instead.

They sat that way for several long moments. Miriam sniffed back her tears and then took in a deep, cleansing breath.

“Would you mind giving me a few minutes alone to put my things away? We can bring up the rest of the boxes later.”

Clayton didn't know if this was a good sign or a bad one. “Of course,” he replied, after a second's hesitation.

He released her hand and stood awkwardly to his feet. At the door, Miriam said his name. He turned to her, and she remained seated on the bed with her hands in her lap.

“
Danke
,” she said, and her eyes still shimmered with tears.

T
WENTY
-O
NE

T
he next morning—the first full day of his wedded life—Clayton stood in front of the mirror and enjoyed the unique and thrilling experiencing of shaving only his upper lip. Today his beard would begin to grow, never to be trimmed or shaved again now that he was married. Something about the simple act of running the razor over just the mustache area and then putting it away, all done, filled his heart with joy. As a symbol of marriage and commitment, a beard was something Clayton had never, ever expected to have in his lifetime.

His happiness quickly dissolved, however, as he emerged from the bathroom and Miriam rushed in to take his place, one hand covering her mouth as she barely managed to close the door behind her. He spent the next half hour hovering there in the hallway, listening to the horrible sounds from inside and asking her over and over if she was all right. The youngest of his siblings, Clayton had never lived with a woman who was in the family way, and no one ever talked about the specific biology of it. He'd heard vaguely of “morning sickness,” but this horrible retching had to be something far more serious. It was nearly more than he could bear.

Finally, his mother convinced him to come downstairs and let Miriam be. Once he was in the kitchen, she thrust a cup of coffee in his hands and told him the barn chores would take his mind off what was happening in the bathroom.

“By the time you come back in, Miriam will probably be done,” she added.

“Done? Done with what?”

“Done getting sick for the day,” she answered forthrightly. “It's normal, Clayton. Don't fuss about it. It's normal.”

He had stomped outside with his coffee, mumbling there was nothing at all normal about what was happening upstairs.

When he came in nearly an hour later, Miriam was sitting in the living room with a cup of tea, watching the sun rise, and his mother was preparing a chicken for roasting so the oven could be turned off before the worst heat of the day arrived.

“Sorry about all that.” Miriam took a sip of her tea, regarding him over the rim of the cup, and then she returned her attention to the pearly-rose hues of first light outside the big front room window.

“Are you all right now?” Clayton asked, noting how pale she seemed.

Miriam shrugged. “For a lot of women, this would have ended by now. But my mother had the morning sickness long into her time, so I suppose it may be that way for me too. I should have warned you. It only started about a month ago.”

Clayton wanted to go to her and lay his hand on her shoulder and tell her he was sorry she had been so sick, but he didn't know if he should. Everything about Miriam was suddenly very new and strange to him. When he had awakened in the darkness that morning and felt the warmth of her back against him, he could only lie there in astonishment at the raw and shattering reinvention of her presence in his life. He had known and loved her for five years, but being married to her was like meeting her for the first time every few minutes.

“You can come down to the shop with me today if you want,” he said when his voice returned to him. “If you're feeling better, that is.”

She seemed to think on it a moment before turning her head from the window to face him. “I don't know the first thing about clocks except that they all do the same thing, the same way, and they always have. I doubt I'd be much help to you.”

She started to turn back to the window and her cup, but then she bolted from the chair and took to the stairs, sloshing tea onto the braided rug at her feet. A moment later, the sound of her retching wafted down to him.

Within a few days, Clayton had resigned himself to rising many minutes before Miriam stirred so that he could be outside already when she awoke
and the horrible morning ritual began. He also took his time so that if there was a round two, he'd miss that as well.

When he awoke on Saturday, darkness still covered the county. The only clue that dawn was not far off was the strident crowing of the rooster outside. Miriam did not move as Clayton rose from their bed, but for her sake he still took his shirt and pants to the bathroom to change in there, as he had since the day they were married.

At the top of the stairs, he spotted a light burning in the kitchen.
Mamm
was already up. The aroma of fresh coffee met him on the first step and grew in intensity as he descended. When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he saw that his mother was at the table with a mug in her hands and her head bowed as if in prayer. The windows were open, and the only cool breeze likely to be felt that day was ruffling the curtains. He was about to make his way outside through the front room door when she spoke.

“You can come in, Clayton.”

He stepped into the kitchen. “I thought you might be praying.”

“Just thinking.”

He said nothing as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Is… are things right between you and Miriam?”

Clayton sipped the coffee despite its heat to quell his embarrassment. “As right as they can be, I guess. It's early yet. Not even a week since the wedding.” What did she expect him to say? Was she asking him about their private life behind his bedroom door? Did she know he and Miriam had not been intimate and she was concerned about it? Surely she was not asking him about that. Impossible.

When he said nothing else, she exhaled heavily. “I think you should invite her down to the shop, Clayton, like you said you wanted to do back when… back when
Daed
was still with us. She needs something to do. It's hard for me—and for her, I think—when it's just the two of us here all day. Except for the morning sickness and various chores around the house, she spends a lot of time out in the barn, mostly up in the hayloft. It's not wise for her to be climbing up and down that rickety ladder to get there. Now that she's your wife, she should be the one coming down to help you at the shop anyway, not me.”

“Ya,
but I'm trying not to rush her, especially with her being so sick. I don't think she's quite ready to come to the shop with me yet.”

“The sickness is done by midmorning and then she's fine the rest of the
day.”
Mamm
sipped from her cup and then set it gently back down on the table. “She'll come if you tell her to.”

“It's not like I haven't mentioned it—”

“
Ya
, I heard how you mentioned it the other morning. You said she could join you if she wanted to. That's not the same as telling her to come because you need her there.”

Clayton could certainly use some assistance. The last few days had been busy with the summer season in full swing, busy enough that he had sensed his slowness on his feet was a detriment. He couldn't transition fast enough from work area to the retail side to the back room. He had kept customers waiting several times, something
Daed
said was never a good practice.

“All right. I'll ask her.”

“You mean you'll tell her.”

Clayton swallowed another sip of coffee and then set the half-empty cup in the sink. He left without responding. He didn't need his mother instructing him on how to manage his wife.

He returned to the house an hour and a half later with a container of milk fresh from Rosie's ample supply and a full basket of eggs. Miriam, pale and haggard looking, was sitting at the table with just a glass of water in front of her.
Mamm
wasn't in the room.

“Can I get you anything?” he said as he set the eggs and milk down.

Miriam shook her head and then changed her mind. “Wait. Do you have saltines? Sometimes crackers help.”

Clayton opened the door of the pantry and withdrew a Nabisco tin of Premium Saltines and set it down next to her. “Do
we
have saltines,” he corrected, lifting the corner of his mouth in a gentle smile. “This is your home now too, Miriam. Anything in this house is yours. Open any drawer or cupboard or closet you wish to find what you need.”

She smiled weakly in return and reached for the tin. “If only it were that easy.”

“It is that easy.”

She said nothing as she popped open the lid and extracted a waxed paper sleeve, unwound the twisted top, and pulled out four crackers.

Clayton cleared his throat. “I was thinking it would be good if you could come to the shop with me today. Summer is a busy time down there, and I, uh, could use the help.”

Miriam swallowed a bite, coughing a little at the cracker's dryness. “You
want
me
to help you? Wouldn't you rather have someone who knows what they're doing? Like your mother or one of your sisters?”

“I'd rather have you. I can teach you what you need to know to serve the customers. I think you'll like it, actually, and I don't doubt you'll be good at it. We've a lot of
Englischers
who come in, and you've been in their homes. You know what they like.”

“I've only been in a couple. Four at the most.”

“That's four more than I've been in.”

Miriam licked salt off her lips and nodded slowly. “All right, Clayton. If you really want me to.”

He felt a tremendous sense of relief. This would satisfy
Mamm
and would bring Miriam into the part of his life where he spent the most hours of his waking day. “I really do.”

“Okay, then. I'll start today?”

He smiled. “
Ya
. Why don't you come down around noon, as long as you're feeling well by then.”

“All right.”

“
Gut
. Maybe you could bring our lunches with you, and we can eat there together.”

She took another bite of cracker and washed it down with a sip of water. “Okay,” she rasped, and the very thought thrilled Clayton's heart. Just two months ago, he had rolled his father out to the old picnic area and thought sadly that he would never share it with anyone again. Now look how God had blessed him! He had a wife he loved and a child on the way that was to be raised as his. He couldn't imagine anything that could make his life more complete.

He was about to leave when she spoke again.

“Listen, as long as we're talking about what I can do around here, I have to tell you that it hasn't been easy finding my place.”

His heart sinking, Clayton lowered himself to the chair next to Miriam's.