An Amish Family Reunion (36 page)

“Uh-huh,” said Simon, as unconvincingly as humanly possible.

“It states right in the Bible that a man is head of his household and that the wife should mind him, instead of throwing up barriers and excuses at every turn in the road.”

Simon braced his hands on his knees while his brows stitched together between his eyes. “I’m well aware what Scripture says about marriage in the book of First Peter. I also know that a smart
ehemann
makes decisions after listening to his wife’s good counsel. What kind of husband are you?” He peered up with curious interest.

“Dad, I don’t want to argue with you. The problem is that Martha doesn’t like living in New York. She hates raising the children away from our families, and I doubt anything will make her happy unless I announce we’re throwing in the towel and moving back to Ohio.” He tossed the brush into the tack box with more force than necessary and then unhitched the horse from the ties.

“And that’s how you see it? As throwing in the towel? That sounds like some sort of failure on your part.” Simon lumbered slowly to his feet. Years of backbreaking labor along with his own arthritis made him move like a very old man.

Matthew led the gelding to his stall, filled the water trough from a bucket, and poured oats into the wall-mounted bin. All the while he tried to organize his conflicting thoughts and feelings. “I guess I do see it like that,” he agreed, latching the door behind him. “I have a good-paying job at that saddlebred stable, one many men would drool over.”

Simon’s mouth twisted as though tasting sour lemons. “Does it make you feel superior to have something others may covet?”

Matthew whistled through his teeth. “I’m explaining myself poorly. Maybe that’s why I can’t make any headway with my wife.” If he’d expected his father to disagree, he would have been disappointed. Simon nodded and stroked his beard.

Matthew walked back to his father, standing almost a head taller than the older man. “I only mean this job is my chance to make money—money we can use to buy our own farm someday. Land isn’t getting any cheaper or more plentiful—not here, not in New York. I want to create something I can one day leave to Noah, something he can then leave to his son and so on. Amish farms are divvied up between too many sons, leaving too little land to farm. I want to buy English land, and this job at Rolling Meadows pays me enough to set money aside.”

Simon mulled this over. “Haven’t you saved anything yet?”

“
Jah
. I’ve been saving since we moved there.”

“Prices have fallen here while you’ve been gone. Might be worth your time to look into things. I don’t want to tell you your business, but sometimes a man must take what he’s got and pray it will be enough. Stop waiting for the deal of the century.” Simon walked away as one hand rubbed the small of his back. “Pick your priorities. Ask yourself what’s really important in life.” From the doorway he spoke without turning around. “You have a few things to think about, son.
Gut nacht
.”

Just a few?
Matthew rolled his eyes and shook his head. Yet even after he was tucked up in bed, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about them until dawn finally ended his restlessness, next to a woman who only pretended to be asleep.

P
hoebe slid off her favorite rock to her knees and began stuffing her tablet and pencils back into her tote bag. She’d turned her drawings into crumpled wads of paper, which would end up in the burn barrel on her way back to the house. Nothing sparked much creativity today, not
mamm
’s flock of frisky sheep, not the changing cumulous cloud formations in an azure sky, not even the majestic pair of eagles that soared on warm air currents, waiting for their next tasty prey.

Even watching the adorable lambs provided nothing more than a vague, disjointed sense of annoyance. They followed their ewes around the pasture like thoughtless…well, sheep, even though they were nibbling sweet grass more often than nursing these days. They were still drawn to their
mamm
s by an almost unbreakable bond. Yet if something happened to her ewe, a lamb could easily be introduced to another lactating sheep. The lamb would transfer her devotion to the new parent figure with no emotional trauma.

How much easier it was to live a sheep’s life. Ewes certainly didn’t wallow for days in self-pity over rams that left them for a prettier Dorset or Suffolk face. Phoebe laughed aloud at the sheer ridiculousness of her thoughts. And yet for all her laughter, for the first time her hike to the ancient stone wall had failed to bring her comfort.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she dug out her last apple to feed Henry’s elderly acquisition. The swayback nag was living out her final years at Uncle Simon’s, usually near the fence that separated the two farms because Phoebe loved bringing her apples and carrots. The mouth full of huge, yellowed teeth nuzzled her hand before chomping into the gift. Phoebe scratched her white-whiskered nose. “I see you still haven’t made friends, old girl. And apparently, it bothers you not.” The mare shook her head in complete agreement while chewing the apple. She tossed her tangled mane into the breeze as though she were a prized show horse.

When Phoebe started down the well-worn path toward home, an unsettling idea crossed her mind.
I’m no different than an orphaned lamb. Once I clung to
mamm
Constance’s skirts, but now I hide behind
mamm
Hannah’s
. Although the transition had been anything but smooth, considering her year spent speechless, she couldn’t love Hannah more than if the woman had given birth to her.

Human relationships were as temporal as those of livestock. Friends moved away and new ones came along at the next barn raising or preaching service. If mothers could be replaced by new wives, then why did losing her first beau sting so badly? At eighteen, surely she would enjoy courting a bevy of young men before she married… provided she stopped lurking among livestock.

Eli Riehl. She’d closed the door on their friendship before realizing he was her first beau.

As the dirt path cut across the pasture and then followed the wheatfield, Phoebe marveled at the subtle changes late summer had wrought. Grasshoppers leaped before each footfall, while red-winged blackbirds cackled nosily from every scrub tree. Soybean leaves had already dried and yellowed, along with cornstalks awaiting harvest. She swatted at deerflies that feasted on arms already spotted with angry red sores. Dandelions had lost their flowery heads and turned to countless white seedlings blowing in every wisp of breeze. The drone of insects, the faraway yip of a dog, the clop-clop-clopping of a passing horse and buggy—summertime sounds that usually soothed her soul—no longer helped. Without clear reason, Phoebe felt she approached some destination without packing her suitcase. With a sigh of relief she entered an empty kitchen and headed for the refrigerator. Where was that can of pop she’d hidden from Ben?

“All present and accounted for?” asked Hannah.

Not hearing her mother’s approach, she practically jumped out of her skin. “
Jah
, sixty-two Dorsets with eighteen lambs, thirty-eight Suffolks with twelve lambs. None have become lost or befallen a sorrowful fate with a predator.” Phoebe straightened and tried to leave the kitchen with her orange soda.

“Wait, young lady. Sit at the table with your drink. We need to talk while I bread pork chops and you snap green beans.”

Phoebe shrugged while washing at the sink, unable to assess her
mamm
’s mood.

“First of all, pull up your skirt and push up your sleeves.” Hannah set a colander of green beans on the table and turned to face her.

“What?” Phoebe pretended not to understand a perfectly clear command.

“You heard me. Your aunt thinks your nerves might be causing the itching.”

“I got poison ivy from Aunt Julia’s bog. She’s well aware that it grows everywhere off the path.” Phoebe dried her hands on a paper towel.

“Please do as I asked.”

Phoebe lifted her skirt to reveal a string of flaming bumps on both shins. “The ointment doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Do your arms look like that too?”

“Not quite so bad.” But just speaking on the topic caused some welts to itch furiously. Phoebe bit the side of her mouth to keep from attacking her skin with her fingernails.

“Tomorrow we’ll take the buggy to the doctor in Winesburg. You need a shot of antihistamine before you scar yourself for life.” Hannah carried eggs, flour, breadcrumbs, and pork chops to the table.

“What difference does it make? I never go anywhere I would be noticed.”

“That’s your own choosing. You’re still getting the shot.” Hannah cracked several eggs into a bowl and beat them until they were frothy. “Does this have something to do with your former book partner? I want to know what’s bothering you, daughter.”

“Eli didn’t give me poison ivy,
mamm
, but I suppose he’s the reason I wasn’t minding the path and ran through vines.”

Hannah’s lifted eyebrows prodded Phoebe to continue.

“When he said he was no longer interested in being a writer, I panicked. And then I guess I gave him the idea I didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

Hannah dipped pork chops into flour, then into the egg mixture, and finally coated them with breadcrumbs so they would be ready for the frying pan. “He changed his mind about his vocation, so you dropped him for a friend? That doesn’t sound very nice.”

Phoebe would have loved to argue but couldn’t. “I didn’t act very nice, but Eli makes me nervous when we’re together. He becomes flirty and says really sweet things. Yet when I open my mouth only stupid words come out.”

Hannah smiled, but she quickly tried to hide her amusement. “That’s a common occurrence when young people start to court.”

“He’s the one who wants to court seriously. He talks about the future and makes these big plans for us.”

“And you don’t feel that way about him?” Hannah peered up from her work.

“I like him a lot, but I don’t want to get all dewy-eyed attached to anybody. What if something happens to him?” She whispered her words, even though they were alone in the room.

“Are you thinking about his
daed
’s heart attack?”

“Maybe. Heart disease runs in families.”

Her mother looked truly sad. “My sweet girl, Eli is a young man.”

“My first
mamm
was young. You said that yourself, but she still died. She left us, even though she didn’t want to.” Phoebe concentrated on snapping the ends off beans and then breaking them into the pot.

Hannah paused to reflect. “That’s true. Sometimes even young people die. God may call someone home who by our perspective is just starting life. But His plan is perfect for each of us. Not everyone has been chosen to live a long earthly life, but He promises paradise for those who believe.”

“So we’re supposed to hope we don’t fall in love with the wrong person—someone whose earthly time might be cut short?”

“Not exactly. You need to let God’s love fill your heart first and foremost, because His love is the only love we can never lose. It must be sufficient, because in the end it’s all we have. Our other relationships might be fleeting, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t form them. Look at the price you pay by living in fear, afraid to let people close.”

Phoebe’s head jerked up from the beans. “What do you mean?”

“The reward for fear isn’t protection from pain; it’s loneliness. You’re miserable now because you have lost your friend.”

“No, I got mad because he threw away our goal of publishing a book.”

“He had to face the reality of being an Amish farmer. That’s not the same as throwing away your shared dream. Maybe the two of you can find a way so he can have both.”

She stared at the pile of bean tips, hoping they might offer a solution. “Do you think I behaved like a selfish child?”

“If you did it’s because you’re young.” Hannah laughed unexpectedly, much to Phoebe’s chagrin. “If people my age still make mistakes, surely you could be forgiven one selfish lapse of judgment.”

“He was the only one who could see inside me, whom I felt safe with. And I know I hurt his feelings.”

“Then you should apologize. But even if Eli no longer shares your dream, that doesn’t mean you should abandon it.”

“
Danki, mamm
,” she murmured, fighting back tears. “Somehow being a famous children’s book illustrator doesn’t hold much joy anymore.” Several teardrops fell into the bean trimmings.

“Come here, dear girl. You’re not so big that you can’t by comforted by your old
mamm
.” Hannah wiped her hands on a paper towel and opened her arms wide.

Phoebe sprang onto her mother’s lap, just like the time her favorite lamb, Joe, had died. She buried her face against Hannah’s shoulder and cried herself dry, praying she’d
never
grow too old to find comfort in her mother’s arms.