The Amish Clockmaker (15 page)

Clayton led their horses to their stalls, fed and watered them, and then turned his attention to the newest addition to the barn, a sweet-tempered
Jersey who was due to give birth in the coming weeks. He had just finished raking out Rosie's pen and was about to lay down fresh straw when he heard a voice behind him.

“Will you let me know when Rosie starts to calve?”

Startled, Clayton whipped his head around. Miriam was standing with her arms crossed nonchalantly over the rail, almost as if she had been there for hours. She and her family didn't have any livestock at their place other than buggy horses, so she often came to the barn at chore time. But that's when
Daed
was usually here too, and the two of them could hear her singing all the way toward them.

“Miriam! When did you come in?” Clayton glanced toward the door, knowing they shouldn't be in here alone together for too long, as it might reflect poorly on her.

“You will, won't you?” she said, bypassing Clayton's question. Her brows were knit together in careful thought. She was beautiful as always, and Clayton had to look away from her.

“Uh.
Ya
. I guess.” Moving as quickly as he could, Clayton tossed out new straw for Rosie and then slipped from the pen, latched it shut, and put the pitchfork away. “She might calve while we're all asleep, though,” he added as he headed for the door. “That happens more often than not.”

“Well, tell me when it gets close, then,” Miriam replied, falling into step behind him, “and maybe I'll come down here and sleep on the hay next to her so I won't miss it.”

“Miss it?”

“Newborn calves. They're adorable.”

Clayton laughed nervously, partly because it was a crazy notion, and partly because Miriam was the sort of person to attempt such a feat. The thought of her curled up in Rosie's pen all night, just a stone's throw from the house, made his heart pound. “I don't believe your parents would think that was a great idea,” he said, peeking at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You're right.” She sighed in frustration, the sun's long rays surrounding her shiny auburn hair, neatly bound in its twisted bun and partially covered by her crisp white
kapp
. “I don't know why they're always so critical of everything I do.”

Clayton waited a moment to see if she expected him to respond. It wasn't exactly a question, even though he knew the answer. It was because Miriam didn't fit the mold. She was her own person, one who marched to the beat of
her own drum, and that was about as un-Amish a thing as anybody could be. As a child, she'd gotten away with far more than most. But now that she was grown, the time for being unconventional was over. Clayton knew that Miriam's parents were eager for their daughter to wrestle down her more individualistic tendencies, join the church, and submit to authority and community.

“They're not just critical,” she continued. “They're meddlesome too.”

Finished with the chores, Clayton should have been making his way back down to the shop to help
Daed
close up and then wheel him back to the house. But Miriam was making no move to return home herself. If he said he needed to get back to the shop, she'd end their conversation.

And he didn't want it to end.

Clayton glanced toward the horizon. Judging by the angle of the sun, he decided he could spare another fifteen more minutes or so before his
daed
would start wondering where he was. Until then, he would remain here with Miriam, using the time to do some pruning as they chatted.

“Meddlesome?” he asked as he walked over to a nearby sapling, Miriam following close behind.

She let out a laugh, one without mirth. “To put it mildly.”

“But they're your parents, Miriam. It's been their job to train you up in the way you should go.”

“Even now that I'm in my twenties? Even when it comes to choosing a mate?” Her voice was coated with challenge.

Clayton felt an odd lurch in his stomach. Choosing a mate? Was Miriam considering marriage? With his bare hand, he snapped a dying branch from the tiny trunk with such force that the wood made a loud
crack
and splintered. He swallowed hard and glanced at her, afraid she may have noticed his change in temperament, but she seemed oblivious. He turned his attention back to the tree, trying to keep his eyes on the task at hand. “I didn't realize you were being courted,” he managed to mutter.

“I'm not.”

The relief he felt almost made him exhale aloud.

She pulled some browning leaves from one of the branches and continued. “They've been harassing me to find a husband. Settle down. Start a family. All that stuff.”

“All that stuff,” Clayton echoed again, feeling an odd mix of elation and dismay—elation that she wasn't yet involved with anyone, dismay that it was only a matter of time.

“Like tonight, for example. Would you believe they've invited someone to dinner—as a date for me? Some older man from another district who apparently needs a wife and thinks I might fill the bill. I can't believe their nerve—of them for asking him to come, and of him for coming. Since when do Amish parents meddle in their children's love lives? It's ridiculous. How embarrassing!”

Clayton wanted to say something in response, but hearing her confide in him about a potential suitor made the words in his head disappear. She was right. Among the Amish, when it came to marriage and dating decisions, parents rarely were involved. Instead, once their children reached the age of sixteen or seventeen, they would look the other way, at least somewhat, allowing such choices to be worked out in private. Parents might offer a word of advice here and there, but sometimes they wouldn't even be aware of a serious relationship until their children informed them that they were engaged.

“I'm sure they think they're acting in your best interests.”

“Don't kid yourself, Clayton. This is about
their
best interests, not mine. They seem to think that because I'm not being courted by anyone and I've quit another job, I simply must get married by tomorrow or they'll be stuck with me forever.”

“You've quit another job?” He tore a twig from the tree, wanting very much to be done with the topic of dating entirely.

Her shoulders slumped. “I hated working at the furniture store. It was so boring. It smelled like sawdust and varnish, and everyone was always so serious. And they didn't allow singing. Not even humming.”

“Oh.” A tiny thought began to percolate at the back of Clayton's mind. “So you're looking for another job, then?”

She turned to him and smiled triumphantly. “Actually, I already have a lead on a new job. Cleaning house for an
Englisch
couple in Lancaster. They want an Amish woman because they say we know how to keep a house. They're tired of
Englisch
girls who only do a job halfway.”

“Oh?”

“My friend Kate told me about it. You know Kate, right? She's had the job herself for only a few weeks, but now she and her husband have decided to move down to Quarryville, so she has to quit. She told them she knew someone else who might be interested, and now they want to talk to me.”

“You said the job's in Lancaster?”

She nodded. “According to Kate, the people have a big house, lots of
money, and no children. She's a career woman, so she doesn't have much time to fool with housework and stuff. Kate's job has been to clean up after them, do their laundry, dust and mop, shine the silver, and have dinner waiting on the stove for when they come home. She says when they arrive, they just collapse in front of their television and eat. They have a television, Clayton!”

“Oh.”

“I've never seen one myself. You probably haven't either, but Kate says it's really something. She says you can't imagine all the different kinds of shows there are. Kate's favorite is called
Secret Storm
, and it comes on every day. It's a drama, but she says there are also comedies. Shows where people play games and win money. Shows just for children, with puppets and stuff. There are even shows where all the people do is sing.”

“Really?” Clayton said, only half listening.

“Yes, really. Can you imagine? How fun.”

Miriam went on, but Clayton hardly heard a word she said. Instead, his mind was consumed with asking her the question that had been somersaulting in his brain for the past few minutes, ever since she told him she'd quit her latest job. Now that she was available, would she consider working for him? At the clock shop?

If she did, he wouldn't need Maisie or Joan or anyone else pestering him about trying to man the store all by himself. Between him and
Mamm
and Miriam, everything would be covered.

But the thought of even framing such a question made his face grow warm. He cleared his throat to chase the nervousness away. “Do you think you will like cleaning up after people and cooking for them?”

“Well, it sure beats breathing in sawdust all day. And I can sing whenever I want to. There won't be anybody there. Of course, my parents aren't too happy about it. They said they don't want me in an
Englisch
house, just singing all the time or watching television. As if I'd have time for that with all of the cleaning and cooking to be done.”

Clayton snapped off one last tiny limb and prayed for the courage to ask Miriam if perhaps she would like to work in the clock shop instead. In fact, if she started soon, they could train her on all the facets of the business while
Daed
was still around. Besides handling the customers, she could also take on the bookkeeping and other administrative functions, freeing Clayton to focus almost exclusively on clockmaking and repairs.

Then again, there was the matter of propriety, he realized, as it wouldn't
do for an unmarried man and woman to spend their days together inside the same small building, alone except for the occasional customer or two. But there had to be some solution for that, even if it meant one of his nephews working there with them, as he'd been thinking about before, and serving as a chaperone of sorts.

“I just feel like I need a break from life here,” she continued before he could speak. “I need to see something different. I need a change. Do you ever feel that way, Clayton? Like you just wish you could do something new. Something not Amish?”

Clayton coughed back his shock. “Not Amish?”

“I just want to see something pretty every day. I want to be surrounded by pretty things. Not for forever. Just for a little while.”

“You… you mean fancy things?”

“Yes, okay. Fancy things. I want to see photographs of the ocean and feel lace on my skin and smell perfume and watch the sun glint off stained glass. And I want to sing in the rain and dance on tiptoe and wear a sparkly bow in my hair and paint with watercolors. I want to hear someone play a cello and have my nails done and go to the theater to see a play or a symphony.”

Clayton had never heard Miriam talk this way. It was almost as if she had forgotten she was speaking to one already baptized into the church. Her eyes had a faraway look, and it suddenly struck him that he needed to speak with her about all of this—as a Christian brother, if nothing else. Because if this was how she really felt, then taking a position in a fancy
Englisch
house was only going to make things worse. This new job, if she ended up getting it, would carry her even further away from the Amish principles with which she'd been raised. He was trying to decide how to phrase his objections when she shot him an astute glance.

“I know what you're thinking, Clayton, but please don't say anything. You're the only one who doesn't have a fit when I talk this way. I just need some place where I can spit it out like this, just the honest, gut-level truth.”

He hesitated and then nodded. If she already knew, what would be the point in speaking his admonishments out loud?

“I'm sure that after a while I'll want to come home and marry and live an Amish life, but right now, I feel like I'm going to burst. I just want something
different
to happen. Church member or not, I know you know what I mean.”

His mind returned to the thought of her working at the clock shop, and
it was on the tip of his tongue to ask her about it when they heard footsteps approaching.

They both turned their heads as Clayton's petite
mamm
stepped around tree. She smiled cordially at their neighbor, but Clayton detected a shimmer of apprehension.

“You're wanted at home, Miriam,” she said. “Apparently you have company coming and you need to get ready.”

Miriam turned away, a flash of irritation crossing her features as she did.

“
Danke
,” she said, as she started to walk off. “Bye, Clayton.”

“See you,” he called after her, feeling as unfinished as a sentence interrupted after the first word.
If only
Mamm
had come along just a few minutes later!

Miriam strode across the wide grassy field between their houses. Clayton watched as she reached the split-rail fence that separated the two properties and let herself out through the gate. Usually she didn't bother, but he supposed she was acting with modesty now for the sake of his mother, who would not think very highly of a young woman hoisting herself up over a fence and down the other side.