The Amish Clockmaker (17 page)

Saddened, Clayton turned back to the others. “As the future sole proprietor of the shop, I'm saying that if additional staff is needed, I'll take care of it. I'll hire who
I
want to hire.”

Clayton could see a shimmer of hurt in both of his sisters' faces.

“We're not trying to run your life, Clayton,” Maisie said. “We're—”

“Then don't.”

The conversation came to an end. After a long silence, someone said something about needing to get home and the others piped up in agreement, each of them acting as if there had been no conflict at all between them. As Clayton remained in his chair, the others rose and gathered their things. They left the room in clusters until all that remained were Joan and Maisie and their two children, who were still picking up the toys from the floor.

“You know what I think?” Maisie said suddenly, her cheeks flushed and her tone soft but defiant. “I think you already have someone in mind to hire for the store.”

Clayton blinked, feeling as if she had read his mind.

“If he does, Maisie, that's between him and
Daed
,” Joan said, looking embarrassed.

“I don't know,” she replied, her eyes narrowing. “I feel like there's something Clayton isn't saying here.” Turning back toward him, she added, “So who is it,
bruder
? Who are you planning to hire once
Daed
can no longer help?”

Clayton stared at his oldest sister and considered telling her there was no plan, or it wasn't any of her business. But she was a shrewd and insistent woman, so finally he forced himself to answer her question in the most neutral, matter-of-fact tone he could muster.

“Miriam Beiler,” he said with a shrug. “She needs a job, and she's right next door, which would make it convenient for both sides.”

As soon as the words were out there, Joan and Maisie both froze.

“And I've been thinking maybe Titus or Obed might like to apprentice with me,” he continued, pretending he hadn't noticed, “which would help with this too, because as long as someone else is around, there wouldn't be anything inappropriate about Miriam working with me when
Mamm
isn't in the shop.”

Still Clayton's sisters did not reply, so finally he looked from one to the other, and he was startled at the intensity of emotion showing on their faces.

“That
really
isn't a good idea,” Maisie said softly, shaking her head from side to side. “Titus already works with his father, Clayton. And Obed would never want—”

“It's not our business, Maisie,” Joan whispered, a small wooden horse clutched tightly in her hands. Then she returned her attention to the children, kneeling down and tossing the horse into the basket of toys.

“Think about it, Clayton,” Maisie said, still standing there looking at him. “What good would come of Miriam working for you? You'll only end up getting hurt.”

He was trying to come up with a reply when Joan spoke. “I think Maisie's right, Clayton. It wouldn't be fair to you.”

“Fair?” he exclaimed. “What exactly are you implying?”

Joan exhaled slowly, sad-eyed as she met his gaze.

“You've been sweet on Miriam ever since the Beilers moved in next door,” she said softly. “Offering her a job now would only set you up for heartbreak.”

He wanted to respond. He wanted to refute his sisters' assertions with enough authority that they would realize they were being ridiculous, that he'd never thought of Miriam as anything other than a friend. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he felt the anger inside him slowly shifting into something else, something more like a terrible ache.

When he said nothing in response, Joan returned the toy basket to the closet, and then they both told Clayton they would see him later as they herded the children out the door.

He stayed where he was, listening to the laughter and chatter wafting in from outside as kids were rounded up and horses were strapped in and everyone prepared to go home. He was still sitting there ten minutes later when his mother came back into the room. From the look on her face, she knew exactly what had transpired between him and his sisters. No doubt, Maisie had shared every word.

Embarrassed, he rose, turning his attention toward the window just as the last of the buggies pulled away.

“The Beilers would never agree to Miriam working at the shop,”
Mamm
said, wringing her hands in front of her.

“Miriam is a grown woman.”

“Even so, they don't want her spending so much time here… with you. Her mother told me that today, Clayton. They want her to settle down and get married, maybe even to the man who's having supper at their house tonight.”

Clayton did not look at his mother, but he could tell she was crying as she said words that she surely knew were stinging him to the core. He swallowed the knot that swelled behind his Adam's apple.

“Miriam won't marry somebody just because her parents want her to,” he barked.

“And she won't marry you, son.”

Tears sprang to Clayton's eyes, but he turned away before his mother could see.

“I know she won't,” he managed to mutter. Then, without another word, he limped to the stairs, gripped the railing, and began to move slowly upward, step by leaden step.

T
HIRTEEN

O
ver the next few days, Clayton found himself wishing he could relive the evening his sisters and their families had come to supper. Though he and
Daed
still quietly worked side by side in the shop, the silence between them seemed forced now instead of natural. Clayton had apologized the morning after for losing his temper, and
Daed
had forgiven him, but it was clear his father didn't know which plan—the family's or Clayton's—was the one to go with. This weighed on him.

And it seemed to weigh on
Mamm
too. She insisted on helping Clayton maneuver the wheelchair from the house to the shop, even though he tried to convince her she didn't need to. It was almost as if she wanted Clayton to know she wouldn't be forgotten or pushed to the side as everyone tried to come up with the best course of action for when
Daed
left this earth at last.

The worst part of the fallout from that evening was finding out that it was no secret among his parents and sisters that Clayton had feelings for Miriam Beiler. He had never so much as hinted to anyone how he felt about his next-door neighbor, and yet apparently they all knew. Even Miriam's parents had suspicions, or why else would they tell his mother they didn't want their daughter spending so much time with Clayton? It was as though they were saying they didn't want a possible suitor seeing Miriam hanging out at the Rabers' so much and getting the wrong idea.

As if anyone would. Miriam was only a friend. She had never given Clayton any indication she was attracted to him. And why should she? He wasn't near good enough for someone like her. At least
she
hadn't picked up on his feelings for her. Surely if she had, she would have long since said something. Miriam was the most transparent person he knew. If she realized how his heart raced whenever she was near, she would have brought it up. Wouldn't she?

All of these troubling thoughts stayed on Clayton's mind—the tension between him and his parents, the way he had left things with his sisters, and the fact that his private thoughts were no longer private. Four days after the disastrous conversation, he was gathering eggs in the violet predawn when
Mamm
was suddenly in the coop with him, taking the basket from his arm.

“I can do this,” he said quickly. “You don't want the wood shavings in here to set off your asthma.” Her sensitivities were always worse in the spring and summer.

“I won't stay but a few minutes. You gather. I'll hold the basket.”

Clayton reached his hand into a nesting box and pulled out three eggs the color of coffee and cream.

They worked in silence for a few seconds and then his mother spoke. “This situation with you,
Daed,
and your sisters can't stretch out indefinitely. We need to come to some sort of agreement. Your father doesn't want to rush you, but he doesn't like having unfinished business lying about right now. I'm sure you can understand that.”

Clayton inhaled heavily. He did understand, but he didn't know how to fix what was amiss.

“They just can't have that much involvement with the way I do things here,
”
he said in as gentle a tone as he could produce. He placed two more eggs in the basket. “I know I'm slower at the chores than anyone else is, but I do get them done. And as far as help with the shop, why can't it just be you and maybe Miriam for a few hours a week? She's right next door.”

His mother pursed her lips together. “Miriam may not always be next door.”

“I know that. But she is right now. And there wouldn't be anything inappropriate about that if I also took on an apprentice.”

“An apprentice?”
Mamm
's eyebrows raised, and Clayton realized she hadn't been in the room when he'd posed the idea to his sisters. At the time, Maisie had made it sound like neither boy would be available or interested, but he had a feeling she was just using that as a reason to keep him and Miriam apart.

“
Ya
. I was thinking maybe Titus or Obed.”

Mamm
looked away for a moment, toward the coop's open door and the glowing dawn sky. “Even if something like that could be worked out, I'm afraid for you, for what might happen if Miriam were around more often than she already is. It would be more difficult than you think. Do you really want to spend your days listening to her go on and on about her latest suitor? Do you really believe…”

Her voice drifted off. Clayton looked down at the dozen or so eggs in the basket. Some were speckled, some weren't, but they were all smooth and warm to the touch. Speckled or not, they would all look the same on the inside. And they would all break the same.

“I know you don't want to talk about this,” she continued, “but I can't stand by and say nothing. I truly don't want to see you get hurt, son. There's already been too much of that in your life.”

They were quiet for a moment. Outside a rooster crowed, slicing the morning air with his age-old salute to daybreak.

“She's just a friend,
Mamm
. She's not in love with me. She's never been in love with me.” He thrust his hand under the last roosting hen, and the bird cackled at his intrusion. He pulled out an egg and placed it in the basket.

“There's a young woman up near Ephrata who lost her husband last fall to a terrible fever. She has three young boys to raise, sons who are already a help around the home and farm. They say she's a very nice person.”

Clayton couldn't believe his ears. Was his mother actually being as intrusive as Miriam's parents had been lately with her?

“What are you getting at,
Mamm
?”

“I hear she's a nice person,” she said again, as though Clayton had asked her to repeat what she said, not explain it.

“
Mamm
—”

“Her name is Lillian, and she's just a year or two older than you are. Twenty-nine, I think.”

Clayton turned to look at his mother directly in the eye. “Are you suggesting I court this widow? Is that what you're saying?”

“She's too young to be alone. And her boys need a father.”

“I don't know her. And she doesn't know me.”

“But you could maybe find out more about her, Clayton. You could try.”

“Are you forgetting something?” He nodded to his misshapen leg. “Do you really think whoever this Lillian is that she'd want to marry someone like me?”

“Why do you always do this? It's not as if you're a helpless cripple. You have a good job at the clock shop. And you are a kind and decent man. Her sons could be a big help to you. The oldest is already nine. Once he's a bit older, he could become the apprentice you were talking about.”