The Amish Clockmaker (19 page)

On one of those Sunday afternoons, Clayton and his father explained
together to Maisie and Joan and their husbands how the caring for the home and the shop would be handled once the inevitable happened, a conversation for which Clayton was immensely grateful. Maisie was not in favor of their “let's wait and see” approach, but Roger finally deferred on her behalf, saying they would do as asked. Joan didn't agree with the plan either, and she made Clayton promise that the minute he or
Mamm
changed their minds, all they had to do was send word and she and her oldest children would be there to lend a hand. Clayton's other sisters and their husbands also assured him that he and
Mamm
weren't to hesitate a moment to ask for assistance with anything. In turn, he assured them that he had no problem asking for help when it was needed. He just didn't think it would be.

“Won't you be lonely in the clock shop all by yourself?” Joan asked in a final appeal.

“With all those clocks to keep me company? Not a chance,” he'd replied with a smile, ending the conversation on a positive note.

Their weekend family get-togethers, bursting with noise and activity, were in stark contrast to Monday mornings when Clayton would walk down to the shop alone. He would pretty much remain that way throughout the day except for the occasional customer. His mother didn't feel right leaving
Daed
by himself in the house, even for a few minutes. Sometimes Maisie or one of his other sisters would stop by to give their mother a rest and to bring over a casserole or a crock of stew, but
Mamm
never strayed far from the house. She came down to the shop only on the rare occasion to ask Clayton a question or bring him a snack. Over time, he found himself pushing his end-of-the-day chores to five o'clock after he closed up. This meant his normal workday was now well over twelve hours. He didn't mind, and again he declined to accept assistance from his sisters' children, though both Maisie and Joan offered. Between handling all the clock repairs on his own, working on new time pieces, and waiting on customers, the workday flew by.

As it turned out, though Clayton greatly missed his father's presence in the store, he realized that working by himself wasn't all that different. The two men had always been so absorbed in their own tasks that they had barely interacted for much of the day anyway. Now that Clayton was manning the place alone, he came to appreciate the solitude.

He had taken down the curtain that hid the back room, and after a while he found that he no longer wanted or needed to shy away from tourists who simply had to know why he limped so badly or what had happened to his face. The more he answered their nosy questions, in fact, the less angry he would
be that they asked. Likewise, the less angry he got, the less he would lose his temper and say something impolite. He found out rather early the first week he was alone in the shop that the majority of the curious didn't ask about his scarred brow or oddly bent leg at all. They just looked at him with questions in their eyes, and he pretended not to notice.

He also found a rhythm with the chores, one that surprised him. His days were not at all unpleasant, and the time it took him to tend to the animals, both in the mornings and the afternoons, started growing a little shorter as he fell into a routine.

Still, on most evenings, by the time he finished with the chores it was already well past supper.
Mamm
would keep a plate warm for him, and he would usually eat it in the living room with his father, telling him about his day—who had come into the shop, what new repairs he was working on, and what new projects he had started.

Though
Daed
continued to grow weaker, he seemed to thrive on these conversations, and it was obvious to Clayton that the man's confidence in him was growing. Clayton was so glad, because he really didn't want his father to spend his last days worrying about what might happen once he was gone. Instead,
Daed
needed to see that all would be well, that life would go on, that Clayton was capable of providing for
Mamm
and handling whatever might come their way in the future.

He was to learn that that goal had been achieved on a Sunday afternoon in mid-May. About an hour before dark, just after his sisters and their families had gone home from an afternoon visit, he walked back into the house to find his father sitting in the entryway, waiting for him.

“Clayton, I need to talk to you about something. Would you roll me down to the shop?”

Intrigued by
Daed
's intensity, he readily agreed and retrieved the wheelchair. As he helped the man settle into it, he noticed a piece of paper rolled up in his father's hands. He decided not to ask about it. If his father wanted him to know what it was, he would show him.

As they headed down the driveway together,
Daed
cleared his throat and began speaking. “I need to apologize to you, son, for having doubted your ability to handle the store, the chores, and everything that goes along with running this homestead. I've seen how well you're doing with all of it, which is why I've decided to… ” he paused and then smiled. “Well, you'll see.”

They reached the bottom of the hill, and
Daed
asked Clayton to roll him behind the shop and around to the far side of the building. Situated between
the clock shop and the Beilers' driveway, the grassy lot held a single shade tree at its center with an old picnic table underneath. Clayton and his father used to share lunch there on warm spring days when the sun was shining and the shop wasn't busy. As Clayton rolled his father toward there now, he realized they would never share another one of those lunches again.

Clayton's heart ached at the thought and at how he'd taken for granted such wonderful moments in the past. His sadness only increased when he realized he would never share times like that with a son of his own either. He would never have a son at all.

Forcing such thoughts from his mind, he parked the chair under the tree and then sat on the bench as directed, resting his elbows on the rough wood of the table. Once he was settled, his father began to speak.

“As you know, my parents didn't leave this homestead to me in their will. Instead, they signed the deed for it over to me while they were still alive, to avoid inheritance tax issues. And though technically it all became mine the day we signed on the dotted line, that deed protected them as well by establishing their right to live here until their deaths, even though they no longer owned the place.”

Clayton nodded, familiar with what his father was saying. Deeding land rather than willing it wasn't an uncommon practice in the Amish community. The only part people found odd was the bit about reserving the right to live there till death—as if there were any question. But
Englisch
lawyers always insisted on that clause, and so the Amish usually went along with it.

“Anyway,”
Daed
continued, “as you also know, the homestead becomes your mother's once I'm gone, but eventually she'll be doing the same thing for you and your sisters that my parents did for me. She'll pass along the homestead to you to possess and occupy during your lifetime. You understand what I'm saying? This place will be yours to use for the rest of your life, but once your mother signs it over to all of you, even though your right to live and work here for the rest of your life will be legally protected in the deed, this homestead will not belong to you alone. Your sisters will own it jointly with you.”

“I understand,
Daed.
”

“I know you do, and as long as things go on as usual, it doesn't really matter anyway.”

“So why are you telling me all of this?”

Daed
looked at him, his expression unreadable. “I'm telling you this in case things
don't
go on as usual.” He coughed, the rattling sound like
sandpaper on a clock's casing. Then cleared his throat and kept going. “In the future, if you ever wanted to make changes to the place, your co-owners would have the right to step in and have a say on how things are handled. Do you understand what I'm getting at?”

Clayton shook his head. Everything his father had been saying made sense, but he just didn't see why it mattered.

“Because you will share ownership with your sisters,”
Daed
explained, exhaling slowly, “I worry about them meddling once your mother and I are gone. Specifically, I'm concerned about the shop. Say it does well and eventually you want to expand. With your sisters as co-owners, they would have to give their permission for you to do any new construction to the property. And knowing how protective they are—and how much they tend to underestimate your abilities, not to mention your determination—chances are they would be very conservative in allowing that.”

Clayton nodded again, still trying to figure out what his father was getting at.

“The thing is, I don't want you to
ever
have to go through another conversation with them like the one we had back in March.”
Daed
looked down at the ground, his features filled with guilt and regret. “We were all wrong and you were right. I should never have involved your sisters and their husbands that way. And I certainly shouldn't have allowed their opinions to overshadow yours.”

“
Daed
… ” Clayton began, but he couldn't finish.

“I believe in you, Clayton. Since that day you've proven yourself fully capable of everything you said. That's why I've decided to do something else before I pass on. Something legal and binding.”

Daed
's face suddenly took on a smile. Eyes twinkling, he held out his hand and added, “Got a dollar?”

Clayton hesitated, frowning, but he could see that his father was serious, so he dug into his pocket, produced a single bill, and handed it over. In return,
Daed
gave him the rolled up paper he'd been holding in his other hand.

His brow furrowed, Clayton unrolled the paper. It was some sort of document, a legal agreement between
Simon Raber
and
Clayton Raber,
a transfer of land from one to the other for the price of
$1
. The land was listed as
Lot 23, Ridge Road, Ridgeview, Pennsylvania
.

“This still needs to be notarized, so I've arranged for a notary to come by tomorrow afternoon, when your mother will be over at Joan's. After that, you'll have to file it with the county. But then it'll be official.”

Stunned, Clayton finally found his voice. “What's ‘lot twenty-three'?”

His father waved a hand, encompassing the area around them. “That's this part here, from this side of the parking lot to just short of the barn, and from this side of the store to the Beilers' pasture. Right around an acre total, which isn't much. But by deeding it over to you now, I'm ensuring that however this little rectangle of land gets used in the future will be
your
prerogative—and yours alone. It's my way of saying I believe in you, son. It's my way of saying I'm sorry I doubted you before.”

Clayton looked down at his father's gnarled hands, at the deed, at the tract of land that was to become his, and he was unable to come up with words. He was dumbfounded.

Without question, he knew this wasn't necessary. It was going to be all he could do to keep the store running and the chores done, much less grow and expand the business. But this gesture, and the way his father was looking at him now, meant more to him than almost anything anyone had ever done for him.

“And
Mamm
? She's in agreement?”

Daed
shrugged. “I'm sure she would be if she knew about it, but I haven't told her because I don't want your sisters to know. Why create division in the family now when temperatures are already running a little hot?”

Clayton understood and agreed.

“This can be between just you and me,”
Daed
continued. “It'll probably come out eventually, but for now I just want you to hang on to the deed yourself for when—or if—the day ever comes that you need it. Does that make sense?”

Clayton nodded, tears suddenly filling his eyes. Then he leaned over and wrapped his father into a fierce hug, something he hadn't done since he was a boy.

“Thank you,” Clayton said, barely above a whisper. He held their embrace for a long moment before letting go and rising from their treasured lunch spot.

They were quiet as they went back up to the house, both lost in thought. Clayton hadn't realized how much he'd needed his father to have confidence in his abilities—not just so the man could have peace in his final days, but to be able to go on after death parted them. As they headed back up the hill, Clayton felt a new sense of purpose and a deep satisfaction in knowing that
Daed
had come to believe in him at last.