The Photograph (2 page)

E
VA
E
SCH
STOOD
BEHIND
the wooden counter greeting each of her candy customers on the warmest morning so far of this budding month of May. Sunlight filled the neat and tidy shop that Friday, and between sale transactions, she happily scurried about, arranging the taffy and the well-formed peanut butter balls in an attractive array. Her father, Vernon Esch, had purposely designed the counter to face the windows, so young Eva could see her customers arrive.
“Not too high and not too
low,”
he'd said of it, having her stand just so as he pulled out his measuring tape with a flourish. At her tender age, it was important to take into consideration any growth spurt she might experience; Dat had insisted Eva just might be as tall as Mamma one day.

She realized anew how considerate their father had always been, gone now four long years. With the recollection lingering, she looked up and caught sight of tall, very blond Alfred Dienner. Heavens, he must have been staring at her.

Politely, she smiled back, and Alfred didn't look away as a more timid young man might. His warm hazel eyes held her gaze, and his face brightened, his lips parting.

Has he come to ask me out?
Eva wondered.

Alfred stood waiting, turning a slip of paper over and over in his hands. His strapping frame evidenced long hours of hard work at his father's farm on Stony Hill Road. His face was already tan, his manner confident. Whoever ended up married to Alfred would surely be well cared for, raising a brood of future farmers and little dishwashers.

Directly in front of Alfred, two of Eva's kindly neighbors, sixty-year-old Sylvia Lantz and her thirty-year-old daughter-in-law, Josie, talked in
Deitsch
as they made their way up the steps beneath the plain green awning. Above the shop door was the hand-painted sign,
The Sweet Tooth.

Josie and her husband, Sam, and their school-age children resided in Sylvia's farmhouse, where the senior Lantzes had worked the land and nurtured nine children, eight of whom had survived to adulthood. The youngest Lantz girl had drowned one summer years ago, and two others—Tilly and Ruth—had left the Plain community for the world, living somewhere in Massachusetts near the coast, according to the grapevine. Eva really didn't know all of the details.

What she
did
know was that whenever she tried her best not to look Alfred's way just now, she could still see him out of the corner of her eye. If he offered an invitation,
should
she accept?

As it turned out, both Sylvia and Josie wanted the small white chocolate fingers, as Eva liked to call them. The petite bars melted in your mouth, more than making up for their lack of size with rich flavor.

“Can't resist 'em,” Sylvia said with a glance at Josie. “I'll have three dozen, please.”

“I sure hope there'll be enough left,” Josie said, covering her mouth to smother the laughter.

“You know me better'n that.” Sylvia's plump face turned pink. “I'll be happy to share with ya if Eva runs out.”

Eva smiled at the banter between them, a bit envious as she watched Josie gently touch her mother-in-law's arm.

“
Mei Mann
will be ever so grateful,” Josie replied, a mischievous glint in her pale blue eyes. “Your sweets are truly the best, Eva.”

“
Jah,
'tis a gift, makin' these candies like ya do.” Sylvia nodded her head, grinning at Eva. “The most delicious,
wunnerbaar-gut
treats ever, hope ya know.”

Josie smiled, too. “
Ach,
I'd give almost anything to be able to make these delicious goodies. My husband would be over the moon.”

Eva blushed; it was impossible to ignore Alfred next in line. Even so, she took care to bag up first Sylvia's order, then Josie's, the two women talking about their “perty springtime flowers,” and Sylvia marveling aloud about her fifty-year-old rhubarb patch that had once again sprung to life.

Eva wondered if she, too, might someday enjoy a close relationship with a mother-in-law. She certainly yearned for such a connection. Fearing she might betray her private thoughts to Alfred, she purposely looked down at the counter when he stepped up, tall and straight. His voice was confident and clear as he gave his order, then waited politely.

“Will that be all, then?” she asked, noticing his white shirt and black broadfall trousers, like he was going to Preaching and not off to work.

“Oh, and I'd like some hard peppermint candies, too,” he said, leaning on the counter as if he might have more to say.

Here it comes,
she thought, daring to raise her eyes. She spoke just as he opened his mouth. “Anything else?” She pointed at the
glass display case and mentioned the freshly made peanut butter balls. But he shrugged and said maybe another time.

When she went to gather up his order, he followed her over, of all things, and stood watching. Goodness, but Eva was thankful for the steady stream of customers. Anything to keep her busy. Then again, she was afraid someone might suspect her and Alfred of being a courting couple. If not that, then certainly of being sweet on each other. Sure, they'd gone riding together a half-dozen times during the past few years, and they'd played volleyball on the same team, too. She also recalled a picnic in Central Park near downtown Lancaster, where she provided the meal, but none of that meant they were serious. Alfred was quite aware that a handful of other fellows had taken her out, as well.
All of them married now,
Eva thought grimly.

“
Denki
, Alfred, for comin' by—”

“Eva, slow down a minute,” he said. “Your customers will wait.”

She felt her face warm as Alfred proceeded, in front of everyone, to invite her to play Ping-Pong with him at his cousin's house.

Leaning over the work counter, she lowered her voice and replied, “You're askin' me here.
 . . .”
She glanced behind him.

“
Jah
, 'tis all right.” His eyes were smiling as he held her gaze. “So, will ya?”

She noticed their neighbor to the north pretending to study the homemade ribbon candy in the glass display case behind them. Eva felt positively mortified—what was Alfred thinking? The grapevine would have them engaged by day's end.

If I hesitate, will he
stay and try to persuade me?

Pleasant and well-mannered as Alfred Dienner was, she wouldn't put that past him.
But, goodness—like a dog on a bone!

“Um, that'll be fine,” she whispered to him.

“
Des
gut,
then,” Alfred said with a nod.

She placed his order in a large sack and recited the total. “Enjoy the candy. Some very
gut
choices.”

Alfred counted out the payment and dropped two quarters in the tip jar. “I hope I can make it last awhile.” He gripped the bag of candy and, before turning to go, winked at her.
In front of everyone!

I
N
H
OLMES
C
OUNTY
, O
HIO
, the maples and oaks were already flourishing against newly mown lawns and countless fields of sprouted corn. Amish farmers welcomed the season.
A time of rebirth.

From the pinnacle of a hill, Jed Stutzman couldn't help noticing the Amish cemetery, the final resting place for his fiancée, Lydiann Coblentz. The peaceful, leafy green sanctuary of what-might've-beens was located not two miles from his work as an apprentice buggy maker. But today he urged his horse onward, not wanting to ponder what he'd so tragically lost.

Rattling past the three-acre burial ground in his elderly uncle Ervin's buckboard wagon, Jed felt the old, familiar pain, perhaps duller with the passage of a year. He'd spent hours there, contemplating his life without Lydiann, talking to his beloved as if she might hear him, and often as if she hadn't left at all.

He sped up the horse's pace. “You have to keep movin' forward,” Jed told himself, drawing a breath, aware of the air's sweet
fragrance. The wind had shifted in the past hour, pushing the smell of fertilizer away toward the south.

“The whiff of success,” Dat says
.

Jed smiled wryly and recalled Lydiann's opinion of what she'd called the “
schtinkich
scent,” in spite of the fact that she'd grown up on a farm not far from his own father's. The truth was, his sweetheart had often declared how glad she was the Lord had seen fit to make her a woman, so she could keep house and cook for her future husband and keep him company by the evening fire.

“You would've been a splendid wife,” Jed whispered.

Plenty of young men had thought so, too, back before Jed swooped in and began to court Lydiann. Last week at market, an
Englischer
woman who'd known Lydiann for years had declared her an angel on earth.

Lydiann trusted the Lord in a
gentle yet mighty way.
He considered all the times she'd prayed for God's guidance in their lives as a courting couple—they'd planned to wed this very November. Theirs had been a short-lived yet precious love story, and their mutual friends in the youth group had often remarked about the light in their eyes when they were together.

Heaven had other plans.
Jed trusted in the sovereignty of their Lord. For him, as for all the People, there was no other way to approach such a profound loss.

Just ahead, he noticed his cousin Sol Troyer approaching the intersection in the black family carriage. Sol was New Order Amish, so his buggy wheels were solid rubber, which made for a quieter ride on the roads. Jed had always been interested in the difference in buggies around Berlin and surrounding towns, including carriages that were a bit fancier. Not that he'd ever desire anything but what was sanctioned by his Old Order bishop, but because he loved the craft.

“An Amish carriage must be made
practically and properly,”
Uncle Ervin liked to say about his shop.
“Built well enough to last a lifetime.”
This was his uncle's motto, and the man was well respected all over Holmes and Wayne counties as a result of his quality work. People came from miles around to order carriages from Ervin Stutzman.

As a lad, Jed had quickly learned that the buggy's framework was made of solid hickory, and that the steel springs and axles were the next thing to permanent if built correctly. Thanks to Uncle Ervin's patient instruction, Jed realized there weren't many ways to build a buggy right, regardless of style and whether they came from Ohio, Indiana, or Pennsylvania, where Uncle Ervin's cousin-in-law built the gray, boxlike carriages so typical of Lancaster County.

Glancing at Cousin Sol again, Jed waved, but Sol didn't see him. Jed thought of trying to get his attention, but he was mighty conscious anymore of all the ways something could go wrong on these narrow roads, especially coming into downtown Berlin with an older horse. The small town was becoming congested with eager tourists, most looking to purchase the fine souvenirs offered at Amish and Mennonite merchants.

Jed directed the horse to turn west onto Main Street. He nodded to a friend waiting for the stoplight near the flea market, where dear Lydiann had worked for a number of years. How many times had she told Jed, her expression glowing, that she could hardly wait to get to work each morning, she enjoyed it so? She'd delighted in the customers and loved attending to the children, thrilled for opportunities to spread kindness and cheer.

Jed pushed the memories aside.
She's with the Lord,
he reminded himself. It was the one and only thing that brought him solace, particularly during the first six months after her sudden death.

A few months ago, his family and closest friends had begun to encourage him to get back “into circulation,” so Jed had reluctantly gone to several barn Singings and other youth-related activities, if only to test the waters.

Jed also had Uncle Ervin's retirement heavy on his mind, along with the possibility of taking over the family business. That had once seemed like a sure thing—at least until Perry Hostetler entered the picture.

My own fault,
Jed thought. His uncle had always insisted the chosen successor be solidly grounded in the Amish church—a baptized member. Jed had intended to join church with Lydiann this coming September; it was all part of their plan. Now, though, he would be making his kneeling baptismal vow on his own, assuming he was ready.
I'm dragging my feet,
he thought.

Like Jed, Perry was also a buggy-building apprentice, but Uncle Ervin's cousin's son had joined church last fall. And Perry reportedly had a serious girlfriend.

Jed
had
attempted to date a few young women recently. The first, Phoebe Miller, while very nice, struck him as rather self-absorbed. Freida Burkholder, on the other hand, admittedly hadn't cracked open a book since finishing eighth grade. Eye-opening, indeed, considering Jed enjoyed reading as much as his work at the buggy shop. And pretty Mittie Raber, well, she'd chattered nonstop, gossiping like a nosy parrot, which drove Jed
narrish
—crazy.

In all truth, none of the young women had measured up to Lydiann. And he was beginning to wonder if
any
woman alive could make him forget his cherished first love.

Jed spotted the Christian bookstore on the left-hand side of the road and recalled combing through the many shelves there with Lydiann. He, looking for volumes of biblical history, and she, partial to fiction by Mennonite authors.

Continuing up the street, Jed eyed Boyd and Wurthmann Restaurant, their favorite. He and Lydiann had once snuck away to have breakfast together in the back room of the quaint eatery. Lydiann's blue eyes had brightened at her first taste of rich sausage gravy over a breakfast haystack of biscuits and eggs. Even now, Jed relished that recollection, as well as the thank-you note she'd written, starting a chain of correspondence between them, even though they'd lived within a short buggy ride of each other. From the start, she'd made up endearing closures to her letters. In Jed's opinion, Lydiann's creative sign-offs—phrases like
Love till the sea runs dry
—would take the prize for such things.

For me,
she
was the prize. . . .

He made the turn into the hardware store parking lot, glad for the morning sunshine. Then, tying the horse to the hitching rail, he thought of all the times he'd allowed himself to imagine the sequence of moments leading up to Lydiann's accident. He'd sometimes catch himself contemplating the foolhardy buggy race
 . . .
with a speeding train, no less. It was no wonder the terror had managed to bombard his dreams, where he relived the devastating event. For weeks and even months afterward, Jed had privately blamed Lydiann's younger brother, known for recklessness with his fast horse and new black courting carriage. The same boy who'd lost his life as a result.

In that horrid accident, Lydiann's parents had lost two of their children, yet they had expressed acceptance of God's will. Jed had eventually learned he, too, must forgive, or he would be forever haunted by that terrible day.

Only by
Gott's
grace
have I come this far,
he thought, tying his horse to the hitching post. He willed his focus back onto the errand for Uncle Ervin.

Just today Ervin had gently prodded Jed to pray about getting baptized. “And ya might find a good Amish girl to court, too,”
he'd added with a wink. Jed couldn't blame Uncle Ervin for being eager to retire and wanting to leave his shop to an established Amishman.
If I don't pull
it together, I'll lose this golden opportunity,
he thought, tempted to give in to defeat as he proceeded to the hardware store.