An Amish Family Reunion Read online

  “Miss Miller? The hospitality of your district has been gracious and kind.” Eli held his felt hat over his heart. “May I trouble you to take a walk with me? Your uncle mentioned there are sheep up in the pasture. Alas, we have only cows, horses, and pigs. I’d love to see some spring lambs.”

  “Certainly. The sheep are ours, next door, but the two fields share a common fence line. If you’ll follow me.” She started walking faster than some folks run until certain they were beyond spying eyes and ears, while Eli kept pace. Then she turned on him. “You can knock off the ‘alas’ stuff. It’s me, Phoebe Miller. What are you doing here?” Her words flew out in a breathless rush, but he seemed to understand her perfectly.

  He hopped around as though he’d stepped barefoot on a bee. “I came to see you. I knew you wouldn’t miss preaching, so I asked my sister to come with me today. She knows we’d met.” He imbued Rose’s knowing with special emphasis. “Rose is a friend of your cousin Leah. So, again, I can’t believe you and I never met before.” He stopped bobbing around. “I feared I would never see you again.”

  That forthright statement matched her own earlier sentiments, but hearing it vocalized had her checking over her shoulder as though they had been caught in some naughty deed. “It’s good to see you too,” she whispered. “I don’t have many friends, especially not with common interests.”

  “I had to track you down. How else could we talk about our joint project? You do still want to work on a book with me, don’t you?”

  Phoebe resumed marching toward the high pasture so that he might not notice that his presence made her skittish as a white-tailed fawn. “Of course I do, but I don’t know how we’ll manage it. It’s not as though you live here.” She pointed down. “While I live there.” She aimed her index finger at the next pasture beyond the split rail fence. Wooly sheep grazed contentedly while their offspring frolicked and played.

  “You live there?” he asked, his voice heavy with reverential awe.

  “Jah. It’s just another farm, pretty much like this one.”

  “No, not like this one.” He slowly scanned the lush rolling acres. “That’s the home of Phoebe Miller—a very special place on earth, indeed.”

  She blushed to the top of her head. “You and your fancy talk. I’ll never get used to it. Well, there are my mamm’s sheep—her pride and joy. I must admit the lambs are adorable.”

  Eli watched two pure-white babies chase after their ewe. “It is a land filled with adorable creatures.” After a long minute, he sat down on a large flat rock.

  Boulders had been moved to the boundary line between farms years ago, so Phoebe chose one for her own perch. “What are your ideas, Eli?” she asked, hiding her trembling hands in her lap.

  “Shall I tell you the story I’ve come up with so far?” He interlaced his fingers to crack his knuckles.

  “Please do. Then maybe I can start some sketches later today.”

  Unwittingly, she found herself holding her breath as Eli wove a tender tale about an ornery cow that had nothing but contempt for other barnyard animals, until the day came when the cow desperately needed a friend. Phoebe was enchanted. Eli’s story bloomed in her mind as she imagined the facial expressions she would create for animal characters in each scene.

  When he finished the story, he leaped to his feet and reached for her hand. “That’s all I have so far. Let’s start back before you’re missed. I don’t want to ruin my future chances of working with you.”

  “There will be future meetings?” she asked stupidly.

  “Of course. We must collaborate on what scenes to create for each page of my story.”

  “True. I just wondered where we might meet to work.” As they crested the hill and the Miller house loomed into view, she pulled her hand from his grip.

  “Because this is a book, I thought maybe the library? Winesburg has a nice one. Could you meet me there some afternoon?” He peered at her from under his long silky bangs.

  Without a moment’s hesitation to ponder practicalities, she answered, “You bet I can.”

  ELEVEN

  Willow Brook

  As workweeks go, this past one had been the pits. Two of the grooms at Rolling Meadows Stables quit to return to Mexico, so Matthew found himself tending to mundane chores besides training prestigious show horses. Not that he minded, but by Friday afternoon he was bone tired and eager to get home to his wife and children.

  He said a prayer of gratitude when no owners arrived late at the stable, demanding his time and attention. He and Pete Taylor left at five o’clock on the button. Along the way he closed his eyes pretending to nap, but he wasn’t sleepy. He wanted to concentrate on how to approach Martha when he got home. Last weekend had been strained, to say the least. She had accused him of being overly fond of money. And he couldn’t deny that finances occupied far more thinking time in New York than they had back home. Farms were more expensive here, although the price of land was rising across the country. He decided not to mention the amount of tips he’d received during the week. He would leave the envelope of cash along with his paycheck on the counter for her to deposit in the bank. Someday, he would buy his own horse training operation. Then he could stay home with his family all the time. And that day couldn’t arrive soon enough for him.

  Ninety minutes later Pete pulled up in front of his tidy bungalow. “Home, sweet home, Matty. Got any big plans for the weekend?” asked the foreman.

  Matthew nodded. “Yep, I plan to play ball with my son for hours and then rock my baby girl to sleep on the porch.”

  “Isn’t your son only two years old?” Pete’s grin revealed two gold caps. “How can you play baseball with a toddler?”

  “We both sit in the grass and I roll a big ball to him. He giggles and knocks it away, usually in the wrong direction. I fetch the ball, sit back down, and repeat the process. You can’t believe how much his hand-eye coordination has improved.” Matt pulled his bag from the backseat. “On Sunday we’ll go to church and stay to socialize during lunch. When we get home, I intend to sit in my porch swing and watch the grass grow.”

  “Sounds just about perfect. See you Monday.” Pete waved and then peeled away the moment the truck door slammed shut.

  Matthew headed up the driveway wearing a silly grin. He spotted Martha on the front porch in the spot he intended to occupy on Sunday. She was feeding their daughter while his son sat on a quilt by her feet. He hoisted his duffel onto his shoulder and waved like a sightseer on a tour bus. “Hullo, Millers. I’m home at last!” He hurried toward the house.

  Martha offered a wave with her free hand along with a small smile. When his son lifted his arm in greeting, Matthew’s heart thudded against his chest wall. A white cast encased the boy’s thin lower arm, oversized and awkward on a toddler. He sprinted to the porch, dropping his bag before climbing the steps two at a time. “What happened to Noah?’ he asked, lifting his son into his arms. “Is he all right?’

  “Hullo, daed,” said Noah, snaking his good arm around his father’s neck. He held his cast out with a proud grin. “Broken!” he exclaimed in Deutsch.

  Matthew hugged him tightly, burying his face in his son’s fine strawberry-blond hair that smelled of warm sunshine. “All better now?” he murmured, his voice raspy with emotion. Pain shot through his own arm and shoulders, realizing what his boy must have endured.

  “Jah, gut,” agreed Noah, squirming to be set down. He’d grown tired of the hugging and kissing and wished to return to his toys.

  Matthew placed him on the folded quilt and met the gaze of his wife. Martha’s expression was a mixed stew of anger, sorrow, and guilt. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and deeply lined. Dark purple smudges beneath her lower lashes indicated she’d slept little. “What happened?” he repeated, keeping his tone even.

  Martha closed her blouse, rose, and settled the infant on her hip. “I’m putting both the kinner to bed. Then I’ll tell you what happened while you eat your supper. As the story has waited thi
s long, I’m sure it can wait another twenty minutes.” She bent down, grabbed Noah’s unencumbered arm and practically dragged him into the house.

  Matthew’s hands clenched into fists while he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Anger and fear welled up in his throat like stomach acid. My son has been hurt and no one told me? I am the boy’s father, not some casual acquaintance dropping by to chew the fat after work.

  For half the time Martha was upstairs washing and dressing the children for bed, he paced the porch. He needed to burn off his disappointment with her or this trouble could easily escalate out of control. His parents hadn’t raised him to be a hothead, but seeing his son’s broken arm triggered a protective instinct that was hard to tamp down. Back and forth he paced like the unfortunate lion in a concrete enclosure he’d seen at the Cleveland Zoo.

  Finally he entered his home somewhat better composed and sat down at the table with a glass of cold milk. Ten minutes later a pale Martha Miller crept into the room. She pulled a plate of fried chicken from the oven and potato salad from the fridge and set them near his place setting. Sliced cucumbers and tomatoes already waited on his plate. Without an ounce of appetite, he pushed his dinner away. “I’d like you to tell me what happened.”

  She lowered herself into a chair. “I was doing laundry with the baby in her sling. Noah was tagging after me back and forth from the wringer washer to the clothesline. The baby finally dozed off, so I decided to lay her down in the crib in the living room. Noah was playing with his blocks on the mudroom floor. I was gone for two minutes,” she exclaimed, meeting his eyes briefly. “During that time, he climbed up onto the electric dryer using the stepladder that leaned against it.” What little color her face had faded away. “One minute he was on the floor, the next he was atop that machine. I screamed when I walked in and saw him close to the edge.” Martha’s head dropped to her chest. “I startled him and he fell. His poor arm is broken in two places.”

  From her gasps, he suspected she was crying. A growing puddle on the oak surface soon confirmed it. “Go on. Please tell me the rest, Martha,” he prodded. Guilt and shame replaced his earlier pique. Where was he when his family needed him? Almost a hundred miles away.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” she wailed. “I put the baby back in her sling, picked up Noah, grabbed my purse, and ran next door. I was almost hysterical, but the neighbor calmed me down and drove us to the hospital.” Martha glanced up. “I don’t know why we must have that dryer in the mudroom! We won’t ever use it or any of the other electric appliances.”

  Matthew peered around the room. It was an odd assortment of what they’d brought with them from Ohio and things already here. “Because this is a rental house. We can’t expect our landlord to rip things out when we could move to an Amish home at any time.”

  She shook her head, but continued the narrative. “At the emergency room, the nurse on duty wouldn’t treat Noah until I handed over that insurance card you gave me.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin.

  “How did she know we had insurance? Most Amish folks don’t.” He couldn’t understand her agitation at the ER.

  “The nurse asked me while filling out a form on her clipboard. I couldn’t lie, so I said we had insurance through your job, but I had no intention of using it! It’s not the Amish way. I’d planned to use what we’ve saved for a house to pay the hospital bill.” Martha was breathing hard and fighting back more tears.

  “I know what is and what isn’t Amish way, fraa,” he said hoarsely. “But since you had told her we had insurance, an Englischer wouldn’t understand your refusal to hand over the card.” His voice hardened with her continued focus on unimportant details. “How is Noah? Will the broken arm heal properly?”

  “Jah, they set the bone. It should mend quite well, according to the pediatrician. But he must wear that cast for six weeks and not get it wet. How can I bathe him properly and keep that…club dry?”

  Matthew released an audible sigh. “Thank the Lord.” He sucked in three deep gulps of air before pushing forward onto the stickier topic. “You should have asked the neighbor to call me. You have the number of Rolling Meadows along with my foreman’s cell phone number.”

  Her brown eyes darkened. “And what would you have done, Matthew? Borrowed one of those expensive horses and ridden home bareback? No one would want to drop work to drive you all the way here. I didn’t even know the name of the hospital she had taken us to until the next day.” Martha sounded indignant, as though his earning a living was an expendable option.

  Matthew slapped his palm down on the table. “The neighbor would have known the hospital’s name. And how I got home would have been my problem, Martha. I am your husband and those kinners’ daed! You had no right to keep this accident from me. I love them as much as you do and would have come home if I had to use a taxicab.”

  With that she dissolved into uncontrollable sobbing. Normally a woman’s grief broke his heart, yet this time he couldn’t offer a single word of comfort. He stomped outdoors into the cool night air to release his frustration. He gazed for some time at the star-filled sky. How did their marriage, their life, run so far off track? And what could he do to fix things?

  Throughout that long night Matthew sat at his son’s bedside, rocking in the chair and thinking. He dozed off and on, and by morning he had one nasty stiff neck. Noah would soon awaken with a two-and-a-half-year-old’s irrepressible spirit. Matthew finally realized he couldn’t solve this conundrum alone. He turned the matter over to God in a long, tear-filled prayer. Only a powerful, merciful Lord could help these two angry lost lambs find their way back to each other.

  Winesburg

  Julia rocked in her porch swing as though it were some type of onerous chore to complete. Back and forth she pumped her legs, banging the swing into the house wall without even realizing it. She didn’t notice because her mind was many miles away, split in three different directions.

  “Are you trying to knock a hole in the house, Julia?” asked Simon, stepping onto the porch. He carried cups of hot tea. “You’re rattling dishes on the shelves.”

  She looked up, planting both feet on the porch boards. “Mir leid,” she apologized. “I was so distracted I didn’t realize the commotion I caused.” She gratefully accepted the cup he offered.

  Simon sat down next to her. “What has you so stymied? You haven’t been your normal jovial self lately.”

  She laughed at his rare sarcasm. “A regular barrel of monkeys, that’s me.” She drank deeply and stared into the black brew. “I am so unhappy, Simon. The good weather is finally here—time for gardening, picnics, and open buggy rides, but all I can think about is how much I miss my kinner.”

  “Henry’s trying to saddle a horse without getting bit for his efforts. Should I tell him to show his face? Maybe come help you punch a hole in the siding?”

  Instead of smiling at her husband’s attempt to cheer her up, Julia started to cry, despite vowing not to be so weak and morose. “He’s the only one left,” she wailed. “My other three are far away, and who knows when they’ll be back?”

  Simon sobered at her utter melancholy. “What hear you from Matthew and Martha?”

  “Nothing. A few lines that they are well from time to time. No details, and not a word as to when they might be coming home.”

  He gently put the swing in motion again. “And our Leah? I thought she and Jonah were only visiting Wisconsin for a couple weeks. She’ll be back before you know it.”

  Julia tried to calm down. “Joanna only moved here to Ohio to help care for her aging parents, but both Burkholders have now passed on to their reward. The rest of her family lives in Wisconsin—the place Jonah still considers home, according to our daughter.” She tilted back her head and closed her eyes. “What if Jonah decides they should remain in Hancock? He’d have no trouble selling that farm for a fair price. Buyers for a dairy operation would line up at his door.”

  Simon raked his snow-white beard with his fingers, hi
s mood rapidly deteriorating to match hers. “Oh, my, Wisconsin is so far away to visit, especially with your arthritis. But at least Emma and James aren’t going anywhere. They’re four peas in a pod at Hollyhock Farms.”

  Julia emitted an inappropriate noise for a mature woman married to a deacon. “Charm—they might as well be on the moon. When was the last time Emma came to visit with my grandsons? Busy, busy, busy—that’s the excuse she gives me every time I call her from the phone shack.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “That telephone is only to be used in emergencies. Letters are for talking to kin.”

  “It was an emergency. I was dying of loneliness!”

  Simon could have chastised her for bald-faced exaggeration, but he didn’t. “We need everybody here for a good long visit. Let’s plan a family get-together. Everyone must come and stay at least two weeks or face shunning.”

  Julia dabbed her eyes and stared at him. In all their years of marriage, Simon had never made light of such a serious matter as excommunication from the Amish church. “Like a reunion?”

  “Matthew from New York, Leah from Wisconsin, Emma from the moon—or Charm, whichever—all must come this summer for a family reunion. We’ll even walk out to the barn and tell Henry. He can invite that gal he’s been courting and doesn’t think we know.” Simon chortled with delight. “A Miller family reunion. No excuses will be accepted.”

  Julia threw her arms around his neck and squeezed, knocking his glasses askew. “Danki, ehemann. Did I ever mention that I love you very much?”

  He struggled against her embrace, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Jah, jah, once or twice, but it’s nice to hear it a third time. Now go write your letters. I’ll see they go out in the early post.”

  Julia rose to her feet and staggered inside as though she’d consumed apple cider that had begun to ferment. Her legs had stiffened in the evening air, but there wasn’t another tear shed that night…or for many nights to come.