Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) Read online

  This had to be harder on Simon than on her. After all, he was a district deacon; people turned to him for guidance with household problems. Emma’s decision to run around had put Simon in a quandary—and every other family member seemed to be scratching their heads as well. When she’d made her announcement, seven mouths dropped open wide enough to catch sparrows. Only Phoebe hadn’t looked shocked but had simply asked, “What’s a rump-spring?”

  Matthew and Henry had then giggled, Leah looked worried, and Hannah had murmured to Phoebe, “I’ll explain tonight before bed. Now hush.” After that, everyone either went home or outside to his final evening chores. Julia had climbed the steps to her room and read several chapters from the book of Psalms. Psalm 34:19: “The righteous person faces many troubles, but the Lord comes to the rescue each time,” remained with her still, offering comfort and hopefully patience in dealing with her elder daughter—the latter even more necessary when Emma arrived downstairs to help with breakfast.

  Her blue cape dress and white apron were neat and tidy. The white prayer kapp was in place, while her long wheat-colored hair had been bound into a tight bun. But across her forehead was a fringe of bangs, longer on the sides, shorter between her eyes. Overall, they were spiky and uneven.

  “Emma! You’ve cut your hair!” Julia said, unable to keep from stating the obvious.

  “Jah, do you like my bangs? I think they keep my forehead from looking so high.” Her blue eyes sparkled with delight. “Do they look straight? I found it hard to cut my own hair. I couldn’t figure out how to properly hold the scissors.”

  Julia didn’t know where to begin. “No, I don’t much like them. And there’s not a thing wrong with your forehead. It’s no higher than anyone else’s.” Julia found herself gripping the chair back tightly as her knuckles turned white. “You know what the Ordnung says about a woman cutting her hair.” Julia knew what the response to that would be as soon as she spoke the words.

  Emma poured a glass of milk. “I only cut a few bangs, not all my hair, Mother.” She set out the bowl of eggs and reached for the frying pan. “And after my baptism, when I join the church, I shall follow the Ordnung. This is my Rumschpringe, remember?” She glanced at Julia over the refrigerator door.

  How could Julia forget? Now she would see a choppy reminder each time she looked at her daughter. “Jah, I remember, but I wish you would’ve discussed this with us first. We are still your parents, Rumschpringe or not.”

  Emma shrugged her shoulders. The bodice of her dress wasn’t quite as loose as it had been when the dress had been made. “It’s only hair. It’ll grow out. Should I scramble the eggs? We’ve got mushrooms turning black; I could chop them and use them up.”

  “Jah, scrambled then. Melt the last piece of cheddar over the top.” Julia walked to the stove to begin frying bacon. She caught the sweet scent of peaches on Emma. “What’s that I smell?” she asked. “It reminds me of peaches, but we don’t have any this early.”

  “Peach body lotion and spray mist,” Emma answered without meeting her mother’s eye. “I got them at the dollar store for two dollars each. Don’t they smell nice?”

  “Nothing wrong with the clean smell of Ivory soap,” Julia muttered. “I hope the hens appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to this morning, because after breakfast I want you and Leah to scrub out the chicken cages and wash down the henhouse walls with bleach. Pour the bleach water over the floor when you’re done. Shoo the hens outside and put up a gate so they can’t go back in until you’re done and everything has dried. Have Matthew haul over a couple fresh straw bales. That building is starting to smell bad.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Emma stirred the chopped mushrooms into her eggs and milk.

  Yes, ma’am? Emma hated this particular chore and usually pleaded or bargained zealously to get out of it.

  When Emma had poured the mixture into the pan, she washed her hands and sat down at the table. “Mamm, I’d like to ask you and daed for something.” Her tone was as sweet as honey dripping down buttermilk biscuits.

  Julia also sat down at the table.

  “I’d like permission to accompany Aunt Hannah to the Davis sheep farm in Charm. We’ve been invited to tour their operation and we’d like to go. They are English, so we can’t use many of their methods. It’s more of a goodwill gesture. They supply Mrs. Dunn with wool for her customers same as us. They’ve already toured Aunt Hannah and Uncle Seth’s farm and have invited us to theirs…twice.”

  Julia was at a loss for words. The same Davis fellow who delivered the loom? The one who got the first piece of cake? She swallowed down her petty thought and asked, “Hannah wishes to visit this farm in Charm, you say?”

  “Jah, but she said I needed to check with you and daed first.”

  “This farm belongs to his parents? They will be home during your visit?” Julia asked.

  “His mom has a job away from the house, but I’m sure his father and brothers will be there.” Emma tilted her head to the side and seemed to be growing impatient.

  “You will come and go in your aunt’s buggy, not go riding in his pickup truck?” Julia tried to unclench her hands, but they’d almost locked into fists.

  “Yes, Mother,” said Emma in a tone Julia didn’t care for.

  Julia got up to turn the bacon and remove the egg pan from the burner. Though she took time to think, she had run out of questions to ask, and no good reason Emma shouldn’t go came to mind.

  She fell back on every mother’s—Amish or English—last resort: “We’ll see what your father says. It’s okay with me if it’s okay with him.”

  Emma locked eyes with Julia for a long moment, looking older than she had just ten minutes ago. “Okay. I’m going out to call everyone for breakfast so Leah and I can start on that henhouse.”

  Julia exhaled her breath, feeling that an argument had barely been averted. She knew she should trust her daughter; Emma had never given her any reason not to. But an Amish mother worried if her child ventured too close to the English world. There was much to tempt Plain young people.

  During breakfast Simon proved to be angrier about the bangs than concerned about a visit to an English sheep farm with her aunt. “Why have you cut your hair, daughter?” he demanded. “And why do they run uphill from one side of your face to the other?”

  Emma’s eyes grew round and moist as she turned to Julia. “Are they that crooked? Oh, mamm, please say you’ll help me make them even.”

  “I will, but first answer your father.”

  With tears in her eyes, Emma said, “I cut some bangs to see how they look. If everyone hates them, I’ll let them grow back out.”

  Simon took a long drink of coffee. “They are too crooked to decide upon now. Have your mamm straighten them out. But then they’ll look funny because they’ll be too short.”

  Emma’s face grew red as a male cardinal while tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Please wash the dishes by yourself, Leah, and I’ll start scrubbing the henhouse. I’ll do tonight’s dinner dishes all by myself.” She fled the kitchen with her face awash in misery.

  “That’s why Amish women don’t go around cutting their hair,” Simon yelled after her. He needed to have the last word on the subject.

  Julia thought she’d better call the doctor to prescribe a larger dose of anti-inflammatory medicine and stronger pain relievers. She needed to be in better shape then this for the next few years of Emma’s Rumschpringe.

  Emma would have preferred waiting another month to visit Charm to give her hair a chance to somewhat grow back. Her mamm had tried to fix the bangs, but her arthritis wouldn’t allow a steady grip on the scissors. So it had been up to Leah to even things out, and a hairdresser Leah was not. However, all things considered, she did make them straight. But as daed had predicted, now they were too short.

  Time healed all woes, Julia declared, but Emma didn’t have much time. She’d sent James a note the next day, informing him that she and her aunt would visit at his family’s con
venience. The day after that a reply was waiting in their mailbox. Oddly, it hadn’t come through the U.S. mail. “Miss Emma Miller” had been written on the envelope. A tiny circle dotted the i. No postage stamp. James must have written back the day he received her note and then driven to Winesburg to slip it into their mailbox.

  Dear Emma,

  My dad said any day is good with him. We’re as caught up with chores as we ever will be. So I picked this Saturday, in three days. My sister promised to bake her special recipe of banana-walnut muffins and make us plenty of iced tea. I told the sheep to be on their best behavior in front of company. No head butting. No getting their horns tangled up in the fence. If you don’t get word to us, I’ll expect you and your aunt on Saturday.

  James Davis

  He’d written down his address and phone number and drawn a map with a black marker from their township road to his county road outside of Charm. Two big red X s indicated their houses. Emma studied the map so long she could probably find his farm in the middle of a moonless night.

  Three days. Not enough time for her bangs to grow longer. Not enough time to sew a new dress. But why would she even consider making a new dress? James Davis was simply another Englischer probably more interested in her Amish ways than with her. He went to the large county high school that was attended by no Plain people.

  Many Englischers considered them quaint—a nostalgic throwback to a bygone era. She was a curiosity to him, nothing more. And that was fine with her. Wasn’t he a curiosity to her as well? Emma could count the English people she knew on one hand—Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, and Dr. Longo, besides passing acquaintances with the mailman, propane deliveryman, and the shopkeepers in Winesburg. She had babysat for a neighbor down the road, but she hadn’t seen the children much lately. And none of those people were eighteen years old. There was nothing wrong with James being curious, but she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself.

  And Aunt Hannah was ready and able to also make sure that didn’t happen.

  Thanks to the map Hannah and Emma had no trouble finding the address as their buggy turned into a very long driveway. A private road would be a more accurate description, as it was paved and wide enough for two vehicles to pass. Acres upon acres of corn grew on the left, while wheat stretched off to the right as far as the eye could see. Even Hannah gawked at the number and size of the barns and outbuildings.

  “My goodness,” she said. “This must be one of the largest farms in the county.”

  Emma hadn’t been expecting this either. “Jah, if there’s one bigger, I don’t think I’d care to see it.”

  Three members of the Davis family walked out to greet them as Hannah slowed the horse to a stop. A covered porch wrapped around two sides of the immense three-story farmhouse, while ornamental trees, lilac and rhododendron bushes, and flower beds surrounded the yard. Everything seemed to be blooming at once. Emma pulled her focus from the gorgeous blooms to lock gazes with her host.

  James walked up. “Mrs. Miller, Miss Miller, this is my dad, James Davis Sr., and this is my sister.”

  Mr. Davis stepped forward. He was tall and wiry, with curly short hair, more silver than dark blond. “Ma’am,” he said as he shook Hannah’s hand. “How do, miss?” he asked Emma, nodding his head.

  “Hi, Emma. My name is Lily. Jamie must’ve forgotten it. Welcome to Hollyhock Farm.” His sister was tall, well rounded, and very freckled, wearing tight blue jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt.

  “My wife had to work today,” said Mr. Davis. “She’ll be sorry she missed you.” He held their horse’s bridle tightly.

  “Thank you. Please tell her we are sorry we missed her,” Hannah said, stepping down from the buggy. Rows of irises and the namesake hollyhocks flanked the pebble walkway leading to the porch steps. “And give her our compliments on her lovely flower garden.” Hannah glanced back over her shoulder. “Emma, are you coming or staying in the buggy?”

  Emma sat motionless on the seat; the strange case of paralysis had returned.

  “The cat seems to have gotten Jamie’s tongue also,” Mr. Davis said. He slapped his son on the back. “Help the young lady down while I unhitch the horse and turn it out in the corral.”

  “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Miller, Emma. If you’ll excuse me, I’m cramming for my final exams. I’m a sophomore at Akron University in pre-veterinarian. But I’ll see you later since I’ve fixed us refreshments that I hope you’ll like.”

  Emma watched the girl stride away with her long, blond ponytail bouncing.

  “Emma?” James asked. He stood at the buggy step offering his hand.

  She realized she had been staring at Lily. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Your sister seems very nice.”

  “She is, just a little overwhelming at first. I guess she had to become assertive growing up with three brothers.”

  Emma tugged her hand back from his after she stepped down. “Your family calls you Jamie. Should I?”

  He laughed, a deep wonderful sound. “Everybody seems to call me something different. But if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stay with James. I love the way it sounds with your accent.”

  “I don’t have an accent,” she said as they headed in the direction of Aunt Hannah and his dad.

  “Sorry. I like how it sounds with your unique lack of an accent.”

  Emma shook off the compliment as they joined the two adults.

  “Any particular place you want to start the tour?” Mr. Davis asked. “We breed and raise quarter horses and have one hundred head of dairy cattle and three hundred beef steers. We raise soybeans, wheat, and corn, besides animal feed and produce vegetables; and we have a small apple orchard.”

  The looks on Emma and Hannah’s faces revealed their surprise.

  Color flushed into Mr. Davis’ already suntanned cheeks. “Begging your pardon,” he said. “That sounded awfully boastful, and that wasn’t my intention.” He scuffed the toe of his boot into the gravel.

  Hannah shook her head. “It’s all right. You manage this by yourself with just help from your sons?”

  “No, ma’am. Only James is serious about farming. I get some help from his younger brother, but my oldest boy is away at seminary to be a preacher. He comes home to pick apples and produce, but that’s about it. And he eats as much as he harvests when we pick any kind of berries.”

  “Emma is interested in our sheep, Dad,” James said.

  “Oh, yes, you mentioned that. Let’s head in that direction.”

  Hannah fell in step beside Mr. Davis, leaving Emma to walk with James. “How do you manage that many different operations?” Emma asked.

  “My dad is pretty much the business manager. We have a full-time foreman and three other men who work for us. We also hire legal migrant workers provided by the Department of Agriculture. They stay with us from March through November.”

  “Good grief. They live with you in the house?” Emma had never heard of such a thing. “You have that many rooms in your home?”

  “No, we have a men’s dormitory plus four small apartments for those who bring their wives every year to work too.”

  She shook her head, trying to take it all in. “What exactly do you do?”

  He laughed. “I graduate next week, and then I want to learn farm management from my dad. We’re at a loggerhead—he wants me to go to college.”

  “What is a loggerhead?” She had never heard the expression.

  He thought for a moment. “An ongoing disagreement.”

  Emma’s blue eyes grew wide. “You’re going to stand up to your pa? Disobey him?” Few Plain youths would admit to such a thing.

  James studied her before replying. “I sure don’t like arguing with him. I want us to reach a compromise.”

  Emma nodded as they followed the other two into the sheep barn. Once inside, all questions regarding seasonal workers, farm management, or loggerheads were forgotten. Her lower jaw dropped as her mouth gaped open. The huge sheep facility was brightly p
ainted with clean pine stalls, fresh sawdust on the floor, and deep beds of straw in the pens. Light and airy, it smelled better than any sheep barn she’d ever been in.

  “My word,” she murmured.

  “What lovely accommodations,” Aunt Hannah said wryly.

  “Yeah, much too nice for sheep,” the elder Davis said. “But they are what this farm started with one hundred twenty years and many generations ago. So we maintain them in high style.”

  Hannah and Emma walked around in awe. The well-designed building had gathering pens, sorting pens, a forcing pen, and chutes. With plenty of ventilation and illumination, there were a dozen jugs for indoor winter lambing, so ewes and lambs could easily bond. The water tanks, salt blocks, and feeding troughs were clean and plentiful. They even had a room the visiting vet could use to treat sick animals, while the shearing room was a stainless steel wonder. Emma wouldn’t have been able to even imagine such convenience. Aunt Hannah also was wide-eyed and silent as they wandered from area to area.

  They took the remainder of the tour riding in an open jeep to save time. Without getting out of the vehicle, they drove past cattle barns, milking facilities, horse barns, corrals, and an indoor arena. They took a dirt lane through alfalfa fields, apple orchards, and around two ponds and one bass-stocked lake. They crossed a rushing river through a covered bridge to reach the higher pastures for cows and sheep.

  By the time they settled into wicker rockers on the screened porch for their afternoon refreshments, Emma and Hannah were exhausted from looking, listening, and learning.

  “I’ll bet Dad and Jamie wore you two out,” Lily stated, handing around glasses of iced tea and fresh-baked muffins.

  “Jah,” Emma said, blushing a deep rose color, “but we especially enjoyed seeing your sheep barn.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs. Miller, Emma,” Mr. Davis apologized. “I get a little carried away showing off the farm. I can’t take much credit. My dad and grandfather built most of what you see. We just try to keep it up, adding something new whenever necessary.”