Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (24 page)

Buggies lined both sides of the Steiner driveway. The turnout for the district meeting surpassed Seth’s expectations. One of Jacob’s sons unhitched his mare and led her to a round stanchion of hay, already crowded with visiting horses.

“That way,” the boy said, pointing to a large barn with doors open wide to catch evening breezes. Seth heard the sound of voices raised in heated discussion long before he entered the hundred-year-old structure.

“Everyone calm down,” someone commanded. Seth recognized the authoritative voice of the bishop. “We’ll hear both viewpoints of the issue one at a time. We will not have a shouting match. Each side, pick a spokesman.”

Seth glanced around. About thirty men were milling in two fairly equal groups. One group contained the district’s younger men, while the other was a mostly white-bearded crowd. Seth recognized several friends, including those who had originally formed the corn alliance and convinced him of its merits. He also spotted his
bruder,
along with the other deacon and bishop on the other side.

Simon spotted him and tipped his hat in greeting. Seth nodded, smiled, and then joined the younger men as they were selecting a spokesman. Thank goodness they didn’t ask him to plead their case. He’d said enough on the subject to last a lifetime and wished the controversy would cool down. Let those who had invested wait for the harvest without all the ongoing fuss.

His wishful thinking for a quiet compromise was not to be. Especially since the man chosen as spokesman was a well-known hothead. The young man stepped forward and talked about anticipated profits as though they were a foregone conclusion. Although he talked in a low, controlled voice, Seth saw that many of the elders disapproved of his assurance of outcome and cocky attitude.

One glance at Simon confirmed their spokesman wasn’t winning any new converts. Simon looked like Curly when the goat’s rope was too short to reach the tastiest grass. Some elders mumbled under their breath, while others shook their heads or pulled on beards. The younger men either defiantly crossed their arms or nervously shifted their weight from foot to foot. Most didn’t like dissension in the community or alienating themselves from fathers, fathers-in-law, or other kin. Seth found himself in the latter group, despite his conviction the plan would work.

Soon the bishop called for silence, and Simon stepped forward to present the other side. It was simple, really. The Amish way of life, which had served them for years and was protected by the
Ordnung,
demanded subsistence farming. That meant growing only what the family and community needed—to store up riches in heaven without undo concern for earthly wealth. Scripture spoke directly on the matter in 1 Timothy 6:6-8:
“
Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. After all, we brought nothing with us when we came into the world, and we can’t take anything with us when we leave it. So if we have enough food and clothing, let us be content.”

The white-bearded men nodded in agreement.

As Seth saw it, the two groups differed only in defining the needs of the community. A depleted medical fund wouldn’t meet future expenses. With Julia’s surgeries practically unavoidable, the need was real. Yet he also saw that the corn alliance was a gamble, and that couldn’t easily be rationalized. Glancing around the room, reading the faces and postures of men he’d known his whole life, Seth realized few men saw both sides. And that didn’t bode well for restoring peace and harmony in the district.

The bishop raised his hand for silence. Soon the grumbling ceased and the men waited for his decision. “What’s done is done,” he said, in a clear voice. “The land has been leased. The crops have been planted. We shall pray for a bountiful harvest.” He looked at his fellow elders to emphasize the appeal for unity. “We shall pitch in if someone needs help with harvest or comes up short with livestock feed or other necessities. If the profits are what you say they will be,” he nodded at the younger spokesman, “then the community fund will be restored and whole district will benefit.”

A noise from overhead drew everyone’s attention. The bishop’s gaze drifted upward where swallows flitted between the rafters. “But this will be the last of it…this speculation.” He refocused on the men before him. “As I understand it, the leases were for one year. Next spring they’ll be no alliance of corn growers with their get-rich-quick schemes.” As the bishop spoke, some men nodded sagely, while the hotheads stood like statues in the town square. “Each farmer of this district will plant a variety of crops to carry us through good times and bad, like the
Ordnung
instructs.”

For a moment silence filled the barn as dust motes danced in the last rays of the setting sun. Then murmuring resumed as the men either agreed with the decision or expressed some final grouse on the subject.

Simon was busy talking to the other deacon, so Seth slipped outside to the cooler evening air. At least the topic had been laid to rest. God held their future in His hands, and Seth would patiently wait for the outcome.

Warm apple pie, crowned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a tall glass of iced tea beckoned. He couldn’t wait to get back to his wife…and his long overdue dessert. He concentrated on those two things on the way home, putting all thoughts of corn aside.

The kerosene lamp burned low on the kitchen table when he arrived, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The counters had been cleared and wiped down with lemon water, the faint scent still lingering in the air. A jelly jar of larkspur, picked by Phoebe, graced the center of the table. “Hannah,” he called in the empty room. “Phoebe?”

His wife, wrapped in a robe over her nightgown appeared in the doorway. “She’s long asleep, Seth. Let’s not wake her.”

The realization that something was wrong hit him like a slap of cold water. Hannah’s eyes were red and swollen, her face pale and wan. She appeared somehow diminished, as though she’d shrunk a full size during the meeting.

“What’s wrong, Hannah?” he asked. Fear snaked up his spine as his gut tightened into a knot. “What has happened?”

“Oh, Seth,” she cried and ran to him. Burying her face in his shirt, she fisted her hands against his chest.

All thoughts of pie vanished in an instant.

He waited several long moments while she sobbed in his arms. When he could no longer stand the suspense, he gently lifted her chin to peer into her dark green eyes. “Tell me,
fraa
.” He took a hanky from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

She sniffed and dabbed her nose. “I was so happy, so hopeful. I thought I…we were expecting a
boppli
. Then tonight I got my monthly. Oh, Seth,” she wailed. “I’m not pregnant.” She dissolved into a sea of misery. “It’s not to be. It’s never to be.”

Simon was sitting at the table when Emma and Matthew returned home. A mug of warm milk sat before him, cooling. “About time,” he said when they entered the kitchen.

“Sorry, Pa,” Matthew said. “Long way home on the back roads.”

“How’s
mamm
?” asked Emma, simultaneously.

“I know where Mount Hope is, son. Go to bed. You need your rest.” To Emma, he said, “You can ask her that yourself tomorrow. It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”

“Gut nacht,”
she said. Her father looked as old as
Dawdi
Eli. Deep creases and dark shadows ringed his eyes. He shuffled his feet across the linoleum floor. The joy of seeing James tonight, the thrill of discovering he wanted to be her beau diminished with the reminder that her dear mother was sick.

A wave of guilt followed her up the stairs to her room. When she kneeled beside the bed, she prayed for her parents, not for a future with a blue-eyed man with strong hands.
Mamm
and
daed
seemed to have aged so much during the past year.

Emma lay awake tossing and turning for a long while. Twice she woke Leah with her thrashing. The girl pulled the top sheet over her head without hiding her annoyance. When Emma finally did sleep, the sound of James’ laughter and memory of his gentle touch haunted her dreams until dawn.

At breakfast, Leah was in a better mood than the previous night. “How did you like the horse pull?” she asked. Her face glowed with good health as she heated the frying pan for an omelet. Chopped peppers and ham were ready to be added to the eggs.

“Good,” Emma said, not admitting she’d paid little attention to the huge horses pulling weighted sleighs. Men got excited over the dullest things while her mind had been elsewhere. “How is
mamm
?” she asked, glancing toward the steps.

“
Ach
, don’t worry,” Leah said. “She’ll be asleep for a while. They gave her shots in both knees with a long needle and stronger pain pills.” Leah flipped the omelet with skill. “But the news isn’t good. The X-rays showed more deterioration of her knees and feet. If the steroid injections don’t work and the pills don’t bring relief, they’ll have to operate.”

“Oh, my,” Emma murmured. “Poor
mamm
.” She hung her head, focusing on making toast so her sister wouldn’t see her shame.
What am I doing? Falling in love with an
Englischer?
Only heartbreak for my family will come from that.
Yet she seemed helpless to stop. Maybe it was a good thing he would leave soon for college. No point upsetting her parents over a silly summer infatuation.

When Simon and the boys trooped in for breakfast, a glaze of sweat already dampened their faces. “It’ll be another hot one today,” Simon announced. But other than his weather prediction, the meal was short and silent. Even Matthew didn’t chatter endlessly about the horse pull or share news from his schoolmates. The boy kept glancing at her, as though waiting for some kind of announcement.

When Leah volunteered to do the dishes by herself, Emma gratefully headed to the henhouse. She much preferred cleaning roosts and sweeping floors than answering unexpected questions. Emma completed her chores that day as though sleepwalking. Her small flock was thriving—growing rapidly and gaining weight. She’d lost no lambs to illness or predators. Her weaving skills had vastly improved—no longer did she produce the loose, puckered cloth she had first created. She had plenty of wool to spin into yarn, a task that calmed her mind and filled her with a sense of purpose.

Except for today.

None of her domestic activities took her mind off James Davis and what their future might hold. Could she one day become his wife—watching television, riding to town in his big truck, maybe even buying a microwave oven? What could a person do with one of those they couldn’t do in a regular oven?

When nothing brought peace of mind, Emma slung a burlap bag over her shoulder and headed for the woodland path. In the quiet forest she hoped to find more than fresh grapevines to cut. She sought to calm her troubled spirit. While blackbirds squawked and sparrows twittered, Emma pulled out her clippers and attacked low-hanging vines. When her bag was full, she turned her face skyward and closed her eyes. Rays of sunlight reached down to warm her skin, filling her with the serenity that had long eluded her. In the forest clearing, she felt God’s presence and prayed for guidance and forgiveness.

Renewed, Emma picked up her bag brimming with vines and marched home, humming a favorite song along the way. But her serenade came to an abrupt stop once she reached the high pasture. A shiny green truck pulling a livestock trailer was parked in their driveway, and James was just getting out of the driver’s side.

With a shiver of fear, Emma picked up her skirt and started to run.

Matthew arrived first to greet their guest. As she was hopping a log, the two young men were shaking hands. Then they walked to the back of the trailer and opened the door. Emma shimmied between the fence rails, knocking off her
kapp
along the way. When she stopped to fix her head covering, she watched the tableau unfold in the yard below. And her heart rose into her throat.

A sleek brown-and-white Appaloosa marched down the ramp—the same one she’d admired the night before. From where she stood, she saw the horse raise its head regally and toss its mane. “Oh, no, what have I done?” she muttered and ran the rest of the way without stopping.

“James!” she huffed upon reaching her brother’s side.

“Hi, Emma,” James said, tightening up on the horse’s reins. “What do you think of her? Isn’t she a beauty? Not too big, yet strong enough to pull a pony cart up the highest hill in the county.” He smoothed a hand down the Appaloosa’s well-groomed coat.

Emma stared wide eyed and out of breath, but her
bruder
was almost jumping up and down. “I’ve never seen a filly so spirited that doesn’t balk on short lead,” Matthew said. His face reflected his appreciation of superior horseflesh.

Emma cleared her throat. “What a nice purchase you’ve made. I hope you won a good price at auction. Thank you for stopping by to show her off.” She sounded primmer than her former schoolteacher, Miss Stoddard.

James tucked his cap into a back pocket. “Stopping by?” he asked, laughing. “No, Emma. This filly is for your pony cart. So old Belle can live out her days munching clover instead of taking you to town. Do you like her? I know Matt can train her with the cart. She’s smart as a whip; I can tell that already.” He looked as joyous as a person possibly could.