Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (6 page)

As though Phoebe could read her private thoughts, she announced, “Mrs. Hershberger is going to have a baby. She said it should arrive in October with the autumn leaves.”

“
Jah,
good. A bundle of joy to warm her heart this winter,” Hannah said, clutching Phoebe’s hand tighter as a car whizzed past on the road.

“We will get a new teacher, but she doesn’t know who yet.” Phoebe kicked at a stone with the toe of her tennis shoe. “Are you going to have a
boppli
too, Ma?”

The question that had haunted Hannah’s slumber besides many waking daydreams just popped out of the child’s mouth.

“That is in the Lord’s hands, Phoebe. We have to wait and see.” Hannah swallowed down the tightness in her throat.

“Pa says if it’s meant to be, it will happen, and I will be the first person he tells, Miss Busybody. That’s what he called me, Miss Busybody.” She appeared pleased with the new nickname.

“Your pa is right. We must wait and see, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask the Lord in your prayers.”

Phoebe looked up with her dark eyes sparkling. “Is it okay to ask for a baby
schwestern
and not a
bruder
? Or do we just have to take what we get?”

Hannah hugged the girl to her side, grinning from ear to ear. “Both, sweet child. You can ask for a little sister, but be prepared to love the baby one way or the other.”

“I promise I will. Look, we’re almost there,” Phoebe announced as they rounded a bend in the road. “I’ll go the rest of the way by myself like a big girl.”

Hannah stooped down to accept a kiss on the cheek, and then she watched Phoebe run toward the three-room clapboard schoolhouse. Her braids bounced down her back under her thin head covering.

“Bye, Ma. See you after school.”

Ma.
Hannah loved the sound of that word. How she yearned for a houseful of young voices saying it. She mulled over the possible reasons while she wasn’t in a family way during the walk home. But by the time Turnip, the sheepdog Seth had given her while courting, greeted her at the end of the lane, she had sent her concerns up in a silent prayer.

If it be Your will, Lord. If it be Your will.

Turnip continued barking all the way up the drive. Once Hannah reached the barn, she saw the reason for the dog’s agitation. A livestock hauler had backed up to the pasture gate. Hannah couldn’t fathom why the truck, much smaller than the semitrailer that brought her flock from Lancaster County, was here.

Seth stood talking to the English driver near the pasture fence. Both held their hats in their hands, enjoying the warm spring sunshine on their skin. Her husband put his back on when Hannah approached and offered a welcoming smile. “Phoebe get off okay on the last day of school?” he asked. “Now she’ll be underfoot all summer long.” To the man he said, “This is my wife, Hannah.” The driver touched his hat brim while Hannah bobbed her head.

“Good morning,” she murmured. “Seth, why is this truck here? Have you bought more livestock?”

Seth scuffed his boot in the dirt, glanced at the driver, and then looked at his wife. “No, the truck is here to load up spring lambs. Now, that they’re weaned, they are ready to go to market.”

Hannah’s facial expression required no words to convey her outrage.

Seth held up a hand. “Now, don’t go getting upset. I haven’t forgotten your promise of spring lambs to Emma. I picked out a half dozen healthy females and separated them out already. They’re in a pen in the barn. Since tomorrow is Emma’s birthday, I thought we could take them over when we went for cake and ice cream. I think she’ll be more excited to get them than that book and the box of chocolates you wrapped up.” He laughed with good humor.

Hannah could feel her ears pounding as her blood pressure rose. “You are selling off my lambs?” she squawked. “Without even discussing the matter with me?” Hannah couldn’t help herself—she stomped her foot in the gravel, raising a cloud of dust. It was a childish, undignified gesture to be sure, but she couldn’t remember ever being so angry.

“Excuse us a moment, Mr. Phelps,” Seth said. He gently took Hannah’s forearm and led her inside the barn. The driver busied himself by brushing mud off the truck tailgate. “Hannah, I don’t like you losing your temper in front of English strangers.” Seth kept his voice low and controlled, but Hannah knew she wasn’t the only one who was angry.

“And I don’t like you selling off my babies to a slaughterhouse!” Her words came out like a stray cat’s hiss.

“
Ach
, Hannah,” he said, twisting his head from side-to-side as though working out a crick in his neck. “They are not babies; they are livestock. And we can’t keep that many young rams. We’ll end up with a pasture of head-butting brawls the whole year long. No sheep farmer keeps all his newborns.”

Hannah crossed her arms over her apron, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “Well, I keep all of mine.”

“That’s another thing,
fraa
. They are not
your
lambs anymore. They’re
ours
, and as your husband I get to make the decisions around this farm.”

He might not have wanted his words to come out quite that way, but Mr. Phelps had appeared in the barn doorway, looking impatient.

“You folks want me to come back another day? I have another pickup and delivery to do over in Mount Eaton later this afternoon.”

“No, Mr. Phelps. You can start loading those lambs up. I’ll be right with you.”

Tears flooded Hannah’s eyes. The last thing she wanted was to break down and cry like a child, but she realized then that nothing she could say would change the fate of her beloved critters. “Oh, Seth!” With her face awash in misery, she picked up her skirt and ran for the house. She heard him call her name, but she didn’t slow her pace until she reached the quiet solitude of her kitchen.

Or was it his kitchen?

She broke down and sobbed on her sleeve at Seth’s oak table in Seth’s house on Seth’s farm. Feeling sorry for herself and even sorrier for her lambs, she cried until every last tear was gone, and then she headed for her bucket and scrub brush. Now was as good a time as any to give Seth’s kitchen floor a good scrubbing. Boot heel marks wouldn’t stand a chance once Hannah focused her ire on them.

Later, with the linoleum gleaming, Hannah sipped a cup of coffee and contemplated washing the windows. She didn’t hear Seth come in until he spoke quietly over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Hannah, that I made you feel so bad this morning. I thought this might be a thorny issue, and I took the coward’s way out. Next time I’ll tell you of my decisions beforehand so you can speak your mind and stomp your foot in the privacy of your own house instead of in front of strangers.”

Without another word, he walked back outside.

Your own house
…it was as though he had read her thoughts. Or maybe he already knew her heart that well.

Just when she thought she’d cried herself out, one last tear slipped out and ran down her cheek.

A sixteenth birthday comes but once in a girl’s life. So for that reason, Emma waited until after chores to take her bath. She had donned her oldest dress to feed and water the flock, clean the loft workroom, and move things around to make space. Then she helped Leah gather a dozen eggs and sweep out the henhouse. Leah and
mamm
would be cooking and baking without her help today. She had been given a day off from household chores since it wouldn’t do for her to bake her own birthday cake, now would it?

While Leah mixed flour, eggs, and milk together in a bowl, and Julia simmered a pot of vegetable soup on the stove for lunch, Emma soaked in the tub until the water grew cold. Afterward she put on a pretty pale green dress. It wouldn’t be many more years before she joined the church and wore dark hues like the other women members. Emma felt certain that when the day came she would be ready.

After brushing her hair forty extra strokes, she bound it up in a loose bun and noticed again that her forehead seemed too high and wide. She would love to cut a light fringe of bangs like the English girls wore, but her father wouldn’t allow any hair cutting. When she’d asked him, he had declared, “No daughter of a deacon will cut her hair when the
Ordnung
specifically forbids it.”

But today it hardly seemed to matter. Simon had agreed to allow the new loom to be delivered, despite the fact she’d only paid for half. “Your
mamm
seems to think it’s a good idea, so I will permit it” had been his unexpected pronouncement. Emma mailed a note to Mrs. Dunn the next day, requesting the loom be delivered today, if at all possible.

She hadn’t mentioned the significance of today, but nevertheless, Emma preferred not to be knee-deep in soybeans or rows of wheat sprouts when the deliveryman arrived. If her prayers were answered, James Davis would do the delivering. Emma knew her prayers had been shallow and self-centered, so she also prayed for rain for the hay crop, plenty of sunshine for
mamm
’s vegetable garden, and a good price for the corn harvest. Corn—that’s all
daed
, Uncle Seth, and the other men ever talked about after preaching services anymore.

As she slipped a starched white apron over her dress, she thought how lucky she was in her chosen vocations. Grapevines grew wild and free for the taking in the woodlot, same as most of the roots, herbs, and berries she used for dyes. Wool grew back reliably after each shearing, never having to be planted, fertilized, or weeded.

All in all, Emma felt blessed on her special day, made even more so with the sound of tires on gravel and the toot of a horn.

Her prayers had been answered. James Davis climbed out of his truck, wearing pressed blue jeans, a white cotton shirt tucked in, shined-up boots, and a huge smile. Even though he couldn’t possibly have known which room was hers, he looked up at her window and waved.

Emma felt her stomach somersault. She could only assume she should have eaten more pancakes at breakfast.

“Hi, Emma,” he called when he spotted her in the window.

She offered a wave and then hurried downstairs before his yelling brought her brothers from the barn. Unfortunately, her mother was on her way out the door by the time Emma reached the kitchen.

Julia was standing on the steps as James approached the porch. “Mrs. Miller? I’m James Davis. Mrs. Dunn of Sugar Creek asked me to deliver a loom for Miss Emma Miller.” With his ball cap in hand, he smiled charmingly at Julia.

“Oh, my. She’ll be so pleased that it came today,” Julia said, walking slowly down the steps.

Emma slipped onto the porch, not letting the screen door slam behind her.

James smiled at her, and then he turned his attention back to Julia. “Why is that, ma’am? What’s so different about today?”

“It’s my daughter’s birthday. Oh, here she is now,” she added, noticing Emma behind her. “This is James Davis. He’s here to deliver the new loom.”

“Yes, Mom,” Emma said, choosing to use only English terms. “Aunt Hannah and I met him a couple times at A Stitch in Time. His family also raise sheep. I believe I mentioned that to you.” She wanted to greet him properly, but suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eye, let alone string words together to form a sentence.

“Does your mother spin and weave, James?” Julia asked.

“No, ma’am. She’s a nurse in Canton and doesn’t have much time. She wants to learn after she retires. My dad farms full-time. Not much chance for retirement there.”

“
Jah
, true enough,” Julia agreed. “I better get that birthday cake out of the oven before it burns. Emma will show you where to put the loom. She’s been busy making room for it all morning. Nice meeting you, son.” Julia struggled back up the steps, leaning on her daughter for support.

I’ll show him if I can shake off this sudden bout of paralysis
, Emma thought. Sensing his gaze on her, she felt every hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. “Our barn is this way, Mr. Davis,” Emma said, marching down the path past him. Now that her legs were working again, they apparently yearned to run.

“Mr. Davis?” he asked, falling in step beside her. He pushed a wheeled dolly carrying the loom along the path. “Mr. Davis is my dad. It’s me, James. Or you could call me Jim, or even Jamie like my gram does, if you have a mind to. What happened, Em? Did you fall off a ladder and whack your head?” He laughed zealously at his joke.

“No, I did not, but Amish folk maintain more decorum than other folks.”

“Okay, then,” he said, “just as long as I know you’re all right.”

“I’m very well,
dank
—thank you!” Emma slowed her pace so she wouldn’t be panting and sweating by the time they reached the loft.

“Being that it’s your special day and all.”

She huffed like a hen when someone stole her egg. “It’s just a birthday. Everybody gets one once a year.”

“But it’s your sweet sixteen birthday. And from what I’ve heard from one of my friends—he’s Amish like you and lives over in Farmerstown—sixteen is the age Amish girls start dating. Maybe you know my friend, Sam Yoder?”