Plain Admirer (6 page)

“Less frequent.”

“Are you sleeping okay?”

“Sometimes.”

“Nightmares?”

“Sometimes.”

“Roman, depression is natural after an injury like yours. Anger and sadness are symptoms that can be treated if they persist. Don’t be afraid to tell me if you have that kind of trouble.”

“It was God’s will. I must accept that.”

“I believe everything happens for a reason, and that God has a plan for everyone, but He invented doctors to help people along the way. So let me do my job, okay? I’ll see you in two weeks or sooner if you need me.” The young doctor smiled and left the room.

Roman saw no reason to smile. He was crippled, and no one could tell him when, or if, he would recover.

* * *

Joann jumped when the front door banged open, but it wasn’t Roman returning. It was only her cousin, Sally.

“Hi, Joann. I brought the sketches that Otis wanted. Is he here?” Sally’s cheerful face never failed to brighten Joann’s day. Her talent as an artist was well known in the community, and she often supplied the black-and-white line drawings that were the only graphics used in the
Family Hour
magazine. Otis would give her a list of things he wanted for the next month’s layout and what size they should be. Her beautifully drawn images of ordinary Amish life never failed to amaze Joann.

“Otis isn’t back from lunch yet. Can you wait for him?”

“Sure. I’ve already done my shopping. I got the prettiest lilac material at Needles and Pins for half off. You should get over there and get some. It’s going fast.”

“I don’t have need of a new dress. Mine are fine.”

“They may be fine as you see it, but they are getting a little threadbare and stained. Besides, that gray isn’t your best color.”

Joann looked down at her dress and matching apron. It was an old dress, but it was comfortable. “I like it because it doesn’t show the ink stains so readily.”

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to take a little more care with your appearance. You might have the chance to impress a fine fellow who comes in to place an ad,” Sally said.

What did Roman think of her attire? Why should he think of her at all? Deciding it was time to change the subject, Joann reached for the folder her cousin held. “May I see your sketches?”

Sally beamed. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

After laying the sketches side by side on the countertop, Sally shifted her gaze to Joann. “Do you think these are what Otis had in mind?”

The outside door opened, and Roman entered the shop with a deep frown creasing his forehead. Had the doctor given him bad news? “I hope he feels bad about taking your job,” Sally whispered to Joann as she gave him a cool stare.

Joann gripped Sally’s arm and said under her breath, “Please don’t say anything.”

Fortunately, Gerald came out of the typesetting room at that moment. “Sally, have you brought us some more of your artwork?”

“I brought in four pieces to see if this is what Otis wanted.”

“He should be back any minute. Let’s see what you have. Roman, Sally is our artist. She can draw almost anything.”

Sally blushed. “I have a small talent.”

Gerald moved to stand beside the women. Roman hesitated, as if unsure what to do. Joann said, “Come look at these, Roman, and tell us what you think.”

He came forward and studied the array. “They’re nice. I like this one best.”

“I do, too.” Joann held up the sketch of a small girl handing her mother jars from a basket.

“It reminds me of my mother’s storeroom in the cellar,” he said. “She has hundreds of jars on her shelves.”

Sally nodded. “I sketched it while my mother was helping my sister put up green beans last summer. The little girl was inspired by my niece.”

“It’s darling, Sally,” Joann said. “I hope Otis will use it on the cover of the next issue. He’s writing a series of articles about stewardship. What a great way to show people how being good stewards is really a part of everyday life.”

“I didn’t know if he would object to the partial view of the child’s face. I know some of your customers belong to more conservative churches.”

Joann studied the picture closely. Sally had been careful to draw the woman’s figure from the back so that her face wasn’t seen, but the child had been sketched in profile.

“I think it’s fine. What do you men think?”

“Looks good to me,” Gerald said.

“If it’s controversial, I say don’t use it,” Roman added his two cents.

Joann saw the joy go out of Sally’s eyes. Roman didn’t realize how much Sally’s artwork meant to her. She never signed her work or took credit for doing it, but she wanted to use the talent God had given her to glorify Him. This was her way of doing that.

“Otis has the final say,” Joann said. “It’s up to him.”

Otis returned a few minutes later. He looked over Sally’s sketches and agreed with Joann’s assessment. Thankfully, he kept Roman with him the rest of the afternoon, and Joann had a chance to relax. Roman left a few minutes before five. Joann stayed behind to tidy up the shop.

When she left the building, she was surprised to see Roman come out of the bookstore next door. He had two novels tucked inside his sling. He paused when he caught sight of her. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “My buggy is just around the corner. Would you care to share a ride?”

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He had no reason to offer her a lift today. “It doesn’t look like rain.”

“I thought since we were going the same way...” His voice trailed off. He cocked an eyebrow and waited.

It was a long walk after a long day, but she’d rather crawl home on her hands and knees than spend another minute in his company. Thankfully, she managed not to blurt out her opinion. “I have errands to run. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow would arrive all too quickly.

“Suit yourself.” Without another word, he walked away and turned the corner.

Had he actually sounded disappointed? She couldn’t imagine why unless he’d come up with a new way to torment her and wanted to test it out.

She started walking, determined not to look back. She was being unkind, but the thought of spending the next two weeks showing him how to do her job was almost more than she could bear. She wasn’t herself when he was near. She had to be careful not to trip on her words or run into a desk. He made her feel awkward and jumpy and she had no idea why.

The sad part was that her two weeks with him wouldn’t be the end of it. She’d still be coming in to clean. Would he ask why she’d changed jobs? Or why she was cleaning when she knew so much about printing? What would she say?

The answer to those questions would have to wait. There was no sense worrying about it before it happened.

She did have an errand to run. It hadn’t been just an excuse. She stopped at the public library to inquire if the latest copy of
Ohio Angler
had come in. It hadn’t.

The
Angler
was the one
Englisch
magazine that she read cover to cover. She suspected that her brothers wouldn’t approve, so she never checked it out. She simply read it at the library. It was from those glossy pages that she had gleaned much of her knowledge about fishing. That and spending hours and hours with a pole in her hand.

Disappointed, she left the library and walked through town toward her brother’s home. She passed Sarah’s house without stopping. That dream was over. She would just have to learn to accept it. When she reached the lane to her brother’s farm, she stopped. She didn’t feel like going home yet. She needed to be alone and think. She needed the solace of the lake.

Chapter Six

R
oman’s spirits lifted when he walked into his mother’s kitchen. The wonderful aromas of baking ham, scalloped potatoes and hot dinner rolls promised a delicious meal would soon be ready. His mother, with beads of sweat on her upper lip, was stirring applesauce in a large pan on the stove.

She looked over at him and smiled. “You’re just in time. Your papa has gone to wash up. How was it? Was Otis kind to you?”

“It was fine. I’ll go wash up, too. Where is Andrew?” His bottomless pit of a brother was always in the kitchen trying to sneak a bite of this or that before his mother got it on the table.

A worried frown creased her brow. “He said he wasn’t hungry.”

Roman stared at her in shock. “Andrew said that? He must be sick.”

Roman’s father came into the room. “He’s not sick. He just doesn’t like change. Can’t say that I do, either.”

“We change when we must,” Marie Rose stated quickly. “It’s ready. Have a seat.” She opened the door of the oven and pulled out the ham.

Roman could tell his father wanted to say more, but he simply took his place at the head of the table.

Marie Rose scowled at Roman. “Go wash up. Don’t make your father wait on you.”

* * *

Joann rounded the bend in the narrow path that led to her favorite spot at the lake and stopped dead in her tracks. A fishing pole, exactly like her new one her brother had thrown into the water, was leaning against a log where she liked to sit. She glanced around expecting to see another angler, but there was no one in sight. She called out, but no one answered.

The breeze off the water caused a bit of paper on the log to flutter. She moved closer and saw the paper had been weighted down with the stone. Picking it up, she read the note and her heart gave a happy leap. It wasn’t a pole like hers. It was hers.

By the grace of God, someone had snagged her pole and pulled it from the depths of the lake. She hugged the note to her chest as she spun around with joy.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she shouted. If only the unknown angler were present, she would thank him or her in person.

As quickly as her elation bubbled up, it ebbed away. She had her pole back, but she could hardly return it to the store after letting it soak in the lake. Nor could she take it to her brother’s home. Hebron would never allow her to keep it after he had made such an issue of her owning it. So what now?

Hebron rarely came to the lake. If she kept the pole here, he would never know. The fallen log she normally sat on was hollow on one end. She knelt down to check and see if it would work as a storage locker. The rotted-out area was almost big enough to hold the rod. Looking around, she found a long pointed branch and worked at making the cavity bigger. After five minutes, she had an adequate space. If she stuffed a little grass into the hollow, she would have a perfect hiding spot.

Dusting off her hands, she sat back on her heels. Somehow, she had to thank the person who’d rescued her rod. Surely, he would return to check on his find. She quickly opened her tackle box and took out her journal. She tore off a sheet of paper. After searching through her lures, she found the blue and green rattletrap she was looking for. It was a homemade lure, but she’d caught plenty of bass with it. She pondered what to say for a few minutes, then wrote a brief letter. She folded the paper over with the lure inside it and laid the note on the log. She put the same stone on top of it, took a step back and smiled.

At least one thing had improved in her life. She had her pole back. She jotted a few quick notes in her journal about the wind direction and the temperature, then she tied a spinner on her new rod and cast it out into the water. The lure landed exactly where she had aimed. A second later, she had a hard strike and she spent the next half hour happily catching and releasing fish. Her one regret was that the friendly fisherman wasn’t here to enjoy the evening, too.

When she judged it to be about suppertime, she put her rod back inside the hollow tree and headed for home. During the long walk, thoughts about the kind fisherman who had given her back her pole kept going around and around in her mind.

Was it someone she knew? Joseph Shetler, perhaps, or his hired man? She thought his name was Carl King, but he wasn’t Amish. There was speculation that he had been once but had left the faith.

Who else could her friend be? She couldn’t tell from the brief note if he was
Englisch
or one of the Plain people. Maybe it was a woman. That didn’t seem likely. The handwriting had been bold, strong and to the point.

Whoever it was, she hoped one day she would have the chance to thank him or her face to face.

* * *

Roman stepped off his parents’ front porch into the cool evening air. The days were getting longer. It wouldn’t be dark for another hour. Supper had been an awkward meal. His father didn’t ask about his day. Roman wouldn’t have known what to say if he did ask. Andrew had remained absent from the table. Roman didn’t want his new working arrangement to put a strain on his relationship with his brother.

He went in search of Andrew and found him sweeping the sawmill floor. The boy was attacking the accumulated sawdust with a vengeance. “I should go get
Mamm,
” Roman said. “She would be impressed. She’s never seen you intent on getting this place so clean. It would do her heart good.”

Andrew stopped sweeping but didn’t look at Roman. “I’m not doing it to impress anyone.”

“I know. I’m just trying to make conversation, but I’m not doing such a good job. This is awkward for me, too. I realize you’re upset with me for taking the job in town.”

He looked at the stacks of new two-by-fours sitting against the wall. They’d had a productive day without him. He’d made the right decision.

Andrew started sweeping again. “So how is your new job?”

“Complicated.
Daed
said he hired Faron Martin to work here. Do you think he’ll work out?”

“It’s too soon to tell. I guess he is all right, but it’s not like working with you.”

“Yeah, he has two good arms.”

“But he doesn’t know up from down about our business.”

Roman chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the people at our uncle’s office feel the same way about me.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re twice as smart as they are.”

Roman pulled a whisk broom from its hook on the wall and began cleaning wood chips off the counter near the doorway. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m like a babe in the woods. Everything is new. It’s not like this place where I know every nook and cranny and every piece of equipment as well as I know the back of my hand.”

“So come back.” Andrew didn’t look up, but Roman didn’t need to see the tenuous hope in his eyes, he heard it in his voice.

“If only it were that simple, Andy.”

“I miss having you around.”

Roman stepped close to his brother and ruffled his hair. “I miss you, too.”

“It’s not the same. I’ve worked beside you since I was old enough to hold a handsaw.”

“Andy. I’ve been meaning to thank you for your gift.”

Andy stopped sweeping and looked up with a puzzled expression. “What gift?”

“Your fishing rod holder. It works pretty well.”

“It does? You tried it out? When? Did you catch anything?”

“I tried it the other evening when you went fishing with your friends, and I did catch something.”

“Wait a minute. You went fishing by yourself? Why didn’t you come with me?”

“I wasn’t eager to embarrass myself in front of others.”

“I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry.”

“The fault lies with me, little brother, not with you. Anyway, I wanted to thank you.”

Andrew brightened. “Hey, do you want to go fishing this evening? We caught some nice catfish below the bridge at the river.”

“Sure, but let’s go over to Woolly Joe’s lake. I caught a new rod and reel there.”

“What?”

“Honest. I pulled a brand new rod with an open-faced reel out of the water. It was a beauty.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I left it there with a note in case the owner came back. I’m curious to see if someone claimed it, so I’m going over there now. Want to come with me?”

Andrew tossed his broom in the corner. “Sure. Can I get my rod? We’ve got time to get in a little fishing, don’t we?”

Roman smiled at his excitement. “Get your rod and go get a sandwich from mother. I know you missed supper.”

“Good idea. I’m starving.” He took off toward the house at a run. He reappeared with a sandwich in one hand and a second one in a plastic bag sticking out of his pocket.

It was nearly dusk by the time Roman and Andrew reached the north end of the lakeshore. “Is this the place you left the pole?” Andrew asked.

“
Nee,
it’s farther along on the east side.”

Roman nearly missed the path, but he managed to locate the fallen log after a brief search.

Andrew turned around once in the small clearing. “I don’t see it. Looks like somebody took it home.”

“But they left my note.” He picked up the piece of paper weighted down with a rock. Once he had it in his hand, he realized it was a larger sheet of paper than the one he’d left the other day. It had been folded in half. When he opened it, something fell out. It was a fishing lure in the shape of a small fish, a plug, obviously hand-carved and painted with iridescent blue and green colors.

He held the page to catch the fading light from the setting sun.

Dear Friendly Fisherman,

You have no idea how happy I was to see my new rod and reel resting against this log today. I knew when I read your note that a true sportsman had recovered my possession. At a time when everything seems to be going wrong in my life, you have created a bright spot with your kindness. As a small token of my thanks, I’m leaving this jig. It isn’t much, but if you cast it along the rocky outcropping to the west, you should land a nice bass or two with it. Thank you again.

A Happy Angler

Roman grinned. He’d managed to make someone happy. He was glad that he’d left the fishing pole behind. The good Lord had used him to comfort a stranger.

“What’s that?” Andrew asked.

“A note of thanks and a fishing lure for my trouble.” The pole had done more than make a stranger happy. It had given Roman a reason to come to the lake with his brother. How strange to think a lost rod and reel was God’s tool to mend the rift between them.

“That’s cool. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Roman hesitated. He didn’t want to look like a fool in front of Andrew. He couldn’t tie on the lure. Besides, what if he hooked a fish and couldn’t reel it in? He almost said no, but something in his brother’s eyes stopped him.

Instead, he said, “I believe I will if you rig it for me. I’m not very good at knots with one hand yet.” It was the first time he had asked Andrew for any kind of help.

“Not a problem.” Andrew grinned from ear to ear. He soon had the iridescent fish secured to the end of Roman’s line. When he stepped back, Roman approached the shore and located the spot the thank-you note had mentioned. On his fourth cast, he felt a strike. “I’ve got one.”

“Do you need me to help?” Andrew put his own pole down and moved to Roman’s side.

“I think I can manage.” It was hard to crank the reel one-handed with a fighting fish on the other end, but Roman realized he was enjoying the challenge.

“Lean back and keep your rod tip up. Giving him a little more line.” Andrew continued to call out instructions until Roman landed the fish. At that point, he raced to the water to grab their prize.

Roman realized he was grinning from ear to ear now, too. If he could do this, he could do other things. He sat down on the log and laughed aloud. “Did you see that? I did it.”

Even in the fading twilight, he could see Andrew’s happy smile as he held the fish aloft. “You did it, all right. It’s a beauty of a bigmouth bass. Must be four pounds if it’s an ounce. If we catch a few more,
Mamm
can fry them up for supper tomorrow.”

“I’m game if you are, but you know you’re going to have to clean them all. I don’t think I can manage that with one hand just yet.”

Andrew’s grin faded and then quickly returned. “That’s a deal.”

Later, when Andrew had walked a little farther along the shore, Roman took a moment to admire the colors of the sunset reflected perfectly on the still surface of the water. The sun rose and the sun set, no matter what troubled him. The world unfolded as God willed. Roman pulled the note from his pocket and read it again.

At a time when everything seems to be going wrong in my life, you have created a bright spot with your kindness.

He knew exactly how it felt to have everything going wrong. Yes, he had recovered the pole and left it here. It had been a simple thing to do, not really a kindness on his part, but he was glad that he had brightened someone’s day in much the same way as the letter and the lure had brightened his.

The Happy Angler had more than repaid Roman’s offhand kindness with a true gift. The lure was homemade. The maker had surely spent hours carving and painting the piece. Its value was much more than wood and paint. Using it had shown Roman he could ask for help without feeling helpless. He could do the things he used to do. He just had to learn to do them in a different way.

He turned the piece of paper over and wrote a note of his own on the back. Hopefully, the happy angler would return to the spot and learn that the small gift was greatly appreciated and it was so much more than a fishing lure. When he finished the note, he hesitated to sign it.

It was possible the happy angler was someone he knew. Like Roman, the anonymous writer wasn’t looking for praise for what he’d done and had chosen not to sign his own name. Perhaps he had a reason for wanting to remain unknown. Roman decided to close the letter with the name the happy angler had given him.

“Andrew, did you save your sandwich bag?”

“
Ja,
mother likes to reuse them, you know.”

“Do you think she’ll mind if I keep it?”