Treasuring Emma (9 page)
“
Nee
. He never did.”
“We can’t sell his tools. We can’t fill his machine shop with pink fabric and purple yarn and needles and thimbles.” She touched her fingertips to her mouth, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t want that.”
“So you say. But why does Clara want this?”
“Are you agreeing with her? I thought you’d want to preserve
Grossvadder’s
legacy.”
“Emma. I only asked a question.” Her voice was calm. Soothing.
Emma took a breath. “Clara says the store will bring in money. Pay our bills.” She didn’t mention their mother’s hospital bills. “Buy our food. Maybe hire someone to help us make some of the repairs on the
haus
. But the
haus
is fine. Sure, it might need some paint and a few shingles, and possibly a—”
“How is Dill?”
Emma went to the stove and brought back the plate of leftover pancakes. She picked up one, tore it in pieces, and ate it without registering the taste. “Fine.”
“
Nee
. She’s not. Norman told me before the funeral he thought she might be lame.”
Grossmammi
touched Emma’s arm. “How will we pay to get her the help she needs?”
Emma swallowed, her stomach churning. “We’ll figure out another way. I’d never let anything happen to Dill.”
Her grandmother didn’t say anything for a moment. “Emma, if you had a choice, what would you want to do with the workshop?”
“I’d keep it the way it is.”
“What if you could use it to sustain us? You might not like it, but Clara is right. There are bills to pay. Your mother and I were able to make ends meet by using the money your father had saved before he died. We also made jams and breads and sold them to tourists passing by.”
Emma nodded. “I know.”
“So what if you could turn the workshop into something profitable? Other than the fabric shop Clara wants?” Her grandmother stood, shuffled over to the sink, and rinsed out her cup. “I promise you, your
grossvadder
would want his shop to benefit you both. Think about it. Maybe together you and Clara can find a compromise.”
Alone at the table, Emma ate another pancake and finished her coffee. Compromise? With her sister? That would never happen.
Clara would get her way. She always did.
“There. Now you look Amish. At least a bit more than when you got here.” Adam’s mother stepped back and admired her work.
Hair covered the towel wrapped around his shoulders. She folded the hair up in the towel, but some of the clippings remained on his shirt.
Adam met his mother’s gaze, searching her face for a sign of trouble. If anything, she looked genuinely happy, and had since he arrived. He was more convinced than ever that Leona had been wrong. The thought comforted him. That and the filling breakfast he’d consumed.
He turned to go upstairs. “I’m going to wash the hair off.”
“Adam?”
He faced his mother.
“I still have all your old clothes.” She glanced to one side before looking at him again. “They’re in your closet, if you want them.”
Adam nodded but remained noncommittal. When he reached his bedroom, he went straight to the closet. Three pairs of denim broadfall pants. Six short-sleeved shirts, hand stitched, three pale yellow and three light blue. A couple of jackets. A spotless long-sleeved white shirt, black trousers, vest, and suspenders—his church clothes. Everything just as he had left it.
He looked down at his Yankee clothes. Plaid shirt. Blue jeans. The hundred-dollar running shoes he wished he’d never bought. He fingered the thin cotton fabric of a blue shirt hanging in front of him. Paused, and closed the closet door.
Adam rummaged through his suitcase for clean clothes. He saw the razor, grabbed it, and went to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
He looked in the mirror, checking out the bowl-shaped haircut. He’d agreed to the haircut to make his mother happy, but it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it might. He’d get it shortened up and cropped closer to his head when he got back to Michigan.
He ran a hand over his beard and mustache. He was tempted to use the razor, too, but he didn’t want to get his mother’s hopes up. He shook his head and started the shower.
Later he bounded downstairs wearing his Michigan sweatshirt over a white T-shirt. He found his mother in the kitchen, kneading a ball of white dough. When she saw him, her lips curved into a smile.
“
Daed
still out with the cows?”
Her smile dimmed. “I suppose so.”
Adam debated whether to seek out his father. They would probably end up arguing. They always had, up until the moment he left home. “Maybe I’ll
geh
next door. Check on Emma and Leona.”
“That’s a
gut
idea. I know Leona will be glad to see you.” She shaped the dough into a smooth loaf and set it in a metal pan.
Adam thought his mother might encourage him to speak to his father instead. She was always the buffer between them. But she didn’t mention him. She didn’t mention Emma either. Strange. “Is there anything you need before I
geh
?”
She looked at him for a moment, her brows angled inward. Then she shook her head. “
Nee
. You
geh
on.”
“All right.” He didn’t move. Now she was acting odd; maybe Leona had been right after all. Maybe something was wrong. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He had nearly left the room when she called after him.
“Adam?”
“Ya?”
She brushed flour off her hands. “How long are you planning to stay? Here, at home.”
He hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure,
Mamm
. No definite plans right now.”
It wasn’t a very good answer, but one she’d just have to accept right now. He left before she could ask him anything else.
Outside, the scent of burning leaves floated on the air. The smell of fall. He breathed deeply and strode toward the Shetlers’ house. At the big oak tree, he paused. A thick layer of leaves lay scattered on the ground and throughout the yard. He and Emma used to rake the leaves into piles when they were
kinner
. Jump into them. Burrow tunnels. Throw handfuls in the air. He would sneeze for days afterward, but it was worth it.
A breeze attacked two brown, crinkled leaves on the lowest branch. They clung for a second before being carried off on the whim of the wind. Adam kicked at a few more stray leaves as he walked toward the house.
On the porch, his gaze went to the two rockers in the corner. Memories of his friendship with Emma and her family filled his mind and brought a knot to his throat. He turned away and knocked on the front door, harder than he intended to. It seemed no one was home, even though the buggy was parked near the barn.
He knocked again. Finally the door opened.
“Adam.” Leona smiled. She opened the door wide. “Come in, come in.”
He followed her inside. Like his parents’ home, the Shetlers’ house hadn’t changed much. A plain brown sofa, a small end table holding a gas lamp, two chairs, and Leona’s hickory rocking chair. Plain but comfortable.
“We can visit in the kitchen.” She moved slowly, and Adam measured his steps behind her. The kitchen, too, had stood still in time. A pitcher of lemonade sat on the round table.
“Thirsty?”
He wasn’t, but he nodded anyway.
“Ya.”
Leona followed his gaze. “Do you want ice? We have some in the cooler in the basement.”
“I don’t want you to
geh
to any trouble.”
“It’s
nee
trouble, Adam.”
“I’d rather have it without.”
Leona’s hands trembled as she filled his glass, then poured one for herself. She sat next to him. “I added extra sugar.”
He took a sip, peering at her over the rim. “You were expecting me.”
“Eventually. Emma said she saw you this morning.”
“With half my hair chopped off.”
“Ah.” Leona chuckled. “Carol gave you a haircut,
ya
? I see she couldn’t talk you into shaving that fur off your face.”
“She didn’t try.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’m glad you wrote to tell me about
Mamm
, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her. At least nothing I could tell.” The small niggling of doubt he’d experienced a minute ago was a figment of his imagination. Had to be.
“Oh, there is.” Leona didn’t pick up her lemonade. “Your coming back has helped her, I’m sure.”
“I never said I came back.”
“You’ve given her something to focus on.”
He noticed that she ignored his denial. He watched her face intently. The house might not have changed in two years, but Leona had. The lines had increased around her eyes, her cheeks grown more narrow and sunken. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not my place to say, Adam. Like I told you, Carol hasn’t said much to me. That right there made me wonder. Now, don’t take this wrong. I’m not here to beat you with a stick for leaving. Everyone has to do what God tells them to.”
Adam cupped his hand around the glass. God didn’t have anything to do with him leaving the Amish, or coming back to Middlefield. But he had too much respect for Leona to say so.
“She wasn’t the same after you left. And then Mary died.”
Guilt bit into him. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you, when you weren’t here?” Leona shrugged.
The guilt burrowed deeper. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do?”
“Be here.” She took his hand. “Be here for your
mamm
. At least for a few days.”
“I don’t want her to think I’m coming back for
gut
. I’ll be hurting her again all over when I go back to Michigan.”
“Are you happy there?”
Adam took a long drink of his lemonade. “I’m . . . content.”
“I see.” She didn’t say anything else.
He guessed they were finished speaking about his mother. “Where’s Emma?”
“She went to Nature’s Nook. We needed a few things.”
“Like sugar.” He smiled a little bit. “But the buggy is here.”
“She walked.”
“Why?”
“Dill’s got a problem with her leg.” Leona took her first small sip of the lemonade.
“Did my
daed
look at her?”
“Briefly. But with the funeral and everything . . .” She set down the glass.
Finally he felt useful. “I can take a look at her for you.”
Leona tilted her head. “I would appreciate that. You always had a way with horses. Like Emma and her animals.”
Her comment pleased him. He’d missed the horses since leaving. “Maybe it’s just a pebble in her shoe that’s making her limp.” He didn’t mention that his father probably would have checked that first thing. But if that was the case, then why hadn’t he tended to the horse? Or at least called the vet?
“I hope that’s all.”
Leona followed him as he headed for the front door. Before he walked out, she grabbed his hand. He looked down, seeing the dark blue veins stark against her translucent skin.
“
Willkum
home, Adam.”
He frowned. How many times did he have to remind everyone he wasn’t here to stay? But he didn’t correct her. Instead he squeezed her hand and went off to the barn to check on the horse.
“I don’t believe this!” Emma trudged back home, furious. How could she have forgotten her purse? Thinking about money, Clara, and Adam undoubtedly had something to do with it. Still, who went shopping without a wallet?
She’d trekked partway down Bundysburg Road when she realized her mistake. More time wasted while she backtracked to retrieve her purse. She quickened her steps.
Emma approached the house, her gaze drifting to the truck next door. So that’s what Adam drove now. What would take her an hour round trip would take him maybe fifteen minutes at most. But that was Adam. Always taking the easy way out.
She walked up the driveway and spied someone heading for her barn. A man wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. She ran toward him. “Stop!”
