An Amish Gift (10 page)

“And your food?” Jennie asked. “Did you cook every night?”

Shep shook his head. “Never had to. The Fishers brought over dinner. Every day.”

“What?” Jennie was shocked. “Mattie cooked for you guys?”

“Yup. I swear to you, I didn’t ask for it, but she or one of her kids would come by in the buggy every afternoon and leave a meal. Tim had dinner at their place twice. We’ve been well fed, I promise you. Tonight we had fried chicken.”

She couldn’t get over it. With all Mattie had to do, she’d
made time to cook and deliver food to them daily, plus host Tim.

“Oh, she also asked if she could visit when you felt up to it.”

Jennie smiled. “I’d love that. If I take it easy the rest of tonight, maybe tomorrow would work. And Shep …”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, and of everybody else. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to manage it all.”

There was a flash of his old smile, the dimple showing, and he bowed. “That’s what I’m here for. Glad to be of service.”

The next afternoon, she could hear the soothing clip-clop of a horse approaching, the sound growing louder until it stopped outside her window. A few minutes later, Mattie appeared, a heavy black shawl wrapped around her for protection from the cold. It startled Jennie to see her friend removed from her kitchen and transplanted to the Davis bedroom. The sight of Mattie in her bonnet standing beside a television, electric lights, and a telephone made no sense. Yet rather than Mattie looking out of place, it was the modern conveniences that seemed wrong.

“You are better?” she asked, coming forward and taking Jennie’s hand.

“Much.” Jennie gestured toward a chair.

Mattie nodded as she brought the chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Good. Your husband can stop worrying. Your children, too.”

“They were really worried?”

“Oh, yes. They did not say, but it was in their eyes.”

Between her family’s helpfulness and concern, Jennie was touched. Even better, it justified her secret hope that the loving children she remembered were locked inside her cranky teenagers.

“Mattie, I don’t know how to thank you. Shep told me about all the food you brought here.”

She held up a hand. “Please. Your family needed you, and you needed some help. Very simple.”

Simple for kind people like you, Jennie thought. Examples of such modest selflessness were few and far between. She wished with all her heart that she could be more like this woman. What was the secret?

“You even had Tim to your house to eat. He and Peter are becoming good friends?”

“I believe so.”

“I’m so happy about that.” Jennie hesitated. “Is this okay? I mean, because Tim’s not Amish?”

Mattie turned to gaze out the window for a moment before turning her attention back and answering. “We are allowed to have friends who are not Amish, of course. We don’t have too many, it is true. But Peter is in a different situation right now.”

Jennie was confused. “In what way?”

“We believe that each person must choose to become Amish, and that is when he is baptized. As an adult, not as a baby. It is a decision each person must make. After that, a man or a woman follows all our rules and ways.”

“I see.”

“Have your ever heard the word
rumspringa
?”

Jennie shook her head.

“It is a word some people know, that is why I ask. When our children are teenagers, a little older, maybe sixteen, some want to go out into the English world a little more. This is what is called
rumspringa
.” She gave Jennie a small smile. “Maybe they do some things we do not believe in.”

“Can you tell me what, or is that a rude question?”

“They might listen to music and dance. Dress in English clothes sometimes. Not in their house or in front of their parents, no. Some use a cell phone or computer. Maybe even try alcohol.”

“
What
?”

“Yes, that makes me very sad. I don’t like to hear about the children doing this. We are not happy about it, but we understand. Remember, they have not been baptized into the faith yet, so they are not breaking their vows.”

Jennie took this in. “Did you do any of these things?”

“I didn’t need to. I wanted to marry Abraham, and I knew I wished to be Amish. Abraham was the same way, but he did drive a car for almost a year.”

“A car? You’re joking!”

“No. He didn’t tell his parents, and he kept the car at an English friend’s house. We are allowed to ride in cars, you know, though we cannot drive or own them. He did.”

They sat while Jennie mulled over this information.

“It sounds very smart to me,” she said. “This way, when they decide, they’re ready. They’ve had a chance to experience what they’re missing, so they won’t continue wanting to try it.”

Mattie looked grim. “Yes, but we worry if the children will make the right decision. If they don’t decide to get baptized, then they are not Amish.”

“Hmmm.” Recognition dawned in Jennie’s eyes. “Peter is sixteen.”

A nod. “And he has five sisters born after him. His brothers are only five and four years old. Too young to help him and my husband on the farm. Peter must manage a lot of work. Responsibility. That is how it should be, but sometimes I think he is not so happy about this. It will get better for him.”

“I’m sure. At his age, it probably seems like too much.”

“Truly, Peter needs a wife to help him if he is to run the farm. He needs to join the church and marry.” Mattie suddenly sat straighter in the chair, looking flustered. “Listen to me, telling you these things! What am I thinking of? Let us not talk of such nonsense.”

“But …” Jennie was confused by her friend’s retreat.

“I left some turkey soup downstairs for you. Shep tells me you have not been eating very much. I hope the next time I see you, your cheeks will be rosy again.” Mattie got up to go. “If you or the children need anything, you will tell me.”

“You’ve already done too much.”

“No. You must get all better. Please.”

With a quick wave, she was gone. Jennie stared at the doorway, wondering what had transpired. She was happy that Mattie had confided in her, but apparently, the other woman had gone further than she’d meant to in talking about her son. Jennie also wondered if Tim was involved in any of Peter’s so-called
English activities. Obviously, the boys were spending time together, but she hoped they weren’t doing anything that might cause Mattie or Abraham distress. It seemed they were usually at the Fisher farm, and she couldn’t imagine they could get into much trouble there. Maybe he was lending Peter his cell phone or computer. At fifteen, Tim was too young to drive, so he couldn’t lend Peter a car or drive him someplace he shouldn’t go. She made a mental note to talk to her son about all this as soon as possible.

It had been a special treat to have Mattie come to her house, but Jennie was so weak that the visit had worn her out. She closed her eyes and slept.

It was quiet in the house, with Willa in her room and Tim over at the Fishers’. Jennie sat at the kitchen table, turning the pages of the supermarket’s weekly circular with one hand and jotting notes on a pad with the other. On Sunday nights she planned her food shopping for the week, coordinating specials and coupons. It would have been nice, she thought, if Shep ever sat there with her, doing his weekly review of his business expenditures. They could have had companionship, even if they didn’t speak. Yet he preferred to do his work alone in the living room. He might as well be in another country, she mused.

The phone rang, and Jennie got up. Willa rarely bothered to answer a landline, assuming that if anyone wanted to speak to her, they would call her cell phone.

“Hello?”

Tim’s voice was frantic. “Mom, you gotta come! It’s Abraham.”

She was instantly alert. “Abraham? What’s the matter?”

“He’s—Mom—he’s dead!”

She caught her breath. “No, Tim, no, he can’t—”

“He is, I swear. He collapsed. Right here in the kitchen. It was awful! I saw it!”

For a moment she couldn’t speak. “Is Mattie there now?”

“Everybody’s here. Can you come?”

“On my way.”

She hung up and rushed into the living room. “Shep, I don’t believe it.”

He was sitting on the sofa and looked up from the papers in his lap.

“Abraham died. Tim just called. I’m going over there.”

“What? He
died
?” He got up, shock on his face. “I’m coming, too. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She grabbed her jacket from the hall coat closet and called out to her daughter, deciding it would be best to say nothing just yet about what had happened. “Willa, we’re going to the Fishers’ for a bit. Will you be okay?”

“Sure,” came the muffled reply.

Jennie and Shep raced to his truck and sped off to the farm. She repeated what Tim had said on the phone, but it didn’t explain much. They pulled up to the farm to see two horses and buggies tied up in front of the barn. When Shep yanked open the kitchen door, they were met by the sight of Mattie sitting in a chair, the room quiet and dim. Becky, Aaron, and Moses, the three youngest Fisher children, sat at her feet, their heads buried in her lap. Several Amish women moved about in the
kitchen, making coffee or tea, and preparing food. No one said a word. The room was illuminated by only a few lanterns, and the darkness added weight to the silent sorrow.

Jennie froze. Perhaps she didn’t belong here at such a time. Maybe only other Amish were wanted or would know what to do. Mattie turned reddened eyes toward her and nodded.

“Oh, Mattie,” Jennie whispered, coming forward. “Then it’s true? Abraham—”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.

Peter came into the room, his face ashen, one arm around his eight-year-old brother, Joshua, who appeared more bewildered than anything else, the other around ten-year-old Emma, her face tearstained. Tim was right behind them, and his eyes flashed gratitude at the sight of his parents.

“What can I do?” Jennie whispered to her son. “What do they need?”

He shrugged. “There’s a doctor on the way. It’s too late, but they have to get one here, I guess. They think it was a heart attack.”

“Where is … Abraham?” Shep asked his son.

“One of the bedrooms, I think.”

Jennie winced and went over to Mattie. “Please tell me what to do for you.”

The other woman’s expression was stoic but exhausted. “Do not worry about me. There are many people to care for us now. In three days, you will come when we have the burial, please. Yes?”

“Of course. I’m here if you need anything.”

Jennie reached out to lay her hand over Mattie’s for a moment, then turned and motioned to Shep and Tim. The three of them left the house together.

“I can’t believe this, I can’t,” Jennie burst out when they got to the truck.

“He just kinda crumpled up, but you could tell he was in pain,” Tim said. “It looked like slow motion, you know?”

“Poor Abraham.” Shep’s lips were set in a grim line.

“Were the children around?”

“Just Peter and me. We were talking to him. Well, Peter was. About wheatgrass or something.”

“What happens now?” Shep wanted to know.

“Peter said he goes to the funeral place, and I guess they fix him up. Then they keep him at home, and they’ll have a funeral in a few days.”

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Jennie told her son. “It must have been upsetting.”

“Well,
duhh
.”

Jennie began to turn around in her seat, angered by his rudeness, but Shep caught her eye and made a conciliatory face to tell her to let it pass. He was right, she realized. Tim was no doubt frightened, and it was logical that he would lash out.

The next day Jennie saw numerous buggies parked outside the Fisher house whenever she drove or walked by. She dropped off a stew and a dozen muffins, but as she’d expected, the kitchen was virtually overflowing with food provided by the Amish neighbors. As Mattie had selflessly provided for Jennie
when she had needed support, her neighbors were doing the same for Mattie.

It made Jennie sad to contemplate how few people would be there for her own family in the event of a crisis. Human connection, she thought, was the most important thing, and it was missing even within her household. Especially within it. They weren’t there for one another. That night, when she and the children sat down to eat, she served a few of their favorite foods and tried to foster some conversation. It didn’t take more than five minutes for them to start fighting, and the meal ended with Tim grabbing his food and silverware and stomping off to his room to get away from his sister. She quickly finished, then got up wordlessly and left the room. Another wonderful evening, Jennie thought as she scraped the leftovers into the garbage.

Two days later, Shep closed the bike shop, and he and Jennie went to the funeral. In front of the Fisher house, buggies lined the street in both directions. The simple wooden coffin was in the living room, and Mattie and the children sat next to it. Hundreds of people had come, and they filed through to see Abraham, dressed in white, his head and chest revealed by two open hinged pieces on the coffin. Mattie sat with great dignity as friends and family came past. Jennie was amazed at the quiet among such an enormous group, murmuring softly if they spoke at all. When it was time for the service, she followed the women, who seated themselves on benches separate from the men. There was no eulogy, no testimonies about Abraham’s life; it was more of a church service than what she’d expected.