Living in Harmony (10 page)

“What was that, three different shades of black thread?” John directed his quip at his brother, who chuckled good-naturedly.

“Even better. We found a quilt for sale we believe our aunt made. She left Mount Joy about ten years ago, shunned. We girls never learned where she moved to when she left town.” Amy glanced at Nora for confirmation.

Nora looked up with her green eyes shining. “We might not know where she went originally, but she must have lived here at some point.”

Two people at the table stopped eating. “Why do you think this aunt made the quilt?” asked Thomas.

Amy leaned forward in her chair. “Because she always marked her work with a little ladybug embroidered on the seam binding. It was like her signature.”

“
Mamm
called it vanity, but she always laughed about Aunt Prudence's little bugs,” added Nora with a giggle.

No one else seemed amused.

“Oh, my, Prudence Hilty is your aunt?” asked Sally, setting down her fork. “She did live in Harmony for a while.” Sally cast a glance in Thomas's direction. “But word of the Lancaster shunning eventually followed her here and she left.”

Amy turned toward Thomas, who looked as though a fish bone had lodged in his throat. “What happened?”

“Divorce goes against God's law,” he stated simply. “It is an abomination.”

Amy lowered her gaze to her plate. “That's what my father and my
grossdawdi
said.
Mamm
wouldn't tell me why she left Uncle Leon, but she must have had her reasons.” Amy breathed deeply to calm her nerves. She sensed that becoming emotional wouldn't serve the situation.

“She was always nice to her nieces and nephews.” Nora's voice sounded weak and frightened in the quiet room. “God never blessed her with
bopplin
of her own, so she loved to spend time with us.”

“Prudence
did
have her reasons,” murmured Sally.

Amy and Nora stared at the tiny dark-haired woman. “What did you hear?” they asked simultaneously.

Thomas cleared his throat, but Sally forged ahead. “Her husband was fond of strong drink.”

“You should not gossip or state with conviction what you haven't witnessed,” Thomas said, frowning at his wife.

Sally turned to face him. “I'm not spreading gossip,
ehemann
. Prudence herself told me this. And you don't have to catch someone holding an empty whiskey bottle to know when someone is drunk.”

“Did Leon follow her to Maine?” asked John. Even he'd stopped devouring the delicious fish, intrigued by the bizarre story.

“
Nein
,” Thomas said softly. “He was never here. The bishop questioned Prudence, and she explained everything to him.”

“And you ran her out of town?” Amy's voice rose with indignation.

“No, we didn't. We asked her to kneel and confess her sins.” Thomas focused on Amy and her alone. “We told her Scripture was clear. She may live apart from an abusive spouse, but she should not have sought a legal divorce in English courts. She and your uncle are still married in the eyes of God.”

Nora pushed away her plate. “Do you mean Aunt Prudence hired a lawyer and divorced Uncle Leon?”

Thomas nodded. “This isn't conjecture. She told me so. We advised her to repent of her sin and live in peace here, away from the man. We would have helped her.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and didn't meet anyone's gaze.

Sally groaned low in her throat and shook her head sadly.

“But soon after Prudence left our community.” When Thomas raised his head and glanced around the table, his face seemed to have aged during the meal.

Amy was stunned. She could sense Nora's and John's eyes on her, but she focused on a stain on the oilcloth table cover.
Was it beet juice? Had Aden smashed a raspberry?
Dwelling on the possible nature of the stain provided distraction from her confusing emotions. “I hope she's happy wherever she went.” She spoke only to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Apart from God there can be no joy.” Thomas rose to his feet to get the coffeepot.

Sally scrambled up for her baked dessert. “Anybody for peach cobbler made with our own peaches? Georgia has nothing on peaches over the state of Maine.” She set the pan on the table and began to slice.

“Cut me a small piece.” Amy had seen the peaches for sale at the co-op compared to the Georgia peaches purchased back home at the IGA, but the cobber turned out to be equally delicious.

After the dishes had been washed and put away, Amy followed John out to the rockers on the front porch. As she sat down next to him, she spotted Thomas taking the living room chair within view
of them. “Don't try to steal a kiss,” she whispered. “Your
bruder
can see us.”

John smiled. “Don't be too hard on him. It's no easy task ministering to a congregation.” He spoke softly so as not to be overheard. “Most district members express words of condolence when a man draws the lot to become preacher. It's a heavy burden.”

She nodded in agreement. Around them she heard comforting night sounds: the wind through tall pines, the drone of insects, and a train whistle at a faraway crossing. Amy closed her eyes and began to rock. After a few minutes of companionable silence, she spoke. “I will write to
grossmammi
and Aunt Irene before bed. I want to tell them their daughter and sister lived here for a while.”

John stopped rocking and reached for her hand. “Do you think that's wise? Prudence knew her actions would lead to shunning, yet she acted anyway with total disregard for Amish
Ordnung.
”

“Sometimes both of your choices are bad.”

“True,” agreed John. “But we must pick the choice in keeping with Scripture.”

“It's not that simple.”

“
Jah
, it is.” He shook her hand as though trying to wake a child from a bad dream.

Amy faced him in the darkness. “Are you judging her?”

“
Nein
. I'm only cautioning you to let this sleeping dog lie.”

“My aunt is a human being, John, not a dog.” She pulled her hand back. “I want to let my family know she's still alive and well. I see no harm…or sin…in a letter like that.” She rose to her feet and strode toward the door. “
Gut nacht
.” The screen door slammed behind her as though punctuation for her parting comments.

John was only too glad to climb into Thomas's buggy and leave the farm for the day. His meager breakfast had consisted of toast,
coffee, and sliced peaches. By the time the men left the room, the women had turned the kitchen and porch into a tomato processing plant. Every pot, kettle, and cauldron had been appropriated for cooking down the garden bounty.

“This will be a good day to be gone,” said Thomas, as though reading John's thoughts. “What do you suppose supper will be? BLTs with tomato soup?”

John laughed heartily until he noticed that the little flag had been raised on the Detweiler mailbox. Amy had written to her family after all and set the letter out for pickup. He ground down on his molars to rein in his temper. “We'll be hungry enough for anything by the time we get home,” he said from between gritted teeth. “I want to buy a buggy, harness, and my own horse today. I can't keep borrowing yours, Thomas. Besides, Amy likes to run errands whenever the notion strikes her.” He grasped the window opening as they rolled over a pothole. “How far away is this carriage maker?”

“A good fifteen miles on the road to Waterville. The man sells quality buggies at a fair price. And he usually has horseflesh available for sale too. His brother is a breeder and trainer, so if you see something you like, the beast will already be trained to the harness.”

Another pothole jarred John's kidneys. “I'm not picky with horses. I'm obliged to you for taking me there.”

Thomas squinted from sun glare. “My alfalfa could use more time to dry before we rake and bail. Anyway, I was ready to get away from rocks and clay for the day.”

“Clay soil?” asked John. “I thought land this close to the sea would be sandy.”

“We're thirty miles from the nearest inlet to the ocean. The land you'll buy will probably be hard clay that will need plenty of building up. Better to buy fallow farmland so most rocks and boulders will have already been removed.”

“Did you buy fertilizer to enrich the soil when you started out?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, I compost horse, cow, and goat manure and then till it under in the fall. Most
Englischers
around here grow organic produce. Their harvests fetch good prices. Folks in Boston will pay dearly for no pesticides or chemical fertilizer residue on their vegetables. You should look into organic farming for yourself.”

John scratched his clean jawline. “Right now I just want to grow enough to feed my family. I'm not interested in a cash crop.”

“For the three of you?” Something seemed to lurk beneath the surface of Thomas's question.

“
Jah
, the three of us until Nora makes up her mind. I'm hoping by then that we'll have a little one on the way to give Amy plenty to do.”

His brother made an odd clucking sound that didn't seem intended for the horse. “You're getting ahead of yourself, no?”

“I hope to wed and be living in our own place by first snow.” John braced as the buggy took a tight curve in the road faster than he'd expected. “On the way back from Waterville, let's stop at any farms for sale.”

Thomas tugged his hat brim lower. “I can think of one or two places that might warrant a look-see. Depends on how long you take to negotiate a price on your new buggy and horse.”

“I'll pay whatever's fair. I'm not much of a haggler. Tell me what the English organic farmers grow up here.”

“You name it—potatoes, squash, onions, peppers, broccoli, cabbage, spinach, and several kinds of lettuce. And tomatoes, of course. Cukes too, but beetles infested ours this year. I had to till the plants under.”

“Have any Amish farmers obtained organic certification?”

“
Jah
, two so far. Lots of paperwork to fill out, but our bishop stands behind the idea. Too many chemicals are dumped on the land and end up in our water supply these days.”

“What about wheat? I haven't seen any yet.”

“Wheat doesn't grow here, nor rye or spelt. No sorghum or soybeans, either.”

“No grains of any kind?” John cocked his head with surprise. “Then where do you get your straw?”

“We don't use it. Only wood shavings for animal bedding. Barns stay cleaner and smell better with pine shavings.”

“Lots for me to learn,” John murmured.

“Plenty of time to learn it.” Thomas slapped him on the back.

“What about dairy herds? Any Amish selling milk to cheese producers?”

“Most district cows or steers are for family use.
Englischers
supply the milk in the area to bottlers and cheese houses. So if you have a hankering for a dairy farm, you won't have much competition. I recommend goats, though. They are less troublesome with our hills and long winters. Goats will put up with just about anything.”

John remembered the nasty varmint that tried to make him his supper and shook his head. “No, goats and I don't see eye to eye.”

“That's because you're
never
supposed to stare one down.” Thomas chuckled. “Just sit quietly and tell him your life story over a bucket of wormy apples. You'll both gain new perspective.”

John's mind swam with new information and ideas. Later that afternoon he bought a fine Morgan-Standardbred gelding and a well-made two-seater buggy with plenty of room behind the backseat. Thomas and the carriage maker chitchatted so long that they had no time for house-hunting on the way back, but John didn't mind. He enjoyed getting to know another member of his new district. And the more he admired the undeveloped acres of land waiting to be farmed, the more certain he became. God had brought him to the right place. He and Amy had found a home.