Authors: Unknown
She glanced over her shoulder at her baby sister, now staring at both of them. “I think we best talk later.”
Levi pressed on. “Is it could it be botherin’ Hannah that her big sister is getting married soon?”
Awfully discerning, he was. The realiza—
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tion startled Lyddie, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Hannah’s been crying all mornin’.”
Levi, still frowning, said he had some thing in the buggy for her. “It’s from my mare. I’ll go and get it. Won’t take but a minute.”
She watched as he darted through the yard toward the buggy, returning with a big basket filled with goodies. “Treats for you and the children,” he said, handing over the basket. “Mam knew you like pop corn balls, so she made enough for the whole school.”
“Mmm, yum!” Lyddie said, motioning for Hannah to come have a look-see. “Levi’s mamma made a surprise for us.”
Hannah came shyly at first, then she peered inside the basket at all the wrapped,
round goodies.
Levi grinned at both Hannah. Then, without stooped down and picked
Lyddie and warning, he
Hannah up.
“Wanna play horsey?” He set her high on his shoulders and went galloping outside, through the schoolyard, beyond the swings and around the perimeter, past both the boys’ outhouse and the girls’.
Hannah’s squeals of delight sailed higher than even the sound of the older boys at
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play. Lyddie couldn’t help herself; she was filled with amazement and joy.
Oh, she could just imagine her future with a loving husband like Levi. A wonderful-gut father to their children, too, someday. And from the look of glee on Hannah’s face as she bounced up and down on Levi’s strong shoulders, Lyddie’s fears were completely unfounded. Her beloved was, just this minute, winning Hannah over, becoming a third big brother. Truly, he was.
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At Twilight
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness.
–Percy Bysshe Shelley
Mathias Byler has been playing his har monica to serenade young Amish couples nigh unto twenty years now. The lilting re frain of a mouth organ makes for a right nice backdrop for a young beau and his girl as they ride horse and buggy up and down the road in front of his farmhouse. Mathias likes to think his harmonica sounds like the cooing of sea birds across a quiet bay in springtime. And that’s just what he thinks of as he eases his breath in and out, playing mostly hymns, slow and sweet. Doesn’t much matter to him what he plays, really; it’s morewhathe’s providin’ for the youngsters a whole pa rade of ‘em tonight — that gives Mathias the necessary breath to keep the music goin’ for a gut hour or more of an evening.
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Though his sight ain’t so clear anymore, him comin’ up on ninety-five here perry soon, Mathias quietly chuckles when he sometimes thinks he can tell which family of Yoders, Lapps, or Kings a proud steed belongs to. He can tell, he says, by the rhythm of the horse’s hooves on the pavement. ‘Course, now, his unmarried daughter, who lives with him and comes out ev’ry so often, checkin’ to see if’n he needs some water to wet his whistle, or maybe some hot coffee to warm him up, well she doesn’t believe a word of it. “Don’t try ‘n’ fool me, Dat,” she’ll say, her hands on her stout hips. “Ain’t no way a body can tell one horse from another by its trottin’.” With that, she turns and goes back inside, leaving him there alone on the porch. Which is just the way he likes it, ‘specially come nightfall.
Alone. Where he can think back to his own months of courtin’, ever so long ago that he needs the aid of his harmonica, the stillness of the night, and the sound of theclip-cloppingto ease his memory back to former days, growin’ up here on Grasshopper Level, meetin’ and marryin’ one of the pertiest girls God ever made. His precious bride Mattie Sue long gone, over twenty years now. Still, it seems like
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just yesterday he promised to “nevermore depart from her,” vowin’ before the Amish bishop and the many witnesses gathered in the house that he would care for her and cherish her, until the dear God would again separate them one from the other, in death.
Care for and cherish his Mattie, he had. ‘Specially her last few years on God’s green earth, when her tiny body was so pained she couldn’t walk a’tall. But Mathias saw to it that Mattie got ev’ry place she wanted to go, carryin’ her in his big, strong arms from one room to ‘nother as if she were a small child. He took her for rides in the carriage on warm nights, her smellin’ for all the world like lilies of the valley, her favorite scent. They rode round and round the same route he’d taken when first courtin’ her. My, oh my, how she loved the sights of evening. Her hearing had given out years before, due to a bad stroke, but she made up for the loss by lookin’ hard at sky and trees, and the quilt patterns in the farmland, just a-soakin’ up the countryside with her shining blue eyes.
Well, tonight he certainly hoped the young men out courtin’ had the gut sense to find and marrytkeirsweetheart girls,
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just as he had so many years ago. So with fond memories, he plays his music, tears a-rollin’ down his face. He hopes Mattie’s listening, and surely she is, close as they’d always been. No question in his mind the Good Lord will see to it that Mattie Sue hears a snatch or two of her beloved’s heartfelt playin’.
In between songs, just now, he thinks he recognizes the sound of the King boy’s horse. Jah, leanin’ his ear hard at the road, he listens, knowing ‘tis young Levi out there prob’ly, driving his best mare, impressin’ that young Cottrell girl. Word has it Lyddie and Levi are seem’ a lot of each other, since just last spring. There’s even talk that the two are planning on tyin’ the knot ‘fore too long. And from what Mathias knows of Levi, ain’t a more compassionate, spirited young man round here. As for Lydia, well, her parents did a wonderful-gut job of raisin’ her in the faith — in the fear of the Lord — even if theywerea tad more liberal, leanin’ in the direction of them New Order folk.
But that’s all right. He wishes Lyddie a lifetime of happiness with her Levi. For goodness’ sake, Lyddie deserves a gut young man. My, my, but she’s gone through hard times for such a young one.
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Losin’ first her father to a terrible acci dent, then her mamma to a failed heart just last year. Then havin’ to adjust to out siders fancy English folk comin’ in and taking over as guardians. Just ain’t the way you’d expect things to turn out for a family with hearts of pure gold.
Quickly, he puts the harmonica back in his mouth, breathing deeply, then starts to play his best song for Lyddie. Poor, dear girl . .
Why, he could name off a whole list of downright puzzlin’ things, painful things, too, that there just ain’t answers for. He’s seen such things throughout all his life. Still, he’s steadfast, unmovable in his be liefs, trustin’ the Good Lord. Wouldn’t ever consider wearin’ a chip on his shoulder against the Almighty.
He puffs ever so hard into his har monica, with a prayer in his heart that the couples a-courtin’ on his road might find the peace of the Savior. If’n they haven’t already done that most holy thing — bap tism into the church. Some of them, he fears, have put off doin’ so, seeking after things uppermost on their young minds:alittle smoochin’, getting married, and bearin’ young ones in a matter of time. Ach, he knows they’ll grow wiser with the
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years. Same as he did.
Wiser and stronger in the faith of their fathers .
So he rocks in his chair and plays at twilight, wishin’ them well, each and ev’ry one
. offering up his tunes. ‘Tis the least o1’ Mathias can do, as the sun sinks low, behind Grasshopper Level.
Then along ‘bout bedtime, when he knows he oughta get up from his comfortable hickory rocker and head back into the house, ‘bout that time, he hears the sound of another horse and carriage, movin’ ever so slowly down the road. Tuning his ear to the horse’s rhythm, he finds it somewhat familiar, but . . no, he can’t seem to put his finger on just whose horsethisone might be. But it’s slowing down, all the same … pausing and stopping in front of his old farmhouse.
Eyes seeing ever so clearly now, he stops playin’ his music. “Well, now, who’s this?” he whispers into the night.
When his daughter came to help him indoors, she noticed his harmonica lyin’ beneath the hickory rocker. “Dat,” she whispered, ” ‘tis time to call it a day.”
He said not a word but wore a smile on his wrinkled face, eyes closed now, head
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slumped to his chest. Bending low, she picked up the beloved instrument, a strange and delicate sweetness of lily of the valley all round him.
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A Virtuous Woman
The easy, gentle, and sloping path . .
is not the path of true virtue.
It demands a rough and thorny road.
— Michel de Montaigne
Sarah awakened at her usual early-morning hour, well before five o’clock. Not only must she cook breakfast and make sack lunches for Bryan, Lydia, and the younger children, there were surely a number of e-mail mes sages to check on before she left the house for a busy morning at the real estate office near downtown Lancaster.
First things first. She scurried down the narrow hallway to Caleb’s bedroom, firmly knocking on the door. “Caleb! Are you up?”
“Jah, and Josiah is, too,” her nephew called through the door. “Denki, Aunt Sarah.”
The cows were waiting to be milked, as they were twice daily. Thankfully, Caleb,
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Josiah, and, most of the time, Bryan handledthatparticular outside chore. Now she must focus on getting Lydia off to school, where, now that mornings were cooler, her seventeen-year-old niece schoolteacher and soon-tobe-bride must arrive at the one-room school long before her students to start a fire in the wood stove. “I still remember goin’ to a chilly schoolhouse when I was a girl and shiverin’ all through morning lessons,” Lyddie had told her recently. “Doesn’t make for gut learnin’, really.”
Bryan was up now, tossing clean clothes into his suitcase for a short trip to Boston. He planned to leave immediately following breakfast. “The earlier I can get away, the sooner I’ll return,” he said with a gentle kiss and fierce hug.
Finally, Caleb, Anna Mae, Josiah, and Hannah had to leave for Peach Lane School in ample time to walk to the one-room school. Caleb, the oldest of the school-aged children, had declared yesterday, “There’s no sense us ridin’ with you, Aunt Sarah, when the walkin’ will do us all gut!” To which Anna Mae piped up, “Jah, and besides, we ride to church in acaron Sundays, so maybe we oughta walk or take the horse and buggy everywhere
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else durin’ the week.”
Atonement? Sarah wondered if that’s what Anna Mae had in mind, but she didn’t dwell on it. There was much to do today. The large wicker basket of mending had begun to pile up so high the clothes in question had spilled onto the laundry room floor, making it difficult to know which clothes were clean and in need of repair and which were merely soiled, in need of laundering.
Hannah, an exceptionally tall seven-year-old, was sprouting up fast, already wearing Anna Mae’s hand-me-downs, though fairly swimming in them. Josiah, almost nine, was not only growing up but out, as well.
“The youngest always get the short end of things,” Lyddie told Sarah the other day, when Hannah was complaining about the length of her sleeves and drooping hemline. “If I have some extra time, maybe I can sew some new dresses and aprons for her.”
“Oh, Lyddie, I can’t let you do that,” Sarah had insisted. Lyddie, after all, was maxed out with teaching duties, sewing a solid blue dress and white organdy cape and apron for her wedding, and organizing several key women — close friends of the
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family — to prepare food for the reception at the church banquet hall, enough to feed two hundred or more guests.
Sarah, too, had been assisting Lyddie with various aspects of the wedding: ad dressing the handwritten invitations
thirty or more each night — assigning the reception menu of cold cuts, cheeses, home-baked breads of all kinds, fresh vege tables andfruit,and desserts pies, cakes, and cookies to several different women in the neighborhood. Sarah would bake the wedding cake, of course, and supply the fruit punch.
On the home front, she had been trying to keep her head above water, which was becoming a losing battle. Just last evening, she and Bryan had talked over the idea of dividing up more of the chores between the two of them, but Bryan was busy with the duties of the main breadwinner of the family, and Sarah felt strongly that it washerresponsibility to keep the children clean and in well-mended clothing, cook the meals, keep her hand in the real estate business, and put smiles on everyone’s faces. In short, be “super-aunt-mom.”
After many months of juggling duties, including household tasks and farm chores, she was beginning to wonder how
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the virtuous woman described in Proverbs had managed to do so much. When it came to sewing skills, Sarah scarcely had any, let alone the talent to create “cover ings of tapestry and fine linen.” Mending was easy enough if she could consistently set aside part of a morning each week to do so, but lately she found herself going and coming, literally running in circles between home duties and work
expectations.
lg/‘hat can I eliminate from my schedule?
she wondered as she greased her hands and began to knead the bread dough.
Then, glancing at the calendar hanging from the cellar door, she noted that Lyddie had scribbled something on today’s date — a work frolic at Miriam Esh’s place.“Go’n’ watch them put up vegetables and whatnot,” Lyddie had urged Sarah last week. “You’ll catch on quick as a wink.”
Sarah had been tempted to go and learn the art of preserving fruits and vegetables from the hands of the experts, her own Amish neighbors and many of the chil dren’s church friends. But the manager of the real estate office, where she worked, had called a meeting for nine o’clock this morning. She would scarcely have enough time to bake two loaves of bread, clean the