The Memory Jar (4 page)

J
athan held the hunting rifle in his hand, feeling its weight. One hundred and eighty days. It was how long one needed to reside in Montana before he could be considered a resident and hunt. It was the reason so many bachelors came. Many Amish men from Jathan’s hometown of Berlin, Ohio, had gone on this great “out west” adventure. They’d returned with large antlers, but more than that, with stories of rugged mountains, large lakes, raging streams, and abundant wildlife. One of his former schoolmates told Jathan he’d hiked through knee-high snow for a whole day in search of elk without seeing another human. Even though Amish didn’t believe in taking photos of themselves, his friend had a photo of the mule elk he’d finally taken down.

Jathan guessed if he got an elk like that, he’d have a photograph taken too. Jathan had hunted plenty of times, and along with the chase and the thrill, he enjoyed the solitude. Growing up the youngest of three older sisters and five older brothers, quiet wasn’t something he’d ever known. Not in their house. Not in the barn, as they worked together on chores. Not in their
family’s woodworking workshop behind their home. Not even in the fields.

Like most Amish farms in their community, land had been divided and shared among families. The expansive farms of his grandfather’s day were now small farms insufficient for providing a living for large Amish families. Even in the fields, there were houses nearby, eyes on you, people expecting things. Expecting you to behave as any Amish man should.

Jathan ran his hand down the smooth stock of his rifle. He’d bought the .270 Winchester from Amos’s brother. It shined as nice as any of the rifles Jathan had seen thus far. He smirked as he looked around the cabin. A half-dozen other guns hung on gun racks. Many nights were spent chatting about flat-shooting cartridges with punch for mule deer and .32 caliber magnums for grizzlies. They discussed hunting grounds, tags, and gear. What would the others think if Jathan admitted he was just as familiar with the kitchen as a gunshop?

To him, the 180 days meant something else too. It was a break from having to decide about working at the door factory. It was a time to be able to remove the yoke of following in the footsteps of his brothers, who each provided for their families by working in the factory while also tending a small farm. Well, except for his oldest brother, Yonnie, who worked with their father in their workshop. To some, Montana meant adventure, but to Jathan, it meant planning out a business that would make sense even to
Dat
.

Jathan ran his hand down the gun’s stock one more time, then slumped onto the wooden chair. At twenty-two years old, he’d worked for enough
Englisch
men to know that the comforts of their life did not bring happiness, but he wouldn’t shy away from getting their advice on how to run a business. Maybe he could even talk to Annie at the store.

He rose and stood at the window of the small cabin, looking down the trail that he’d just journeyed the thirty minutes prior. Not more than a mile down that path lived the pretty Amish woman Sarah. Only problem was, her eyes were more focused on Amos. Jathan had lived his whole life being compared to his five older brothers; he should be used to it.

A man walked up the trail, and Jathan recognized him as Edgar from the store. His gray hair was trimmed short and he had a clean-shaven face. His cheeks hung in heavy jowls and his forehead was a map of wrinkles. Amos had mentioned that an experienced mountain guide would be stopping by today. Could this be him? Surely not.

The door swung open, and Edgar stalked in. He looked to be about seventy, but he had a quickness to his step that proved age hadn’t slowed him.

“Amos said to drop the trail map off with you.”

Jathan rose and set the gun on the gun rack.
“Ja, danki.”
He stretched out his hand.

Edgar looked at his hand and paused. “But I’m worried. Have you ever hiked these mountains before?”

Jathan glanced out the window, eyeing the majestic peaks. “Not those.”

Edgar cleared his throat. “Have you hiked any mountains?”

Jathan glanced back. “Not really.”

The disappointment in Edgar’s gaze was clear. “That’s what I thought. Don’t know why I’d expect anything else.”

Even though the man hadn’t been in Jathan’s temporary home but two minutes, the words cut to Jathan’s heart like one of the sharp-edged hunting knives in the cupboard. With Edgar’s whispered accusation, more words swirled through Jathan’s head — words that had been spoken long ago but stung as deeply as if they’d been said just yesterday.

“Didn’t know a boy could take so long with a little bit of wood and some nails.”

“Didn’t know deciding on a decent job at the factory could be made into such a big deal.”

“Didn’t know you were the hiking type.”

That last one was one of his father’s most recent comments, which came after Jathan had told him he was heading off to Montana for the good part of a year to figure things out. Jathan needed to find a glimmer of hope in the life planned out for him. It was like walking down a tunnel he knew he had to get to the end of without a candle to show him the way. Without even a voice, soft and encouraging, to tell him he was headed the right direction. Was 180 days enough time to figure it out?

Sarah hoped she wasn’t too obvious, showing up at the shooting range with a basket of cupcakes swinging at her side. Her excuse was that it was Jonathan’s birthday, though she knew he’d be home for dinner and she could have waited until then to give him his favorite snickerdoodle cupcakes.

Her second excuse was that she’d baked far too many cupcakes for Jonathan alone and knew he’d want to share.

She’d waited on the front porch, working on embroidered pillowcases for her hope chest, until she heard the gunshots die down. Then she’d left her handiwork on the porch bench, taken up her basket, and headed out.

The men stood in a circle, gazing at the bits of soda cans, milk jugs, and flowerpots that lay in pieces around their feet.

She approached with slow steps, noting their bright eyes
and large smiles. She’d wait until they noticed her and then show them her offerings.

“Whoa, look at this.” Amos grabbed a brown beer bottle and held it up. “The top’s been shot clean off.”

“Who’s that good of a shot?” one of the others asked.

The men glanced around at each other and then Amos’s eyes landed on his tall friend.

“Jathan, I think it was you.”

Jathan readjusted his black hat on his head. “Suppose so. Lucky shot, I guess.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, friend. I have a feeling it’ll be a good year fer you,
ja
?” Amos grabbed his friend’s shoulder.

Jathan shrugged and, instead of commenting, turned to Sarah as if he’d known she’d been there all along.

“Are those fer us?” He arched his eyebrows.

She narrowed her gaze at Jathan, noticing he wore the same half smile as when he’d seen her without her
kapp. He’s not going to let me live that down, is he?

She ignored him and turned to Jonathan. “They’re fer my
bruder
— fer his birthday. I thought he might like to share with his friends.” She stepped forward and offered the basket to her brother.

“Snickerdoodle!
Wunderbaar!
” Jonathan took the basket, pulled out a cupcake, and then passed around the basket.

Sarah crossed her arms over her apron and couldn’t hide the hint of a smile as she noticed the joy on the men’s faces as they dug in.

“These are the best I’ve ever tasted!” Amos exclaimed. “Sarah, yer going to make some man a great wife someday.” The others chimed in agreement. All except Jathan, who still
eyed her with humor. She looked away, but from the corner of her eye, she noticed him approaching.

“These really are wonderful,” Jathan said, pausing before her. “Have you ever considered opening yer own bakery?”

“Has she considered it?” Jonathan stepped forward, wiping frosting from his upper lip. “It’s her dream.”

“
Was
my dream.” The words spouted from her lips before she could stop them.

“Was?” Jathan stroked his jaw.

“Things have changed. There are more important things I’d rather do. Fulfill the dreams of every Amish young woman.” She glanced over at Amos, but instead of listening, he was again picking up shattered objects from the ground.

“It used to be Sarah’s dream,” Jonathan stated simply. “Used to be all she talked about. She and her friend used to jabber about it late into the night, forgetting that my bed was on the other side of a thin curtain, and I could hear every word, every wish between them.”

Sarah glanced at her brother and a knowing look passed between their gazes. Her throat constricted, and she attempted to swallow the emotion away, but it stuck like a shard of broken glass.

“
Ja
, well, sometimes it’s the hard things in life that make one realize what matters. And what doesn’t.” She picked up a cupcake and took a bite. “A bakery would take time away from a husband and family. People are more important than sugary sweets that only bring joy fer a short time.”

Sarah glanced at Jathan, hoping he’d let the matter drop, hoping he’d turn his attention back to the other guys. Instead, his look said he’d wait for her to continue — wanted her to continue. She brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face.
What did this Ohio bachelor care about the former dreams of a young girl?

Nothing
, she told herself.
Don’t let his interested gaze pique yer heart
.

Y
er heading up Robinson Mountain today?”
Mem
stood by the large front window and wore a troubled frown. Her steepled fingers rested against her lips. “I heard we have a storm coming.”

Dat
rocked back and forth in the rocking chair next to the wood stove with a sleepy Evelyn on his lap. Evelyn was nearly five. When Sarah had been that age, she remembered gathering eggs, feeding the chickens, and even greasing the pans for
Mem
’s famous carrot cake. Evelyn cuddled on
Dat
’s lap most mornings and still didn’t know how to muck a stall. Youngest siblings got off easy, Sarah determined. Evelyn and Andy grew up in a home where age had slowed their parents. Time had also softened them as they realized that there was more to life than working to look as good as one’s neighbor. Or putting up more canned goods, baking more pies, and sewing a more intricate quilt just for the pleasure of offering yourself an invisible pat on the back.

Dat
leaned his head back against the rocking chair, readjusted Evelyn in his arm, and then ran a hand down his beard. “No storm today. Should be fine. Supposed to have a cold front
come in tonight though. Rain, possibly snow.” His words were lazy, slow. He’d be talking differently if he were outside chopping wood. The scent of Evelyn’s morning skin and starched sleeping kerchief had apparently brushed worries from
Dat
’s mind.

Sarah put on her hiking boots, thankful
Dat
had insisted on buying them for her years ago. She’d heard of one woman who’d taken quite a fall last year trying to hike in her slick-soled Amish shoes and she’d broken her arm. Sarah shuddered, considering how long it would take — half a day at least — to get good medical care. There wasn’t a medical clinic in the West Kootenai and only a small one in Eureka, forty-five minutes away by car. Someone with bad injuries had to go all the way to Kalispell, which was over an hour and a half away. Thankfully, the Amish had
Englisch
drivers who would transport the Amish as needed. Otherwise, medical attention would be completely out of reach.

Mem
hurried around the kitchen, pulling out her canisters and jars that held wheat flour, honey, yeast, and other ingredients. Even though breakfast had just finished,
Mem
was already working on
Dat
’s favorite rolls for dinner.

Sarah walked to the kitchen counter, picked up her backpack, and slung its strap over her shoulder. It held her lunch and water bottle.

Mem
turned to her. “Do you have enough food? You know how hiking grows one’s appetite.”

“It’s not a long hike. We’ll be back by dinner.”

Dat
pointed to the row of hooks hanging by the front door. “Make sure you take a jacket. Don’t want you to catch something.”

“Ja.”
She knew better than to argue. Instead, she offered him a smile, thankful for his attention and care.

Her father, Will Shelter, was one of the most hardworking men in the community. He worked at Montana Log Works on the peeling machine and doubled the production of any man half his age. Because of his broad shoulders and bushy beard, some of his friends called him Will Bear, but
Dat
had a gentleness he expressed when he was with his family.

While he didn’t tell Sarah too often that he loved her, she saw it in
Dat
’s eyes. Knew it from the way he continually pestered her.
Dat
always wanted to know she was safe, cared for, and protected, and he ensured she was, not only with his actions but also his prayers. Sarah had seen the warm glow of the lantern light especially early this morning. Her guess was that
Dat
had been up reading his Bible and saying a special prayer for Sarah’s hike. She’d not only have her jacket to protect her from the nippy morning air, but she imagined his spoken words going before her up those mountain paths, flowing over each rock, each creek, each ledge.