Authors: Adina Senft
“Anyway,” Carrie went on, “Look at the Grohl girls. With none of them spoken for yet, even Esther at twenty-eight, the passing of time has to be pretty worrisome for their mother.”
“Speaking as someone who waited two years past that, I think you’re rushing things,” Emma said. “There’s time enough yet for all those girls.”
Time enough yet.
Time plodded by, as predictable as a plow horse you’d used all your life. Or raced by, like a trotter driven by a teenage boy down the straightaway on Camas Creek Road. But in the end, it passed, leaving you standing on the wayside wondering how you’d been left behind.
W
hen she got home at close to five o’clock, the barn door was standing open. How had Melvin beat her home when he’d have had all that traffic coming out of Lancaster to contend with? Carrie hurried into the bedroom and exchanged her cape and apron for a bib apron, then got to work with final preparations for dinner.
The nice pork roast from the hog they’d butchered last fall, the last of the tomatoes on the sunny side of the house in a salad with basil and chunks of mozzarella cheese, creamed corn, and the little red potatoes that Melvin loved roasted in with the meat. It was the kind of meal that, two years ago, she could only have dreamed about.
Literally. She’d dreamed about food a lot. Endless tables of it—main courses, side dishes, desserts—she’d sat down to many a feast and then awakened in the morning to the cold reality of empty cupboards and a cellar that didn’t contain much more than potatoes and onions. Carrie shuddered at the memory and checked the gas oven to make sure the roast had not browned too much on the top.
God sent tribulation to try the soul and refine it as gold, but she couldn’t see what good had come of those years other than the fat section of cards in her recipe box, all featuring potatoes and onions. And eggs. She could make more things out of eggs than anyone else she knew.
The sound of heavy steps on the stairs meant Melvin had finished putting the horse away. He sat on the bench in the mudroom and took off his work boots. “It smells
gut
in here, Carrie. I’ve had a hungry day.”
“A short one, too.” She maneuvered the roasting pan onto the counter so the roast could sit for ten minutes, then crossed the kitchen. She framed his upturned face with her patchwork potholders and kissed him, whereupon he grabbed her around the waist.
“Come here, Fraa, and do that properly.” She dropped into his lap with a squeal. It was hard to kiss and laugh at the same time, but somehow they managed it.
When he set her on her feet again, and she returned to the stove to stir the corn, she was still smiling. “I thought sure I’d beat you home. Did you decide not to go to Lancaster and all you boys go fishing instead? It was a beautiful afternoon for it.”
“
Nei
, not at all. Brian Steiner would never leave the shop on a work day. The only things he closes for are Thanksgiving, Old Christmas, and the Lord’s Day. No, he told me before I left this morning to start packing.”
Carrie stopped stirring. “Packing for what?” Oh, surely not. Not another trip, so soon after the last one.
“Apparently there’s some kind of wood-industry trade show down in Philadelphia this weekend. He’s gone in on a booth with his cousins, who are also in the cabinetmaking business, and he wants me to go.”
“If he’s gone in on it with his family, then he should go.” Oh dear. That had come out a little sharper than she’d meant it to. She remembered she was stirring creamed corn, and turned the flame down to barely a sputter.
“Oh, he’s going, all right. But he’s not much of a talker. That’s why he wants me.”
Melvin sounded so happy that at last he had a skill someone needed that she didn’t have the heart to let him see how much the news had upset her. “How long will you be gone? Just the weekend?” Two days. She could live with two days. She had before.
“He wants us to go down on the train tomorrow and spend Thursday setting up. The show runs Friday through Monday, but of course our booth will be closed Sunday. With teardown and working up any orders, we’ll miss the Tuesday train, so I suppose we’ll be back Wednesday sometime.”
“A week.” She schooled her face to calmness, though she felt anything but.
“I know what you’re thinking,
Liebschdi
. And I don’t like it either, leaving you alone to manage everything. But this time it will be different.”
“Different how? Am I to go with you?”
He actually laughed, as if this idea were absurd. It wasn’t absurd at all. She would love to go to Philadelphia, even if it was to spend a day in some big
Englisch
convention center, surrounded by machinery and wood products and goodness knows what. At least they would be together.
“I don’t think there would be much to interest you there. Besides, I might not even come back Wednesday. If I don’t run down there Sunday, I might stop off at the home place and see Mamm and my brothers.”
“I could do that, too.” Only Emma, Amelia, and the good
Gott
knew what it cost her to say so. Even a day in her mother-in-law’s company was twelve hours too long—but she would do it if it meant she and Melvin could share the rest of the adventure.
“I don’t think so, Carrie,” he said gently, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. “If you came, we would have to arrange a motel room just for us, instead of all the men bunking in together to save money. And I would really worry about you, wandering around that place once you got bored at the booth. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what Brian wants me there for.”
“I know,” she said softly, poking at the corn now with the tip of the spoon. “But I miss you so much when you’re gone. I was hoping this week we might finish picking the apples together, and there’s the two sheds to be painted before the rain starts, and—”
“And I have all that taken care of.” He released her. “Joshua Steiner is going to help us out while I’m gone.”
“He is?” Joshua Steiner had leased one of their fields, and had it planted in beans practically before he’d finished shaking Melvin’s hand. He also had his fingers in several other pies in an effort to make a living, since at the moment he didn’t have a place of his own. “How will he have time to do that when he’s the hired man at that big
Englisch
place down the highway?”
“Apparently it’s run pretty well, and he can take time off when he wants to. He came the other day and asked us if we had any work at the shop, of all things. Of course Brian told him no.”
Of course he had. Carrie seemed to remember a little history involving a female cousin, back before Bishop Daniel had politely asked Joshua to leave town on an extended visit that had wound up lasting ten years. The fact that the cousin was now happily married and living in another settlement obviously didn’t hold any water with Brian Steiner. Cousins or not, he didn’t have much use for Joshua.
She wondered if Melvin knew. Or if it would make any difference if he did. He hated gossip like poison, and would probably see any attempts to pass on the reasons for Brian’s dislike as just that.
What some called information or history, he called gossip.
Melvin went on, “But I caught up to him out in the parking lot before he got into his buggy, and floated the idea that maybe he could look in on you once or twice while I’m gone. To see if you need anything.”
“I don’t need anyone besides you looking in on me.” Carrie smoothed his hair away from his face. “Someone needs a haircut before he goes to the big city.”
“Then someone had better get it done tonight.” He kissed her again. “I know you don’t need to be looked in on, Carrie. Goodness knows you’ve been on your own plenty of times before. But like you say, Joshua can do those things you had planned. He can even get started painting the sheds, and I’ll finish up when I get home next week. And I’d like to talk with him about putting a second floor in the barn, too, so I can use the ground floor for a workshop.”
He wasn’t about to be talked out of a plan he’d obviously given some thought to, and Joshua had already agreed to. It wasn’t her place to argue and insist on having things her way.
She had to look beyond the inconvenience of having to give someone unfamiliar with their place instructions when it would probably be faster to do some of those things herself. She had to look at Melvin’s good heart. He cared about her, cared that she was looked after.
So she kept her unwillingness to herself, and instead, handed him the carving knife. “I think the roast has sat long enough. Would you carve it?”
She could do it herself, and had done it before.
But that wasn’t the point, was it?
* * *
Since the train left Lancaster at noon, that meant Melvin had to meet Brian at the shop at seven to catch the eight o’clock bus. It only came through Whinburg twice a day, so if he missed it, Carrie would have to drive him to the Lancaster city limits to catch a city bus, and she’d do anything she had to in order to avoid that. She hated going anywhere near the city; even the tourist area where the edges of it petered out on Highway 30 made her so nervous in traffic she could hardly concentrate. The
Englisch
cars went too fast, and sometimes the drivers even leaned on their horns as they zipped by on the left, frightening the horse practically into the ditch.
She had no difficulties with the
Englisch
as a rule—she counted many in the community as friends, in fact—but even the nice tourists who drove slowly and respectfully had a bad habit of staring. In their rearview mirrors, in their side mirrors, sometimes in no mirrors at all, simply craning their heads around to look. Even in a closed buggy with the storm front up, she felt like a mannequin on display.
The Amish looked the way they did to convey a spirit of
Gelassenheit
, of humility and conformity untainted by the worldly fashions of the day. But Carrie had a feeling that the only thing she managed to convey was anxiety and impatience at the driver who, staring, swerved much too close to the buggy for comfort.
At least the drive home from Whinburg would be along familiar roads, with the mist rising off the fields and the sun beginning to warm the air. She looked forward to it.
“Good-bye,
Liebschdi
. I’ll see you in a week.” Melvin hugged her before he jumped down from the buggy. He could have shown his affection in the parking lot, but it wouldn’t be seemly, since there were Brian and his brother Boyd already, standing by the big family buggy and dressed in their away coats and dark pants, small suitcases on the ground beside them.
She got out and waved at them. “A safe and prosperous journey,” she called, and took Jimsy’s halter to back him around.
“Let me do that.” Startled, she turned to see Joshua Steiner crossing the yard, a hand held out. Melvin shook it and turned to her.
“I told Joshua he might come over today. It seemed like a good idea for him to meet us here, and catch a ride home with you.”
Over his shoulder, she saw Brian turn away and say something to Boyd.
Joshua’s quick eye didn’t miss the direction of her gaze. He patted the horse’s nose and his lopsided grin held ruefulness. “Don’t mind my cousin’s bad manners. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to put up with me all the way to Philadelphia.”
“Were you to have gone?” Carrie asked. “I didn’t know you were interested in cabinetmaking.”
He laughed. “I’m not. And
nei
, I have nothing to do with this trip. It’s just that I don’t get a chance to see this side of the Steiner family much. Meeting you and Melvin here was a good opportunity.”
Not good enough to shake hands and make up an ages-old quarrel, it seemed, but plenty good enough to rile somebody up.
Men. Honestly.
David Yoder stepped out of the back of the adjoining pallet shop, followed by Eli Fischer, Amelia’s husband of two months. Seeing her, Eli waved. “
Guder Mariye
, Carrie. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“She’s dropping me off,” Melvin said. “I’m going to Philadelphia with the boys, here.”
“Ah.” Eli took in Joshua on one side of the yard and Brian and Boyd on the other, but it was clear he thought nothing of it. He was from Lebanon County, and had only recently moved here for Amelia’s sake. What with having important things like courting and marrying her best friend on his mind, clearly there hadn’t been enough time to learn all the family business in the shop next door.
“Time to go,” Brian said, “or we won’t get to that bus in time.”
In the flurry of activity in the yard, somehow Carrie found herself in the passenger seat once again and Joshua driving away at a brisk pace, barely stopping to look for oncoming traffic as he guided Jimsy into the right turn at the light.
She was perfectly capable of driving her own buggy. It wasn’t like they were in the middle of downtown Lancaster. But to say so would be forward, not to mention ungracious, after he’d agreed to give them the gift of his hands and his time.
How strange it felt, him sitting there on her right with the reins in his hands. She hadn’t driven next to a man other than Melvin or her
Daed
in ten years. The strangeness of it made her aware that she needed to keep a couple of inches of space between them. It made her body feel stiff, without its usual easiness with the bumps and turns of the road.
“Everything all right over there?” Joshua asked, glancing at her. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m not much of a talker.”
“No? I’ve seen you at church at potlucks and things, chattering away with everyone from old Sarah Yoder to the
Youngie
.”
“Both Sarah and the
Youngie
tend to do all the talking,” she pointed out. “I just listen.”
“Oh, I see.” Silence fell, in which the clopping of Jimsy’s hooves seemed unnaturally loud. “What’s the horse’s name?” he asked as though he’d thought the same thing, and it had reminded him to ask.
“Jimsy.” One of the gelding’s ears swiveled back, as though inquiring as to why his name had come up.
“That’s a funny name for a horse. Don’t the people around here call their animals things like Ajax and Caesar and Hero?”
The people around here? Didn’t he consider himself one of them? “He’s a retired racehorse. His real name is Jamieson’s Victory Dance. We thought of calling him Vic, but Jimsy seemed to suit him better.”
“A racehorse, huh? Have you ever taken him out on
Camas
Creek Road and put him through his paces?”
“
Nei
. What would be the point? We don’t want him racing, we want him to take us to town and to church and to visit.”
“Poor Jamieson’s Victory Dance. I bet he wants to race, don’t you, boy?”