An Amish Gift Page 3

  He also loved the way she made him laugh. But she hadn’t done that in a while, had she, she said to herself as she turned around to head home.

  Of course, once they started dating, he quickly learned why she was so withdrawn at school. She didn’t want to provide the other kids any more gossip about her than they already had. Despite the fact that she hadn’t invited a single friend over to her house since elementary school, they somehow all knew about her parents. Knew that her father had rarely been around when she and her older sister, Hope, were little, and that he had finally disappeared altogether. Knew that her mother, Tess, was an alcoholic who once got by on whatever money her husband sent her, and when it stopped coming, she depended on the men she dated to cover her liquor and expenses. Hope and Jennie had seen a parade of men over the years, most of whom lasted fewer than six months. They didn’t understand how their mother worked it out, but she always had enough money for their food and her alcohol, plus a new dress now and then. She was typically asleep during the day, so they would see her for a few hours in the early evening. That was Jennie’s favorite part of the day, because her mother would start out sober, able to converse with them. Some days, she would be interested in chatting with Jennie about her day, or encouraging her to talk about her biggest dreams in life; she could be cheerful, even funny. Most days, though, she would complain bitterly about her husband and the rotten hand that life had dealt her. Either way, as the hours passed, she would drink more and get less lucid, finally waving Jennie away altogether. Eventually, she would fall asleep on the living room couch, the television on.

  Jennie never stopped hoping that her mother would quit drinking one day, and they would be a happy family again, like when her father used to come home and stay for a week or two. Each visit started out the same way: her mother laughing and happy, singing in the kitchen and nicely dressed. Jennie was always certain that, this time, things were going to get better. The problem was the way the visits ended. Sooner or later, Tess would start getting drunk again every evening. From her bed, Jennie could hear her parents arguing late into the night, Tess accusing her husband of having girlfriends on the road, and not caring about her or their children. Both of them yelled, and when they started throwing things, Jennie buried her head beneath her pillow. After a few days of this, he invariably left. What puzzled Jennie was that, if he actually did care for them as he claimed, why did he disappear for months on end, and then, finally, forever? Jennie’s sister, Hope, told her she was a fool to think things would ever change, that their lives would stay miserable as long as they were there. Hope was furious at their mother for drinking and, as she saw it, driving their father away. She and Tess fought constantly. When Jennie was little, she would try to get in between them, hugging her mother’s legs, crying and begging the two of them to stop shouting.

  As Hope got older, the screaming matches usually led to her disappearing for long stretches, sometimes days at a time. The day she turned sixteen, she disappeared for good. After that, Tess retreated full-time to her bed. She lost all interest in how she and her remaining daughter would survive. Knowing her mother would only spend it on vodka, Jennie never told her about the cash she got in the mail every month, a hundred dollars, sometimes two hundred. She knew it was from Hope, although there was never a note or return address, just envelopes with postmarks from towns and cities all over the country, so many places that Jennie lost count. With that money and the income from after-school jobs, Jennie kept their tiny household afloat. She prayed Hope would come home, or at least allow Jennie to contact her, but neither ever happened. Equally upsetting was that she realized Hope was somehow getting news about them: The money stopped coming the month after Tess died of cancer, just before Jennie and Shep got married.

  When Jennie started dating Shep, they discovered that they both lived without mothers, although for different reasons, and that they were the ones in charge at home. Slowly, they grew to trust each other. They viewed themselves as a team of two, needing no one else. At last, Jennie felt she had been right to believe in the possibility of a happy future. When they married and their son, Tim, was born, the overwhelming joy suddenly made it clear to Jennie why her mother had named her own first child Hope. It was the first time Jennie could understand how brutal the loss of a young mother’s dream of a happy family must have been. Unfortunately, it was too late to share any of that with Tess.

  They were genuinely happy for the first half of their marriage. It wasn’t until later, when the endless money worries had worn them both down, that things began to change. Shep was stung by his self-described failure to provide for them. He stopped talking to her about work altogether. Several years ago, he had started taking jobs as a handyman, doing whatever he could find, to supplement his small income. Still, he refused to let Jennie get a job, and the more she pushed the issue, the more he withdrew from her. It was infuriating, even though she understood it was a matter of pride for him that his wife not work. She could see the damage already done to his ego by his dwindling paychecks. She decided to let the matter drop. Putting up with the financial hardship, she decided, was preferable to finding that she had lost all connection to him.

  It didn’t help. The cramped house and strained monthly budget took their toll. Her good-natured husband grew increasingly irritable. His problems with Tim escalated as their son got older, and he spent precious little time with Willa. Worst of all to Jennie was the slow upward creep in the number of beers he drank on the weekends, and then on the weekdays as well. The idea that he might become an alcoholic struck terror into her heart. She had always worried that she’d inherited her mother’s tendencies, so she never touched alcohol herself. She was vigilant about warning her son of his possible legacy, trying—although she wondered how successfully—to keep him away from situations where he might be offered alcohol. Soon, she knew, she would have to start talking to Willa about it as well. The idea that her husband could fall into the trap was something that had never occurred to her. His retreat into periodic alcohol-induced numbness was obvious to the children, and it fueled Tim’s anger and Willa’s overall sadness.

  This move was supposed to be their fresh start, the chance to start over. So why didn’t it feel that way?

  Approaching the house, she unclipped Scout’s leash from his collar and let him bound ahead to the front door. Shep was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

  “Morning.” He gave her a tired smile.

  “Ready to go truck shopping?”

  “Soon as I finish this, I guess.”

  She poured herself some coffee and sat across the table from him. “Maybe after, you’ll take me to see inside the shop.”

  He refused to meet her eyes. “Maybe.”

  She knew what that meant, but she gave him the brightest smile she could muster. “I’ve got a feeling about this day, you know? I can tell it’s going to be a good one.”

  Chapter 3

  “Lovely day,” Jennie called out.

  Now that she had established a regular walking routine with Scout, she had been passing by this house at the same time every morning for several weeks. Each time she had seen the same Amish woman sweeping the steps leading from an enclosed front porch. It was a setting suitable for a painting. The house was white with green shutters, set in front of a barn and several other buildings. It appeared as if several additions had been built onto the house over time. The porch had rocking chairs and hanging plants, an appealing spot to relax, she thought. A gray-topped buggy sat outside the barn, as if waiting for a horse to bring it to life.

  After the first several weeks of Jennie’s walks, she and the woman had started exchanging waves. Today she was venturing further, not knowing whether her words would be considered neighborly or an intrusion.

  “Yes, it is.” The woman paused and smiled. “You and your dog enjoy a morning walk together, yes?”

  Jennie was delighted by the friendly response. She knew virtually nothing about the Amish and was fear
ful of stepping over some invisible line that everyone else knew not to cross. Apparently, it was all right to converse with them, uninvited. She had seen them in town, shopping in food stores and other places, so she understood that they didn’t keep completely to themselves, but this was her first proof that they didn’t mind talking to outsiders—the English, as she now knew they were called. Or at least this particular woman didn’t mind.

  “My favorite part of the day,” Jennie called out, realizing it was true.

  The woman nodded and resumed her task. Jennie felt entitled by this exchange to steal an extra moment to stare at her crisp white bonnet, with its untied strings hanging down, and her dark purple dress beneath a black apron. Despite the light chill in the October air, the woman was barefoot. She finished sweeping and went back inside, leaving Jennie to admire the pristine grounds visible from her vantage point near the road. Like Mary Poppins, practically perfect. She smiled, recalling the phrase from the book, one of her childhood favorites that she had read to her children when they were small. She wondered how many hours this woman spent maintaining the yard, with its neatly bordered flower beds and healthy carpet of lawn. There were many nice yards in the area, but every one she could identify as Amish was exactly as neat as this one. She and Shep had put in what seemed like a thousand hours on theirs, and it didn’t look half as good. It probably takes several years, she reassured herself, to get it to this state.

  “In our case, several decades,” she muttered.

  Passing by on her return about twenty minutes later, she was surprised to see the same Amish woman emerge from her house, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I see your dog is limping. Can I help you?” she asked.

  Startled, Jennie looked at Scout to see that he was indeed limping, trying to avoid putting weight on his right front leg. The woman must have noticed it from her window as she watched them approach.

  “Oh, my. He must have stepped on something.”

  The woman held open the door for her guest. “We have a dog, too. We don’t allow him in the kitchen, but this is a special situation. Please bring him in.”

  Nodding her thanks, Jennie came up the path and got a closer look at her neighbor. She was very pleasant-looking, blue-eyed, with a high forehead and full mouth. No makeup, no jewelry. Her age was difficult to gauge, but Jennie guessed between forty and fifty. Pulled-back blond hair peeked out from beneath her white head covering, the side pieces appearing to be braided but, on closer inspection, turning out to be tightly twisted.

  Jennie stepped into a large combination kitchen–family room, lit by daylight peeking beneath dark green blinds on the windows. There wasn’t much furniture, but everything was immaculate. A dark wood cabinet contained fine china, visible through its double glass doors. The focal point of the room was a large wooden table with a bench on either side and a chair at each end. Off to one side, Jennie noted a sofa and two rocking chairs. There was also a small table over in one corner with art supplies and a low bookshelf beside it containing children’s books. On the floor nearby was a wooden dollhouse. The only decorations on the walls were a calendar and a clock, no photographs or paintings anywhere. The kitchen area looked similar to any other kitchen, as far as she could make out. No overhead lighting fixtures but a refrigerator. She was confused, knowing the Amish stayed away from electricity. How could they have a refrigerator? There was a lamp atop a small side table as well. Large bowls of fruits, vegetables, and other ingredients for a meal covered nearly all the counter space. From where she stood, she could identify potatoes, zucchini, apples, and glass jars with noodles and what was probably flour. With so much food arrayed, she guessed they must be getting ready for company.

  She realized she was staring and recovered enough to introduce herself, extending a hand. “I’m Jennie Davis. My family moved into—” She started to gesture.

  “Bert Howland’s house.” The woman smiled. “A new neighbor is news that people are quick to share. My name is Mattie Fisher. Welcome.”

  They both knelt to examine Scout’s paw, locating the sore spot and extracting a thorn. Mattie washed his paw with a wet dish towel.

  “Poor thing,” Jennie said to him.

  “He will be all better now,” Mattie said. She went over to the table and picked up a plate of cookies, extending them to her guest. “Chocolate chip, baked this morning.”

  As the plate of cookies was extended, a recovered Scout took a confident step forward to as if to make his selection.

  “No,” Jennie told him. “Not for you.” She looked up apologetically. “I’ve let him believe he’s the boss, I’m afraid.”

  Mattie laughed. “They are quick to take the job, aren’t they? Please sit down.”

  Jennie was entranced by the woman’s lilting accent. She took the proffered chair and got Scout to sit close to her feet.

  “I see you have children.”

  “Eight. The oldest is sixteen, and my little Moses is four.”

  Jennie’s eyes opened wide. Eight kids, and the house was as clean as a hospital operating room. “I only have two, but I can’t say my house is as … organized as this. We’ve been busy fixing it up, though.”

  The other woman nodded. “We knew Bert Howland for many years. His wife died a long time ago. It is difficult to be alone with the business and the house. I guess it needs some work, yes?”

  “Some work, no. Much work. But that’s fine. We’ll do it one thing at a time, as we can.”

  “That is surely the way.” Mattie nodded. “With patience, yes?”

  Jennie bit into a cookie, thinking that she liked this woman very much. Despite their obvious differences, she felt comfortable talking to her. And boy, she thought, could she ever bake; the cookie was delicious.

  “Do you mind if I ask what kind of farm this is? I don’t know much about farming, so please excuse my ignorance.”

  “It is a dairy farm. There are forty cows in the barn, and we grow crops to feed them. My husband, Abraham, is in the fields now with my oldest son, Peter.”

  “Where are the other children? In school?”

  “Most of them. My older daughter and my youngest are at my sister’s, helping out with her children this morning. They’ll be back anytime now, so we can get dinner ready. We eat at eleven-thirty.”

  “All that food is just for dinner?”

  Mattie smiled. “Not all. Some things we will get started for supper later. That is when everyone eats together. And your children?”

  Jennie talked a bit about Tim and Willa, and Mattie asked how they liked their new schools. She answered as diplomatically as she could, not wanting to lie but having no desire to explain the disaster the school year had been so far. Then, guessing her hostess needed to get back to her tasks, she thanked her warmly and took Scout to the door.

  “I will see you again, yes?” Mattie said. “Probably if you walk by tomorrow.”

  “Yes. I’ll look forward to it.”

  As Jennie and Scout reached the road, she turned back to wave, but Mattie was already gone. There was a serenity about the woman that was striking, she thought. No sense of being rushed, having a million things on her mind—the hallmarks of virtually everyone she knew. Eight kids, yet Mattie had time to practically sterilize her home and bake cookies. Maybe she was put here just to make me feel guilty, Jennie mused, smiling. The woman’s questions hadn’t been prying, but straightforward, asked with genuine interest. Jennie was already looking forward to her walk tomorrow, hoping she would see Mattie again.

  As she drew close to her house, she spotted Shep getting into their truck. He saw her and paused to wave. Today was the day he was finally taking her to see the store.

  She jogged over to him. “Were you leaving without me?” she asked.

  “No, of course not.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t sneak off. Just thought I’d wait in the truck, go over some papers.”

  “Okay, hang on a sec.”

  Putting the dog in the house, she practically flew to get into h
er car before Shep pulled away. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the way to the store, but if she let him go without her, she wasn’t sure when he would next agree to let her see the place. It had been over a month already, and she had waited patiently for this day. More than patiently, in her opinion. At long last, she would find out what the big mystery was.

  He pulled out of the driveway, and she followed. Nervously, she parked her car next to his truck in the small lot and waited while he unlocked the store’s front door. They went inside, small bells above the door tinkling to indicate someone had entered. “Quaint,” she remarked of the sound.

  Shep hastened to the back to turn on fluorescent lights. The space wasn’t huge, but it was more than adequate. That, she realized, was pretty much the only positive thing she could come up with. Her impression was that it was dark and dingy, and whether it was in truth or not, it felt dusty and dirty. The air was stale, smelling of rubber. The walls were a dreary olive green, the floor a nondescript speckled linoleum. There was a long, narrow passageway running the length of the store, the only place to walk, formed by bicycles crowded along both sides. She went toward a counter in the back beneath a small Repairs sign that must have been thirty years old. Numerous newspaper articles and flyers were messily tacked up on a bulletin board. The large cash register was so old, she noted, it was probably considered vintage. That was the one thing that might qualify as having a touch of charm, she reflected; everything else looked original in a way that desperately needed replacing. She went behind the counter, opening the door to the back room, where repairs were done. It was a dark mess, tools and bicycle parts strewn about. A bare lightbulb and the sunlight fighting its way through a small, grimy window provided the only illumination.

  Shep came to stand behind her. “So this is my palace.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

  She turned to look at him, not sure what to say. If this was the result of a month’s hard work, she supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t brought her here before. It wasn’t that the place was terrible, but it was not a store you’d want to be in for any longer than necessary. Old, dreary, tired—she could have gone on, but what was the point? The house had been disappointing as well, but only the four of them had to be in it. This was a place of business, supposed to attract paying customers, and it was downright depressing. Glancing over at the many bicycles crammed together, she wondered how a customer could even get one out to look at it. Maybe Bert Howland had a strong following based on his years in the area, but unless those people were legally bound to keep coming here, she and Shep were in trouble. It was going to be mighty difficult to support their family if their entire income came from fixing the occasional flat tire.