Martha sat next to Eli at the old red oak dining table. It was a smaller version of the one they’d sold and had only two chairs on each side. Across from them, Charity split her attention between her husband and her guests.
As for Jacob, he wore a bib like Martha had seen on some of the old folks at church suppers. Charity spooned what looked like vegetable broth into his mouth. The way Jacob gazed at Charity, it caused Martha’s heart to ache. She understood that kind of love, a devotion that could withstand even the ravages of a stroke and an unclear mind. She’d had that kind of love, and seeing it again . . . it caused her to feel her loneliness more sharply than before.
“Jacob, he’s not one to speak much anymore, but we always enjoy company. Don’t we, Jacob?”
He continued to smile at her, giving no indication that he’d heard or understood the question.
“The auction went very well yesterday, Charity.” Eli had stopped at the bakery and picked up a pie as well as fresh bread. He’d explained to Martha that although Charity was an excellent cook, she rarely had time to bake up fresh goods. The bulk of her time was now spent caring for Jacob.
“Glad to hear it. The Lord has been gut to us.”
Eli cleared his throat. “We have a bit of a mystery though. The pieces made by Jacob, they went for a good deal more than I expected.”
Charity reached forward and wiped broth off the corner of Jacob’s mouth with a dish towel. Patting him on the hand, she rose, collected the lunch dishes, and set them in the sink. Martha understood that she was taking her time, gathering her thoughts. Rinsing the dishes, pouring another cup of coffee, offering it to her guests—all were ways to slow down the conversation. The question was why had it rattled her so?
When she returned to the table, she said, “Jacob enjoys sitting on the front porch after his lunch.”
Eli stood, walked to the wheelchair, and released the brake. As he pushed the wheelchair through the house and out onto the covered porch, it occurred to Martha that he had done this many times before. He’d never mentioned that they were close friends, but within a Plain community it was often this way—neighbors and family helping without being asked to do so.
By the time Eli returned to the table, Martha had fixed them both a cup of coffee and Charity seemed prepared to talk. Before Martha or Eli could ask a question, she launched into an explanation.
“I’m sure you remember that Peter Fisher was once an apprentice to Jacob. Do you recall the disagreement between the two of them?”
“Only that there was one. I never knew what it was about.”
“No one did. We saw no need to speak of it.”
“You think this is related?”
“I do.”
Eli cleared his throat. “Did you know about the map on the bottom of the furniture?”
“My, yes. It was my idea.”
“I’m afraid I’m lost,” Martha admitted.
Charity smiled, reached out, and patted her hand. “Peter came to work with my husband when he was nineteen years old. He’d tried a few other jobs, but none of them stuck. He was an excellent apprentice and would have turned into a gut furniture maker.”
“So what happened?”
“Peter had been with us for six years and was becoming a fine craftsman in his own right. Jacob often worked with new material, but occasionally he’d buy old pieces and refurbish them. One such piece was a large wardrobe. He purchased it at auction—” She turned to Eli. “I don’t remember now if the auction was held at your place or at the owner’s farm.”
Eli shrugged, indicating that he didn’t recall the piece.
“When he got the wardrobe home, and Peter began to work on it, they discovered the map. It was inside the piece, etched into the back wall.”
“What was it a map of?”
“We weren’t sure, but Peter got it into his head that money was involved. He was a young man, still given to flights of fancy. Jacob wanted to sand over the map, but Peter wouldn’t hear of it. They fought, and Peter became so angry that he left and vowed to never return.”
“And he never did?” Martha asked.
“No. It broke Jacob’s heart. Peter had become like a son to him, and we . . . well, we had already lost one son. Jacob thought that Peter would come to his senses and find his way back to Shipshe, to his home, and to us.” She paused and then smiled. “My husband couldn’t bring himself to sell the wardrobe. For years, it sat in the back of his workshop.”
“But then something changed . . .” Martha leaned forward, feeling the answers to their questions within reach.
“Five years ago, we began to receive letters from Peter. They revealed very little about himself, and asked nothing of how we were. He only wanted to know about the wardrobe—if we still had it. Apparently he had tried to memorize the map before he left, but over the years he’d had no luck finding whatever the map led to.”
“Did you try to contact the original owners?” Eli asked.
“They’d died, which is how Jacob came by the piece in the auction.”
“Did you answer Peter’s letters?” Martha asked.
“At first, but when it became plain that Peter was only interested in the treasure, we stopped. Jacob vowed to destroy the wardrobe, but I had a better idea.” Now her eyes twinkled, and Martha realized that somehow this woman had learned to overcome several tragedies in her life and retain her sense of humor. “I suggested that he cut up the map and use it in different pieces. That way it wouldn’t be destroyed, but neither would someone be able to become obsessed with it.”
“Which is why I have three pieces of furniture with parts of a map.”
“There were seven in all because Jacob cut the map up into fairly small pieces. We sold three of those when we auctioned his workshop inventory.”
“And three are sitting on my auction floor.”
“Correct, but you don’t have the final piece.”
“I don’t?”
“No.” Charity’s smile had widened.
“Where’s the fourth piece?” Martha asked.
“Here.” Charity tapped the table. “We knew that this would be the last thing we would ever sell. It holds too many memories, of our son, our friends, even of Peter. So Jacob glued the last piece of the map to the back of our table.”