10

The house was quiet, the children were asleep. This hour, before bedtime, belonged to David, and to the Lord God. Lamplight on his desk cast a halo of yellow-orange about the room. He scanned his bookshelves, looking for a book by Henri Nouwen, a Dutch-born Catholic priest, a brilliant thinker, who left the academic world to work with the mentally and physically handicapped. Gabby had reorganized his books in his bookshelves and he couldn’t find anything. Where was it? He heard a foot-scuffling sound and turned around to see Ruthie standing there, hands on her hips, an angry look on her face.

“Dad, I can not handle Gabby’s ‘helpfulness’ for one more day.”

“What happened now?” David was a little perturbed himself. Where was that book by Nouwen?

“She alphabetized all the canned goods in the basement.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Because it’s all her version of alphabetizing. Green beans and lima beans and peas are all together under a weird name.”

He stopped hunting for books and looked over at Ruthie. “Legumes?”

“Yes! Whatever that means. And she put tomatoes in with all the canned fruit. She insisted that tomatoes are a fruit, even though I told her that was completely wrong.”

Gabby was correct, actually, but David didn’t think it would be wise to point that out to Ruthie right now. And then it occurred to him that she might have alphabetized his books. He looked through the titles but couldn’t find it. “Have you explained your system to her?”

“I don’t have a system! I just put the jars on the shelves as Molly and I finished canning them. That was good enough for everyone . . . until Gabby had to go and redo everything. And guess what else? She said that half of my jars weren’t sealed properly and I was going to end up killing everyone. She called it something horrible. Bo-to, botch-o . . .”

What was it Dane Glick always said? To fully understand an animal, think the way an animal thinks. The same thing might work for people. How would Gabby, a very literal librarian, think to alphabetize books? Of course! By the author’s name. And there it was, under N. He grabbed the book and spun around to Ruthie. “Botulism?”

“Yes! That’s it. Why can’t she just use normal words?” She scratched her head. “What does it mean, anyway?”

“It’s a type of food poisoning.”

“Oh.” Ruthie’s eyes dropped to the floor. Ohhhh.

David rubbed his stomach. Maybe that explained why he’d been having so much pain lately. What else could be the reason? But why did the pain come and go? He seemed fine when he was alone. He stopped himself. This was not the way to listen to his daughter. But then, did Ruthie truly try to listen to Gabby? She seemed to respond to Gabby with a filter of defensiveness, quick to take offense. Respectful listening was a learned skill, a key component to all harmonious relationships, and especially critical in our relationship with God. His thoughts strayed to how often he heard from Scripture only what he wanted to hear. No wonder James, the brother of the Lord Jesus, challenged his readers to be quick to listen, slow to speak. It was always better to listen than to speak. Always.

Suddenly he realized he had stopped listening and speaking to Ruthie. The very thing he had just spun around in his mind! He was here, but not here. Present but absent. His thoughts had left the room and wandered off, while his body remained. She could tell too. She stood before him, a deeply annoyed look on her face.

“Ruthie, did you tell Gabby how you felt?”

“Yes. I told her she was really pushing my buttons. She answered in such a typical Gabby way.”

“How so?”

“She asked me where my buttons were. And she was serious! Dad . . . she’s crazy.”

“She’s . . . literal.”

Ruthie frowned. “Call it what you will, but I think she’s weird. How much longer is she going to stay?”

“Honey, as long as she wants to. She’s family.” He put down his book. “Ruthie, do you know what the German word for hospitality is?”

“I have no idea.”

“Gastfreundschaft. It means friendship for the guest.”

“But is Gabby our guest? You said she was our family.”

“It shouldn’t matter. Hospitality is an attitude. By welcoming others into our home, we’re sharing the love of Christ with them.”

Ruthie frowned. “I don’t think her mother sent her here to help. I think she sent her here because she needed a break from her.”

There might be some truth to Ruthie’s observation, but David knew what was really irking her. Earlier today, Gabby had spotted Ruthie and Luke Schrock holding hands on the way home from school and announced the news at supper in front of everyone, including his mother, who was horrified. Ruthie was mortified, then furious. To David, that news was worrying. Luke Schrock was the church’s juvenile delinquent in the making. Again he struggled to stop his train of thought and concentrate on what Ruthie was saying.

“I don’t understand why people think they need to fix us when they’ve got plenty of problems themselves.” She turned to head to the stairs to go to bed.

David raised his voice a notch. “You don’t mention Noah Yoder anymore.” Yardstick had been Ruthie’s latest crush—until recently.

She kept her hand on the doorjamb, though she did turn to look at him. “All he does is run. It’s all he thinks about or talks about. Or does.”

Yardstick was the son of Ephraim Yoder, who had died recently and left a pile of unpaid bills. David knew where he was running to—he had two part-time jobs after school. “Since when have you and Luke Schrock become friendly?”

“Since . . . this school year started.” She looked down at her toes. Eyes still cast down, she pushed at the corner of the rug with her toes. “He’s not as bad as everyone thinks. He just likes to have everyone scared of him.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Luke says . . . it keeps life in Stoney Ridge . . . interesting.”

A sharp pain shot through David’s stomach.

Despite the disruption to her carefully ordered life in Ohio, Abigail was finding some positive experiences in Stoney Ridge. Even living with a houseful of young cousins was not as stressful as she had assumed it would be. They were pleasant girls, all but Ruthie, who had a very bad attitude.

Take yesterday, for example. Abigail was getting the mail at the mailbox when she saw Ruthie and the boy next door walking home from school, hand in hand. Abigail’s attention was diverted from Ruthie’s questionable behavior by a letter from her mother, and she opened it quickly, hoping to read good news about her father. Typical of her mother, Father was never mentioned. The letter was primarily filled with news about the people in their church and pointed suggestions for Abigail: There’s no need to over-volunteer facts from the books you read, especially if no one has asked you about them. Try to be flexible when plans change without notice. Seek out ways to be thoughtful without being told.

How could anyone be thoughtful without being told what would be considered thoughtful?

She did try to put into practice her mother’s advice. She spent the late afternoon reorganizing the canned goods in the basement and tossing out the jars that had bulging lids—probable evidence of botulism, which could cause food poisoning and risk horrific, lingering deaths for the entire family. It was fortunate that Abigail had studied canning. Ruthie had clearly done minimal research on the topic.

At dinner, she remembered that she saw Ruthie and the boy next door holding hands, and thought her uncle might like to know. So she said it. Again, she was trying to be thoughtful.

Ruthie was no longer talking to her.

In retrospect, Laura told her, Abigail should have told him privately. Uncle David made up for Ruthie’s bad attitude, though. Naturally, Abigail felt a familial attachment to him because he resembled her own father. Their voices, in particular, were eerily similar. But it was more than that. Her uncle was . . . unique among men. While it was true that her uncle ran a loose ship—very unlike the way he grew up, in Mammi’s highly controlled household, and unlike the way you’d imagine he’d parent—there was something about it that was both surprising and refreshing.

Take family devotions, for example. Abigail was aware that each Amish community had their own way of carrying out family devotions. In her Ohio church, devotions were not considered necessary. Nor was reading the Bible. Nor was praying throughout the week. The bishop in Ohio felt that time spent in church sufficed.

But in Uncle David’s home, after breakfast, each family member would push their chairs back, reach for a Bible from the stack in the corner, and kneel. Each morning, a chapter from the New Testament would be read aloud, with every family member taking a turn at a verse—a habit that Abigail thought was very wise because it held the attention of those little redheaded cousins.

But devotions didn’t end at reading a chapter of the Bible. Uncle David would ask if anyone had questions. Questions! About the Bible! And her cousins did have questions, especially—what a surprise!—Ruthie. That girl was skeptical about everything. Everything. Uncle David listened and answered each question, in depth. It wasn’t a particularly time-efficient devotion, but it was rather . . . thought provoking.

Before bedtime each evening, the family would gather again around the kitchen table, push their chairs back again, and kneel. This time, Uncle David would read out of the black prayer book. Abigail’s own father had the same pattern, but he only read the same prayer each night. Same prayer. Every night. Uncle David read a different prayer each evening.

Abigail found herself looking forward to these family gatherings.

Another unexpectedly pleasant circumstance was the absence of her grandmother for the middle part of each day. Mammi was preoccupied with the complete rearrangement of Uncle David’s store and took Laura along with her to carry out the task. Abigail was entirely supportive of her grandmother’s efforts to reorganize the store. She was a big advocate for efficiency and productivity, and the Bent N’ Dent was in dire need of both. It was a truly appalling store—boxes were stacked in corners, fruit and vegetables were displayed right next to bags of BBQ charcoal. What if a bag broke open and the dust from the charcoal settled on an apple or a potato? Poisonous!

Don’t even get her started on her uncle’s cluttered office/storeroom. How could Uncle David find anything in that mess? Why, even his chair couldn’t budge an inch. Abigail thrived on creating structure and order; nothing made her happier than to find a better, faster way to do something. If her mind did not remain entirely focused on breaking through the brick wall, she would be at the store helping her grandmother and sister each day. But she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted from her main objective.

Distractions, she believed, were the reason most people did not accomplish their goals. So even though she was sorely tempted to join her grandmother on the Bent N’ Dent reorganization project, and she did feel a little concerned about the look of exhaustion on her uncle’s face each afternoon as he returned with Mammi and Laura in the buggy, she kept her attention firmly focused on the brick wall.

Life had never seemed more out of control to David.

After his recent talk with Ruthie about hospitality as an attitude, he looked up the Latin word for hospitality, hospes, and noticed that hostis, the Latin word for hostility, was listed directly below it. A curious combination. He wondered who, centuries and centuries ago, had first coined those words, nearly identical but for two letters, and if he might have been inspired to think those words up during a visit from relatives. A visit from this old Roman’s well-meaning but overly intrusive mother, perhaps.

David’s mother had alienated nearly all the customers who came into the store, if not all. Fewer and fewer of the old codgers arrived before lunch to play checkers. His mother had dragged the rocking chairs out of the main room and stacked them in David’s cluttered office. She even rolled up the braided rug that circled the woodstove and tucked it behind David’s desk, so that his chair couldn’t move. He had to climb over his desk to get into the chair.

Hank Lapp was outraged. “She treats our customers like potential shoplifters!”

“Not all of them, Hank.” Just the old men who loitered all day. More importantly, since when did Hank consider himself a part-owner of the Bent N’ Dent?

“And she’s undoing all of Jesse’s and my improvements!” he sputtered at David.

While it was true that his mother was undoing Hank and Jesse’s doings, David was never convinced that the “doings” should be classified as improvements. Not to the bottom line of the store, anyway. But some of it had definitely been a plus to building community, and for that, he was full of regrets. “She hasn’t undone everything, Hank,” David said to mollify him. “We’ll change things back after she goes home.”

“WHOA!” Hank barked. He thrust a sandwich in David’s face. “Is this going to leave when she leaves?”

David looked at the sandwich: sliced roasted turkey, fresh lettuce grown in Amos Lapp’s greenhouse, generously lathered in homemade mayonnaise, all tucked between two slices of thick, crusty wheat bread. It looked delicious. It was delicious.

And that was the challenge, right there. The one change made by Jesse and Hank that his mother did approve of was the selling of fresh sandwiches. However, she had completely upgraded the selection, and Molly was no longer the bread maker for the store, which troubled David. His daughter needed this role. It had made her feel important.

Kind-natured, somewhat passive and pliable, Molly was often overshadowed by her siblings. She was right in the middle of the pack—Katrina and Ruthie were older than her, as was Jesse, the only boy, and the twins were younger than her. After his wife Anna died, food became a source of comfort for Molly, perhaps too much so, but David hoped that baking bread for the store might be the answer. She seemed so pleased to have the task, and her bread was improving. She hardly ever forgot to add yeast anymore.

But David’s mother had been alarmed by Molly’s portly appearance when she first arrived. She promptly shooed her out of the kitchen.

Hank was waiting for an answer, in between bites of sandwich.

“I’m going to see what I can do about keeping up the quality of those sandwiches,” David said, nodding, but in a rather distracted fashion. It meant he would have to have an uncomfortable conversation with his mother about teaching Molly how to make better bread. His mother was so task oriented that she didn’t have the patience to show Molly how it was done, much less to work at Molly’s pace.

“Good,” Hank said, raising his coffee cup to his lips and draining it noisily. “’Cuz Jesse and me, we’ve got some other ideas in the works. If you could keep one thing consistent, that would help.”

And wasn’t that the truth for just about everything in David’s life?

Hank thumped his hat back on his head and seemed to mellow. He leaned forward to whisper, “A man like you can’t be expected to stand up to a woman like that. It ain’t in your nature.”

Mystified, David watched Hank stride out the door. What was that supposed to mean?

He went back to his office to finish up some orders. He heard the bell ring and a customer come in, then he heard his mother’s voice as she spoke to the customer. He waited for a moment to see if he might be called in to find something—that was the typical scenario each time a customer came in. Since his mother’s reorganization had started, no one could find anything—but it sounded like things were being handled, so he turned his attention back to his order.

And then he recognized this customer’s voice. Birdy. His pen stilled in the middle of an order. He was completely distracted.

Just outside his office door, he could hear his mother and Birdy having a conversation. An unexpected ripple of disquiet swept through him. His mother had no idea that Birdy was a Glick, nor that she was the one David had started to court. But Birdy would quickly figure out that Tillie was his mother. How would she react?

He heard a crash of glass, followed by silence, then Birdy’s profuse apologies. She must be nervous. Whenever she felt nervous, she became clumsy. She referred to herself as “the most accident-prone Glick of all time.”

David froze. He should go out there. Of course he should. He should introduce Birdy to his mother. This was the perfect opportunity. Just a casual encounter, nothing too formal. It would be the right thing to do, the right way to honor Birdy, the right way to handle his mother.

He should go. Absolutely.

He stayed in his office and let the opportunity pass.

Jesse walked up the driveway of Windmill Farm, deep in thought. He needed to find a certain kind of square bolt, just the right dimensions, to replace Eli Smucker’s brittle old ones, and he couldn’t locate them to order anywhere. He opened the door of the buggy shop and found Yardstick Yoder poking around his bench, helping himself to a plate of biscuits Fern had left for him. “Hey! What are you doing?”

Yardstick spun around, one half-eaten biscuit in his hand. “Waitin’ on you. You’re late. You said to be here right after school let out.” He polished off the rest of the biscuit in one bite.

Jesse eyed him suspiciously. Yesterday more tools had gone missing. Had he stumbled upon the thief? A few days a week, Yardstick worked after school for Amos Lapp, doing odd chores around the farm. On those days, like yesterday, he would have access to the buggy shop. Jesse knew the boy and his mother were under a financial strain, though it was hard to believe a hammer or wrench could do much to help that. He walked up to Yardstick, checking for any odd bulges under his coat. He glanced at the pegboard but nothing was missing.

He looked Yardstick up and down, frowning. Schier gaar gfange un doch net grickt. Almost caught but not quite. He was going to have to keep an eye on this boy. Wasn’t this always the way it turned out? The one you least suspected.

Yardstick jutted his chin out. “Have you thought about my terms for grocery deliveries?”

Appalling. Jesse very nearly caught him in an act of thievery, and the boy had the gall to demand a sky-high wage. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Good, because I have something to add on to it.”

Jesse stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious. I want running shoes thrown in. Good ones.” He lifted one scuffed boot in the air, high enough that Jesse could see a hole in the sole.

“Yardstick, I am trying to do you a favor and give you a job at something you’re obviously good at.”

“I have a job. Two, in fact. If I have to give those up, it’d better be worth it for me.”

“You’re shoveling manure. I’m offering you a chance to run. To run!”

“I make more money shoveling manure than what you’re offering me. And I don’t need no new shoes to shovel.” He walked up to Jesse, full of bravado. “Also, I want a percentage of every delivery. The way I figure it, the heavier the groceries, the more they cost. The more they cost, the more I earn.”

Highway robbery.

Yardstick’s thoughts seemed to wander. He walked around the buggy shop, looking things over, grabbing the last biscuit as he examined the tools hanging tidily on the pegboard. Jesse’s biscuits! “And I want a free sandwich each day,” he said, his mouth full. “The kind your grandmother makes. Your dad gave me one today.” He rubbed his stomach in delight. “I don’t want those sandwiches your sister Molly makes. I’ve tried one of those too.” He made a face. “What do you say?” He shoved his hand out for a shake.

A silence fell while Jesse turned this extortion over in his mind. “What do I say? I say that you are nothing but a—”

The door to the buggy repair shop opened and in walked Miriam Schrock, followed by her brothers Luke and Sammy. C.P. jumped up to greet them as Jesse’s mind went blank, completely empty, like a chalkboard that had just been erased.

“Are we interrupting?” Mim asked, ruffling C.P.’s ears. His favorite thing. How did she know?

Jesse was transfixed, rooted to the spot; he couldn’t think a moment ahead. Stunning. That was the only word that came to mind. She was absolutely stunning. Petite and fine-boned, a striking dark-haired beauty.

Yardstick tensed and kept one eye on Luke, who kept an eye on him. “Jesse and I were just agreeing to the terms of my employment at the Bent N’ Dent. And otherwise.” He reached out and grabbed Jesse’s hand to give it a shake. “Isn’t that right?”

Jesse gave a brief nod. He thought he did, anyway. His mind and his body seemed misaligned. Strangely out of kilter, the way a loose axle affects the glide of a buggy.

Yardstick dashed out the door, leaving an awkward silence. C.P. left Mim and wandered over to Luke. He made a little buzz-saw growl in his throat, which Jesse admired. His puppy had a fine sense of discernment. He called C.P. to his side, all the time unable to take his eyes off Mim.

She was so lovely, queen-like, with all that black raven hair. Did Danny Riehl appreciate her? he wondered.

Mim pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” His voice came out in a crack and Luke gave a snort. Jesse threw him a look. There was a devilish half grin on that boy’s face. Jesse cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Mim. “Never better.” He was having trouble keeping his thoughts in order. Pull yourself together, man! “How can I be of service?”

“I’m working on a Christmas gift for my mother. I want to fix up an old wooden wheelbarrow to put some flowerpots in it, and I wondered if you ever came across old hardware.” She walked around the repair shop, stopping to peek into Eli Smucker’s buggy. “Maybe not. I suppose I could go see if the old sisters have something in their garage. They’ve got so much stuff in that place, it could be a museum.”

Jesse nearly keeled over. “Miriam! You’re a genius! Thank you, thank you!” He saw Amos drive up the driveway and ran to meet him, to borrow his horse and buggy for an errand. He was halfway to the Sisters’ House before he realized he had left Mim waiting for an answer in the buggy shop. And C.P.! He had forgotten about him entirely.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Gabby’s single-mindedness was catching.