Later that afternoon, Wendy planned to stop at E&J’s grocery store. The trip to Barton with Mom had taken up most of the afternoon, the highlight being Pancho’s, of course. After they finished their food—Wendy had opted for a vegetable quesadilla while her mother filled up on her beloved tacos—the two of them went to the craft store and then the fabric store. Both visits had surprised Mom.
“You’re interested in sewing?” Mom had asked as they entered the small shop.
“I just want to look and see what’s here.” There wasn’t much to choose from aside from Amish fabrics, and Wendy found herself looking at a sample dress on a dressmaker’s form. Marigold wasn’t her first encounter with the Amish. Growing up, she and her parents would visit Lancaster, Pennsylvania, at least once a year, although by the time she was a teenager, Wendy had lost interest. You see one farm and buggy, you’ve seen them all. She didn’t think that way anymore, and she was fascinated by the sample dress. The Ohio Amish wore a different style of white hat than the Lancaster women did. A kapp, Charity and Priscilla, Micah’s wife, had called it. She remembered the ones in Lancaster were more heart-shaped than the rounded style Marigold women wore.
What was it like not to worry about what you wore every day? Or having to keep up with the latest hairstyle and makeup trends? She was never a clothes maven, and her style was functionally classic, with minimal jewelry and accessories. She touched the dress, appreciating the sturdy fabric, modest design, and deep-plum color. What would it feel like to wear this?
They ended up not buying any crafts or fabric, but it was fun to browse. After she dropped off Mom for an afternoon nap, she took Monroe for his overdue visit to the Bontragers. While Monroe and Brook played together, she visited with Charity, who was copying down recipes from another French cookbook. They were too complicated for Wendy’s simple cooking skills, and as she and Monroe walked back home, she tried to decide what to make for supper. Something light, since lunch had been so heavy. Soup sounded good, but they were out of crackers. Despite her aversion to carbs, she couldn’t eat soup without crackers.
Wendy then bundled up and headed for E&J’s. Thirty minutes later she arrived. She could have driven there, but she was in the mood for another walk. The parking lot was empty, even though it wasn’t near closing time. She went inside, intending to buy crackers and leave. But she couldn’t resist picking up one of the shopping baskets just in case she saw something else she wanted.
The store was surprisingly deserted. She always saw at least one Yoder in the store—usually Barnabas. As she walked over to the cracker and cookie aisle, she glanced at the back of the store and saw gardening supplies. She had no idea they sold them here. Then again, she hadn’t thought about gardening until recently. After picking up a box of saltines and a container of buttery crackers, she went to the garden section. Sparse, but there was a rack of seed packets and a few tools. Some bins were empty, which made sense because it was winter.
She was studying a packet of cucumber seeds when she heard a door open in the back. Junia Yoder rushed past her, her face pinched and red, followed quickly by Ella, who was clenching her jaw. Unlike Junia, she stopped near Wendy and pasted a smile on her face. “Can I help you with anything?”
“I’m just browsing.” She put the seeds back. “But I’m thinking about starting a garden in the spring.”
“Great,” Ella said flatly. “We’ll have more supplies closer to that time.” Without waiting for Wendy to reply, she hurried off.
Wendy frowned. Odd. Ella was normally friendly, although a little uptight. Wendy could relate. She’d spent most of her adult life being uptight. She moved to examine the two spades that were hanging from a peg on the wall. She and Mom hadn’t thought about getting one of these. She’d have to add it to the list.
When she turned around, she caught a glimpse of the open office door and saw Barnabas at his desk, his head in his hands. She should look away, but for some reason she couldn’t. Why was he so despondent?
Without thinking, she moved closer to the door. His shoulders were slumped, as if a heavy weight were pressed upon them. “Barnabas?”
His head popped up and he straightened in the chair. “Hi,” he said, his normally placid expression replacing the haggard lines she’d glimpsed. “Can I help you?”
“Are you okay?” She shouldn’t be prying, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t like seeing this gentle man in distress.
“Sure am.”
But the crack in his voice said otherwise and his fading pleasant expression wasn’t too convincing either. “Um, okay. Have, uh, a good evening, then.” She started to retreat, recognizing she had crossed a line by asking him such a personal question. As she turned around to leave, he cleared his throat.
“I think I need some advice.”
She faced him, but he had his head down. Silvery gray strands threaded through his brown, Amish-cut hair. “Of the legal kind?”
“No.” He coughed into his fist, still staring at his tidy desk. “Of the . . . female kind.”
Wendy nodded. She pulled the office door behind her but made sure it was cracked open in case either of his daughters wanted to come in, and she sat down on the metal folding chair in front of him. Considering the state Ella and Junia were in a few minutes earlier, she suspected he wanted to talk about them. “How can I help?”
He finally lifted his head, and she was struck by the weariness in his eyes. She listened as he told her how his daughters were constantly fighting with each other. “They’ve always been at odds,” he said. “I chalked it up to their temperaments. Junia’s a free spirit, creative, and clever. Ella is disciplined, orderly, and loyal. But they have one thing in common—both are as stubborn as the day is long.”
She didn’t know much about Ella and Junia, but the interactions she’d had with them at the store revealed they both had strong personalities. Junia did seem more flighty than down-to-earth Ella, but they had always been courteous and helpful to her. She also appreciated how well Barnabas knew his daughters.
It should have struck her as odd that Barnabas was asking her for advice. He was an Amish man, a father, and owned a small-town grocery store. She was English, a lawyer, and knew nothing about kids. They couldn’t be more dissimilar. But there was something natural about this conversation, despite his distress. He was at his wit’s end, and she wanted to help him.
“I reckon their squabbling is my fault.” He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hand over his face. “After their mother died, it was easier to let my sisters handle them. I should have been more of a disciplinarian. But I’m not one for conflict. Never have been.”
That was another difference between them. Wendy never shied away from a good fight, especially in the courtroom. But listening to him take responsibility for his mistakes was refreshing. In her line of work, she was used to people doing the exact opposite. “I take it they had another fight recently?”
“Right here in the office.” He sighed, then shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Bothering you with this. I’m not sure why I’m telling you my problems.”
She leaned forward and smiled. “Maybe it’s because you need to.”
He nodded, giving her a small smile of his own. “Thanks for listening. God willing, I’ll figure this out. Or I’ll build my own house behind the main one, move in, and leave them to their own devices. That’s not a bad idea, come to think of it.”
“Would it solve anything?”
“No. But I would have some peace.”
Leaning back in the chair, she set the crackers in her lap. “Have you ever thought about conflict mediation?”
“What’s that?”
“Having a neutral party help you resolve the dispute.”
“Do I need a lawyer for that?”
“No,” she said. “Although sometimes we do mediate between clients or corporations. All you need is someone who isn’t involved in the conflict. Someone from your church could help, for example. They would listen to all sides of the issue and give their input. Sometimes just airing grievances can clear the air.”
Barnabas rested his folded hands on the desktop. “My daughters have a lot of grievances,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure I want someone I see all the time knowing our dirty laundry. The Lord says to share our burdens, but . . .”
She waited for him to finish.
He looked at her again. “It’s shameful I can’t manage my household.”
Her heart went out to him. She disagreed that he should feel ashamed, but that wasn’t her call. Although she was learning more about Amish ways through Charity and Priscilla, they discussed the rules they followed more than anything personal. She did know they followed biblical hierarchy and considered the man the head of the family while women oversaw hearth and home. She wanted to tell him not to be hard on himself, but she wasn’t in the position to do so. She did have another idea, though. “I could be the mediator,” she said.
He shook his head. “I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“You’re not imposing. I’m volunteering. As a corporate lawyer I’ve had a lot of experience with conflict, Barnabas. And I can promise whatever you and your daughters say, it will be kept confidential. You have my word as an attorney and—” She almost said friend but caught herself. She and Barnabas weren’t anywhere close to being friends—they were barely acquaintances—and what she was offering was a business solution to a family problem. From his doubtful expression, she didn’t think he’d agree anyway.
“All right,” he said, surprising her. “I’ll give it some thought. Ella might be open to the idea, but Junia will be a tough sell.”
“If you decide you need me, just let me know.” She pulled her wallet out of the pocket of her coat and opened the magnetic clasp. She always had business cards on her in a variety of places—her purse, wallet, briefcase, and sometimes she grabbed them out of the key bowl near the front door of her apartment and put them in her pocket when she ran out to do errands in the city. She never knew if she would run into someone who could use her legal services. She pulled out a card and a pen, crossed out her New York City address, and wrote down her mother’s, then handed it to Barnabas.
“Thank you.” He took the card and laid it on the desk. “And thanks again for listening. You’re right—I do feel a little better having talked about this.”
She smiled, feeling more satisfied than she had in a long time. A good reminder of why she went to law school in the first place—to help others. That intention had been lost somewhere along her climb to the top.
“Now, what can I help you with?” He stood. “You need anything to go with those crackers?”
“I’m making soup tonight,” she said, standing up. “Vegetable. We were out of crackers, though.”
He nodded. “Can’t have soup without crackers.”
She chuckled. “No, you can’t. At least, I can’t.”
Barnabas opened the door for her, and she walked through, seeing the gardening supplies again. “I mentioned to Ella that I might put in a garden in the spring,” she said. “It will be my first one. I never had the space or time to have one in New York.”
“I put one in every year.” He straightened up a lone rake hanging next to the spades. “If you need some help, let me know.”
“Will do.”
“I can ring up the crackers for you,” he said, holding out his hands.
She handed them to him. “Thank you.”
They made their way up front. Ella was outside the front door, attacking the entryway with a broom. “Guess she’s still fired up,” Barnabas muttered as he walked behind the counter.
Wendy glanced at Ella. Those bristles were taking a beating. At least Ella was putting her anger to good use.
Barnabas put the crackers in a bag, holding up his hand when she offered to pay him. “It’s on me.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Please. Allow me.”
Something shifted inside her when she saw his smile. Such a kind man. She took the bag from him. “Thank you.”
“See you next time.”
She smiled back and walked out the door. Hopefully next time would be soon. Very soon.
* * *
Ella watched as Wendy left the store carrying her purchases. The parking lot was empty, so she assumed the woman had walked here. She had no idea where she lived, and right now she didn’t care. As soon as Wendy was near the road, Ella went inside the store and headed straight for her father, who was pulling forward a box of saltines to fill the empty space on the shelf.
“What were you talking to her about?” Ella demanded.
Daed adjusted the saltines, remaining silent.
“She was in our office, ya?”
He nodded, now fiddling with a package of chocolate sandwich cookies.
“Daed—”
“Our conversation is none of your business, Ella.”
She stopped, surprised by his prickly tone. “She’s a lawyer, ya? What do you need to talk to a lawyer for?”
He turned to her, his jaw clenched. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Ya, but—”
He turned his back to her and moved away. “Mind the store,” he said, his tone gruff.
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk.” He left.
Ella leaned against the broom handle in her hand. What was going on? She was still mad at Junia, who had somehow convinced her father that making supper for Malachi was more important than cleaning the house for church service. She still didn’t understand how she managed that, but by the end of their discussion in the office, Daed had given in. “I’ll take care of the store,” he said. “That will give you time to clean the house.”
“It won’t take all day for her to make a meal,” Ella pointed out.
“I have to finish Malachi’s scarf too.” Junia lifted her chin in triumph. “I want to give it to him Saturday night.”
“Daed,” Ella blustered. “She’s being ridiculous.”
He looked at her, then at Junia, then pointed to the door. “Out.”
Junia laughed. “Yeah, Ella. You need to leave—”
“Both of you.”
Ella scoffed. “But Daed—”
“Geh. Now.”
Anger had flashed in Junia’s eyes. She stormed out of the office and rushed through the baking aisle before flying out the door, Ella on her heels. But when Ella saw Wendy looking at the garden tools, she stopped. They had a customer, and she couldn’t just ignore her like Junia did. That wasn’t good business practice. After speaking with Wendy, she went up to the front, only to hear the door to the office close a minute or so later. She needed to do something about that squeaky hinge.
When Wendy didn’t appear after a few minutes, Ella went back and heard muffled voices through the door. She wanted to eavesdrop, but they had another customer. While Ella waited on him, she thought about Junia and got mad all over again. After he left, she went outside to sweep and work off her frustration.
She glanced at the abused broom. Hmm, she might have to replace it. But the front of the store was clean now.
Ella glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes until close. She doubted Junia and Daed would return before five. When another customer walked through the door, she put on her best customer service face and went to work.
Close to five thirty she locked the door and left the shop. A few snowflakes drifted through the crisp, dry air as she walked across the street to the house. The light in the kitchen was already on, so someone was home. She entered the back kitchen door and saw Junia sitting at the table, looking at one of the knitting magazines she received in the mail every month.
“Couldn’t you have at least started supper?” Ella snapped.
“Nee.” Junia slowly turned the page. “That’s yer job.”
Ooh, she wanted to strangle her. She stilled. When she reached that level of anger, she knew she had to pause, count, and take deep breaths to stop her from saying or doing something she would regret. After counting to ten, she went to the pantry, grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter and parked them in front of Junia.
“What’s this?”
“Supper.” She rushed out of the kitchen to the living room. The fire in the woodstove needed stoking, and she continued to count as she put pieces of split wood inside it. “Ninety-eight,” she said through gritted teeth. “Ninety-nine—”
The front door opened, and her father walked in. Ella closed the grate and stood, ready to question him again about where he’d been all this time. But she clamped her mouth shut. Asking him was pointless, just like getting Junia to do any work was fruitless. Instead, she ignored him and started up the stairs to her bedroom. She’d rather be alone than with either of them right now.
“Ella.”
She paused, her foot on the bottom step, tempted to ignore him and leave. But she couldn’t be that disrespectful. She loved her father, even though he could be exasperating. She quickly counted to eight and faced him.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” he said.
The fatigue on his face startled her. She hurried to him. “Are you okay? You were gone a long time.”
He moved to sit in his chair. “I’m . . . fine. Just needed some time to think.” He lifted his palm as she opened her mouth. “Don’t ask,” he said, looking straight at her.
She shut her mouth and nodded. “Can I get you anything?”
“Nee. I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? I was just about to make supper.” She bit her bottom lip at the lie, but she was more concerned about her father than making a point to Junia.
“Ya, I’m sure. I’m just going to sit here for a little bit. You and Junia geh ahead and eat.”
Now she had to go back to the kitchen and make a meal, since she’d fibbed to her father. Which meant she’d have to face Junia again. Great. This day needed to end already.
Ella went into the kitchen. Junia had shoved the peanut butter and bread to the side, and she looked up from her magazine as if she’d expected all along that Ella would return and fulfill her duty. A satisfied grin flashed on her face before she went back to reading.
Lord, give me strength. As she set about making a quick supper that was more substantial than a peanut butter sandwich, she felt the anger melt into exhaustion. She filled a pot with water to boil noodles and looked at the little red bird figurines on the windowsill, surrounded by pine cones, some greenery, and little bundles of red berries. At least Junia had decorated the house and store for Christmas, something Ella hadn’t had the time or the talent to do. She couldn’t deny Junia had a gift for making simple decor look wonderful, and Christmas wasn’t the only time she put her skills to use. During the spring and summer months, her sister made sure there were fresh flowers in glass vases all around the house, and in the fall she decorated with pumpkins, dried berries, gourds, and brightly colored leaves.
But just because Junia could bedeck a room didn’t mean Ella forgave her.
She put the filled pot on the stove as Junia got up from the table. “Let me know when it’s time to eat,” she said and walked out of the kitchen.
Ella hung her head, some of the tension falling from her shoulders now that Junia was gone. Was this how her life was going to be until her sister married and moved out? I’m doing all the work and she has all the fun. She didn’t understand why her father kept allowing that. Why are you allowing it, God?
Twenty minutes later, she set out the bowl of beef stroganoff on the table next to a plate with a few slices of bread. She’d made sure to make enough for all three of them to eat, and she was glad she did because her father showed up with Junia, looking more relaxed than he had when he was talking to Ella. Her sister almost always had that effect on him, while Ella could only accomplish the opposite.
Ella sat down at the table, not looking at either of them. Instead, she prayed over the meal and started to ask God for another dose of patience. She stopped. Why bother? He never answered that prayer either.