Chapter Two
On the following Saturday morning, Jeremiah stood slightly apart from the large crowd gathered in the field beyond The Marketplace, where the produce auction was in full swing. His younger brother, Jude, stood on a flatbed truck with a microphone, caught up in the auctioneer chant that came as second nature to him—a speed and agility of speech that made Jeremiah’s head spin whenever he tried to follow exactly what Jude was saying at any given moment.
“Sold!” Jude cried out. “Two bushel boxes of green beans at thirty-five dollars apiece! Next, we’ll be starting on the canning tomatoes, folks, and we’ve got some beauties today! This first lot comes from the Wengerds’ nursery, and you’ll not find any finer, firmer tomatoes than the ones our shopkeepers, Nelson and Michael, raise on their farm over by Queen City.”
As Jude chatted up the potential buyers, the two Wengerd men were hefting sturdy boxes of deep red tomatoes onto the flatbed so folks could get a better look at them. Glenn Detweiler and Gabe Flaud were working nearby, shifting more boxes of fresh vegetables into place so the auction would continue without any downtime. Jeremiah watched the two younger men work as though they knew each other’s rhythms and moves well—because as lifelong friends and owners of shops in The Marketplace, they often helped during the auctions rather than remaining inside to run their shops.
“Here we go, folks! Each box holds half a bushel of tomatoes,” Jude called out as he gazed out over the crowd of eager onlookers. “Once we establish the price for the first buyer, he or she can claim additional boxes for the same amount. Then we start again, until we’ve sold all the tomatoes. We’ll start the bidding at ten dollars,” he added as he held up a huge, red tomato for everyone to see.
As Jude began to chant and interested buyers’ hands shot up, his nephew, Pete, and Michael Wengerd yelped from their spots on opposite ends of the flatbed, pointing at each bidder and keeping track of the rising price Jude was singing out.
Wiping his forehead with his bandanna, Jeremiah slipped away from the auction and headed toward the rustic red stable that housed the shops. It did his heart good to see Pete actively engaged in the business being conducted, helping Jude. Their blond, muscular nephew had been on the slippery slope that led to nowhere, working the night shift with English fellows at the pet food factory near Higher Ground—and then blowing his pay at the pool hall until well past noon most days. After being in charge of renovating the stable into shops and then building the new schoolhouse, Pete seemed to be living a life of more purpose. Jeremiah knew better than to press his nephew about joining the church and settling down, but at least the chances of that happening seemed a lot better now than they had at the beginning of the summer.
The air-conditioned stillness enveloped Jeremiah as he stepped inside The Marketplace, out of the bright sunshine. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the muted light of the gas fixtures. Aromas of coffee and Jo Fussner’s fresh-baked goodies made his stomach rumble.
He waved at Jude’s redheaded twins, Alice and Adeline, as they cleared dirty dishes and napkins from the tables in The Marketplace’s open central commons. It was good to see the girls working for Jo—and enjoying it immensely—after they’d gone through a patch of adolescent trouble when their dat had remarried. All in all, Jeremiah felt greatly satisfied about the direction the younger members of the Shetler family were headed these days. God had been good indeed, and the bishop was grateful that He’d helped Pete and the twins put their difficult times behind them.
When he spotted the slender blonde in Glenn’s wood shop, Jeremiah’s heart thudded faster for a couple of beats. Ever since her interview on Monday, his thoughts had been filled with Lydianne—and he wasn’t sure why. She was an attractive woman, to be sure, but she was several years younger than he and of such a different temperament than his dear, deceased Priscilla, that he’d never given her a second thought as marriage material.
There’s a lot we don’t know about Miss Christner, he mused as he found himself stepping in her direction. It had come as a complete surprise to hear that she’d lost a fiancé as well as her parents before she came to Morning Star—but where had she come from? She’d lived here about six years, so why didn’t he know more about her family?
Jeremiah told himself this wasn’t the time or place to press the new teacher for answers, yet, as he watched Lydianne straightening the wooden toys on Glenn’s shelves, his curiosity prickled. She’d been covering Detweiler’s shop lately, because Glenn had missed some time at The Marketplace when his wife had fallen ill and then died after Levi’s birth had severely depleted her body. Was there more to their relationship than he’d imagined? Had Glenn’s outburst about his young son needing a woman in his life been a play for Lydianne’s sympathy—a bid for her affection?
Jeremiah frowned as a totally different emotion overcame him. He suddenly didn’t want Lydianne to be interested in Glenn—and that revelation gave him pause.
“Ah, Bishop, how are you?” Lydianne called out when she spotted him near the shop’s doorway. “How’s the produce auction going?”
Jeremiah was happy to answer a question that had nothing to do with relationships—his, or Glenn’s. He reminded himself that Lydianne often acted as a floater, helping in the various shops when owners had a lot of customers, or when they needed to be away for a bit. Her presence in Detweiler’s shop didn’t necessarily mean she was interested in the young widower.
“Jude’s out there selling beans and tomatoes and zucchinis—you name it—by the bushel boxfuls,” he replied with a smile. “And from what I can see, our crowd increases with each auction we hold. It’s been a real advantage to have the larger field this property provided us—not to mention the use of the restroom facilities behind the schoolhouse. I’m glad Pete talked us into building those with multiple stalls on each side—and flush toilets.”
“And how’s Glenn doing out there? Maybe it’s my imagination, but he’s seemed a lot sadder lately. Really preoccupied,” Lydianne remarked.
The sympathy in her voice ratcheted up Jeremiah’s envy—and why was that? Everyone in the church district was very concerned about how Glenn was managing to keep up with seven-year-old Billy Jay and dealing with a new baby, even though his parents lived with him. “He’s very busy, shifting boxes of produce,” he replied carefully. “I suspect he’s glad to have work that keeps him moving and engaged, rather than hanging around in his shop when there’s a lull in the customers. Grief gets more difficult when you have too much time to think about things.”
Lydianne nodded, focusing her clear blue eyes on him. “I would imagine you know a lot about that, even though your Priscilla’s been gone for a few years now,” she said softly. “They say time heals all wounds, but some folks leave holes in our lives that we have no way to fill again after they pass.”
Jeremiah blinked rapidly, his soul crying out with the reality that Lydianne had stated so succinctly. She knew about love and loss, after all, even if she’d never been married.
“I suspect you can give Glenn exactly the kind of comfort and advice he’ll be needing, seeing’s how you’ve been down the same road,” she continued gently. “Folks who haven’t lost a spouse can try, but they don’t truly understand the long, lonely silences that haunt the one who survives.”
The long, lonely silences that haunt the one who survives.
Jeremiah drew in a long breath to steady his emotions. Somehow, Lydianne had just summed up his entire life since Priscilla’s unexpected passing. When he’d returned home from the emergency room without his wife, after an MRI had identified the ruptured brain aneurysm that killed her, it had been the silence in the house that had clawed like a crazed wild animal at his soul.
He pulled himself from the past, searching for words that wouldn’t sound maudlin—or miserable. “You make a gut point, Lydianne,” he said in the firmest voice he could manage. “I should probably offer to spend time with him a couple evenings each week. What with his parents being elderly and his boys demanding a lot of attention, I doubt Glenn has anybody to share his troubles with.”
And if he’s spending evenings with me, he won’t be with you, Lydianne.
The thought, coming totally from out of the blue, startled Jeremiah. Why was he suddenly so determined to keep Glenn and Lydianne from becoming romantically involved? It was only natural—and extremely beneficial—when men and women paired up and lived in the matrimonial state God wanted for His children. Belonging to a warm, loving family was the greatest blessing anyone could ask for.
Once again, he searched for a safer, less emotional subject to discuss. “Have you been to the bookstore yet to buy supplies for the schoolroom?” he asked. “When you go, be sure to put those items on the school board’s account. We certainly don’t expect you to pay for them out of your own pocket.”
Lydianne’s face lit up like the summer sun. “I’m going Monday afternoon after I get off work at the factory,” she replied brightly. “I haven’t had a chance to shop yet, because I suspect Martin’s been finding more bookwork than usual—and assigning me more staining—now that he knows I’ll be leaving after this week.”
Jeremiah chuckled. “The Flauds will miss you and your gut work,” he said. “And what with Regina leaving soon to marry Gabe, Martin will be hard pressed to replace the two of you ladies—especially because the company takes so many orders here at The Marketplace these days.”
“Jah, each week when I review the accounts with Martin, he says he needs to hire one or two more carpenters as well as replacements for us stainers,” she agreed. “Who knows? He might talk to Pete—or Glenn—about signing on, even if they don’t want to work full-time. They’re both awfully gut with wood.”
“They are,” Jeremiah agreed, suddenly needing to leave rather than to talk any more about Detweiler with this attractive young woman. “Well, have a gut day, Lydianne. I’ve got some errands to run and a few other folks to catch up with.”
Had he sounded rude or abrupt? As he headed toward the other shops, he hoped the new teacher hadn’t picked up on his mixed feelings about her sympathies for Glenn. He spoke briefly with Martha Maude and Anne Hartzler in their quilting shop, accepted a fresh brownie from Jo in her bakery, and exchanged a few words with Martin in the Flaud Furniture shop.
When he stepped outside again, Jude’s voice was still ringing above the crowd as he raised the bid on boxes of green cabbage that the women were probably buying to make kraut—although some of the folks in the crowd ran restaurants and cafés in nearby towns, as well. Jeremiah started toward the corral behind the rustic red stable, whistling for his dapple-gray Percheron gelding. He felt strangely restless and uninterested in the goings-on at The Marketplace, needing to retreat to the stillness of his porch and the pastures that surrounded his home.
He swung himself up onto his horse’s broad bare back. As Jeremiah rode toward the county highway, he murmured, “Let’s go home, Mitch. Careful now—there are lots of cars out because it’s Saturday.”
The Percheron’s spotted ears stood up as he listened. Mitch followed the white plank fence that surrounded The Marketplace’s grounds, remaining in the mowed grass beside it and as far from the traffic as he could walk. When the traffic lights at the intersection of Morning Star’s main street turned green, Jeremiah urged Mitch into a trot as they crossed in front of the stopped cars on the highway.
From there, the street became a paved road that cut through the countryside, which was dotted with Amish farms. Jeremiah relaxed. The slower pace of life on this side of town soothed his soul, and the sight of green pastures dotted with trees, where Saul Hartzler’s registered Angus cattle stood in the shade, made his world feel right again. Perched upon the next hillside, his white farmhouse shimmered in the August heat and humidity, but rather than ride directly home, Jeremiah guided his horse to the packed dirt trail around the next bend.
As he passed the rows of tall, green, field corn growing between his home and the road, he anticipated a bumper crop this fall. Although he still sold a lot of his corn to the grain elevator in Clearwater, he’d begun having most of it processed into ethanol when he’d taken on the additional duties of being Morning Star’s bishop, earning him more money for the same amount of labor. Jeremiah was also pleased as he rode past several acres of alfalfa hay that would soon be ready to cut. Most of this crop would be baled and sold to Plain families in the area to feed their livestock over the winter.
Many of his neighbors could no longer support themselves by farming, but Jeremiah felt blessed. When Jude had married his first wife several years ago, he’d taken over the Shetler family acreage, so Jeremiah had purchased two large adjoining farms from families who were leaving the Morning Star district. Farming allowed him to keep a flexible schedule and tend his congregation’s spiritual needs. He’d hired Will Gingerich, the nephew of Bishop Vernon in Cedar Creek, to help with planting and harvesting, which gave Jeremiah more time for his church duties and provided extra income for Will.
Farming also kept him humble and at the mercy of God’s weather conditions. It took enormous faith to plant crops in the spring and then deal with badly timed rain, hail, droughts, and sometimes even tornadoes, before harvesting whatever the Lord had provided by fall.
Jeremiah knew exactly what it meant to be dependent upon God. Every farmer did.
Mitch followed the trail toward the woods that grew along the banks of the Missouri River tributary and formed the boundary between Jeremiah’s two farms. On hot days, the canopy of trees gave welcome relief from the heat. Large outcroppings of rocks along the riverbank provided a place where Jeremiah loved to sit when he needed time alone. The rush of the water played a tune his soul never tired of hearing. When he felt perplexed or lonely for Priscilla—or needed to think about church matters—he lost himself in watching leaves and bubbles flowing along with the water’s current.
Rather than dismounting to sit on his favorite rock, Jeremiah gazed at the river for a bit and then turned Mitch back toward the house. “Mamm says I’m due for a haircut before we have church tomorrow,” he remarked. “And you know I always do what my mother tells me!”
The Percheron whickered, as though he were chuckling.
After Jeremiah fed and watered his gelding and the buggy mare in the stable, he headed for the house. As he entered the large kitchen, his mamm looked up from the half-gallon pitcher of fresh-brewed tea she’d made. With a quick twist of her wrists, she emptied a plastic tray of ice cubes into the pitcher.
“Too hot in this kitchen to cook tonight, after I spent the day baking bread and frying chicken to take to the common meal tomorrow,” she announced. “I’ve got potato salad to go with a few pieces of that chicken I kept back for us—”
“That’s fine,” Jeremiah said.
“—unless maybe you have other plans, like treating a lady friend to supper.”
His eyebrows shot up. Why had she said that?
Mamm laughed. “Gut grief, son, do you figure to spend the rest of your life in this house with me for company? Surely you can find better entertainment on a Saturday night than snapping green beans on the porch.”
He searched for a thread of conversation that would go in a different direction. “You said I needed a haircut—”
“And I can have you clipped and ready for a date in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” she shot back. To show him just how serious she was, she took her sharpest scissors from the kitchen drawer, grabbed a tea towel, and waved him toward the front porch. “Folks are starting to talk, Jeremiah, saying it’s time you found another wife. It’s been more than three years—”
“I know exactly how long Priscilla’s been gone, Mamm.” Lydianne’s face flickered in the back of his mind, but he blinked the image away. To distract himself further, he poured two glasses of tea before he followed her out the door with them.
“—and it’s time for you to move on with your life,” Mamm continued with a wag of her finger. She sighed, blotting the moisture from her forehead with the towel. “If it would make things easier for you, I could move back over to Jude’s place and help Leah with their new baby when it comes—”
“Leah’s mamm already lives there with them,” he reminded her gently.
“—so you and a new bride could start the family you weren’t able to have before,” she continued in a tight voice. She waited for Jeremiah to position himself in a chair before draping the towel over the front of his shirt. “It might be easier for a second wife if you didn’t have your buttinsky mother around all the time, so I’ll relocate. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be happy again . . . and give me some more grandbabies.”
Jeremiah’s throat got so tight he couldn’t talk. He focused on his flummoxed mother before grasping her hand. Ordinarily, Margaret Shetler was outspoken and totally in control of her emotions, yet she seemed upset as she met his gaze.
“Mamm, what’s all this talk about privacy and marriage and babies?” he asked gently. “I appreciate your offer—but what’s got you so stirred up about my singular state today? And why would you think I want you to move out? This is your home. You’re living in the dawdi haus, so—come the day I might remarry—my wife and I would have the rest of this huge two-story house to ourselves.”
With a sigh, his mother held out her hand. Jeremiah pulled the comb from his pants pocket, and she ran it through his hair before she replied. “I—I suppose it’s because Rose Wagler’s baby is almost due, and your brother and Leah are expecting their wee one in September, and—”
Jeremiah’s heart shriveled at the wistful tone of his mamm’s voice. He’d tried not to think too much about those two bundles of joy, because other couples’ new babies were another reminder that he and Priscilla had been unable to conceive. In the back of his mind, he’d always wondered if he might be to blame—but he hadn’t dared consult a doctor to find out. He’d accepted their childless state as God’s will.
“—I don’t want you to miss out on the blessings of having a family, Jeremiah,” she continued in a hoarse whisper. She positioned her scissors about an inch beneath his ear and clipped in a line that ran around the back of his neck, finishing on the other side. As she fingered his beard where it joined his sideburn, she sucked in her breath. “You’re getting gray hair, son! Now you really need to get serious about finding a wife!”
“Before I turn into an old goat?” he teased. He’d noticed those little silver streaks earlier, when he’d been shaving his cheeks, but it was one more thing he was trying not to think about.
“While you can still—you know. Father children.”
Jeremiah closed his eyes, wondering how to get his mother onto a more uplifting subject. “I’m only forty-one—and who would you have me court, Mamm?” he challenged. “Name me all the women you think would make me a gut wife. And I’m telling you right now, Naomi and Esther do not fall into that category.”
At least his mother had the grace to grimace at the idea of his marrying either maidel Slabaugh sister. She trimmed the hair that fell over his forehead as she considered her response. “We’ll have a lot of folks coming to town for the Shetler reunion, middle of next month—”
“And they’re all cousins or shirttail relatives of some sort,” Jeremiah reminded her firmly. “It’s not a gut idea for me to swim in such a small gene pool. Try again.”
She carefully trimmed a few stray hairs on his left eyebrow. “The Helfing girls are single, and there’s Jo—”
“Jo’s accustomed to living with her mother—and can you imagine our life if Drusilla came here to live with us?” Jeremiah put in quickly. “Besides, those gals—and Lydianne—are all in their twenties or early thirties. Way too young for me, and maybe not suited to being a bishop’s wife, ain’t so?”
Mamm trimmed his other eyebrow without answering him.
“It’s not as though I’m a first-time husband,” he continued, “and my time’s not entirely my own. I have to give energy and attention to church members whenever they need it. New—younger—wives might not adjust so well to that. And they might not be ready to walk the higher path folks expect a bishop’s wife to follow.”
Mamm took the towel from around his neck and shook it out. “You’re awfully quick to discount the eligible women in our district, son. Does this mean you need to scout around in other towns?”
Jeremiah let out a short laugh. “Oh, believe me, Vernon in Cedar Creek and Tom in Willow Ridge—and every other bishop I know—have been dropping big hints about the unattached women in their districts,” he said with a shake of his head. “They’ve told me I’m too picky. But I refuse to settle for just anybody to get the matchmakers off my back. I’ll never love another woman the way I loved Priscilla—”
“And that’s the problem,” Mamm interjected softly. “Priscilla’s gone, dear. You can’t seem to see anyone else in a positive light, because the shine of her halo blinds you to other possibilities.”
Jeremiah gazed out toward the lawn. His mother was right—he’d loved his wife with all his heart, and he’d placed her memory on a rather saintly pedestal. In his dreams he still saw Priscilla’s flawless face, framed by her pale blond hair; he still heard her gentle voice in his ear, the way she’d sung as she’d worked in the kitchen. These memories were blessings, because they helped him forget the headache she’d complained of for a couple of days before it had suddenly become so unbearable that she’d passed out from extreme pain.
By the time he’d gotten her to the emergency room, it had been too late. The doctor there had suggested that an MRI of Priscilla’s head might pinpoint the cause of her death, so Jeremiah had agreed to that procedure. The scan showed that an aneurysm had burst in her brain—but that knowledge hadn’t really eased the excruciating pain her passing had caused him. Jeremiah had indeed elevated his wife’s memory, enshrining her in his mind, because that was what had kept him sane while he grieved.
As he faced the truth of his mother’s statement about the shine of Priscilla’s halo, Jeremiah kept looking out past the porch railing—but no matter how long he focused on the huge blue hydrangea in Mamm’s flower garden, it didn’t suggest a solution to his problem.
“Other men seem to adjust their requirements and find new mates, Jeremiah—and that’s what God intends for you, too, dear,” his mother continued in a thin voice. “Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think Glenn’s already heading in that direction. He’s certainly had his eye on Lydianne of late.”
Jeremiah sucked in his breath before he could catch himself. Why did Mamm have to start on that topic now?
“Of course, Glenn needs a mamm for his little boys, so his situation is different from yours,” she continued matter-of-factly. “Even so, I’d hate to see him start courting her before you tried to win her. Of all the maidels in Morning Star, Lydianne impresses me as the most level-headed and open-minded. She’s cheerful and generous and intelligent—”
“That’s why we hired her as our new schoolteacher,” Jeremiah interrupted. “It would be poor timing on my part to court her with intentions to marry her. We’d have to hire another teacher before the school year was out—”
“There you go again, finding excuses not to even take anyone out on a date!” Mamm blurted in exasperation. “You find ways to meet everyone else’s needs, yet you’re not the least bit imaginative when it comes to pursuing your own happiness. Your brother hitched up with the least likely woman on the planet, but Leah’s proven herself to be every bit as wonderful as Jude believed she was. And now they have a nice, happy family.”
“Partly because Leah’s mamm does the cooking and a lot of the household chores so Leah can tend her livestock,” Jeremiah pointed out. He remembered quite well how many times he’d tried to dissuade Jude from marrying the woman who’d been more at home in a barn than in a kitchen—but his brother had proven all the naysayers wrong.
And Jeremiah envied Jude and Leah their happiness every time he saw how good they were together.
Mamm sighed. “I can see this conversation’s going nowhere. Just think about what I’ve said, all right? Your clock’s ticking, son. It’s later than you think.”
After Mamm went into the house, Jeremiah remained morosely in the chair with the two untouched glasses of tea on the porch table beside him. Even though he was thirsty, he’d lost his taste for any sort of refreshment.
I’d hate to see him start courting her before you tried to win her.
Mamm’s words about Glenn and Lydianne replayed in his mind a couple of times, like a broken record, before he could stop them from repeating. Why had she zeroed in on the possibility of that relationship? And why did the thought of Detweiler and the new teacher together irritate him to the core?
Of all the maidels in Morning Star, Lydianne impresses me as the most level-headed and open-minded. She’s cheerful and generous and intelligent . . .
He sighed and stood up. His mother was probably as right about Lydianne as she was about the fact that he was starting to get some gray hair.
And those two ideas don’t go very well together, do they? Miss Christner was indeed a nice young woman—a nice too-young woman. There was no denying that she was an attractive blue-eyed blonde, but wouldn’t he feel like an old wolf leading an innocent young lamb into his lair on their wedding night?
Why are you even thinking about going to bed with Lydianne? You’re her bishop! Jeremiah chided himself.
Disgusted and restless, he went into the mudroom and grabbed the big basket of green beans his mother had picked during the day. What else did he have to do but snap them into bite-sized pieces so they’d be ready when she wanted to can them?
Sadly enough, Mamm had been right about that, too.