Zeb had apparently picked the wrong day to fire his childcare provider. He could not find a replacement for Eunice, and he had another tour to host the next day. Plus the following week they were expanding to tours that began and ended at the market, but included several Amish businesses at their homes. He’d be gone even longer hours. He needed someone dependable to watch Josh.
He spent over an hour at the phone booth as Josh played outside it in the dirt. Every single person he called turned him down.
They had jobs in town.
They had plans for the weekend.
They had plans every weekday and weekend.
They were working at the market.
The list of excuses grew as long as the list of numbers he dialed. There were a few octogenarians that he hadn’t tried, but one look outside the phone booth—one glimpse of Joshua painting an outline around the buggy with mud—and he tossed the idea of an eighty-year-old watching him right out the window.
Where had the boy found mud? It hadn’t rained in a week. Then Zeb saw the water spigot, meant for watering horses, and beneath that a plastic red cup someone had left behind. Mystery solved.
Josh saw his father walking toward him and froze, mid mud painting. “Am I in trouble?”
“Should you be?”
Josh glanced down at his clothes—dark blue pants, white shirt, suspenders—all a muddy brown. “Well, we are farmers, and farmers do work in the dirt.”
“Indeed, they do.”
Instead of reprimanding him for adding to the list of chores needing to be done—those mud stains were going to require soaking—Zeb walked over to the horse and leaned his forehead against hers.
Soon he felt a small, slightly dirty, kind of gritty hand slip into his.
“What’s wrong, Dat?”
Zeb took in a deep breath. Time to act like an adult. Time to once again pretend that he had a solution for every problem. “Nothing, son. Nothing at all.”
Josh cocked his head and said, “Honesty, please.”
It was something that Zeb had said to his son several times a week in the last year.
The lamp simply fell off the table? “Honesty, please.”
The last three cookies disappeared? “Honesty, please.”
Someone ran across the garden rows, burying a few of the plants with a size four shoe? “Honesty, please.”
So, when Josh said those same words back to him, Zeb couldn’t help smiling...and being honest. “Guess it’s you and me, son. Couldn’t find anyone else for you to stay with while I give tours.”
“That’s not such a bad thing.”
“But I have to go to work.”
“Why can’t I just go to Eunice’s?” Zeb touched the bump on his forehead. “Because of this?”
“Well, not exactly. I think we need someone who has more experience babysitting five-year-old boys.”
“Huh. But I liked staying with Eunice.”
“I know you did.”
“She’s nice.”
“Yup.”
“And she knows how to fix stuff.”
“Indeed.”
Josh sighed and slapped his hands together, attempting to dislodge the dried mud. “Guess I could go with you.”
“I guess you could.” Zeb didn’t think it was a good solution, but it was the only one he had at the moment. Even his own brother had plans for the following day.
They went home where he tended to the horse, threw together sandwiches for dinner, made sure Joshua had a bath and put the boy’s clothes in a bucket to soak the mud off them. By the time he was reading Josh his bedtime story, Zeb’s own eyes were drifting shut same as his son’s. He woke up an hour later with a crick in his neck and an even worse attitude than he’d had before.
As he passed through the living room to turn out the light in the kitchen, he noticed how disheveled everything was. Damp bath towel lying across the back of the sofa. Books and crayons scattered across the living room floor. Dirty dishes still on the table. Zeb ignored it all and trudged down the hall to his bedroom which took him past his brother’s open door.
His brother.
Still out at...how could it only be nine o’clock? It felt like at least midnight. When had he become that guy who fell asleep before nine in the evening? Why did he feel so old? Why was he perpetually exhausted?
He trudged to his room, managed to brush his teeth and then collapsed onto his bed. But as tired as he was, his mind insisted on replaying the day’s events.
Gideon telling him to take a breath.
Josh holding an ice pack to his head.
Eunice insisting you can’t watch a child every minute of every day.
How he had reacted in anger.
He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said to her, but it hadn’t been kind. This parenting gig was so much harder than he’d ever imagined it could be. Of course, he’d never imagined doing it alone. He was tired and frustrated and grasping at straws, and he’d taken all of those things out on Eunice.
Rolling over, he raised up, punched his pillow, then settled back down. “She should have watched him closer,” he muttered to no one. Because no one was there. He was going to have to deal with this particular situation—with his life—entirely on his own.
He slept fitfully and woke early the next morning. Cleaned up the house. Washed and hung a load of laundry. Made breakfast. By the time Samuel and Josh walked into the kitchen, Zeb had already been up for three hours. He casually glanced at his son’s head. The bump was nearly gone. Still visible but only if you knew to look for it.
Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought.
Maybe he’d overreacted.
Samuel raised an eyebrow as he glanced around the kitchen. “Why are you up with the birds?”
“Chickens,” Josh said. “He’s up with the chickens.”
“Needed to tidy up around here. What time did you get in?”
“I don’t know.” Samuel yawned as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Late. Why? Do I have a curfew?”
“What’s a curfew?” Josh was attempting to layer his eggs on top of his bacon and eat it like a sandwich.
“Stop playing with your food, son.”
“Why can’t I have cereal?”
“Because cereal isn’t as healthy as eggs.”
“I know what you mean, little man. I wouldn’t mind some Apple Jacks, myself.” Samuel high-fived Josh.
Zeb wanted to hold on to his irritation at his bruder, but he needed to conserve his energy. He stared longingly at the coffeepot on the stove. Did he dare to drink another cup? He’d already had three, and he could feel the blood pulsing through his veins. He shook his head and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher they kept in the fridge.
The rest of the meal passed in silence, for which Zeb was very grateful. He’d woken with a dull throbbing at the base of his neck. Funny that his son was the one with the injury, but he was the one with the pain. He supposed that described parenthood pretty well.
Josh asked to be excused, set his dishes in the sink, then dashed outside.
“Stay out of the dirt,” Zeb called after him. “And don’t even think about getting those clothes dirty.”
Samuel studied him over his second cup of coffee.
Zeb stared back at his bruder, wondering what he could say to explain the depth of his misery. Looking at Samuel was very much like looking in a mirror, except Samuel was three years older, a hair taller and a little thinner. Plus, he had that perpetual grin on his face. He finally settled for simply asking, “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you wanted to. Just say it.”
“I was just wondering what you’re so out of sorts about.” Samuel finished the coffee and reached for the last piece of bacon.
“Didn’t say I was out of sorts.”
“Didn’t have to.”
Zeb should have kept quiet. He’d woken that morning certain that in order to survive he had to get better control of his emotions. He’d even taken five minutes to page through his Bible. His mamm had given him a bookmark with a daily reading guide for Christmas the year before. He hadn’t used it much, but he did this morning.
Colossians chapter 4, verse 6, read, “Let your speech be always with grace...”
Yeah. His words the day before had been a lot of things but full of grace they were not. He’d vowed to do better. He’d even bowed his head and prayed that Gotte would help him do better. And now this. Something in his brother’s casual demeanor and amused expression pushed all the wrong buttons.
“Any chance you noticed the bump on my son’s head?”
“I noticed.”
“Did you even think to ask about it?”
“Didn’t have to ask, Zeb. Heard all of the details last night.”
“From whom?”
Samuel waved away that question. “He fell off a cow. He’s okay. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that Eunice was supposed to be watching him.”
“And?”
“And she did a terrible job.”
“Because he crawled on the back of the cow and then fell off?”
“Now you sound like her.”
“Hmm. Look.” Samuel yawned, rubbed his hands over his face, then picked up the coffee cup, stared into it and finally set it back down on the table. “I heard you fired Eunice, which personally I think is unfair. But the bigger question, the one that probably has you in such a sour mood, is what are you going to do with Joshua when you go to work today?”
“Any chance that you—”
“Nope.”
“Nope?” Zeb had already known the answer was going to be no. His bruder worked every Friday, and he went out every Friday night. He went out most nights.
“I work,” Samuel said. “And then I have a date. You remember dates, right?”
Zeb bit back his retort. “I don’t need a sitter. I’m taking him with me.” It certainly sounded doable when he said it with confidence.
“Did you ask Amos about that?”
“I did not. Josh will be fine. The tour group won’t even know he’s there.”
At least that’s the way he envisioned it in his head.
But when had life turned out like he’d envisioned it? He pushed that particular thought away, plastered on a smile so Samuel wouldn’t think he was sour and stood to clean the breakfast dishes. One thing he knew for certain. A single dad’s work was never done.
Eunice had spoken with Dat at dinner the night before. She’d told him about Josh’s accident and about Zeb firing her as Josh’s babysitter. Her father had been uncharacteristically quiet. He’d basically nodded, made sympathetic noises, then asked if there was any leftover pumpkin bread that he could have for dessert. She could barely believe it. He was letting the whole topic slide.
The next morning, she realized that wasn’t the case.
As soon as she sat down for breakfast—it was his morning to cook—she knew something was up. He’d scrambled eggs and made toast. Most mornings they settled for oatmeal.
“I’ve been thinking about your predicament,” he said.
She swallowed the first bite of eggs, then responded with, “You have?”
“I might have a solution.”
“Uh-oh.”
Amos laughed, slathered strawberry preserves made by one of her schweschdern onto his toast, took a giant bite, chewed and swallowed. “You still need another part-time job.”
“Or a beau.”
He froze with his hand on his coffee cup, met her eyes and smiled. “You had me there for a minute.”
“Did I?”
“Thought maybe you’d met someone.”
“Since I went to bed last night?”
“Let’s move on. You need another part-time job, and Zeb needs another stop on his tour.”
“Wait. What? I thought the tours were at the market.”
“They have been. That’s how we started, but beginning next week they’ll expand to visit places off-site.”
“Such as...”
“They’ll go to Naomi Schwartz’s home and view her sewing business.”
Naomi was a real whiz with a sewing needle and a pedal machine. She had two sets of twins, managed to make all of her children’s clothes and still had time to make items that she sold to Englischers.
Amos had sat back and was staring across the room. Eunice knew he was envisioning the tour route, seeing how it would play out. Seeing the smiles on the tourists’ faces.
“Then Jess Hochstetler’s farm to learn about how we raise animals and grow crops.”
“Is that different from how Englischers do such things?”
“It is, maybe more than you realize. After that, Zeb will guide them to Martha Lapp’s to see her quilting. All this is done with an Englisch driver.”
“Which one?” Eunice was stalling. She did not like the direction this conversation was going.
“Old Tom, Jocelyn and Martin. Each will take one day of the week.”
They were the three best drivers in their community—dependable, friendly, with large, comfy vehicles. They were who Eunice would have picked.
“The last stop was supposed to be a walk-through of Esmerelda’s little loom shop including a chance to buy any of her rugs, followed by tea.”
“Wow. Sounds like you had this planned down to the last buggy ride. Wait. Are there buggy rides?”
Amos laughed. “Back at the market, guests will have a chance to climb up into a buggy and ride around the small downtown area.”
“Doesn’t someone else already do those sorts of tours around Shipshe?”
“Indeed. I talked to the guy—a swell fellow who lives over in Goshen and is a Mennonite. He said he’s had to turn folks away. Every tour is full. That’s what gave me the idea.”
“Hmm.” Eunice still had a bad feeling about where her dat was going with this. How could she possibly help provide a stop on Zeb’s tours? Plus, there was the fact that she was probably the last person Zeb Mast wanted to see at the moment.
“Sadly, Esmerelda King has broken her ankle. There’s no way she can be a stop on the tour now. You know she has that large loom she makes rugs on.”
“I’m aware. We have one in our living room.”
“She’ll be going to stay with her schweschder in Middlebury for at least six weeks, maybe longer.”
“So, no loom stop on the tour.”
“No loom stop.”
Eunice pushed her plate and coffee out of the way, placed both hands on the table—one over the other, and voiced the question she wasn’t sure we wanted to know the answer to. “What does Esmerelda’s terrible accident have to do with me?”
“You could take her place.”
“I’m not following.”
“On the tour.”
“Still not following. I don’t sew or quilt or farm or loom.”
Amos waved toward the barn. “You could show them your gizmos. How we integrate solar power into our simple life. That sort of thing.”
Now she sat back and crossed her arms. “Assuming Zeb would want me on his tour, which at the moment is a mighty big assumption, how much did Esmerelda make?”
“Well, the total proceeds are divided by the four stops on the tour, the tour guide and the driver. Tips are split, as well. Fifteen percent each for the four tour stops. Twenty percent for the driver and the tour guide—since they’re with the group the entire time.”
“What about the market? Don’t you get a cut?”
“For the tours that stay on the market, yes. I split that money with Zeb. But for the tours that are off the property, I don’t.”
“And how much do you figure that fifteen percent will come to...roughly?”
Amos named a figure that caused Eunice to whistle. “Seriously?”
“Ya. Tours bring in gut money. Englischers enjoy a look behind the scenes, peering into the belly of the ship, so to speak.”
She squinted at him.
“I think you’d be a wunderbaar addition to the tour.”
“You do?” She didn’t have to fake a look of surprise. She was surprised. Flummoxed.
“Ya.”
“But...” She swallowed, glanced left and right, then finally looked directly at her father. “I always thought you were a little embarrassed by what I do.”
“Nein. I was never embarrassed.”
Those words sat between them for a long moment.
“Okay.” She blinked back tears, caused not just by his words, but also because of the tender expression on his face. Her father wasn’t embarrassed by her? Was it possible that he was even proud of her? She’d never even considered it. She’d stayed as far away from that question as possible.
Blinking rapidly, she fiddled with her coffee cup until she had her emotions under control. Crying at breakfast was never a productive way to start the day. “Okay. But what about Josh? I mean, if I’m not watching Josh, and assuming Zeb hasn’t found anyone else, he might have to stop doing the tours. At least until he works out childcare.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I might have a solution.”
Of course he did. He hadn’t been quietly accepting the situation the night before. He’d been plotting the next turn of events.
Though the amount of money he’d quoted could go a long way toward Eunice’s financial independence. And she was proud of the work she did in the barn. She missed it, actually. To be able to show that side of Amish life to guests, to show them a nontraditional Amish woman. That idea appealed to her.
The fly in the ointment was that she’d be working with Zeb. And Zebedee Mast was not happy with her at the moment. She wasn’t particularly happy with him either.
Still, to be able to do the work she was good at, the work she was confident with, for even part of the week was a lovely idea. It outweighed any reservations she might have about Zeb. Which was why she turned to her dat and said, “Explain it to me.”
“Simple, really. Your schweschder, Becca, would watch Josh and serve the refreshments at the end of the tour. It would be good if you shared some of what you make with her.”
“Of course. But does Becca really have the time and energy to do that? With an almost four-year-old and a seven-month-old baby?”
She thought Dat would brush off that particular concern. Would wave away any questions. Obviously, he’d already talked to Becca and Gideon, and they had agreed. Eunice was aware that she didn’t need to know the details. But the fact that he nodded slowly and explained it to her, that meant a lot. It made her feel as if she was another adult in the family.
“Becca is quite busy with the children, but she also misses her mission work. This wouldn’t be that. She understands that tourists aren’t the mission field. However, she and Gideon have prayed on this, and she thinks she can make a difference. Offering refreshment is a little thing, but isn’t it the essence of what we’re called to do? Be the hands of Christ, wherever and whenever possible?”
Eunice nodded.
“As for watching Josh, he will play well with little Mary. That’s our hope, anyway.”
She should have guessed that Becca had an altruistic reason for pitching in. Still, it could work. They could do this, and it would be good to be involved in something as a family. Well, a family plus Zeb and Josh. It stung a little that Zeb didn’t trust her with his son. A part of Eunice was hurt that he had judged her so harshly, that he had so little faith in her. Not that she had romantic feelings toward him, but rejection of any type hurt.
Another part of her realized that Zeb was very much still in the throes of grief over losing his wife.
He couldn’t see past what he’d lost. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he didn’t know how. The question was whether he’d ever find his way out from that dark place. She realized in that moment that she was worried about him. They’d been friends as long as she could remember. She didn’t want to see him hurting and angry. She didn’t want to see him struggling to raise his son alone. If he was successful with the tours, he’d be one step closer to purchasing his parents’ farm. With the financial pressure eased, perhaps he would start dating a woman in their congregation.
She could help by agreeing to be a stop on his tour.
It was a little thing.
“It’s a deal,” she said with a nod that caused her dat to stand and pull her into a hug. They weren’t a family that often showed their affections with hugs and such, but she needed that contact this morning. She took in the smell of him and understood how much her father meant to her. She depended a lot on him, and perhaps it was time that she become more independent. Maybe her father had been right all along. It was time to move forward with her life.