The first few days of the following week flew. Eunice worked at the yarn shop on Monday and Tuesday. Myra Lancaster was determined to teach her how to knit, which wasn’t going particularly well.
Eunice could take a small motor apart by touch. She knew where every piece should be, how those parts should feel, what they should do. But give her yarn and two needles, and she was a disaster.
“You’re holding it wrong again.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Try to relax.”
“Right.”
“It’s not a fork and knife, you know.”
After another grueling fifteen minutes during which she managed to knot up the yarn twice, she was finally released to restock some shelves. At least that was something she could do quickly and correctly. She’d even discovered that she was learning to enjoy the wide variety of colors and the way various types of yarn felt different in her hands. They currently had several autumn displays up, but Myra had ordered quite a bit of reds and greens and golds for Christmas projects which they were going to display the following week.
“We have to start selling it well before Christmas,” Myra explained. “It takes most people several weeks to do a project. By having the holiday colors out the second week of November, we’re giving them time to plan.”
“Seems as if we’re trampling on Thanksgiving.”
“Says the woman who’s taken a week to knit a pot holder.” Myra’s words were offered with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Eunice laughed. “And still it’s the wrong shape—it doesn’t even resemble a square. Or a rectangle for that matter. It’s more like a trapezoid.”
“Don’t give up, my dear. Some things simply require perseverance.”
Eunice thought about that as she drove away. Maybe Zeb required perseverance. Why was it that he was stuck in her head? He wasn’t her problem. Not really. So why did she feel responsible for him?
Like she did at least once an hour, she forced her thoughts in another direction. She needed some small engine projects for tomorrow’s first tour. Local farmers had stopped bringing her their broken things. They’d figured—rightly—that she didn’t have time to work on them.
But now working on broken things would once again be her job. At least for three days a week. The thought brought a smile to her face. She stopped off at the Gold farm. Saul Gold had worked his eighty-acre place all of his life, or at least all of Eunice’s life. He had an old generator that had stopped working.
“Comes in handy during birthing season,” he said. “We hook up a few lights to help us attend to the cows. Maybe some heaters if they’re needed.” He cackled revealing a missing front tooth. “Even have me one of those Englisch coffeepots, but I only use it during the birthing nights when we need coffee at the ready—strong and hot.”
Eunice assured him she could fix the generator, thanked him and together they loaded the contraption into her buggy.
Her next stop was at Ethan’s, who had a solar pump he’d tried in vain to fix himself. “I might have made it worse,” he admitted.
“No worries. I’ll have this up and running by the weekend.”
She popped her head into the house on Huckleberry Lane long enough to say hello to Ada and baby Peter, then set off for home.
Two hours later, she heard the rattle of buggy wheels and realized Dat was home. She hadn’t even started dinner!
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, surveying all that she’d set up in the barn. “This looks gut. I think the tourists will enjoy hearing what you have to say.”
“And if the weather holds—”
“It’s supposed to, according to the Shipshe forecast.”
“Then we’ll be golden.” She wiped her hands on a rag. “Want me to run in and rustle up something for us to eat?”
“I can put together sandwiches and a small salad. You finish up here.”
As Eunice made her way back into the barn, she felt something like hope blossom in her chest. She was good at this. She knew what parts went where, how to correct things, how to put them back together again. And she loved the way the barn smelled. The way every tool was in the specially designated place that she had created for it.
More importantly than those things was her dat’s attitude. As she walked toward the house, jogged up the stairs and into the kitchen, she realized that he did want her to succeed. He wanted her to have a full and healthy life. The issue was that they differed on what that included. For her dat, it meant a home, marriage and children. Eunice didn’t know if she wanted those things. She’d decided at a pretty young age that given her interests and talents, marriage might not happen for her.
Maybe insisting that she be financially independent was a good compromise. It was something she could work toward.
She slept well that night.
The next day, she wasn’t nervous at all. Okay, maybe a little, but not nearly as nervous as she was when Myra put a pair of knitting needles in her hands. Those things were sharp.
The first tour group was due to arrive at two thirty in the afternoon. She’d seen Zeb’s buggy when he’d dropped Josh off at Becca’s. She was a little surprised that Josh hadn’t jogged over to see her, but perhaps that was forbidden. Whatever. She didn’t need Zeb’s approval. She only needed the tour to be successful.
The day’s tourists included four couples and a group of women that numbered six. That made for fourteen guests. Eunice had borrowed folding chairs from the market and set them up in a semicircle facing her workbench.
“Welcome,” she said, once everyone was settled.
They responded with a hearty “Hello” and “Howdy” and a few waves. Eunice noticed the men scanning the barn. She imagined they were comparing what they were seeing here with what they saw back home, or—if they lived in a city now—what they were familiar with from their childhood.
“I hope you have enjoyed your tour so far.”
There was much nodding and murmuring and some thumbs-ups.
“That Naomi Schwartz is something. How she manages to sew with so many little ones is beyond me.”
“And with a treadle machine,” one of the older women added.
“Ya. True. Our community doesn’t have electricity in our homes, as you probably know. The treadle machine allows Naomi to sew more quickly than if she did so by hand, but still she is within the parameters of our church. So, it might surprise you to see that I’m working on a few gadgets here that appear somewhat untraditional for Amish folk.” She lowered her voice, getting into the rhythm of her speech and responding to the smiles from the group. “My bishop even knows about it, so there’s no need to keep it on the down-low.”
More laughter, but now they were sitting up straight, looking interested.
“We Amish treasure the old ways. Naomi’s sewing. Martha’s quilting. And, of course, the way that Jess farms. These are time-honored traditions that we pass down from generation to generation.”
Zeb entered the back of the barn and took a spot to the side—standing with his arms crossed. Watching. Listening. Evaluating. She forced her attention away from him and back to the group of folks hanging on her every word.
“Even our clothes, as you can see, are old-fashioned. Not so very different from the clothes my mamm and grossmammi wore as young women.” She folded her hands together and waited, knowing they were now inspecting her. They were seeing her. “My clothes are a little different though. When my grossmammi was a young woman, Amish women wore mostly gray or black dresses covered with a white apron.”
“Your dress is a pretty pastel blue.”
“Danki.” Eunice smiled at the Englisch woman with short red hair. “Each Amish community makes rules for what is acceptable. That’s called our Ordnung. Those are local decisions. They’re not something that’s passed down from any centralized church.”
Several of the group nodded.
“My community has, over the years, decided that pastel colors are fine. Our goal is to not draw attention to ourselves. We strive to remain humble, to remain Plain. But we like a little color in our wardrobe as much as the next gal.”
Robust laughter.
“In the same way, we are allowed a bit of latitude in the jobs we choose. Now, you probably won’t be seeing an Amish person working the window of a Starbucks drive-through, but my youngest schweschder, Ada, works for the local SPCA. Becca, another schweschder, has gone on several mission trips with Mennonite Disaster Services.”
“They came to Texas a few times,” an older man offered. “Amazing what those folks did. This was after the last hurricane came through. The MDS people built houses for everyone who needed one.”
“Becca would be happy to talk with you about her experience working on mission trips,” Eunice said. “You’ll be stopping by her house for some refreshments in a few minutes. It’s a three-minute walk that way.”
She jerked her thumb in the direction of Becca’s house and everyone smiled.
“Today what I wanted to talk to you about is the way we incorporate some forms of technology into our lives, and how much I enjoy working on small engines.”
Eunice limited her talk to fifteen minutes, then opened it up to Q&A. Fortunately, there were plenty of questions, and they were deep into a discussion of the benefits and challenges of solar energy when she looked up and saw Becca standing next to Zeb. Baby Abram was on her hip. Mary stood next to Joshua.
“And now, I believe my schweschder would like to offer you some refreshments.”
As the group filed out of the barn, thanking her and saying what a wonderful time they had, Joshua ran to the front and threw his arms around her legs, nearly knocking her over.
“Eunice. I haven’t seen you in, like, forever.”
“You saw her Sunday, son.” Zeb had followed Josh to where Eunice was seeing everyone out, though he didn’t greet her with the same exuberance as his son. In fact, he looked...well, she couldn’t quite name the expression on his face.
Puzzled?
Confused?
Disoriented?
Little Mary tapped Josh on the arm and said, “You’re it.” Which was all it took for the two of them to dash out into the afternoon’s waning sunlight.
“Well?” Eunice asked. “How was it?”
“Ya. You did well. You’re apparently a natural at this.”
“Hmm. If you’re pleased, you should tell your face.”
Instead of being offended, Zeb shrugged and offered the smallest of smiles. “I’ve heard that I’m arrogant and gloomy.”
“Mopey. I said you were mopey.” Refusing to let his attitude ruin her good mood, Eunice smiled. “Think I’ll go enjoy some of Becca’s refreshments.”
“Ya. Good idea.” He fell in step with her.
“This group seems like an easy-to-please lot.”
“They are.” He nodded. “But I believe you caught them by surprise.”
“Oh?”
“From what I’ve heard in the few tours I’ve already done, a lot of these women—even some of the men—read Amish fiction.”
“Oh?”
“So they were probably expecting the sewing and quilting and farming.”
“Right.”
“But a modern Amish woman? Now that’s one they’ll be telling their friends about back home.”
“Which is a good thing. Right?”
“Sure. Word of mouth sells tickets.”
“And tickets plus tips help to pay the bills.”
“And the farm down payment.”
“Right.” Eunice stopped on the top step. “How’s that going, by the way?”
“Pretty good, actually. I met with a loan officer, and they’re considering our application.”
“That’s gut, right?”
“It is.”
If his application was accepted, they would stay.
Why did that feel very important to her? Eunice could hear Becca talking to the guests, offering lemonade, coffee, hot tea. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted out toward them. She closed her eyes, felt the warmth of the sun and the satisfaction of a day that had gone well.
Then she opened her eyes and saw Zeb studying her. “Think I’ll help myself to a few cookies.”
“Ya?” He raised one eyebrow. The right one. She suddenly remembered how he’d done that in school when he’d been surprised by something. The little boy she’d grown up with was still in there somewhere, just fighting to get out.
“Come on. I can even score you a hot or cold beverage—your pick.”
“Sounds like you have an in with the cook.”
“Indeed, I do, my friend. Indeed, I do.”
Eunice knew her problems weren’t solved. Her dat still wanted to push her out of the proverbial nest, and here she was contentedly dropping back into it. It didn’t feel the same though. She felt different from the young woman who had been issued an ultimatum only two months before.
And part of her was even excited about how these changes in her life were going to turn out.
Zeb understood that he should have been happy. All three tours that week had gone well. Tips were better than he’d expected, which had made all involved optimistic about the venture. Everyone seemed to think that they were off to a strong start. Even Amos commented on the results he’d had from the online survey form.
But Zeb wasn’t happy.
He was prickly. That was the best word for it. Suzanne used to call him that when he was fussy because there hadn’t been enough rain for the newly planted crops. Or because there’d been too much rain. “I don’t control the weather, dear. Talk to Gotte if you want to lodge a complaint.” Then she’d pointed to the ceiling, toward heaven, and smiled.
Suzanne hadn’t tolerated his moodiness.
Now that she wasn’t around, he felt himself falling back into that low place. And this time it was lower than ever. Of course, it was. He was a widower. Two years and he still wasn’t used to the reality of that statement.
He and Samuel had made it a habit to walk down to the phone booth and call their parents on Saturday afternoons. Samuel had spoken first, for about ten minutes, then handed the phone to Josh.
“I’m off, bruder,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t wait up for me.”
Zeb didn’t ask where he was going or how late he’d be home. Samuel still enjoyed hanging out with a group of friends, and there was more than one young lady that he’d been dating. He was pulling his weight as far as contributing to the finances, so there was no reason for Zeb to criticize him. Plus, he was the younger brother.
Josh was on the phone next, describing his stays at Becca’s to his grossmammi. Zeb decided to save her from the protracted point-by-point description of what they did, what they ate and how often they played tag.
“Tell your grossmammi you love her and hand me the phone.”
Josh did, with great enthusiasm.
Zeb covered the mouthpiece and reminded him to “Stay close.”
“Got it, Dat. Don’t get dirty. Don’t get hurt. I got it.” He preceded to walk over to a tree and attempt to climb it.
Zeb spoke to his mamm, trying to keep it light, trying to keep the worry out of his voice, but there was no hiding things from her. She knew him too well.
“I can tell you’re not feeling any better.”
“Nothing’s changed. Why should I feel better?”
“Maybe you should see a doctor.” His mamm’s tone was patient but firm.
“I’m not sick.”
“Depression is a kind of sickness, Zeb.”
“I don’t know that I’m depressed. I’m grieving. That’s different.”
“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. The thing is that you seem stuck.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“And stuck isn’t where you want to be, especially when you’re raising a five-year-old boy.”
Ah, more guilt. That was exactly what he needed.
“Have you talked with Ezekiel? He’s a gut man and a wunderbaar bishop. He will give you solid advice.”
How did they get on the topic of his moods? Zeb changed the subject to her arthritis—which was better. His father—who was down at the rec center playing shuffleboard. Even the weather—sunny and cool, but not cold. No snow in the forecast.
When he ran out of things to ask her about, she switched the subject right back to him. “What about dating? Have you given that any more thought?”
“I need to go, Mamm.”
“Promise me you’ll think about what we’ve said.”
“Sure, ya. Of course.” And he wasn’t lying. He had no doubts her words—her suggestions—would go round and round in his head as he tried to go to sleep that night.
“We love you and Josh and Samuel very much.”
“We love you too.”
He hung up, trying to push her words from his mind.
Where was his son? Why couldn’t he stay where he was supposed to just this one time? Then he heard a giggle from above.
“Come down, son. And don’t tear your clothes on those branches.”
Josh hopped down in front of him. “I’m gut at tree climbing and tree jumping. See?”
Dirty, but nothing seemed torn...or broken.
“Let’s walk back.”
“It was nice talking to Mammi, right?”
“Loved every minute of it.”
Josh had picked up a small tree branch which he was whacking against each fence post they passed. “You don’t seem happy, Dat. Is it because of me?”
Zeb stopped in his tracks. He stopped so suddenly that Josh kept walking, realized he was alone, then turned back and cocked his head. “Am I in trouble?”
“Nein.”
“Great. That’s a relief.”
“Josh, come here a minute.” He knelt down on the dirt road so that he’d be eye to eye with his son. “When I’m in a bad mood, it’s not because of you.”
“Except when I’m really dirty.”
“Okay, maybe then.”
“Or I spill something like milk, which is super hard to clean up.”
“Right, but my point is that I love you, and yes, I’m a little blue sometimes, but it’s just something I have to work through.”
“Okay.” Josh was now using his stick to make zigzag marks in the dirt. Finally, he looked up. “Is it because of Mamm? Because she’s gone?”
How was he supposed to answer that? “I miss her,” he finally admitted.
“Me too.”
A small wind shook leaves from a nearby tree and sent them sailing to the ground. Josh leaped toward them with his stick, striking out and missing them. It occurred to Zeb in that moment that Josh was ready to move forward, but he couldn’t. His son couldn’t move past Suzanne’s death because Zeb was holding him back.
That night after putting Josh to bed, instead of scrubbing the kitchen clean, he decided it was time to do something about the state of his soul, of his heart. He probably should read his Bible more often. No doubt, the answers to his many questions were within its pages. He had to search again for the book which he thought he’d left beside the bed, but the small table was covered with a pile of clean clothes.
When he did find it, the Bible had a thin layer of dust across the top. He used the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the cover clean, and he remembered that it had been a gift from his parents when he’d finished his schooling at the end of eighth grade. The fact that he’d allowed it to become buried under a pile of laundry was a terrible indication that he wasn’t really looking for answers. At least, he wasn’t looking for them in the one place that he knew held answers.
Pouring himself a cup of decaf, he grabbed two of the cookies Becca had sent home and went to the front porch. The temperature was turning colder, so he wore his jacket.
The sun had already set, Josh was asleep and the evening was lovely. He could do this. He could open the pages of his Bible and read. Maybe the solution to his heartache was there. Surely, it was. But he hadn’t even brought a lantern or flashlight.
He didn’t have the energy to go back inside, so he sat there in the dark. Sipping the coffee. Eating the cookie though he didn’t taste it. He couldn’t have said if it was oatmeal or chocolate chip. His hand rested on the Bible, and he closed his eyes. He tried to pray. What was he supposed to say? Where did he even begin? His mind went blank—totally, completely blank. And then he began to hear the words of his mamm.
Maybe you should see a doctor.
Depression is a kind of sickness.
Have you talked with Ezekiel?
He could do that. He could speak with the bishop. Ezekiel would direct him. Ezekiel would pray with him, guide him through the scripture, help him find a doctor. The next day was an off-Sunday, and they had been invited to Ezekiel’s for dinner.
Zeb had considered coming up with an excuse and not attending. But that would be a cowardly thing to do. He owed his son more than that. Josh loved seeing other children his age, playing after the meal, spending time outside. Zeb couldn’t cancel because he was a coward.
You don’t seem happy, Dat. Is it because of me?
He was a failure as a father. It was actually embarrassing how badly he was coping. But he didn’t have to stay in the terrible place that he’d fallen into. He could find a way out. He could do it for Joshua.
He would go to the luncheon, and he’d speak to the bishop.
An image of Eunice popped into his mind, but he pushed it away. She’d been right that he was arrogant and mopey, but he couldn’t think about Eunice right now. He needed to think about Joshua.
It was time for something to change.
It was time to do whatever he needed to do to get unstuck.