The following day James pushed open the back door of his old farmhouse and was greeted by the acrid stench of something burning, the fretful cries of a newborn and the combined wailing of two small boys. “Mattie!” he shouted. In the kitchen, smoke was rising from the stovetop in clouds, and from the hall came the shrill blast of a smoke alarm.
James crossed to the gas range and turned off the flame. Using the corner of his coat to protect his hand from the hot metal, he slid the pot over onto a cool burner. “Mattie!” he called. “Everything all right?” The kids continued to cry, but he knew them well enough to know they weren’t hurt. He opened a window to let out the smoke, dodged a yellow tabby cat that was fleeing for her life and scooped up twenty-two-month-old Emanuel, who was in hot pursuit of the cat.
The smoke alarm continued to squeal.
With his squirming nephew tucked football-style under one arm, James walked into the living room. Roman, age three, was sitting at the foot of the steps with his eyes shut and his hands over his ears, shrieking. “Roman,” James said. “You’re fine.” Then he called up the stairs. “Mattie? You up there?”
“Ya. Just finished feeding the twins!” his sister called from upstairs. Both of the newborns were crying now. “Can you make that smoke alarm stop? I don’t know why it went off! I almost had William to sleep!”
“That supper on the stove?” he called above the racket.
“What? Can’t hear you!” Mattie shouted back.
James deposited Emanuel on the bottom step beside his sniffling brother and grabbed a broom from the corner of the hall to wave it under the smoke detector and clear the smoke. Some men might remove the battery, just to shut the contraption up, but not James. He’d heard too many tragic tales of smoke detectors without batteries; his family meant too much to him.
“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you for that noise!” His sister, scarf askew and face red, appeared at the top of the landing. A fat little baby, six weeks old and as bald as an onion beneath his tight-fitting baby kapp, was screeching like a guinea hen.
Like his brothers, James thought. A healthy child with good lungs. The smoke detector finally went silent, and he lowered the broom. “I asked if that was our supper on the stove.”
“Not the chicken stew? Did I burn it?” She looked down at the screaming baby in her arms, then at James. “Again? I ruined our supper again?”
“Not ruined.” James waved her back. “You tend to the twins. I’ll see what can be done about the meal.”
Just then, Roman yelped, “Mam! Emanuel bit me!”
“Emanuel!” Mattie took a step down the staircase.
“I can handle this,” James insisted.
She smiled gratefully. “You’re a peach.”
He picked up the nearest small boy. “Time-out for both of you.” He pointed to a small wooden stool. “Three minutes for you, Roman, one for Emanuel.” The oldest child started to cry, but James remained firm. “Three minutes.” He put the second one on the sofa. “Stay there, Emanuel. If you get down before I say you can, no cookies after supper.” Emanuel might have done the biting, but if he knew Roman, the older one, had done something to offend the younger. Easier not to try to figure out who was at fault each time.
James returned to the kitchen, found that most of the smoke had cleared out and closed the window. He removed his coat, hung his black wool hat on a hook by the door and rolled up his sleeves. “All right, Emanuel. You can get off the sofa,” he called.
“Can I get up now?” Roman whined.
“Not yet. I’ll tell you when.” James washed his hands, went to the stove and tasted the stew. The burned taste wasn’t awful, but it was there, and there was a thick layer sticking to the bottom of the pot. He carried the offending stew to the sink and poured it into the strainer. As he suspected, the stew in the bottom of the pot was unsalvageable, but large chunks of chicken, the carrots and the onion would be okay with a fresh gravy.
By the time Mattie came downstairs, the two boys were playing peacefully with a miniature horse and wagon, and James had whipped up a batch of corn bread to go with the stew.
Mattie was carrying one of the twins. “William won’t go to sleep.” She settled into the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen and watched as he cut potatoes into small chunks, added them to the rescued stew, poured broth from a carton from the pantry into the pot and put the whole thing back onto the stove.
“I didn’t get bread made today,” Mattie said. “Not even biscuits.” She sniffed, searched in her apron pocket, then sniffed again.
James removed a clean handkerchief from his own pocket and handed it to her. “No need crying over burned stew, Mattie. It will be fine. You’ll see.” He rummaged around on a shelf for some bay leaves, pepper and tarragon. He stirred the spices into the stew and adjusted the flame under it. “Shouldn’t take too long to finish, And I’ve got corn bread in the oven.”
“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Mattie managed, barely holding back tears. “It should be me. I’m not holding up my end.”
James crouched down in front of her and patted her hand. “None of that, now. Who took care of me when I was growing up? It’s only fair that I repay some of your kindness by helping out. You’ve got your hands full with four children so close together.”
Their mother’s death had made Mattie a mother to him when she was nothing but a girl and he was no older than Roman. They were closer than most brothers and sisters. She’d always been there for him, and he valued her wise council. With qualities like that, who cared if Mattie could cook or not?
“You should let me hire a girl to help for a few weeks,” he told her.
“Ne.” Mattie sighed. “I can’t let you spend money so recklessly. I’ll be fine.”
James shook his head as he rose to his feet. “I never liked this idea, Rupert working away from home. You know he can come and work on my crew any day.”
Mattie blew her nose again, threw the apron over her shoulder to cover herself and began to nurse little William again. “He wants to do this, James. Work is good. He’s getting overtime every week. We should have enough money to start building our cabin in the spring.” She smiled at the thought. “You should be happy. You’ll get your house back.”
“It’s our house,” he replied. It had never seemed fair to him that his father had willed the house and farm to him. James had given Mattie and Rupert twenty acres across the field to build on, though. Two years ago, when jobs had been scarce in Kent County, Rupert had taken a job in Pennsylvania with a small company that made log-cabin kits and shipped them all over the country. The money was good, better than James could have afforded to pay his brother-in-law, but it meant that Rupert could come home only once a month.
The baby began to make contented sounds, and the tension drained from Mattie’s face. She looked up at James. “It’s a chance for us. And it won’t be long. Once Rupert starts work on our cabin, he won’t work away from home any longer. We’ll be grateful for a job with you then. And...” She threw him a meaningful glance. “You’ll be able to start looking for a wife.”
“I will, will I?” His finding a wife was one of Mattie’s favorite subjects.
“Lots of nice girls available. You’ve been back home two years, and you’ve been accepted into the faith. It’s time you thought about settling down.”
When James first returned to Seven Poplars, he’d felt self-conscious when reminded about the period he had spent among the English, but that had passed. Over time, he’d come to believe that his time in the English world had made him a better man. A better Amish man.
“Did you have anyone in particular in mind? For my wife?” he asked, amusement in his voice.
“You know I’ve always liked Lilly Hershberger. And then there’s Jane. She likes you a lot.”
“Jane Peachy?” He made a face. “Isn’t she a little old for me? She’s got to be eighty, at least.”
She laughed. “You know perfectly well which Jane I mean. Jane Stutzman. She’s a good cook. And I know she likes you. I’ve seen her watching you in church.”
He gathered dishes and utensils to set the table for the evening meal. “I met a nice girl this week at Sara’s,” he said casually.
“Ya? Who? Sara’s got so many coming and going these days, I lose track. Do we know the family?”
“Her name’s Mari Troyer. She’s from Wisconsin.”
Mattie’s eyes narrowed. “Troyer? You don’t mean that girl who went English? Sara mentioned her Sunday last. She’s going to find her a husband.”
“You think?”
“Well, why else would she be staying with the matchmaker?” Mattie asked, sounding as if James was foolish not to have known that. “Of course, first she’ll have to join the church. She was never baptized, according to Sara, so it’s just a matter of taking the classes with the bishop and making the commitment.”
He turned from the stove. “Mari’s joining the church?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested; otherwise, his sister would get herself worked up. That wasn’t what Mari had said to him. But there had been something in the tone of her voice that had made him think that she wasn’t as sure as she wanted him to believe.
Mattie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I don’t think a girl like that is someone you should court, James. You haven’t been back that long.”
“Two years.” He turned back to the stew.
“It’s better if you marry a girl who hasn’t been influenced by Englishers. That way you won’t be—”
“What?” he asked, staring into the pot and stirring it slowly. “Lured away by fancy cars and HBO?”
“I don’t even know what HBO is, but you know what I mean.” The baby started to fuss, and Mattie put him on her lap and began to pat his back. “This Mari has lived among the English. She might put ideas in your head to leave again.”
James laughed and then frowned. “You think I can be influenced by every pretty English girl I meet?”
“She’s pretty, is she?”
“Ya. And she has a way about her that’s...endearing. One minute she seems confident and the next so unsure of herself,” he said as much to himself as his sister. He looked over his shoulder at Mattie. “And she’s a good mother.”
“She has a child?”
“A boy. Nine years old. A man marries a woman with a boy nine years old and he’s got an instant helper around the farm,” he teased. “Makes sense to me. You know, rather than starting a family from scratch.”
“James Hostetler,” she admonished. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” She cuddled the baby against her. “Well, it’s not funny. You’ve been baptized into the church. If you left again, you’d be lost to us...to me and the children.” Mattie shook her head. “It’s not a joke, brother.”
He went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, Mattie. And I’m not running off with Mari Troyer.” He kissed the top of his sister’s head and wondered to himself what the chances were that Sara knew Mari Troyer better than Mari knew herself.
* * *
Friday was hectic at the butcher shop, but Mari already thought she was getting a handle on her responsibilities and a good working knowledge of how the scales and cash register worked. She’d even learned a bit about sausage and scrapple making from Gideon. There was a lot she had to learn, but whenever she hit a snag, Addy or Gideon was there to throw her a lifeline. Ending up in Seven Poplars was really quite a turn of events, when she thought about it. Of all the ways she’d tried to imagine finding self-sufficiency, she’d never thought it would be working in an Amish butcher shop and living with an Amish friend.
At five o’clock she hung up her apron and walked out the door feeling as though she’d earned her day’s wages. Her only regret was that she had been unable to enroll Zachary in school. The local school secretary had been polite but firm. The school’s policy was not to accept a new student without proper documentation, which meant waiting on the school records she’d requested Wednesday.
On the plus side, while at work, Mari had been confident that Sara, Jerushah or James was at the house and watching over her son. But it was unfair to expect them to take responsibility for Zachary when he should be in school. Zachary, however, was more than pleased that he couldn’t start yet. And to hear him tell it, he was practically a member of James’s crew and on his way to being a journeyman carpenter. As relieved as she was that Zachary was happy, she knew that she had to get him back into class before he fell further behind in his studies.
When the van dropped Mari off at Sara’s, the house was quiet. Nothing bubbled on the stove, and the table was not set for the evening meal. Instead of the usual Friday evening supper, Sara was hosting a neighborhood evening meal in a barn that stood behind the stable where she kept her animals. Ellie had pointed it out earlier in the week and explained that Sara had purchased it in the summer for practically nothing because it was about to be torn down at its original location to make room for a development. With the help of friends and neighbors, James’s construction crew had dismantled the barn and then rebuilt it on Sara’s acreage.
Mari changed out of her work clothing, dressed warmly and followed the pathway through a grassy field to the barn, where light shone from every window. By daylight, it was a postcard-perfect gambrel-roofed building with a metal roof, red siding and jaunty rooster weather vane, but Mari couldn’t imagine why Sara would plan a supper in a barn on a cold January evening. Once she pushed open the white wooden door, Mari was immediately reminded of why she should never doubt her friend. Sara’s barn was amazing.
Mari gazed around at the interior, taking in the high ceiling, the massive wooden beams and the spotless whitewashed walls. Not only had the inside of the building been insulated, but the old wood floor had been sanded and refinished. Two enormous woodstoves stood in opposite corners, making the main room so warm that she was going to have to take off her coat. And it smelled so good, the scent of burning hickory mixing with one of Sara’s cinnamon-and-clove potpourris bubbling on the back of one of the stoves.
The space was a beehive of activity. Men and boys were setting up long tables and arranging chairs while women in Amish kapps and starched white aprons carried in large stainless-steel containers and placed them on counters along one wall.
“Mari!” Sara waved to her from the food area. “What do you think of my hospitality barn?”
She laughed. “You can hardly call it a barn. It’s beautiful.”
This building was nothing like the barns Mari remembered from her childhood; some had smelled of hay and animal feed, but others were not so pleasant. She shivered involuntarily, remembering her uncle’s dank and forbidding stable, all shadows, cobwebs and sagging doors and windows. She had spent many mornings and evenings there milking the cows in the semidarkness, and it wasn’t a memory that she cared to linger over.
She walked over to where Sara was standing. “When you said you were having dinner in a barn, I wasn’t thinking of anything like this. This is terrific.” In her memories, her uncle’s barn had always been damp and drafty, even in summer. This, in contrast, was a cheerful place, clean and welcoming.
“I’m pleased with how it came together,” Sara said, planting her hands on her hips. “If you’re looking for Zachary, I saw him just a few minutes ago. If I know Ellie, she’s pressed him into service back in the kitchen. Tacos tonight, so there’s a lot of prep work.”
“There’s a kitchen in your barn?” Mari asked.
“Right through that doorway.” She pointed. “Every hospitality barn needs a kitchen, don’t you think? You can go help if you like. I know Ellie needed someone to start the salsa.”
“What exactly is a hospitality barn?” Mari hung her coat on a hook on the wall. More Amish were coming into the building now, and two teenage girls were spreading the tables with white tablecloths. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Made it up myself. I wanted someplace larger than my home where I could get young people together,” Sara explained. “For my matchmaking, so that men and women of courting age could meet. Also, our church community needed a safe place to hold youth meetings, singings and frolics. This barn was an answer to our prayers, and it practically fell into my lap. It’s more than a hundred years old and is in wonderful shape.”
“But the expense of moving the structure.” Mari looked around, still in awe. “It couldn’t have been cheap.”
“A bargain at any price. A lot of Amish communities have problems with their kids being lured into bad habits by the free ways of the English. Even Amish kids need somewhere away from adults to let down their hair, so to speak.”
Mari nodded in agreement.
“On Wednesday evenings our local youth group, the Gleaners, meet here. They do game nights, birthday parties and work frolics here, as well. It’s good that Amish children learn the value of work and responsibility, but boys have a lot of energy. If we can channel that energy in a positive way, the entire community benefits.”
“I didn’t realize you were involved in so many projects,” Mari said. “You haven’t lived here in Seven Poplars that long.”
“Ne, I haven’t, but ours is a close-knit and caring community. I feel like I was called to come here.”
“Sure seems nice.” Mari smoothed her skirt. “Not anything like where I grew up. I don’t think anything had changed in our town in a century.”
“Tradition is good.” Sara nodded thoughtfully. “It’s served our faith well for hundreds of years, but as I see it, we don’t live in a vacuum. We have to be open to change when it can be done without endangering our way of life.”
Mari had known that Sara, who never had children of her own, had always been interested in kids, but she hadn’t realized that her concern went so deep. “And you did all of this for other people’s children?”
Sara chuckled. “Not alone. It’s really for everyone. My socials are always open to the entire neighborhood. You rarely run into opposition from parents if you have a preacher or bishop present.” She lowered her voice. “I’m an obedient member of my church, but some of my ideas do stretch the boundaries of tradition.”
Mari nodded. She’d always admired Sara, and now she admired her even more. It was endearing to see that her kindness didn’t extend to just old acquaintances who’d fallen on hard times.
Families were filing in, and Mari glanced around, hoping to catch sight of Zachary. So many people who all knew each other was daunting to her. She could imagine how it might be difficult to her son.
The main door swung open again, and James and another man entered, followed closely by Zachary. “Mom!” her son called. He said something to James, who smiled at him and waved him toward her and Sara. Zachary ran to join them. “Hey, Mom.” He stopped short and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Sara said, giving Mari a pat on the shoulder. “Through that doorway.”
“I’ll be in in just a minute to help.” Mari turned back to her son. His cheeks were bright red, and she noticed that the cuff of his hoodie was torn. She thought about telling him to run back to the house and grab one of the spare coats from Sara’s house, but he looked so happy that she didn’t want to seem critical. And to his credit, he was wearing a wool cap pulled down over his ears, like the other boys. She’d thought of Zachary often today, wondering how he was making out. It was a relief to see that he seemed in good spirits.
“I was helping James with the horses.” Zachary bounced on the balls of his feet. “He’s teaching me how to clean Jericho’s hooves. Stones get stuck in there.”
“He learns quick, your boy.”
Mari looked up to see James walking over to join them. “I hope he isn’t being a bother,” she said.
James shook his head. “No. Not at all.” The warmth of his expression told her that he wasn’t simply being polite. “It’s a good thing to find a young man who’s interested in the care of animals.” He raised one shoulder in an easy shrug. “With a horse, feet and legs are everything. They’re surprisingly frail for such a large animal. You have to pay close attention to their health.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed. “My uncle had a horse that had to be put down because a sharp rock caused a hoof infection that spread up the animal’s leg.”
Zachary looked up at her with obvious admiration on his face. “You never told me that your uncle had a horse.”
A lot I haven’t told you, she thought. But she just smiled. There would be time when he was older to tell him the whole story of her life before he became her life. “I’m going into the kitchen to help Sara, Zachary. Want to come along?”
“Can’t. James says the men have things to do.” He glanced at James again. “I can’t believe we’re having tacos tonight. I didn’t know you people...” Mari saw the hint of a flush creeping up his neck and face as he averted his gaze from James’s. “Ate stuff like tacos,” he finished, suddenly fascinated by the toe of one of his sneakers.
“I love tacos,” James said. “And I like them spicy.”
Zachary grinned, his eyes wide with admiration. “Me, too. And lots of sour cream.”
James looked to Mari. “I could use Zach’s help,” he said. “If it’s all right with you. I’d like him to meet some other neighborhood boys his age. We’ll be right here in the barn.”
“Please, Mom,” her son begged. “I’ll come and help you later. Promise.”
James waved to a slender boy with an olive complexion. “’Kota, come here,” he called.
’Kota ran to join them. Mari didn’t think he was Amish because he had an English haircut, but his plain blue sweater and hand-sewn denim jacket were similar to what the other Amish boys were wearing.
“’Kota is one of Hannah’s grandsons,” James explained. “’Kota, this is Zachary. Do you think you could take him up to the hayloft? I’d like you two to roll down eight bales of straw. Sara says we’re going to play a game later, and we’ll need the straw.”
’Kota nodded. “Sure. We can do that. Come on, Zach. It’s neat up in the loft.” The two boys dashed off together.
Mari watched Zachary follow ’Kota up a ladder and climb through a trapdoor overhead. It was all she could do not to call out to him to be careful. “Are you sure that it’s safe?” Mari asked James. “Zachary hasn’t had any experience in barns.”
“Don’t worry,” James assured her. “Nine-year-old boys climb like squirrels. It comes as natural to them as breathing. ’Kota’s a good kid. Zachary will be fine with him.”
“Is he Amish?” Mari asked, her gaze still fixed on the now-vacant ladder.
“Mennonite. His mom, Grace, is married to John Hartman, the local veterinarian. You’ll like Grace and John. They’re good parents. And Zachary needs to make some friends in Seven Poplars.”
“You’re right,” she said. “He does. And I appreciate your help.” She smiled at him, thinking how nice it was that he was taking such an interest in Zachary.
She looked at him and he looked at her. He was dressed like all the other Amish men milling around inside Sara’s barn, but there was something that made him stand out. “Well,” she said, beginning to feel awkward. “Guess I’d better go give Sara a hand in the kitchen.”
“Ya. Because there will be a lot of hungry people here tonight.” He returned her smile. “Me included.” He paused and gave her a thoughtful look. “And no need to keep thanking me. I like Zachary, and I’ve spent enough time with him to already know he’s going to be fine. You really don’t need to worry about him. I think you just need to give him time and a little breathing room and he’ll settle in just fine.”
“Easier said than done.” She chuckled. “The don’t worry part.”
“That’s what my sister says. She tells me that it’s part of the requirements for being a mother. But you need to give yourself some credit. You’ve done a good job with Zachary. He may kick up his heels at times, like any high-spirited colt, but he’s got a level head on his shoulders. He’s a son you can be proud of.”
“Thank you,” she said. “That means more than you can guess.” She grimaced. “It’s just been the two of us, and sometimes...” She hesitated, surprised that she was talking so easily about her private feelings with James. Again. But oddly, although she’d only known him a few days, James didn’t feel like a stranger. He seemed like an old friend. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m being the kind of mother he needs.”
“I’m sure you are,” James said. “He thinks the world of you.” He nodded. “Now I’d best get on with my assignments or Sara will want to know where her straw bales are.”
He strode off in the direction of the loft ladder, and Mari found her way back to the well-equipped kitchen. A plump woman that Mari hadn’t met was standing at a big gas stove, stirring sizzling ground beef in several cast-iron frying pans. “Reinforcements have arrived,” Mari announced to Ellie. It was funny that she’d been tired when she walked to the barn but now she felt so full of energy. And happy to be included in the evening.
“Goot.” Ellie was standing on a wooden stool to reach the counter. “Anna, this is Sara’s Mari Troyer. Mari, Anna Mast, one of Hannah’s daughters.”
“Welcome to Seven Poplars.” Anna smiled broadly. She was a big woman with bright red hair tucked under her kapp and a smile that warmed Mari to her toes. “Sara told us all about you. We’re so glad to have you here. You want to take my place or start making up the salsa?”
“Whatever would help most.” Mari liked Anna at once, with her warm expression and laughing eyes. “You’re Grace’s sister, right?”
“One of them,” Anna replied. “Take my spatula and keep this meat from burning. I’ll mix up the salsa. Watch me, and you’ll know how to do it next time.”
“Everyone will be starving,” Ellie said.
Jerushah and another young woman who Anna introduced as her sister Rebecca came into the kitchen and began to chop onions and grate cheese. Soon the five of them were laughing and talking in Deitsch. Rebecca, a pretty girl a little younger than the rest of them, was as friendly as her sister Anna, and Mari liked her at once, too.
“Oh, don’t forget,” Rebecca said to Anna after a few minutes, “tomorrow is the coat exchange at Mam’s. She’ll need help.”
“I’ll be there.” Anna glanced at Mari. “You should come. Sara says you’re a good organizer. We could use your help.”
“Ya, come,” Rebecca urged. “We have a good time, and our mam really does need extra hands.”
“I’d love to.” Mari added more fresh ground beef to a frying pan. “But I have to work until noon.”
“Perfect,” Rebecca said. “I’ll pick you up a little after one. It doesn’t start until two o’clock, but there’s a lot to do there before the moms and grandmothers arrive. You have a son about... What is he? Eight years old?”
“Nine.” Mari dumped the pan of cooked ground beef into a strainer.
“They grow like weeds at that age, don’t they?” Anna asked. “Anyway, if you have any boots or coats, sweaters or hats that he’s outgrown, bring them. We call it a coat exchange, but really it’s a clothing exchange for our kids. The whole afternoon is a little crazy, but it’s fun. You’ll enjoy yourself.”
Mari smiled but didn’t say anything. She loved the idea of a coat exchange; she just wished she had a coat to contribute.
“And be sure to take something home with you,” Rebecca insisted. “If you have a boy, you can always use another winter coat. We do this twice a year, midwinter and summer before school starts.”
Anna chuckled. “Mari may not want her Englisher boy wearing an Amish coat. They’re warm, and they hold up good, though.”
“You can meet our mother and most of the women in Seven Poplars,” Rebecca offered. “And you and your son should stay for supper. My sisters will be there, and your son can meet our kids. It will be fun—I promise.”
Mari wavered. “I’ll be glad to help out, but I’m not sure that your mother will want me to stay for—”
“Our mam?” Anna laughed. “The more at our mother’s table, the happier she is.”
“She’s coming,” Rebecca told her sister. Then she glanced at Mari. “You’ll have a good time, I promise you. And so will your son.”
“All right.” Mari gave in with a smile. Everyone was so nice that she wanted to pinch herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” Anna teased. “Wait until you see how much work you’ve just agreed to.”