Chapter Two
“Will I see you on Saturday?”
Max had vivid memories of three-legged races, lively games of stickball, and an array of mouthwatering foods that attracted locals and tourists alike. But as the only remaining Lambright, he felt out of place at the annual festival. To admit it out loud would make him sound like a self-pitying child, so he said, “No, too much work to do.”
The bishop shook his head. “It is not wise to close yourself off from the community.”
Not so much closed off as distanced, Max thought, looking into his toolbox.
“Some things in life are more important than work, you know.”
Yes, he knew. Oh, how well he knew. He shouldn’t have to tell Micah Fisher of all people. The man had read Scripture over the graves of everyone he loved. Surely he understood that work was his life now!
“Maybe I will stop in once I have finished for the day, have a slice of pie.”
Micah smiled. “I am glad I stopped by your workshop today, and I am glad to hear this, son.”
Respect for the elder’s age and position in the community kept him from saying I am not your son. He added a hammer to the box’s top compartment.
“What are you working on these days?”
“New contract. Extending the rear of the Bakers’ house.”
“Ah, yes. God’s will is not always easy to comprehend. Never would I have expected Emily to so easily blend into our community.”
Max nodded in agreement. “Her love for Phillip is boundless, that is for sure.”
“And for Gabe, too. And ... I forget the youngest child’s name.” Micah chuckled. “God is working overtime in that household!”
Despite being a newcomer to the community, Dr. Emily White—now Mrs. Phillip Baker—had thrown herself into the Amish ways. She hadn’t just helped find a solution to her adopted son’s heart-related problems, she’d also turned the boy’s father from a stoic, sad-eyed widower into a boisterous man who smiled easily and often. On several occasions, Max and Phillip had discussed their many losses, and agreed that accepting painful losses as part of God’s will was easier said than done. Much easier. But Phillip had something Max didn’t: a life partner who’d dedicated herself to him and little Gabe, and who, using money inherited from her brother, had turned an abandoned house into a free clinic that catered to Pleasant Valley residents, young and old.
Micah straightened his black hat, gave the brim a jaunty pat, and said, “Is there news of a new addition to the family?”
The question brought Max back to the here and now. If so, it was yet another thing to ask forgiveness for ... because oh, how he envied Phillip!
“If so, they did not share the news with me.”
“Will the addition include extra bedrooms? A bigger kitchen, perhaps? A workshop for Phillip?”
He’d drawn plans for a two-story add-on that would span the width of the house. On the first floor, Phillip had asked Max to build a large windowed room with a door leading to the back porch, and a bathroom. His mother, Sarah, was getting up in years, he’d explained, and although she was alert and spry, Emily worried about her, living alone in a house with two steep staircases. Upstairs, Max’s instructions were just as simple: two spacious bedrooms, each with windows that overlooked the valley and the mountains beyond.
If the Bakers wanted to answer the questions, that was their business, but Max had no intention of providing the information, not even to the well-respected Bishop Micah Fisher.
“I can see your thoughts are everywhere but on this conversation. . . .”
The bishop chuckled quietly as Gabe and his cousins raced up to Max.
“Hello, Max,” the boy said. He pointed at his cousins Ben and Marcus. “We are going fishing.”
They looked content, happy, excited about their little outing, as young boys should.
“Reminds me of when I was a boy,” Max said. “When my brothers and I walked over to the farm on Landon’s Dam Road. We always filled a creel with trout. Better check with the farmer first, make sure he is still willing to share his pond.”
“You have brothers? I did not know this!” Ben said.
Marcus leaned closer. “Shh, deibel!” he said from the corner of his mouth. “They died.”
Ben shot his brother an angry glare. “I am not a moron!” Then, looking at Max, he added, “I am sorry, Max.”
“It’s all right,” Max said. “It happened long ago.”
“Were they sick, as Gabe was before his operation?”
“Deibel!” Marcus repeated.
“No. They . . .” Max swallowed. “They died in a buggy accident.”
The boys were curious to learn details about that day, and he could almost hear the thoughts tumbling around in their young minds: Where had it happened? When? What caused the accident?
Gabe put himself between the brothers. “It is a long walk to Landon’s Dam. If we want to catch fish for supper, we should go.” Then, smiling up at Max, he added, “Will you work on our house today?”
“Yes, just as soon as I finish gathering up my tools.” He looked at each boy in turn. “Sit on the boulder,” he told them. “You’ll be able to see them swim right up to your fishhook from there.”
“Good tip!” Gabe said.
The bishop chose that moment to pat the brim of his hat again. “How long since you have gone fishing, Maximillian?”
“Too long.” And it was true. But ... he rarely made time for such things anymore. His life was work, work, and more work. For the most part, it helped distract him from all he’d lost. These days, though, Max told himself it was because he had his eye on a new piece of equipment. In a matter of weeks, he’d pay cash for the skid loader: auxiliary hydraulics, vertical lift, two speed, manual coupler, with a sixty-six-inch bucket ... It would make quick work of preparing the ground for foundations.
“You should go with them.”
The boys smiled, first at the bishop, then at Max. “Yes! Come with us. Then you can show us the sweet spot you and your brothers found!”
He’d grown fond of these three, thanks in no small part to their fascination with construction. When possible, he allowed them to watch as he worked, sometimes letting them pound nails or pick up board scraps. Max enjoyed having them around, asking questions, trying to emulate his every move, and to repay them for their help—and their companionship—he’d bought them kid-sized leather gloves, hard hats, and boots.
“Will you, Max?” Gabe asked. “Will you show us how you filled your creels with fish?”
“Thank you for the invite, but I have too much to do today.”
“Another time, then?” Ben asked.
And Max nodded.
Micah nodded, too. “Will you do something for me, son?”
Max lifted one shoulder. How could he answer without knowing what the man would ask?
“Promise to come to the festival, at least for a little while.”
“Yes! There will be ice cream!” Marcus said.
“And chocolate cake!” Ben added.
“And cherry pie!” Gabe chimed in. “Mama Em baked dozens of ’em yesterday!”
Their wide-eyed, expectant faces made it impossible to say no. “All right. But only if you promise to save me a slice of that pie.”
“I will,” he promised. Gabe wiggled his pointer finger, and Max bent to hear whatever secret the boy planned to share. “I will save you a whole pie!”
Chuckling, Max straightened. “We’ll see how your Mama Em feels about that, all right?”
As the boys ran up the hill, the bishop started walking in the same direction. After taking only a few steps, he stopped and turned. “It would be wrong to disappoint those youngsters. You know this, do you not?”
Translation: You gave your word. Now you must keep it.
“I will be there, Bishop.”
He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he would be there.
Look at the bright side, he thought. You won’t have to prepare your own supper or clean it up. Or eat it alone.
* * *
“You are not wearing that to the festival, are you?”
Anki frowned. “Dan, why must you pick on her so?”
Willa tried to ignore his disapproving glare. She’d chosen the blue dress today. Her apron matched the collar and cuffs. And because it had belonged to a much taller woman, the hem almost touched her too-wide, beat-up boots. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“The hem is frayed. So is the collar. Those boots are scuffed, and the heels all worn down. You want everyone to think I do not pay you a fair wage?”
She could have pointed out that in addition to what she wore now, only a gray dress, two blouses, and a black skirt hung in her room’s freestanding wardrobe. She’d carried an overstuffed suitcase into the house, but everything inside it would draw the attention—and very likely the disapproval—of her Amish neighbors, so it sat unopened on the cupboard’s floor.
“I’m surprised that you care what people think of the way I look.”
“I work hard. I bring home good money. Looking at you, no one would believe it!”
“My advice to you?”
He snorted. “Advice. From the likes of you?” Another snort.
“As soon as you get to the churchyard, look for the bishop.”
“The bishop? Whatever for!”
“To ask forgiveness for your sin of pride.”
He blinked a few times, and she would have sworn a blush colored his deeply tanned cheeks. Anki didn’t help matters by snickering.
He turned his annoyance with Willa to his wife. “Are you ready to leave?”
She went to him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his clean-shaven upper lip. “I will be in just a moment.” She extended a hand to Willa. “Let’s find something else for you to wear.”
Once the door to the Hofmans’ room closed, Anki opened her wardrobe and withdrew a pale pink dress. Its white collar and cuffs had been trimmed with matching pink blanket stitches. The same was true of the apron’s pockets and ties.
“How beautiful! But ... didn’t you just finish these yesterday? Surely you want to wear them . . .”
Laughing softly, the woman held the dress up to Willa. “If I wore this, it would drag the floor.”
Even without benefit of a mirror, Willa could see that its hem fell several inches below her knees. The sleeves, too, appeared to be precisely the length of her arms.
“A gift,” Anki said, “from me to you.”
“But Anki, you’ve already done so much for Frannie and me, welcoming us into your home. And my wages are more than fair.”
That’s when Anki held up a tiny version of the same outfit.
“For Frannie,” she said, “and look ... new caps for both of you. Not hand-me-downs!”
Like the dresses and aprons, Anki had trimmed the bonnets with almost invisible pink stitches. Willa pictured her little girl in the pretty outfit, and grateful tears stung her eyes. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. You . . . you’ve already done so much for us. Dan, too, of course.”
“You do much for us as well. This house has never felt more like a home.” She drew Willa into a hug. “Your greatest contribution has nothing to do with clean laundry or heartwarming meals.” She held Willa at arm’s length. “In a short time, I have come to see you as a sister.”
If anyone had told her she’d grow weepy over a plain Amish dress, or a near-stranger welcoming her like family, Willa would have called them crazy. Yet here she stood, hugging the garment to her as if it had been trimmed in pure gold instead of pink thread.
“Won’t Dan be—”
“If he questions it—and I doubt he will—I will answer him.” She lifted her chin, as if to prove her intent.
The community’s rules were simple, really: Trust the Lord in all things. Accept all things, good and bad, as His will. Wives and children should submit to the man of the house.
“What kind of friend would I be if I let you get in trouble on my account?”
“I do not mean this to hurt you, Willa, but I am your boss. As such, you cannot let me do anything. No one lets me do anything.”
Willa could hardly argue with that. The woman could silence Dan’s bluster and blow with a look.
Frannie started to fuss. “It’s like she has a little clock in her belly,” Willa said, opening the door. “She woke from her nap in just enough time to get her ready for the festival.”
Anki followed her down the hall and lifted the baby from her crib. “I will get her ready,” she said, taking the child’s dress from Willa’s hands. “You need to get yourself ready. And do not worry. I am aware that she can move quickly for one who has only just learned to take a few steps. If I put her down, I will hold tight to that chubby little hand!”
The woman bent over the crib and got right to work, removing Frannie’s white gown, blowing kisses on the baby’s bared belly. Suddenly, she straightened and looked at Willa. “That dress will not put itself on, you know.”
By the time Willa had changed from the blue dress into the pink one, Anki had finished dressing Frannie.
“Oh, my,” Willa sighed. “You look adorable. Precious. Like a doll baby!”
The width of Frannie’s smile told her that she felt as pretty as she looked. Careful, Willa warned herself. The sin of pride didn’t just apply to men who were concerned what the neighbors might think about an employee’s appearance.
“What is taking you three so long?” Dan bellowed up the stairs.
“Hush, Husband,” Anki bellowed back. “We are ready.” She kissed Frannie’s cheek, and after tying the new bonnet under her chubby chin, kissed Willa’s cheek, too. “Don’t be surprised,” she said, opening the door, “if you’re surrounded by every eligible young man at the festival.”
Laughing, Willa propped Frannie on one hip. She’d seen most of the so-called eligible bachelors, and only one had really captured her attention: Max.
“So you’re saying that by the end of the day, I’ll know how a flower feels when bees hover around it.”
Anki giggled, and so did Frannie. At the bottom of the stairs they saw Dan, a faint smile on his usually stern face, gawking at them as if they’d all grown a third eye. But no wonder he looked confused; this was the first time since she’d moved into their house that the atmosphere felt warm and happy.
Willa decided to do everything possible to encourage more of it.