Читать книгу Miriam's Heart - Emma Miller - Страница 11

Early Saturday morning, two days after Miriam’s accident with the hay wagon, preparations began for Sunday church at Samuel Mast’s home. Anna, Ruth, Mam and Susanna joined Miriam and most of the other women of their congregation to make Samuel’s house ready for services and the communal meal that followed.

Since Samuel, the Yoders’ closest neighbor, was a widower, he had no wife to supervise the food preparation and cleaning. Neighbors and members of the community always came to assist the host before a church day and Samuel was never at a lack for help. It seemed to Miriam as if every eligible Amish woman in the county, or a woman with a daughter or sister of marrying age, turned out to bake, cook, scrub and sweep until Samuel’s rambling Victorian farmhouse shone like a new penny.

Miriam carried a bowl of potato salad in her right hand and one of coleslaw in her left as she crossed Samuel’s spacious kitchen to a stone-lined pantry beyond. Although the September day was warm, huge blocks of ice in soapstone sinks kept the windowless room cool enough to keep food fresh for the weekend. A large kerosene-driven refrigerator along one wall held a sliced turkey and two sliced hams, as well as a large tray of barbecued chicken legs. Pies and cakes, pickles, chowchows and jars of home-canned peaches weighed down shelves. The widower might not have been a great cook, but he never lacked for delicious food when it came to hosting church.

As Miriam exited the pantry, closing the heavy door carefully behind her, she nearly tripped over Anna, who was down on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen linoleum. At the sink, Ruth washed dishes and Johanna dried and put them away while Mam arranged a bouquet of autumn flowers on the oak table. “What can I do to help?” Miriam asked.

Anna dug another rag out of the scrub bucket, wrung it out and tossed it to her. Miriam caught the wet rag, frowning with exaggeration at her sister.

“You asked.” Anna grinned. She knew very well that Miriam’s strong point wasn’t housework, but she also knew that when it came down to it, her sister was a hard worker, no matter what the task.

Chuckling, Miriam got down to assist Anna in finishing the floor. Johanna, who had a good voice, began a hymn in High German, and Miriam, Anna and Ruth joined in. Miriam’s spirits lifted. Work always went faster with many hands and a light heart, and the words to the old song seemed to strike a chord deep inside her. It was strange how scrubbing dirty linoleum could make a person feel a part of God’s great plan.

Aunt Martha had taken over the downstairs living room and adjoining parlor, loudly directing her daughter Dorcas and several other young women in washing windows, polishing the wood floors and arranging chairs. But it didn’t take long for Johanna’s singing to spread through the house. Soon, Dorcas’s off-key soprano and Aunt Martha’s raspy tenor blended with the Yoder girls to make the walls ring with the joyful song of praise.

Samuel’s sister, Louise Stutzman, came down the steep kitchen staircase, leading Samuel’s daughter Mae, just as Johanna finished the chorus of their third hymn. The four-year-old was cranky, but Susanna, who’d come in the back door to find cookies, held out her arms and offered to take the little girl outside to play with the other small children.

“Gladly,” Louise said, ushering Mae in Susanna’s direction.

Susanna’s round face beamed beneath her white kapp. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know you will, Susanna. All the children love you.”

Susanna nodded. “You can bring baby Mae to our libary. Mam says I am the best li-barian there is.”

“Librarian,” Mam corrected gently.

Susanna took a breath, grinned and repeated the word correctly. “Li-brarian!”

“Mam had our old milk house made into a lending library for the neighborhood,” Anna explained. “Susanna helps people find books to take home. And she goes with Miriam to buy new ones that the children will like.”

Louise smiled at Susanna. “That sounds like an important job.”

“It is!” Susanna proclaimed. “You come and see. I’ll find you a good book.” Anna held the door open and Susanna carried a now-giggling Mae outside.

“Susanna has such a sweet spirit,” Louise said. “You’ve been blessed, Hannah.”

“I know,” Mam agreed. “She’s very special to us.”

Miriam liked Samuel’s older sister. She was a jolly person with a big smile and a good heart. She was always patient and kind to Susanna, never assuming that because of her Down syndrome, Susanna was less than safe to be trusted with Mae.

Louise had come from Ohio on Friday and brought Mae along for a visit with her father. When Samuel’s wife died after a long illness, baby Mae was only a few months old. None of Samuel’s family thought that he could manage an infant, since he already had the twins, Peter and Rudy, Naomi and Lori Ann to care for. Reluctantly, Samuel had agreed to let his sisters keep the baby temporarily, with the understanding that when he remarried, Mae would rejoin the family. Louise had offered to take Lori Ann as well, but Samuel wouldn’t part with her.

Everyone thought that Samuel would marry after his year of mourning was up. And considering that he was the father of five, no one would have objected if he’d taken a new wife sooner. But it had been four years since Frieda had passed on, and Samuel seemed no closer to bringing a new bride home than he’d been on the day he’d ridden in the funeral procession to the graveyard.

Samuel made visits to his family in Ohio to see little Mae, and his mother and sisters brought the child to Delaware whenever it was his turn to host church services. The shared time was never very satisfactory for father or daughter. Mae was a difficult child, and Samuel and her sisters and brothers were strangers to her. The neighborhood agreed that the sooner Samuel took a wife and brought his family back together, the better for all.

The problem, as Miriam saw it, was that Samuel hadn’t shown any real interest in any of the marriageable young women in the county or those his sisters paraded before him in Ohio. Samuel Mast was a catch. He was a devout member of the church, had a prosperous farm and a pleasant disposition. And, he was a nice-looking man, strong and healthy and full of fun. No one could understand why he’d waited so long to remarry.

Miriam and the Yoder girls thought they knew why, though.

Despite the difference in their ages—Samuel was eight years younger than Mam—it looked to Miriam and her sisters as if Samuel liked their mother. She and Ruth had discussed the issue many times, usually late at night, when they were in bed. They both thought Samuel was a wonderful neighbor and a good man, but not the right husband for Mam.

Hannah had been widowed two years and, by custom, she should have remarried. The trouble was, she wasn’t ready, and neither were her daughters. Dat had been special and Miriam couldn’t see another man, not even Samuel, sitting at the head of the table and taking charge of their lives. Not yet at least.

Among the Plain people, a wife was supposed to render obedience to her husband. Not that she didn’t have a strong role in the family or in the household; she did. But a woman had to be subservient first to God, and then, to her husband. Miriam couldn’t imagine Mam being subservient to anyone.

Growing up, Miriam had never heard her parents argue. It seemed that Mam had always agreed with every decision Dat ever made, but as Miriam grew older she realized that, in reality, it was often Dat who’d listened to Mam’s advice, especially where their children were concerned. In that way, Mam was different.

Mam had been born a Mennonite and had been baptized into the Amish church before they were married. Miriam sometimes wondered if that was what made her mother so strong-willed and independent. Would another man, even a man as good-natured and as sweet as Samuel, be able to accept Mam’s free spirit? Certainly, he’d ask her to give up teaching school. Married women didn’t work outside the home.

If they married, would Samuel expect Mam to move into his house? What would happen to Dat’s farm? To the Yoder girls, including herself? And what about Irwin? His closest relatives were Norman and Lydia Beachy; he’d lived with them when he first came to Seven Poplars, but that hadn’t worked out well. That was why Irwin now lived with Miriam’s family. If Mam and Samuel were to marry, would Samuel want to send Irwin back to the Beachy farm?

Mam and Miriam and her sisters had made out fine in the two years since Dat’s death. It hadn’t been easy, but they managed. There were a lot of ways a stepfather could disrupt the Yoder household, and thinking about it made Miriam uneasy. Ruth leaving to marry Eli was enough change for one year. Wasn’t it?

“Whoa,” Anna said. “That section of the floor is already done.”

Miriam looked up. As usual, she’d been so deep in her thoughts that she’d forgotten to pay attention to what she was doing. “Oops.”

Anna laughed. “Go on. You’ve been inside too long. Find something outside to do.”

“You certain you don’t mind?” Miriam asked.

“Scrub the back porch, if you want,” Louise suggested. “It doesn’t look as though Samuel has thought of that in a while.” She pointed to the screen door. “There’s another bucket by the pump.”

“Go. Go,” Anna urged. “Any more women in here and we’ll be tripping over each other.”

Miriam went out, found a broom and proceeded to sweep the sand off the porch. She hadn’t been at it more than two minutes when Charley shouted to her from the barnyard. “Morning, Miriam.”

“Morning, Charley.”

He was raking the barnyard clean of horse droppings, and she assumed that he’d come with the other men to make the farmyard and barn ready for Sunday’s gathering. If there was work to be done, you could always count on Charley to be there.

He’d leaned his rake against the barn and started toward the porch, when Miriam heard the sound of a truck engine. As she watched, John pulled up in his truck, with Hartman Veterinary Services printed on the side.

“Who’s that?” Anna asked as she pushed open the screen door.

“John.” Miriam’s heart beat faster and she felt a little thrill of excitement. What was he doing here?

Anna snickered. “He was at our house before eight this morning. Is he going to follow you everywhere?”

John blew the horn and waved.

Miriam felt her cheeks grow hot, but she waved back.

“Who is it?” Louise stepped out on the porch behind Anna. “Oh, the vet. Samuel told me that he’d asked him to come. One of his best milkers has a swollen bag. He didn’t want it to get worse.” She glanced at Anna. “You say he was at your house this morning?”

“He’s sweet on Miriam,” Anna explained.

Miriam could hear her sister’s smile, even if she couldn’t see it. “He is not,” Miriam protested, sweeping harder. “He came to check on one of our horses. She’s developing a hoof infection. John’s watching it.”

Anna giggled. “More like he’s watching you.”

“The English vet?” Louise frowned. “Not good.” She waggled a finger. “You shouldn’t encourage him.”

“I’m not encouraging him,” Miriam said. “We’re friends, nothing more.”

“He’s not English,” Anna supplied. “He’s Mennonite.”

“Ach.” Louise shook her head. “Worse, even. You know what they say about those Mennonite boys. Wild, they are.”

“Miriam,” Mam called from inside the house. “Can you give me a hand with this?”

As she turned to make her escape into the kitchen, Miriam saw Charley walk toward John’s truck and lean in the open window. She would have given her best pair of muck boots to hear what those two were saying to each other.

Miriam’s eyelids grew heavy. When they drifted shut, Anna poked her hard in the ribs. Miriam gasped, straightened and sat upright. Then she glanced around to see if anyone else had caught her dozing off. Luckily, no one seemed to be watching her.