Amish Generations Page 14

  “What are you smiling about?” Menno tugged on his graying beard. “Can’t be mei bank account. That’s making me want to cry.”

  Ben’s smile slipped, and he focused on why Menno was visiting him today—to figure out how he could save money. The man was a spendthrift, and over the past several years it had developed into a major problem. “You wouldn’t be crying if you weren’t going to auctions every weekend.”

  “You never know when you’re going to miss a deal,” he said.

  “So you’ve said on more than one occasion.” He also knew auctions and flea markets were a social outlet for Menno. He had Amish friends and English friends who attended both, and now that he was getting close to retirement and his kids were busy with their own families, he needed the companionship. “You don’t have to buy anything when you geh. Especially when you don’t need it.”

  “Never know when you might need something, though.” Menno crossed his arms. “It’s gut to have things on hand.”

  Knowing that arguing with him right now would be fruitless, Ben shoved the empty plate away and grabbed Menno’s ledgers, then put on his silver-rimmed reading glasses. For the next half hour, he tried to convince the man to adopt some ways he could save money. Menno was in his early sixties, and he couldn’t work as a farrier forever. He had to start saving now, even though he knew his children would take care of him and his wife when the time came. Ben also knew they wouldn’t continue feeding his hoarding habit.

  Despite all the facts and suggestions for saving money he’d put in front of this man, they’d made little headway by the time Menno had to return home.

  After Menno left, Ben put plastic wrap on the leftover cake and put the pan on the counter. He probably shouldn’t make the cake again even though he wasn’t tired of it. Maybe he would ask Lora Beth for a salad recipe in his next letter. The Poorman’s Meal was pretty good, although he was glad he’d replaced the hot dogs with smoked sausage. Hot dogs just didn’t have the same zing sausage had.

  He stepped outside to work in the garden. He kept a smaller plot now, but when Elsie was alive and Paul was small, the garden covered almost half his backyard. Now he grew only the essentials—tomatoes, green peppers, a few herbs, zucchini, and summer squash. Later he would plant the root vegetables—carrots, turnips, and potatoes. Just enough for him, with a little to share if anyone needed it. Over the years, when some of his clients couldn’t pay his fee, he’d waived it plus sent some canned goods home with them under the guise that he had too much and needed to get rid of it. They had always been appreciative.

  As he pulled weeds, he thought about Lora Beth again. He hoped he hadn’t been too forthcoming when he told her that her letters were a bright spot in his life. It was the truth, but he wondered if she might read something else into it. Since Elsie’s passing, he hadn’t been interested in dating or remarrying, and he still wasn’t. The fact that Lora Beth was a woman didn’t mean anything to him. Friendship was all he was looking for, and she seemed to feel the same way.

  But if he was ever in the market for a wife, he’d look for someone like Lora Beth. She was kind, understanding—and pretty. He’d noticed that right off at the wedding. A little on the plump side, she had dark-blond hair, pale-green eyes, nice skin, and a bright smile. He was surprised she hadn’t remarried. He figured some single or widowed man would have snatched her up by now.

  He put Lora Beth out of his mind as he placed cages around his tomato plants. This evening he would have a simple supper, look over Menno’s ledgers again to see if he missed any ways the man could save money, care for his horse, and then read the Bible before he went to bed. A quiet evening, as most of them were nowadays. He didn’t mind, but sometimes he missed the bustle of having his son and his friends around. He also missed Elsie the most during those quiet times. He’d always miss her.

  The next morning, after he worked out in the garden until the noon sun burned overhead, he went to the mailbox and opened the lid. He smiled when he saw Lora Beth’s letter. He appreciated her punctuality in writing him back, and he tucked the letter into his pocket, saving it for later. Not because he had anything pressing to do, but because he wanted to savor the letter later, giving him something to look forward to at the end of the day.

  He had to admit that when he read her letters, he was a little less lonely . . . and more than a little happy.

  * * *

  “Who wants another piece of blueberry pie?” Lora Beth called above the din of the noisy klatch of her family members as they sat around the huge rectangular table that barely fit into her kitchen. She needed the table only for times like this, when she had her daughters and their families here. Often, she thought about getting rid of it, but she couldn’t bear to do that. Marvin had made the oak table after they were married, anticipating a house full of children. They’d had only three, so the table had been too big for them as the girls grew up. But now it was just right.

  “Me,” Rachel said. “I’ll share it with Uriah.”

  Lora Beth nodded. Figure wise, Rachel took after her. They both had always struggled with a few extra pounds that refused to drop, but neither of them was bothered by them—although they did try to watch their dessert consumption. To no one’s surprise, Uriah nodded in agreement, and Lora Beth set a piece of the flaky, gooey pie in front of her daughter, adding two forks to the plate.

  “Mamm, may I set up the boppli’s playpen in yer bedroom?” Rebecca asked, balancing Katrina on her shoulder while her husband, Enoch, cuddled Rosetta.

  “Of course. Do you need any help?”

  “Nee.” Rebecca’s voice lowered. “They’re falling asleep already.”

  Lora Beth watched them as they left the kitchen. If only you could have met the twins, Marvin. She tried not to have melancholy thoughts when she was with family, but at moments like these, when her heart was full of love and thankfulness, she wished he was at her side, enjoying every moment with her.

  “Do you need me to do anything while we’re here?” LeRoy, her other son-in-law, asked.

  “I can help out too,” Uriah added, setting down his fork.

  “Are you finished with the pie already?” Rachel asked, looking surprised.

  He nodded and pushed the plate toward her with almost half a piece of pie left on it. “Enjoy,” he said with a smile.

  Lora Beth tapped her index finger against her chin. “The barn can always use some tidying up. I cleaned it out the other day, but it needs another once-over.”

  “Done,” LeRoy said, and then he motioned to Uriah. The men went out through the mudroom off the kitchen and out the back door.

  Rebecca came back into the room without Enoch. “All three are fast asleep,” she said, grinning. “Enoch sat in yer rocker with Rosetta and conked out. He’s been tired from working so much overtime on that construction project in Akron.”

  “Nee wonder he fell asleep.” She looked at her daughter, checking for the telltale signs of a weary mother of young babies—dark circles under tired eyes, slower than normal movements, frequent sighing. But Rebecca looked fresh and energetic. She took after her father—thin, wiry, and always on the move. She sat down next to Rachel and across from Rosemary, the middle sister, who was a mix of Lora Beth and Marvin.

  “Have a seat, Mamm,” Rosemary said, gesturing to Lora Beth’s chair at the end of the table.

  “I will, after I finish the dishes.”

  She was about to turn on the tap when Rebecca chimed in. “The dishes can wait, and we’ll do them later.”

  “We want to talk to you,” Rachel said, also pointing to the chair.

  Wary, Lora Beth nodded and sat down. She couldn’t remember the last time her daughters wanted to have a talk. Now that she thought about it, the three of them had never initiated a discussion with her at the same time, at least not with such serious expressions on their faces.

  Rachel and Rosemary looked at Rebecca, who in turn glanced at Lora Beth. Whatever they had to say, they’d designated the younge
st sister as their spokesperson. Not a surprise, but it gave Lora Beth pause. Alarm threaded through her. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asked, her gaze darting back and forth between her three daughters.

  “Nix is wrong,” Rebecca said. She tapped her fingers on the table, a habit from when she was little. “It’s just that the three of us have been talking the past couple of months, and we’re concerned about you. Especially because you live alone.”

  Lora Beth sat back and held in a sigh. “As I’ve told each of you before, I’m fine and content. Life is gut, and I’m grateful to God for it.”

  “We can tell you’re fine,” Rosemary added. “But it’s been six years since Daed died, and this place is too big for you to take care of by yerself.”

  “Then you should all move back in.” She laughed, intending her words as a joke. But her girls’ expressions remained somber.

  “Uriah and I would like you to move in with us,” Rachel said.

  “Or you could move in with me and LeRoy,” Rosemary added.

  “Enoch and I have plenty of room,” Rebecca injected. “At least we will once Enoch builds on to the haus. Or he could build a dawdi haus for you—”

  “That’s enough.” She looked at her three daughters, love filling her heart because of how much they cared about her. It was the Amish way to take care of family, but that didn’t mean she took their love and concern for granted. “I’m thankful that you’re concerned about me, and that you all want me to live with you. But I’m fine here. Truly.”

  “Don’t you get lonely?” Rosemary’s voice wavered. “I would be if I had to live in this big haus alone.”

  Lora Beth paused. She couldn’t lie to her daughters, but she didn’t want to give them any reason to think she wasn’t satisfied living on her own. “Sometimes I get a little lonely. But isn’t that normal for everyone? Haven’t you been lonely in yer life?”

  “Not since I got married and had the twins.” Rebecca chuckled. “I’d like a few lonely moments every once in a while.”

  “You can always let me know when you want me to watch or keep the kinner,” Lora Beth said. “I’ll be over in a wink.”

  “I know. But wouldn’t it be easier if you were already there? Not that we want you to move in for childcare. Enoch and I are managing fine.”

  “I can see that you are.” Lora Beth didn’t know how she was going to explain that while she had her lonely times, she also liked her independence. And she couldn’t admit the one major thing that was keeping her here—it made her feel closer to Marvin. Her daughters wouldn’t understand, and she prayed they would never experience that kind of loss.

  “I don’t have any intentions of moving from here,” she said, her tone firm. “Perhaps a day will come when I’ll need to live with one of you, but that’s not necessary right now. I’m still young, although I know forty-seven seems ancient to you all.”

  “Not really, now that I’m twenty-five,” Rachel said. “Time seems to move faster when you’re older.”

  “It certainly does.”

  She took her mother’s hand. “Are you sure about this?”

  Lora Beth nodded. “Absolutely sure.”

  “The offer will always stand. Anytime you’re ready to leave here, you’ll have a home to come to.” Rachel looked at her sisters. “Ya?”

  “Ya,” the other two said in unison.

  “Danki.” Lora Beth wiped the corner of her eye with her fingers. The Lord had blessed her and Marvin with wonderful daughters.

  Enoch came into the room, his gaze going straight to Rebecca. Lora Beth noticed her give him a quick shake of the head, and he returned it with a curt nod, then walked over to her. “You shouldn’t have let me fall asleep like that,” he said, squeezing Rebecca’s shoulder. “Where are LeRoy and Uriah?”

  “Working in the barn.” Rosemary took a sip of tea. Lora Beth noticed the ice cubes in it had already melted because of how warm it was in the house.

  “I’ll geh help them.” He frowned and turned away. “Can’t believe she let me sleep while they’re working,” he muttered as he left the kitchen.

  Rebecca popped up from her chair and started clearing the table, Rosemary went to the sink and turned on the tap, and Rachel started scraping leftover food onto a large plate. She’d take it out to the pigs in a few minutes, as her daughters always had while they were growing up.

  “Geh put yer feet up, Mamm,” Rebecca said.

  “We’ve got the kitchen.” Rosemary squirted dish soap into the sink.

  Realizing she had to let her daughters do something for her since she’d turned down their offer, she nodded and then went into the living room. She sat down on the couch, the one she and Marvin had chosen during their fifth year of marriage. Then she glanced around the room. Everything was the same as the day he passed away. There was comfort in that, but also, as she admitted to her daughters, some loneliness. But it never lasted for long, especially when she turned to God in those times. No, she had no intention of leaving this place, not anytime soon.

  I belong here, and until I have to leave, here I’ll stay.

  * * *

  Dear Lora Beth,

  I enjoyed your last letter. I know you weren’t too happy about your children pressing you to move in with one of them, but it’s a testament to their quality of character that they want to take care of you. That’s something about the Amish that has always appealed to me—our sense of community. Some of my English clients mention that the rest of the world is losing their community, that even though people are living close together and talk on the phone and on the computer, they really don’t know each other. Paul hasn’t brought up the idea of me moving in with him and Susan lately, so hopefully he’s dropped the subject. If he brings it up again, my answer will be the same as yours—thanks but no thanks.

  I wonder if you have more recipes to share. I must admit the éclair cake has already overstayed its welcome at potlucks and church fellowships. If you have any recipes that would be easy to make for those occasions, I’d sure appreciate getting them. Salads are always popular this time of year.

  Speaking of vegetables, I worked in my garden this past week. The rain and warm weather sure are making my vegetables grow like wildfire! I should have enough tomatoes to make plenty of sauce. And, of course, I’ll can some whole ones along with some diced. I gotta say, though, while I do enjoy growing the food, when it comes to putting it up, I’m not as enthusiastic.

  Stay cool, Lora Beth. It’s only July—the summer will be getting hotter. Make sure you don’t get too much sun. Sunburns are no fun.

  Best,

  Ben

  Dear Ben,

  I’ve included several recipes for potlucks in this letter. I gave you two for salads—potato and macaroni. But I couldn’t resist adding one of my favorites—Texas sheet cake. That’s always a crowd pleaser. Is there any food you don’t like? I don’t care for parsnips or turnips, and this might come as a surprise, but I really don’t like celery. So many dishes have celery in them, but I just leave it out. No one seems to complain, though!

  I’m glad your garden is doing well. Mine is surviving, as it usually does for me each year. I don’t have much of a green thumb, but I do enjoy putting up the food. I think it has to do with memories of helping my mother in the kitchen. We had a large garden, and my father was an avid hunter, so we had plenty of food to put up each fall and winter. When my girls were old enough, they pitched in to help their grandmother, then we would can our own crops. I also keep a few extra jars of everything I’ve canned to give away, just in case. You never know when someone needs a helping hand.

  If you’d like any more recipes, I can send more. I’ve collected lots of them over the years, and I even have a few Italian, Mexican, and Chinese recipes. It’s fun to experiment with seasonings I don’t normally use in everyday cooking.

  You stay cool, too, Ben. Make sure you drink plenty of water when you’re out working in your garden.

  Best,


  Lora Beth

  * * *

  Ben surveyed the crowd at the ox roast in Mesopotamia. He’d agreed to help Menno man his booth—one of among about a hundred, he guessed. He’d managed to convince Menno that he could sell some of his better items at the ox roast flea market, popular with English and Amish alike. Over the past two weeks, Ben had helped Menno sort through one of his hot spare barns, which was filled to the brim with everything from quality antiques to absolute junk. Ben had been impressed, and a little wary, when he first saw Menno’s numerous and disorganized collections.

  Once everything in the barn was in some sort of order, though, they’d found a lot of unique items to sell. It would take much more time to get everything in the barn categorized and organized, but at least Menno wasn’t going to break his neck walking around among it all.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Menno said, stroking his long, gray beard.

  The shopping had just started, and Ben knew that in an hour, the grassy area would be packed. The local fire department was about to roast the oxen that brought crowds from all around Northeast Ohio. Last year, coming as a visitor, he’d stood in line for over an hour for an ox beef sandwich—and it was worth the wait. “What are you concerned about?” Ben asked.

  “Selling these things.” He ran his thick fingers over an antique glass lamp.

  Ben had carefully packed the lamp in a box with newspaper and Bubble Wrap so the yellow-tinted globe wouldn’t break. When Menno confessed the lamp had sat in a box in the back of his buggy for over a year, Ben couldn’t believe it was still intact. He wasn’t sure of the value, but he priced it on the low side since Menno had paid less than two dollars for it at a garage sale. “You want to keep that?”

  “I kinda like it.”

  “It’s been sitting in yer buggy for a long time.” Besides, it was a bit fancy for an Amish home, but Ben figured the English buyers would be interested.