A Time To Heal (8 page)

Horsepower.

In Chris's world, it meant the engine under the hood of a car or a tractor.

When it was used on the farm in this community, it meant the team of really large horses Matthew led out of the barn.

What had he gotten himself into?

This was farming the way it had been done back in his great-grandfather's time, he told himself as he helped Matthew hitch the horses up and lead them into the field.

A half-dozen Amish men approached, dressed in broadcloth pants, jackets, and black felt hats. Matthew introduced him to Daniel, John, and David.

Although the day started out cool, just as the sun came up, Chris's shirt quickly soaked with sweat. It burned his chest where the hot coffee burned him two days ago. He had wanted an excuse to stay and he'd gotten it.

As he stood in the field of corn watching the green stalks with their golden tassels wave in the wind, Chris felt a sense of peace wash over him. He'd missed it so much.

Matthew came to stand beside him. “This is my favorite time of the year—when we harvest.” He looked at Chris's boots. “Not sure how those'll hold up. Tomorrow maybe you can go into town and get some better ones. I'll advance you the money.”

“I'm okay for money.”

Nodding, Matthew looked up at the sky, then out at the field again. “Weather's holding. Thanks be to God.”

He turned back to Chris. “You just let me know what you're able to do. I don't want you hurting yourself by overdoing.”

Chris straightened. “I'll be fine.”

Two hours later, every muscle in his body screamed in protest.Hard physical labor hadn't been part of his life for a long time, and farming this way … well, he had a new respect for Matthew who appeared to have superhuman energy and stamina. He'd never fully appreciated until now the modern farm machinery they used on the family farm.

The process was different, and Chris didn't know just how much he'd be helping. Farming could be dangerous work and while he didn't have to worry about a tractor turning over on him and the like, he had to keep his wits about him or he'd end up under a big plow horse instead.

But it was hard not to daydream and remember what it was like back home when they harvested the corn—he, his brothers, and his father. At the end of the day what could be better than gathering around a big kettle set over a blazing fire boiling shucked ears, slathering them with real butter, and eating them with hamburgers or barbecue until they were stuffed?

Hannah came out with coffee and hot chocolate and saucersized cookies.

Chris watched her serving the other men and found himself feeling jealous of the amount of attention they got. He reminded himself he'd known her only a short time and would be on his way soon. Besides, what woman would want him with the baggage he carried?

But there was no doubt he was attracted to her and he couldn't stop the unfamiliar emotions welling up in him.

“Don't forget Phoebe will be serving dinner,” she reminded her brother.

Matthew took off his hat and wiped his face with a bandanna.”
Ach,
that's right. It's your day to teach … and enjoy the Amish grapevine.”

She elbowed him. “Stop that! Like you men don't love to talk about the goings-on in the community. The difference is that men walk around talking on their cell phones like they're doing business but you're gossiping.” Chris heard one of the men snort as they turned away and began walking back to their work.

“More
kaffi?”

He nodded and held out his cup. “You and Mathew remind me of the way my older sister and I used to get along.” When her eyes widened and she stared at him, surprised, he muttered, “What?”

“I think that's the most you've said about yourself since I met you.”

He set his cup on the tray she held. “People talk too much about themselves.”

“Not you,” she said. “Not you.”

She turned and walked away. Tearing his eyes from her retreating form, he saw that Matthew was watching him.

Chris couldn't blame him. He wouldn't be surprised if it took a while for the man to get over how things had looked in the barn that first day.

He was surprised when Matthew came over and laid his hand on his shoulder an hour later. “Can you go see if Phoebe has dinner ready?”

“Sure.”

Chris was halfway across the field when he suddenly had a thought: was this just Matthew's attempt to go easy on him his first day? He wanted to protest that he was doing just fine, thank you. Too late now. He'd gotten halfway there, and if this was indeed Matthew's way to keep him from overdoing his first day, well, he'd fix that tomorrow.

He knocked at the front door and heard Phoebe call for him to come on in. When he walked into the kitchen, she moved a big platter of sandwiches from the counter to the table.

“Matthew wanted me to ask if dinner's ready.”

“We always—” she stopped. “
Schur,”
she said quickly. “I'll have you ring the bell in a moment.”

“That soup smells good.”

“My vegetable beef. I'm about to put it on the table.”

She wrapped a potholder around the metal handle.

“Wait! Let me help you with that. It's too heavy for you.”

“Young man, I've been lifting heavy pots like this for many years,” she told him with a trace of tartness.

“Well, I'm here right now and my grandma would be very upset with me if I didn't help. Just let me wash my hands.”

He glanced back as he left the room. “Don't you go picking that up while I'm gone.”

She smiled. “I won't.”

When he returned, he saw that she'd listened to him and hadn't moved the pot.

“Thanks for listening to me.”

She regarded him with a slight smile. “It seemed a shame to have you losing a chance to use those good manners you learned from your grandmother.”

Chris took the potholder she gave him and together they lifted the handle and carefully carried the pot to the table where she'd put a trivet.

“Do you want to ring the dinner bell?” When he nodded, Phoebe smiled. “
Kumm.”

He followed her to the porch, grasped the metal bar, and began banging it against the inside of the triangular shape, producing that unique sound he remembered from his days on his farm.

Then he saw that the men were already halfway to the house. Chris turned and looked at Phoebe.

“Something tells me that Matthew didn't need to send me to ask if dinner was ready.”

She patted his cheek and smiled at him, her eyes wise but shrewd. “No. We eat at the same time each day during harvest.I'm sure Matthew just didn't want you to overdo since he knew you'd been in the hospital recently.”

“I'm fine now.”

“You need a break. Come sit and keep me company while the men wash up.”

He sank into a chair and watched her check something in the oven. It smelled of apples and cinnamon and sugar. He hoped she'd made it for dinner, not supper.

“My grandma used to lift me up to ring the bell on the farm,” he told Phoebe. “When I got too big for her to lift, then I stood on a stool. But I had the most fun when she lifted me up, I think.”

“That's a nice memory.”

“I miss her. She died while I was serving overseas.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

She patted his shoulder, touching him more by her gesture than her words.

“You know,” she said, “I was a little concerned when I heard that one of Matthew's part-time workers couldn't help him.Then I remembered Matthew 9:35: 'Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.' “

She sat and folded her hands as she looked steadily at him.“God sent you at the right time.”

Chris shifted uncomfortably. “It's just a coincidence that I came here and Matthew needed someone.”

“Oh, so you believe in coincidences?”

Surprised, Chris nodded. “Doesn't everyone?”

“A friend of mine once said that she didn't believe in coincidence, that it was God working in her life, not a coincidence every time something unexpected worked out.”

She tilted her head and studied him. “You know, you remind me of Jenny when she first came home.”

“Jenny?”

Phoebe nodded. “She had old eyes. She'd seen so much.You seem troubled. I think you've seen too much, too, Chris. I hope you find the healing and peace Jenny has found here.”

The front door opened and boots clomped inside.

She stood and greeted the men as they streamed into the kitchen and took their seats. They bent their heads to say a prayer over the meal and when Chris lifted his head, his eyes met Phoebe's. She'd given him a lot to think about.

Food made the rounds of the table. There was little conversation.The men were too hungry, time too precious. Before long, they were thanking Phoebe for the meal and heading back out the door.

Chris followed them. He wasn't sure how much he'd contributed that morning or how much longer he'd last, but the rest and the food had helped. He looked forward to being out under the vast blue bowl of a sky, harvesting the crops.

Hannah usually loved her time teaching quilting to the local
Englisch
and tourists who wanted to learn more about the craft.

But even though the small class appeared excited and eager, she found her attention wandering back home, back to the conversation she'd had with Chris that morning. She knew she'd been feeling a vague sense of … well, she didn't know the word for it because she usually felt in tune with her life, her work, her community.

But it became harder each year when autumn came and people started pairing off like they were invited to sail on Noah's Ark. Weddings were always planned for after harvest.Some days, there would be two, even three weddings.

She wasn't a romantic—she was quite practical, in fact.But just like the other day, at the
kinner's schul,
she found her thoughts returning to those niggling little uneasy areas that hovered like a gray cloud this time of year. She wasn't happy about her thoughts; she did her best to believe in God's will.

But sometimes it was just a little hard to be a single woman here. It wasn't that she was expected to marry young. Many Plain women waited to marry until they were in their middle twenties. She liked helping family and friends, but she wanted to be more than the young woman who had family obligations of her own. She wanted to nurture her own children and be held in the arms of a man who loved her—

“Hannah?”

“
Ya?”
She looked up at Jane, one of her students.

“Where did you go?”

“Go?”

“It was like you were on a different planet.”

“Sorry.”

Jane laughed and shook her head. “I've never seen you like that. What were you thinking about?”

Hannah felt color flooding into her cheeks. “Nothing special.”

She glanced over at the woman sitting next to her who was stitching a quilt block. “Beautiful work, Betsy. That's coming along so quickly.”

“I'm really enjoying this even more than I thought I would,” the woman confessed. “It's really relaxing. I feel like I'm … I don't know, it'll probably sound silly, but like I'm connecting with my roots somehow. I remember how my mother and my grandmother used to quilt.”

She knotted her thread, used scissors to clip the thread, then picked up a spool. “It's like I'm following in a family tradition.”

Hannah smiled, “Quilts are more than something to keep you warm. They give women a way to express themselves creatively.I like the way that you're using pieces of your children's outgrown clothing to make this quilt. It already has memories built in it that way, don't you think?”

“Such a nice way to think about it,” Betsy said. “This robin's egg blue material? Susie's party dress when she was five. This yellow came from scraps left from Marie's piano recital dress when she was ten. I think the quilt will look nice hanging in the family room.”

She threaded her needle and knotted the ends of the thread.Looking down at her thimble, she laughed.

“What's so funny?” one of the other women sitting in a circle asked her. Others looked up.

“I was just remembering when I first came here and I didn't know which finger I was supposed to put my thimble on. So I put it on my thumb and then I couldn't get it off. Talk about embarrassing.”

Hannah smiled. “Life helps keep us humble sometimes, doesn't it?”

“It's so interesting the way the Amish think about things,” Lucy said. “I would never have thought about it that way.”

Rising, Hannah walked around and looked at each quilt the women were working on. “We each have our own way of expressing ourselves. I just think that life gives us things, situations—people—to make us see how much we have to learn … how much we need to remember to stay humble and realize we are just like children. We don't know everything.”

As she said it, she knew she was speaking to herself. She didn't know why God hadn't revealed the man He'd set aside for her yet. She didn't know what her purpose was here on earth. And she didn't know why she found herself thinking about Chris Matlock when she'd met him just days ago.

Hannah remembered how he had noticed the quilt she gave him that first night. He'd said he thought he might get one to take home when he left. Maybe she should make him one, she thought, as a way of thanking him for helping Matthew.