An Amish Gift (14 page)

“We’re so lucky, Shep,” she started out in her most cheerful voice. “Mattie is going to offer these at the marketplace. You
know, she’s working at one of the booths. So I make them, and she does the selling, and we make money.”

“What are you talking about?” He opened a can of beer and took a long drink.

“I’m making this candy to sell.” She hated how she sounded, her voice getting higher and higher, like that of some deranged preschool teacher. “It’ll be great for us and the Fishers as well. And we could really do well when tourist season arrives.”

About to take another drink from the can, he stopped. “Are you saying this isn’t a onetime thing? You’re going to do this on a regular basis?”

“Yes. Isn’t it great?” She heard desperation creeping into her tone.

He picked up one of the bags, reading the label. “Who’s ‘Got To Candy’?”

“Well … me.”

His eyes met hers. “You’re trying to start a business.”

She struggled not to look away. “Yes.”

“Even though you know how I feel about you working.”

“Shep, this is ridiculous.” The words came rushing out of her. “We have to make more money. Have to. I’ve gone along with this thing you have about your wife not working for all this time, but I’m done with it. It’s not a choice for us. Your wife has to work, and this is what I came up with.”

He slammed the beer can down on the counter. “Because I can’t support us?”

Frustration got the better of her. “Well, yes! I don’t blame you. Things are hard for everyone. But we can’t live on what
that shop brings in, no matter how much we want to pretend we can.”

“The store is doing better. Word’s gotten out that it’s open again, and people are coming back.”

“That’s news to me.”

“It’s true. I’ve been developing my own customers who trust me. Regulars. And the place looks better. I’ve cleaned it up a lot. Anyway, you can’t work because the kids need you to—”

“The kids are in school all day. They don’t need me to do anything anymore. Besides, this is flexible, and if they do need me, it won’t be a problem.”

“You’ve thought this all out, haven’t you? Without discussing it with me.”

“I knew what you’d say. What you’re saying now. What you’ve always said.”

“I have my reasons.”

She exploded. “Maybe you do, but they’re not good enough.”

He stared at her.

“Look,” she said, trying to calm down, “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you or make you feel bad in any way. But we need more money. I’m trying to find a way to get some. That’s all.”

“What makes you think this stuff”—he gestured at the basket’s contents—“is going to bring in any real money?”

She just looked at him. “You know,” she said quietly, “you haven’t even asked to taste it.”

He turned and left without another word. Fuming, she went upstairs. Couples were supposed to help each other accomplish
things, not throw up unreasonable barriers. He wouldn’t let her help with the bike shop, and now he wanted to stop her from doing something constructive for the family. Yes, he was tied to the idea of being the provider, as he had been for his brother when they were young. Mix that with his natural pride, plus the lost years of being the football hero, and you have a deadly combination. He wanted to be the hero,
her
hero, and that was fine, but not if it flew in the face of reality. This was a time for them to work together, like they used to. Instead, he was driving them further apart with his disappointment at himself.

The time for all that was over. Tomorrow morning, she would bring her merchandise to Mattie’s booth.

Jennie pulled up to the Fisher farm just in time to see Mattie climbing into one of the family’s buggies. She waved as she took up the reins. Jennie grabbed the basket of peanut brittle and rushed over.

“Do you always leave this early?” she asked. “I thought you’d still be having breakfast.”

“There is a lot to do today,” Mattie said. “Are you bringing something else for us to taste?”

Jennie grinned, holding up the basket. “Fifty bags. Ready to sell.”

Mattie reached out to take it, observing the neat rows of candy. “It looks very nice. I can put it right on the counter.” Smiling, she set it on the buggy’s floor beside her, then took the reins in both hands again. “Now we will see.” She clicked her tongue, and the horse started walking.

“Let me know if you sell any,” Jennie called out, immediately
feeling foolish. Obviously, Mattie would let her know. There was no point in being so anxious. She had to give it a chance. It could be a week before she made a sale. If she ever did.

The day seemed endless, but late in the afternoon, she answered a knock at the door to find Joshua Fisher standing outside.

“My mother wanted me to tell you that they sold thirty bags of peanut brittle. Can you make more for tomorrow?”

“For tomorrow?” Jennie echoed, too surprised to say anything else.

He nodded.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Jennie found her voice, and a wide smile broke across her face. “Please tell her I’ll have it to her first thing in the morning.”

She watched Joshua walk down the driveway to the road, her mind trying to register what she had just heard. Thirty sales! She whirled around in excitement and slammed the door. “Willa! Honey, get down here!”

“What?” The annoyed tone floated downstairs.

Jennie hurried toward the stairs and called up. “We sold thirty bags! At the market today!”

There was a pause, then the sound of Willa’s feet hitting the floor. She came tearing out of her room, practically flying down the steps. “Are you kidding?”

Jennie shook her head. “Can you believe it?”

Her daughter did a few quick dance moves to express her delight, and they hugged.

“We need to replace them for tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow. I have to do more labels.”

“Okay.” Jennie started thinking aloud. “We have to be organized about this. You finish your homework while I make more brittle. Then we’ll put the packages together. Will you be okay if we have dinner a little later than usual?”

“Are you kidding? This is huge, Mom!” Willa put up her hand for a high five, which Jennie happily supplied. “You did it, you actually did it. You are truly the bomb-dot-com!”

Jennie had no idea what that meant. “Why, thank you,” she said with exaggerated modesty. “But no, we did it together. Definitely, it wouldn’t have been the same without your adorable packages.”

Willa was already racing back toward her room, anxious to get on with the next batch. Humming, Jennie went back into the kitchen. It wasn’t the building of an empire, she thought, but it was something.

Producing the new order kept her and Willa up late that night. When she was finally able to sit down and draw the labels, Willa had to speed up, which resulted in lines that wavered more. It was an unintended improvement, in Jennie’s opinion. Still, if they were going to refill the big basket frequently, they would need a more efficient process. As they assembled the bags, they came up with the idea to have Willa draw twenty master labels, each one with a different sketch having one person or animal telling another to try the candy.

Their excitement was almost palpable when Shep arrived home and entered the kitchen. They both greeted him cheerfully
but continued measuring and tying the colorful strands of raffia. His face darkened as he watched them, but he merely microwaved the plate of food Jennie had set aside for him, grabbed a beer, and went off to the living room to eat in front of the television. Jennie watched him with a mixture of annoyance and sadness.

Pushing the feelings away, she turned to her daughter. “Hey, what do you say we go over to the market on Saturday and spy on our candy? You know, see what makes people choose it, if they eat it right there or save it, that kind of stuff.”

“Totally, yes, let’s do it.”

Jennie couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Willa so excited about anything. When Saturday morning arrived, they brought a new basket filled with fresh candy to the booth, then told Mattie they would hang around to see what happened. Amused, she supplied them each with a doughnut and wished them luck. They moved around as if shopping at the surrounding booths, drifting closer whenever a customer approached Mattie. At first no one seemed interested in the peanut brittle, but suddenly, people started to pick up the little bags at a brisk clip. Jennie and Willa were thrilled every time. Around noon, a man and a woman stopped to buy some pies, and the woman grabbed a bag to add to their order. As her husband was paying, they could see her reading the label, and a smile flickered across her face. She untied the bag and popped a piece into her mouth. As her husband picked up their bread and walked away, she called out after him, “Hon, you’ve got to try this. It’s delicious.”

Jennie and Willa stared at each other, then burst out laughing. “She actually said it!” Willa said. “ ‘You’ve got to try this!’ ”

“Do you think she knew we were watching? Was she trying to be funny because she read the label?”

“Whatever it was, it worked.”

They approached Mattie to tell her they had seen enough and were leaving.

“We are going to sell them all before the end of the day,” Mattie said. “Can you bring back another hundred bags? Half cashew, half peanut—I don’t know yet what people will want more.”

Jennie was thrilled, but at the same time, she knew she would have to come up with some way to produce brittle more quickly. Unfortunately, that meant hiring someone to help, and she hadn’t made anywhere near enough money to afford that—she wasn’t even covering the cost of ingredients yet. Well, she thought, in the meantime, she would have to turn to the least likely source of help: her son. Like it or not, he was about to be recruited into the new family candy business.

It was later that afternoon when she next saw Tim. She was vacuuming in the living room while waiting for new batches of brittle to cool, and she happened to glance out the window to see him slowly riding his bicycle up the street, with Peter Fisher beside him on Rollerblades. Both boys looked serious, and when they reached the edge of the driveway, they stopped to continue their discussion. It seemed to Jennie that Peter was upset about something, and Tim was offering advice or perhaps words of comfort. Peter had good reason to be upset, considering
he had lost his father. He was also in an odd position, she realized, being the de facto head of the household, yet under the authority of the uncle who had moved into the house for an undetermined amount of time. She couldn’t guess what all this was like for the boy or where it was heading. He was only sixteen. Could he wait and take over the farm later? Farming was so important to the Amish, even though many of them could no longer afford to own farms in this area, where land had become so expensive. It was hard to believe the Fishers would want to let go of theirs. It must be a complicated situation for them, she thought, although they never spoke of it.

Peter skated off at high speed, and Tim came inside. She turned off the vacuum cleaner. “Hi. I see Peter was with you. Surprising he has any time off on a Saturday.”

“He had to go buy something, if you really want to know. In fact, he said Dad was over there working with his uncle.”

“Everything okay with Peter?”

“Sure.” He eyed his mother suspiciously. “Why?”

“No reason.” She paused. “I’m a little confused about why he spends so much time with you. I mean, I know you’re wonderful, but doesn’t he have Amish friends?”

“Of course he does,” Tim snapped. “He’s usually with his own group. Sometimes he just likes to spend time with someone different.”

“Does he date anyone?”

He looked exasperated at having to explain himself. “There’s a girl he’s been hanging out with.”

“ ‘Hanging out’ is a strange expression for Amish teenagers.”

“They go to these things on Sunday nights, I think they’re called sings. The boys and girls sing and spend time together. Now that they’re older, there’s more stuff they can do on the weekends.”

“Is he interested in your world?”

“What’s with the interrogation?” He was getting visibly annoyed. “It’s not
my
world. It’s
the
world. He can see it for himself!”

“Sorry.” She held up her hands in supplication. “But his dad died, and he’s at that age where he might be trying out stuff that isn’t really the way the Amish live. I wonder if he isn’t looking to you—”

“Why do you have to stick your nose in other people’s business all the time?” he interrupted.

She stood up straighter. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

“You’re always asking us about stupid things, trying to get to the way we
feel
about stuff.”

“Sorry for caring.” The sarcastic words slipped out before she could stop them.

“I’m not so sure if you really do care.” His voice was rising in anger. “You chatter away all the time, trying to distract everyone with nonsense when they’re actually trying to show what they feel. But you don’t ever
do
anything. Nobody ever deals with anything around here. Everybody just walks around mad.”