An Amish Gift (5 page)

“No, of course not.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t sneak off. Just thought I’d wait in the truck, go over some papers.”

“Okay, hang on a sec.”

Putting the dog in the house, she practically flew to get into her car before Shep pulled away. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the way to the store, but if she let him go without her, she wasn’t sure when he would next agree to let her see the place. It had been over a month already, and she had waited patiently for this day. More than patiently, in her opinion. At long last, she would find out what the big mystery was.

He pulled out of the driveway, and she followed. Nervously, she parked her car next to his truck in the small lot and waited while he unlocked the store’s front door. They went inside, small bells above the door tinkling to indicate someone had entered. “Quaint,” she remarked of the sound.

Shep hastened to the back to turn on fluorescent lights. The space wasn’t huge, but it was more than adequate. That, she
realized, was pretty much the only positive thing she could come up with. Her impression was that it was dark and dingy, and whether it was in truth or not, it felt dusty and dirty. The air was stale, smelling of rubber. The walls were a dreary olive green, the floor a nondescript speckled linoleum. There was a long, narrow passageway running the length of the store, the only place to walk, formed by bicycles crowded along both sides. She went toward a counter in the back beneath a small
Repairs
sign that must have been thirty years old. Numerous newspaper articles and flyers were messily tacked up on a bulletin board. The large cash register was so old, she noted, it was probably considered vintage. That was the one thing that might qualify as having a touch of charm, she reflected; everything else looked original in a way that desperately needed replacing. She went behind the counter, opening the door to the back room, where repairs were done. It was a dark mess, tools and bicycle parts strewn about. A bare lightbulb and the sunlight fighting its way through a small, grimy window provided the only illumination.

Shep came to stand behind her. “So this is my palace.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

She turned to look at him, not sure what to say. If this was the result of a month’s hard work, she supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t brought her here before. It wasn’t that the place was terrible, but it was not a store you’d want to be in for any longer than necessary. Old, dreary, tired—she could have gone on, but what was the point? The house had been disappointing as well, but only the four of them had to be in it. This
was a place of business, supposed to attract paying customers, and it was downright depressing. Glancing over at the many bicycles crammed together, she wondered how a customer could even get one out to look at it. Maybe Bert Howland had a strong following based on his years in the area, but unless those people were legally bound to keep coming here, she and Shep were in trouble. It was going to be mighty difficult to support their family if their entire income came from fixing the occasional flat tire.

“You’ve probably done a huge amount of work, getting this place into shape.”

He nodded. “You wouldn’t have believed what it was like.”

“Do any customers come in?” She tried to keep her voice light.

“Not many. Most of them just see that the store is open again and want to know who took over for Bert. Been a few repairs, nothing big. That’s okay, though, because it’s given me time to study this stuff.”

“Right.” She had seen him carrying manuals in and out of the house, teaching himself bicycle repairs.

“I’ve been taking apart different types of bikes and putting them back together. No problem. I got this.”

“That’s great, honey.” She meant it, although she knew he would be quick to pick up the business of repairs; there was very little he couldn’t fix. “Is there some inventory list somewhere, someplace he kept track of all these bikes?”

“Haven’t found one yet. That’s something I gotta do soon.” He shook his head. “This guy kept bad records. Or none at all.”

“I’m guessing no computer.”

“You guessed correctly, madam.”

“So you need one here.”

He shrugged. “Need a lot of stuff here. Can’t afford any of it, so we’ll make do.”

She gazed at him, feeling a mix of sympathy and admiration for the way he refused to complain. “You could use some help here, honey,” she said. “I’m around, and I could—”

His face turned hard. “No. This is my store, and I’ll handle this end of things. You have the house to deal with, and you’re doing a great job with it. Plus the kids. They need you home after school, not working here with me.”

“It doesn’t have to be full-time. I—”

“No.”

She couldn’t believe it. The same old stubbornness on this subject. She took a step back, and his arms dropped to his sides.

“How long can you keep refusing to see that we
need
me to work?”

“We don’t. When that day comes, I’ll let you know.”

She stared at him, her anger building. “It’s ridiculous.”

His expression turned sorrowful. “Sweetheart, can’t you see that I have to do this myself? If I can’t make it work, there’s nothing else left to try.”

Once again, she was torn between wanting to let him find his own way and resenting what he was putting the rest of them through because of his pride. Exasperated, she turned to leave. When she reached the door and yanked it open, she found the tinkle of the bells incredibly annoying.

The house’s walls were too thin to prevent Willa’s crying from being heard in the hallway. Jennie stopped outside her daughter’s bedroom door, listening, then gave a tentative knock.

“Sweetie, can I come in?”

A muffled answer. “Go away.”

“Come on, Willa. You know I won’t go away, so let me come in now. Please.”

Silence. Though none of the bedroom doors had locks, Jennie would have preferred Willa to give her permission to enter.

“I’m opening the door now, okay?”

Her daughter was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her face wet and red. This was not a good day for either of her children, Jennie thought. She, Shep, and Tim had just returned from a school football game, where Tim once more sat on the bench the entire time. Despite attending all the practices, he had yet to play in a single game this season. He had numerous,
bitterly explained reasons: The coach didn’t like him, he had missed precious training time before they moved here, he wasn’t a real part of the team because he was the new kid. Whatever the reason, he claimed his high school football career was over; he would never get anywhere after sitting out the season.

Jennie’s heart broke for him. He had always known he would never be the football star his father was, but he enjoyed playing and had shown some promise the previous year. It was also one of the few interests he and Shep had in common. Over the past few years, they would sit together every so often to watch a game on a fall Saturday, forgetting to argue as they alternately cheered and yelled at the television. Not being allowed to play made Tim hate his new school even more. Jennie understood that he had been counting on football as a way to get included in the social scene and a way to make himself known, and that path was being blocked off. The ride home today had been grim, their son silently staring out the window. Shep had closed the store for an hour to catch the end of the game, and asked Tim if he would come back to help with the inventory Shep was finally doing, but Tim just glared and shook his head. Both Shep and Jennie had been angered by his flat refusal, telling him he had to do his part to make the family’s move succeed. The ensuing argument resulted in Shep speeding out of the driveway alone, brakes screeching, and Tim retreating to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Now it was Willa’s turn to be miserable.

Jennie sat down on the bed and stroked her daughter’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Willa rolled away to lie facedown.

“Okay. Let’s start with one thing.”

The girl held up her head to look at her mother. “Mr. Bradley hates me. I’m going to fail English.”

“Why do you think that? Has there been a test or—”

“And nobody likes me.” The words seemed to burst out of her. “I don’t have a single friend here. Everybody thinks I’m a total loser. Which I am!”

“Oh, no, honey, that’s not true at all. You’re the furthest thing from a loser.”

“Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a little shy, so it takes some time for kids to get to know you, that’s all.”

The girl groaned in exasperation. “Could you please just stop? Just stop. And leave.”

She put her face down and folded her arms to cover her head as if she couldn’t tolerate the sight of her mother. Jennie sat there for a few moments, then left the room. The truth was, she was at a loss as to how to advise her child. She didn’t know what the kids here were like, what the school was like, or even what Willa was like with other kids. She felt useless.

Nothing seemed to be going well for any of them. It was clear that the store wasn’t doing well, and Shep’s early hopefulness was ebbing. Both the children were unhappy. She was spending her days sanding, patching, and repairing throughout
the house, unable to afford to do things right, and feeling as if she were holding the place together with glue and bobby pins. Every afternoon she began the long process of comforting her children as they returned home from another bad day at school. First she would greet a long-faced Willa as she got off the bus and dragged herself to the front door. Jennie had been warned by her daughter not to dream of going out to meet the bus, where the other kids could see her, so she would stay in the kitchen, usually setting out a glass of milk and some cookies, as if this time-honored tradition would somehow help. Her daughter might sip at the milk and take a bite or two of a cookie, all the while reciting a litany of wrongs, injustices, and complaints. Jennie would do her best, but reassurances and advice seemed futile at best. Later, she would leave to pick up Tim from practice. The process was pretty much the same, although he typically ate five or so cookies while he complained. The three of them would have dinner at six-thirty, as Jennie kept up what felt like mindless chatter, while the children alternated between silence and irritability. Then they would retreat to their rooms, theoretically to do homework. Shep usually got home around eight o’clock.
Rinse and repeat
, she thought. This time there were no cookies, and the milk was replaced by a beer. She would serve Shep dinner and sit with him, but he would be nearly as silent as the children. At least, she reflected, he wasn’t irritable. Again, the only thing she could think of was to keep up a distracting stream of chatter about what she had seen or done that day. Not exactly gripping stuff, she thought.

She had been so happy when they were about to move here and he had opened up about his hopes for the new business he was about to inherit, how he would make things work out for sure this time. It had been so long since he had confided in her that way. It was a big part of what had convinced her that this was really going to be their fresh start. Once it became clear that life here wasn’t going to go the way he’d imagined, the old walls came back up. He was locked deep inside himself and wasn’t letting her in. She was at a loss. Should she beg him to talk to her? Demand it? She didn’t know how long they could go on with him being the only one who knew exactly how much financial trouble they were in, and refusing her help on any level.

She wished there were someone who wanted to feed
her
milk and cookies and listen to her complain for a while.

It was quiet now, and she had a couple of hours before she had to start dinner. She grabbed a light jacket and left the house. She had to get some air, find something other than the sense of failure that clung to her as she cleaned or cooked in that broken-down kitchen. Without even thinking about it, she turned at the corner toward the Fisher house. Since the day several weeks back when Mattie had invited her in for coffee, the two of them had exchanged greetings and sometimes stopped to chat when Jennie took her morning walks. She found her encounters with the Amish woman invariably soothing and would go on her way cheered and optimistic. Whatever quality it was that Mattie possessed, Jennie wished she had it as well. Patience, or maybe acceptance. Perhaps it was a sense of
security about who she was, or a feeling that her life was what it was supposed to be. Jennie couldn’t put her finger on it. All she knew was that she could use some of it right now, and she was about to find out if a surprise visit was another thing considered acceptable by the Amish.

Up until today, Jennie hadn’t encountered anyone besides Mattie when she went by the house. Surprised to see children in Amish dress outside, she recalled that today was Saturday, so of course the schedule would be different. Three children were crouching down by a flower bed, examining something, their heads close together. A teenage girl was walking toward the house, holding the hand of a little boy who looked to be around five or six. Two men wearing wide-brimmed straw hats stood outside the barn, talking. From this distance, she guessed one was Mattie’s husband, Abraham. The other might be their eldest son, Peter. She stopped, taking in the scene before her, a busy family engaged in activities. Compare this with her family, she reflected, isolated from one another, all sulking in different places. She closed her eyes, overcome by sadness.