Keys of Heaven (23 page)

“That's true.” Henry leaned over to catch Eric's eye two places away. “But his passion is art, and harnessing that passion this young will go a long way to making him successful in the field he chooses.”

“He's only thirteen.”

“Our boys often know what they are going to do with the skills God has given them by the time they are thirteen,” Jacob said. He took the pea salad from Priscilla with a nod. “Caleb here has turned his hand to construction, and lately I have seen him drawing barns in the dirt.” Jacob lifted an eyebrow at his grandson. Even Sarah gazed at him in surprise. “You have been to a barn raising or two, haven't you?” Jacob said to her boy with affection. “You know that there is always a foreman who directs the others—a man with the design and shape of the building in his mind. Without that man, the crews are only able to do their individual parts of the work. But the foreman brings them all together to create the structure. Someday, Caleb might just be that man.”

Oh, he was a clever one, was her father-in-law. Without saying a word about it, a person could get his meaning if they were so inclined—that God directed every part of a young man's life and the people in it so that His plan could be realized. None of them knew what God's plan was for young Eric. But she had done her individual part for him, and so had Henry, and so had Priscilla and Benny. Maybe his time here would set him on a different path. Maybe it wouldn't. But her job now was to leave him in God's hands as he left her own, and pray for him.

“So what you're saying is that I should support this art school plan, even though his mother and I both feel it would be rewarding bad behavior?”

“The cows have done that already,” Eric mumbled.

When Jacob and Corinne remained silent, Sarah realized that they were prompting her to speak. “Eric has made a good point,” she said with a smile at him. “I don't think his stay with us was quite the holiday he might have expected, but he rose to the challenge. He has learned a little of the value of obedience and hard work, and he reaped the reward of learning from someone who has done well in his craft. Wouldn't you say so, Henry?”

“I would, compliments aside,” Henry said. “And Eric, even if your dad says that art school isn't in the plan, you'd be very welcome to come back here next summer and study with me again.”

“You could stay with us!” Caleb said. “And Simon will be home then and you can meet him.”

Sarah didn't expect Trent to say yes to this school plan, and he didn't. But as he cleaned the last of the food from his plate, she could see that he was thinking hard.

She rose and began to clear away the dishes, and Priscilla got up, too. Then, to her surprise, Eric did as well—and of course if he did, then Caleb couldn't very well sit while his guest put himself in the place of the servant. So she had more helpers than a woman could ask for and the table was cleared, the food put away, and the dishes done in record time.

Trent didn't miss this behavior, either, and rubbed Eric's shoulder affectionately when they all seated themselves again to watch the video on Ginny's tablet. Even Corinne and Jacob hovered behind Sarah's chair, their curiosity combining with courtesy toward her
Englisch
guests. They would never criticize or comment on the device in her home, she saw now. It would go away with Ginny and that would be that.

The website came up and there was a picture of one of Henry's batter bowls, one whose handle ended in a spray of—were those peony leaves?—on the side of the bowl. Ginny tapped a little arrow and music came out of the tablet.

The picture changed to the long view from the top of Sarah's hill, out over the farms and fields of her neighbors, the camera moving from left to right as though someone were taking it in. And there in the distance was her own house, and her bent figure in the garden.

“That's you, Mamm!” Caleb said.

Sarah blushed scarlet, though anyone outside her family would never be able to tell who it was. She couldn't help it—she glanced in appeal at Jacob. “They asked my permission, but I told them they must not show my face.”

“They have not,” Jacob said. “Many of our friends have been in these films in the past. It means nothing to us, daughter, and if it helps our neighbor Henry in making his living, then it has done no harm.”

Sarah relaxed in relief. After this, she could almost enjoy the little film. The light in it was beautiful—they had caught the sun at her favorite time of day, when it lay soft and golden on the garden.

“In the fields and lanes of Amish country, you're likely to see horse-drawn buggies and a simple people dressed in clothes like those their grandparents and great-grandparents wore,” said a friendly woman's voice. The scene changed and a horse clopped past pulling a buggy. The viewer got a glimpse of a beard and a hint of an organdy
Kapp
through the open windows. The buggy passed the camera and Caleb stifled a giggle.

“That was Paul Byler's buggy!” he said, his voice choked with laughter. “Oh, won't he be surprised he's on a video!”

Thank goodness they had not been able to see full faces. Paul would be a lot more than surprised—if he ever found out about it. As Jacob had said, it meant nothing to them.

“Nestled among the flowers and trees is the studio of Henry Byler, whose artistry was recently discovered on a trip to Amish country,” the woman said warmly.

The picture changed to Henry's lane, then focused on the barn. The viewer passed through the door to see Henry at the potter's wheel, working on a batter bowl. The camera narrowed in on his hands, and Sarah was struck once again by the strength in them, and the gentle but sensuous way he manipulated the clay to encourage it to take the shape he wanted.

“Henry's natural talent with clay and glazes has blossomed in his Amish home,” the lady said. “He observes the shapes and curves found in nature and transforms humble clay into beauty for the home, bringing Amish simplicity and that same closeness to nature into pieces for your kitchen.”

Henry sat back, as if he had been pushed away from the screen.

The camera focused closely on a batter bowl, following the curve of the handle, the light hitting it just right so that the leaf shape where it met the body of the bowl glistened. And behind it, in the near distance, hung an Amish man's straw hat, as if to make the connection between it and Henry's art.

“Oh, no,” Henry whispered.

But the lady wasn't finished yet. “Let D.W. Frith share Amish beauty and simplicity with you this autumn, and bring nature and all its goodness into your own home.”

On the road that ran in front of Henry's and Sarah's places, another buggy clopped past and receded into the dip where the creek ran, then came up the hill on the other side. The viewer's last sight was of the buggy cresting the rise, as if to say, “Buy a bowl and be uplifted.”

Henry pressed a depression in the front of the tablet, and the music shut off and the screen went dark.

“What's the matter, hon?” Ginny said. “I thought it was beautiful.”

“I did, too,” Priscilla said. “Even your cousin Paul's buggy.”

“Oh, it was beautiful, all right,” Henry said. “Too bad it was all a story. Every word in it was true—and at the same time, a complete lie.”

W
hy?” Eric asked, puzzled. “Aren't you selling your bowls at D.W. Frith after all?”

Henry did his best to get a grip on himself, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. “I am—but only because it's too late to pull out. Don't you see? I told them specifically I wasn't Amish. I told them over and over again.” He pushed his chair back and got up from the table. “Not once does it say in that video that I'm Amish, and yet the whole thing implies it. It's a lie. How am I going to explain this?”

“Who do you have to explain it to?” Ginny's amber eyes searched his face. “We all know it's an advertisement, and only little kids believe everything in an ad is true.”

“What if someone comes down here on a holiday and visits the studio?” Henry turned to her in agitation. “They'll see in a minute that I'm not Amish. They'll think I'm a liar, riding the Amish coattails to make a buck.”

“They'll be coming to see your pottery, hon, and buy quilts and eat good food.” Ginny's gaze was sympathetic, her tone as soothing as though she were calming a spooked horse. Which was exactly how he felt. “Besides, if anyone makes comments about false representation, you can tell them you didn't make the video. D.W. Frith did.”

Not so helpful. She wasn't seeing the point. But maybe only someone who had once been Amish and had chosen to leave would know what it was like to be strapped into that harness, to be thrust back under the same standard, even if it were only in the mind of the viewer.

Which was not something he could articulate in a roomful of his Amish neighbors, all of whom he liked and respected.

“Ginny's right, Henry,” Priscilla put in, her young face bright with encouragement. “People will be coming for your pottery, really, not to see if you're Amish. And besides, now that you and Ginny are engaged, it will be so obvious you're not Amish that folks will realize it has to be the store's fault, not yours.”

“Engaged?” Sarah and Ginny said together.

“Why, sure.” Priscilla's smile filled her whole face. “I totally forgot until this minute to say how happy I am—and congratulations!”

If Henry had been having a hard time getting his feelings out before, it was nothing to what he felt now. He stared at the girl, his mouth working around words that wouldn't come, and watching as both light and smile faded from her face.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Was it supposed to be a secret? Did I do wrong by speaking up?”

Ginny.
What was Ginny thinking? Henry turned to see the same flummoxed look on her face as must be on his own.

“I—we—who—” His mouth flapped but no sense came out.

“So it's true, then,” Sarah said, visibly pulling herself together.

“I can't think where you might have—”

But Benny cut him off in a rush. “If that's true, then is the rest of it true? You're going to go and live at the Inn with Ginny? Because I'll tell you this, no matter what Sarah says to my aunt, she ain't coming to live on his farm and leaving us. Not now that we finally got something going with the phone company. She needs us, and the baby needs us, and we need her!”

“Live on the—”

“Who says they're—”

“Baby!” Sarah's voice cut through the babble and commotion like a scalded knife. “What baby? Is Linda expecting?”

“
Ja
,” Benny said. “She told us at supper last night and you should just see how happy Onkel Crist is. But that don't mean they're going to do like you said and move onto Henry's place. Why should they?”

“Now, wait just a minute here!” Henry roared. He wasn't the type to holler. In fact, he didn't think he'd raised his voice in at least a decade. But the sudden silence that fell in Sarah's kitchen because of it felt good, and he leaped into the breach without a second's hesitation.

“First of all, Ginny and I are
not
engaged, and even if we were, it's nobody's business but ours. And second of all, no one is moving onto my farm! I don't know where you got such a crazy idea, Benny, but my studio is there, my home is there, and Paul and the boys farm it. I have no intention of opening a boardinghouse for Amish couples.”

“But Sarah said—”

Sarah—whose gray eyes were huge and whose face was nearly as white as her prayer covering.

“What did Sarah say?” Henry pinned her with a gaze that demanded the truth.

“I—I—” She swallowed, and glanced at Jacob as if he might offer her some help.

But Jacob was as surprised and confused as anyone in the room. Eric had sidled over next to his dad and was pressed up against him. Priscilla was nearly in tears at having ruined the dinner party. And Benny's face had so reddened with agitation that his freckles had nearly disappeared.

“
Dochder
,” Jacob said to Sarah in quiet
Dietsch
, “if you have caused a misunderstanding, you had best clear it up before you cause offense and real damage.”

To Henry's surprise and dismay, he understood every word.

“I never meant to cause offense.” Tears filled Sarah's eyes, and the color flooded back into her face with a vengeance when she realized everyone around the table was looking at her. “I just—I was treating Linda, and was thinking out loud to her one day that if—if Henry and Ginny decided to marry, that maybe he would go and live at the Inn and the farm would come open and Linda and Crist might be able to farm it and—and have their own home.”

“They have a home now,” Benny said. “It's a good home.
Ja
, sure, some people think maybe Dat and Crist should pay more attention to the fields than their inventions in the barn, but it ain't the fields that made that solar pack and they sure ain't bringing in the money now like having that cell tower standing in 'em will.”

“You were thinking out loud one day?” Corinne's forehead was furrowed with concern. “You were talking with Linda and advising her to leave her home with Ella and Arlon? Oh, Sarah.”

Sarah wilted under the pain in her mother-in-law's face. “She couldn't conceive. I thought it would be for the best—that if she had calm and quiet and her own home, she might be able to.”

“Who says we ain't calm and quiet?” Benny burst out. “We have prayer time same as anybody else.”

“I'm sorry, Benny. I judged your family,” Sarah whispered. “It was prideful of me and presumptuous and I beg you to forgive me.”

“It ain't me who needs to forgive,” he said, the indignation leaking out of him at Sarah's miserable humility. “It's Aendi Linda and Onkel Crist.”

“You're right,” she said. “I'll see them tomorrow after church and ask their forgiveness, too.” Her shoulders slumped and she patted her pockets. Amanda pulled a hankie out of hers and handed it to her with such a look of sympathy that Henry got irritated all over again.

“Don't Ginny and I get an apology?” he asked.

“Henry.” Surprise laced Ginny's tone. “She didn't mean to spread gossip. Looks like a little bitty speculation got out and started growing into a fact before anybody noticed.”

“She had no business speculating about us.”

But Ginny seemed a lot less bothered about it than he would have expected a woman to be after hearing her name and private business bandied about all over the district.

“There's a lot worse things could be said about me than that I was getting married to you,” she pointed out with a glimmer of her usual good humor.

“It's offensive.” When her gaze fixed itself on him, he realized how that must have sounded. “I mean, being talked about is offensive.”

“Please forgive me, Henry,” Sarah said from behind the handkerchief. “And Ginny.”

“Of course I forgive you, sweetie,” Ginny said. “If that gossip ever turns into reality, believe me, you'll be one of the first to know.”

But for some reason, this didn't seem to make Sarah feel better, and Henry had had about enough. He took Ginny's yellow sweater from the back of her chair and helped her into it, shook Trent's hand, wished Eric well, thanked the room in general for a great dinner, and in five minutes was walking out into the summer evening, where darkness had nearly fallen. Fireflies winked on and off all over the lawn and in the fields beyond it, males trying to impress the females with their brilliance and all but a lucky few not finding any success.

“Poor Sarah,” Ginny said once they were in the car and accelerating in the direction of town. “I feel sorry for her.”

“I don't,” Henry said. “You can't talk about people like that and not have it come back to bite you.”

“But it wasn't malicious. She was trying to do the right thing.”

“Who knows what the right thing is when it comes to people? I don't even know the Peacheys except for Benny, and even I can see that encouraging a woman to leave her family is overstepping the line.”

“She wouldn't have gone alone.” Ginny settled back in the passenger seat. “But be that as it may, it was kind of fun being engaged for thirty seconds. I'd forgotten what it was like.”

“It's nothing to make jokes about, if you ask me. Here I'd just seen myself in an ad campaign that was a total lie, and the next thing I know I'm being congratulated on another lie, and there's my neighbor, in the middle of both things. I don't know how she does it.”

“It's not fair to blame her for being in the video. So were you.”

“I'm just saying.”

“So was she. Talk is cheap. Like telling people it was offensive, the thought of being engaged to me.”

Wait. Whoa.

He pulled off the road in a spot where the wagons gained access to someone's field and there was a shoulder wide enough for a car.

“That's not at all what I meant. The gossip offended me. Not the thought of being engaged to you.”

He couldn't see her face very well in the dark interior of the car—only the splash of her curls and the straight outline of her nose, but her posture seemed to soften. “It's kind of a nice thought, though, isn't it?”

Shifting in his seat, he touched her hair. “I admit it's flickered through my mind once or twice. But we haven't actually known each other that long.”

“I think I know you better after a couple of months than I ever knew my husband in fourteen years of marriage. But then…I suppose getting to know myself was a big part of that. If a person doesn't know herself when she's young and takes a big step like marriage, how can she expect to know anyone else?”

“You're a wise lady, Ginny Hochstetler,” he said softly.

He would go a long way before he found a woman like this again. True, there were some obstacles to their being together—living and working arrangements, for one. How could an innkeeper live on a farm and keep an inn? How could a potter live in an inn when his studio was two miles away on a farm? But those were just logistics.

The important thing was the softness in his heart when he looked at her. The joy he sometimes allowed himself to feel in her company. That sparkle in her eyes that told him she felt the same way.

Don't let her get away. If this is the moment, don't lose it.

Because heaven knew he was done with being connected to the Amish. With Ginny, he could cut that tie for good, and begin his life over again for the second time. It would be twice as good as the first time, because he wouldn't be alone.

“Ginny?”

Her hand slipped into his. “Hmm?”

“This is probably the most unromantic location ever for a moment like this…but…would you ever consider giving some truth to that rumor—for real?”

With a low chuckle, she said, “You might have to take back what you said to poor Sarah.”

“Sarah has nothing to do with this. Ginny, do you ever think about sharing your life with me?”

“I'm doing that right now, and I think that I like it.”

“I mean in a more formal way. I guess—what I mean is—would you marry me? Someday? When we both feel the moment is right?”

Now she took his other hand. His own were cold, which made hers seem all the warmer. “Protecting my reputation from the ravages of gossip, are you?”

“No. Mine.”

She laughed, and he raised her hands to kiss the backs of her knuckles. “Will you?”

“Unromantic location or not, you are a very romantic man and I'm very close to kissing the breath out of you right now. But Henry, you haven't said one very important thing. Do you love me?”

Mentally, he kicked himself. Of course he should have said that first. “If love is wanting to hear your laugh first thing in the morning…looking for you in a crowd to see what crazy earrings you've got on today…wanting to hear your voice just to assure myself that I'm not all alone on the planet…then yes, I love you.”

“I love you, too…minus the earrings. Yes, my very dear man, I will marry you. Remind me to thank Sarah Yoder for spreading rumors the next time I see her.”

This time, it was he who kissed the words right off her lips, right there on the side of the road.

And even the
clip-clop
of the buggy passing on the other side didn't make either of them come up for air.