Treasuring Emma (23 page)

His father dropped the hay bale and glanced away. Adam took note of the threads of silver in his brown beard and bushy eyebrows.

Maybe the question was too personal. But Adam wondered what might have happened in his life if he had taken the time to ask it two years ago, instead of waiting until now.

“I just knew.” His father turned, grabbed a bale, and threw it into the loft.

That was a lot of help
.

Adam waited for his father to elaborate. After a minute he realized he wasn’t going to get anything else. But he shouldn’t have expected more. His dad was always a man of few words, and those words were often harsh, especially when aimed in the direction of his son.

Adam clenched his fists and felt the familiar bile of resentment rising in him.

Who is in control of your life, Adam? You or God?

He took a breath and tried to relax. He wasn’t going to get the answers he needed from his father. He had to take his father’s response for what it was, his own personal reasoning. Simple, like the man himself. He didn’t have to justify it to anyone, especially Adam.

His father’s truth was not his own. Adam would have to find his own answers, his own way.

He and his father worked until all the bales were in the loft. Then they swept the floor and fed the horses. By the time they left the barn, midafternoon sunlight slanted across the pasture.

Adam pulled down the brim of his hat and looked at his dad. His father’s mouth was set in its usual serious line. Without a word, his
daed
turned and walked toward the pasture. No invitation for Adam to follow. No thank you for his help.

Adam had seen this behavior all his life, and it invariably left him feeling frustrated, neglected, taken for granted. But somehow this afternoon things were different. The harshness in his dad’s eyes had softened.

Adam didn’t fully understand why. But he hoped he would. Eventually.

In the meantime, he had to accept that it was just his father’s way.

Emma picked up Tommy and walked into the workshop, wanting to look at it one last time before it changed. Despite her doubts, Emma knew her grandfather would rather see the shop put to use, instead of rotting away into a pile of dust.

“Ephraim loved working in here.”

Emma whirled around to see her grandmother standing in the doorway, leaning against her cane. “
Grossmammi
. I didn’t realize you were here. I thought you were resting inside.”

The old woman shook her head. “Too many things on my mind. Thought I’d get out into the fresh air. Clear my head.”

“The air’s not so fresh in here.” The cat wriggled out of her arms and raced out of the shop.

“But it’s filled with memories,” her grandmother said. She glanced around the building and sighed. “Goodness. I haven’t been in here in years.” With measured steps, she walked over to the pegboard that held her husband’s tools. She leaned against her cane and touched the empty space where an awl had hung. “I still miss him,” she said softly.

Emma went to her grandmother and put her arm around her shoulders.

The old woman looked up, her eyes damp. “The Lord’s seen fit to give me seventy-five years of life, and maybe more if that’s His plan. So much has changed. I’ve buried three babies. I’ve outlived my husband, my grown
sohn
, and my daughter-in-law. My other two
kinner
have left the Amish and live in other states.”

Emma thought about her Uncle Eli and Aunt Lois. Their visits were infrequent, although they did write regularly. Pain filled her grandmother’s eyes. “I’m sorry,
Grossmammi
.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. We’re not guaranteed an easy life. And I’ve had far more joy than heartbreak. God has healed my pain, Emma.” She looked at the tools again. “The memories I hold inside are the happy ones.” She let out another shaky breath. “This building is about to change, and that’s as it should be. But I want to remember it the way it was for just a while longer.”

Nodding, Emma quietly left her grandmother to her memories. She stepped outside into the clear afternoon sunshine. Like her grandmother, she had lost the ones she loved most in her life. Yet her grandmother could thank God in her sorrow, celebrate His mercy in her grief. Emma had done neither of those things. Instead she’d felt sorry for herself. But why? How could her grandmother find healing when it was just out of Emma’s grasp?

A few moments later Emma saw her grandmother leave the workshop. She went back inside to savor a few final memories, before they changed forever.

Adam was about to go inside when he saw Emma enter the workshop. He wasn’t sure if he should follow her, yet he couldn’t stay away. He needed to find out what happened yesterday, especially with Mark. Thinking about the two of them alone, even for only a short time, didn’t sit well with Adam.

From her place under the Shetlers’ porch, Molly, the bluetick hound, came toward him. The old dog moved slowly, but her tail still wagged with vigor.

Adam crouched down and waited for her to meet him. He stroked her graying muzzle and spoke in soothing tones to her.

She rewarded him with a wet and sloppy kiss. Adam patted her head and scratched under her chin.
“Gut maedel
.
”

In that moment he realized he’d missed everything about this place, even Molly. How could he not have understood all he’d given up when he moved away?

His Yankee friends always talked about the “modern” things the Amish lacked—technology, entertainment, labor-saving devices. But now that he was back in Middlefield, his life in Michigan seemed empty and hollow by comparison.

He petted Molly a little longer, then went to the workshop. Emma was at the back of the room, sweeping the floor again, this time with slow, deliberate strokes. Suddenly she stopped sweeping and looked up at an old tilted shelf on the wall.

Adam leaned against the door frame. She still hadn’t heard him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He liked watching her.

The thought surprised him. How long had he felt this way? Was this the first time he was aware of it—or merely the first time he had admitted it to himself? Either way, he definitely liked it.

What was she up to? She picked up a hammer lying on the dusty counter. Along the windowsill were glass mason jars filled with nails. Emma peered inside a couple of them, stuck her fingers in one of the openings, and pulled out a short, rusty nail.

When she walked back over to the shelf, he understood what she was planning to do. His first instinct was to stop her, or at least offer help. But she’d refuse it anyway. Better to let her realize her problem herself.

She pushed one end of the crooked shelf up and leaned back to look at it, presumably checking to see if it was even. It wasn’t, but she didn’t notice. She started pounding the nail into the bracket beneath the shelf. To her credit, she didn’t hit her thumb.

Emma propped her hands on her hips and stood back to check her work. Adam found his gaze drawn to those hips. Out of the blue, he wondered what it would be like to touch them. The unexpected thought jolted him with such force he started to cough.

She whirled around, wielding the hammer like a weapon. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.” He cleared his throat and avoided looking anywhere but her face. “I just got here.”

“You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He drew closer and nodded toward the shelf. “What are you doing?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “It was crooked.”

Adam worked hard to suppress a smile. “And now it’s straight?”

“I did the best I could.” She frowned at him.

A creaking sound from the plank of wood warned that the shelf wouldn’t be stable for much longer. He took the hammer from her hand. “What kind of nails did you use?”

“Metal ones, of course. What other kind are there?”

He chuckled. “
Nee
. I mean what size?”

“I don’t know. A big one? Medium-sized? Does it matter? I just grabbed a nail and started pounding.”

“It matters.” Adam examined Ephraim’s old collection of nails and found one long and thick enough to support the shelf. He turned to Emma. “Do you mind?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “You know more about this than I do.”

With the claw end of the hammer he yanked out the nail. The shelf dangled on the wall. “Would you happen to have a level?”

“A what?”

“Never mind. I’ll eyeball it.”

He straightened the shelf, examined it for a moment. Placed the nail in the bracket, and with a few whacks of the hammer it was secure against the wall.

He stepped back to check his handiwork, his hip brushing against the long, narrow counter lining the back of the shop. “I think that should stay.” He noticed the twitching of her lips. “What?”

“I’d brush your backside off if I were you. There’s enough dust on that counter to cover your
daed’s
field.”

He twisted around. She was right. He batted his hands against his pants and looked back at her. There it was. A twinkle in her eyes. Tiny, barely there, but he saw it. “Better?”

Instead of answering she turned and placed her hands on her curvy hips again. Adam surveyed the dusty, abandoned shop alongside her. Dirt coated everything, from the junk on the floor to the long counter that was nailed to the south wall. Above the counter were two more wooden shelves, which barely clung to the wall. A pegboard hung on the back of the building, covered in dark, shadowy shapes where tools must have hung. The place was a mess. Was this building even stable anymore?

“Emma, what are you doing here?”

“Fixing the shelf. Doing a little sweeping.” She didn’t look at him. “Trying to help get this place ready for the store.”

“I thought you didn’t want the store.”

She moved away from him. Ran her finger through the dust on the counter. “Things change. They have to. It’s time I accepted it.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“There’s only one thing I’m sure of.” She faced him, and the expression of misery in her eyes nearly broke his heart. “I’m not in control of what happens in my life. I don’t have a choice. This shop is going to happen with or without me.”

Adam frowned. “I don’t think you believe that.”

“About the shop?
Mei grossmudder
already told me. Clara and Peter will be here later today to go through the tools.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

He leaned against the counter again. Dirty pants didn’t matter to him right now. Emma did. “Leona asked me an interesting question yesterday.”

“She has a tendency to do that.”

“She asked me who was in control of my life—me or God?”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t have an answer for her. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

She turned away from him. “So what’s your point, Adam? Do you want me to help you solve your spiritual dilemma?” She glared at him over her shoulder. “I tried that once.”

“I know.” He came up behind her. “This isn’t about me, Emma. It’s about you having choices. And about you knowing who is in control of your life.”