Chapter 6
Ferman hummed as he neared his house, his belly satisfied from lunch. The chicken fried steak at the Railway Diner had been
moist and tender, the pinto beans well-seasoned, and the turnip greens tasty enough to knock anybody’s socks off. The potato
squares had delivered too. He even had a full meal packed up for supper tonight, courtesy of Perry suddenly losing his appetite
after he and his mother and sister showed up.
The ride from the diner to their afternoon job had been almost silent, with Perry giving him one-word answers to his attempts
at making conversation. Perry was a quiet sort, unlike his more gregarious brother Jesse, and Ferman had noticed his new boss
had tensed up when they entered the busy diner. That tension continued when they joined the young ladies, until Perry started
to talk to Daisy. Although Ferman and Grace were discussing the latest happenings in Marigold, he kept an ear on Perry and
Daisy’s conversation.
Then Perry’s mother showed up and his mood changed. When he came back inside after talking to Miriam, he seemed more out of sorts than when they first arrived. Miriam and Phoebe had left soon after, declining to join them. Ferman caught the flicker of relief in Perry’s eyes, but it quickly disappeared. Grace didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but Daisy had gone quiet too. Perhaps because Perry had.
There was something about those two. He could feel it. Grace might be oblivious, but Ferman wasn’t, not at his age and considering
his predilection for plain ol’ nosiness. Lovina had gotten onto him a time or two hundred about poking into other people’s
business, though his intentions were always good—or at least he wanted them to be. He didn’t have to spend a lot of time with
Daisy to tell she was a nice girl. Physically, the two of them made a striking couple—she was fair, he was darker complected,
and he was tall while she was on the shorter side. But it wasn’t their opposite appearances that caught Ferman’s attention.
He sensed some sizzle between them. They didn’t seem to be aware of it, though.
He would do well to heed Lovina’s past advice and stay out of his boss’s personal matters. He liked the work, and talking
to the clients and chatting up the horses was enjoyable—much more so than being cooped up in the buggy shop. He also appreciated
Perry’s honesty and inclination to make sure Ferman was up to the task. For a minute, he’d been offended, then common sense
kicked in. If he injured or overtired himself, he’d lose the job anyway. Better to conserve his energy and be aware of his
physical limitations. Since Perry was fine with that, Ferman would be too.
When he reached his driveway, he stopped humming as he looked at a familiar buggy parked on the gray gravel. He scowled. What’s he doing here? He was tempted just to drive on by and find something to do until after dark. Surely his unwelcome visitor would leave by
then. But he was tired and sore, and the thought of driving around in the jouncing buggy searching for something to pass the
time didn’t appeal. Besides, that was the coward’s way out.
He drove past the buggy and parked underneath the barn awning, got out, unhitched his horse, and led her to her stall. Just as he started to open the door, he heard someone enter the barn. Ferman didn’t bother to turn around.
“Need help?” the man asked.
Gritting his teeth, he remained silent and gave the mare some feed.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Unable to help himself, Ferman said, “Funny. Those were your exact words after you took off and left me alone.”
“That was your choice. Not mine.” Footsteps crackled against the dry straw on the barn floor. “Are you going to give me the
cold shoulder for the rest of our lives?”
Ferman tried not to limp as he exited the stall and latched the door. He also fought for calm as he faced the man in front
of him. His and Lovina’s only child, the one they’d had after years and years of asking God for children. My only sohn. “Why are you here? You and Polly Ann couldn’t get out of Marigold fast enough when you left last year.”
Junior shook his head and gave his father a long-suffering look. “We asked you to come with us.”
“Pfft.” Ferman shoved past Junior, who didn’t bother to move out of the way.
When they bumped shoulders, Junior lightly grabbed Ferman’s arm. “We’ve got to work this out, Daed . Eight months is a long time to geh without speaking to each other.”
“Nine,” Ferman said sharply, and continued to move on. But the more he walked, the tighter his hip became, until he couldn’t
hide the limp anymore. Somehow he managed to leave the barn and make it to the front porch before he nearly collapsed.
His son’s strong hand supported him under his shoulder, and they eased themselves down on the top step. Ferman was grateful Junior had kept him from toppling over, but he hated showing anyone how truly weak his hip was. From now on, he would take the anti-inflammatory bottle that sat on his dresser with him wherever he went. The early morning dose had worn off.
To his credit Junior didn’t say anything, and for several long moments both men stared out at the small front yard that needed
a good mowing. Birds twittered in the budding branches, and normally Ferman enjoyed the birdsong, but right now he just wanted
his son to leave so he could go lie down on his bed and rest.
Finally, Junior spoke. “Polly Ann is asking after you. She’d like for you to come over for a visit.” He cleared his throat.
“She’s expecting.”
Ferman’s heart leapt for joy. After sixteen years, his son and wife were finally having a baby. Like he and Lovina, they had
trouble getting pregnant, although neither Junior nor Polly Ann ever discussed it in front of Ferman. And they shouldn’t.
It was none of his business.
He started to grin. I’m going to be a grossdaadi . But his smile quickly disappeared. Junior and Polly Ann had moved to an even smaller town than Marigold on the other side
of Birch Creek. Familiar resentment rose up within him. There had been no reason for them to move away, other than Polly Ann
not wanting to live in Marigold anymore. She said it was because Bishop Fry was too lenient. Ferman thought he was just right,
balancing the job of the spiritual leader of Marigold and the business of running the community.
But Polly Ann was always a bit snippety. She and Ferman had butted heads more than once when she moved in with him, Lovina,
and Junior after she and Junior married. Finally, at least according to Junior, Polly Ann had enough of both Bishop Fry and
Ferman Eash.
Would that change once the baby was born? Ferman doubted it.
“You can’t even congratulate us?”
He turned to Junior and internally winced when he saw the pain in his son’s eyes. Dark brown eyes that were the exact shape and color of his mother’s, along with her olive complexion and black hair. But he’d gotten his short, stocky build from Ferman. “Congratulations.”
“Don’t sound so excited.” Junior jumped up from the step. “Polly Ann told me this was a waste of time. She was right.”
Ferman looked up at him. “I suspect you didn’t just come out here to tell me about the boppli . Or invite me to supper. Say what’s on your mind already.”
“You—” Junior’s mouth formed a thin line. “We want you to move to Ash Valley and in with us. You can’t live here on your own
anymore.”
“I live here just fine.”
“ Ya , I can see that.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “You couldn’t walk back to the house without falling over.”
“Because I just got back from my job,” Ferman shot back. But he didn’t get up from the step. Not when he wasn’t sure if he’d
have to sit right back down. “I’m working as a farrier’s assistant and doing just fine.”
Junior rolled his eyes. “Talk about stubborn,” he mumbled.
“If you were so concerned, you shouldn’t have left.”
“You still don’t get it.” Junior waved him off. “Or you don’t want to. Doesn’t matter.” He turned and headed for his buggy.
Halfway, he stopped, inhaled a big breath, and turned around. “You’re welcome to our haus anytime, Daed ,” he said, his tone softer and contradicting his granite-set jaw. “I want you to know that.”
Ferman punctuated his next words with his index finger pointed at the ground. “I’m gonna stay right here. Where I belong.”
Junior threw up his hands and marched to his buggy, jumping inside with the same athletic grace Ferman had in his youth.
He watched his son leave, only attempting to get up from the step after he couldn’t see Junior’s buggy anymore. Ferman placed his hands on both sides of his body and pushed up. Pain shot into his hip, but he clenched through it. Quickly, he reached for the railing, missing it once and almost falling again. The second time he grabbed it, turned around, and made his way slowly back into the house.
Then he remembered the lunch in his buggy. He’d have to get that later. Right now, he needed to lie down. He would never leave
his medicine behind again.
Limping into the room, he shut the door and made his way to the bedroom he’d shared with his wife for fifty-six years. He’d
lived in Marigold even longer, before it had become an official Amish district and there had been only three families nearby.
That had been when he was a young boy.
He’d grown up in this house. Married Lovina here. Junior was delivered by an Amish midwife in their bedroom. They’d raised
him here.
And Lovina had died here.
Ferman couldn’t leave. Too many memories. No, not just memories. Marigold was in his blood, and he couldn’t imagine living
anywhere else. He didn’t want to. And when it was time for him to join Lovina in heaven, he wanted to die right here. Where
she had.
With weakening steps, he made it to his room, downed his pills without water, and collapsed on the bed. Thank the good Lord
above that Perry’s client had canceled tomorrow’s job at the last minute, right before Ferman had headed home. He needed the
unexpected day of rest. He’d also have to come up with a better way to manage his pain so he could function. He had no other
choice, despite how much his son tried to convince him otherwise.
***
Daisy gathered her cross-stitch bag and headed outside. She kicked off her flip-flops the minute she sat under one of the
large trees in Grace’s backyard. The budding branches didn’t provide shade, and that was fine with her. The midmorning sun
was warm, and the breeze was not nearly as chilly as it had been the first two days of her visit. She was comfortable wearing
her navy blue cardigan over her pale green dress.
She leaned her back against the rough bark of the tree’s trunk and crossed her ankles. This morning, Grace went to her job
at an agency that cleaned English houses, explaining that if she’d known Daisy was coming, she could have asked for more time
off. As for Aenti Rosella, she was spending most of the day shopping with one of her friends for supplies to restock her kitchen after being
gone for more than a week. “Just enjoy yourself today,” her aunt said as she left the house.
Daisy frowned at the cloth craft bag in her lap. She was feeling a little abandoned, even though she knew her cousin and aunt
hadn’t meant for her to. Once again, she still didn’t understand why her mother and father had rushed her here when the wedding
seemed to be the last thing on Grace and Rosella’s mind.
Her confusion increased the night before. After she and Grace had cleaned up the kitchen, Daisy decided to call her mother
again to make sure she’d told Maynard why she was in Marigold and had given him Grace’s phone number. She thought she would
have heard from him by now. They might not be romantically involved yet, but they were friends, and she had just upped and
left him. Didn’t he miss her a little bit? She sure missed him.
“I won’t be long,” Daisy told Grace, who was sitting at the table, looking through one of her mother’s cooking magazines, a small file box and a stack of index cards close by. For the past several years, Grace had been gathering recipes for her own household, and she was also adding Kyle’s favorites to her collection.
When she arrived at the shanty, the door was open, her aunt talking animatedly to someone. Daisy didn’t mean to eavesdrop,
but she couldn’t help but hear part of the conversation.
“I think we should have planned this better,” she said, waving her hand over her face. Aenti Rosella was going through the “change” and often had heat flashes, which was probably why the phone shanty door was open.
“It’s all so last minute, and I haven’t had time to think of reasons to—I know, and I’m glad for the visit—”
Visit? Was her aunt talking about her?
“I understand. I’d feel the same way if I were in your shoes. We’ll figure out how to make this work. You too. Bye.”
Aenti Rosella hung up. When she left the shanty, her jaw dropped. “Daisy,” she said with an uneasy chuckle. “How long have you
been there?”
“Not long. I was going to call Mamm .”
Her aunt stepped aside, her flustered expression diminishing. Then she gave Daisy a big hug. When she let her go, she studied
her face. “You’re happy, ya ?”
“ Ya .” Daisy’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Aenti Rosella smiled. “Grace works tomorrow, and when she gets home, we can talk about the wedding. I wanted to make sure the two
of you had some time together before we dove into planning.”
After hearing her aunt’s explanation for postponing the wedding planning, she decided everything made sense after all. And
as far as the phone call was concerned, Aenti Rosella must have been referring to a future visitor to whoever was on the other line.
When Daisy called her mother, she was relieved to hear that she had told Maynard where Daisy was. “I did give him Rosella’s number,” she said, sounding a little reluctant.
“Did he say anything about calling me?” She rubbed her thumb against the curved edge of the phone handle.
A pause. “ Nee . He was busy.”
Of course he was. He could have called her last night, though. Or the night before. Then she reminded herself that being married
to a man who valued hard work was a good thing. Maynard would be an outstanding provider to her and their children. That was
important.
Daisy smiled and picked up her cross-stitch. Maynard would call her when he had a chance, and she needed to stop fretting
about it. With the sun beaming down, her toes free to wiggle in the grass, and having plenty of time to engage in her favorite
hobby, she was content.
Although it would be nice if Maynard was beside her on a lovely day like this one. They would have a picnic basket, one filled
with his favorites—fried chicken, broccoli salad, sweet-and-sour pickles, peach pie.
She’d only completed three stitches before she set down her work and closed her eyes, imagining Maynard fixing her a plate
of food instead of the other way around, like it always was. He handed her the plate, a warm smile on his face. That smile
turned passionate as he moved closer, letting his fingers run over her bare ankle. Mmm, that felt good. “Oh, Maynard,” she
whispered.