The Shepherd's Bride

The two men entered the kitchen and stopped in their tracks. They both looked around in surprise. The clutter had been cleared from the table. The wild heaps of dishes and pans in the sink had been tamed, washed and put away. The blue-and-white-checkered plastic tablecloth was glistening wet, as if she had just finished wiping it down. Even the floor had been swept and mopped. The scuffed old black-and-white linoleum looked better than Carl had ever seen it. There was a lingering scent of pine cleaner in the air, but it was the smell of simmering stew that made his mouth water.

Lizzie stood at the stove with her back to them. “It’s almost done. There’s soap and a fresh towel at the sink for you.”

She turned toward them and used her forearm to sweep back a few locks of bright red hair that had escaped from beneath her black kapp. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the oven. Carl was struck once again by how pretty she was and how natural she looked in Joe’s kitchen.

If the aroma was anything to go by, this might be the best meal he’d had in months. His stomach growled in anticipation, but he didn’t move. The arrangement he and Joe shared might be different now that Lizzie was with them. He locked eyes with Joe and waited for a sign from him.

* * *

Lizzie wasn’t sure how to proceed. She’d never fixed a meal for a shunned person. If Carl sat at the table, she would have to eat standing at the counter or in the other room. Eating at the same table with someone in the Bann was forbidden. Had her grandfather been breaking the Ordnung by eating with Carl? If so, it was her solemn duty to inform his bishop of such an infraction. She quailed at the thought. Such a move on her part would ruin any chance of bringing her sisters to live with him.

She watched as her grandfather went to the sink beneath the window and washed the grime off his hands. He used the towel she’d placed there and left it lying on the counter so that Carl could use it, too.

Her daadi stepped to the table, moved aside one of the benches and flipped back the tablecloth. Puzzled, Lizzie wondered what he was doing. Then she saw it wasn’t one large kitchen table. It was two smaller ones that had been pushed together. He pulled the tables a few inches apart, smoothed the cloth back into place and returned the bench to its original place.

She relaxed with relief. Her grandfather hadn’t broken the Ordnung. It appeared that he and Carl maintained the separation dictated by the Amish faith even when no one was around.

She caught Carl’s quick glance before he looked away. He said, “Is this arrangement suitable, or should I eat outside?”

He was trying to look as if it didn’t matter, but she could tell that it did.

“If my grandfather feels this is acceptable, then it is.” It was his home, and he had to follow the rules of his congregation. It wouldn’t have been acceptable in her uncle’s home. Her uncle wouldn’t have allowed Carl inside the house. Her uncle expounded often about the dangers of associating with unclean people.

Joe took his place at the head of the table. Lizzie dished stew into a bowl and placed it in front of him. She dished up a second bowl and gave Carl a sympathetic look before she left it on the counter. She took a plate of golden-brown biscuits from the oven and set it on the table, too.

Carl washed up and carried his bowl to his table opposite her grandfather.

Lizzie got her own bowl and took a seat at her grandfather’s left-hand side. When she was settled, he bowed his head and silently gave thanks to God for the meal. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carl bow his head, too.

What had he done that made him an outsider among them, and why was her grandfather risking being shunned himself by having him around?

The meal progressed in silence. Lizzie didn’t mind; it was normal at her uncle’s home, too. She and her sisters saved their conversations until they were getting ready for bed at night.

The unexpected weight of loneliness forced her spirits lower. She missed her sisters more than she thought possible. Tonight, she would be alone for the first time in her life. She didn’t count her night on the bus, for she hadn’t been alone for a minute on that horrible ride. She thought she was hungry, but her appetite ebbed away. She picked at her food and pushed it around in her bowl. A quick glance at her grandfather and Carl showed neither of them noticed. They ate with gusto. Maybe good food would convince them they needed a woman around the house full-time.

A woman, yes, but four women?

There was more than enough work to keep four women busy for months. The place was a mess. All the rooms needed a thorough cleaning. There was years of accumulated dust and cobwebs in every corner of the four bedrooms upstairs, although only one room contained a bed. The others held an accumulation of odds and ends, broken furniture and several plastic tubs filled with baby bottles. She assumed they were for the lambs.

The downstairs wasn’t as bad, but it wasn’t tidy, either.

She was afraid to speculate on the amount of mending that was needed. There was a pile of clothes in a huge laundry hamper beside the wringer washer on a small back porch. The few bits of clothing she had examined were both dirty and in need of repair. It was too bad that one of her days here was a Sunday. She wouldn’t be able to engage in anything but the most necessary work on the Sabbath.

She’d simply have to rise early tomorrow and again on Monday and Tuesday mornings to get as much of the washing, mending and cleaning done as she could before her bus left. Her grandfather might not want her here, but she would do all that she could for him before she left, even if she disliked mending with a passion.

It was a shame that Clara hadn’t come with her. Clara loved needlework. Her tiny stitches were much neater than Lizzie could manage. Each of the girls had a special talent. Lizzie liked to cook. Betsy was good with animals. Clara, like their mother, enjoyed sewing, quilting and knitting. Greta avoided housework whenever she could. She enjoyed being outside tending the orchard and the gardens.

Just thinking about them made a deep sadness settle in Lizzie’s soul. She had failed miserably to help them thus far, but the good Lord had given her more time. She wouldn’t waste it feeling sorry for herself.

She smiled at her grandfather. “I hope you like the stew. I do enjoy cooking. I couldn’t help noticing your garden hasn’t been prepared for spring planting yet. It’s nearly time to get peas and potatoes planted. My sister Greta would be itching to spade up the dirt. The Lord blessed her with a green thumb for sure.”

Her grandfather ran his last bite of biscuit around the rim of his bowl to sop up any traces of gravy. “The planting will get done after the lambing.”

“Of course. You probably know there’s barely any preserved food left in the cellar. I used the last of the canned beef and carrots for tonight’s meal. There will be only canned chicken for the next meals unless you can provide me with something fresh or allow me to go into town and purchase more food. What a shame it is to see an Amish cellar bare. At home, my sisters and I have hundreds of jars of meat, corn and vegetables. Do you like beets, Daadi?”

“Not particularly.”

“I like snap peas better myself.” She fell silent.

“There are plenty of eggs in the henhouse. We men know how to make do.”

There had to be a way to convince him of her usefulness. Perhaps after he saw the results of her hard work over the next several days he would agree to let her stay.

Joe pushed his empty bowl away and brushed biscuit crumbs from his beard and vest. “You’re a goot cook, I’ll give you that.”

“A mighty good cook. Thank you for the meal,” Carl added.

“You’re welcome.” She wasn’t used to being thanked for doing something that was her normal responsibility.

Her grandfather swallowed the last swig of his coffee and set the cup in his bowl. “I reckon it’s time to start moving the flocks closer to the barns.”

Carl nodded. “I can put the rams and the first of the ewes in the barn tomorrow in separate pens.”

“No point penning them inside just yet. Monday will be soon enough. Shearing can start on Tuesday.”

Lizzie brightened. Perhaps the sheep held the key to proving her usefulness. “Can I help with that? I’d love to learn more about sheep and about shearing them.”

Joe huffed in disgust. “If you don’t know sheep, you’ll be no use to me.”

She looked at Carl. He didn’t say anything. She was foolish to hope for help in that direction. Suddenly, she remembered the mail she had collected earlier. There had been a letter for him. She went into the living room and returned with her grandfather’s copy of the local newspaper and an envelope for Carl.

Her grandfather’s eyes brighten. “Ach, my newspaper. Danki. I like reading it after supper.”

She turned to Carl and held the letter toward him. “This came for you.”

When he didn’t take it, she laid it on the corner of the table and resumed her seat.

Rising to his feet, Carl picked up the letter, glanced at it and then carried his empty bowl to the sink. Turning to the stove, he lifted the lid on the firebox and dropped the letter in unopened. He left the house without another word.

After the screen door banged shut behind him, Lizzie gathered the rest of the dishes and carried them to the sink. She stared out the window at his retreating back as he walked toward the barn and the pasture gate beyond.

His dog came bounding across the yard and danced around him, seeking attention. He paused long enough to bend and pat the animal. Straightening, he glanced back once at the house before he walked on.

What had he done to cut himself off from his family, his friends and from his Amish faith? Why burn an unopened letter? Why live such a lonely life with only a dog and an old man for company? Carl King was an intriguing man. The longer she was around him, the more she wanted to uncover the answers about him.

“Out with your questions before you choke on them,” her grandfather said, still seated at the table.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She began filling the sink with water.