Patience watched her through the kitchen window.
“What’s she up to?” Mary asked.
“Feeding peas to the chickens,” Patience replied.
“Ah.” Mammi smiled at that. “At heart, kinner are all the same. They like to eat and feed things.”
Patience chuckled at that. She’d find out a lot more about kinner when she had a classroom filled with them from the first grade through to the eighth. She was used to caring for her nieces and nephews, and most young Amish women had plenty of practice in taking care of little ones. But this would be a whole new challenge.
Last night, sleeping in the upstairs bedroom of the Kauffman house, Patience had lain awake wondering about the strange story surrounding Thomas. If she hadn’t been told what had happened, he would seem like a regular Amish man to her. He loved his work, he seemed dedicated to the Amish way of life and there was nothing about him that stood out as different. And yet, everything about him was different.
But he wasn’t the only one with a peculiar story, it would seem. These men were bachelors living together, or so she’d been told. And most had been married before.
Patience reached for an iron staying hot on the stove and smoothed it over a finished seam on the cape of the dress. The kitchen was overly warm because of the stove, and they had all the windows propped open, and the side door, too, trying to get some cooler air moving through.
Mary was making sure the stove did double duty, and she had some meat pies baking in the oven alongside some potatoes and some flatbread cooking on the stove top—all to feed the hungry men who’d be home soon for their dinner.
“What happened to Amos?” Patience asked. “He has a beard. Did his wife die?”
Mary looked up from her work, using her bare fingers to pluck up some flatbread and flip it on the pan.
“That’s a sad story,” Mary replied. “She didn’t die. Her name is Miriam, and she left Amos after their first year of marriage. She went back home to her family in another community.”
“Why?” Patience asked.
“They weren’t happy,” Mammi replied. “They were both stubborn, and we all told him when he set his sights on her that it wouldn’t end well. She was too well off, and Amos barely had two nickels to rub together.” Mammi paused, thoughtful. “We aren’t supposed to focus on money, but it does make a difference. He could afford a little cottage on the corner of someone else’s land. And her daet owned two farms free and clear. They butted heads a lot, and Amos was more fiery-tempered back then.”
“Oh...” Patience sighed. “That’s sad.”
“Yah, it is,” Mammi replied. “And she broke his heart when she left him. But now they’re both living their own separate lives, and... It is what it is.”
“Isn’t it worth patching it up?” Patience asked.
“He tried once. He went out to see her daet, but her daet’s a proud man, and he told Amos that if he wanted his support in bringing Miriam back home, then he’d better prove himself a better provider. That insulted him deeply, and he just couldn’t forgive it.”
“And she’d rather live without a husband?” Patience asked.
“Well... The way I heard it, she’d rather live without the fighting,” Mary replied. “A marriage takes two, dear, and she wasn’t used to Amos’s ways any more than he was accustomed to hers. There is always another side to the story.”
Patience brought the dress back to the table where she had better light and sat down to begin hemming the sleeves.
“Noah and Thomas came to stay with us because we had the room,” Mary went on. “Besides, the boys were both working with Amos in the carpentry shop, so they all knew each other well. When their mamm jumped the fence, they had the choice to go with her, or to stay with us. They both chose to stay.”
“Is he like a daet to them, then?” Patience asked.
“More like an older brother,” Mammi replied. “He’s protective. He gives advice. They’re as close to kinner as he’ll ever get, I suppose.”
How many women had just walked away from the men in his household? Amos’s wife abandoned him, and Noah and Thomas’s mother did the same. From what she could see of these men, they were kind and decent—and lonesome. Men needed some nurturing as much as anyone—maybe even more so when they seemed the strongest.
Mary rapped on the kitchen window. “Rue, stay away from there!”
“What’s she up to?” Patience went to the door and saw Rue stop short at Mary’s call. Rue had been headed toward the horse corral. She looked just like any other Amish girl now in her little pink cape dress, except her hair was shorter, with bangs in the front, and she still wore her flip-flops.
“Come back inside, Rue!” Patience called.
Rue turned and came back toward the house, dragging her feet and glancing over her shoulder a couple of times.
“I wanted to see the horses,” Rue said as she came up the steps.
“The horses aren’t for playing,” Patience replied. “They could squish you.”
Rue sighed and came indoors, her little flip-flops making a slapping sound against the bottoms of her feet.
“You can take those off,” Mary said. “Go barefoot.”
Rue stepped out of the sandals and walked away from them.
“Put them in the mudroom, dear,” Mary said. “We all have to pick up after ourselves, or else we’ll have nothing but mess and confusion.”
Rue looked up at Mary mutely, her eyes suddenly misting.
“It’s okay,” Patience said, and she scooped up the sandals herself, depositing them in the mudroom next to the men’s
