“Don’t forget to shut the door tight behind you,” she said.
She took the pail of milk as Matthias removed his coat and gloves. He hung his hat on the hook over his coat.
“It’s getting cold out there, and snow is in the air.”
“I’m thankful we have this nice warm house.” Mamm took a casserole from the oven and set it on the table. “The days are short, and the wind blows cold, but we’re snug in our little home.”
Matthias paused, wondering which poem the phrase had come from this time. Mamm loved her poems, and even wrote them. Twice, her poems had been published in the Budget, the Amish newspaper.
“How was your first day at work?”
“It was fine.” Matthias washed up at the sink. “The other two men helped me learn my way around, and Leroy gave me some easy tasks to do.”
“Your Dat always liked working for Leroy.” Mamm set a plate on the table piled with slices of fresh bread. “He said Leroy Weaver was the fairest boss he had ever known.” She turned to stir the green beans. “Did you meet anyone else?”
“I talked to one of Leroy’s daughters.”
Matthias dipped into the pail of milk and filled a glass. He set it at his place at the table as Mamm beamed at him.
“If I remember right, the Weavers have four daughters. Which one was she?”
“Ada.” He took a long drink of the milk. It had been hours since the sandwich he had downed at lunch. “We were in school together, but I don’t think she remembered me.”
Mamm frowned as she set the beans on the table and took her seat. “Ada?” She thought for a minute, tapping her forefinger on the table. “She must be the youngest one.”
Matthias smiled. “She is certainly a good baker. She gave me a cookie, and it was just like Dat’s Mamm used to make.”
Mamm raised her eyebrows. “That is a good quality to look for in a wife, when the time comes.”
“The time has already come. I’m twenty-one years old.”
Mamm laid her hand on his. “I know, son, I know. It seems like you’re getting older, but you’ve only just begun your life. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to grow up.”
Matthias suppressed a sigh as Mamm bowed her head for the silent prayer. Most of his friends in Wisconsin had married by the time they were twenty and were living their lives. Raising their families. Working on their own farms. And yet Mamm continued to treat him like a boy.
Mamm passed the dish of green beans to him, signaling the end of the prayer before Matthias even started praying. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t thank the Lord for his food.
Thank you, Lord, for this food. He put half the beans on his plate and handed the dish to Mamm. And for granting me safety on the way home. He held his plate close to the casserole dish as Mamm spooned a generous serving of lasagna onto his plate next to the beans. Help Mamm to realize that I should be the man of the house, now that Dat is gone. Last of all, he helped himself to a thick slice of homemade bread. And thank you for my job.
“Elizabeth stopped by this afternoon,” Mamm said as she spread butter on her bread. “She was happy to hear that you found a job so soon.”
“I’m glad, too.” Matthias cut into the lasagna with the side of his fork.
“She brought little Ann with her.” Mamm stared toward the window. “I don’t think you know how difficult it was for me to move to Wisconsin and leave the girls behind.”
Matthias watched a tear slide down Mamm’s cheek. “I know the move was Dat’s idea. But he was right. He could afford to buy a farm there, while the price of land is too high here.”
Another tear followed the first one. Matthias set his fork down and moved his chair next to Mamm’s. As soon as he sat next to her, she leaned her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her, holding her tight.
“I wish we had never moved. If only your father had been content with what the Good Lord had given us here, instead of trying to have something more.”
Matthias had heard Mamm’s complaints before, but he let her talk.
“If only we hadn’t moved, your father would still be with us today. We wouldn’t have lost everything. We would still be living in our home instead of . . .”
Her voice trailed off, but Matthias knew what she was thinking. After selling the farm in Wisconsin and paying off the loan, and then paying for their train tickets home to Indiana, Mamm had only had enough money left to buy this little house on the outskirts of Shipshewana. Hardly three acres, the property would keep a cow and a horse and allow Mamm to have a garden. This drafty little one-bedroom house with its old asphalt siding was their only home.
He stared at the window over the sink, barely noticing the fat, wet snowflakes that splatted against the dark pane. This wasn’t a house he could ever ask a wife to share with him. He couldn’t expect any woman to be happy sharing this little place with her mother-in-law and sleeping in the attic. Marriage, even if he met the right girl, would have to wait until things got better.
Matthias pulled his plate across the table and continued eating, one arm still around Mamm’s shoulders, and pushed away that thought. He would just have to learn to be content with the way things were. He had no guarantee that their lives would ever improve enough that he could think of a home and family of his own.
The morning before Thanksgiving, Ada leaned over the kitchen sink to gaze out the window. The lamplight streaming from the kitchen into the early morning darkness made the snow look like sugar frosting on the
