Find a Christian store

<< Go Back

Never Far from Home

By Mary Ellis

Order Now!

NEVER FAR FROM HOME
By Mary Ellis

Chapter One

Hannah Miller sipped tea and gazed out the window over the sink, mesmerized by a winter world changing to spring before her eyes. Trees with only fat buds this morning now displayed tiny, tender green leaves. She had spotted a red-tailed hawk on her ride to Julia’s, soaring effortlessly on wind currents warmed by the sun. Tomorrow, it might turn rainy and cold again. Even an April snowstorm wasn’t out of the question, but today God was giving them a small taste of the good weather to come. Hannah’s spirits lifted, despite having spent six hours on her feet helping with spring-cleaning at her sister’s. With Leah only twelve, and Julia’s hands unable to hold a sponge or wield a broom for very long, Emma needed her aunt’s help. But Hannah had enjoyed the friendly camaraderie of women after a season too long cooped up indoors.
This had been a bad week for Julia’s rheumatoid arthritis. Changeable weather, especially damp cold nights increased the stiffness and pain in her swollen joints. After months of relief from steroid injections and prescription pain relievers, Julia’s face revealed a true cure was nowhere in sight.
Hannah listened to Phoebe humming a lullaby to her doll in the next room. The child was thriving during her first year of school. Such a relief after Hannah’s worry last year that she might never speak again. Now she rattled on in both Deutsch and English until Seth raised his hand and admonished, “Rest your tongue, daughter. It must last you a lifetime.”
Refilling her cup from the teapot, Hannah leaned her hip against the counter and savored a few moments of quiet introspection. Supper was reheating in the oven—leftovers tonight since she still cooked too much food for three people. Soon Seth would come home and tell her about his day in the low, husky voice she loved so well. Hannah enjoyed sharing a cup of coffee with him in the late afternoon or sometimes after supper if Phoebe had homework. But right now, Hannah was content to watch two blue jays tugging on the same twig…and a shiny green truck pulling up their lane.
What on earth? She knew before the driver’s door opened who Englischer was paying them an afternoon call. The young sheep farmer who sold his wool to Mrs. Dunn in Sugar Creek stepped down from the pickup and headed toward the back door. Shaking her head, Hannah walked out onto the porch.
“Hello, Mrs. Brown. I hope you remember me, ma’am. James Davis from Charm. We met at A Stitch in Time.” He swept a different cap from his head; this one advertised a popular brand of tractors instead of the Cleveland Indians.
“Of course, young man. You came here last fall looking for my niece.” She glanced again at his vehicle, oddly clean compared to the mud-spattered trucks and buggies so common this time of year.
A corner of his mouth turned up into a lopsided grin. “Yes, ma’am. Your niece told me to stop by on my way home from Gram’s to see your sheep operation.”
Hannah vaguely recalled Emma had suggested the Davis family be invited to the wedding, which of course she had not done. They were complete strangers. But to the young man waiting patiently she said, “Of course, I’d be happy to point you in the direction of my sheep, and you’re welcome to look around at anything you wish. But I’m sorry; my niece isn’t here. Emma lives with her parents on Route 63, just around the corner. The second house you come to on your right. She should be home right now.”
He looked disappointed for a moment until the subject of their conversation rounded the house from the back path. Emma was wearing a fresh pink dress while her skin glowed with youthful vitality. This wasn’t at all how Hannah had seen her before leaving Julia’s. Emma had cobwebs in her hair, a sweaty face, and her apron was wrinkled and stained.
James must have caught Hannah’s surprised expression, because he pivoted on a dime. “Hi, Emma,” he called. “I’d hoped you would be working at your aunt’s today.” His greeting could only be described as enthusiastic.
Emma smiled demurely and offered a little wave as she approached. Hannah noticed she was walking rather daintily. Usually, Emma scurried wherever she went, only to be outpaced by Phoebe.
Not one to miss anything, Phoebe walked out of the house, letting the screen door bang behind her. She looked uneasily at the stranger before spotting her cousin. “Hi, Emma,” she called and ran to meet her.
“Hello, Phoebe,” Emma greeted, enveloping her with a hug. To the boy Emma said, “Hi, James. Welcome to Winesburg. I’m so glad you found us.”
“No problem at all. Your directions were perfect.” He stuffed his cap into the back pocket of his jeans.
Perfect directions? Hannah was thoroughly confused. Had Emma explained where they lived during their quick cup of cocoa in Sugar Creek last fall? That was a long time ago to remember an obscure township road on the other side of the county.
“Do you remember my aunt, Mrs. Miller?” Emma asked, glancing from James to Hannah.
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, his smile growing ever larger. “Miz Dunn mentioned coming to your wedding a while back,” he said. “Congratulations. She said it was real nice. Great eats.”
“Thank you, James,” Hannah said, remembering to use only English. To her niece she murmured, “I didn’t think we would see you again so soon.”
Emma flushed. “I got a notion to walk over and check on my, I mean…your new lambs. There was still a bit of time before supper.”
Hannah didn’t comment on her quick bath and fresh change of clothing.
“Is it all right if James takes a look at our sheep, Aunt Hannah? I told him I’m going into business with you, and that I’m saving money for my own spinning wheel and loom.” Sunlight reflected on her pretty face as she grinned with pride.
Hannah hadn’t seen her quite so joyous in a while.
“Our Cheviots look pretty much like other Cheviots, same with our Dorsets and Suffolks. But if you’d like to show them off, I don’t see any harm in it. I, myself, need to finish supper.” She slanted her niece a curious look then said to James, “Nice seeing you again. Please give my regards to Mrs. Dunn if you get to Sugar Creek before I do.”
“Will do, ma’am. Nice seeing you again.” He bobbed his head then put his ball cap back on.
Neither teenager paid Hannah another smidgen of attention. They were watching each other with abject fascination.
Phoebe glanced curiously from one to the other until Hannah took her by the hand and they headed inside. An unsettled feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach.
I’ve come to see your sheep, indeed.
* * * * *
Emma waited until her aunt shut the kitchen door behind her before looking up at James. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“I’ve been ready for this all day,” he answered. “I couldn’t wait till I finished chores at my grandparents’ house.”
She tried to hide her pleasure with his comment. “My aunt brought mostly Cheviots and Dorset crossbreeds from Pennsylvania when she moved here, but my uncle added Suffolks to the flock. The sheep pasture is on the other side of the barn. Uncle Seth keeps the sheep separated from his cattle.”
“That’s smart, Emma,” he said, “especially if you got a bull in with your cows. He could trample over young lambs when he gets in a bad mood.” James stuck his hands in his pockets and seemed to relax the farther they walked from the house.
“Our bull turns surly on a regular basis.” She was anxious to keep the conversation going, although finding things to say hadn’t been difficult in the past.
“Your aunt seems nice. So you’re partnering up with her instead of your folks?” He pulled up some weeds and stuck the longest one in his mouth.
“Jah, I mean, yes,” she said, feeling herself blush. “My father has just started liking sheep. Until recently, he used to call them smelly wool bags.”
James laughed. “They do take time to grow on a person. I used to think something very similar to that myself. But if you concentrate on the fact you never have to milk them and you can sell their wool on a regular basis, a person can overlook the fact they have the smallest brain in the animal kingdom.”
“Smaller than that of a field mouse?” she asked as they reached the pasture.
“By half,” he stated. James plucked another handful of dried Queen Anne Lace and handed it to Emma as though a bouquet of expensive flowers.
Emma accepted the bunch and sniffed, knowing full well these weeds had no fragrance whatsoever. “Small brains or not, I like sheep. They have the world’s sweetest babies. Look at those two young Suffolks with their velvety black heads and pink noses. They’re much cuter than any dog or cat.”
James focused on where Emma pointed. “You’re right. Those are cuter than anybody’s pet.” He stepped up to the bottom fence rail and offered a hand. She glanced around quickly before joining him. “What’s your dad’s opinion now?” he asked.
“Oh, he likes them, as least he says he does. He’s letting me start my own flock with Aunt Hannah’s spring lambs once they’re weaned. They will be payment for work I did.” Emma didn’t mention how little work she actually performed while Hannah and Seth were on their honeymoon. The compensation was overly generous.
“Is that right? Then let’s hope for plenty of sets of twins,” he said with a wink.
Something about his smile made her feel warm inside. It seemed as though she’d known James for a long time instead of a casual acquaintance. Were all English boys this friendly and relaxed around girls? He wasn’t bashful and tongue-tied like most Amish fellows. Not that she knew that many—her daed wouldn’t allow her to attend Sunday Singings yet, not until she turned sixteen.
“I suppose you’re already done with school,” he said with his gaze still on the lambs.
“Yes, almost two years ago.” Emma felt her mouth go dry.
“You are one lucky lady. I’ve got a couple more months till graduation.”
A lady? No one had ever called her that—girl, child, female, kinner—but never a lady. That warm sensation in her belly spread from her head down to her toes. “I used to like school,” she said, “but I’m glad it’s done. I never wanted to be a teacher like my cousin Phoebe. That’s all she talks about anymore.”
“All I ever wanted to do is farm,” James said, squinting from the sun dropping low on the horizon. “But now my dad’s talking agricultural college. I don’t need all that book-learning to work my folks’ three hundred acres.” He pulled the weed from his teeth and tossed it down.
Emma nodded. “Me, neither. Raise sheep, sell the extra wool, and maybe knit a warm sweater or two during the winter.” She smoothed a damp palm down her skirt.
He nodded in sage agreement then jumped down from the rail. “We’d better start back.” He offered his hand to her.
Normally, Emma would’ve hopped down from the fence like he did. But now that she was a lady, she accepted his hand and stepped down dignified. “Would you like to see our barns and the shearing room?”
“Better not. I don’t want any trouble with your aunt on my very first visit.”
The two walked side-by-side back to the house, without speaking. Each seemed lost in their private thoughts.
Davis might have been contemplating what his mom might fix for dinner or maybe what time the baseball game would be on T.V. tonight.
But Emma Miller was pondering his choice of words: I don’t want any trouble with your aunt on my very first visit.
That only meant one thing—James Davis planned to stop by again!

Hidden behind a swamp willow, Emma watched his truck pull onto the highway and head south. When his taillights disappeared around the bend, she picked up the rubber muck boots she’d hidden behind Aunt Hannah’s barn and tugged them on over her shoes. Although quite practical for walking the path between the two Miller brother farms, she had preferred not to be wearing something so unfeminine when she met James Davis again.
She had begun to think he’d forgotten his promise to stop and see Aunt Hannah’s flock. How she yearned to visit his parents’ three hundred acres! She and her aunt could learn a lot from him, despite the fact he was English.
Weren’t sheep still sheep? Some things didn’t change whether you sheared by hand or with electric clippers. His family had been producing wool longer than Aunt Hannah, and they were familiar with the grazing peculiarities of Ohio pastures.
More to the point, Emma thought he had forgotten about her.
James still attended the county high school and therefore crossed paths with plenty of pretty, fancy girls every day. Why would he remember one plain, Amish girl that he’d met last fall? Yet he had remembered. He’d left a note for her with Mrs. Dunn written on the back of a loading receipt:
Emma, I will stop at your aunt’s farm on my way home from Brewster on Tuesday the 17th. Hope you can give me the grand tour then. James Davis.
He had folded the paper over twice, secured it with a piece of tape, then printed Miss Emma Miller on the outside, using a tiny circle to dot the “i” in her last name. Emma remembered the circle because she’d reread the note nine times before tucking it inside the pillowslip on her bed.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed when her boot sunk down into soft mud. Her skirt hem quickly soaked up the cold standing water. If she didn’t stop daydreaming she would end up in the bog up to her knees and remain there until her family sent out a search party. Stomping her foot to keep the blood flowing, Emma gazed across the duck pond where water lotus had sprouted yellow bulls-eyes and the new reeds and cattails waved gently in the breeze. Ringing the water’s edge, the swamp willows were fully leafed out in yellow-green foliage. Returning thrushes, wrens, and blackbirds had noisily set up homes in treetops. Several pairs of blue herons were already hard at work on their massive nests of sticks. Wood ducks and mallards would arrive any day to lay their eggs on the mossy riverbank.
Signs of spring were everywhere, but none so indicative as her light and merry heart. James Davis had paid her a social call and wished to be a friend. She didn’t have many friends, especially not young male friends. And none had eyes the same shade of blue as a robin’s egg.
Emma loved to pause in this secret, quiet place with a book or to simply dwell in her own personal thoughts. Surrounded by birds and butterflies, crickets and tadpoles, squirrels and the elusive red fox, Emma felt close to God. He dwelled not only among His people, but here within His earthly creation. Daed liked winter, which offered a break from hard chores; Mamm favored summer so she might rock in the porch swing; Aunt Hannah preferred autumn with its glorious hues of crimson and gold and the bounteous garden harvest. But regardless of the mud, drifts of dirty snow, and a chilly breeze that could still bite through a cloak, Emma loved spring. It was a time of renewal and rebirth—new beginnings. And with the strange stirring deep beneath her ribs, Emma eagerly awaited each change headed her way.
With a sigh, she glanced toward the beaver dam, hoping to finally catch sight of the industrious critter. Probably still hibernating, the lazy bones, she thought and started for home. Once back in her own yard, Emma went straight to the barn loft. She still had an hour or two before Mamm needed help with supper. Plenty of time to spin the remaining wool from the last shearing or grind up the purple cornflowers that had been drying for several weeks.
But it was the half-finished wreath that captured her attention the moment she stepped into her whitewashed domain. Natural illumination flooded the room thanks to Simon’s insistence on a window cut between the support rafters. Settling herself on a tall stool, she admired her progress thus far. Braiding long strands of grapevine into intricate patterns provided a sense of purpose. She had just enough vines soaking in rainwater to finish the large wreath that could decorate someone’s home no matter what the season.
“Emma! Where have you been? I’ve been looking high and low for you.” Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of Simon’s booming voice. The box of dried mulberries she’d been digging through slipped from her fingers to the floor.
“Daed, you startled me. Must you sneak up on a person?” she asked in a tiny voice.
Simon Miller lifted his dark brows quizzically. “Sneak up? I came up the steps with my normal commotion. If a madchen wasn’t always deep in her own thoughts she might have heard me.” He put a hand at the small of his back and rubbed gingerly.
“You’re probably right,” she giggled. “A girl does tend to lose track once she gets up here.” She bent to sweep the spilled decorative berries into the box. “Is your back bad today? You shouldn’t climb these high loft steps when the pain flares up.”
Simon stopped massaging his spasmodic muscles and stared at his daughter. “I’ll keep off stairs when you stop hiding from the family. Where have you been all afternoon? I came in from plowing to find your mamm on a stepladder washing windows. You and Leah were nowhere to be found.”
A pang of guilt pierced Emma’s heart. “Oh my, I thought we were finished spring-cleaning for the day. She did mention the windows at lunch but it completely slipped my mind. I’ve been at Aunt Hannah’s…giving her a hand…with something.”
There I go…not really telling a lie, but certainly not offering a truthful account by any means. She set the wreath down and watched her father from the corner of her eye, feeling heat rise up her neck.
But Simon’s attention had been diverted elsewhere. He was staring gape-mouthed around the room, silently counting her handiwork that hung from nails on the walls. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…Emma, there are fifteen fancy grapevine wreaths up here. Where did they come from? And who are they for?” He sounded completely baffled.
Joy from her accomplishment spread across Emma’s face. “I made them, Daed. I made all of them. I hiked into the woods this past winter after my chores and cut down wild vines. They would just choke off the tree’s sunlight anyway. I dragged them home in bundles and soaked a few at a time in that old water trough to make them pliable. Then I would weave them into wreaths. I’ve made three different sizes.” She pulled out her basket of ribbons, fabric trim and dried acorns from under the table.
Simon’s expression of mystification did not fade, however, even after he peered inside the basket.
“I decorate them with notions, pine cones, dried berries,” she continued, “whatever I have handy. I think they look quite nice, and they’re made with free materials around the farm, except for the ribbons,” she continued, unable to keep pride from her voice.
Simon scratched his chin. “What are they for?”
“Why to sell in Mrs. Dunn’s store, A Stitch in Time. Tourists coming down from Cleveland or up from Columbus will pay forty dollars for a large wreath to hang on a front door.” Emma recovered the basket with plastic to keep out dust and pushed it under the table.
“You’ve been working on these besides tending your sheep?” He walked around the loft, inspecting every nook and cranny.
“Pa, I hardly have sheep to tend until Aunt Hannah’s spring lambs are weaned and she brings them over. I’ve already carded and spun my share of wool from the last shearing.” She crossed her arms over her apron, confused why her father seemed displeased with her diligence. Didn’t he always say hard work makes for a strong body and soul?
“You sound as if you can’t find enough to do around the farm. It’s spring, Emma. Your mamm can find plenty for you to do, I’m sure. If not, I can. What do you plan to do with the profits you stand to earn?”
Spontaneously, Emma ran to him and delivered a quick hug. “Oh, daed, I’m saving up for my very own loom, so I can weave wool up here next winter.” She added quickly, “After my household tasks are done, of course.”
Simon grasped her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “All right, daughter, but don’t let this money-making keep you from your chores. And don’t develop an over fondness for money. That is how the devil gains an inroad.”
“The devil will have no chance at my soul,” she spoke without thinking.
Simon looked shocked as his brow furrowed with worry at the bold statement. Amish folk usually refrained from speaking with such assuredness. “Get inside, Emma, and help with dinner.” His tone brooked no further discussion on the matter.
“I’ll put away my things up here and go right in,” she said, regretting her impetuousness. She didn’t want to rile her father on this perfect spring day, further improved by the visit from James Davis.
Warmth curled in her belly remembering his gallant presentation of the bouquet of wildflowers. Others might call them weeds, but if a person found value, they were weeds no longer. Emma allowed herself a minute to mull over everything he had said and done during the tour. She knew few English boys since the school she’d attended in Winesburg had been all Amish. But James seemed much nicer than the loud, rowdy boys she’d observed in town with their baggy pants sagging to near indecency. He was polite, hardworking, gentle with animals, respectful of both his parents and his mammi and dawdi in Mount Eaton. James seemed like a person her parents might like—if not for one tiny little detail.

* * * * *
Hannah had watched the pair return from the sheep paddock from the side window. Emma had waved and headed down the path as the young man drove off in his truck. The unsettled feeling in Hannah’s stomach had not gone away, but she sent her concerns up in a prayer and let the matter go. She did have the habit of making mountains out of molehills as had been pointed out more than once.
“Ummm. What smells so good, fraa?” Seth asked his bride from the doorway.
“You know full well what it is—the same thing we had yesterday,” Hannah replied, unable to suppress a smile. With oven mitts she moved the pot from the burner to the table trivet.
Seth pulled off his boots in the hallway, hung his felt hat on a peg, and then wrapped his wife in a bear hug. “I missed you.”
“You went as far as Mount Eaton and were only gone a few hours,” she said, half-heartedly resisting his embrace.
“Daed!” shouted Phoebe. Her doll momentarily forgotten, she darted across the kitchen like a hornet.
Seth swept her up into a three-way hug. “Can I help it if I missed my two girls?”
“I missed you too, Pa,” Phoebe said with her kapp askew.
Seth kissed her forehead then set her down.
Hannah pulled away from them. “Go wash you hands and face, Phoebe. I’ll set the table so we can eat. I’ll bet both of you are hungry.”
“How ‘bout we scrub down together?” Seth asked the child. “I’ve got a bucket of road dust on me from all the plowing goin’ on.”
As the two marched off, Hannah sampled a piece of the grocery store tomato she was slicing for their salad. Almost tasteless! Having been harvested green so it wouldn’t bruise in transit, the tomato had turned red but hadn’t ripened since the moment it had been picked. How she yearned for sweet garden vegetables after eating pickled-this and pickled-that all winter long. She topped the salad with a heap of chow-chow for color just as Seth carried his daughter back to the table.
“Something wrong with her legs?” Hannah asked, grinning.
“They’re mighty tired from all the running at recess, Ma,” she said, pulling over the basket of bread. Her daed swatted her hand when she reached for a biscuit then they bowed their heads in silent prayer.
Ma. What music to Hannah’s ears. It had been six months since she’d married Seth Miller and gained a precious daughter, but hearing the word still brought a goose-egg lump to her throat.
“I hit the ball with the wooden stick today and ran to the first sandbag,” Phoebe announced, pushing a tomato slice to the edge of her plate.
Seth and Hannah burst out laughing. “The ball is a baseball and the sandbag is called a base. Baseball,” Seth concluded, adding ranch dressing to his greens.
“Jah, I forgot. At first, the boys wouldn’t let us girls play until the teacher made them. She said the other opp-shin was sittin’ on the long benches twiddlin’ their thumbs. So they decided to let us play.”
“Boys can be troublesome at times,” Hannah murmured, winking at her husband.
“I would say they made the smart choice.” Seth took a roll from the basket.
“Jah, the girls hit the base-ball with the wooden stick more times than the boys.” Phoebe looked up with confusion. “How come that made some boys mad?” She pushed the other tomatoes to the edge of her plate and began to eat the lettuce.
Seth looked to Hannah, but Hannah shook her head, stifling laughter. “The wooden stick is called a bat,” he said. “And the boys got mad because they were jealous. Apparently, they’re not as smart as I gave them credit for.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across Phoebe’s silky dark hair.
“A perfect explanation,” Hannah added. “Now who wants stew? Hand me your plates.” Two bowls were thrust in her direction. She scooped stew and the two began to eat heartily.
Suppertime—Hannah’s favorite part of the day—when her little family gathered to give thanks, eat something warm and sustaining, and enjoy the company of loved ones. What a blessing to have your family close at hand. She had once read in a newspaper that English families had grown too busy to eat meals together. What a shame! Before they knew it, their kinner would be grown and gone while they busily rushed here and there.
“Owen Beckley is coming by tomorrow at first light,” Seth said, breaking the silence.
Hannah’s head snapped up from her meal. Owen Beckley sheared sheep, angora goats and alpaca llamas for a living. “Whatever for?” she asked.
“To shear the spring lambs, of course. Doesn’t lambswool fetch a better price than regular wool?”
“Jah, it does, but it’s too soon.” Hannah set down her spoon on the side of her plate.
“It’s not too soon. It’s the middle of April.” Seth scraped the last of the stew into his bowl.
“Nights still get chilly,” Hannah reasoned. “I think we should wait.” She sipped some water to soothe her dry throat.
Seth turned toward his daughter. “Stop playing with your food and eat.” The child popped a spoonful into her mouth. To his wife he said, “There’s no more frost at night, Hannah. I want to get this done before everybody gets involved with spring planting.” His voice took on an intensity Hannah hadn’t heard in a while—if ever.
“They’re not even weaned yet, Seth. I don’t see what the big hurry is.” Hannah’s own tone sounded a tad clipped.
“Phoebe, take your milk into the front room while your ma and me talk about this.”
The child who’d been glancing from one adult to the other slid off her chair and scampered out, leaving her milk behind.
Seth leaned back in the chair and inhaled, filling out his broad chest. “The big hurry is Owen Beckley has time to shear them tomorrow, before he starts setting his soybeans. Now is the best time for me, too. Maybe I should’ve mentioned this earlier, but I just ran into Owen today in Mount Eaton.” Seth rose from the table and threw down his napkin. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, fraa, when it’s really no matter a’tal.”
Seth walked into the living room without another word. Hannah was left with a table full of dirty dishes and with her temper flaring in a most un-newlywed way.

Order Now!

<< Go Back


Developed by Camna, LLC

This is a service provided by ACFW, but does not in any way endorse any publisher, author, or work herein.