The Tinderbox Read online

  They laughed, and she offered him some Amish peanut butter spread on a cracker. He was struck by the extraordinary sweetness and asked about the ingredients.

  She smiled and shook her head a bit flirtatiously. “Well now, I’m afraid ya have to be Amish through and through before I can tell a Riehl family secret.”

  The young woman captivated his imagination in the time it took to purchase the root beer and a pint jar of the fantastic peanut butter spread. But in spite of having asked around about her, curious to know her first name, it was another week before he saw her again, across the room at a Preaching service.

  Later, after the shared meal, Earnest helped with the driving horses, hitching them up for various families. As it turned out, one of the horses belonged to the young woman’s father, and Earnest smiled and said hello to Rhoda when he spotted her. She had brightened, then looked away, appearing surprised that he’d managed to learn her name.

  It didn’t take Isaac long to figure out that Earnest had noticed the lovely young woman, and he declared Rhoda Riehl to be one of the most devout young women he’d ever known. “If you’re honestly thinkin’ of going forward with the Old Ways, you oughta get to know her,” Isaac encouraged Earnest. “But you’ll need to follow the rules: There’ll be no courtin’ till after ya join church.”

  Without explanation, Earnest agreed, knowing he would never remarry anyway. The gold pocket watch was a reminder of his mistakes, he thought, drawn to embrace this new sense of contentment and to keep the memories of his depressing past locked deep within.

  During his Proving, Earnest worked alongside Isaac to learn the art of clock making, and when Isaac felt he was ready, he offered to turn over his business to Earnest for a modest down payment. Instead of a promissory note, Earnest gave his word with a gentleman’s handshake to pay off the remaining balance over time, something that likely wouldn’t take many years with Isaac’s existing customers and notable clock inventory.

  The following year, Deacon Peachey invited Earnest to take baptismal classes with the other candidates, all younger than he—and all of them born Amish.

  It was mid-September when Earnest knelt before Bishop John Beiler and the membership and was baptized at the age of twenty-one, having adapted to gaslight and broadfall trousers and a bowl-shaped haircut. He did secretly miss his car, and wondered if any other Amishmen ever longed to travel faster than a horse and carriage would permit. But it was only a matter of convenience—with no close family to return to in the outside world, and Rosalind remarried, Earnest was content to make his home with the People.

  Settled in his singleness, Earnest did not attend the Sunday Singings and other activities for the area’s young people. His heart had been shattered, and besides, since divorce amongst the People was absolutely forbidden, he wasn’t suitable for any Amishwoman who might look his way.

  But when he again encountered sweet-spirited Rhoda Riehl at the General Store, he was taken aback by how pleased he was to know she was still single. Guarding his heart against his attraction to her and still burdened by his past, Earnest was tempted to pursue a friendship with such a wonderful young woman.

  Waking up still inconsolable even after her deep sleep, Rhoda lifted herself out of bed and went to the dresser, where she peered at her mussed hair in the small hand mirror. She wondered if Earnest had ever struggled to look at his reflection these past more than twenty years. Had he felt guilty while regarding himself in the small mirror that hung over the sink in the bathroom downstairs, where he shaved his upper lip each morning? It boggled her mind to think that he’d somehow dismissed his past and not bothered to tell a soul. Not even Mahlon Zook.

  Truth be told, she understood why Earnest hadn’t revealed his former marriage ahead of their courtship, but why not sometime before their engagement? These and other serious questions pestered her as she tried to straighten her hair enough to tie on a blue bandanna.

  Someone rapped at the door, and she cringed, not ready to see Earnest, least of all there in the room where they had been so intimate.

  “Rhoda?” he called softly.

  She looked at the three-chime clock on her bureau and realized it was close to the noon meal. Reluctantly, she crept to the door, opening it only slightly. “I’m really not up to cookin’.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” His face was haggard, his hair rumpled.

  She opened the door a bit wider.

  “I wanted to check on you.”

  “Just resting, is all,” she whispered.

  “All right . . . I won’t bother you, then.” He turned toward the stairs.

  “Earnest,” she managed to say, “why did ya keep the pocket watch?”

  He faced her and took a few steps back, eyes blinking. “It was a strange thing to do, I realize. But I saw it as a reminder of what I did wrong . . . I never wanted to be that impulsive again.” He went on to explain that, in those early days, he’d also kept it as something he might be able to sell if he needed to keep afloat financially. “I went out on a limb not finishing my college degree, and I knew the watch was valuable enough that it could provide me with some extra cash in a pinch. Of course, that was before I was sure that I could make a go of Isaac Smucker’s clock-making business.”

  “Around the time you and I were starting to be friendly,” she said, the memory of those seemingly innocent days nearly overwhelming her now.

  A brief smile flitted across his face, then disappeared.

  “I didn’t keep the watch because it was special to me. If anything, it reminds me of the way my former life was ripped apart . . . so many broken dreams.” He looked like a lost soul as his arms hung limply at his sides. “Maybe I needed to feel that pain, to punish myself for ignoring my parents’ concerns about Rosalind, and our being so very young. We didn’t care what anyone thought—we just rushed into marriage.”

  She was conscious of the sadness in his eyes.

  “I’m willing to sell the timepiece. That was actually the reason I unlocked the tinderbox the day Sylvie looked inside.” He paused. “If I had followed through and sold it immediately, she never would have seen it. . . .” He sighed.

  Rhoda shook her head, surprised. “Well, and then I might never have known the truth,” she said matter-of-factly, almost wishing that were so. “But it ain’t my place to say what to do with it.”

  “I mean it, Rhoda. I’m happy to sell it.”

  Rhoda didn’t want to talk about it anymore—not just now. “Ach, it’s all so troubling, my head hurts.” And my heart all the more.

  He was silent for a time, glancing toward the seat near the window where he’d often sat and read the Good Book aloud to her. “Maybe I could give the money to the alms fund.”

  “Are ya suggestin’ you can buy your forgiveness?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, it might seem that way,” she said softly, wanting so much for this conversation to end.

  “Everything comes down to what’s right and wrong,” he said. “And I’ve wronged you and our family—I know that much.”

  Feeling weak again, she went to sit in her chair near the window.

  Earnest stepped into the room and was about to close the door when they heard something downstairs. Had Sylvia come home early? Their eyes met, and Rhoda’s breath caught. “Ach, Earnest . . .”

  It seemed as if they both realized the same thing in that moment: Revealing the truth about Earnest’s past was not only damaging to her and Earnest’s marriage, but it could ruin Sylvia’s relationship with Titus, too. Truth be told, it could hurt the whole family!

  “Oh, Earnest,” she murmured, tears welling up. “What are we to do?”

  “Can we work through this . . . together?” he asked, his palms outstretched. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Together?” He must think I’ll leave him. Rhoda’s stomach lurched as she looked across the room at Earnest. He appeared as desperate as he sounded. “All I know this minute is that I best be fast
ing,” she said.

  “I understand.” He mentioned making a sandwich for himself. “I can see to Ernie, too. But is there anything I can do for you, dear? Anything at all?”

  She shook her head, hardly able to stand the sight of him in their bedroom.

  Earnest turned to leave, and she soon heard his tread upon the stairs. Staring out the window, Rhoda was thankful that Sylvia was gone for the day—it didn’t sound as if she had returned early, as Rhoda and Earnest had feared. And of course with school, the younger boys would not be home till midafternoon.

  How can I possibly display a cheerful spirit around all my children every day this summer? she thought then, knowing she must for their sakes. Dear Lord, how?

  CHAPTER

  Fifteen

  Outside at the rhubarb jam–making bee that noon, Sylvia looked up from the well pump in the side yard just as Titus and his brother, eighteen-year-old Jonah, rode by in their father’s spring wagon.

  She was pleased when Titus called to her, and she waved back, so glad she’d come out for a drink. Oh, she wished she could tell him right then how she looked forward to seeing him again, and to thank him for his nice letter. But she simply watched the wagon move down the road, her heart wishing the hours away till Saturday.

  That afternoon, when Sylvia’s cousins dropped her off at the house, she found Adam and Calvin sitting on the back-porch steps talking about one of the younger schoolboys who had caused trouble at recess.

  Calvin, rather vexed, said he wished the teacher would do something drastic to punish the offender. “’Cause I’d like to punch him real gut!”

  “Ach, Bruder, you know better’n to say that,” Adam said. “We don’t fight back. It’s not our way.”

  Calvin scrunched up his face. “Well, the least the boy could do is buy two new lunch buckets with his own money, ain’t?”

  “True, but stop an’ think how you’d be if you was an only child, like he is,” Adam said, looking serious.

  “Were,” Calvin corrected. “Were an only child.”

  Adam shrugged. “I’m gonna be a farmer, not a professor or whatnot. What do I care how I talk?”

  “Puh! Who’s gonna be a professor . . . sure ain’t me!”

  Adam laughed. “Now you sound just fine. Jah, much better.” He grinned. “You were startin’ to sound like Dat sometimes.”

  “Like an Englischer, ya mean?” Calvin asked.

  Adam nodded. “Jah, sometimes.”

  “Maybe that’s ’cause he was one.” Calvin dried his hands on his pants and went into the house.

  Sylvia walked across the yard to Adam. “Did I overhear that someone’s getting under Calvin’s skin?”

  “Jah, but school’s nearly out for the year, so Calvin can quit complaining and let the teacher an’ the parents work it out.” Adam looked at her questioningly. “If you was the teacher, I mean were”—he glanced toward the house—“what would ya do to a boy with no respect for others’ belongings?”

  Sylvia’s interest was heightened. “I’d think of somethin’, but what would you do?”

  “Prob’ly make him go and fish two lunch buckets out of the hole in the outhouse.”

  “Was in der Welt?” She screwed up her face. “For goodness’ sake, how awful! What’s the teacher doing ’bout it?”

  Adam was trying not to grin. “That’s just it, she seemed too ferhoodled to do anything. She should at least call in his parents to set him right if she can’t do it herself.” And with that, he walked away to do his barn chores.

  Sylvia stood there, shaking her head. Sure glad I’m not the teacher!

  She headed for the house, wondering if she should tell Mamma that, while riding home with her cousins, she had seen Hannah out sitting on the front porch. She was just rocking and staring at the sky

  In the kitchen, Mamma was washing asparagus spears, murmuring under her breath.

  “What can I do to help get supper on the table?” Sylvia asked.

  “Ah, gut, you’re home,” Mamma said, her gaze still on her task. “Roast beef is bakin’—did ya smell it when you came in?”

  “I do now ya mention it,” Sylvia said. “Guess I was deep in thought.”

  Mamma looked up, eyes puffy and her hair askew. “Oh?”

  Sylvia stared at her, alarmed. “Are you all right? Ya look—”

  “It’s been a different sort of day.” Mamma shrugged and went back to rinsing soil off the asparagus, clearly unwilling to talk about it. “What were ya thinking ’bout, dear, when ya came in?” she asked.

  “Just something Adam and Calvin said happened at school.” Sylvia took a white work apron out of the bottom drawer, curious why Mamma looked as disheveled as if she’d just crawled out of bed.

  Her mother kept working, not inquiring further about what Sylvia meant, which was not like her at all. That being the case, Sylvia decided not to mention the lunch boxes that had been thrown down the outhouse, not now. Better to wait till we aren’t in the kitchen, anyway!

  After bowing heads for the silent blessing at the supper table that evening, Sylvia realized that not a single one of them was talking about their day. She was aware only of the sounds of utensils on the plates and tumblers being set down on the table. Dat and Mamma seemed especially preoccupied with their own thoughts. In fact, the depressing silence continued till Mamma got up and brought over the rhubarb pie and ice cream. This brought spontaneous applause from her three younger brothers, but Ernie and Dat didn’t join in like they typically might. When Sylvia looked at Mamma to see if she noticed, too, she spotted her frown and quivering chin.

  A jolt passed through her, and she was filled with foreboding. Had Dat told her about the contents of the tinderbox?

  The possibility rattled her. And with everything in her, Sylvia hoped not.

  Rhoda was relieved when, after supper, Earnest went with the boys to freshen the livestock’s straw bedding. She found it easier to breathe when her husband was absent from the room. This stark realization shook her; in just a few hours’ time, everything about her life had been turned topsy-turvy. Why, she had been tricked into marriage to a man who’d once been wed to another! Snookered, she thought, still traumatized by Earnest’s disclosure.

  Standing at the kitchen sink, she put some dish soap in the water and absentmindedly swished the suds around. Then, reaching for the stack of dirty plates, most of them chipped from use over the years, she gently lowered them into the deep sink.

  Sylvia dried each plate as she worked alongside Rhoda, doing what she had been trained to do since age five, when she had stood on a chair to dry dishes, chattering all the while. This evening, though, her daughter was strangely silent, even though she surely had thoughts of Titus to share.

  Occasionally, during the course of washing and drying the dishes, Rhoda’s hands lightly brushed against Sylvia’s. The ordinary gesture triggered something profoundly maternal within her. She thought again how Earnest’s deceit would likely affect their precious children, rippling out like a stone tossed into a lake.

  Reaching now for the utensils and placing them in the dishwater, she wondered how she and Earnest could possibly keep such a secret. Was it even possible to continue the charade that all was well? From the children’s concerned glances around the table, she doubted they were even succeeding. It was hard to disguise her aloof behavior toward her husband, the sudden sense of distance between them.

  These things Rhoda pondered long after the kitchen was cleaned up and Sylvia had left the room.

  When Earnest and the family met for Bible reading and prayers, Rhoda could tell that his heart was not in their devotional time. His voice sounded so flat, she wondered if perhaps he had been acting a part all of these years. Was it possible that their relationship wasn’t the only thing built on a false foundation?

  Yet everyone amongst the People thought Earnest to be an upstanding Amishman, herself included. And now only I know the truth. . . . The weight of it was so heavy that, just now, she didn’
t see how their marriage could survive. It crossed her mind that they might simply part ways, not divorce but separate. Earnest can return to his English roots, if he wishes. After all, it seems faith wasn’t what drew him to become Amish, she thought sadly.

  Rhoda noticed just then that Ernie and Adam were trading glances, though aside from that, they had seemed to be paying attention. Calvin and Tommy, however, appeared to be daydreaming, and considering their father’s mind-numbing monotone while reading the Good Book, who could blame them? Why, even poor Sylvia looked nearly as pained as Rhoda felt.

  She gave a sigh of relief when they all turned to kneel at their seats. As was their norm, Rhoda prayed the silent rote prayer, tonight adding a fervent request for almighty God’s intervention. If it be Thy will, O Lord, help us through this difficult dilemma. I pray this in Jesus’ holy name.

  Earnest was wary while lying beside Rhoda when they retired for the night—mere inches felt like yards away. Even so, he didn’t want to cause her further anxiety by calling attention to his presence in their room . . . or bed. He wished there were a way to offer her some comfort. He had yet to get a real grasp on what she had been thinking these past few hours since they’d talked. Was she planning to ask him to leave? He’d almost detected as much at the supper table. She had been so dreadfully quiet, even leaning away from him.

  He yearned to turn back the clock and do things differently. Yet the thought of never having known and loved Rhoda caused his eyes to sting.

  “Have ya kept in touch with Rosalind?” Rhoda asked sleepily, startling him.

  “Not once, after the divorce was final.”

  That was all Rhoda asked before falling into a long and painful silence again.

  Peering into the darkness of the room, Earnest mentally recited the psalm he’d pondered earlier that morning. He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.

  After a time, Earnest lifted the sheet, reached for his bathrobe, and got out of bed. My faith is so weak, he thought. Can I expect God to lift me out of this mess . . . my own doing? Then, making his way across the room, he headed downstairs to sit at the table where he’d always sat since marrying his dearest Rhoda. Bowing his head there, he thought of beseeching God to forgive him but felt too unworthy.