The Tinderbox Page 7

  “Excuse me—I need some air.” Earnest heaved a sigh and got up to go out to the back porch. From where he leaned on the rail, he could see not only the boys outside, washing up at the well pump, but also through the screen door, Rhoda standing at the gas stove.

  He could hear his wife trying to smooth things over with Sylvia. “Your father’s obviously upset,” she was saying. “He’s suffering, ya know, with Mahlon’s funeral tomorrow.”

  Sylvia nodded and sniffed. “I don’t blame Dat, really. Titus’s Mamm can be rather . . .”

  “Self-assured?” Rhoda volunteered.

  Sylvia shrugged and laughed a little.

  Rhoda nodded and removed the black skillet from the stove and put the lid on. Then, surprising Earnest, she came to the screen door and stood there looking out at him. “Sylvie’s pretty upset.” She stepped outside.

  Earnest felt terrible. He was wrong to take out his anger at himself on anyone else. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head apologetically. “Things are just off-kilter.”

  Rhoda looked at him with tender eyes. “Anything besides Mahlon’s passin’?”

  Earnest knew full well what was eating at him. Fumbling for a response, he whispered, “Grief is just plain hard.” Not wishing to trouble her further, he chose to do what he’d done for years—sweep it under the rug.

  His wife nodded meekly, studying him.

  “I love you, Rhoda,” he said finally. “Never forget that.” He turned, feeling suddenly like an old man, and called for the boys to come in and eat.

  ———

  After Earnest had bowed his head for the silent blessing, he stated that they would be going to Preacher Zook’s visitation that afternoon. “You boys will have to wash up and change into Sunday clothes right quick after school . . . once chores are done, of course. You, too, Ernie and Adam.”

  Tommy exchanged a worried glance with Calvin. “Must I look at Preacher Zook in his coffin, Dat?” Tommy asked timidly.

  Earnest pressed his lips together. “Well, he was your minister, too, son.” He nodded then at all of his stair-step sons. “It’s a way to show respect and love to Preacher Zook’s family.”

  Rhoda agreed. “And that we care for them, and always will.”

  Tommy picked up his fork and began to eat slowly, his small shoulders tucked in tight.

  Earnest felt sorry for him. “Listen, Tommy . . . why don’t you stand next to me during the viewing?”

  “Denki, Dat.” His shoulders relaxed, and he resumed eating with a little more enthusiasm.

  Calvin seemed to sigh, as if perhaps wishing that he were still the youngest. But Earnest would be mindful of both boys during the difficult viewing.

  All during breakfast, Sylvia had minded her manners, not wanting to say anything she would later regret. The last place she wanted to be was in close proximity to her father, so she again declined going with her parents to help Mamie Zook. The way she felt this morning, keeping Dat’s secret, it was enough work to get the younger boys off to school and then redd up and make the noon meal. She would put her energy into making one of her favorite recipes—creamed chipped beef—to keep her hands busy and her thoughts from straying to the contents of that wretched tinderbox!

  Dat and Mamma had already left for Mamie’s, and it was time for the boys to head out the door, when Adam began to complain about a small hole in the front of his shirt, near a button. “Puh! Look at this,” he said, trying to tuck it farther in.

  “I’ll patch it after school,” Sylvia offered, looking at the wall clock.

  “That won’t help me now.” Adam shook his head.

  “Jah, his girlfriend might see it durin’ reading class,” teased Calvin.

  Sylvia squelched a smile. “Just ya wait two years till you’re Adam’s age.”

  “Puh! I’ll never look at a girl frog-eyed!” Calvin insisted.

  Sylvia ignored that. “There’s no time to change your shirt, Adam, unless you want to risk bein’ late for school,” she said. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  Adam, almost as tall as Ernie, was trying to hide the hole by shoving his shirt into his pants. Frowning, he finally got it to his satisfaction.

  “By the time ya walk to school, your shirt’ll prob’ly be out again,” Ernie said.

  Red-faced Adam just ignored all of them, then dashed out the back door ahead of his brothers.

  “Be kind to each other,” Sylvia called as Tommy ran after poor Adam.

  Calvin, however, glanced back at Sylvia. “I’ll look after him,” he reassured her.

  Sylvia nodded, thankful for Calvin, and went to the front window to peer out.

  Earnest felt the wind rise as he walked out to the carriage house. He had been at Zooks’ most of the day and then rushed home to clean up, donning his best black trousers and white shirt. Squinting into the afternoon sunshine, he considered how Mahlon’s dying had altered everything for Mamie and the family. True, they’d had some time to get accustomed to the possibility of his passing, but the reality of death was certainly far different, he knew all too well. Mahlon was everything to Mamie, Earnest thought, recalling the grief he’d experienced when his sister and then father died. His mother, too, later that year. The intense finality of those losses continued to this day.

  Later, in the crowded carriage, Calvin and Tommy sat on their older brothers’ knees, as they did whenever the whole family rode together. The children were talking quietly, except for Sylvia, who sat next to Rhoda in the front, the extension seat protruding slightly outside the buggy.

  Earnest noticed Rhoda reach over and place her hand on their daughter’s, leaning over to say, “These visitations are hard, I know, dear.”

  Sylvia’s upset about more than just the viewing, Earnest sensed, concerned about his daughter’s frame of mind.

  When they arrived at the Zook farmhouse, other Plain folk had already arrived to pay their respects. Like everyone else, Earnest parked on the wide strip of lawn on the south side of the lane, where at least ten teen boys worked to unhitch each horse and lead it to water near the stable. One of the fellows was Titus Kauffman, who smiled when he glanced their way.

  As Earnest and Rhoda headed inside, Earnest motioned for Tommy, who hurried to catch up with him. In the front room, over near the open door, Mahlon was laid out in the hand-built coffin. Taking a seat with his family, Earnest recalled his first encounter with Mahlon—the man had been surprisingly cordial to a young outsider. He had quickly taken an interest in Earnest and gone out of his way to introduce him to Isaac Smucker, Hickory Hollow’s elderly clockmaker.

  Such a gracious, tolerant man, Earnest remembered fondly.

  He glanced to his left, where his children sat reverent and still, and his heart filled with pride. Dad and mom and my grandparents would be impressed by them if they were alive today, he thought.

  When it was time, Earnest rose and walked with Tommy to the front of the room to file into the line. Two of Mahlon’s nephews joined them and offered handshakes before speaking with Earnest in hushed tones.

  Shortly thereafter, Rhoda and the rest of the family joined him, and slowly, as Tommy gripped his hand, Earnest filed past the coffin containing the body of his friend. My final good-bye, he thought, aware of Tommy’s hesitancy . . . and eagerness to move along.

  After the visitation, he and Rhoda and the children greeted each person present, including Samuel and Rebecca Lapp, and Mary Beiler, the bishop’s wife. Mamie Zook caught up with them, as well, and Earnest noticed how drawn her face was, as though she hadn’t slept the past two nights.

  “I’ll be here for the service tomorrow,” Earnest assured her. “If there’s anything more you need done before then, have Judah send one of his boys over.”

  Mamie thanked him, and they left the house.

  On the ride home, Earnest’s family was silent, and he wondered how the viewing had affected his children. He hadn’t forgotten how numb he’d felt at his young sister’s funeral, as well as those of his p
arents.

  Life is surely a vapor, he thought, clenching his jaw.

  CHAPTER

  Eleven

  Sylvia wanted nothing more than to go for a walk alone as her father pulled into their long driveway after the viewing. “Do ya mind, Mamma?” she asked as they got out of the buggy.

  “Take your time, dear. I’ll put together some sandwiches for supper . . . something light.”

  Sylvia hurried to her room to change clothes. Carefully, she removed her best white head covering and hung it on one of the wooden pegs near the dresser. Then she did the same with her black dress and apron, looking through her everyday dresses, touching the sleeves lightly, trying to decide which color was most appropriate. It wasn’t like she was a member of the Mahlon Zook family and should be wearing black for months on end. But she did feel as though she’d lost a family member.

  She chose her brown dress, black apron, and a brown bandanna before making her way downstairs.

  “Will ya bring in the mail on the way back?” Mamma asked as Sylvia headed toward the rear door.

  “Sure, Mamma.”

  Glancing at the sky, Sylvia noticed rain clouds gathering on the horizon. She’d gotten caught in rainstorms before and didn’t mind getting a little wet. Not like Calvin and Tommy, who seemed to relish getting sopping wet, especially when they were younger, stomping in mud puddles. She smiled, recalling her brothers’ antics. Preacher Zook liked to have the boys go over to help water his many rosebushes, she remembered. There were times in the heat of summer when the boys ended up spritzing each other with the preacher’s yard hoses, forgetting about watering the prized roses. On occasion even Preacher Zook would join in, making them all the wetter, laughing and having himself a wonderful-good time.

  Like one of our Dawdis might . . .

  Those pleasant memories lingered as Sylvia walked through the meadow, soon to be knee-deep with tall grass, ideal for their grazing livestock. As she went, she let her mind wander back to her lovely date with Titus last Sunday evening, while his buggy was parked beneath the sprawling oak tree. The breeze had been welcoming then, too.

  She still couldn’t believe he’d kissed her cheek so tenderly, his lips lingering there. Always before in the carriage, Titus had only held her hand.

  Remembering how it felt to be so close to him, wrapped in his strong arms, she could hardly wait to see her fiancé again. Would he ask her to go riding this weekend, even though the next Singing was more than a week away? Her heart had lifted when he’d noticed her at the viewing today. He’d given her a spontaneous smile, not seeming to mind that he was observed by others. He truly loves me, she thought, and doesn’t care who knows it.

  She raised her face to the sky and realized that her relationship with Titus was really the only thing that had lifted her spirits since her uncomfortable talk with Dat. Did I make a mistake urging him to keep the pocket watch from Mamma? she thought. Sylvia was still uncertain what she’d actually stumbled upon. But the unknowns surrounding the inscription in particular haunted her.

  Later, when heading toward the house, Sylvia checked the mailbox as promised, and was pleased to find a letter from Titus. She opened it and began to read as she walked.

  My dear Sylvie,

  How are you?

  I’ve been thinking about when we might see each other again, missing you already. Does Saturday evening suit you?

  If it does, meet me down the road from your uncle Curtis and aunt Hannah’s house, and I’ll pick you up there. I invited another couple to join us for a double date. We’ll go into town for some dessert and good fellowship. Maybe we’ll see other couples there, too.

  With love,

  Titus

  She laughed under her breath, because she had just been thinking about wanting to see him, and here was an invitation for this very weekend. Oh, the happy thought of spending time with Titus again!

  At four o’clock the next morning, Earnest quietly got out of bed and pulled on his work trousers and an old shirt, then tiptoed downstairs and over to his shop to do some work prior to dressing for the funeral.

  He worked for an hour on a beautiful wall clock, an eight-day key-wound Westminster chime clock, occasionally glancing at the tinderbox on the top shelf, letting his mind wander back to the bitter-cold morning Papa Zimmerman had given him the box. More than three decades ago . . .

  ———

  It was the day before Christmas, and ten-year-old Earnest and his parents and sister had traveled from their home in Fredericksburg, Virginia, to just a few miles outside of Loveville, Maryland, where his mother’s parents resided. Because of the cold temperatures, the back roads leading to the old homestead—a large truck farm—had deep wagon tracks from all the carriage wheels of Amish and Old Order Mennonites alike. Occasional crystalline snowflakes seemed to float through the air, and his sister, Charlie, said it looked like a fairyland.

  After getting unpacked, Earnest had gone with Papa Zimmerman to level out the rutted road with two mares hitched to a homemade road drag made of two bridge planks. Papa liked to do things the old way—or the hard way, some people said. At any rate, he ignored the fact that most farmers used a spike-tooth harrow to drag the roads around their farms.

  When Earnest and Papa returned home, their teeth chattering, Grammy had hot cocoa ready for them, and Dad had built a roaring fire in the fireplace. Earnest and Papa went to sit in the front room on the hearth, shivering till their backs eventually became too hot, clear through their flannel shirts. Earnest’s parents and sister were out talking with Grammy in the kitchen. “Christmas secrets,” Mom had said, eyes alight.

  After warming themselves, Papa said, “Say, Ernie, would ya like to have a look at the tinderbox my old pappy gave me when I was just a boy?”

  “Sure would,” Earnest said, anxious to touch the shiny box, which had been in Papa’s family for generations.

  Papa got up and reached for the brass box that had sat high on the mantel for as long as Earnest could remember. Sitting back down, Papa set the box in Earnest’s lap. “Here, young man. I’ve been wantin’ you to have this.”

  Earnest was shocked. “For me?”

  Papa nodded his head, brown eyes shining. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

  Astonished, Earnest ran his hand over the smooth, gleaming surface. Papa was giving it to him! “Wow . . . thank you!”

  “Listen, if you take good care, it’ll be worth somethin’ by the time you’re married and have children of your own.”

  Earnest looked up at his papa there next to him. “Are you sure I should have it?”

  Grinning, Papa leaned his shoulder against Earnest’s. “I’m mighty sure.”

  The large German clock nearby cuckooed twelve times, and Grammy came in to refill their cocoa mugs. “The noon meal’s almost ready,” she said, ruffling Earnest’s hair. Then, stepping back, she put one hand on her hip. “Are you two up to something?” she asked, eyeing the tinderbox in Earnest’s lap.

  Papa shrugged comically. “Santa just came a little early,” he said, winking at her.

  Grammy blew a kiss to them. “Well, if you’re hungry, come to the kitchen in a few minutes.”

  Earnest smiled, but his appetite had vanished. All he wanted to do was sit there and hold Papa’s wonderful tinderbox . . . now his.

  ———

  Moved by the memory, Earnest cleared his throat and stared at the gift that had brought him such pleasure that long-ago Christmas Eve day and so many days following. Till recently.

  But he knew better. The trouble wasn’t Papa’s box; it was the inscription on the pocket watch . . . and the fact that Earnest had saved Rosalind’s gift all these years. He forced air out through his lips and ran his hands through his beard, embarrassed by his behavior toward Sylvia. All she did was find me out.

  He turned to look at the oak storage cupboards to the right of his work space and opened the one closest to the floor, where he kept small boxes of clock replacement parts. Removing
all the little boxes, he pushed the tinderbox out of his sight—and anyone else’s. As honored as he had been to receive such a treasure, Earnest feared that its most valuable item might destroy what he cherished most.

  Rubbing his jaw, he returned to his chair and double-checked his work on the wall clock, dreading the funeral and the rest of the week stretching before him like a long black tunnel.

  Earnest directed the horse into the Zooks’ lane, missing Mahlon already. The man who had made him feel so welcome initially, the man who had reminded him of his papa Zimmerman’s peaceful, uncomplicated way of life. The man without whom Earnest would never have become Amish . . .

  The Zooks’ farmhouse and bank barn were packed with people, some of whom had arrived more than an hour before the start of the service. Earnest parted ways with Rhoda and the children and headed for the house, pausing to shake hands with dozens of black-clad mourners waiting to be ushered into the front room.

  Mahlon’s young grandson Andy spotted him and came back to greet him, indicating that Earnest was to sit up close to the front, in the row behind the pallbearers—four of Mahlon’s married grandsons.

  The Amish usher nodded, and Earnest followed Andy, feeling conspicuous and thankful the service would last only two and a half hours, instead of the more than three typical of a Preaching service.

  He noticed Judah and Edwin Zook sitting with bowed heads as they awaited the start of the service. Their brother Matthew reached over to shake Earnest’s hand and motioned for him to take a spot beside him on the long bench with all of Mahlon’s brothers. The ministerial brethren, including their longtime bishop, sixty-year-old John Beiler, were two rows up. On the opposite side of the room, the women sat facing the men, every one of them somberly clothed in a black cape dress and black apron.

  At the stroke of nine o’clock, the funeral service began with the reading of a hymn from the Ausbund, followed by several Scripture verses and a written prayer. Then Bishop John Beiler rose and took his place. Slowly, deliberately, he began his sermon at the same time as Amos Kauffman started to preach to the overflow crowd in the barn.