Patricia Davids - Plain Admirer

“Maybe Louise was playing with it. I told her not to,” Salome said, shaking her head.

Joann cringed at the thought. If the younger girl had damaged it, she wouldn’t be able to get her money back. She’d foolishly spent an entire week’s wages on the graphite rod and open-faced spinning reel combo. In hindsight, it was much too expensive.

Oh, but when she’d tried it out in the store, it cast like a dream. Maybe she should keep it.

No, she gave herself a firm mental shake. She couldn’t afford it now. If her hours were cut, she would have to make sacrifices in order to keep putting money in her savings account. Otherwise, she faced a lifetime of moving her cot from one household to another.

Salome dropped to the floor to check under the other beds in the room. Finally, she found it. “Here it is.”

Joann breathed a sigh of relief when Salome emerged with the long package intact. Taking the box from her niece, Joann checked it over. It bore several big dents.

“Did she break it?”

“I don’t think so.” Joann carefully opened one end and slid out the slender black pole. The cork handle felt as light and balanced in her hand now as it had in the sporting goods store. She unpacked the reel. It was in perfect shape.

From the bottom of the stairs, Joann heard her brother call out, “Salome, are you coming?”

“Yes, Papa. Joann is coming, too.” She ran out the door and down the stairs.

Joann stared at the pole in her hands. Why not try it out once before sending it back? What could it hurt? It might be ages before she had a chance to use such a fine piece of fishing equipment again. She bundled it into the box, grabbed her small tackle box from beneath her cot, exchanged her white prayer kapp for a large black kerchief to cover her head and hurried after her niece.

On her way out of the house, Joann paused long enough to grab an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table. Outside, she joined the others in the back of the farm wagon for the jolting ride along the rough track to a local lake. It wasn’t far. Joann walked there frequently, but she enjoyed sitting in the back of the wagon with the giggling and excited girls at her side.

The land surrounding the small lake belonged to an Amish neighbor who didn’t care if people fished there as long as they left his sheep alone and closed the gates behind them. Joann had been coming to the lake since she was a child. Joseph Shetler, the landowner, had been friends with her grandfather. The two men often took a lonely little girl fishing with them. Occasionally, Joann still caught sight of Joseph, but he avoided people these days. She never knew why he had become a recluse. He still came to church services, but he didn’t stay to visit or to eat.

The wagon bounced and rumbled along the faint wheel tracks that led to the south end of the lake. It had once been a stone quarry that had filled with water nearly a century ago. When they reached the shore, everyone piled out of the back of the wagon and spread out along the water’s edge. The remote area was Joann’s favorite fishing place. She knew exactly where the largemouth bass, bluegill and walleye hung out.

She’d spent many happy hours fishing here peacefully by herself, but each time served to remind her of the wonderful days she’d spent there with her grandfather. He had been the one person who always had time for her.

If she closed her eyes, she could still hear his craggy voice. “See that old log sticking out of the bank, child? There’s a big bass right at the bottom end of it. Mr. Bass likes to hole up in the roots and dart out to catch unwary minnows swimming by. Make your cast right in front of that log. You’ll get him.”

Joann smiled at the memory. It had taken many tries and more than a few lost lures before she gained the skill needed to put her hook right where she wanted it. Her daadi had been right. She caught a dandy at that spot.

She was always happy when she came to the lake. She kept a small journal in the bottom of her tackle box and made notes about of all her trips. She used the information on weather conditions, insect activity and water temperature to compile information that made her a better angler.

Normally, she released the fish if she was alone. Today, she would keep what she caught and the family would enjoy a fish fry for supper.

When everyone was spreading out along the lakeshore, she said, “I haven’t had much success fishing on this end of the lake. The east shore is a better place.”

“Looks goot to me.” Hebron threw in his line.

Joann shrugged and headed away from the lake on a narrow path that wound through the trees for a few hundred yards before it came out at the shore again near a small waterfall. This was where the fishing was the best.

Carefully, she unpacked her pole and assembled it. From her small tackle box, she selected a lure that she knew the walleye would find irresistible and began to cast her line. Within half an hour, she had five nice fish on her stringer.

She pulled the apple from her pocket and bit into the firm, sweet flesh. The sounds of her crunch and of the waterfall covered approaching footsteps. She didn’t know she wasn’t alone until her brother said, “Joann, I’ve been calling for you.”

Startled, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Hebron, I didn’t hear you. What do you need?”

“We’re getting ready to go. The fish aren’t biting today.”

“I’ve been catching lots of walleye. Have you tried a bottom-bouncing lure?” She set her apple beside her on a fallen tree trunk and opened her tackle box to find him a lure like the one she was using.

He waved aside her offering. “I’ve tried everything. What’s that you’re fishing with?”

“An orange hopper.”

“I meant the rod. Where did you get that?”

She extended her pole for him to see. “I ordered it from the sporting goods store in Millersburg.”

“Mighty fancy pole, sister.”

“It works wonderfully well. Try casting it, you’ll see. You’ll be wanting one next.”

“My old rod and reel are good enough.”

She turned back to the water. “Okay, but I’m the one catching fish.”

“Be careful of pride, sister. The Englisch world has many things to tempt us away from the true path.”

“I hardly think a new fishing pole will make my faith weaker.”

“May I see it?” he asked.

“Of course. You can cast twice as far with it as your old one. Give it a try.” She handed it over, delighted to show him how well-made it was and how nicely it worked. She picked up her apple and took a second bite.

Hebron turned her rod first one way and then another. “A flashy thing such as this has no place in your life, sister.”

“It does if I catch fish for you and your children to eat.”

“Are you saying I can’t provide for my family?”

“Of course not.” She dropped her gaze. Hebron was upset. She could tell by the steely tone creeping into his voice.

He balanced the rod in his hand, nodded and drew back his arm to cast.

Eagerly, she sought his opinion. “Isn’t it light? It really is better than any pole I’ve owned.”

He scowled at her, and then threw the rod with all his might. Her beautiful pole spun through the air and splashed into the lake.

“No!” she cried in dismay and took a step toward the water. The apple dropped from her hand.

“False pride goes before a fall, sister,” Hebron said. “I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed you to keep such a fancy Englisch toy. Already, I see how it has turned your mind from the humble ways an Amish woman should follow. Now, come. We are going home. I will carry your fish. It looks as if God has given us enough to feed everyone after all.” With her stringer of fish in his hand, he headed toward the wagon.