Emma Miller - A Love For Leah

Patience, he told himself.

Again and again he struck hammer to iron. Slowly the iron yielded to the shape he wanted. He knew it was good and he should have been pleased, but he took little pleasure in the forge. He much preferred digging in the soil or building with wood and brick. He’d been born to a family with a tradition of blacksmithing going back to the old country, but he had no heart for it. Never had.

“Ya.” Obadiah nodded. “Ya. That is the way. Was that so hard?”

Thomas placed the finished piece beside the others to cool and turned toward his grandfather. The gray-haired man held out a small bucket. Thomas took it, drank and then dumped the remainder of the cool well water over his head. It ran down his neck and shirt to wet his leather apron and forge trousers, but he didn’t care. The pants and shirt would dry soon enough and both trousers and apron were scorched and riddled with holes.

His grandfather chuckled. “Always with you the heat, Thomas. The heat never bothers me.”

And it never did. For sixty-five years Obadiah Stutzman had labored in a forge, and the flames and red-hot metal had only made him tougher. Past eighty now, his shoulders were still formidable and the muscles in his arms were knotted sinews. Thomas loved him as he loved his mother and father. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like without Grossdaddi watching over his shoulder, hearing the raspy voice hissing in Deitsch, “Strike harder, boy. Feel the iron.” Thomas had always wanted to please him, but spending his life within the walls of this forge, he didn’t know that he could do it.

Thomas walked to the open doorway and squatted on the hard-packed earth, letting the warm sunshine fall full on his face. He ran a hand through his damp hair and let his muscles rest from the strain of swinging the hammer.

In the distance, a calf bawled, its call quickly answered by the mother’s deeper mooing. The farmyard stretched out in front of Thomas, familiar and comforting as always. Chickens squawked and scratched, earnestly searching for worms or insects. One hen was trailed by six fluffy chicks and a single yellow-and-brown duckling. Thomas smiled at the sight, knowing that when they came to the first puddle the foundling would terrify its adopted mother by plunging in and swimming. Maybe I’m that duckling, he thought, always ready for fun, never quite fitting in or doing what I’m expected to do by my family.

His grandfather came to stand beside him. “A sight you look,” Obadiah said. “Goot thing your mother is to the house. Doesn’t see you without a hat to cover your head in God’s presence.”

Thomas glanced guiltily at the wall where his straw hat hung on a peg. He never wore it in the forge for fear of it catching fire. Grossdaddi wore an old felt dress hat with the brim cut off over his thinning gray hair, but Thomas wasn’t ready to be seen in such a thing, so he worked bareheaded.

“When do you expect Jakob to get here?” he asked. His father had told him at morning milking that the new apprentice was arriving today. He’d be staying with them in the big house.

“Anytime now. Hired a driver to bring him from the train station in Wilmington.”

“I liked Jakob when I met him. I hope he works out,” Thomas said. “Hope he likes Seven Poplars.”

“Be a change from Indiana,” his grandfather answered. “You know those folks don’t even have tops on their buggies? Winter and summer, no tops. Their bishops won’t allow it.”

“I’d heard that,” Thomas said.

“How was your social last night? Too bad Jakob couldn’t have been here in time to go along,” Obadiah said.

“It was fine. Good food.”

“Any new girls catch your eye? Your mother said she spoke to Sara yesterday about possibly making you a match.”

“Ne. No one in particular; I spent most of the evening talking to Leah Yoder.” Thomas shook his head. “Honestly, I’m having second thoughts about this matchmaker thing. Don’t see why we need to lay out the money. I’ve never had trouble finding dates.”

Obadiah turned a half-bushel basket upside down, sat on it and took out a penknife. Absently, he began to whittle at a small piece of wood he carried in his pocket. They sat in silence for a few minutes and then his grandfather said, “People say Sara knows her trade. They say give her a chance, she’ll find you a proper wife.”

“Seems foolish, though, doesn’t it? Having her find me a wife? When I could do it myself?”

“But you haven’t.” His grandfather sighed. “Thomas, what can I say? Time you grew up. Started working in the family business. Trouble is, you think you can stay free and single year after year. You like the pretty girls. I can see it. But when talk turns serious, you’re off after the next one.”

Thomas felt heat flush his face. “It’s not like that. I thought that Ellie and me would...” He trailed off, not wanting to talk about Ellie. That was still a sore subject. “I’m not certain Sara can find me a match I’d be happy with. She wanted me to meet this woman last night—Hazel something or other. One of the ones who came up from Virginia in the van. Sour as an October persimmon. Little beady eyes and a mouth screwed up so tight I thought she didn’t have front teeth until I saw her eating. I couldn’t imagine looking at that face across a breakfast table every morning.”

Obadiah chuckled. “So, not pretty enough for you?”

Thomas shook his head. “That wasn’t it. Hazel would have been attractive if she hadn’t been so ill-tempered. Not a good word to say about anyone or anything. One complaint after another. She even complained about the potato salad. Said she preferred German potato salad to Sara’s and left it on her plate.”

“One wasteful woman doesn’t ruin the batch. You’re being stubborn. Time you started walking out with a respectable girl.”

“I thought I was when I was with Ellie. And you all liked her.”

His grandfather ignored that and went on. “Bishop Atlee asked me last week if you were planning on going to baptism classes. Way past time, Thomas. I’m going to retire in a few years. Don’t know how much longer I have on this earth. I know I’ve always told you that I wanted to leave this farm to you, but you worry me. I’m starting to have second thoughts. Maybe you mean to drift away from the faith. Maybe you’re too flighty to entrust our family farm to.”

Thomas winced as if his grandfather had struck him. This was the first he’d heard of his grandfather’s hesitation about leaving him the farm. Since he was a boy, he’d expected it would be his someday. His throat clenched. “That’s up to you, Grossdaddi.”

“You should be married. You should have married five years ago. I could have great-grandsons and granddaughters to spoil. I’ve stood up for you to your mother and father, took your side when maybe I should not have.” He exhaled. “You don’t give Sara a chance to find you a wife, I have to take it into consideration that maybe you’ve lost track of what’s important in life.”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but his grandfather’s shepherd raised his head and let out a single yip, then leaped up and ran toward the house. Thomas heard the beep of a car horn and the dog began to bark in earnest. “That must be Jakob coming now,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Must be,” his grandfather agreed. “But you think on what I said. I’m worried about you, boy.” He met Thomas’s gaze. “Prove to us all that you are ready to take over this farm. Find a wife, get to churching and be quick about it.”

* * *

Sara smiled at Thomas as they shook hands across her desk. “So we’re in agreement. I’ll make you a match. Keep an open mind, and I’m sure I can find someone who will suit you and your family.”