Jo Brown - An Amish Match

For the first time in months, Timothy was talkative. He had seconds and then thirds while chattering about a baseball game he’d heard about yesterday at the wedding, a game won by his beloved Phillies. It was as if the younger version of his son had returned, banishing the sulky teen he’d become. Even after they finished their breakfast with another silent prayer, Timothy was smiling as he left to do the barn chores he usually complained should be Levi’s now that he worked every day at the buggy shop.

Joshua waited until the back door closed behind his oldest, then said, “Tell me how you did that.”

“Did what?” Rebekah asked as she rose and picked up the used plates. After setting them on top of others stacked on the counter, she began running water to begin the massive task of washing the dirty dishes that had gathered since the last time he’d helped Deborah with them.

“Make my oldest act like a human being rather than a grumpy mule,” he replied.

“Don’t let him—or any of the other kinder—hear you say that. He wouldn’t appreciate it.”

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