Lenora Worth - Their Amish Reunion

“A feast for the prodigal?”

Beth gave him a solid stare, her blue eyes bright. “Ja. And glad to have him home at that.”

* * *

Ava Jane sat down next to her sister. Once or twice a week, she and her sister and some other friends got together to quilt and bake, taking turns to host. Some might call this time together a frolic and they did frolic, but they also worked and prayed and shared common joys and concerns.

Her friends had seen her through two babies and the loss of her in-laws and her husband. She loved them dearly and counted her sister, Deborah, as a friend, too. Deborah had been eight years old when Jeremiah had left. Ava Jane remembered her little sister crawling into her bed and snuggling close to her while she cried. Deborah remembered how Ava Jane had suffered.

Today, they were at Ava Jane’s house finishing up a quilt she was making for Sarah Rose. The women had been working on the intricate appliquéd patterns all winter and now they needed to complete it before the spring chores, such as planting, gardening and canning, took over.

“Beautiful,” Deborah said, her green eyes searching Ava Jane’s face. “I think Sarah Rose will love this so much. The rose in the center is precious. It will make a wonderful present for her seventh birthday.”

Ava Jane continued to stitch one of the black squares with white backings that would frame a colorful flower, bird or butterfly. “Ja, I’m thankful for the help. I have to work on it when the kinder are with Mamm and Daed.” She glanced at the big-faced clock in the kitchen. Eleven in the morning. “We have a couple more hours. Daed is supervising the pony rides today.”

Both of her children were learning about chores and responsibility thanks to help from her parents. Daed provided a good male influence that helped to discipline them properly, but he couldn’t be with them all the time.

Jacob. She always thought of what a good father he’d been.

“Gut,” her sister said in a conspiring tone, bringing her back to the task at hand. “Now you can tell us what you think about Jeremiah Weaver coming back to Campton Creek.”

Ava Jane missed a stitch and pricked her finger.

Which her shrewd and overly curious sister saw right away.

With a soft yelp, she dropped her needle and held her finger to her lips, the metallic taste of blood making her wince. But she didn’t dare look at her sister or her suddenly quiet friends.

Deborah handed her an old remnant of fabric to hold over her finger. “You’ve talked to him?”

Ava Jane held the fabric to her skin, the pain of the tiny cut stinging through her with a warning while the pressure she put on the wound only reinforced her anxiety. “Not intentionally, ne.”

Why did she feel the need to defend herself and him?

“Then how?” Deborah asked, concern mixed with hurt in her eyes that her sister had not confided in her.

Ava Jane glanced at the two other women watching her with a ridiculous intensity that made her want to laugh. But she couldn’t laugh. “I was coming out of Hartford’s and he was there on the street, loading some lumber into a truck.”

“Lumber, on the street? And a truck at that?” her friend Hannah asked, her brown-eyed expression full of awe. “What does he look like now?”

Did her friends think Jeremiah had grown two heads and now breathed fire? Well, remembering how she’d recoiled at first, she’d probably acted the same.

Ava Jane swallowed and wished she hadn’t been so transparent here today or with Jeremiah yesterday. She never could hide her emotions. Tenderhearted, her mamm called her.

Holding her head up, she said, “He looks healthy.” And hardened and world-weary.

Jeremiah had always been formidable, but now his shoulders seemed to be even wider than she remembered. Strong shoulders.

Her sister made a groaning sound. “Ja, I suppose he would at that.”

“I’ve heard things,” Hannah said, speaking in a rush. “Heard he looks like a different man now. Englisch, my daed says.”

“Does everyone know he’s back?” Ava Jane asked, unable to stop her own curiosity.

“Ja, and that he talked to you on the street,” Hannah replied. “Grossmammi heard it from Rebecca Lantz. She said he’s been taking baptism classes already.”

Ava Jane shook her head. “No wonder it’s all over the place.” Rebecca Lantz loved to gossip and she’d also had a severe crush on Jeremiah at one time. Now at least, she was married and settled. But she still didn’t know when to stay quiet. “Rebecca likes to prattle too much,” she blurted.

She also told herself that if Jeremiah was attending baptism sessions, he must be back for good.

“We are not to judge,” Leah, older and married with six children, said while she cast her gaze across the creamy quilt backing. “Ava Jane might rather not talk about this.”

“He looked fine,” Ava Jane said to show them she was unaffected and that she, for one, wouldn’t judge. “We spoke briefly and I left.”

She didn’t go into detail about dropping her groceries or how Jeremiah had helped her salvage what she could. Nor did she tell them that seeing him had shattered her into a million pieces. She’d thought her grief was becoming better but now she mourned Jacob’s death in a raw, fresh way. She blamed Jeremiah for that. He’d brought out too many emotions in her.

“Has he returned for gut then?” Leah asked, sympathy and understanding in her brown eyes.

“I didn’t ask. And it’s not my concern.”

Hannah supplied the rest, her brown eyes settling on Ava Jane. “According to what I’m hearing, he’s come home because Isaac is dying. Jeremiah will take over the farm chores and continue the carpentry work he and his father used to do together. His father needed him a long time ago. At least he’s home now. Beth is happy. She never gave up on her brother.”

This time, when her friend looked at Ava Jane, there was a trace of regret and condemnation in Hannah’s expression.

What did she know about heartache? She had yet to find a husband.

Ava Jane went back to stitching her daughter’s quilt, her face burning, her eyes misting. She was pretty sure she made a mistake in laying the pattern, but then some believed no quilt should be perfect anyway. Only God held perfection.

A good reason to remember she shouldn’t judge.

The women went on to other topics such as the upcoming Campton Creek Spring Festival to be held next month. The Amish had always participated in the fair. They took their wares into town and held a sidewalk sale in the park by the creek and across from Hartford’s. But her sister’s hand over hers brought her head up.

Deborah gave her a quick, quiet smile and then went back to stitching a yellow-and-white butterfly.

Her sister knew her so well, Ava Jane thought. Well enough to know Jeremiah being home was a concern. A big concern.

* * *

A few days later, Ava Jane’s mother and sister came for an early-morning visit. “Wilkum,” she said, surprised to see both of them there on a fine Friday morning. “Come in.”

Her family lived just around the curve, close enough that she could walk across the field and then take the covered bridge over the big creek between her land and theirs. She sometimes avoided going that way, though, and instead took the lane that wound away from the deep creek that held the same name as the town.

She visited with them weekly and her folks often stopped by to check on her. But usually that occurred when the children were just returning from school up the road. They loved their grandchildren.

This was an unusual visit.

“We need your help,” Martha Troyer said, giving Ava Jane a quick hug. “We dropped by to see if you’d like to ride over to the Weaver place with us. Moselle is having a hard time of trying to take care of Isaac, and we’ve brought food to take.” Then Mamm gave a little shrug, but her intent was soon clear. “I just felt that I needed to visit with Moselle this morning.”