Second Chance Proposal. Anna Schmidt
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down the narrow aisle past the barrels of screws and nails until he reached the counter.
“Guten morgen, Tante Gert,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her more than necessary.
She whipped around to face him and immediately her eyes filled with tears. “Johnny,” she whispered. Then she hurried around the counter until they were face-to-face and she grabbed his shoulders, squeezing them hard. “Johnny,” she repeated.
Behind her John saw his uncle come from the storeroom wiping his hands on a rag as he looked up to welcome his customer. He hesitated when he saw his wife touching a strange man, then rushed forward. “See here, young man,” he began, and then his eyes widened. “Gertrude, no,” he said firmly, and turned her away from John. “Go in back until he leaves.”
John’s knees went weak with the realization that his uncle was shunning him. If that were true of these two people whom he had felt closest to all his life then he knew everyone in town would follow their lead. Well, what had he expected? That the entire town would set aside centuries of tradition for him? He sent up a silent prayer begging forgiveness for his prideful ways.
His aunt hesitated, gazing at him as her husband folded his arms across his broad chest and waited for her to follow his instructions.
“Go, Gert,” Roger repeated.
“I will not,” she replied. “This man needs our help and I would help him the same as we would any stranger.” She brushed by her husband and pulled out a chair. “Come sit by the fire. Why, you’re soaked.” She pulled a horse blanket from a shelf and handed it to him.
Behind her his uncle took one last look at his wife and then left the room.
“It’s good to see you, Gert,” John said as he savored her motherly nurturing.
“Where have you been?” she fumed, then quickly added, “No, I do not wish to know the details of your foolishness. It is enough that God has brought you back to us in one piece.” She studied him critically. “You’re too thin, John Amman. When did you last have a decent meal?”
John shrugged as she tucked the blanket around his shoulders then handed him a bakery box that had been sitting on the counter. It was filled with large glazed doughnuts. He bit into one and licked his lips. “I see Pleasant Obermeier still makes the best doughnut anywhere,” he said as he devoured the rest of the pastry and licked the sticky sugar coating from his fingers.
“She’s Pleasant Troyer now,” his aunt informed him as she busied herself setting a teakettle on the wood-burning stove. “Obermeier died a few years back and shortly after that Bishop Troyer’s nephew, Jeremiah, came to town. He opened up that ice-cream shop next to the bakery and it wasn’t long before Pleasant and him married and adopted all four of Obermeier’s children. Now they have a couple of their own.”
“But she still has the bakery?”
“She does. After her dat died she managed on her own for a while and then once she married Jeremiah...”
Pleasant was not the Goodloe sister John wanted to know about, but he thought it best to hide his curiosity about Lydia until he knew just how much things had changed in Celery Fields. “They live up there in the old Obermeier house at the end of Main Street then?”
Gert perched on the edge of a chair across from him to watch him eat. “No, Jeremiah bought a small farm just outside of town for them. Greta Goodloe married the blacksmith a year after Pleasant married. It was her husband, Luke Starns, who bought the Obermeier place.” She poured him a mug of strong black tea. “Drink this. You’re shivering.”
“And Liddy?” he asked as the hot liquid warmed his insides.
“Still teaching,” Gert replied. “Pleasant’s oldest girl, Bettina, helps her out, not that there’s any need. So few children these days. Lots of folks have moved away and until Greta’s brood and a few other little ones reach school age, well, it’s getting harder to justify keeping that schoolhouse open.”
“She ever marry?” John mumbled around a mouth filled with a second doughnut. He kept his head lowered and steeled himself to hear the name of some former friend, some boy he’d grown up with who had known very well that Liddy Goodloe was taken.
“Liddy?” Gert said, as if the name was unfamiliar. “No. She lives up the lane there in her father’s house all alone now that Greta’s married. I doubt she has any plans in that direction.”
John thought he must be hallucinating. Had he imagined the white prayer covering? No. He’d touched one of the ties and Liddy had pulled it away from him. That had happened. Of course, he could hardly ask his aunt about that unless he was ready to admit he’d already seen Liddy and spoken with her.
“You’ll need to see Bishop Troyer and the sooner the better,” Gert instructed. “We have services this coming Sunday so there’s time enough to have everything in place so that you can make your apology and seek forgiveness and get the bann lifted. Then you’ll be needing a job and a place to stay.” Gert ticked each item off on her fingers as if she were filling a customer’s order. “And some decent clothes.”
She reached for her shawl and bonnet. “I’m going across to Yoder’s to get a few things and when I come back we’ll get you settled in.” She headed for the rear of the store. “Roger Hadwell, go fetch Bishop Troyer,” she instructed. “And then go see if Luke Starns is willing to let John stay in his old rooms above the livery until he gets back on his feet.”
John watched as Roger came to the front of the store and retrieved a black rain slicker and his hat from a peg behind the counter. Without so much as a glance at John his uncle left by the front door.
By suppertime John had a place to stay as well as two sets of new clothes. He’d shaved and washed and enjoyed his first solid meal in days, wolfing down three bowls of the beef stew his aunt kept simmering in the back room of the hardware store along with half a loaf of Pleasant’s crusty wheat bread. In exchange for being able to live above the blacksmith’s shop, Roger had agreed that John would take charge of the stables behind the shop and care for any animals housed there overnight. All of this had been arranged between his uncle and the blacksmith. Roger had yet to utter a single word to John.
But his aunt seemed to have made her choice. It appeared that having him home was worth breaking the traditions of shunning.
“Like old times,” she said as she and Roger closed the shop. She turned to John and added, “I left you some of that stew for your supper and there’s coffee and enough bread for breakfast tomorrow.” She cupped his cheek gently. “You look exhausted, John. Get some rest.”
Not wanting to contribute to her disobedience of the shunning, John nodded. It was just as well. He probably could not have gotten his thanks out around the lump of relief and gratitude that clogged his throat. The idea of spending the night sleeping under one of his aunt’s handmade quilts seemed unbelievable after all the nights he’d had to find shelter wherever he could.
“Come along, Gert,” Roger instructed, refusing to make eye contact with John.
“Oh, stop your fussing,” Gert chastised as they walked down the street. “By morning everybody is going to know the prodigal has returned and on Sunday he can put things to right once and for all.”
The prodigal. That’s what Lydia had called him.
Chapter Two
The day had been unsettling to say the least. After her encounter with John, Lydia had barely been able to concentrate on the lessons she tried to teach the children. After they had eaten their lunches she surrendered to her complete inability to concentrate and let Bettina teach the little ones. In the meantime she gave the older students assignments they could do on their own. Then she sat at her desk studying her Bible in hopes that God would send her answers to the questions that crowded her mind.
At the end of the day she hurried home, thankful that the rain had let up and