An Amish Family Reunion Read Online Free PDF Page B

sandwich.
    Leah gritted her teeth. Poor Jonah. He tried his best to get his grandfather to not work so hard anymore. He’d gone so far as to hire three other men when his dairy herd reached two hundred head. Plenty of Amish men without farms of their own were looking for agricultural work, but Amos Burkholder had labored hard his whole life, and nobody would stick him in a porch rocker until he was ready. And how could you tell him what to do when this was his farm?
    “I could really use your help with this particular batch of pepper jack,” said Joanna, refilling his glass with tea. She placed a few baby beets next to his sandwich.
    “Then get Esther to help you. Cheese making is woman’s work. Your
mamm
will give you a hand.” Amos took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and painfully. Few of his back teeth remained, yet he refused to wear the partial plates made by the dentist.
    Leah felt a familiar pang of sorrow. Esther Burkholder, Jonah’s grandmother, had been gone for two years. Yet no matter how often they reminded
grossdawdi
, he still forgot. Since her mother’s passing, Joanna had moved into the
dawdi haus
to care for her father, leaving the newlyweds alone in the big house.
    After lunch, as the women repacked the hamper, Leah watched the two men walk the path to the barn—one young, tall, and strong enough to lift a calf to his shoulder; the other old, stooped, and getting frailer by the day. She whispered a prayer for protection for both of them, but especially for Amos and the gentle surrender of earthly matters along with fearless acceptance of what was to come.

    Julia Miller spotted the mail delivery truck from her perch by the front window. It had become her habit to sew there in the late morning and watch for the mailman. Her world now revolved around an
Englischer
’s comings and goings rather than the slamming screen doors and the ongoing crisis of a shared bathroom in a big family. With Emma, Leah, and Matthew all married and living elsewhere, Julia’s hectic, drama-filled days had become slower paced and far quieter.
    It was the plight of every mother. Children grew up, moved away, and started their own brood. The number of family members might increase, but the amount of time spent together dwindled. She wasn’t ready for this. She might be forty-seven and suffering from rheumatoid arthritis, but she didn’t want to be relegated to the position of retired matriarch yet. Julia dropped the sock she was darning back into the half-empty basket. In years gone by, her sewing pile would overflow the rim. But that was no longer the case with only Simon and Henry at home.
    Henry. Although he still lived there, that boy kept a low profile. He talked seldom and softly, and he moved through life with a loose-limbed grace almost without leaving footprints behind. Couldn’t he at least wear out his socks more often?
    Straightening her back, Julia stepped out the front door into the brilliant May sunshine. There was almost no humidity, while a breeze carried the sweet fragrance from her lilac bushes. And because the morning batch of mail contained a Willow Brook, New York, postmark, her mood improved considerably. A letter from Matthew—or, more likely, from his wife, because Julia’s son never put pen to writing paper. Martha rotated between writing to her
mamm
and her mother-in-law. Then the two recipients would swap letters at the next preaching service or other social event to share the latest news of their children.
    Julia leaned her weight against the mailbox and tore open the pink envelope. Knowing her daughter-in-law, Martha hadn’t purchased the garish stationery. Wherever she lived, Martha befriended the greeting card merchandiser to obtain free writing supplies once a particular season or holiday had passed, those items that would otherwise end up in the dumpster. Frugal, that girl. Julia read the updates of their two children with a grandmother’s dual-edged, bittersweet joy.