unattractive they were. Pride and vanity, she thought and quickly chastised herself. Yet she was torn. Her new life with Alejandro conflicted so sharply with her old lifestyle on the farm. How had she changed so much in such a short period of time?
“Harvey?” she called out when she approached the tall man in order to avoid startling him. “How are you making out, then?”
Leaning against the shovel, he looked at her. “Just fine,” he replied. “Been working farms for years. Nothing different here.”
His tone was dry, his expression emotionless. The weathered look on his face told the story of years of laboring in the sun, tilling the soil and battling the elements. Amanda had seen that look before, among many of the Amish in her community. It dawned on her how much older the Amish, and in this case the Mennonite, farmers looked, both men and women. Unlike in Alejandro’s world where the youthful appearance of the face meant more than anything else, the Amish focused more on living well off the land rather than looking well in the world.
“You live nearby, ja ?”
He nodded his head. “Just north of Ephrata,” he said.
“Well, that’s not too far, I reckon!” she replied. “How did my husband find you, if I may ask?”
“Not certain of that,” Harvey admitted. He paused and glanced around at the barn. “Lots of work to do, Mrs. Diaz,” he said. The use of her last name startled her. Most Amish and Mennonites did not call one another by their surnames. That was definitely an Englische method of addressing others. There was something different about this Harvey. He was a Mennonite farmer, so she wondered why he had called her by her last name.
“It’s just Amanda,” she said. “I’ll make certain to have some coffee for you, then.” With a slight smile, she turned and walked out of the dairy, pulling her black shawl tighter as she exited the barn and braved the cold to return to the house.
Inside, she looked around. Everything felt and looked smaller to her. And darker, too, she realized, giving it some thought. It no longer felt like home, yet everything about it spoke of her upbringing: the sofa in the kitchen where she had crocheted many a blanket, the kitchen counter where her mamm had taught her how to make bread and cheese, the table where they had enjoyed many a dinner and supper with her sister and younger brother. It had been a lively, happy kitchen until her brother had died. Then, the house had been shrouded in a cloak of sorrow and darkness. Until, she realized, Alejandro had arrived.
With a sigh, she fought the longing in her heart. She couldn’t deny how much she missed Alejandro: his soft words, his attentiveness, his teasing, his love. Yet she knew that it was a big relief to both of her parents that she was there, helping to take care of the farm while her mamm took care of her daed . Just the other day, she had received a letter from Anna, a short note expressing her gratitude for Amanda’s returning to the farm while she prepared for her wedding in just another week. She had promised that she would return home with her new husband as soon as they were married.
Married, Amanda thought. She would feel such relief when her sister was finally married to her beau, Jonas Wheeler. If the newly married couple traveled back to Pennsylvania, it would present the perfect opportunity for Amanda to rejoin Alejandro, at least until Anna and Jonas would return to Ohio.
And then what? That was the question that she kept asking herself.
Over and over again, she had made a mental list of options for her parents. Moving them to Pinecraft in Florida, a wonderful community of Amish, where the weather was nice all year long; this was definitely one suggestion she wanted to offer her parents. The other was selling the farm and moving them to a smaller, more contemporary house on the outskirts of the church district. Many older Amish couples did that when they had no children to take over the
“Harvey?” she called out when she approached the tall man in order to avoid startling him. “How are you making out, then?”
Leaning against the shovel, he looked at her. “Just fine,” he replied. “Been working farms for years. Nothing different here.”
His tone was dry, his expression emotionless. The weathered look on his face told the story of years of laboring in the sun, tilling the soil and battling the elements. Amanda had seen that look before, among many of the Amish in her community. It dawned on her how much older the Amish, and in this case the Mennonite, farmers looked, both men and women. Unlike in Alejandro’s world where the youthful appearance of the face meant more than anything else, the Amish focused more on living well off the land rather than looking well in the world.
“You live nearby, ja ?”
He nodded his head. “Just north of Ephrata,” he said.
“Well, that’s not too far, I reckon!” she replied. “How did my husband find you, if I may ask?”
“Not certain of that,” Harvey admitted. He paused and glanced around at the barn. “Lots of work to do, Mrs. Diaz,” he said. The use of her last name startled her. Most Amish and Mennonites did not call one another by their surnames. That was definitely an Englische method of addressing others. There was something different about this Harvey. He was a Mennonite farmer, so she wondered why he had called her by her last name.
“It’s just Amanda,” she said. “I’ll make certain to have some coffee for you, then.” With a slight smile, she turned and walked out of the dairy, pulling her black shawl tighter as she exited the barn and braved the cold to return to the house.
Inside, she looked around. Everything felt and looked smaller to her. And darker, too, she realized, giving it some thought. It no longer felt like home, yet everything about it spoke of her upbringing: the sofa in the kitchen where she had crocheted many a blanket, the kitchen counter where her mamm had taught her how to make bread and cheese, the table where they had enjoyed many a dinner and supper with her sister and younger brother. It had been a lively, happy kitchen until her brother had died. Then, the house had been shrouded in a cloak of sorrow and darkness. Until, she realized, Alejandro had arrived.
With a sigh, she fought the longing in her heart. She couldn’t deny how much she missed Alejandro: his soft words, his attentiveness, his teasing, his love. Yet she knew that it was a big relief to both of her parents that she was there, helping to take care of the farm while her mamm took care of her daed . Just the other day, she had received a letter from Anna, a short note expressing her gratitude for Amanda’s returning to the farm while she prepared for her wedding in just another week. She had promised that she would return home with her new husband as soon as they were married.
Married, Amanda thought. She would feel such relief when her sister was finally married to her beau, Jonas Wheeler. If the newly married couple traveled back to Pennsylvania, it would present the perfect opportunity for Amanda to rejoin Alejandro, at least until Anna and Jonas would return to Ohio.
And then what? That was the question that she kept asking herself.
Over and over again, she had made a mental list of options for her parents. Moving them to Pinecraft in Florida, a wonderful community of Amish, where the weather was nice all year long; this was definitely one suggestion she wanted to offer her parents. The other was selling the farm and moving them to a smaller, more contemporary house on the outskirts of the church district. Many older Amish couples did that when they had no children to take over the
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