as she knew her people were to help widows and orphans, the last thing she wanted was to live on alms from the church forever. She was young and healthy and a hard worker. From what she could see, she had two choices: either find a job fast, or marry someone who would support her. The last choice, in her opinion, was not an option. Unfortunately, there had been one inquiry along that line already, even though she had not yet needed to flip the calendar to a new month following Titus’s death.
Abimelech Yoder, whom she had caught staring at her after Titus’s funeral, had already brought up the possibility with her father. He was a decent enough man, she supposed, and obviously desperate to place a mother in that kitchen, but she did not love him. She would never love him.
The bishop had brought some brightly colored balloons, which he now blew up for Adam and Carrie. Then he said good-bye, leaving each of the children happily clutching a balloon.
After he left, she tucked the envelope of money away in herunderwear drawer, determined to make it last as long as possible. She fixed the children breakfast, then sat down at her desk, pulled out some plain three-by-five cards, and started making up little advertisements to put in some of the shops in Mt. Hope. She knew how to clean house, cook, and sew. She hoped there would be an Englisch woman willing to hire her for a few hours each week.
She did not know many Englisch women well, but she had heard that many of them were not particularly skilled in these areas, while Amish women were taught how to keep a house from childhood on. Hopefully, whoever hired her would not mind so much if she brought two well-behaved children with her. She also hoped they wouldn’t mind too much when they found out she was pregnant.
The little card looked bare to her after she had printed her name, the type of work for which she was looking, and the phone number in her shanty. She found some colored pencils and created a small, colorful border around the card, hoping it would make it stand out from other advertisements. Five cards were finished before the children interrupted, wanting to go outside and play.
As she helped them into their warm, outdoor clothes, she gave thanks to God for her loving church and her healthy children. Then she asked God for a special favor. Would He please bless her little cards with success? Would He please allow them to attract the attention of just the right person? Someone He would choose? She did not mind working hard, but she hoped that she could find employment with someone who would at least be kind.
• • •
The house was furnished. He felt rested. The deadline was still a worry to him and he felt weird not writing. So, he decided toignore Harry’s advice. He recharged his laptop and got back to work. Or at least he tried to.
It was a mistake.
There was a time when he had thought that writer’s block was nothing more than the excuse of a lazy writer. Now he regretted ever having held that opinion. Writer’s block was real and it was deadly. Harry had bought him some time, but the fact remained, if he didn’t produce a book soon, he would have to give back his advance and possibly even face legal action.
The minute he sat down in front of his laptop, a feeling of dread came over him, so strong that he jumped out of his chair as though the laptop were a snake ready to strike. He paced the floor until he could face touching the keyboard again. Found out again that he couldn’t do this.
He had never experienced anything remotely like it before. A professional writer doesn’t wait for the mood to strike. For him, at least in the past, the “mood” struck at precisely eight o’clock in the morning, because he had deliberately trained himself to sit down and write from eight o’clock in the morning until one o’clock in the afternoon. Every day. Rain or shine. Seven days a week. Period.
He usually kept the television on low for
Abimelech Yoder, whom she had caught staring at her after Titus’s funeral, had already brought up the possibility with her father. He was a decent enough man, she supposed, and obviously desperate to place a mother in that kitchen, but she did not love him. She would never love him.
The bishop had brought some brightly colored balloons, which he now blew up for Adam and Carrie. Then he said good-bye, leaving each of the children happily clutching a balloon.
After he left, she tucked the envelope of money away in herunderwear drawer, determined to make it last as long as possible. She fixed the children breakfast, then sat down at her desk, pulled out some plain three-by-five cards, and started making up little advertisements to put in some of the shops in Mt. Hope. She knew how to clean house, cook, and sew. She hoped there would be an Englisch woman willing to hire her for a few hours each week.
She did not know many Englisch women well, but she had heard that many of them were not particularly skilled in these areas, while Amish women were taught how to keep a house from childhood on. Hopefully, whoever hired her would not mind so much if she brought two well-behaved children with her. She also hoped they wouldn’t mind too much when they found out she was pregnant.
The little card looked bare to her after she had printed her name, the type of work for which she was looking, and the phone number in her shanty. She found some colored pencils and created a small, colorful border around the card, hoping it would make it stand out from other advertisements. Five cards were finished before the children interrupted, wanting to go outside and play.
As she helped them into their warm, outdoor clothes, she gave thanks to God for her loving church and her healthy children. Then she asked God for a special favor. Would He please bless her little cards with success? Would He please allow them to attract the attention of just the right person? Someone He would choose? She did not mind working hard, but she hoped that she could find employment with someone who would at least be kind.
• • •
The house was furnished. He felt rested. The deadline was still a worry to him and he felt weird not writing. So, he decided toignore Harry’s advice. He recharged his laptop and got back to work. Or at least he tried to.
It was a mistake.
There was a time when he had thought that writer’s block was nothing more than the excuse of a lazy writer. Now he regretted ever having held that opinion. Writer’s block was real and it was deadly. Harry had bought him some time, but the fact remained, if he didn’t produce a book soon, he would have to give back his advance and possibly even face legal action.
The minute he sat down in front of his laptop, a feeling of dread came over him, so strong that he jumped out of his chair as though the laptop were a snake ready to strike. He paced the floor until he could face touching the keyboard again. Found out again that he couldn’t do this.
He had never experienced anything remotely like it before. A professional writer doesn’t wait for the mood to strike. For him, at least in the past, the “mood” struck at precisely eight o’clock in the morning, because he had deliberately trained himself to sit down and write from eight o’clock in the morning until one o’clock in the afternoon. Every day. Rain or shine. Seven days a week. Period.
He usually kept the television on low for
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