The Amish Clockmaker by Mindy Starns Clark

there.
    The lawyer had said there was just one surviving sibling left. By cross-referencing several of my sources, I tried to figure out which one it might be, but I wasn’t sure. My best guess was Joan. One listing showed her date ofbirth, so I did the math and saw that she was ninety-four now. At that age, she would be living with one of her children.
    But how to know which one? I was trying to think of some way to figure that out when one of our neighbors came to mind, an old Amish man named Ben Sauder. Ben knew everyone and everything that happened around here. Chances were, he’d know which sister was still alive and where she lived now.
    I decided I’d start my search with him first thing tomorrow. I’d walk over to his home, which was only a few blocks away, and pick the man’s brain.
    Whichever sister it was, with her in her nineties, I could only hope her memory was still intact—and that she would be willing to tell more to me than she had to the Englisch investigators.
    I closed the pad and looked around the empty shop, and a pang of regret and sadness shot through me. Maybe this was God’s way of answering my prayer for doors to be closed where He didn’t want me to go. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the desk.
    Is that what this is, God? A closed door? Or just a bump in the road that means nothing beyond what it seems?
    I opened my eyes again, distracted from my prayer by another pressing issue. Should we keep the store closed or reopen it until this issue was solved one way or the other? I locked up and headed for home, my mind burdened by questions.
    I began carefully considering the reality of our situation. Because of the expansion, we’d already been planning for the shop to be closed, but now that we knew what we were in for, I had to admit that this whole thing might take longer than expected—if it was ever going to happen at all. We couldn’t afford to keep the store closed for too long and should probably go ahead and open back up right away—at least until the matter was settled one way or the other. Then again, I needed my time free so that I could spend it searching for Clayton Raber, not working in the store.
    I decided to give myself one day, tomorrow, to gather information. If after that things weren’t looking promising, I would open back up for business on Friday.
    I entered the cottage and saw that it was empty, which meant Amanda was at the main house helping with dinner. I put my notes away, washed my face and hands, and walked over to my parents’ place across the drive. When I came through the door, the scents of baking bread and sugared ham greeted me.
    â€œYou’re just in time, Matthew,” I heard my wife call from the kitchen. “Supper’s almost ready.”
    I followed her voice to the warmth of the next room, where she stood with her mitted hands in the oven, her plump tummy bulging out from beneath her apron.
    â€œLet me get that,” I said, moving quickly to her side.
    â€œI have it.” From the oven’s depths she pulled out a juicy, steaming ham and placed it on the top of the stove.
    Mamm was setting the table, her back to us, so I seized the opportunity to wrap my arms around Amanda’s ever-growing waist.
    â€œNot in front of your mother,” she whispered with a giggle, “and not while I’m trying to cook!”
    She let me give her a peck on the cheek before shooing me away. Smiling, I walked back to the door and hung up my hat. Daed came inside at that moment, hung up his hat as well, and then headed to the sink to wash his hands. I made my way to the table and sat.
    I couldn’t help but smile even more as I took in the spread of food in front of me: mashed potatoes topped with melting squares of butter, fresh green beans from the garden, fried okra cut into crispy circles, and a bowl of chopped strawberries, blackberries, and peaches drenched with cream.
    Noah