Chapter Ten
Adam
I had enjoyed the dinner that Grace Miller had sold me immensely while sitting on the front steps of the Yoder house watching nightfall in Corner Grove. There was something soothing about small town noise, which was made up of mostly crickets and the occasional car passing by on Main Street. Through the windows of the surrounding houses, I could see lights and the flickering of television sets as the homes' residents settled down after dinner. Most of the houses around the Yoder place were owned by what Mrs. Yoder termed "the English," which I took to mean non-Amish folks like me.
Once I was full of crispy fried chicken and mustard-based potato salad, which I topped off with the entire slice of cherry pie, I groaned and leaned back against the steps as I looked up into the night sky. Unlike in the city, I could see a wide swath of open sky above me. The stars shined more brightly than I'd ever seen them and I wondered about what it was like to live in a community like this your whole life. As I contemplated the mysteries, my thoughts turned to Grace Miller.
She was a stubborn woman, but she was lively. I hadn't expected an Amish woman to be so outspoken, but then I thought about how she'd accused me of stereotyping and I shook my head realizing I was at it again. She'd been dressed so plainly that she almost disappeared into the scenery, but her face was extraordinary. Grace Miller wasn't beautiful in the way that most women I knew were; instead she seemed to possess an almost otherworldly kind of beauty. She looked like the stereotypical country girl with blonde hair and piercing, blue eyes that missed nothing.
I wondered what her life was like at home and tried to envision it. There was something not quite right about the way she had dealt with me in the store. She wasn't as submissive as I imagined Amish women would be, but then again, as I thought about bossy Mrs. Yoder, I had to admit to myself that I knew nothing about these people and their lives. I did know that I wasn't dealing with the hard-edged Chicago women I was used to meeting, but in the end, Grace Miller was Amish and I was one of the English.
I stood up and headed to my car where I grabbed my bag from the trunk. I headed back into the house where Mrs. Yoder sat knitting in almost exactly the same position she'd been in when I'd arrived a few hours before.
"Ah, Mr. Wallace, did you get yourself some supper?" she asked with a cheerful smile.
"Indeed, I did," I nodded. "Ms. Miller fixed me a nice dinner over at the grocery store and I enjoyed it on your front porch."
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Mrs. Yoder crowed. "Miller's Grocery has been a tradition in this city for years. It's a wonderful place to get groceries and a hot meal!"
"So I see," I said. "Are they related to Bishop Miller?"
"Oh yes, the bishop is Mr. Miller's older brother," she said before stopping and correcting herself. "Was. He was his brother."
"He's no longer his brother?" I asked hoping she'd clue me in on the family dynamics in a way that could help me understand how to approach Bishop Miller and sell him on the idea of our turbines.
"Yes, the Miller children buried both their mother and father last week," she said sadly as she bowed her head and whispered a short prayer under her breath. "I don't know how Grace is going to manage all of the duties of the farm and the store, but if I know Corner Grove, I know people will step in and help as best they can."
"Grace Miller is in charge of the store and a farm?" I asked feeling like a stupid outsider.
"Mmm hmm," Mrs. Yoder nodded as she replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose and picked up knitting where she'd left off clearly indicating that she was not going to continue the discussion. "She's quite a young woman. Very independent. And mighty stubborn according to her Mamm, God rest her soul."
"I see," I said as I headed for the stairs. I wanted to sit with Mrs. Yoder and grill her about the people in this community, but I knew that if I did, it would most likely blow through the town gossip mill like wildfire.
"I put fresh towels on your bed, Mr. Wallace," she called when I was half way up the stairs. "And there's plenty of hot water in the heater if you decide you want a shower!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Yoder," I called back. More than a shower, I wanted to know what had happened to Grace Miller's parents and more than that, I wondered if Grace Miller might be able to help me sell the turbines to the people in her community.