The Amish Clockmaker by Mindy Starns Clark Page A

shopping district. Housed in a simple white rectangular building, Clayton’s father had erected it twenty-seven years earlier, the same year Simon and Lucille, who already had six daughters by then, were finally blessed with a son. Inside the shop was a showroom area for displaying and selling the clocks the two men made—beautifully decorated grandfather, mantel, and wall clocks that the Englisch were fond of, not to mention sturdy but far plainer timekeepers for their Amish clientele.
    Beyond the sales floor, separated by a tall counter, was a large work area that included the broad table where they spent most of their time. They often used a pair of kerosene lamps to help them see the intricacies of their work, but those lamps sat unlit now thanks to the late afternoon March sun, which poured into the room from the wide windows at the front of the store.Gas-powered table and scroll saws rested at the rear of the work area, crowded by shelves of clocks in varying stages of completion. A curtained doorway led to a back room with the store’s will-call section for repaired clocks that were waiting for pickup, along with a small office area made up of a single desk and file cabinet. That room also held shelves filled with assorted parts and supplies, as well as a small bathroom.
    Just as Clayton handed his father the item he’d requested and returned to his place at the table, various clocks surrounding them began to chime three thirty. That meant Clayton would be laying down his tools soon to take care of the horses and other livestock up at the homestead. Clayton and his parents were the only ones living at the house these days, as they had for the past four years, ever since Joan, the youngest of his six sisters, married one of the Glick boys and moved to her husband’s family’s place closer to Lancaster City. Clayton’s other sisters, also married, were scattered about the county, busy keeping house and raising thirty-five children—and counting—among them.
    Clayton didn’t mind how quiet the house was now with just him and his parents living there. He had grown used to the peacefulness of it. Any need he had for socializing was met by visits with his large, extended family and through fellowship with the Amish community. But his closest childhood friends had long ago wed and were busy with their wives and children. And because Clayton accepted the fact that God’s will for him was more than likely not to marry at all, he had learned to nurture his affection for a quiet home life instead.
    â€œAll right, then,” his daed said, breaking the silence. “This one’s now in working order. You want to take it on back?”
    â€œSure.” Clayton swung his good leg around and rose slowly from his stool. He shuffled over to his father.
    Daed laid the wall clock carefully in Clayton’s hands. Though it functioned just fine now, the pendulum was still. Its owners would set the clock and wind it after getting it home.
    â€œCareful,” Daed said as Clayton turned and took a tenuous step.
    â€œI got it.” Clayton knew his father’s eyes were on him as he limped toward the back room with someone else’s heirloom in his hands.
    Before he reached the curtain and the shelves that lay beyond, he heard the sound of a car pulling into their tiny gravel parking lot outside. He paused and turned to look through the front windows.
    â€œ Englischers ,” Daed said.
    A few seconds of silence passed as they watched a man, two women, and three children climb out of the big red automobile.
    â€œWant me to handle them and put this back later?” Clayton started to set the clock down on the worktable.
    â€œNo, I can do it. Take that on back. I’ll be fine.”
    Clayton nodded with relief. He hated the thought of Daed having to move around to help these people, but he hated even more dealing with folks he didn’t know and therefore weren’t