LITMIR.BIZ

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her a better angler.

      Normally, she released the fish if she was alone. Today, she would keep what she caught and the family would enjoy a fish fry for supper.

      When everyone was spreading out along the lakeshore, she said, “I haven’t had much success fishing on this end of the lake. The east shore is a better place.”

      “Looks goot to me.” Hebron threw in his line.

      Joann shrugged and headed away from the lake on a narrow path that wound through the trees for a few hundred yards before it came out at the shore again near a small waterfall. This was where the fishing was the best.

      Carefully, she unpacked her pole and assembled it. From her small tackle box, she selected a lure that she knew the walleye would find irresistible and began to cast her line. Within half an hour, she had five nice fish on her stringer.

      She pulled the apple from her pocket and bit into the firm, sweet flesh. The sounds of her crunch and of the waterfall covered approaching footsteps. She didn’t know she wasn’t alone until her brother said, “Joann, I’ve been calling for you.”

      Startled, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Hebron, I didn’t hear you. What do you need?”

      “We’re getting ready to go. The fish aren’t biting today.”

      “I’ve been catching lots of walleye. Have you tried a bottom-bouncing lure?” She set her apple beside her on a fallen tree trunk and opened her tackle box to find him a lure like the one she was using.

      He waved aside her offering. “I’ve tried everything. What’s that you’re fishing with?”

      “An orange hopper.”

      “I meant the rod. Where did you get that?”

      She extended her pole for him to see. “I ordered it from the sporting goods store in Millersburg.”

      “Mighty fancy pole, sister.”

      “It works wonderfully well. Try casting it, you’ll see. You’ll be wanting one next.”

      “My old rod and reel are good enough.”

      She turned back to the water. “Okay, but I’m the one catching fish.”

      “Be careful of pride, sister. The Englisch world has many things to tempt us away from the true path.”

      “I hardly think a new fishing pole will make my faith weaker.”

      “May I see it?” he asked.

      “Of course. You can cast twice as far with it as your old one. Give it a try.” She handed it over, delighted to show him how well-made it was and how nicely it worked. She picked up her apple and took a second bite.

      Hebron turned her rod first one way and then another. “A flashy thing such as this has no place in your life, sister.”

      “It does if I catch fish for you and your children to eat.”

      “Are you saying I can’t provide for my family?”

      “Of course not.” She dropped her gaze. Hebron was upset. She could tell by the steely tone creeping into his voice.

      He balanced the rod in his hand, nodded and drew back his arm to cast.

      Eagerly, she sought his opinion. “Isn’t it light? It really is better than any pole I’ve owned.”

      He scowled at her, and then threw the rod with all his might. Her beautiful pole spun through the air and splashed into the lake.

      “No!” she cried in dismay and took a step toward the water. The apple dropped from her hand.

      “False pride goes before a fall, sister,” Hebron said. “I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed you to keep such a fancy Englisch toy. Already, I see how it has turned your mind from the humble ways an Amish woman should follow. Now, come. We are going home. I will carry your fish. It looks as if God has given us enough to feed everyone after all.” With her stringer of fish in his hand, he headed toward the wagon.

      She stood for a moment watching the widening ripples where her rod had vanished. Now she had nothing to return and nothing to show for her hard-earned money. Like the chance to own a home, her beautiful rod was gone.

      Tears pricked against the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

      * * *

      Late in the afternoon on Saturday, Roman took off his sling and began the stretching exercises he did every day, four times a day. His arm remained a dead lump, but he could feel an itching sensation near the ball of his shoulder that the doctors assured him was a good sign. As he rubbed the area, the uncomfortable sensation of needles and pins proved that the nerves were beginning to recover. He had been struck by a pickup truck while standing at the side of his buggy on a dark road just before Christmas. The impact sent him flying through the air and tore the nerves in his left shoulder, leaving him with almost complete paralysis in that arm.

      Dr. White and Dr. Zook, the local physicians he saw, were hopeful that he would regain more use of his arm, but they cautioned him that the process would be slow. Unlike a broken bone that would mend in six or eight weeks, the torn nerves in his arm would take months to repair themselves. Even then, there was no guarantee that he would regain the full use of his extremity.

      Roman tried to be optimistic. He would work for his uncle until his arm was better. When it was, he would return to working with his father in the sawmill as he had always planned. He held tight to that hope. He had to.

      The outside door opened and his brother Andrew came in. He held a pair of fishing poles in one hand. “I’m meeting some of the fellows down at the river for some fishing and a campout. Do you want to come along?”

      Roman put his sling back on. He didn’t like people seeing the way his arm hung useless at his side. “I don’t think so.”

      “Come on. It will do you good. You used to like fishing.”

      “I like hunting, I like baseball, I like splitting wood with an ax, but I can’t do any of those things. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve only got one good arm.” The bitterness he tried so hard to disguise leaked out in his voice.

      “You don’t need to bite my head off.” Andrew turned away and started to leave.

      “Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

      Andrew’s eyes brightened. “Then you’ll come? There’s no reason you can’t fish with one arm.”

      “I’m not sure I can even cast a line. Besides, how would I reel in a fish? That takes two hands.”

      “I’ve been thinking about that and I have an idea. It only takes one hand to crank a reel. What you need is a way to hold the rod while you crank. I think this might work.”

      Andrew opened his coat to reveal a length of plastic pipe hooked to a wide belt and tied down with a strap around his leg.

      Roman frowned. “What’s that?”

      “A rod holder. You cast your line and then put the handle of your pole in this. The inside of the pipe is lined with foam to help hold the rod steady. This way it won’t twist while you’re cranking. See? I fixed it at an angle to keep the tip of the rod up. All you have to do is step forward or backward to keep tension on the line.”

      Roman looked at the rig in amazement. “You thought of this yourself?”

      It was a clever idea. It might look funny, but the length of pipe held the rod at the perfect angle. “It just might work, little brother,” Roman said.

      “I know it will. With a little practice, you’ll be as good as ever. Come with us.” Andrew unbuckled his invention and held it out.

      Roman took it, but then laid it on the counter. “Maybe next time.”

      He didn’t

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