Resuming his focus, he swung the hammer again, and again. Reached for another sturdy wooden peg and drove it into the softer wood.
This was a good part of why he’d come home, after all these years. He’d missed the sense of fellowship, having people who wouldn’t think of turning their backs to him despite his flaws, and who in turn accepted his help. He’d come because his absence had hurt his parents so much. And because his father’s onkel Hiram had died and chosen to leave his farm to David, giving him a chance he might not otherwise have had to pursue his dream. A new dream to supplant the old, gone with Levi.
David only wished Hiram Miller’s land didn’t border Eli Bowman’s, making him a close neighbor. So far today, nobody had remarked on the inheritance, unusual in company so close-knit. Mamm and Daad must not have told anyone while they waited to find out if he’d respond to their letter, if he intended to come home at all, or stay if he did. He’d given them no warning when he walked in their door yesterday afternoon.
He hadn’t told them that his only two stops before going home had been to sell his aging pickup truck and then buy a new buggy and a young horse he wouldn’t want to take out on the road again without some work. He’d been fortunate that traffic had been as light as it was yesterday, and that today Daad had simply assumed he’d ride with them. And assumed, of course, that he’d come, when a member of their group needed help.
Assumed correctly.
The greetings had been so friendly, he wondered what his parents had told everyone about their missing son. Did people know he’d gone Englisch? That he had violated his deepest beliefs? That he had missed his faith and his family and neighbors painfully, yet not been sure he could ever return?
He hadn’t heard a word of Deitsh—Pennsylvania Dutch—in years, but his mind had switched effortlessly to thinking in it when he walked into the buggy maker’s shop yesterday afternoon. Now, hearing it around him was a comfort.
The truth was, he shouldn’t sit down to eat the midday meal—middaagesse—with the others, not when he should be under the meidung, the bann that auslanders misunderstood. The Amish were not permitted to eat with someone who was being shunned, or accept anything from his hands. Usually, such a person wasn’t invited to social occasions, and if he attended a worship service, he didn’t stay for the fellowship meeting.
He should leave, he thought suddenly. What had Daad and Mamm been thinking? From his rare letters, they knew enough about his life these past five—no, almost six—years to be aware that he shouldn’t be among the faithful until he had confessed, first to the bishop and then on his knees to all the members of his church district.
Voices called out, and around him men set down tools to take a meal break. He laid down his borrowed hammer and backed away. He could walk back to his parents’ house, but he had to tell one of them that he was leaving. No, there was Jake, his younger brother who farmed at Daad’s side and would take over once their father chose to retire. Living in a separate house on the property, Jake had come over last night, but David had yet to meet his wife or kinder.
Jake hadn’t brought them to meet him this morning, either. Perhaps he had qualms not shared by Mamm and Daad.
David’s eyes fell first on his brother, and he started toward him. Passing a group of men, he scarcely noticed when one separated himself from the others and came toward him. When the man laid a hand on his arm, David stopped in surprise that quickly became something more.
This was Bishop Amos Troyer, his beard longer and threaded with more gray than David remembered, his eyes as keenly perceptive as ever.
“David Miller. I didn’t know you were back until your mamm told me a few minutes ago.”
“Bishop.” He swallowed without dislodging the lump in his throat. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said harshly. “I wasn’t thinking. If I’m not under the meidung, I should be. If you’ll tell my family where I went, I’ll walk home.”
“First, walk with me,” Amos said kindly.
David set his jaw and nodded, matching the bishop’s leisurely pace as he strolled away from the tables set up and already brimming with food.
“Your parents gave us all the impression that you’d joined another settlement,” Amos said after a minute. “Although I can’t remember what they actually said.”
“I blamed myself for Levi’s death.” Still blamed himself. “I didn’t think I belonged among the faithful. I got a job in the Englisch world, and eventually a driver’s license. I was angry, despairing, shutting out God.” The rest of this was hard to say. “I . . . got in trouble, worse trouble than even my parents know.”
“Is this just a visit?”
He took a deep breath. “No. I felt so alone, so out of place. I had almost made up my mind to come home and beg forgiveness, when Mamm wrote to let me know that Onkel Hiram had died and left me his farm. It seemed as if God was holding out His hand, telling me that this was the time.”
“I feel sure He was,” the bishop said comfortably. “So why do you think you shouldn’t be here today?”
“I haven’t yet confessed. The members might choose not to accept me back among them.” That was his worst nightmare, along with a picture of Miriam Bowman staring at him with horror.
“But you intend to do that.”
“Ja. Today I wanted to help. I didn’t think of the meal or that I was accepting even tools from the hands of others.”
“You know that the meidung exists only to put pressure on the rebellious in hopes they will be lonely, as you were, and return to us.”
“I do know that,” David said hoarsely.
Amos stopped walking to face him. “God loves us, in spite of our human failings. He doesn’t seek punishment or revenge. All He asks is that we learn from our mistakes. Have you done that, David?”
“Ja, I want to believe I have.”
Bishop Amos searched David’s face in a way that made David need to twitch. At last the bishop smiled. “Then you have my blessing to join us today to help a brother in need. What better way to know you’re where you belong now?”
Flooded with relief that nonetheless burned as it flowed through his body, David admitted, “None.”
“Join us for middaagesse. We’ll say you are under the bann while we confer, but you need not be completely shunned. You and I will talk once you’re sure you’re ready. I have never seen your maam look happier.”
“I hurt my parents.”
“They understood and forgave.”
“Ja.” He bowed his head this time, looking down at his hands held in tight fists at his sides. For an instant, he saw double: his fists striking a man’s face, battering it as blood flew. The rage welled—
He pushed the memory back. He had to deal with it eventually, but not now. “Denke. It’s good to be home.”
As they walked back toward the tables, where women served the men, David carried with him Amos’s smile, full of the forgiveness he could not yet give himself.
Worse yet, forgiveness he struggled to believe God would ever extend to him.
He would be careful to sit at the end of the table, and wait for food to be set in front of him rather than accepting it from the hands of one of his sisters in faith. As his mamm especially begged him, he’d attend tomorrow’s church service, but he would follow the requirements for one under the bann.
Chapter Two
“These were both Hiram’s horses,” Daad told David on Monday, whistling to draw the attention of the animals out at pasture. “Good buggy horses. The mare’s getting old, I think my onkel didn’t make her work often anymore. The gelding is eight or nine, patient and reliable.”
“That’s a relief.” He held out a hand with a carrot stick on it, smiling when the mare lipped it up in a hurry. Spittle and flecks of orange flew. The blood bay gelding nudged her head and David’s hand until he received his own carrot.
Isaac grinned at him. “Ja, I would hate to see you go out on the road with that crazy horse.”
David laughed, his eyes on the two-year-old bucking and running for the pleasure of it, ignoring their presence. “Not crazy, just untrained.”
“You think you can settle him down?”
Leaning against the fence, David turned to look at his father. “I haven’t said, but that’s what I intend to do. I’ve spent the past few years working at a stable, learning to train horses. Not to pull a buggy, but I can adapt what I learned. Eventually, I’d like to breed and raise harness horses, too, but for now I’ll buy young horses like that one and sell them when I’m sure they can be trusted even in busy traffic. Out there . . . the horses were a comfort. They connected me to home.”
His father studied him, grooves in his forehead. “You were so set on logging. You never wanted to farm.”
“I still don’t, although I’ll grow my own hay. Logging . . .” He shook his head. “I will never cut down another tree.”
“Accidents happen, no matter what we do. You know that. You could be kicked in the chest by a horse. Your mamm could slip on a wet floor and hit her head falling down.”
But those truly were accidents. “I know that God chooses our time but . . . I can’t forget,” was all he said.
After a minute, his father nodded, letting it go, although David could tell he wasn’t satisfied. “Will you sell these horses, too?” he asked.
“No. The mare deserves to live out her life in familiar surroundings with plenty to eat and the companionship of other horses. As for this one”—he stroked the strong neck of the gelding—“I’ll need a horse I can rely on for transportation, and perhaps to calm the rattlebrained youngsters. It’s too bad I didn’t have an older brother to calm me when I was young.”
His father laughed heartily. David had been a troublesome boy his parents loved but never understood.
He backed the gelding between the poles of his own buggy and harnessed him, not needing to think about what he was doing despite the gap of years when he’d been out in the world. Then he set out for Hiram’s farm.
He had the jolting realization that it was now his farm. Thinking of it as such would take time.
His mother had helped care for Onkel Hiram as his health failed, so she’d been there recently enough to assure David that the place was in decent repair. Of course, the house would need a thorough cleaning, she’d added. Like most Amish housewives, she couldn’t bear clutter or any surface to be less than spotless. Isaac thought the barn and other outbuildings might need some repairs, and perhaps fences, too. Fields that had lain fallow for several years, at least, would need to be mowed to discourage weeds.
David hoped it wasn’t too late in the year to be able to plant hay. He would be late enough that he might not get in a second planting, but he was unlikely to have that many horses to feed this first year. He wasn’t prepared to move any animals here until he was sure fences were in good repair and stalls were ready to shelter them. Unless he wanted to buy all his own food, he ought to put in a garden, too, and plan to pick fruit. He felt sure he could rely on his mamm and other female family members to preserve the produce for him.
That would be including Jake’s wife, the one he still hadn’t met, although he’d seen her from a distance as his brother hustled her and their stairsteps of children to their buggy at the end of the day. He’d glanced from them to his mother, to see her face tight with suppressed emotions. Knowing her, probably not anger, but certainly regret. David felt some himself.
He hadn’t been the big brother he should have been for Jake. Easily distractible, often in trouble with Daad in particular, David had had a way of forgetting promises because his mind had jumped onto something else. He’d let Jake down too many times to expect a close friendship now. That was something he would have to work at.
The steady clop of hooves on the pavement could have been a song familiar from childhood. A lullaby, maybe, combined with the gentle swaying of the buggy. Daad was right; when a car full of Englisch teenagers roared by, the driver leaning on the horn, Dexter continued placidly on, his ears scarcely swiveling.
“Good boy,” David told him.
Without further incident, he found the farm he hadn’t seen since he left Tompkin’s Mill all those years ago. He sensed eagerness from the gelding at the sight of his home.
Weeds had begun to sprout on the hard-packed surface of the driveway, but the fences to each side looked fine. In need of scraping here and there, and a paint job, but he saw no obvious rot or any rails falling down.
The house was similar to his parents’, a traditional two-story farmhouse with a broad, covered front porch. A wide-limbed oak tree grew in the middle of the lawn, which had been recently and neatly mowed, David saw. Had Daad done that?
He drove past the house to the barn, more than large enough for his needs. After tying the reins to a hitching rail, David opened both of the wide front doors to allow in light while he toured the barn.
Here he found more work that needed to be done, although minor: loosened and cracked boards on the sides of stalls, a few hinges that were failing. A rung missing on the ladder that led to the loft above. After gingerly climbing that ladder, he found the loft itself to be empty and swept clean; neighbors would have seen to that, not wanting old hay or straw to molder or catch fire. The structure was solid and the roof looked good.
The tack he found needed cleaning and treating to keep the leather from cracking, but the metal rings and bits weren’t rusting and could easily be polished. His sense of anticipation blossomed into excitement as he looked around, visualizing mares in foal, young horses poking their heads above the stall doors. There was plenty of open space to keep a couple of buggies and a cart that he’d use to start young horses under harness. Onkel Hiram’s big farm wagon was still here.
His tools were well cared for, too. Hammers, mallets, saws, shovels, rakes, and more. David had half expected useful items like these to have gone to those who needed them.
He found a plow, harrow, and thresher in another outbuilding. The chicken coop needed rebuilding. If he were to feed himself, he’d need to have a flock. Remembering how much he’d hated cleaning the coop at home and snatching the eggs from hens with viciously sharp beaks, he grimaced. That’s what kinder were for.
The thought caused a chill. He had no immediate plans to marry, which meant no kinder. It would never be possible unless he could fully open his heart to God. David felt as if everything inside him were twisted and knotted, as resistant to any tug as the huge, thick roots of old blackberry bushes.
There’d been a time when he took responsibility for choosing which trees to bring down when doing selective cutting. He’d have avoided any that had grown wrong from past traumas. So often they fell in unpredictable directions, dangerous to the loggers, and once down they wouldn’t provide clean, straight boards, anyway.
A sapling damaged when it was still flexible never would be able to reach directly for the sky. Is that me? David asked himself, feeling familiar anguish.
Disappointing so many people, that was part of it, but Levi—
His useless brooding was interrupted by the sound of a buggy coming up his lane. He stepped outside to greet what would likely be a neighbor stopping to see who was poking around here on property that should be vacant.
After his absence, he could no longer immediately identify people by the horse, but within seconds, he recognized Eli Bowman with Miriam beside him.
Climbing down, Eli greeted him. “Wondered who was here. Miriam and I were on our way to work, but running late because I had to load a few pieces to take to the store.”
By this time, Miriam had gotten down, too, and glanced fondly at her father. “Daad is slow making up his mind.”
Eli was a skilled furniture maker, having workshops both in a barn on his property and behind the store
he owned in town. David had noticed the day he arrived in town that the store was now called Bowman & Son’s Handcrafted Furniture. According to Daad, the younger Bowman son, Elam, had helped in the business for a while, but his big brother Luke had taken his place, and Elam now farmed on land he’d purchased last fall. Daad said he’d already achieved the organic certification, so those crops would sell for better prices.
“Do you work with your daad?” David asked politely, hiding his surprise and deep curiosity.
“No, I’ve worked at the quilt shop for several years now,” she replied.
“I remember you were a skilled quilter.”
“I enjoy spending my days with other quilters,” she said simply.
Which didn’t answer any of his unspoken questions. Was she not married? Few married Amish women worked outside the home, although they might sell their hand-stitched quilts or have a vegetable and fruit stand or the like. Miriam could be a widow, but if so, didn’t she have children who needed her?
“Will you be living here?” Eli asked him.
“Ja, Onkel Hiram left the property to me,” David told him. “I’m glad to find it in such good condition.”
“With my sons, I’ve kept the yard mowed,” Eli said. “Luke and Elam and I took turns keeping an eye on the place to be sure there was no vandalism and no vagrants moved in. I’m glad it won’t be empty any longer.”
“I haven’t gone into the house yet, so I’m not sure if it will need work to be habitable. Mamm didn’t seem to think so, except for cleaning.”
“Deborah will be glad to help with that,” Eli assured him. “I can help clear the fields, too.”
“Denke. I’d like to bring the horses here, but not until I’m sure the fences are solid and I’ve mowed.”
Mending Hearts Page 2