Plain Roots

by Becki Willis

  Her birth mother, it seemed, had a mischievous nature and a witty personality. Though often subtle, both shone through in her writings. More than once, Taryn laughed aloud at some of her musings.

  And when Taryn crawled into bed that night, the most amazing thing happened.

  She slept. Soundly and peacefully, with the journal tucked safely beneath her pillow.

  The same scratchy sounds awoke her the next morning. The preliminary garble of the rooster nudged her from sleep, as the fowl tested his vocal chords, warming up for his big performance. By the time he unfurled the first of his perfectly enunciated wake-up calls, Taryn stood at the coffee pot.

  She treated herself to another morning on the deck, where she once again watched the sun make its grand appearance as the busy farm came to life. She tried familiarizing herself with the people she saw, wondering if she would ever have the opportunity to meet them. They were her family, after all.

  She was still adjusting to the thought. No matter how many times she took it out and tried it on, the reality still fit like someone else’s clothes. How could something be too constricting, and too large, at the same time?

  For an only child who spent over half of her childhood shuffled from foster home to foster home, and with no one to call her own, the thought of suddenly having family—and so much of it! —was overwhelming. The very thought threatened to swallow her whole. The concept was too big.

  Knowing that her family was of the Amish faith manifested an entirely different emotion. They may as well have been from Mars. She couldn’t imagine anyone being more different from her. These people, this family of hers, spoke a different language than she did. They wore different clothes than she. They drove buggies, when she drove a motor vehicle. They grew their own vegetables and milked their own cows, when she simply ran to the grocery store to fill her refrigerator, the one ran by electricity. They depended on propane and solar panels to operate their necessities. Taryn relied on the power company to run her gadget-oriented, device-riddled luxuries. Their restrictive lifestyle, dictated by their faith but adopted entirely by choice, felt two sizes too small. The concept of Amish roots was too confining.

  So where did this leave her? Completely and utterly confused, and still pondering the magnitude of it all when Susannah appeared with her breakfast basket.

  At the sight of the young woman, Taryn immediately brightened. “I hoped you would come again today,” she greeted with a smile.

  “Hot from the oven,” Susannah confirmed, but something was missing from her smile. It lacked the vibrancy from yesterday.

  “Are you feeling well today, Susannah?” Taryn asked in concern.

  She dipped her head to admit, “Mamm says I’m not to bother you again today.”

  “You aren’t bothering me. I enjoyed our visit yesterday.” Taryn pulled out the chair next to her. “Please, have a seat. You can keep me company while I eat.”

  Some of the enthusiasm returned to her smile. The girl eagerly took the offered seat and pulled items from the basket. “You’re in for a treat today. Mei Grossmammi made her special hotcakes this morning.”

  Taryn wasn’t sure whom she referred to, but she didn’t question her. She had another line of questioning in mind. “Yesterday, you asked me about my life in the city. I thought today could be my turn.”

  The young woman made a face as she brought out a bowl of freshly whipped butter and a decanter of syrup. “My answers won’t be nearly as exciting as yours, but that seems fair.”

  “Tell me about your church services.”

  “Good choice,” Susannah muttered, only half under her breath. “We’ll get the most boring item out of the way first.” Taryn hid her smile as she continued. “Church is a long affair. Three hours, every other Sunday, on a hard pew with no back. The preachers deliver prayers and two sermons, and the congregation sings from our Ausbund. Everything is in German. After service, we have lunch. We don’t have church buildings, so church is held in our homes. On the off Sundays, we visit other churches or relatives. Each family in a district has a turn at hosting, so your turn comes around every year or so. Good thing, too. Preparations for your turn are quite rigged!”

  “You mean rigorous?”

  “If that means scrubbing and cleaning, sweeping and mopping, polishing and shining, cooking and baking, and being so tired at night, it hurts to even close your eyes, then, jah. Preparing for church is very rigorous.”

  Rebecca had shared much the same sentiment in her journal. Taryn couldn’t help but smile.

  “How do you fit so many people in your home? How many are even in a district?”

  “That’s what that room is there, yonder.” Susannah pointed to the long, window-filled room behind them. “When it’s not our turn to host, it is a workshop and storage. Next month, we will begin cleaning it out and getting it ready for our turn, two months from now. It’s the only way to hold so many people at one time. With twenty-five or thirty families in our district, and each with so many children, it requires a large space.”

  “Speaking of large families, how many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “Four brothers and three sisters.”

  “There are eight of you?” Taryn gasped. “No wonder I see so many people milling around outside!”

  The young woman misunderstood the term. She was quick to correct her friend. “Oh, we don’t mill our grains. Not for food. In late summer, we harvest silage for our animals. We chop up the full cornstalk—husk, ears, and all! —for the silo, but we buy our cornmeal and flour.”

  Not wanting to embarrass her, Taryn rephrased her statement. “That’s a lot of people for one house to hold.”

  “Oh, it holds more than just us. Der Grossdaadi un die Grossmammi live here, too. It was their house first. When my parents married and started having so many babies, Grossdaadi un Grossmammi moved into the back house and gave the big house to Daedd un Mamm. My oldest brother Samuel is married and lives in the east side.”

  Taryn turned to study the construction of the house. “Is that what all the roof lines and additions are about?”

  “Jah.” Susannah pointed out the section of home occupied by each family unit.

  A thought occurred to Taryn, tripping her heart into another of its crazy patterns. “Are your grandparents your father’s parents, or your mother’s?”

  “My father’s. My mother’s family lives on the farm next to ours. When her eldest brother took over running my grandfather’s horse farm, he and his family moved into the main house there.”

  Did Susannah realize the grandfather she spoke of was Taryn’s, too? Her words were so casual, so off-handed, but these were Taryn’s relatives she spoke of! Family she never knew existed. Family who, most likely, had no idea that she existed.

  Those were pieces of a whole other suit of clothes. Taryn wasn’t at all certain she was ready to try them on for size just yet.

  Taryn asked a dozen more questions, most that touched upon things Rebecca referenced in her journal. She inquired about daily chores, and a few of the customs she didn’t understand. The young woman was able to explain some of them, but others were beyond her grasp. She simply knew it was a tradition among her people or sanctioned by their bishop. She did not question the wisdom behind the rules. Like any good Amish girl, she simply obeyed.

  “It is time for my chores,” Susannah announced reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry if I kept you, but I enjoyed our talk.”

  “As did I.”

  “Tomorrow, it’s your turn to ask the questions,” Taryn promised.

  The girl grabbed up the basket and turned to go. “I will make a list!” She grinned before disappearing down the stairs.

  Taryn was still smiling, long after she was gone. She was truly fond of the girl. Her enthusiasm and fun personality were a joy to be around. Given to her own bouts of depression, Taryn knew positive influence was good for her.

  She kept thinking of Susannah as a girl, but in truth, she was a
young woman. Their latest conversation revealed she would be seventeen on her next birthday. Her body, poorly hidden beneath the bulky dresses and uninspired aprons, revealed that fact upon first sight.

  Seventeen, Taryn recalled, was the same age Rebecca had been when she disappeared from the farm. Within the year, Rebecca had been a married woman and a mother.

  What came after that was anyone’s guess.

  Determined to find out the full story behind her mother’s disappearance and subsequent death, Taryn pulled out her phone and typed in Bryce Elliott’s cell number. Was he still in Florida, or back in the Keystone State? He said he wouldn’t be back in the office until next week, so she guessed he was still out of state. After a moment’s consideration, she composed a text.

  This is Taryn Clark. I don’t mean to disturb you, but I have made progress on my end. I now have a full name for my birth mother. Rebecca King. Surely, this will help.

  She went back in to make another cup of coffee. On her return, she was surprised to see a reply from the private investigator.

  It should. But do you have any idea how many Kings there are in Lancaster County?

  She typed a quick reply.

  I’m guessing quite a few.

  Then, remembering the dark luster of his eyes and the way their thoughtful gaze released the butterflies in her stomach, she kept typing.

  But I wouldn’t begin to usurp your area of expertise. Isn’t that what you PIs do? Dazzle us with statistics and facts?

  She started to erase her comment, but the damage was done. She had already hit send.

  Taryn bit her lip, wondering if she had overstepped her bounds. Bryce Elliott didn’t seem the particularly playful sort. He might not respond. Worse, he might respond with a crisp, professional reminder that he hadn’t yet taken the assignment.

  The bubbles of a reply in progress appeared almost instantly. She held her breath, dreading the worse, hoping for the best.

  To her relief, she could almost hear the smile in his response. Maybe Bryce wasn’t such a stick in the mud, after all.

  We have a large repertoire, actually. We also dance to the tune of insecure wives, suspicious business partners, and greedy family members. Occasionally, we even combat crime.

  She shared the next news with a big smile plastered across her face.

  Speaking of family… I have one!

  Again, his reply was immediate. A stray butterfly wandered into her stomach.

  You’ve been a busy girl. How did this come about?

  The sigh came through with the text.

  Long story. I’ve found several pieces to the puzzle, but they don’t complete the picture. I need your help.

  This time, there was a slight lag in his response, but the bubbles soon appeared.

  I’ll be back on Tuesday. We’ll talk then.

  She smiled again.

  Thank you.

  As an afterthought—and perhaps because she hated to end their connection, tentative though it was—Taryn added,

  Safe travels.

  He replied with,

  Have a good weekend.

  When he added his own afterthought just a few moments later, she cautioned herself not to read more into than it was.

  Update me as needed.

  Chapter 13

  Lillian appeared at her door an hour later.

  Taryn greeted her aunt with a warm smile. “Hello. Come in.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t visit just now. I hate to bother you, but could you move your automobile? I must use the carriage.”

  “Of course. Just let me grab my keys.” She noticed the anxious look on the other woman’s face. “Is something wrong? You look flustered.”

  “Don’t mind me. Just an unexpected complication to my day. I have much to do, and now I must fit in a trip to town.”

  “How long does that take you, by the way?”

  “Travel alone takes almost two hours, each way.”

  Taryn hesitated only briefly before making her offer. “Would you like me to take you? It would save so much time. You’re allowed to ride in automobiles, right?”

  “Jah, we are allowed. But I can’t ask you to do this for me.”

  “You didn’t. I offered.”

  Indecision played upon the Amish woman’s face. “I would have to ask my Peter.”

  “I tell you what. I’ll go ahead and get ready, and if he says yes, I’ll be more than glad to take you.”

  “That is very kind of you.”

  “Not a problem. Oh, and here’s the journal. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. Do you have more for me to read?”

  “I’ll bring another when I come with my answer. And you keep that, at least for now.”

  The gesture touched Taryn. “Are you sure?”

  “You’re Rebecca’s daughter. It’s only fitting.”

  Lillian returned a half hour later, bearing a smile, a purse slung over her shoulder, and two more cloth-bound journals. As tempted as Taryn was to snatch the journals from her hand and begin reading, her offer stood. Reading would have to wait.

  Once they were in the car and headed in the direction Lillian pointed, Taryn asked, “Where are we headed?”

  “I have two stops, I’m afraid. I must go by the pharmacy for my mother-in-law and pick up more therm-gel at the grocer. The Lord’s bounty has been good this year, and I’ve canned more jelly than anticipated.”

  “I’ll be happy to take you to as many places as you’d like. The more, the better, to make the most of your time.”

  Lillian peered at her in surprise, her eyes once again hidden behind her light-progressive glasses. “Are you sure? You have no plans for the day?”

  “None whatsoever. Although, I have wanted to do a bit of shopping in the area. Today is the perfect opportunity.”

  “I imagine you wish to shop for trinkets and treasures, not paper goods and canning supplies!” Lillian said with a spurt of laughter.

  “It will be a new experience for me. And I’m always up for something new.”

  “You are like Rebecca, in that regard. Life was an adventure for my sister.” Lillian peered out the window, her mood turning melancholy. “We are taught not to covet, but I envied her of that. She was so full of curiosity and enthusiasm.”

  It sounded like someone else they both knew. “Like Susannah?”

  “Ach, that girl.” Lillian shook her head with a smile, the affection obvious in her voice. “Jah, she is so much like Rebecca. Please, do not let her pester you. Tell me if she’s asking too many questions.”

  “I’ve enjoyed my visits with her.” Taryn drove in silence until she ventured to say, “I’d like to meet your other children, too. And your husband. Do you think that’s possible?”

  Instead of giving her a direct answer, Lillian said, “They will have questions, you know. When they see your eyes, they will know.”

  “Do they even know they had an Aunt Rebecca?” It hurt, somehow, thinking her mother may have been forgotten. Or worse, that she had been overlooked, her memory too insignificant to acknowledge.

  Lillian dispelled that worry. “They know I had a sister that I loved and lost. They don’t know… the rest.”

  “Neither do I, Lillian,” Taryn reminded her softly. “I still have so many questions.”

  Her answer was enigmatic. “In time, Taryn Clark. In time.”

  The day was, indeed, a new experience. Taryn received a crash course in Amish culture.

  The first stop was at a CVS Pharmacy, where they picked up the elder Mrs. Zook’s prescription. Taryn didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. This was a mundane, everyday experience, the same as anyone else might have. They pulled up to the drive-through window, waited for the refill, and Lillian paid by debit card. It was completely at odds with the image of the woman sitting beside her, with her Plain clothes, ugly black shoes, and face devoid of makeup. If Taryn hadn’t known better, she would think her passenger was plucked from the early part of the last cen
tury and deposited there in her front seat.

  They dropped by a hardware store, where Lillian picked up new canning jars and a few extra cylinders of propane.

  A visit to a fabric store yielded spools of thread, five yards of dark-green material, and two packages of snaps. Taryn learned that the Amish had little use for buttons; they relied upon straight pins, gripper snaps, and hooks and eyes to secure their clothing. This, she realized, explained Helen’s account of Rebecca’s overcoat from the morning she was born.

  They stopped at a fast-food chain for lunch, where Taryn discovered her aunt’s weakness for tacos and spicy salsa. As an afternoon snack, they indulged in ice cream.

  Their last stop was to an Amish-owned grocery store, where there were no overhead lights and the coolers were powered by propane. Taryn had to take off her sunshades to see, but she averted her eyes when they passed other shoppers. The lighting was dim enough that her own eyes were hidden in shadow. She tried her best to be inconspicuous, but she saw the children stare at her in curiosity, intrigued by her strange wardrobe and hairstyle.

  By silent accord, Taryn kept her sunglasses on during most of their excursion. There was no need to stir gossip among the locals. And if today was any indication, the Amish engaged in chitchat and idle speculation, the same as every other culture on earth. Taryn and Lillian were privy to some of those conversations, as her aunt stopped to visit with friends she knew and to exchange pleasantries with some she didn’t.

  For her part, Taryn did her best not to ogle the horse and buggies hitched to the posts out front. It was still such a new experience for her, seeing these Plainly dressed women stroll the aisles alongside Englisch shoppers. She did so serendipitously, but she peeked into their shopping carts, finding they purchased many of the same items she, herself, would buy. Everything from toiletries and personal hygiene products, to greeting cards and batteries, to junk food and snacks.