Just when she was about to run for her life, she heard the gentle clip-clop of Billy’s horse pull up the road.
When he was beside her, he called out in his soft, manly voice, “Bess, hop in.”
She continued walking quickly up the road, stubborn but pleased he had come for her.
Billy slowed the horse to a stop and jumped out, putting his hand on her shoulder to turn her to face him. “Bess. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry I called you a child. I’m just . . . upset.”
He looked so heartbroken and sad that her madness dissolved. He guided her back to the buggy and helped her up. They rode home silently, and he let her off at the edge of the drive so she could sneak back in the house.
Morning came too early. Bess couldn’t stop yawning throughout Jonah’s prayer before breakfast. Mammi handed her a cup of coffee without any milk in it. When Bess looked into the cup, puzzled, Mammi said in her matter-of-fact way, “Awful hard to sleep with a full moon blasting through the window. Goings-on outside look as bright as daylight.”
Bess froze. Her eyes darted between Jonah, who was spooning strawberries onto his hot waffle, and her grandmother, quietly sipping her coffee with a look on her face of pure innocence. There was no end to what Mammi knew.
7
______
The weather all week was sunny and mild with no sign of rain. Late one afternoon, Lainey found Caleb Zook out in his cornfield, walking among the rustling whispers of the stalks. He was a tall man, yet the green stalks nearly reached his chin. He waved when he saw her and came through the path to meet her by the fence.
“We met at church on Sunday,” she said, putting out her hand to shake his. “I’m Lainey O’Toole.”
“I remember.” He smiled. “I remember you as a girl too. Bertha brought you to church now and then.”
His warmth surprised her. She would have thought a bishop would act stern and serious and cold with an Englisher. But Caleb Zook wasn’t cold. Not cold at all. “I was hoping to have a talk with you sometime.”
“Now is as good as any,” he said kindly, though she knew she had interrupted him. “Shall we walk?” He hopped over the fence and joined her along the road. “What’s on your mind?”
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about. I’ve given it a lot of prayer, and thought, and more prayer. And more thought.” She had too. It was something she couldn’t get out of her mind. The more she tried, the more she felt God pointing her in this direction. And it was a frightening direction. She wouldn’t be in charge of her life, not anymore.
He cocked his head, listening intently.
“I want to become Amish.”
Caleb took off his hat and spun it around in his hands. “You want to become Amish?” he asked her. “Amish go English, but English don’t go Amish. At least, not very often. I can only think of a few converts.” He looked up at the sky. “Oh, lots of folks come and say they want a simpler life, but they don’t last more than a few months. It’s just too hard on them. The language, living without modern conveniences. They just didn’t understand what they’d be giving up.”
“Their independence,” she said quietly.
“Yes. Exactly that.” He looked at her, impressed. “Folks don’t realize that being Amish is much more than simple living. It’s giving up self for the good of the community. It’s giving up individual rights because you’re part of a whole. It’s called Gelassenheit. There’s not really a way to say what it means in English.”
She nodded. “I know enough about the Amish to know what you’re getting at. But that’s the very reason I want to become Amish.” Her gaze shifted past him to the corn in the fields, swaying in the wind. “For just that very reason—to be part of a whole. To belong.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “I don’t know if you can understand this, but I’ve never really belonged to anyone or anything. Until I was ten, I watched all of your families, always wishing I were part of one.”
Caleb listened, spinning his hat. “Have you thought of joining an English church? Wouldn’t that give you what you’re looking for?”
She dropped her chin to her chest. “I’ve always belonged to God. He’s been the one thing I’ve been able to count on. I’ve always gone to church, even on my own, even when I was living with different foster families.” She lifted her head. “But there’s still a part of me that wants something more. I thought finding a career would be the answer, so I saved up my money for culinary school. That’s where I was heading when I ended up in Stoney Ridge this summer. But now that I’m here, I know it’s something else that I want.” She swept her arm out in an arc and gathered her fist to her chest. “I want this.” She owed so much to the Amish. It was through them, years ago, when her sorry childhood was at its bleakest point, that she met the Lord. It was one of those mornings when Bertha let her tag along to church. Lainey couldn’t understand much of the service, but there came a moment when she knew God loved her. It was during a hymn, a long, mournful Amish hymn, and it was as real as if God spoke to her, telling her that he knew her and loved her and not to worry. He would be watching out for her. She couldn’t explain how or why, but she knew it was true, and that assurance had never left her.
Caleb looked at her with great sincerity. “Being Plain . . . it’s not easy, Lainey, even for those of us born to it.”
“I know more about being Amish than you might think,” she said. “Do you remember Simon, Bertha’s brother?”
He dropped his eyes. “Of course.”
“Simon had it all wrong, about being Amish.” Caleb was about to interrupt, but she put a hand up to stop him. She knew what he was going to say. “Oh, I know he was excommunicated. But he was raised Amish and thought he understood what it meant. He emphasized all the wrong things. He would rail against pride and then scold my mother for decorating a birthday cake for me with icing. He would say God was watching everything we did, like an angry parent, then he would go out drinking until the wee hours.”
She could see Caleb wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She tried to make it more clear, but this was hard. She was telling him things she had never told anyone else. “Even back then, I knew he was missing the heart of it all. He didn’t understand God the way I knew him, not at all.”
Caleb raked a hand through his hair. “I have to ask. Does this have anything to do with Jonah Riehl?”
She looked at him, stunned.
“I noticed the two of you talking together after church on Sunday.”
Her eyes went wide with disbelief. Why would talking together make the bishop think she wanted to join the church? “No! For heaven’s sake, no! Nothing could be further from the truth. Jonah will be leaving for Ohio any day now. Bess said he’s planning to marry someone there. I’m staying right here, in Stoney Ridge.”
Caleb spun his straw hat around in his hands, around and around. She could see he was thinking hard. “Spend one week without using electricity.”
Lainey’s eyes went wide. “What will I tell Mrs. Stroot at The Sweet Tooth?”
He smiled. “No. Not at the bakery. But at home. You might find yourself heavy-hearted in your soul for machine-washed clothes and flipping on a light switch and other things in life that you have taken for granted.”
Lainey was sure she wouldn’t be so heavy-hearted. She had grown up poor, accustomed to going without luxuries. “Before I came to Stoney Ridge, I worked at a department store, listening to people’s complaints about the products they bought.” She shook her head. “All day long, I listened to complaints. It struck me one day that people were hoping these products—these things—would bring them happiness and satisfaction. But they never did.” She looked up at him. “Because they can’t.”
Caleb listened carefully to her. “One week without electricity. Then we’ll talk again.” He put his hat back on his head and laid his hand on the fence post. Before turning to go back to work, he added, “For now, Lainey, I’d like you to keep this to yourself. Just something between yo
u and the Lord God to work out. I’ll be praying too.”
She did write weekly to her two friends, Robin and Ally, but she would never dare tell them about this new plan. They would think she was certifiably crazy. “Bess knows.”
Caleb tilted his head and smiled approvingly. “Then we’ll keep this between the three of us.” He jumped back over the fence.
Lainey watched the top of his straw hat until he disappeared among the cornstalks before she started back down the road. The funny thing was, going Amish was Bess’s idea in the first place, a week or so before Lainey went to church with her. Bess and Lainey were baking muffins one afternoon at the bakery and talking about what they imagined a perfect life to be. Lainey described growing up Amish, and Bess looked at her, surprised. “Well, why don’t you become Amish, then?” Lainey laughed, but Bess persisted. “I mean it. Why not?”
Lainey hadn’t taken her seriously, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since. And then when she went to church last week, she felt an even stronger pull. So then she started to pray about it, long and hard, asking God to tell her all the reasons why she shouldn’t become Amish. But all she sensed from God was the same question Bess had posed, “Why not?”
She ran through all the logical things: she didn’t know their customs or language, she didn’t dress Plain, she would have to give up modern conveniences. Many things that she took for granted would be forbidden, like listening to the radio or watching television for entertainment. Then there were the deeper aspects to being Amish: humility and obedience to authority and denying self. Those weren’t exactly popular concepts in the world she lived in.
It didn’t make any sense, yet she couldn’t deny what was stirring in her heart: a deep-down longing to join the Amish church and community. She wanted a place amongst them.
For the rest of the week, Bess avoided Billy as best she could, but he was so sulky, he didn’t even notice.
“That boy looks like he’s been poked in a private place,” Mammi noted, watching him walk to the barn one morning. She finished drying the last dish at the kitchen sink and hung the dish towel to dry. “Anything to do with Betsy Mast running off?”
How did Mammi know everything that went on in this town? “It’s not fair! It’s just not fair,” Bess cried, dropping her head on her arms at the kitchen table. “How could he be so sweet on a girl who would leave her church and family?”
Mammi shot her a warning glance. They should be worried that Betsy’s soul was in peril, not throw stones at her. Bess knew that, but it was hard not to feel despair over the situation.
“The only fair I know hands out ribbons for canned pickles and prize tomatoes,” Mammi said calmly. She eased her big self down onto a kitchen chair. “Things happen for a reason. Best to leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
“Do you think Billy will pine after her forever?” Bess glanced out the window as he came out of the barn and went over to the greenhouse.
“Forever is a big word for a fifteen-year-old. No sense tearing through life like you plan on living out the whole thing before you hit twenty.” She leaned back. Bess was sure she heard the chair groan. “But he’s no fool, that Billy Lapp.”
Bess had no desire to listen to Billy’s woes about Betsy Mast, but the situation at Blue Lake Pond was another matter entirely. Last night, lying in bed, she gave the matter serious thought and had a brainstorm. In the morning, she took out a sheet of white paper and started to write. She described the vanishing wildlife, the sawdust on the shoreline, the truck seen coming in and out dropping a load of paper pulp. She even included the license plate of the truck. She signed the letter, A Friend of the Lake. She addressed the letter to the Stoney Ridge Times, attention: Letter to the Editor, put a stamp on it, and tucked it in the mailbox so the postman would pick it up. She hoped the good Lord would understand that she wasn’t just doing this to help Billy Lapp. She really did care about that lake.
Then she waited. And waited. But there was no sign of any activity at Blue Lake Pond other than the truck dropping paper pulp into it on a regular basis.
After lunch one day, Bess and Mammi washed the dishes and swept the room, and now Mammi was mending a torn dress hem while Bess was cutting scrap material into quilt pieces. They sat close to the window for better light—it was raining again. Jonah was in the greenhouse fixing a broken window.
“Mammi, I’ve been thinking,” Bess said.
“Mebbe you should have tried that in math class,” Mammi said.
Bess paid no attention. She was getting used to her grandmother. “I just don’t know what else we can do about Blue Lake Pond. Billy and I have tried to get the attention of the right people, and they just don’t seem to care.”
Mammi’s brow was furrowed and she rubbed her forehead, thinking hard. Then a look came over her. You had to study hard to see any expression at all on Mammi’s face, but it was a look Bess was coming to know. She could tell Mammi was having one of her sudden thoughts. Mammi slammed her palms down on the table, stood, grabbed her bonnet off of the hook, and opened the door. “You coming?”
Bess followed behind her to help get the buggy ready. It wasn’t long before Mammi went flying into town and pulled the horse to a stop at the sheriff’s office.
Bess’s heart nearly stopped. “Oh no. Oh no no no. I am not telling that sheriff about this. I don’t want to get the law involved and then have to testify and . . . oh no.” Bess crossed her arms against her chest. “I am staying right here.”
“Suit yourself,” Mammi said agreeably. “Here he comes now.”
From across the street came Sheriff Johnny Kauffman. “Well, well, well. It’s Miz Riehl and her granddaughter. Out on another crime spree?”
Mammi ignored his question. “Johnny, it’s time you came out to dinner at Rose Hill Farm. I was thinking catfish. Battered and fried.”
The sheriff’s eyebrows shot up. He was practically licking his chops. “Your cooking is legendary, Miz Riehl.”
“Saturday lunch then. We’ll be looking for you.” She climbed back in the buggy. “You wouldn’t mind bringing the catfish, would you? You being such a dedicated fisherman and all. From Blue Lake Pond? No better catfish than Blue Lake Pond.”
The sheriff looked pleased. “I haven’t been out that way all summer.” He clapped his hands together. “What time you want me at your farm?”
Mammi whispered to Bess in Deitsch, “What time does that paper truck make the drop?”
“Two on Saturdays,” Bess whispered back.
“Twelve noon,” Mammi said decidedly. “I want those catfish still jumping.”
“I’ll be there, Miz Riehl.” He looked pleased. “You can count on it.”
As they drove off, Bess tried to object, but Mammi waved her off. “You leave him to me.”
Bess spent the drive home trying to think up Mammi-proof, ironclad excuses to absent herself from Saturday’s lunch. Nothing. Nothing came to mind.
On Saturday morning, Mammi picked out two plump chickens to roast. By eleven, they were plucked, dressed, and in the oven. At twelve thirty, the sheriff turned into the drive at Rose Hill Farm and parked, all riled up.
“There wasn’t a fish to bite,” he told Mammi. “Something’s wrong with that lake.”
“Do tell,” Mammi said, looking surprised. “Why, just last week, Billy Lapp said there’s no birds out there anymore.” She shook her head. “It’s a misery, all right.”
“She means mystery,” Bess whispered to the sheriff.
“No, she’s right,” the sheriff said, looking quite bothered. “It is a misery. I sure was looking forward to Bertha Riehl’s catfish, battered and fried.”
“We’ll have to make do with chicken,” Mammi said. “Bess, go call your dad from the barn. Tell him dinner is ready.”
The sheriff ate heartily, but as he left, Bess and Mammi noticed he turned left instead of going right into town. Mammi said she had a hunch he was heading back out to Blue Lake Pond.
Early W
ednesday morning, Billy came running up to Rose Hill Farm, hollering for Bess at the top of his lungs. Bess and Jonah and Bertha were having breakfast. He burst into the kitchen.
“Look at this, Bess!” He held a newspaper up in his hands. The headline read “Schwartz Paper Company Fined for Poisoning Blue Lake Pond.”
“Somehow, it worked!” Billy was overjoyed. “That Eddie Beaker took the bait!”
Jonah asked what bait he was talking about and Billy tried to explain. Bess opened her mouth to interrupt and point out that the story wasn’t written by Eddie Beaker at all but by another reporter. But before she could cut a word in edgewise, Mammi shot her a silencing glance.
Jonah read the article aloud: “ ‘The Schwartz Paper Company has been fined for discharging millions of gallons of untreated paper pulp into surface water at Blue Lake Pond. Sheriff John Kauffman of Stoney Ridge blew the whistle on one of the worst pollution offenders in Lancaster County. While fishing one day, he noticed that the lake seemed to be absent of fish. The sheriff began an investigation and discovered that the Schwartz Paper Company had been dumping gallons of untreated pulp straight from their mill into Blue Lake Pond.’ ” His voice picked up the pace as he read through the more factual parts of the story: “ ‘Tremendous amounts of material discharged into the lake used up the oxygen in the water. Fish and aquatic life died from lack of oxygen. Mill wastewater also carries large amounts of suspended solids, such as wood fiber, that could smother underwater habitat for scores of fish and invertebrates such as insects and mussels . . .’ ” His voice trailed off. He scanned to the end of the article. “The company has admitted negligence and will pay the costs to return the lake to its original pristine condition.” Jonah put the paper on the table and looked up. “The sheriff’s been given a special commendation from the governor.”
The Search (Lancaster County Secrets 3) Page 12