As she and Samuel came downstairs, Daet was just coming in from the mudroom in sock feet. His shoulders were stooped, and he paused at the door to rest against the jamb.
“Benjamin?” Mamm said, hurrying toward him, but he waved her off.
“I’m fine, Sarah. Just a bit tired.” Daet came all the way inside the kitchen and looked at the table with a weary smile. “Now that’s a beautiful sight.”
Rosmanda pulled the lids and plates off the bowls of food, and steam rose from each dish. Samuel crawled up into his booster seat, and he stared hungrily at the corn fritters, his particular favorite. Sammie wouldn’t dare touch the food before they prayed, but she spotted his fingers inching toward the table, and she shot him a warning look. At three, he was old enough to follow the rules.
The family sat around the table, and they bowed their heads in silent prayer. When Daet raised his head, they all followed his example, and the meal began.
“Your mamm and I talked about hiring some help around here,” Daet said, filling his plate with corn fritters, bacon, and fried eggs. “Here, Samuel. A fritter for you.”
Daet dropped a cake in the center of Samuel’s plate, and the boy beamed up at his grandfather.
“You all know what the doctor said,” Daet went on. “So I’ve hired a young man who will be sharing meals with us during the work day, so you’ll be needing to take him into account in the cooking.”
“Who is it, Daet?” Rosmanda asked, her eyes lighting up. She was hoping for someone handsome and close to her age, Sadie knew, and she smothered a smile.
“Elijah Fisher,” he replied.
Silence descended on the table, and Sadie’s heart stalled, then jolted to catch up. Elijah Fisher had been Absolom’s best friend—her best friend. They’d played together as kids, then grown up together. Elijah Fisher had been her first kiss, and many more kisses afterward. He’d been her first love, a part of her coming of age, and in one fell swoop of betrayal, he’d lured Absolom with him to the Englisher world, leaving her behind without even a good-bye.
“But Daet—” Sadie began, sounding more breathless than she intended.
“It’s already done, and your mother was fully in agreement,” Daet replied.
“Mamm?” The sisters turned to their mother, who had just put food into her mouth. She chewed slowly, showing no signs of hurry.
“He’s a part of our community now,” Daet went on. “Coming home again isn’t easy. Some grace is necessary.”
“We are all sinners,” Mamm murmured once she’d swallowed.
Sadie wasn’t in disagreement with the theology here, but she hadn’t forgiven Elijah, either. Elijah had been exciting and daring—an intoxicating combination when she was young and naïve enough to think that nothing could change. She’d felt like his whole world when he’d looked down into her eyes, but his promises that he’d never look at another girl obviously had been nothing more than words, because he’d left, taken Absolom with him, and she’d never heard from him again. As for Absolom, he’d never have gone if it weren’t for Elijah, and then once he was outside of their community, he’d never returned. But Elijah had—a few weeks ago, visibly defiant and still sporting that strange, short-cropped Englisher hairstyle.
And Absolom had stayed away.
“He needs work,” Mamm said. “His parents told us, and it isn’t easy to find a job, especially when he’s been away for so long. We are obliged to care for our neighbors.”
“There aren’t other farms?” Rosmanda asked woodenly.
“When the Lord puts a needy person in our path, He doesn’t ask us to send them to someone else,” Daet said. “We are obliged to help.”
“And your daet needs the help, too,” Mamm reminded them. “You know what the doctor said.”
Sadie put some oatmeal, sugar, and cream into a small bowl for Samuel, and passed it to him with a spoon. Daet had made a decision, and there would be no changing it. This might be her home, but it wasn’t her farm, and she had no right to tell her father how to run it. That was a man’s work, not hers.
And while Elijah Fisher might have been their playmate in years past, he was no longer just a rambunctious boy who liked to fish and run. He was no longer a gangly teen who told her that she was pretty and held her hand when no one else could see. He was now a grown man who’d spent a significant amount of time with Englishers and had lured Absolom away. He was trouble, and Sadie was firmly of the opinion that someone else should give him a job.
But her daet was the bishop, and they must be an example in public forgiveness of the one man who’d caused their deepest grief.
“He’s arriving any time now,” Daet said, pushing back his chair. “So I’d best get out to meet him. He’ll be eating with us for lunch.”
* * *
Elijah followed Bishop Graber from the buggy barn where his horses were now lodged for the day, and toward a farm wagon, already hitched and ready to take them to the cattle barn farther ahead. He glanced around at the familiar farm. Nothing had changed since he’d last been here as a teenager. The last time he’d been on this land, he and Absolom had been sneaking away in the dead of night with bags over their shoulders.
It had been cowardly, and he’d regretted it later. Not the leaving, but the way he’d done it. His parents had deserved a good-bye, and so had Sadie.
Sadie lived with her parents again, too. Now that her husband had died, she’d come back to the family home to raise her son, and he glanced toward the house automatically. Some towels flapped on the clothesline, but that was the only movement.
“I need to ride,” the bishop said, drawing Elijah’s attention back. “My ticker isn’t doing what it’s supposed to do anymore, and it leaves me winded. It’s a blow to a man’s ego when this happens.”
The bishop hoisted himself up onto the wagon bench with a grunt.
“Yah.” Elijah wasn’t sure how to answer that. A blow to the ego—wasn’t that what the Amish aimed to do, crush the ego? They worked as a group, worshiped as a group, disciplined the likes of Elijah and Absolom as a group. Elijah’s father had done what he’d expected—he’d followed the church decrees and had never once gone out to visit his son in the city, to see what had become of him. Not because his daet didn’t love him, but because the community was more important than one rebellious son. Elijah had hated that part of the faith—the pressure to conform—which had been a big push toward his exit from the community. He’d wanted to be more, and that wasn’t lauded here among the plain people.
Elijah hopped up into the front of the wagon next to the older man. The bishop’s face was red splotched, and he breathed shallowly, leaning back like a man who’d run a mile in boots.
“You might as well drive the horses,” the bishop said. “It’ll be part of the job.”
Elijah took the reins, then flicked them to get the horses moving.
“Are you alright?” Elijah asked.
“Fine. Fine. Drive on to the barn.”
Elijah didn’t want this job, but Bishop Graber was offering a fair wage and then some, so he couldn’t be picky. He wouldn’t be back at all if it weren’t for his father’s letter confessing that he couldn’t even afford new rubber boots, let alone the fabric for his mother to make herself a new dress to replace the ones that were so worn, she’d hemmed up the frayed bottoms almost past the length of decency. It was the first letter that had actually sounded like his father’s voice, instead of the constant flood of religious arguments. Elijah had been torn at that point—his daet had never bothered to come see his life in Chicago, and he’d obstinately frozen Elijah out of the family business until he’d had nowhere else to turn. And Elijah was supposed to dump the life he’d been building on his own and return now?
In the end, his duty as his father’s only son had won out. And Elijah didn’t make enough in Chicago as a common laborer with a road works team to both pay his share of the rent with Absolom and send money home. Yet. Absolom and Sharon needed the help in makin
g ends meet, so they’d offered him a bedroom in their apartment. He and Absolom were close to opening their own lawn care and snow removal business, and the prospects were good. But Daet needed help now, so coming back was his only option in the short term. Even so, he wasn’t staying for long.
Abram Fisher, Elijah’s daet, made rolls of barbed-wire fencing to sell to local farmers, as well as pressed nails and spun twine. It was a fine and honorable Amish livelihood, but the Englishers could do it all cheaper and faster, so when Elijah’s father bought a new barbed-wire machine that sped up the process considerably in order to keep himself in the market, that hadn’t gone over well with their plain neighbors. It didn’t take long for the elders and the bishop to come do an inspection. This machine required electricity, and could not be hooked up to a gas engine— and that was a problem. If the Fishers wanted to remain in good standing with the church, the machine had to go. Even if it was Abram’s last hope of competing with the Englishers.
Farmers could use electricity in their barns, but the Fishers couldn’t use it for their machinery in the shop. It was a double standard, and Elijah knew that the elders’ vote was heavily guided by the bishop’s hard-nosed views—and Elijah wasn’t convinced that the bishop didn’t hold a secret grudge against the Fisher family for Elijah’s role in Absolom leaving Morinville.
This job working on the bishop’s farm was a miracle, his mother said. The Lord moving, his father said. Elijah wasn’t so sure about that.
“I’ll need you to help me tend to a lame cow in the barn.” Bishop Graber interrupted his thoughts as they approached the barn. “And there’s the milking to be done every day, filling the feeders in the fields, the watering troughs, mucking out the stalls, tending to the horses . . .” The older man eyed him.
The last time they’d spoken was the day before Elijah and Absolom left Morinville for Chicago. Was he remembering what he’d told Elijah then?
“All right,” Elijah said.
“The pay is fair for the amount of work,” the bishop went on. “But it’s a lot of work. I’ll be doing what I can, but I’ve been ordered to slow down by my doctor.”
The bishop was a relatively wealthy man, owning his farm free and clear. He could afford to hire help, to slow down as the doctor ordered. There were men, like Abram Fisher, who weren’t so blessed.
“I can do the work,” Elijah said. “I’ll need some direction at first, but I’ll pick it up.”
“You’ll do fine,” the bishop said. Elijah reined in the horses at the barn, and the older man turned toward him. “I’ve been meaning to ask . . . have you heard from Absolom?”
When Elijah left for Morinville, Absolom had already moved into a new apartment with Sharon. Moving in. Shacking up. Absolom had been both excited and guilty—a combination that Elijah had gotten used to over the years.
“No. I haven’t.”
The bishop sucked in a breath, and for all his stoic facial expression, Elijah saw deep sadness in the old man’s eyes. He nodded. “Let’s get to work.”
Was that part of why the bishop had searched him out in particular for this job? Because before Elijah left for the city, the bishop had had some pretty strong words for him. Know your place, and stay away from Sadie. You’ll never marry her. I never suspected that you’d be foolish enough to lay a finger on her, but seeing as you are, you are no longer welcome on this farm. Ever. If you step foot on this farm again without my express permission . . . How the bishop ever found out about Elijah and Sadie, he had no idea. The bishop didn’t say—but he also hadn’t been wrong.
And then, after being gone for nine years and back for two weeks, the bishop showed up at his parents’ door and offered him a job. Elijah had assumed it was linked to his father’s financial decline—a guilt offering of some sort—because he had no idea why he’d bring Elijah back to his farm at this point in time. His daughter was single again, after all—and hadn’t their relationship been the original problem? But perhaps the bishop’s guilt was more complicated.
Elijah worked hard all morning, seeing to the cattle, mucking out stalls. He even noticed a calf that didn’t seem to be thriving and might need to be bottle fed. He might not like the bishop much, but he’d do his job properly. A man wasn’t much if he couldn’t be trusted at the plow. That’s what his daet had always said, anyway.
When lunchtime came around, Elijah was sweaty and hungry, and he drove the wagon back toward the house. He took the horses into the buggy barn to let them rest, cool down, and eat, while he would head to the house to do the same. But his stomach clenched into a nervous knot.
The family would be there. And that included Sadie. She was a boyhood love when he was young enough to think that it was only about the boy and the girl, and the rest of the family didn’t matter. It was laughable now, that level of optimism, and nine years should have been enough to wipe her out of his heart.
When the horses were stabled, he headed over to the house. The side door was open, as if waiting on him, and when he stepped inside, he noticed the bishop had taken off his boots already and gestured toward the kitchen. The smell of beef stew and fragrant bread met his nose, and his stomach rumbled in response.
“A good morning’s work, Elijah,” the bishop said with an encouraging nod. “I’m grateful.”
Elijah didn’t know how to answer that. He was being paid for the privilege. So he opted for silence—an Amish man’s best resort. He bent to take off his boots, and then followed the bishop into the kitchen.
The women were there. He saw the bishop’s wife with her back to them as she bent over the oven to pull out another rack of bread. Rosmanda wouldn’t look at him, but Sadie stared him straight in the face. No Amish bashfulness for her. Her son was at the table, already sitting up on his knees and waiting for the food. He’d heard about the boy’s birth after her husband’s death, and it felt strange to see the kid in person.
“Welcome,” Sarah Graber said, turning toward him with a smile. “Sit, sit. You men need filling and fast. Rosmanda, get the lemonade. They must be parched.”
The girl did as she was told and started filling tin cups, and Sadie pulled the lid off the stew in the center of the table and began dishing up steaming bowls. It smelled delicious, and Elijah didn’t wait upon ceremony. He was here as a hired hand, and lunch was his due. He eased into a chair opposite Samuel, and Rosmanda sat next to him with Sadie across, next to her son.
They bowed their heads in silent prayer, and when the bishop cleared his throat, they all dug in.
“And how did you find the work this morning?” Sarah asked.
“Fine, fine,” Elijah said.
“We’ll need to order more fencing from your daet,” the bishop added. “Remind me to place the order.”
“Yah. He’ll be happy to supply it,” Elijah replied. Orders—that was what his father needed. He glanced toward Sadie to find her glittering eyes fixed on him. She dropped her gaze to her bowl and took another bite.
“How have you been, Sadie?” Elijah asked, looking up from his bowl.
“I’m well.” Her words were overly formal, clipped.
“You look . . . happy.” He couldn’t exactly say what he was thinking—that she looked more than happy, she looked beautiful. The last nine years had refined her, deepened her somehow.
“How is my brother?” she asked, and the table went silent.
“He’s doing pretty well,” Elijah replied, wondering what he could say at this table—what Absolom wouldn’t object to. “He’s excited about the baby.”
He’d have said more if he weren’t surrounded by her family on all sides, and he felt heat creeping up into his face. “A tree fell across the creek,” Elijah added. “Down by the edge of your property.” Down where they used to walk together, where he used to steal kisses. Blast it. He wasn’t trying to remind her of that . . . or was he? He’d only meant to change the subject.
“You were there today?” Sadie asked, and when her gaze flickered up toward him, he co
uld see by the pink in her cheeks that she was remembering the same thing he was.
“Checking on the fence.” A lie. He’d just wanted to see it again, see if anything had changed . . . hoping it hadn’t.
“I haven’t been there since I was a child,” she said, and she looked away from him. A child—she’d been considerably more than that. But she was right that she hadn’t been a woman yet. Neither of them had been old enough for the way they’d felt.
“Yah. Of course. It’s been a long time.”
The bishop cleared his throat loudly, and Sadie nudged a bowl of sliced bread toward Elijah.
“Bread,” she said.
Sarah shot her daughter a look of warning and murmured, “Sadie.”
It had been borderline rude, but at least she’d offered it.
“Thank you,” Elijah said quickly, taking a thick slice of bread and folding it in half to dip into his stew. Back in the day, Sadie had been funny and quick witted, but she was also stubborn as a mule when she got offended, and from what he could see, not a whole lot had changed about her. Even back then, she’d been the bishop’s daughter, haughtily warning the boys when she thought they were overstepping appropriate play. My father, the bishop . . .
Elijah looked across the table at the pale-faced beauty. He held a whole lot against her father, but his issue with Sadie was a different one entirely. She had been fifteen when he left, and by the time she was twenty, she was married to some old man whose best days were behind him. As her father had pointed out, she’d been too good for the likes of Elijah, and he knew for a fact that she’d been worth more than Mervin Hochstetler, too. She didn’t have to throw herself away like that, marry a man old enough to be her father. Whose idea had that been, anyway?
“What?” Sadie asked, meeting his gaze, and he quickly looked away.
“Nothing,” he said. “May I have more stew?”
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