Mamm gave a slow blink and then bent down to pick up her pitchfork. She stabbed at a bale of hay and shoved it into the feeding trough with a little too much force and then repeated the motion. Was she going to say anything?
Ivy noticed the cinder block they used to shore up the leaks in the cows’ water trough was askew and too much water was leaking out. She knelt down to push it back into place.
Hyperstripe, Ivy’s favorite gray-striped barn cat, hopped on top of the block and rubbed her face against Ivy’s, purring. She wanted a milk sample, but Ivy gently nudged her aside.
Was the conversation with her Mamm really over for tonight?
“Why?” Mamm’s singular word rang louder in Ivy’s brain than the dropped pitchfork.
Ivy stood. “There are things I long to accomplish that can’t be done if I stay under Amish rule. It’s not you. I love you, but I have dreams. Really big ones. You know that, don’t you?”
Mamm stopped stabbing at the hay. “What I know is, our way of life is worth every rule. You think this is about who you are, but I know it boils down to your dreams of party planning. You need to make your dreams line up with the Old Ways. That’s how our people have lived for hundreds of years.”
How could Mamm be so dismissive? “Like Holly’s dreams did?”
Holly was educated, was still in school actually, and had been baptized into the faith, which was unheard-of among the Amish. And her education, as well as her Englisch position at the pharmacy, had been sanctioned by the bishop.
Mamm’s eyes opened wide. “Is that what this is about? Your sister broke through the rules, and you feel you deserve to do that also? If so, there’s no comparison here, Ivy. Your sister gained special permission in order to provide much-needed medical advice to our people about their prescriptions and need for medication.”
“No. She gained special permission to be her real self and follow her heart’s desire. It just so happens that what she longed for was beneficial to the physical health of the Amish community, so the bishop agreed to it.”
The hurt in Mamm’s eyes was undeniable. Was Ivy being selfish? Hadn’t she given up years of going her own way in order to support this family and the farm? “Mamm, I love you. You’re an amazing Mamm, but I’ve been searching my heart for a while now, and the Amish way doesn’t fit with who I am.”
Did Mamm have tears in her eyes? Mamm took a deep breath. “You just want freedom to run off with Tegan and plan parties. All this time I thought it was just a hobby.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
Her Mamm stared at her.
“It’s not, Mamm. It’s a symptom. If I have a cold, sneezing isn’t the cause. It’s a symptom of the real issue. A party-planning business is run out of the home. Connecting with clients requires a computer and internet access and spending a lot of time doing social media. I need to be able to fill rooms with supplies that include bolts of tulle and silky fabrics, twinkly electric lights, bins of lace tablecloths, china, and helium tanks to fill colorful balloons draped with ribbons. The list goes on and on, and none of that includes the hours I need on the internet. Clients need to be able to tell me the kind of music they prefer, and I need to be able to listen to music for hours while devising a playlist for the party. But none of that is the issue. Those are just symptoms. The real issue is this life doesn’t free me to be me. I am tulle and lace and twinkly lights, Mamm. But every single day I put on plain clothes, and twice a day I work for hours in muck in this barn as if that’s who I am. If our people knew who I was, they’d be done with me, so I pretend, and I can’t keep pretending.”
“Living the Old Ways doesn’t come natural for young people. I’ll give you that. But it’s not a matter of pretending. It’s sacrificing our frivolous desires in order to pursue what really matters. The world offers ease and fun, but the Amish are a strong community with a durable faith, and nothing the world has can compare to that, not in the long run.”
Mamm wasn’t going to hear her, which seemed odd. She had listened well to Holly and Red, but Ivy’s pleas were falling on deaf ears. It was time to draw this conversation to a close.
“Look, Mamm, I can still clean homes with you if you’ll allow it”—she looked at the line of cows chewing their hay—“but I can’t work this farm forever.”
“You’re talking nonsense. If I sold the cows and rented the barn to a nearby farmer, I think we’d still be having this conversation.” Mamm clicked her tongue. “As it happens, I talked to Red yesterday, and he said he’s been thinking about coming back home. He’ll free you of needing to help milk cows.”
Regardless of what her brother said that sounded as if he might return, he wouldn’t. He had a good job and a girl in Rocks Mill. He’d moved there more than a year ago to be closer to his girlfriend. Now he worked for her Daed, and her whole family had latched onto Red. He’d been home only once since he left. He wasn’t moving back.
Ivy spread straw in the last of the four stalls. “It’ll be nice when he comes home for another visit, Mamm. He’s good help during those times.” She would leave it at that, and Mamm could read between the lines. Holly helped most mornings, probably five out of seven days, but with her classes toward her licensed practical nurse degree and working at the pharmacy, her evenings were too busy. In six months she’d be married and gone.
Mamm scooped grain out of the bin and tossed it into the trough over the hay. “Ivy, what are you thinking? You want to leave your family—and your faith—for a fancy apartment?”
“No.” Why did leaving the Amish have to equate to losing one’s faith? “I have faith, and I’m not losing it. And it’s not about any one thing. It’s about everything life could be if…”
“If”—Mamm’s hand trembled as she wiped her sweaty brow—“you were free of the rules.”
The conversation was circular. What could she say to help her Mamm understand? “Forget the rules. I’m trying to tell you the Amish ways aren’t my ways. Holly and Red followed their hearts wherever their hearts led them, and I’m asking you to understand that I need to do the same.”
“Their hearts did not lead them to forsake their heritage, an ancestry that many Amish died for in the beginning. Even when I was a girl, Amish men went to jail for taking a stand against the government, which was trying to make us do things their way. What we have as Amish people is precious and worth the sacrifice. Can’t you see that?”
Ivy’s heart ached. Her mother would never understand and never accept Ivy’s decision.
“I suppose this is my fault.” Mamm leaned her pitchfork against the wall and walked toward the second set of cows.
“Fault?” Ivy followed her.
Mamm pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves. “It’s what everyone will think and say, and it’s the truth. I’ve raised you too worldly. I allowed too many things to make your life easier after your Daed passed. I hired a driver to take you back and forth to school, and I let you become close to our Englisch neighbors. Being friends with Tegan helped you through your grief after your Daed died. I should’ve realized what kind of influence that would have on a twelve-year-old.”
“There’s no fault here, Mamm. Our lives were forever changed when Daed died, and we all did what we could to survive it.” Ivy pulled on a new set of gloves. “Including all it took to keep this dairy farm functioning. But we’re not at that place anymore. Why do you want to keep doing all this?” She gestured to the cows.
“It’s your Daed’s family’s farm. It’s where I’m supposed to be. He wouldn’t want me to sell it.” Mamm picked up a container of the predip iodine solution.
“Are you sure? He’d want you to be happy. Red and Emily will probably marry soon. And we know Holly and Joshua are going to wed in December. What if you sold this farm and moved in with one of them or at least rented a home nearby? They’re going to have your grandkids. You’d be
in a home full of new life. Not on an old dairy farm with your single daughter, working too many hours each day.”
Mamm set down the container of predip and turned to look at Ivy. “I would work this farm every day by myself for the rest of my life if it meant you staying Amish. This is going to break everyone’s heart. It’s breaking mine just to think of you leaving. And it could cause serious problems for your sister.”
“How so?”
“If you leave our community before Holly gets married, how will her new bishop feel about her plan to continue working at Greene’s Pharmacy? Her sister gone into the world, and she’s asking to work full time as a married woman? It’ll be hard enough as it is.”
Oh. Ivy hadn’t considered that. “Mamm, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that, but—”
“Of course you didn’t think about it. You’re moving too fast. All of this is too fast. Did you sign your name to a contract?”
“No, but—”
“Good. That settles it. Nothing happens until after the first of the year. Maybe by then you’ll come to your senses.”
Just how old did her Mamm think she was? At twenty-three she didn’t need her Mamm’s permission. She’d promised Clara that paying on time wouldn’t be a problem. “I can’t wait until then. I gave my word. Daed always said that’s just as binding as a contract.” She didn’t make enough money from milking cows to cover each month’s rent. But she could make enough from party planning if she was free to give her time to that instead of this farm.
“You shouldn’t have entered into any agreement before talking to me. Go back to that woman and tell her that if you move in, it won’t be until January.” Mamm picked up the predip again and headed toward the second set of cows. “Fix this, Ivy.”
How could she possibly return to Clara and ask to change the move-in date to January? Clara said she needed the money for her livelihood. Clara and Tegan were depending on Ivy to keep her word.
No. She wouldn’t do that to either of them.
But if she left months before Holly’s wedding, would it ruin her sister’s chance of getting married?
She hadn’t banked on her Mamm feeling this betrayed. It was as if the foundation of their relationship was cracking under Ivy’s feet like the ice-skating pond in late winter.
Could she actually leave and break her Mamm’s heart? Could she stay and break her own?
Two
Darkness surrounded Arlan as he climbed the ladder to the hayloft. He hadn’t slept much of late for thinking about his sister. She’d been sick to her stomach day and night for weeks. Did she have some strange virus or cancer?
The sounds of the wee hours of the morning—crickets, a barn owl, and tree frogs—were comforting. A cow lowed softly from somewhere nearby. The Keim farm would come alive with busyness in an hour or two, but this was his time. Everyone else in his house was fast asleep, and he had some guilt-free time to sink into another world.
He lit a kerosene lamp, knelt next to the hiding spot, and removed several loose boards. Every time he came here to read, he kept the wick in the lamp short so it didn’t give off much light, and he hid the light behind strategically placed bales of hay. A warm June breeze swept through the barn loft. He pulled out The Count of Monte Cristo, sat on the rough-hewn flooring, and leaned against a hay bale. This spot wasn’t much for comfort, but it was quiet here and secretive, a place to enjoy the forbidden fruit of reading something other than the Bible. Years ago he’d found five old books in a trash bin behind a grocery store while waiting on his Mamm. He’d hidden them under the seat in the carriage, and he’d been hiding them in this loft ever since. Swartzentruber Amish and fiction did not mix at all, at least not out in the open. Arlan couldn’t be the only Swartzentruber person to secretly read fiction.
He opened the book but couldn’t tune out concern for his sister. Why was she so sickly, and why were she and Mamm crying so much these days? He’d asked Magda twice when he thought no one was around but was interrupted by either Mamm or Daed. He shoved those thoughts aside and read the words before him. Soon he was pulled into that world—a prison cell in a concrete fortress surrounded by water.
A creaking sound grabbed Arlan’s attention. Had the barn door just opened and shut?
“Your tears have to stop, Mary Ella.” The firm voice belonged to his Daed. “Enough is enough. No amount of crying will undo what your oldest daughter has done.”
What had Magda done? Swartzentruber Amish had far fewer freedoms than any other sect of the Amish. Unlike the Old Order Amish, the Swartzentruber Amish didn’t allow their youth a rumschpringe because they considered a time of running around to be sinful.
Arlan didn’t dare budge. His Daed was in no mood to discover the reason Arlan was often in the barn in the mornings before anyone else. It wouldn’t matter to his Daed that he was twenty-two—only that he was disobeying by reading fiction.
“I’m trying to stop. I am.” His Mamm broke into fresh sobs.
“We’re doing the right thing,” Daed said.
“What if we’re found out?”
“We won’t be. We can’t be.” His Daed sounded staunch but also desperate.
“I know it has to be done.” His Mamm’s voice cracked. “But Magda is so upset with us. She wants to raise the baby herself.”
Raise the baby? Arlan couldn’t breathe. What? That made no sense. At only seventeen Magda had never courted, and the Swartzentruber Amish didn’t allow any kind of nonsense that would provide unsupervised time between single men and women.
“She will settle down, and it will help her do so if you stop crying every time she does,” Daed said. “But she’s refused to answer my question. Is it possible she doesn’t know who the father is?”
“She knows,” Mamm said. “I saw it in her eyes.”
“Englisch then.” His Daed clicked his tongue the way he did whenever he was disappointed in his offspring, which was often. “We stick to the plan, and one day when she’s marrying a good man, she’ll thank us.”
A thudding sound caused the barn to go completely silent. Arlan looked out the open doors of the barn loft and saw that his youngest brother had come out of their home and was entering the outhouse. His parents left the barn, hurrying toward the house.
Arlan looked at the night sky with its glory of stars. Memories of growing up with Magda made a pitchfork jab his heart. He was the second oldest of eight, but he and Magda had the closest bond. How he longed to hear her laugh and see the hope that used to dance in her eyes.
The starry view in front of him was so peaceful. Should he just pretend he didn’t know the truth?
He put the book back in its hiding place, his mind spinning. Mamm was always sick when another brother or sister was on the way. That had to be what was going on with Magda. But was Mamm ever this sick?
He descended the ladder, and rather than going inside the house, he decided to start on his chores. It was about that time anyway.
As he cleaned and then milked each cow by hand, the conversation he’d heard stayed on his mind. She wants to raise the baby herself.
What were his parents planning for Magda? And there was an Englisch father? When would Magda have been around the Englisch?
Then it hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d been the one to introduce Magda to Rodney, an Englischer about Arlan’s age, who was saving for college while managing a local shop. Rodney had been listing Magda’s homemade candles for sale online and in the shop, and Magda was able to use the electricity in the shop to heat the paraffin. Arlan’s instincts had said it was a bad idea to get mixed up in a business venture with non-Swartzentrubers, but he and Magda were so desperate to earn money that he’d ignored his better judgment.
His twenty-year-old brother, Elam, joined him for the milking. Their Daed didn’t help them, but sometimes he tended to other duties.
After he and Elam finished milking and feeding the herd and storing the milk, Arlan went down the hill to the small stream that ran behind the family’s farm to wash the grime off his arms and face. If his parents were trying too hard to hide what was happening with Magda, could he help her in a way she needed while following his order’s rules?
He pressed cool water against his eyes and let his mind wander.
When most of the Pennsylvania Swartzentrubers had moved to New York two years ago, Arlan had longed to follow. The church there was less strict than here, and his girlfriend, Lorraine, was there, waiting for him. His older brother, Nathaniel, had moved to New York with the other families, and Arlan had invested good money in his brother’s farm. Nathaniel needed his help, but Daed had said that he couldn’t lose his two oldest sons at the same time and that Arlan could leave when his younger brother Elam turned twenty-one. That was only six months from now. Arlan had spent the last year and a half working, saving money, writing letters to Lorraine, and dreaming of joining the New York Swartzentruber community.
For as far back as Arlan could remember, he’d longed to know God better, to have a family of his own, and to work a dairy farm. Waiting for Elam to turn twenty-one seemed a small price to pay for the right to marry and to be part owner—although a very small part—of a farm.
He slung water from his hands and meandered back toward the house. Based on the sun’s position, he knew the family would be eating breakfast soon. His stomach growled. Was Magda eating? She’d been absent from every meal for a week. Shouldn’t his parents be more concerned?
Arlan entered the white clapboard house with its faded blue trim and walked toward the kitchen. He heard the usual chatter of voices from his younger sisters as they and Mamm worked to put breakfast on the table. Daed and Elam were already sitting at the table.
He sat, and after the silent prayer his Daed began putting food on his plate and passing the dish to Arlan. Including Magda, Arlan had six younger siblings. How did the room feel so empty with only Magda missing?
A Christmas Haven Page 2