9
The chatter of children was absent when Rachel Miller opened the door to Natalie’s knock on Monday morning.
“Come in, come in.” The warm smell of citrus drifted past Rachel and outside. “Jacob has taken Rebecca to a doctor’s appointment and Zeke is with a neighborhood friend. So it’s only us women today.”
Natalie nodded. “How is Rebecca doing?”
“Better, every day. It’s hard to see her in pain. She’s brave, though, and never complains.” Rachel motioned Natalie into the living room as Natalie pulled the page of family names from her tote bag.
“I brought the list of names.”
“Ah, good,” Rachel said as Natalie waved the page in front of her. “I don’t know how much we’ll be able to discover, but we can put the word out with friends. Perhaps one of them knows your mother’s family.”
Natalie nodded and slung her bag onto her shoulder. “Unless they moved, or something.”
“Even if they moved, we could still learn where they are.” Rachel motioned toward the kitchen. “Come and have a cup of kaffi and some fresh marmalade cake. We can see what you have.”
“What do you mean, if they moved you would still know?” Natalie followed Rachel and dared not protest the older woman’s offer of food. She’d have to start working out an hour a day, just to keep pace with the goodies from the Millers’ kitchen. She still had the leftovers of half a peach pie Rachel had sent home with her from her last visit.
“If they moved to another district, say, ours near Sugarcreek, our bishop would confirm where they’d come from and speak to their previous bishop.” Rachel pulled a pair of cups down from the cupboard. “We verify where people have been. Unfortunately, some would like to join the Amish faith to hide from the law, or for their own illegal gains. So, we do ‘check references,’ as the Englisch would say.”
“Ah, well, I guess it could be a good thing for me then.” Natalie watched the older woman pour cups of coffee, then slice two pieces from a loaf and place them each on a small plate. She could almost smell the orange aroma from her seat at the table.
The kitchen wasn’t much different from any other kitchen she’d seen. No wood stove, or anything like that. She stood to help Rachel carry the refreshments back to the table.
“How, if you don’t mind me asking, can you have electricity here? Isn’t that sort of, not allowed?”
Rachel gave her a slow smile. “Things are different here in Pinecraft. Those who come for the winter, or for vacation, are allowed since this is not their permanent home. We still keep things simple here.” A knock sounded at the front door and Rachel glanced past Natalie. “Oh, this would be Imogene Brubaker. I asked her to join us this morning.”
Rachel left Natalie in the kitchen and voices soon drifted into earshot. “Yes, you’re right on time. The bread is still warm.”
A woman followed Rachel into the kitchen. “Well, hello there, friend.” She wore a head covering more like a head kerchief and had a long ponytail. The hem of her cape dress swished above a pair of clogs. A camera dangled from a strap around her neck.
“Um, hello.”
“Imogene Brubaker.” She extended her right hand. “You can call me Ima, or Gene, or Genie, or even ‘hey you’ if you forget.”
The woman’s firm handshake swallowed up Natalie’s hand as they shook. “Natalie Bennett.”
“So you’re the one whose mother left the Order.”
Natalie nodded. She couldn’t help but grin at the older woman’s friendly demeanor, as if Natalie were a long-lost friend who’d come to down, and they picked up their friendship right away.
“I asked Imogene to join us because she knows just about everything about everyone who’s come through Pinecraft, who’s related to whom.” Rachel motioned for them to sit. “I’ll get your glass of milk, Imogene, and your bread. You just take a seat by Miss Bennett.”
“I used to be Amish,” said Imogene. “I loved my family, and still do, but I couldn’t take the legalism anymore. Lots of us former Amish don’t or can’t. But I still love God and worship Him.”
“I see.” Natalie hadn’t run into such a colorful character in a while. “That’s good. I didn’t come into my faith until, well, a few years ago. I’m still figuring things out.”
“Some of us take our entire lives to do so,” said Imogene. “Oh goody, whole milk. Not the skim watered-down milk.” She took a generous sip and then a nibble of the marmalade bread.
Natalie made her racing thoughts slow down as she picked up her slice of bread. Rachel slid a plate holding a slab of butter across the table. “Butter.” Natalie put a swirl onto the bread and watched the creaminess melt into the bread.
The bite was like a taste of warm sunshine, with a tang of orange. “Mrs. Miller, this is delicious.”
“It’s one of Jacob’s favorite things, so I try to have it around. My kinner Jacob may have grown up, but I still see the little boy he once was. Much like Zeke, except with the roundest blue eyes and not brown.”
“Hannah had brown eyes,” observed Imogene. “That’s where Zeke got them from.”
Hannah. So that was her name. “I see,” was all Natalie said.
“It was sad, losing her and not seeing her face here in Pinecraft every winter.” Imogene chased her bite of bread with another swallow of milk. “But I think Betsy Yoder wants to be the next Mrs. Miller.”
“Imogene Brubaker.” Rachel sounded a tad scolding.
Imogene hung her head. “Well, it’s true, you know.”
Natalie shifted on the wooden chair, no doubt handcrafted somewhere in the north, sturdy and strong. She took a sip of coffee, not minding the lack of cream and sugar, the strength of the brew yanking her focus from the conversation for a few seconds.
Rachel cleared her throat and reached for the paper with the family names. “Now, let’s look at these names. I should probably write them down, so you can keep your paper.” She passed the paper to Natalie.
“Well, it says my mother’s name at the bottom, being the newborn, Katie Yoder. Her birth date was June 23, born to Samuel and Anna Yoder.” She touched the page, wishing the names told her more. “Her name is next to a Eudora. I assume that’s a sister.”
Imogene sighed. “Common names, except for the Eudora. I know at least three Samuel Yoders in Ohio, not counting some in Pennsylvania.”
Rachel picked up the paper and squinted at the bottom. “It looks like there may have been more on this page, but it was torn off.”
“I wish there were more family names on that list,” said Natalie “At least I’d have names of some aunts or uncles, or cousins.”
“You should also prepare yourself for the possibility that Samuel and Anna Yoder might not wish to meet you, considering their daughter left the Order.” Rachel shook her head.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.” Natalie bit back more questions. “You’re right. I suppose there’s always a chance. But if I find them, I’ll at least know who they are. And more about who I come from, if just a little.” She took another bite of Rachel’s bread, letting the sweetness melt onto her palate. But the bitter idea Rachel gave life to with her words just wouldn’t leave.
“I’ll write some letters and see what my cousins in Ohio might know.” Rachel patted Natalie’s hand. “I just didn’t want you to be disappointed if we didn’t hear anything.”
“I have an idea.” Imogene tapped the tabletop. “Are you up for a walk, Miss Natalie?”
“Sure.” Natalie glanced at Rachel, who rose from her chair.
“You two go ahead and walk. Don’t mind me.” Rachel put her empty plate in the sink. “I might wander to the shuffleboard courts before lunch, we’ll see.”
“If I take you around and introduce you to some people, they can see you for themselves,” Imogene said. “Maybe they’ll know something. Or at least they’ll remember you as my friend.”
“All right then.” Natalie finished off her coffee and the last two nibbles of br
ead.
Off they went into the winter sunshine, and Natalie saw possibilities despite Rachel’s warning. They reached the light at Bahia Vista and waited for the light change. Imogene knew the pair of women on bicycles waiting to cross with them. They talked about who would be arriving on the next bus and who might be leaving, about the Haiti auction that weekend, and when the next singing would take place.
Then the light changed and the women crossed. Here in the snug neighborhood, Natalie was the bit of oddity. She didn’t mind so much, and waited while Imogene kept talking to the ladies on bicycles. However, the more she looked, the more she saw what appeared to be Englisch mixed with the Amish. Or did they belong to a group of more liberal Mennonites? Some of them looked no different than Natalie, in regular street clothes.
Imogene waved as they rode off with a chime of a bicycle bell. “Those are the Bontrager sisters. Never married, and they own a quilt shop in Indiana. You ought to see what they’ve brought down for the Haiti benefit auction this weekend.” They ambled along Kaufman Avenue, away from the traffic.
“Haiti benefit auction?”
“Every January we gather at the Sarasota Fairgrounds for a whole day of auctions and food vendors.” Imogene squinted at one house as they approached. “It’s a nonprofit group that raises all the money, and goes to help people in Haiti.”
“What kinds of things do they auction off?”
“The men bring furniture they’ve made, and some sell farm equipment and different tools. Some people weave rugs.” Imogene faced Natalie, a twinkle in her eye. “But for me, the best part is the food. A group of Mennonites from Mississippi is bringing about two hundred pounds of catfish to have a fish fry.”
They passed Big Olaf’s, which wasn’t open yet, and Emma’s Pizza. One preconception she’d recently had turned completely upside down was the Amish and Mennonite palate. She chuckled. “A fish fry.”
“Is that funny to you?” Imogene’s tone was gentle.
“No, not funny. I just didn’t imagine the Amish and Mennonites eating such . . . I don’t know. I used to think Amish food as more, like, I don’t know . . . like shoo-fly pie.” Natalie fumbled for the right words.
Imogene let loose with a laugh of her own. “As long as it’s made with love and tastes good, we’ll eat it. Pretty much. Although I can’t say as I’ve ever heard of Amish sushi.”
Natalie chuckled and nodded. “Wow, those people must have a lot of guests.” One home had dozens of bicycles stuffed under the carport. Many of the bicycles were three-wheeled models with baskets on the back behind the seat.
“That’s the Frys’ house. They rent bicycles by the day, for five dollars each. It’s a good way to get around. Of course, the wealthier families will bring down bicycles for the whole family to use during their visit.”
“I can see it’s a fast way to get around. I like to bicycle, too.”
“I left my bicycle at the Millers’,” said Imogene. “I wish I’d thought of riding it. Then you could have rented a bicycle from the Frys and we could ride around the neighborhood together. Have you seen the park yet?”
“No. I’ve only been to the Millers and to Big Olaf’s.”
“Well, we should go to the park. There’s always something happening at the park.” Imogene nodded and tugged on her camera strap.
“Do you live here year-round?”
“I do, except when I visit family in Pennsylvania, and then I’m not here. There aren’t many of us who do live here year-round. You should come visit in the summer, too.” Imogene paused at the edge of a driveway. “It’s like what people call a ghost town.”
“I’ve probably driven by the neighborhood for several years now, but I never really knew about it until I met the Millers.” Natalie knew they were in the middle of a city of more than 50,000 people, but aside from the bustling traffic of Bahia Vista that bisected the village, the farther she walked with Imogene into the snug little blocks of streets, the more she felt as if she’d entered a sanctuary.
Some SUVs and sedans were tucked into driveways, along with bicycles lining carports. Palm trees and tropical plants like hibiscus made up the landscaping of some houses.
“It’s a special place, Pinecraft,” Imogene said. “We don’t advertise, but people find us. Especially now that a documentary film crew came to visit a couple of winters ago.”
Natalie nodded. Imogene placed her hand on Natalie’s arm. A trio of Amish men were studying something in a nearby yard. “Hold on. I think that’s Ike Wagler, visiting from Pennsylvania. He’s my mother’s cousin. He might know someone who can help you find Katie Yoder’s family.”
Imogene crossed the street, with Natalie following. The woman’s enthusiasm made a hope take root and bloom inside Natalie. Then Imogene did something to make Natalie pause.
She lifted up her camera, murmured something to the trio of bearded men, and they laughed as she took their picture and approached them.
“Ah, Imogene, it’s good to see you,” said the man with the grayest and longest beard, as Natalie stepped up to join Imogene. “I’ll have to tell Barbara I saw you. She’ll be so pleased.”
“When did you arrive?” Imogene’s eyes sparkled.
“On the bus, Thursday.”
“Where’s Barbara?”
“She’s at the church with the ladies, working on getting at least one more quilt put in before the auction.” He gave an inquisitive glance in Natalie’s direction.
“Oh, we’ll have to see her and say hello.” Imogene plucked at Natalie’s arm. “This is my new friend, Natalie Bennett. She is searching for her grandparents who live in Ohio. Her mother, Katie Yoder, left the Order as a young adult.”
“Hello,” Natalie said. She immediately stood up straighter, wishing she looked a little plainer, if only it would encourage people to help her.
“Katie Yoder, huh?” Ike scratched his bearded chin. “That’s a common name.”
“I believe her parents’ names are Samuel and Anna Yoder.”
“It will be tough to find them, but not impossible.” Ike looked at one of his friends. “You’re from Holmes County. Do you know of a Samuel Yoder?”
The other man nodded. “At least three, just in Holmes County.”
Maybe one of them was her grandfather. Natalie wanted to hug Imogene, just for this little bit of hope. “It’s, it’s very important for me to locate them, if I can,” Natalie ventured to say. “I didn’t even know about my mother’s family until after she passed away last summer.”
“Sad thing, when our children leave the Order,” said the third man, who’d been silent until now. “Consequences always follow. Families splintered.” He frowned, shaking his head.
Yes, talk about consequences. Natalie looked at Imogene. “Well, we can at least try, can’t we?”
“And if someone can do it, it would be you, Imogene,” said Ike.
“Danke, Cousin Ike.” She gave them a wave as she continued along the street, Natalie keeping up with her long stride.
“Well, I think that’s encouraging,” said Natalie. “I feel like we’re getting somewhere, a little bit.”
“Here’s another idea,” Imogene kicked at a pebble. “You could always run an ad in The Budget.”
“The Budget?”
“The Amish weekly newspaper. You could run it in the national edition and everyone can read it, everyone in every settlement.”
“Newspaper?”
“The latest edition arrives on the Thursday bus. You’ll have to meet it at the Mennonite Tourist Church parking lot around twelve-thirty. The church is a block over from the post office.”
Natalie’s head spun. Amish, fish fries, newspapers, and Amish riding on a bus. And Imogene, snapping a photo of Amish men—who didn’t normally like their photos taken. One even smiled for the camera, although he didn’t look at it directly.
Imogene kept tapping a button on the back of her camera as they walked along, studying her photos. “That’s a good picture of Cousin
Ike.”
“You took their pictures.” Unbelievable.
She nodded. “They let me.” As if that explained everything.
One thing life had taught Natalie was learning to go with the flow. Sometimes she didn’t like the way things flowed and had had more than several one-sided arguments with God about it. Times like this, though, it left her with a sense of astonishment.
“I always thought the Amish didn’t like their photos taken.”
“Not normally, but I never ask them to pose for me and I always take the photo quickly. And, they trust me.” Imogene shrugged. “I’m a blogger. Families around the country like seeing their relatives and keeping up with them. Of course if I know someone truly objects to being photographed, I don’t do it.”
Natalie decided to switch gears. “You said you used to be Amish. Why did you leave? I know you said the legalism bothered you.”
Imogene sighed. “I was tired, tired of conforming to things I didn’t believe in my heart. I believed in God, but I was tired of a harsh bishop and always feeling like I was looking over my shoulder. Also, we were taught that wanting to read the Scriptures for ourselves was presumptuous and prideful. At least in my district, it was so. Some districts can be different. I always had many questions. And some people don’t like it when you ask questions. That’s the short version of my story. But I consider myself a Christian.”
“So, you stay here.”
“Yes, it’s my home. I can’t leave my roots, and these are still my people. I don’t belong to the church, but I do believe in simple and Plain living.” Imogene bit her lip. “Also, I feel like part of the reason I’m here is to help others, who start having questions no one wants to answer.” A trio of young men hurried past. “Hello, Imogene!” one of them called out. One of them held a folded blanket and another a canvas tote bag.
“Hi, boys!” Imogene waved. “Heading for the beach?”
A Season of Change Page 9