A Season of Change

by Lynette Sowell

  Jacob drew the line and kept use of his hand tools. He even learned to use the electric drill and the jigsaw. Of course, he used machines at the cabinet shop in Ohio, but here, he wanted to hang onto whatever Plain ways he could.

  “Almost lunchtime,” Henry announced. “Finish what you’re working on and we’ll break. A short break, though.” He studied the clouds. “Chance of showers later in the afternoon and I want this roof done today.”

  “Yes, Henry.” Jacob picked up his pace, hammering away. One more shingle strip and he’d be done. Henry disappeared over the roof’s edge.

  Sweat trickled down his back and neck. He mopped his brow once more before continuing with the last few nails. Sweating outside, in late January. It wouldn’t happen in Ohio.

  There. One last nail, and now for lunch.

  He scurried down the ladder and joined Henry under a nearby tree, where Henry had unpacked a lunch from the massive cooler he kept in his van.

  Henry prayed over the simple meal in their people’s language.

  They tore into the sandwiches of thickly sliced beef, two sandwiches apiece, along with containers of fresh fruit salad, small bags of chips, and a quart of sweet tea for each of them.

  “Good food,” Jacob said.

  “My cousin Chelle packs a mighty good lunch.”

  “Well, thank her for me.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Jacob studied Henry’s tropical print shirt topped by suspenders. Today’s shirt was a flaming red color with bright flowers covering the fabric. On Sunday, he’d seen Henry, dressed like other Mennonite men, simple and Plain. He even wore the beard.

  “Can I ask you a question, Henry?”

  “You just did.” The man chuckled. “But then, you’re serious, so I should be. Ask away.”

  “How—how do you know what pleases Gotte? How can we be sure what we do is . . . enough?”

  Henry grunted. “What do you mean by, enough?”

  “There was a time, right after Hannah died, I had many questions. No one wanted to listen to them, and the questions I did ask, well, my father and others said I shouldn’t ask them.”

  “Like what?”

  “How can I be sure I’ll see Hannah again, and our little Samuel? Questions like that, you never think you’ll ask, not until you really want to know the answer. I was told, I would discover that one day. But, Henry, Hannah never did a wrong thing in her life. I knew her for most of it, knew her even better from our late teens on, especially after we began courting and were married. She never gossiped or lied, was the best wife and mother any man could want. She was quick to give to the needy, quick to forgive.” The words tumbled out, words he’d locked up for a long time.

  Henry took something from his pocket and held it up. “A penny. President Lincoln on one side, the Lincoln Memorial on the other.”

  Jacob couldn’t comprehend what his questions had to do with a penny. “Yes, two different sides.”

  “The way I see it, God’s nature is like two sides of one coin. You see the God of justice on one side. This is our holy God. He hates sin and evil. This is God our judge, the judge we will all stand before one day. Even Hannah, with all her earthly works. As the Scriptures say, ‘All we like sheep have gone astray, and the Lord laid on him the iniquity of us all,’ and ‘There is no one righteous, no not one.’ Essentially, sinners in front of a holy God are doomed, especially if it means all of us. Even Hannah.” Henry flipped the coin in the air and showed the opposite side.

  “See, this is what I mean. If Hannah served Gotte with all her heart and it wasn’t enough, then all her goodness was for—for nothing.” Jacob shook his head. “Nein, I’m not turning away, or thinking of it.” He tossed his hat on the ground. “That’s just a hat, a hat I wear because I am Amish. Does it make me closer to Gotte? I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

  “That is the saying of a wise man,” said Henry. He snapped his suspenders and tapped his shirt with his free hand. “This doesn’t make me holy or unholy, but what’s in here.” He laid his hand over his heart and held up the coin again.

  “Now, let me tell you about the other side of the coin, what protects us from His wrath, which is God’s love. ‘Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God and everyone who loves is born of God. He that loveth not knoweth not God, for God is love.’ And then there’s also, ‘Behold, what manner of love the father has given unto us, that we should be called the sons of God.’ And my favorite, ‘For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.’

  ‘For if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised him from the dead, you will be saved. And, the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.’”

  Eternal life, a gift. Jacob looked at his cast-off hat on the ground.

  “Eternal life . . . I’ve always heard it’s presumptuous to believe my salvation is secure. That it’s prideful to think so.”

  “No, not prideful, it is something it took me a long time to learn. I’m not better than anyone else. Every day I get up in the morning is another day to serve my Lord and my fellow man, a chance for me to ‘work out my own salvation with fear and trembling.’

  Oh, my brother Jacob, it’s not presumption to me to know where I’ll be once I leave this life. It is God’s great gift of grace. We are all capable of sin and we all sin, but God makes a way for us to be free and to know in our hearts . . .” Henry pressed his palm on Jacob’s chest, “. . . to know in your heart you, and Hannah, and all who call upon God’s saving grace, are saved. Not that we don’t face obstacles in this life. It is a sin-weary world we live in. But we know God’s mercy new, every morning.”

  It was a lot to take in. He hadn’t heard anything quite like it before. He knew about praying for forgiveness from sin, but didn’t know the joyous relief Henry had, it even now shone in his older friend’s eyes. But then Henry wasn’t Amish. He couldn’t know.

  “I . . . I almost left the Ordnung, not long after we buried Hannah and Samuel.” His own confession sounded horrific to him. He glanced around. It wasn’t like there was anyone listening, anyone who would tell his father or worse, the bishop. He respected their bishop, but then he was the same man who had given stern warnings to those visiting Florida, to beware of the ways of the world prone to creep in, should someone not be vigilant.

  “Why would you leave?”

  “The same reason I told you. Why try, if it is pointless? Just like casting off my hat, it does not change me or make me who I am.” Jacob sighed, then took a long drink of sweet tea. “But I couldn’t do that to my children, couldn’t remove them from where we were, everything familiar. How could I explain shunning to them? So, I stayed.”

  “Ah, that’s understandable. Many things we do for the sake of our children. So how is your Rebecca, healing up?”

  “Yah, better all the time. The orthopedist wants us to wait until her cast is off before giving her more physical therapy. The first sessions were helping us with her wheelchair, how to get her in and out of bed. Then, training with crutches.” Good thing the visits were getting fewer.

  “And Zeke?”

  “He’s in school, and Rebecca is now, too. She couldn’t sit home with my mammi all day and I want her to keep up with her studies too, and keep a routine.”

  “Good, good.” Henry appeared as if he wanted to say something more, but held back and instead chomped down the last few bites of his sandwich.

  “What is it?” He worried he wasn’t doing a good job. Roofing, general construction, some of it was new to him. He hoped Henry wasn’t going to be replacing him.

  “I want to let you know I’ve been working on something to help you and your family with bills, and such.”

  “Now, Henry—”

  The man silenced him by raising one hand. “Nope, I know that your district has helped with Rebecca’s medical bills—I can’t imagine how
much it has all cost.”

  “Far more than my family’s property is worth.” He’d seen the bills, tens of thousands upon tens of thousands. The price of healing shouldn’t be so high.

  “And now, with your grandfather’s passing, I know your family here in general has had extra expenses.”

  “We’re managing, thanks to your job, and mammi’s church.” Jacob picked up his hat and put it back on. “So, what were you planning?”

  “A fish fry and a singing at the park on Saturday night. The Mullets from Indiana are coming, plus the Schrock family, Mennonites from Kentucky—and they play bluegrass and gospel. People can come and buy a plate to take home, or eat at the park and listen to the music. And all the money raised will go to your family.”

  Jacob was grateful he was sitting down. “For my family? For us?” He was accustomed to how the district pitched in and all helped each other, in good times and bad. But he wasn’t part of this community.

  “Yes, for you.” Henry put the cover back on the cooler. “This is Pinecraft. We help take care of each other, too. Now, back to work before the rain comes.”

  15

  Jacob was dreaming. He knew it was a dream, because Hannah was still alive and they were walking together in a park, lush and green. He’d had this dream before, for many nights and many months since Hannah had died. The dream had disappeared as time went on and hadn’t come for several months.

  This time, the dream was a bit different. There was a nearby volleyball court, shuffleboard court, and pavilion—like Pinecraft Park, along with its swings for the children. But not Pinecraft Park. He couldn’t see the end of the path they walked together.

  “How are the kinner?” she asked in her soft, gentle voice.

  “Zeke is speaking English better and better every day. Rebecca is healing from her injuries. I was afraid, more than once, we were going to lose her.”

  “Nein, it’s not her time yet,” Hannah said, facing him. She wore her wedding dress, the dress they had laid her to rest in. “Not for a long, long time. I’m glad Zeke is coming out of his shell, like a little turtle.” She laughed, a joyful sound to Jacob’s ears.

  “How do you know about Rebecca?”

  “Ach, the things I know now, I didn’t know then.” Hannah beamed. “I can’t explain it, but there are things now I just know.”

  “I want you back, here and now, with me.” He tried to reach for her hand, but it was like running his hand through rushing water, getting pushed back.

  “Nein, you wouldn’t wish that for me. Not if you’d seen what I have.” Her face glowed as if reflecting the sun.

  “If not for the children, I would be with you,” he admitted. When would they come to the end of the park? Or had they made an infinite lap, in this his dream?

  “Don’t say that. Our days together have all been written and are over. Our time together is done.” Hannah stopped short. Her words snapped at him, then softened as she continued. “I can tell you this: you have a purpose not yet fulfilled, Jacob Miller. You will live to fulfill that purpose and beyond, and will die full of years, with more kinner to join Rebecca and Zeke.”

  “More children?”

  They began walking again, and this time Jacob could see the edge of the park and the first few homes of the neighborhood.

  “More children.” She beamed at him again.

  “That means . . .”

  “You will find love again.” Hannah looked toward a figure waiting at the edge of the park. Jacob followed her gaze.

  It was a man who appeared familiar, but Jacob knew he’d never seen him before. Or had he? He tried to remember how he must know this man.

  “I’m coming, Samuel—” Hannah called out.

  “Samuel?” Jacob echoed.

  “He begged to see his daed.” Hannah smiled at him until the light grew too strong for his eyes, and he closed them against its brightness.

  He woke, finding himself in Mammi Rachel’s house, with moonlight painting a light wash on the covers. Somehow, he knew he’d never dream about Hannah again.

  The cuckoo clock in the living room chirped three o’clock. Not quite time to get up, a little time left for more sleep.

  Of course, he’d dreamed about Hannah. After the deep discussion between him and Henry in the afternoon, how could he not? Dreams usually meant indigestion, a meal, the mind’s flight of fancy while he slept. Ach, how he wish he knew if the dream were real. His eyelids felt heavy again.

  As Jacob drifted off again, this time with no dreams, he silently prayed Gotte would show him the way. He’d been clinging to the hope Gotte would have paved a more distinct path than the one he walked.

  “Go, take a walk around the block and stretch your legs,” Rachel said to Natalie about noontime on Saturday. “We’ve worked hard this morning.”

  Natalie nodded. Her quilt, now in a frame, took up a good part of the Millers’ living room while they worked on it. Two weeks’ worth of work so far and maybe one-fourth of the quilt had been stitched. Rachel was a patient and able teacher, insisting that Natalie work on the bulk of the quilt herself. Natalie had a sneaking suspicion Rachel sewed on days Natalie didn’t come.

  Today Rachel had banished Jacob and the children from the house, insisting the three of them head to the park and meet up with other friends in town from Ohio. Natalie missed them, but understood the need to be able to work without the younger ones underfoot. Or, the more very real distraction of Jacob. Maybe he’d run into Betsy at the park, too.

  The thought rankled her, and it shouldn’t.

  She glanced at her phone on the lamp table. A little more than a week now and her ad had appeared in The Budget. They’d gotten everything right, of course, including her phone number. But her phone remained silent except for calls from Grace and a friend or two from church, and a text message from her father with a photo of his young family and him at Sea World San Diego.

  No one called about Katie Yoder. She knew most Amish had access to phone shanties and made calls when they needed to. Maybe Katie’s family didn’t think it was a necessity to call. Maybe they didn’t want to call her.

  “I’ll be back in half an hour or so, then,” she told Rachel.

  “Gut. Perhaps you could bring us back some pizza from Emma’s? Pepperoni, or plain cheese.”

  “All right, then.” She tried to mask her near double take at Rachel’s request. Pizza. Well, why not? She supposed even an Amish woman might want the Pinecraft equivalent of takeout.

  Rachel approached, counting some bills. “Here.”

  “Oh, no. please, let me. You’ve helped me so much, let me do something for you.”

  The older woman slowly tucked the cash back into her apron pocket. “Next time, it will be my turn.”

  Natalie went out into the sunshiny early February day. Pinecraft, she realized, was best seen on foot or by bicycle. She crossed Bahia Vista, passed the pizza parlor, intending to stop on the way back.

  A familiar figure with a digital camera slung around her neck greeted her as she passed the outdoor sitting area. “Natalie.”

  “Imogene.” She’d seen the woman talking with a pair of older women and had only planned to wave and keep walking.

  “Come over, meet the Lapp sisters. They just arrived Thursday from Pennsylvania.” The pair of Old Order women bobbed their heads in unison. “Clara and Estelle, this is my friend Natalie Bennett. Her grandparents are Samuel and Anna Yoder, from Ohio.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, ladies.” Natalie shook hands with them, and received more nods, but this time with a pair of smiles. One of the women clutched a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola under one arm.

  “How is it that you’re not Amish? Are you Mennonite?” asked one of the sisters.

  “No, I’m neither.” She explained about her search and they both um’ed and ah’ed in response.

  “Your poor mother, doing such a thing to her parents.” The other sister made a tsk-ing noise.

  “I’d still like to meet
them. I have no other family, save my father, and he lives in California.” Natalie didn’t bother to explain the family dynamics.

  “Natalie is a good, Christian woman,” said Imogene. “I hope she finds them.”

  The sisters went along their way and rounded the corner to Big Olaf’s. A sweet tooth knew no age limits.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Imogene said as she and Natalie walked along. “You forgot one thing in your ad, one important thing that could help in your search.”

  “Which is?”

  “A post office box, here, in Pinecraft. If your mother’s family was Old Order, which I’m betting they are, only I don’t bet, they likely would be extremely reluctant to make a phone call to a stranger about such a vital matter. It would be impersonal.” Imogene paused. “Ach, one moment. I must get this photo. Look at the colors of the dresses as they flap in the breeze.”

  Imogene pointed to a side yard of a residence, with a white picket fence and laundry hung out to dry, a palette of jewel-toned cape dresses of varying sizes. The colors made a striking contrast to the white of the house and the green of the yard.

  “Got it.” She showed Natalie the shot on her camera.

  “It’s gorgeous. You have an artist’s eye, Imogene. I can picture the photo framed and hanging in someone’s laundry room above the washing machine.”

  “Thank you.” Imogene started her ambling pace again. “But as I was saying, maybe you should rent a post office box, and run another ad in The Budget for two more weeks. Sometimes it takes readers a while to catch up on the issues.”

  “What, there’s a post office here?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t see it already. C’mon, we need to cut through the side street and head toward the Tourist Church.”

  They came upon a snug square building. Sure enough, it even had a sign for Pinecraft with its own zip code. “What a cute building.” A pair of cars occupied one of several parking spots; two bicycles were chained to posts outside.

  One entire outside wall sported a bulletin board, with tacked-on written and typed pieces of paper with various messages, advertising everything from drivers to rental property to items for sale.