He must have sighed as he fidgeted, because Mother glanced up from the desk, the scratch of her pencil on a sheet of paper stopping.
“All right, Isaac? You’re very quiet tonight.”
He nodded, but she still gazed at him with a furrow between her brows. One of the strings from her bright white cap was twisted, and she straightened it absently. As she opened her mouth again, he asked her, “What are you writing?”
“An article for the paper about Mrs. Lantz.”
“I thought Marvin’s Adah already wrote about the accident.”
“Yes, but this is about the hospital bills. If everyone who reads the paper sends the Lantzes what they can, it will help. Even if it’s a dollar.” She turned back to her letter.
It was true Die Botschaft did go to thousands of homes. “Wouldn’t it be better to just have insurance like the English?”
Father’s hand froze where he’d been stroking his gray beard, and he laid a ribbon across his page. “Our insurance is our faith in the Lord, Isaac. In our community.” He closed the Bible. “What’s the matter today?”
There was no point in putting it off. “I won’t be working with David Lantz anymore.” In the silence that followed, Isaac could feel all eyes on him. He stared through the charred glass on the door of the stove and concentrated on keeping his voice steady. “You know he hasn’t been able to pay since the accident. He said not to come back.”
It stabbed at his gut to say the words aloud. To think that tomorrow morning he’d wake and not go anywhere. Back where he started. There were surely fences that needed fixing. He was good at that.
He thought of the acres of their farm, and for an awful moment was struck by the notion that he’d never leave again. That his whole life would be here in this house, Nathan snoring beside him at night, the trains rumbling by out of reach. He took a sharp breath, pain needling under his ribs.
“But he needs your help more than ever. Even if he can’t pay, you’re still learning from him,” Mother said.
More silence. Finally Isaac glanced to Father, who watched him with a speculative gaze Isaac couldn’t decipher.
“Did you have a falling out?” Father asked.
“No, nothing like that.” It was a half-truth, perhaps. “It’s only because David can’t pay, and he didn’t think it was fair. I told him we didn’t mind, but he’s decided. I can help around here again. There’s always more than enough milking, and we can get ready for planting.”
Ephraim spoke up, the paper abandoned across this lap, a frown creasing his face. “But you don’t want to farm. Father and I are getting along just fine without you. Nathan and Joseph have been doing more chores as well.”
Father gave Ephraim a hard look. “But of course we welcome your help, Isaac.”
“Of course,” Ephraim added. “I didn’t mean…it’s just that you love carpentry. Can’t you start doing it on your own? We could make a workshop here, couldn’t we? Or maybe you could go work for the English.”
“Ephraim!” Mother huffed. “Why would you suggest such a thing? You know that men don’t work outside the community in Zebulon.”
“But what’s he supposed to do?” Ephraim asked. “He hates farming, and you know it.”
Before anyone could say anything else, Isaac jumped in. “It’s all right.” He smiled, his chapped lips tight. “For now I want to give farming another go.” His chest burned. The urge to get up and run into the night was overwhelming. I’ll hurt them more if I stay and pretend.
Turned in her chair at the desk, Mother sighed. “You were hesitant to work with David to begin with, but it suited you, Isaac. You’ve seemed so happy these months. Like you’ve grown into yourself.” She glanced at Father. “We’re hoping you’ll decide to follow church soon.”
Isaac jerked his chin in a nod.
“How’s Mary?” Mother asked. “She looked well at the last service. Much improved.” She and Father shared another look, and he nodded. “It’s time you had a buggy of your own. We know you were concerned about the money, so we’ve been putting aside all of your pay instead of only a portion. There’s a buggy maker in Polk County. If the weather clears, Father could take you down next week.”
“Your own buggy!” Nathan’s pimply face lit up. “How long until I get one?”
Ephraim rolled his eyes. “I’m before you. You’re still in school anyway.”
Isaac clasped his hands to keep them from trembling. He licked his lips. “I don’t know what to say.” I’m never going to drive Mary or any other girl home. Don’t waste the money on me. I’m gay. “Are you sure we can afford it? You know I don’t mind waiting. Maybe in the spring—”
Mother shook her head, clearly exasperated. “But why would you want to wait?”
“Did you hear the police came to talk to Bishop Yoder about using the orange triangles?” Ephraim asked, a challenge clear in his tone. “What do you think about that, Father?”
Father’s jaw tightened. “I think the police should stay out of our business.”
“But other Amish use them,” Ephraim insisted. “It’s dangerous on the roads. Look at what happened to Mrs. Lantz. I don’t get why it’s such a bad thing to be safe.”
Mother clucked her tongue. “We follow the Ordnung and put our lives in God’s hands. You know this. We don’t need English ways.”
Blood in the snow. The twist of Mrs. Lantz’s leg—white bone sticking out through flesh. The red lights spinning over David’s ghostly face.
“So why didn’t God protect David’s mother?” Isaac blurted. “Didn’t she and Mary pray enough?” His words hung in the air, thick like the oppressive heat from the stove.
His family stared at him, even Ephraim silent now with wide eyes. Mother and Father looked at each other, and Father cleared his throat.
“It is not our place to question the Lord. There will be no more of this talk. Do you understand?”
“Maybe if you’d been there, you’d question too,” Isaac went on. “If you’d seen the blood, and heard how—”
Father slammed his palm down on the arm of his rocking chair. “No more.”
Isaac could only nod, and after a few moments everyone turned back to what they’d been doing. In the weighty silence, he listened to the eventual snick of Joseph’s yo-yo as the string released and rewound, and Mother’s pencil scratching again. Pages turned, and the fire sparked as Ephraim creaked open the door and tossed in another log.
When Father spoke again, his voice was even. “We’ll go to Polk County when the weather clears. You’ve waited long enough, Isaac. A man needs his own buggy.”
It was true—an Amish man did need his own buggy. But with each breath, Isaac grew surer that he would be a different kind of man.
“Isaac! Nathan!” Mother shouted from downstairs. “They’re coming.”
Isaac already knew, since the clock showed twenty-nine minutes after eight, and the people of Zebulon were nothing if not prompt when it came to church. He stood at the dresser and swished the water in the basin with his razor. It was the kind English men used, with a plastic handle.
Nathan elbowed him. “I need my galluses.” He tugged on his drawer, one near the bottom.
Isaac stepped aside, examining the razor. “Why do you think it is that we can’t have rubber rims on our wheels or plastic frames for our glasses, but plastic razors are fine?”
“I dunno.” Nathan clipped on his galluses. “Because the Ordnung says so. Bishop Yoder will be here any minute. You can ask him. He’ll say the same thing Father would.” Nathan pitched his voice lower. “It is our way.”
Isaac traced the razor blade with his fingertip.
“What’s up with you? You look like you’re half asleep.”
“I guess I’m tired.” Isaac shrugged, swirling the cold, milky water again. “It was freezing last night. And you kept me awake again with your snoring.”
Nathan rolled his eyes. “I can’t help it if I’m stuffed up all the time lately. I had a no
sebleed at school the other morning too. Mother’s making me eat lemons sprinkled with garlic. She read it in the paper, and apparently it worked wonders for someone in Indiana. Father said we’ll go to the chiropractor if it happens again.”
Isaac frowned. “Maybe you should go to a real doctor.”
“Nah. I’m probably allergic to something.” Nathan smirked. “Maybe I’m allergic to you.”
“Ha ha.”
“But you seem distracted a lot, Isaac.”
Isaac blinked down at his brother, realizing with a jolt that Nathan stood above his shoulder now. “You’re getting taller.”
“Yeah, that’s usually what happens, Isaac.” Nathan’s brow creased. “Are you okay?”
A swell of affection for his brother warmed his chest. “Yeah. I’m okay. Hold still for a second.” He dipped his finger in the clearest part of the water in the basin and tamped down an unruly lock of Nathan’s hair.
“Do I look okay?”
Isaac fiddled with the part on the crown of Nathan’s head, trying to get the hair to lie flat. “It’s just this one piece sticking up.”
“No, I mean…” Nathan bit his lip. “Jeremiah and Ira said I have pimples, and I can feel bumps. Does it look really bad? Because Samuel Yoder’s face is gross, and I don’t want to look like that.”
There were some angry red marks on Nathan’s chin and cheeks, but Isaac had seen worse. “You don’t look bad. We all get pimples sometimes. You’ll grow out of it.”
Nathan sighed. “I know it’s vain to care what I look like. You missed a spot, by the way. Here.” Nathan took the razor and dipped it in the basin before carefully scraping it over Isaac’s chin. “But why can’t we have mirrors just to make sure we don’t look stupid?”
“Bishop Yoder will be here any minute. You can ask him.” With a wink, he nudged Nathan’s shoulder.
Nathan grinned. “You can ask him about the razors first. Come on, we’d better go.”
“Nathan—” Isaac grasped his brother’s shoulder. “It’s okay to feel that way. To worry about how you look. It’s okay to be curious about stuff. So don’t feel bad about it. No matter what the preachers might say.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Feet thundered up the stairs, and Ephraim appeared in the doorway. “Are you deaf? People are here. We have to get out to the barn.”
Of course Ephraim was right, and they hurried downstairs, stepping over the benches crammed into the main room, all their regular furniture pushed aside. Every surface gleamed thanks to Mother and Katie, who had cleaned from dawn until dusk and snapped at anyone who dared leave so much as a fingerprint.
Even in the dead of a Minnesota winter under a leaden sky, the church routine remained the same. The men dropped the women at the house and continued on to park the buggies by the barn, hitching the horses to a long fence. There were quite a few men there already, standing in somber clusters, snow piled around their boots. Isaac straightened his hat and yanked on his gloves, his eyes scanning the figures for David.
He was about to follow his brothers down to the barn when another buggy rolled up close to the house with Mary at the reins. They’d obviously bought a new horse to replace poor Nessie. Isaac’s pulse raced as the buggy came to a stop, David a few hundred yards behind in his own buggy with Anna and the younger girls crowded in with him.
Isaac forced his attention to Mary and her mother. Mrs. Lantz grimaced, and Isaac could imagine how painful a buggy ride would be with her leg in a cast.
“Do you mind getting the wheelchair out of the back?” Mary called.
As he went around the buggy, Isaac could see where the rear had been replaced, the new axel looking cleaner than the other dark metal holding the buggy together. Still no orange triangle, of course. He opened the back and hauled out the wheelchair as David hopped down from his buggy.
“I can do that.”
“I’ve got it.” Although the fresh flurries had been shoveled in front of the house, the chair’s wheels sank a bit in the packed-down snow. Isaac gritted his teeth as he shoved the chair around to the front of the buggy. It was silly, but it gave him a grim satisfaction not to do as David asked.
“We’re fine here, David,” Mrs. Lantz said as she reached for Isaac’s hand. He took most of her weight, Mary steadying her from the buggy seat. Isaac lowered her into the chair as David hovered by them. Mrs. Lantz smiled weakly, her face gaunt. The bruising on her cheek had faded to a mottled yellow, but the stitches by her temple were stark against her pale skin.
“We’ve got a ramp for you at the back door,” Isaac said.
“How kind. Thank you.”
Mother appeared. “Of course, Miriam! The deacon told us you were determined not to miss another service, so Isaac and Samuel rigged up a ramp with some old boards. How wonderful to see you. Come in where it’s warm!”
“Thanks for your help, Isaac.” Mary smiled softly and put the reins to the new horse, heading off to the barn.
Anna nudged David as their little sisters went inside. “We’re fine. Go unhitch Kaffi.”
Isaac watched from the corner of his eye as David turned on his heel. As Mother greeted more arrivals, Isaac pushed the wheelchair around the house to the makeshift ramp. Mrs. Lantz turned slightly and touched his glove, and he stopped, Anna beside him.
“Isaac, I just wanted to say thank you. The girls told me what a help you were around the place while David was with me. The first few days I was hardly awake, but it was a comfort to know that when I opened my eyes, he’d be there. And it was a comfort to know you were making sure my girls were taken care of.”
“Of course. It was the least I could do.”
Mrs. Lantz sighed. “We all miss seeing you. Our David is being very stubborn, and of course he’s right that it wouldn’t be fair to you to work without being paid. You’ve done more than enough already. But we’d still like to see you for lunch sometimes. You’re always welcome.”
Isaac swallowed hard. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The ramp held, and he guided the wheelchair to the top, where Mrs. Lantz insisted Anna get down and clean the wheels with a rag she pulled from her cape. Mary appeared behind them.
“That was so kind of you to make another ramp, Isaac. Thank you.”
He hitched a shoulder. “It was easy. I’m going to take it over to Noah Raber’s tomorrow since he’s hosting church next. Then he can pass it on to the Millers, and so on. But I’m sure you’ll be walking again in no time.” Of course he wasn’t sure of that at all, remembering the white of the exposed bone.
“We’re all praying for that,” Mary said.
Isaac had half expected David to appear on Mary’s heels, but it seemed he was playing his part and staying with the men as more families arrived. Anna knelt, wiping the wheels. They were rubber, but he supposed Bishop Yoder had made an exception. Isaac didn’t imagine the English made steel-wheeled chairs.
“Oh Isaac, I meant to ask you for another favor if it’s not too much.” Mrs. Lantz smiled. “Would you mind terribly driving Mary and Anna home from the next singing?”
He blinked, aware of the heat of Mary’s gaze on his face. “Uh…doesn’t David usually take them?” Mrs. Lantz knew very well the significance of him driving Mary home, even if Anna tagged along.
There was a twinkle in Mrs. Lantz’s eyes. “He does, but tonight he’s taking Grace home. You know, John’s Grace. Such a lovely girl, isn’t she?”
Mary grinned as she brushed snow off her black cap. “Finally. We don’t know what he’s been waiting for.”
Isaac was still holding one of the wheelchair handles, and he squeezed his fingers around it as his gut twisted. He tried to smile. “Uh-huh.”
When he looked down, he caught Anna’s steady gaze where she knelt. Lips together, she smiled at him so sadly that Isaac’s breath caught. She stood and folded the wet rag into a neat square.
“Today we have to take Mother home and come back for the singing, so you’d be doing us
a real favor. Although it might just be me you have to drive.” Anna whispered loudly, “Pretty sure Jacob Miller has his eye on Mary.”
Mary’s smile vanished, and she sputtered. “He does not!”
Anna’s expression was blandly innocent. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Isaac, I…” Mary flushed to the roots of her blonde hair. “Well, you know I’d rather get a ride from you.”
He knew it all too well, and hated himself for it as he backed down the ramp. He wished he could be the man she wanted. “It’s no problem either way. I’d better get back to greeting.”
As he fled, he heard Mary and her mother hiss something to Anna, but he couldn’t make it out over the rush in his ears. Each day he waited, the harder it would become—not only for him, but everyone who cared about him. Everyone he cared about. As he rushed to the barn, he repeated the two words he couldn’t let himself forget over and over.
I’m leaving.
He didn’t look for David this time as he joined one of the clusters of men, nodding to them and shaking hands. As they spoke about something, Isaac was lost in his mind. The days had marched on since it had ended with David, and he’d done his chores and repaired the fences, shivering out in the fields in snow up to his knees.
What am I waiting for?
He still had to figure out when to go. Where to go. His mind was blank as he thought about disappearing over the horizon with the trains, going…where? In Zebulon, the rest of the world felt like a void—even Red Hills as unreachable as the moon. He should be excited by the possibilities, but clammy sweat dampened his bangs beneath his hat.
There would never be a good time to leave, and he knew it. Isaac reached into his pocket to hold the knife. He finally understood why Aaron had slipped away in the night. The thought of telling Mother and Father he was abandoning them—abandoning the plain life—seemed impossible. They’d ask why, and what would he say? Could he say it out loud?
A Forbidden Rumspringa Page 21