by Mary Ellis
Catherine arranged breaded chicken pieces in the frying pan and then turned up the burner. “Isaiah works hard for you? He has no problems understanding the chores?”
Daniel poured coffee into a mug. “He does just fine. You only have to show him a task once and he remembers. People don’t give that boy enough credit.” He added a splash of milk and sipped with appreciation.
“He’s not really a boy anymore, is he?”
“I s’pose not. He must be twenty-four or thereabouts.” Daniel pulled sagely on his beard. Plenty of gray peppered his shade of dark brown.
“But I’m sure there are some chores you don’t dare allow him to do alone, like feeding cornstalks into the grinder for silage, for instance. That could be dangerous. A person could lose a hand if they didn’t understand the machinery.” She continued coating pieces of chicken without meeting his gaze.
“Isaiah comprehends as well as anybody else. Accidents can happen to anybody, but there’s nothing slow-witted about that man’s mind. Offhand, I can’t think of any job I wouldn’t trust him with. Some just require two people.”
She looked him in the eye. “So Isaiah has learned everything he needs to about farming?”
“He knows enough to get by.”
“And he obviously understands construction.”
“His cabin isn’t exactly a five-bedroom house with attached dawdi haus, but jah, he knows how to put…and fix…the roof over his head.” Daniel rubbed his chin. “What’s on your mind, Catherine? If you have something to say, I wish you would spit it out.”
“Well, because, other than his deafness, Isaiah is just as bright as any average person. I don’t see why he should be ostracized from his kin.” She deftly flipped the browned chicken in the skillet.
“He’s not being ostracized.” Daniel’s face scrunched into a frown. “Nobody keeps him apart from his kin.”
“That’s good to hear, because I invited him to share supper with us in the kitchen.” She pointed at the oak table so there would be no confusion.
Daniel walked back to the stove for a refill. “He won’t come, sister. You can leave his plate on the picnic table, same as usual. Isaiah prefers solitude at day’s end, surrounded by only trees and hoot owls. I’ll take my second cup into the living room.”
“He’s already agreed to join us. In fact, he looked quite pleased about the invitation.”
Daniel halted in the doorway. “How in the world did you get that ridiculous notion?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I spoke to him at breakfast this morning. I watched for him to come for his plate. We have a way of communicating with hand gestures and pantomimes. Plus he somewhat reads lips of the words he knows.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You and Isaiah have found a way to talk?”
“In a manner of speaking.” She grinned at her word choice. “It is all right then that he comes inside for supper?”
“Jah, Catherine. I wouldn’t dream of telling you no.” He walked out, leaving her an hour to cook a delicious meal that would make Isaiah disavow cold leftovers forever. She began to consider how best to deal with Daniel and Isaiah in the same room.
Will my feelings be written across my forehead like an old-fashioned barn advertisement? Will Isaiah’s? How will Daniel react to a real friendship between us?
Catherine peeled, cooked, and diced potatoes and eggs faster than ever before and then chopped celery and onion. With the salad chilling in the refrigerator, she snapped and steamed the beans. She glanced at the two loaves of banana nut bread she’d baked that morning. They were Isaiah’s favorite—one for dessert tonight and one for him to take home. She lifted the last batch of fried chicken from the grease with tongs. With enough food to feed a small village, Isaiah could eat the leftovers tomorrow for lunch.
Stop it, before you sew up a last-minute shirt and make a complete fool of yourself.
But Catherine couldn’t help herself. After setting the table, she hurried into the bathroom for a sponge bath and then she changed into a fresh dress. Let Daniel think whatever he pleases. She emerged half an hour later, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. Daniel sat nibbling pickles and olives from the relish tray. “Are we ready to eat yet? We’re mighty hungry.”
Jake and Laura nodded their heads in agreement. They too were waiting at the table with fists full of carrot sticks.
“Of course. I’ll get the chicken from the oven.” She placed the brimming roaster pan on the table.
“Good grief. We’ll be eating chicken all week. I thought you said you invited Isaiah, not Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox.”
The kinner laughed, even though she felt certain they didn’t know who Paul Bunyan was. “Hardworking men need to eat.” Catherine divided the salad into five bowls and placed the potato salad on the table. She dawdled while pouring glasses of milk because she didn’t want the meal to begin yet.
“Sit down for prayers, Catherine,” ordered Daniel. “Looks like Isaiah didn’t quite catch your drift. You can leave his food on the table as usual.”
She tugged her apron over her head, tossing it onto the counter. “I don’t know why we can’t be patient for—”
At that moment, Isaiah opened the screen door and strode into the kitchen. He grinned as he hooked his straw hat on a peg. He’d worn a hat to dinner. Catherine and Daniel stared, wide eyed.
“Hello, Isaiah,” she mouthed, pointing to the empty chair. “We’re ready to eat.”
Isaiah pulled Laura’s kapp ribbon, chucked Jake under the chin, and nodded to his cousin. Daniel reached across his son to shake Isaiah’s hand. “Long time no see,” he said, amused.
Isaiah reached for a chicken leg while the other four bowed their head in silent prayer. “No, Isaiah,” said Laura, gently patting his arm. “First we must pray.”
He glanced up at Catherine instead of at the youngster.
She smiled and then bowed her chin to her chest and folded her hands. For a few moments the ticking of the battery clock was the only sound heard. Catherine whispered her words of gratitude for the food, and then she discretely opened one eye to see what Isaiah was doing. At first, she thought he was praying, same as everyone else. Upon further perusal, she noticed his eyelashes flutter as his head turned left and right, almost imperceptivity. When Daniel murmured a quiet “amen” and lifted his head, Isaiah did the same, although his sounded more like a grunt.
She had been right! He was only mimicking behavior he’d witnessed. He didn’t know to pray. As she passed the bowls and platters around the table, Catherine silently pledged to teach him. But in order to pray, a person first needs to know God.
“Please pass the salad dressings,” said Daniel, studying her.
“Sorry. I was daydreaming.” She handed him three bottles of store-bought dressing, regretting not making her own from buttermilk, herbs, and minced vegetables.
Isaiah watched Daniel add ranch dressing to his and Nate’s salads, while Laura added French and Catherine topped hers with Italian. When the bottles reached Isaiah, he poured a drop of each onto his finger to taste, and then he selected the Italian. Isaiah winked at Catherine as he poured on a liberal amount.
His gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Daniel cleared his throat and speared a cherry tomato with sufficient force to spatter his shirt with seeds and juice. Isaiah and the kinner laughed. Catherine merely smiled, but Daniel aimed his peevish glower in her direction just the same. “Eat your dinner, Laura,” he then said to his daughter. “Let’s not dawdle tonight.” The child complied, but she continued to giggle each time she looked at the array of seeds on her daed’s shirt.
Catherine rapped on the tabletop. The vibration attracted the attention of the guest of honor. Isaiah glanced up from his enjoyment of the chicken breast.
“More green beans?” She mouthed the words with exaggeration, while the verbal sounds were only whispers for the hearing folk at the table.
“Jah, thanks,” he replied with an ear-to-ear grin. He accepte
d the bowl and scraped the remaining beans onto his plate. The size of the heap warmed a gardener’s heart.
Laura knocked on the table next, offering the potato salad in the manner she’d observed. Isaiah pulled her other kapp string and took a large spoonful of spuds.
Daniel squinted his eyes. “Enough of that, or the boy will eat until he explodes just to be polite.” He bit into a chicken leg with a frown.
“Perhaps he simply loves my cooking,” Catherine said, not hiding her wry tone.
“Your cooking might be better than average, but I would bet he simply loves all the newfound attention.” He met her gaze and held it, broadcasting his meaning without words or table raps.
“He’s been eating alone for years. Everyone deserves some attention and to feel consideration and compassion from their family members.” Catherine sliced her tomato, popping half into her mouth without breaking eye contact. The two in-laws circled around each other like wary dogs.
Isaiah, oblivious to the contention he was causing, enjoyed his supper with finger-licking appreciation.
“All well and good, but no one should be led down a dead-end road.” Daniel dropped his chicken bone on the plate with a thud.
“I don’t see how this road could be considered a dead end. Isaiah enjoys eating with the family and he’s done just fine. He doesn’t have poor table manners despite his years of seclusion.” She regretted her words as soon as she said them. Wait…this is Daniel’s house, not mine. He sets the rules in his home. And even worse, she’d spoken about a person sitting at the table. Although he may not have heard their exchange, somehow he’d sensed the discomfort of the situation at last. He looked between Daniel and her with a bewildered expression.
Catherine blushed to her hairline. “Who’s ready for banana nut bread?” she asked.
“I am,” chimed Laura and Jake in unison.
“None for me. I’ll eat my dessert later.” Daniel concentrated on his remaining dinner.
Catherine sliced one large and three small pieces of banana nut bread. When she delivered Isaiah’s to the table, his nervousness had vanished. He looked joyous as he broke off a corner and popped it in his mouth.
Daniel mumbled something about water troughs and left the kitchen while the others enjoyed dessert. She exhaled slowly and leaned against the back of her chair when he was gone, overall happy with how the meal had turned out. When Isaiah finished his dessert, he nodded to her, mouthed his thanks, and walked to the wall peg for his hat. Before the screen door slammed behind him, their eyes met and held for a long moment. The look that passed between them made her stomach turn cartwheels.
But Catherine’s joy lasted only midway through washing the dishes and kitchen cleanup. It faded as she mulled over something Daniel had said. No one should be led down a dead-end road. With a shiver, she realized he hadn’t been referring to tonight’s dinner or any meal at all. But it didn’t matter. Catherine’s road was to help Isaiah find God. And to do that, she needed to keep communicating with him. He needed to learn to talk and to read lips a whole lot better before anyone could teach him to read.
Fifteen
At breakfast, Abigail noticed on the bulletin board that a Bible study for female inmates was scheduled for that evening. The idea of sitting around a table and studying the Bible with Englischers had never appealed to her before. Scripture reading, silent prayer, and meditation were usually private matters for the Amish or within your family, sitting around the woodstove or fireplace—not among strangers with varying levels of Christian commitment.
But by dinnertime, after reading and contemplating to the point of exhaustion, she felt ready to try something new. Abby decided to attend the session and invite her roommate.
Rachelle had asked a few shy questions about Abby’s faith since moving into the top bunk. The woman had been raised in a home without much religion whatsoever. Her grandmother had occasionally taken her to church whenever Rachelle’s mother left her overnight. And she remembered attending Vacation Bible School for a full week during one summer. Her grandmother had registered her, picked her up, and then driven her back home afterward. Rachelle’s mother hadn’t been keen on the notion, but she had finally agreed. “Just a pack of do-gooders telling you stories about burning bushes, sending babies down the river in baskets, and nasty Roman kings. None of it will do you a-hill-of-beans worth of good in the real world,” had been her mother’s assessment. But Rachelle had loved the week, including the camaraderie with the other kids. Looking back, she was still curious about what she’d learned.
There is a powerful God who knows us and what we’ve done, but still loves us anyway?
He sent His only Son as a sacrifice for our sins, and if we believe in Him we’ll be allowed into heaven?
Rachelle couldn’t grasp where heaven was or what it would be like, but she understood it was far superior to the alternative. She also didn’t know if there was a tally system for sin.
Is stealing a car worse than cheating on your income taxes?
Is premeditated murder the most evil thing a person can do, or is there a sin even worse than that?
Abigail had no clue about the hierarchy of sin either, but she showed Rachelle the Ten Commandments in the Bible. “This is a good place to start,” she said. “These are the most important things to concentrate on. Oh, and the Golden Rule.”
Rachelle held up her hand. “Whoa, slow down. You mean there’s this list of commandments plus a whole other bunch of rules?” She crinkled her forehead with dismay.
“No, only one rule, but it’s important. Basically, it’s do to others as you would have them do to you.”
Rachelle exhaled with relief. “Okay, I’ve heard that one.” Relief washed over her face. “I’m going to copy down these ten before we go to the Bible meeting. I’m not walking in there empty handed.” She perched on Abby’s bunk to copy the list onto a sheet of ruled paper.
Abby glanced at the clock in the hallway, waiting patiently. They would be late, but she didn’t want to hurry the girl. When Rachelle stood at last with list in hand and handed Abby her Bible, they walked to the small chapel off the common room. Abby felt nervous anticipation begin to build.
“Come in, ladies. Have a seat,” said a woman at the table. “I’m Mrs. Jarvis, and we have just begun.” She had a gentle face, warm smile, and blue eyes the shade of a robin’s egg.
Abby and Rachelle sat, stealing surreptitious glances around the table. All of the faces were familiar, yet a few were a surprise in their current setting.
“Today we are studying First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, for some ways to improve your personal relationships while you are in here and to prepare you to rejoin your lives down the road. This chapter is commonly referred to as the ‘love chapter’ and is often read during weddings. But Paul’s instructions to the people of Corinth are helpful to improve all our relationships, including those with our mothers, sisters, neighbors, bosses, and even nasty coworkers who try to stab us in the back.” A few women giggled and nodded while Mrs. Jarvis’s gaze spanned the small room.
“Who was this Paul guy?” asked Rachelle, shifting in her chair.
Two women laughed aloud, while Abby felt mortified. But Mrs. Jarvis’ smile didn’t falter. “He was a man who once persecuted the followers of Jesus after His crucifixion. But God appeared to him while Paul was on a journey, and He talked to him. Paul spent the rest of his life converting people to Christianity like the other apostles. But we’ll learn more about Paul another day. Let me read what he had to say about Jesus’ message about love:
“‘If I could speak all languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing.’” Mrs. Jarvis paused for a moment before continuing on to the end of the chapter.
Abby list
ened, absorbing the words like a dry sponge.
“‘If I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing…Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out…When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.’”
Abby found comfort and simplicity in Paul’s teachings. And the other inmates seemed to like them too because everyone had an interpretation. Some seemed off track, but Mrs. Jarvis encouraged the conversation and didn’t correct anyone’s application.
“You shouldn’t be jealous if you’re really in love,” said one woman.
“Being smart and a good talker aren’t going to get you places forever. If you forget to love anybody along the way, you have just wasted your whole life,” offered a multitattooed lady.
“You always need to be patient with your kids if you love them as much as you say you do.” This was spoken by a girl who looked not much older than a child herself.
Abby heard the practical applications only vaguely. Her head was spinning with new thoughts. She knew she could keep Margaret’s name out of her case. It wasn’t right to get the licensed midwife in trouble for a choice she had made, but what about the truth? Love rejoices whenever the truth wins out…Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.
She loved Daniel and her children. She also loved her parents and respected their guidance over the years. She loved her Amish community, including the few women who tended to gossip more than sew at quilting bees. Hadn’t members of her district come to town for the candlelight vigil in her support?
Abby sighed. There was only one response to all that she had heard this morning. Although she loved her friend and mentor too, she had to tell the truth and pray that the English system of laws would be merciful with Margaret.