by Dale Cramer
Chapter 14
A squad of soldiers passed through Paradise Valley every morning heading west on patrol, and every afternoon they returned. Caleb watched with growing irritation, in the beginning because one or two of them were always riding standard-bred horses they had practically stolen from the Amish, but later because of their increasingly arrogant disregard for the farmers. On their way back to the hacienda village the soldiers would always stop and water their horses at one of the Amish horse troughs. Caleb didn’t mind this—he wouldn’t begrudge a thirsty horse no matter who was in the saddle—but they also walked their horses through cultivated fields. As the summer deepened and the crops grew, the patrols began walking their horses right through the oats and letting them graze, trampling a different stretch of field every day.
When no one protested, they grew bolder, raiding kitchen gardens and taking eggs from chicken coops. In the beginning they had at least made a pretense of paying for what they took, but as time wore on they stopped offering even a pittance in exchange. They just took it, as if they had a right.
Most of the newcomers didn’t speak enough Spanish to complain, but they wouldn’t have said anything anyway. They were not in the habit of arguing with armed men.
Mamm was still not herself, morose and silent most of the time since Miriam and Rachel had left. Miriam came by to visit almost every Sunday afternoon, and Mamm gradually got used to seeing her in Mexican clothes. Miriam’s visits helped, but now Mamm worried about Rachel. So much violence and uncertainty had entered her world that she seemed incapable of the kind of serene faith she had known before Aaron’s death. If a child of hers was out of her sight Mamm was never quite convinced that she would ever see them again. Once in a while she muttered something to Caleb about Rachel and he reassured her that her daughter was fine, that she would be back by harvest and all would once again be right with the world.
But privately he was worried about Mamm. She still had no appetite and she was losing weight.
She perked up a bit in August, when her kitchen garden was at its peak and she got busy with the girls canning vegetables for the winter. Her workload was a bit heavy then, with only Ada and the two youngest daughters to help, but Caleb knew it was better to be too busy than to think too much.
He went into town one afternoon to get a horse shod at the blacksmith shop, and got a surprise when he came home. He found Mamm fuming in the kitchen.
“Those soldiers!” she cried. “They came to my garden and took half of my vegetables!”
He hadn’t seen her so animated in months. “What soldiers?” he asked, rubbing her arm, trying to calm her. Her face was very red.
“The ones who patrol every day. They just came and took my vegetables. They cut a bunch of cucumbers and squash and all the ripe tomatoes, and they even took the basket of peas I had already picked! I won’t have those scoundrels cleaning out my kitchen garden,” she said with tears in her eyes. “How will I feed my family?”
Something had to be done, and Caleb knew it. Things were getting out of hand. “I’ll talk to the others in the morning,” he said calmly, “and we’ll go see Fuentes.” He thought about going directly to Captain Soto, but given his past experience with the crooked little officer he figured it was better to let Fuentes deal with him. A native Mexican might have better luck with the captain, and Fuentes, as the haciendado’s right-hand man, had the weight of authority behind him.
———
“They ride horses, carry guns, and steal from us,” John Hershberger said. “Sometimes I think the only difference between a bandit and a soldier is the uniform.”
Caleb had gotten the men together at Hershberger’s farm, and now they stood in a cluster near the barn, chewing on straws and complaining to each other.
“He’s right,” Ira Shrock said. “These men take more from us than bandits ever did.”
Caleb stroked his chin. Ira had not lost a son to bandits. “The soldiers never killed any of us yet, Ira. And I wouldn’t forget that if they didn’t come here when they did, the bandits would have killed us all.”
Ira nodded thoughtfully. “Jah, I guess you’re right, but they’re getting to be a real nuisance, that’s all. Something has got to be done. When they’re not busy soldiering, those guys stand around in the hacienda village and drink, right out in the open.”
Atlee Hostetler seemed to shrink back a little when Ira said this, and his attention wandered. There had been rumors back home that Atlee was a little too fond of hard cider. Now his self-conscious tics made Caleb wonder.
Hershberger backed up Ira’s complaint. “Jah, and when my girls go into town to get the mail or go to the store, the soldiers say rude things to them. It’s getting so I’m afraid to let them go alone.”
Caleb nodded. “My girls have told me the same thing, and they say it’s getting worse. I’ll go and talk to Fuentes about it. Maybe he can do something with them.”
They all nodded in agreement, and Hershberger volunteered to go with him. Atlee Hostetler never said a word.
Driving through town they saw the usual clutch of idle soldiers tossing dice against a wall outside the dry-goods store, and there was a ceramic jug sitting prominently on the sidewalk between them—at ten in the morning—though Caleb never actually saw anybody take a swig. The soldiers grinned and whispered to each other, watching as Caleb’s buggy passed by.
The old stone church in the clearing just short of the hacienda walls didn’t look much like a church anymore. The troops had built sandbag barricades around it and split-rail fences to contain their horses. A Mexican flag flew from a new flagpole atop the belfry.
They found Diego Fuentes in the hacienda stables, rubbing down his big Friesian after a hard morning’s ride.
“Buenos días, Señor Bender!” he said with a big smile and a handshake. Fuentes had always treated Caleb with respect.
They exchanged a bit of small talk about crops and weather, and Fuentes informed them the haciendado was currently in Paris with his family, though Caleb already knew this.
When they finally got down to business Caleb said, “What we came to see you about is those troops.”
Fuentes’s brush stopped halfway down the big horse’s flank and he looked over his shoulder at Caleb. “What about them?”
“They’re getting to be a problem.”
Fuentes straightened to his full height, picking horsehair from the brush. “Really?”
Caleb listed his complaints—how they had extorted the best buggy horses from the Amish and then grazed them in the fields, trampling crops, and how they’d begun raiding kitchen gardens and chicken coops.
“One of our men says they even took half his laying hens last week,” Caleb said. “I guess maybe they’re starting their own coop.”
Hershberger told him about the girls, and how every time his daughters came to town little groups of soldiers leered at them and said rude things.
“I won’t have my girls threatened,” John said.
Fuentes’s eyes narrowed. “You will not have it?” His voice rose in anger, and he pointed at John with his currying brush. “Let me tell you something. You asked for this. Would you rather have bandits? Have you forgotten that these troops saved all your lives and that my haciendado paid for them to come here? And he did it at your request! He paid a hefty sum for their protection, but as you have already seen, we did not need their protection for the hacienda. We can protect ourselves.”
“But surely they can be made to behave in a more civilized manner and treat us with respect,” Caleb offered gently.
Now the angry eyes turned on Caleb. “You are in Mexico, Señor Bender, not America. Perhaps our country is not so civilized as yours, but we have just suffered through ten years of war, and because of the Revolution our government is a mess. Supplies don’t always come when they should, and soldiers are poorly paid. They don’t have time to farm for themselves because they are out on patrol keeping your people safe from bandits, so somebody has
to support them. Would you have the haciendado give them everything they need to live? It only makes sense for you to do your share, even if Mexican soldiers seem a little rude to you.”
Fuentes turned his back on them and resumed brushing his horse, but then he stopped for a second and glared at Caleb over his shoulder. “Think of it as taxes,” he snapped.
They were driving back through the hacienda village on their way home when John finally spoke his mind.
“I suppose Fuentes is right. We are the ones who asked for the troops, and if they need help, why then I guess it’s up to us to help them.”
Caleb chewed on this for a while, gripping the reins in his fists, his jaw working. “Taxes. We already pay our fair share of taxes. They tax our land, they tax our produce, they tax our doors and windows. Pretty soon they’ll tax the air we breathe. And the money Hidalgo paid to get the troops here wasn’t a proper tax; it was a bribe paid to a corrupt government official. John, we weren’t the ones who brought corruption to this place.”
“No,” John said pensively. “I’m thinking that would be Satan.”
Rachel and two boys followed the ministers into the abrode on the morning of her baptism, and the three of them faced old Bishop Schwartz. He talked to them gently for a bit about humility and trust, the honor and sanctity of Gott’s church, and the meaning of commitment.
“You are about to make a promise before Gott to your family and your brethren, and it is a holy vow that will bind you for the rest of your life. To break this vow is a very serious thing.”
He looked right at Rachel as he said this, but she knew he wasn’t really looking at her. He was looking at Miriam.
“Are you ready for such a commitment?” he asked with a gentle smile. He already knew the answer, for they had all been through instruction classes. Once or twice Rachel had known of a boy deciding the commitment was too great and changing his mind at the last minute, but in such a case the boy simply didn’t show up for church. If they got as far as the abrode, they never turned back.
Rachel looked the bishop in the eye and said simply, “Jah. I am ready.”
The boys did the same.
It all went by in a blur, and when it came time Rachel knelt alongside the two boys. One at a time, they answered publicly the questions the bishop had already put to them in private.
When it was Rachel’s turn she bowed her head and someone took off her kapp. The deacon dipped water from an oak bucket, poured it into the bishop’s cupped hands, and the bishop poured it on her head. This was repeated three times—once for the Father, once for the Son, and once for the Holy Ghost. Then they lifted her up, and the deacon’s wife gave her the holy kiss. Rachel was now a member of the church.
———
Later that evening Jake gave her a kiss of his own and said, “In a couple weeks we’ll have Communion, and you’ll be able to partake with us. I’m proud of you, Rachel.”
“Jah, it’s wonderful.” She said this with a sigh, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t be having selfish thoughts on such a day . . . but two weeks is all the time we have left.”
“I’m having the same selfish thoughts,” he said. “After Communion your business in Ohio is finished.”
She nodded. “I’ll be going back home the next morning like I promised my dat.”
Jake held her close, his arms about her waist, and looked into her eyes. “It’s only for six months, Rachel. In March I come of age, and I promise you, from that day forward we will never be separated again.”
Chapter 15
Rachel’s last two weeks with Jake flew by. They saw each other almost every evening, but it only made the time pass faster.
The day of her first Communion was a crisp, beautiful fall day, slanting sunlight painting a landscape of brilliant reds and golds. Abe and Sarah Detweiler visited that Sunday, and after lunch they pulled Rachel aside to talk to her.
“It was an honor to have you with us at Communion this morning,” Rachel said.
Abe smiled warmly. “It was an off Sunday at my church, so I thought it would be good to join you. We have many friends here. But it was you I really came to see. I wanted to tell you that Sarah and I have talked it over—”
“And over and over,” Sarah added with a smile.
“And we have decided to give Mexico a try. We want our children to grow up without so much interference, without being influenced by outsiders every day. It’s important to us.”
Rachel fought hard to keep from jumping up and down with joy. A bishop in Paradise Valley!
“My father will be so happy to hear that,” she said. “We have been without leadership for a long time.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait a bit longer,” he said, scratching his rusty beard. “We’ll need time to find another bishop to tend my flock, and I’d like to get another crop in the barn before I go. I don’t want to leave my family in too hard a way, though I’m sure the church will take care of them in my absence.”
Rachel glanced at Sarah. “You’re not going?”
“Not at first,” Sarah said. “Abe wants to go down and get settled, find a place for us and get started.”
“And to be honest,” Abe added, “I want to make sure it’s safe—you know, what with bandits and all. Make sure it’s a place where we can live in peace.”
“I understand,” Rachel said, though she felt a twinge of doubt now that she knew it was to be a trial visit. She’d known of Amishmen in the past who went to a new place, took one look and got right back on the train to go home.
“Also,” he said, “Freeman Coblentz came to see me yesterday. They’re having a hard time of it since they came back because he wasn’t able to sell his place. He tried to sell it to the newcomers last year, but he set the price high because he’d already put so much work into it.”
“Jah, I remember. The walls of his house are half built, the well already dug, and some of the fences up. I don’t blame him for wanting more money.”
Abe nodded. “But it was a risk, and nobody wanted to pay his price, so it sits there. Anyway, when he heard I was going down he offered to let me use his place if I finish the house, and then if I decide to stay I can buy it.”
“I’m sure you’ll love it there,” she said, “and we’ll make you very welcome. So when will you be coming down?”
“In the spring,” he said, and her heart soared.
Later, Bishop Schwartz came to see Rachel, pulling her aside as she was helping clean up after lunch. “I hate to do this on the day of your first Communion,” he said grimly, “but it cannot be helped. I want you to take this to your father.”
He pulled a sealed envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She ran her thumbs over it, knowing what it was without having to read it. The bishops had met. The matter was decided now, and final. Miriam was banned. All that remained was the delivering of the letter to her father.
She met his gaze and nodded solemnly. “I will give it to him.”
“I’m very sorry,” the bishop said. “We had no choice.”
She got a chance to talk to Jake that evening after the singing and told him about the letter.
He nodded. “Even knowing this would come, it still hurts.”
“But there is good news, too,” she said, and then told him about Abe Detweiler.
“Spring, Jake! Bishop Detweiler will be in Paradise Valley in the spring when you come down, and we can finally be married!”
“Gott has smiled on us,” he said. “I been thinking about something else, too. I’m thinking when I get back I’ll go to work for your dat. He’s been shorthanded since Aaron died, and he’s got extra room, too. After we’re married we can live in his basement while we save up for a place of our own.”
She hugged him fiercely. “That’s a wonderful idea, and you’re right,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Gott has smiled on us.”
The next morning Lizzie agreed to let Jake take Rachel to the train station. She said her
goodbyes to the family at home, then had the luxury of saying goodbye to Jake alone at the station.
Rachel boarded a passenger car, found her seat, and looked out the window. Jake was watching her from the platform, his broad hat tilted back, his eyes steady and dependable as ever. Their future together was assured.
Touching her fingertips to the glass she mouthed the words, Till spring.
He smiled and raised a hand. I love you, his lips said.
Caleb hitched the buggy and left well before daylight for Arteaga, to pick up Rachel at the train station. He traveled alone and without fear. There was little need to fear bandits any longer. The greatest danger in any trip north to Arteaga or Saltillo had always been El Pantera and his men. As he drove north in the cold dawn Caleb thought with a chill that if El Pantera and his men still haunted those hills, it would only be as ghosts. Even now, he caught himself watching the ridgetops for that bicolored Appaloosa.
Everything in his world seemed divided these days. He was glad the bandits were gone, but deeply grieved by the thought that he had caused their deaths. He could not find it in himself to celebrate the death of any man—even the one who had taken Aaron from him—and the troops who displaced the bandits filled him with a growing sense of trepidation.
Even his excitement over Rachel’s return was overshadowed with foreboding. Though he missed Rachel sorely and couldn’t wait to see her again, he knew about the letter she carried, and knew what it would say. The return of one daughter meant the loss of another.
He handed Rachel the reins as they left the station, and then slowly, willing his hands and eyes to do a work nearly as grim and unspeakable as burying a child, he took out the envelope, opened it and read the letter. Even knowing what it would say, seeing the words there on the paper in the familiar jerky handwriting of old Bishop Schwartz nearly broke his heart. Unable to speak, he folded the letter carefully and slid it back into the envelope. He said very little the rest of the way home.