A Plain Leaving

by Leslie Gould

  I felt the worst about Mamm. Didn’t a girl need her mother? But it was as if I never had one, or at least one I could count on. I’d always relied more on Dat.

  There were times when I wondered why Mamm and Dat ever married. He was a widower with ten-year-old twin sons, whose first wife had died from blood clots in her lungs. Mamm was twenty-six and never married. She worked at a bakery in Paradise. He stopped in one day on his way to his favorite bookstore. He went back to the bakery the next week and then the next. Soon they were courting.

  Aenti Suz said Mamm fell head over heels in love with Dat from the beginning and adored Arden and Amos. I sighed, squinting into the fog. How far we all had fallen.

  Buggy after buggy headed up the lane. A few of the drivers waved but most stared straight ahead and then veered toward the barn. Youngie were waiting to unhitch the horses and put them in the pasture closest to the barn. Finally headlights appeared. Then a silver sedan. I breathed a sigh of relief. It had to be Tom. I started down the steps, waving. But by the time the car turned toward where my car and Amos’s rental were parked I could tell it wasn’t Tom. The driver was a lot older. He parked and climbed out, revealing a rumpled suit. The man had short gray hair and a round face. My hand fell to my side. The driver waved at me though, and I smiled in return although I’d never seen him before.

  A minute later, another silver sedan came toward me. This time it was Tom, and I lost sight of the other Englischer. Apparently he’d made his way toward the shed. It appeared he was familiar with the farm.

  Tom slowed his car and lowered the window.

  “Hi there,” he said to me.

  “Hi there yourself,” I answered.

  “What’s with the costume?”

  I glanced down, then up again, and smiled. “I’m just trying to fit in—although it’s not working.”

  He grinned and then asked, “Am I late?”

  I shook my head. “I was just anxious is all.” I stepped closer to the car. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He smiled, his eyes shining.

  “Park over there,” I said. “Then we can walk around before we head over to the shed.”

  “The shed?”

  I nodded. “That’s where the service is.” I stifled a laugh. No Englischer would ever hold a funeral service in a shed.

  The other members of my family, besides Amos, had gathered in Dat’s study and then planned to walk into the shed together. I had no desire to do so. I’d sit in the back. I figured Tom could sit with Amos.

  First I led Tom around the outside of the farmhouse, pointing out the back porch. “Those logs are original,” I explained. “From 1752. Then over the years, more and more rooms were added.”

  “Do I get to see the inside?” Tom asked.

  “Jah—”

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “But not until after the burial. We’ll come back here for the meal.” I pointed toward the gate to the pasture. “And then we’ll leave. I’ll follow you home.”

  He stopped. “Home?”

  I nodded. “Jah,” I said. “Harrisburg is home now. My time here has made that absolutely clear.”

  He smiled. He’d heard me talk about how homesick I was, how much I missed my community. Coming home had shown me how little I had in common with the people who were once my entire life.

  I led the way through the gate. “There’s the pond,” I said, pointing to the far end of the pasture.

  “And the oak,” Tom said, increasing his pace toward the tree. I’d told him everything I could think of about the farm, describing the pasture, the fields, the dairy herd, the barn, the tractor, the corn and soybean crops, the garden, the pond. The oak tree.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said as he stopped below it. Tiny buds of green covered the branches above our heads. “How old is it?”

  “Well over two hundred and fifty years.” My understanding was that the tree was established by the time the original house was built. That meant it existed long before Ruby Bachmann lived on the farm. I scanned over to the next property. There was no sign of an oak tree there, as mentioned by Aenti Suz in her account. Or perhaps it had been cut down long ago, while this one survived.

  Perhaps Ruby and Paul Lantz had stood under this one, like Tom and I were now. Like Silas and I used to. A wave of sadness swept through me.

  Tom put his hand against the trunk. “Just think of everything that’s transpired around this tree in all these years.”

  A shiver ran down my spine, and I diverted my attention toward the shed. A group gathered by the front door. Men in their black jackets, women in their black capes and bonnets, and children dressed like replicas of their parents. And the Englisch man I’d seen earlier. He was speaking with a few of the Amish men. Slowly they filed in.

  “Should we go over?” Tom asked.

  I shook my head. “Not yet.” I stepped closer to Tom, as if being nearer could warm me, and zipped my coat all the way to the top. Then I clapped my gloved hands together. I wished I’d brought a scarf.

  “I could put my arm around you,” Tom said.

  I smiled as I shook my head. “Not a good idea.”

  “Oh? Who would say something about it?”

  “My brother Arden. My Mamm. My sister Marie. The bishop. They all think I’m fast and loose as it is.”

  Tom shook his head. He certainly knew better.

  “Jah, you might think I’m a Goody-Two-Shoes in Harrisburg, but here I’m seen as a wild woman.”

  Tom wrinkled his nose but didn’t say anything.

  I turned my attention to the back porch as Arden led the way down the steps. Vi, their children, Mamm, Marie, and then Leisel followed him. Once they reached the shed, I said to Tom, “Let’s go.” My family would all sit in the front together. I was sure they’d allow Tom and me to sit with them, and Amos, but that wasn’t what we wanted. Not today. Partly because none of them had actually asked us.

  Leisel looked this way and that as she walked, most likely looking for Amos and me. Her sweet disposition hadn’t changed at all.

  Tom and I snuck in the back, and I motioned for him to sit on the men’s side, on the back bench next to Amos but closest to the aisle. I sat in the exact same spot on the women’s side. Tom gave me a questioning look. I stared straight ahead, realizing I hadn’t explained things thoroughly to him.

  I knew I’d told him how long the sermons could last, all in Pennsylvania Dutch with the scripture readings in High German. Poor Tom. It would prove to be the longest morning of his life, I was sure. Amos leaned over to him and whispered something, perhaps an explanation. I was grateful for that. Before Amos sat back up straight, I noticed the gentleman with the gray hair and rumpled suit sitting past him. He looked as if his back hurt, poor guy.

  My eyes filled with tears at Bishop Jacobs spoke. “Augustus Bachmann was a deacon in this district, a loving husband, and a devoted father. He was a man who loved the Lord, his family, and the Plain folk of this district. He also loved farming, tending both animals and people, and telling a good story.”

  That stopped me. I didn’t remember Dat telling stories. He was so afraid of gossiping that he hardly told any stories at all, not even about the past. But maybe he told stories to other people, just not to his children.

  A sob started to well up inside me. My father was dead. He’d never come to Harrisburg to visit me again. I couldn’t ask him—ever—about the farm or about his life. I couldn’t ask him about his time in Vietnam—one story of many, probably, that he’d chosen not to tell me. Or exactly why he fell in love with Mamm. Or why Arden was so awful to Amos.

  I’d lost my father, a lifetime of stories, and the only true connection I had to my past.

  If only I could sit by Tom now instead of all alone. I’d never felt so isolated, not even when I first left. Once the sermon started, the back door opened. Perhaps someone helping in the house had decided to sit in on part of the sermon. A second later, Aenti Suz slipped by me on the
bench. As she sat, she reached for my hand and squeezed it. Relieved, I relaxed a little. I wasn’t alone, not entirely. She should have been up front with the family, but she’d chosen to be with me.

  After the service ended and Dat’s casket was loaded into the wagon, we all made our way to the cemetery. Amos and I rode with Tom in his car at the very back of the procession. By the time we reached the cemetery, most of the mourners had already gathered around the grave. As we stepped through the gate of the white picket fence, people turned and stared. I kept my head down and stopped on the edge of the crowd instead of joining my family in the front. Aenti Suz sat beside Mamm, while the rest stood around them.

  Gail had positioned herself directly behind my sisters, with Silas at her side. His Mamm was just a few feet away from him. I wondered if Gail realized what a jewel Edith Kemp was.

  I didn’t see the man with the gray hair and rumpled suit anywhere.

  All of the newer gravestones were exactly alike, and the old ones were small and unpretentious, unlike those in some of the Englisch cemeteries I’d seen where wealthy families purchased ostentatious memorials for their deceased relatives. The last thing an Amish family was allowed to do was draw attention to itself.

  My gaze fell to the oldest section. Was Ruby buried there? If so, her marker had probably deteriorated with time.

  Bishop Jacobs read a scripture from Revelation: “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.” He spoke again about how Dat had served others. It was true. He had, in a humble and unassuming way. He never bossed others around. He never tried to manipulate people. He never even tried to control people, including his children.

  As the bishop led us in a silent prayer, I thought of when Dat called me back after I’d left a message on his machine in the barn that I’d left home. He simply asked me questions about what I planned to do. He never tried to shame me. That came later from Mamm, Marie, Arden, and Vi in their letters that condemned me. Both Arden and Vi wrote that unless I confessed and rejoined the church, they never wanted me to visit the farm or be around their children.

  Bishop Jacobs said, “Amen” and then motioned for the pallbearers to lower the casket. Tears stung my eyes. After it was in the ground, one of the pallbearers picked up the shovel leaning against the tree and began scooping dirt atop the casket. Then another pallbearer took a turn. Then Arden stepped forward and took the shovel. He flung several scoops of dirt onto the casket and then stepped backward, the shovel still in his hands.

  Then he stumbled. My heart swelled in sympathy for my brother, thinking he was overcome with grief. But he dropped the shovel and stumbled again and took a couple of big steps away from the others. Then he began to fall. I stepped forward as if perhaps I could catch him from fifteen feet away. Milton hurried to his father’s side and reached for his arm, but Arden kept falling.

  I gasped and started forward. I sensed Tom following me as I wove through the crowd. By the time I got to Arden, Milton was kneeling beside him with Vi standing a few feet away. I bent down, my hand falling to Arden’s neck. I couldn’t find a pulse. And no breath was coming from his nose or mouth.

  I made eye contact with Tom. “Call 9-1-1.” We’d had a CPR training at work just a few months before.

  I wedged Arden’s lips apart and swiped his mouth. It was clear. As I placed my hands on his chest, Leisel fell to her knees beside me and said, “You do the compressions, I’ll breathe.”

  We started, counting out compressions and then two breaths. Dat knew CPR, and I guessed that he’d taught Leisel. I could hear Tom ask someone exactly where we were and then recite the information. A minute later, he kneeled beside me, asking if I wanted him to take a turn.

  I did. I knew Tom could get more compressions in per minute than I could and his big hands covered more of Arden’s chest. The three of us worked together and continued even as we heard the sirens approaching. The circle around us spread thin when the paramedics arrived. As they reached us, one took over the chest compressions and Tom and I stood and stepped back, bumping into Milton. I put my arm around him. Vi and the other children stood behind Leisel, who was now standing too. All appeared as stoic as could be. Mamm had sat back down on her chair, but Aenti Suz stood, one arm on the back of my mother’s chair, trying to see through the crowd as best she could.

  The paramedics took out a defibrillator and shocked Arden. He jumped with the first jolt of electricity. Another zap and one of the paramedics said, “We’ve got a heartbeat.”

  The paramedics had arrived quickly. Hopefully enough oxygen had gotten to his brain as Leisel breathed for him. I began to shake, and Tom put his arm around me. I didn’t care what anyone thought now. Except maybe I did because my eyes sought out Silas. He still stood beside Gail, but he was staring at me.

  As the paramedics loaded Arden into the back of the ambulance, I urged Vi to go with him.

  “May I?” she said.

  “Yes,” I answered. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.” I glanced at Tom, hoping he’d be willing to drive. He nodded.

  I turned to Mamm and asked if she’d ride with us.

  “I can’t ride with you,” she said.

  I grimaced. “Tom’s driving.”

  “All right, in that case, jah. Maybe I can be of some comfort to Vi.”

  Marie quickly rounded up Vi and Arden’s children, and with the help of Gail and Silas and Aenti Suz, herded them toward the buggies.

  “May I go with you?” Leisel asked me.

  “Of course,” I answered. But then it dawned on me that we should take another car because Vi would need a ride home. I suggested we swing by the house so Amos could get his car. But then that meant I needed to ride with Amos because Mamm couldn’t, due to his being shunned, and she wouldn’t want Leisel to either.

  Ten minutes later, Amos led the little caravan away from the buggies heading back to our house. A meal would be served to all of those who attended the service.

  As Amos turned on the highway, headed toward Lancaster, he commented on all of the changes in the last sixteen years.

  “Did you ever consider coming back?” I asked.

  “To visit?” he asked. “Or to stay?”

  “Both,” I answered.

  “Yeah,” he said. “All the time at first. I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Why did you leave?” I’d asked both Mamm and Dat over the years but neither gave me a satisfactory answer.

  “Well, now . . .” Amos had both hands on the wheel. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “Not really,” I answered. “After you left, Dat said that you were traveling, and he wasn’t sure when you would come back. After a couple of years he said perhaps you weren’t.”

  “It’s true that I thought maybe I would return. At first I simply felt I needed some time away.”

  “Why?”

  When he didn’t answer for a long time, I feared perhaps I’d offended him.

  Finally he sighed and said, “Arden and I weren’t getting along. That was mostly the problem.”

  That didn’t surprise me. “Did you try to work it out?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “For six years I tried to—but nothing changed.”

  Six years. From the time I was born. Or more likely from the time Rebecca had died.

  We’d reached the hospital, so I didn’t ask any more questions. Amos turned into the parking garage, and Tom followed us. A minute later we were parked and on our way to the emergency department. Once we checked in at the front desk, we settled in the waiting room.

  Time slowed to a crawl. I asked at the desk several times but was told they couldn’t reveal any information. Finally Amos asked, and a doctor, followed by Vi, came out to speak with us.

  The doctor explained that Arden had had a heart attack and was now stable. He was conscious and answering questions, so it seemed the oxygen deprivation hadn’t done any
permanent damage. “We’ll do more tests,” the doctor said. “But most likely he’ll have surgery in the next few days.”

  Leisel asked, “Will he be transferred to a critical care unit?”

  “Yes,” the doctor answered. “I’ve ordered that. Once all of his tests are back, I’ll schedule the surgery.”

  I glanced at Vi, wondering if she had any questions. When it seemed she didn’t, I asked, “Should one of us stay with him?”

  “Not necessarily,” the doctor answered. “He’s tired. He needs to rest. And he said, specifically, that there were a couple of family members he didn’t want to see.” The doctor glanced at Vi, who looked pointedly at Amos and me.

  I concentrated on keeping my face expressionless.

  Tom asked, through clenched teeth, “Does he know Jessica saved—”

  I put my hand on his arm, appreciating his trying to defend me but not wanting to stir up trouble. “It doesn’t matter.” I turned toward Vi. “Do you want to stay? Tom could give you a ride later.”

  She pursed her lips.

  I added, “Or we could call for a driver.”

  She shook her head. “Arden does need to rest. I should go home and speak with the children.”

  “I’ll stay,” Leisel said. “If that’s all right with you, Vi.”

  Our sister-in-law seemed relieved by the idea. I pulled Leisel aside as I dug in my purse for some cash so she could get something to eat in the cafeteria. “Call my cell phone when you want a ride home,” I said. “I’ll come get you. It will be dark. No one will notice.” Hopefully no one from our own family would report her to the bishop. Then again, she hadn’t joined the church yet so, technically, it wasn’t against the Ordnung.

  “Denki.” She slipped the money into the pocket of her apron and then gave me a hug. Tears filled my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away.

  By the time we returned to the house, Aenti Suz and a kitchen full of women were cleaning up after the meal. However, they quickly heated up the soup and pulled out the sliced ham, cheeses, and bread that had been served, along with several of the remaining pies.