A Plain Leaving

by Leslie Gould

  “What’s going on?” I asked him.

  “I quit,” he said, over his shoulder. “Your family is going to have to find someone else to do the milking and vaccinate the calves and do the plowing and planting and listening and mediating. . . .” He was halfway to the barn, his voice trailing off in the wind.

  Gail and Marie rushed by us too.

  “Stop!” I called out.

  The girls didn’t obey.

  I sighed as Leisel and Milton approached. They did stop.

  “What happened?” I asked as we all watched Silas flee into the barn.

  “Marie and Gail were bad-mouthing you, and he got sick of it. He said he didn’t want anything to do with their gossip and that he was going to find another job. They both freaked.”

  I cocked my head at Leisel’s word choice. Freaked. But then disregarded it. “Can Arden hire someone else?”

  Leisel shook her head. “Mamm or Vi will have to do it. We can’t burden Arden with this now. I didn’t want to alarm Vi this morning, but he really isn’t doing well.” Leisel’s eyes grew even more serious and she lowered her voice as Milton trekked after the others. “Can you two stay another couple of weeks or so?” she asked me. “Until Arden is doing better?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “No one wants me to stay.”

  “I do,” she answered.

  “Well, you’re the only one.”

  “Please?” Leisel said.

  I shrugged, not knowing what to do. “I’ll take you back up to the hospital and see if Mamm and Vi have any ideas. Then I’ll decide.” I turned toward Amos. “Want to come along?”

  He glanced back toward the pond. “No. I think I’ll go take a nap in the Dawdi Haus.” He started to walk away but then turned back around. “Good luck.”

  I decided to stay in my dress, guessing I might be coming back to the farm for a few days. But I packed my bag just in case.

  11

  Leisel didn’t speak as we left the farm. When I turned my car onto the highway, I asked why she thought Silas quit.

  “Maybe he feels the way you felt when you left—fed up.” She didn’t say any more. Instead she closed her eyes and put her head back against the headrest. I concentrated on driving.

  When we reached the outskirts of Lancaster, she said, “You were talking the other day about how you got your GED. I need to tell you that I got mine too.”

  I glanced toward her, swerving as I did. “What?”

  “Watch the road!” she shouted.

  I’d veered onto the shoulder and quickly corrected. “When? How?”

  “Last year. Dat allowed it. I have no idea what he told Mamm—maybe that I was getting some kind of special training. I’d hoped to go on and become a certified nursing assistant, but then Dat got sick.”

  “You don’t need a GED for that,” I pointed out.

  “Right.”

  I expected her to say more, but she didn’t. “Leisel, what are you planning?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure yet. I just know . . .”

  “What?”

  “That there’s something more for me.”

  “Than?”

  “Staying here. Getting married. Having children. Gossiping with Marie and Gail. Watching Mamm grow more and more negative.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  She sighed. “The truth is, there’s only so much I can do. Right?”

  “Wrong,” I answered. “You already have your GED. You managed that—there’s probably no limit to what you can do, but it would mean a lot of hard choices.”

  “That’s it,” she said. “I want something more. But I don’t want to lose what I have.”

  I nodded. She and I both knew it was an either-or situation. Both couldn’t happen simultaneously. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “That you’re facing this.”

  She scooted down in her seat a little. “Jah, well, you paved the way. If I do decide to leave, it will probably be easier for me than it was for you.”

  I didn’t respond, but I doubted it. She wouldn’t have Dat as a buffer, and Mamm would be more heartbroken to lose Leisel than she was to lose me. Leisel was her baby. Her last born. And her easiest, at least compared with me. The only thing in her favor was that she hadn’t joined the church, so she wouldn’t be shunned the same way I was.

  Arden was still in the ICU, and Mamm and Vi were sitting in the waiting room. “How is he?” Leisel asked.

  “All right,” Vi said.

  Mamm gave Vi a confused look and then said, “He needs to have surgery, more than the initial procedure. Open-heart surgery.”

  “Oh dear,” Leisel said.

  “When?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Leisel sat beside Mamm. “How long will his recovery be?”

  “Two or three more days in the hospital, then he’ll need to rest at home and do rehab. It will be weeks before he can return to work.” Vi glanced at Mamm, who shrugged. Vi continued, “Arden says we need to sell the woods.”

  I bristled. “Why?”

  “Hospital expenses.”

  I shook my head. “Won’t the mutual aid fund cover it?”

  Mamm and Vi both sighed in unison, and then Mamm said, “They already covered your Dat’s medical costs.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Lots of families have multiple medical costs at one time.” When neither of them responded, I said, “Don’t you understand? Once that land is sold, that’s it. The farm will never be the same. We’ll never get it back—after over two hundred and fifty years, it will all be gone.”

  “Listen,” Mamm said, in a shrill voice. “Land isn’t everything. Once you’re older, you’ll understand.”

  “No,” I said. “I won’t understand. Instead of selling it, we should be working at managing what we have. Caring for it.”

  “We?” Mamm stood. “Jessica, this has nothing to do with you.”

  My face grew warm but before I could speak, Leisel said, “We need to talk with the two of you about something else. Silas quit today.”

  Mamm turned toward me. “What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing.”

  She frowned. “Then why would he quit?”

  “He seems to be fed up with all of us,” Leisel said. “The gossip. The backbiting. The hypocrisy.”

  Mamm pursed her lips.

  “All the negativity toward Jessica, especially.”

  Mamm’s eyes flashed a hint of anger.

  “That means there’s only Milton to do the work. Jessica could stay for a few more days and help, though. . . .” Leisel’s voice trailed off.

  Vi clutched her purse to her chest as she shook her head. “Leroy and Luke can do more. So can you and Marie.”

  Leisel rolled her eyes. “Jah, we can do the milking, but we’re not going to be much help with the plowing. Or the planting. Arden never allowed it—we don’t even know what to do.”

  Arden had much more control over my sisters than he ever had over me.

  “We’ll have to hire someone else then,” Mamm said.

  “Jah, we can try,” Leisel answered. “But I can’t think of anyone who’s looking for a job right now.”

  “I have vacation time,” I said. “I can help Milton.”

  Mamm and Vi’s eyes met and both grimaced. “No,” Mamm said. “That won’t be necessary. . . . You know what Bishop Jacobs said.”

  My face grew even warmer and I stepped back. “All right. I’ll go ahead and be on my way then.”

  My mother gave me a nod, and Vi waved her hand a little. I started toward the elevator.

  “Wait!” Leisel hurried after me. “Don’t leave yet.”

  “There’s no reason to stay.” I brushed away my tears, surprised at how rejected I felt. What did I expect? That I would become the heroine and save the day? Save the farm? Somehow save myself?

  I gave Leisel a hug and whispered, “You have my number. Keep in touch.”


  She nodded, and I stepped on the elevator.

  I thought about texting Tom to tell him I was on my way but decided to wait until I was back in my apartment. As I pulled out of the parking garage, my heart warmed. I’d soon be in my cozy apartment, away from the angst of my family. Perhaps I could finally mourn my father.

  Dat. I hadn’t gone by the cemetery. Going now meant backtracking, but it would be worth it.

  When I arrived at the cemetery, the rain had just started. I wished I’d changed into my Englisch clothes. Sure, I fit in here. But by the time I reached Harrisburg I’d feel like a chicken off the farm. I parked on the edge of the cemetery—thankful no one was there—and started toward Dat’s grave by the far fence. As I walked, the rain fell harder, and I pulled the hood of my coat over my Kapp.

  Of course there was no marker at Dat’s grave yet, and when it was installed it would be as plain as all the others. It was one of the things I truly appreciated about the Amish. Modesty wasn’t just about dress—it applied to all areas of life. No one was to be showy. No one was to appear better than anyone else. We were all equal in God’s eyes. Well, mostly equal. Men, it seemed, were worth more. I chided myself. That wasn’t true, not at all. Dat had never made me feel that way, and I’d seen Dat serve Mamm, over and over. I’d seen him serve us all. And the Amish truly cherished each member of the community and saw each person’s value and worth, within prescribed roles.

  But I wasn’t normal. Couldn’t Mamm understand that? I know Dat never minded that I was different. If only he’d stood up to Bishop Jacobs. But then what? Would he have been forced out? Would he have to have chosen to become Mennonite? Would that have been so bad?

  The mound over Dat’s coffin had settled some. I bowed my head and forced myself to say a prayer, thanking God for giving me a loving and caring father. True, he didn’t always know how to handle conflict between his children, but he tried, mostly by giving us the opportunity to work it out ourselves. He loved all of us. And he never bad-mouthed one of us to the other. Jah, I was very grateful for a father’s care and love. It had molded me into who I was.

  Just as I turned to go, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I lifted my coat and fished it out. It was the hospital number. Panic seized me. Hopefully Arden hadn’t grown worse. I answered quickly. It was Leisel.

  “Hallo,” she said. “I’m with Arden. Vi and Mamm are still in the waiting room.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Jah,” Leisel said. “Well, the same anyway. Listen, Arden wants to speak with you.”

  “What?” He was in the ICU for goodness’ sake. And I stressed him out. What could he possibly have to say to me?

  “Jah . . .” I sensed worry in Leisel’s voice.

  “What about?” I asked.

  Leisel didn’t answer my question. Instead she said, “I’ll put him on.”

  In a weak voice, Arden said, without saying hello or any other greeting, “Stay and help with the farm. At least until I get home.”

  “I was told not to,” I answered.

  “I’ll talk with Vi and your Mamm. They don’t understand. You’ll probably still need to get neighbors to help, but I can’t expect other people to fix the tractor or work with our ornery mules or know what to do as well as you. If you can stay until I’m home, that would help.”

  “All right,” I said, without giving it a moment of thought. “As long as you make your wishes known.”

  “I will.” He handed the phone back to Leisel without saying good-bye.

  “I guess I’ll see you back at the house,” I said to my sister.

  “Gut,” she answered, her voice the lightest I’d heard in days. “I’ll come back tonight and then head back here early in the morning before surgery.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to all of that?”

  “Of course,” Leisel answered. “I wouldn’t miss a chance to speak with the doctors. And that way I can let Mamm and Vi know how Arden is doing.” I surmised they didn’t plan to be at the hospital during the surgery. I knew Dat would have been.

  After the call ended, I stood staring down at the mound of soil again. “What do you have for me?” I said out loud to God. “What good can possibly come from all of this?”

  I slipped my phone back into my apron pocket and headed toward my car. Only time would tell. At least I’d get to spend more time with Amos, and chances were I’d get the rest of Aenti Suz’s story.

  A driver brought Mamm home and then took Milton up to the hospital just before Amos and I started on the afternoon milking. Soon after I reached the barn, Silas arrived.

  “I thought you quit,” I said.

  “I did,” he answered. “But I’ll just help tonight. Gail told me Milton went with Vi.”

  Had Gail gone by his house? I frowned at the hint of jealousy in my thoughts. Hint? Who was I trying to kid? I needed to stop.

  The truth was, Silas and Tom were very similar. Except that Tom was a better version. More honest. More responsible. More ambitious. More likely to stick up for me.

  When we finished the milking, Amos said he was going to drive into town and get some supper. “Maybe I’ll stop by the hospital,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  He started toward his car, and I walked toward the house, expecting Silas to head toward his buggy.

  “Jessica,” he said.

  I turned around.

  “May I talk with you for a moment?”

  That was the last thing I wanted.

  “Please,” he said. “Where no one will hear us?”

  I tried to speak, but a lump had lodged tight in my throat. Finally I said, “Let’s head toward the field.” The last rays of the sun faded over the woods. It was the moment before dusk fell over the farm, when the sun hung low. Sometimes pink or lavender filled the sky. Even if the sky was gray, it was a magical moment. I shivered, thinking of Ruby experiencing the same thing all those years ago.

  Silas and I wouldn’t have much light.

  He stepped to my side, and I led the way. Neither of us said anything. When I reached the closed gate, I stopped and said, “What’s up?”

  “Let’s keep going.” He opened the gate. This time I followed him. He didn’t stop until we reached the oak tree just as a splash of orange spread across the horizon. Then the sun completely disappeared and dusk fell.

  “I wanted to explain why I quit,” he said, his voice as muted as the sky. “And then why I came back to help today.”

  “You don’t need to,” I said. “I’m sure your reasons for both are valid.”

  He shook his head.

  My heart raced. Whatever was still between us seemed as elusive as it had that night I left. The only thing I was sure of was that I needed to get back to Harrisburg and to Tom. Standing under the oak tree with Silas made me feel as if I were nineteen again and madly in love—with him.

  “After you left, it was as if your family couldn’t bear it. I think there was the feeling that if they kept me around, perhaps you would return. Then when it was obvious you weren’t going to, the next best thing for them was to match me up with Gail.”

  My face grew warm. “Whom are you talking about? Dat?”

  He shook his head. “No, your Mamm. And Marie.”

  “Once Gail moved in and essentially took your place, everyone was thrilled when we started courting.” He paused a moment and then said, “You know how much I love this farm, this land. It’s not as if I ever expected to own any of it, but I would have been happy to work here for the rest of my life. . . .”

  “Except?” I prodded.

  “Except I always feel as if I’m in the middle of everyone’s business—even when I try not to be. All these years I wouldn’t stand for anyone talking negatively about you, and they mostly respected my wish when I was around, but once you came home they couldn’t seem to help themselves.”

  When I didn’t answer, he said, “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “I do know they vilify me. I mean, I get it, I
left. But it still surprises me that Marie and Mamm show so much animosity toward me.”

  “I think Amos leaving felt like a fluke to your Mamm, and then to Marie too, once she was older. But you leaving made them feel marked, is if it were a sin on the family name. Your Dat didn’t believe that, though. Not at all. He never acted that way.”

  Again, I didn’t answer.

  Silas leaned toward me. “He’d tell me when he’d go to see you—not where you were living but just that he’d seen you.”

  “Really?”

  Silas nodded. “He told me that you were dating Tom too.”

  “Oh?” That surprised me.

  “Your Dat thought he was a fine fellow. In fact, he told me once that I shouldn’t wait for you, that I shouldn’t expect you to return.”

  I cocked my head. “And yet you haven’t joined the church. And you haven’t married Gail yet.”

  He nodded. “But I plan to.”

  “Join the church? Marry Gail?”

  He nodded. “Both.”

  “Why has it taken you so long?”

  He shrugged. “It was hard for me to get over you.”

  Was. “Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” My voice wavered involuntarily. I couldn’t manage to say, also, that leaving him was even harder than leaving the land, than leaving my family.

  He didn’t respond to my confession. Instead, he changed the subject and said, “I quit because all of you Bachmanns need to work things out. There’s how Amos was treated. And then you. And the way your Mamm and Marie gang up against you. None of it is right. Your Dat didn’t want to meddle in the lives of his children, so all he could do was let you and Amos know he loved you and hope the rest of them would figure it out. He hoped all of you would reconcile at some point.”

  Tears filled my eyes. Dat was the least-controlling person I knew. It sounded as if he’d confided in Silas.

  “I would have worked with your Dat forever,” Silas said. “He took me under his wing and cared for me like a father after my Dat died.” He shook his head slightly. “But I can’t, in good conscience, keep working here with him gone. Your Dat wouldn’t allow Marie to treat you the way she does, and he wouldn’t allow Arden to . . .” Silas stopped and shook his head.