Hills of Wheat: The Amish of Lancaster

by Sarah Price

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s only rain, Jake!”

  “‘It’s only rain’, she says.” He rolled his eyes when he said it. “All it takes is one car to come over the hill to hit you, Sylvia. It’s hard to see in this weather and cars can hydroplane.” He hesitated, immediately aware of the expression on her face. “Hydroplane means slid out of control,” he explained. “Plus, you’re soaking wet and shivering. You’ll get sick, Sylvia.”

  “You sound like Mamm,” she said, her tone teasing.

  “I’m serious,” he snapped. “Promise me that you will never do that again. I will come to get you if the weather is inclement. If I don’t, stay home. Don’t risk the walk. “ His voice was strong and agitated. “Promise me!” he demanded.

  No one had ever before spoken to her in such a sharp tone. She shrank back into the truck seat and looked straight ahead. She nodded her head and mumbled a quick, “Promise.” But she couldn’t look at him. She felt ashamed that she had done something wrong but confused because she wasn’t certain what. She didn’t want to have Jake Edwards upset with her but she wanted to understand what she done to upset him. If her job was to be at his farm to clean on Friday, why would he be upset that she had tried to walk there?

  Once at the farm, she hurried into the house. She wanted to change out of her wet clothes and get started on her tasks. She could hear Jake in the kitchen while she retreated to one of the unused bedrooms upstairs. He was moving around downstairs and she could hear him running water and clanging dishes. She double-checked that the bedroom door was shut and latched before she quickly stripped off the wet clothes that clung to her skin. She pulled the dry clothes from the bag that she had carried and promptly slipped a fresh dress over her head. There was a mirror over the dresser. She paused to push any stray hairs back from her face. There was a rosy color to her cheeks but the rest of her face was pale, completely drained of color. She pressed her hand to her face. Her skin was cool and damp.

  Back downstairs, she smelled fresh coffee brewing. She stood on the bottom step, hesitating before she came further into the room. Jake was standing at the counter, pouring two cups of coffee. After he had set the coffee pot back on the stove, he stood still, staring at nothing for a few long seconds. He seemed deep in thought. Sylvia contemplated retreating back to the second floor, ashamed at disturbing him. Was he talking to God, she wondered. She had heard that Englischers did that…talked directly to God. Finally, she softly cleared her throat to alert him to her presence.

  “Ah,” he said, turning to face her. He reached for the two cups of coffee and walked to the table. “That’s better, eh?” He motioned to the one empty seat as he sat down. “Drink some coffee to warm up, Sylvia.”

  Obediently, she did as she was told. She sat down at the corner of the table, directly to his right. She didn’t normally drink coffee but it smelled right gut and the cup warmed her hands.

  “Danke,” she said shyly.

  She had never sat at a table next to a man before, at least not one that wasn’t part of her family. During Sunday fellowship, the men ate their meals first, then the women. The girls were usually the last to eat and always together. They would sit at the wooden tables or even on hay bales during the summer months to talk and laugh over news that they had heard amongst the community. But now, sitting alone in his kitchen, she felt a new sensation, one of intimacy with the man next to her.

  “I suppose we should talk, Sylvia,” he started.

  “About what?” she asked innocently.

  The chair creaked as he leaned back. He ran his fingers through his hair and his eyes looked upward, as though searching for the right words. “I suppose I should apologize for speaking to you that way.” He rubbed his eyes. “I know we agreed on no questions but I think you should know that she was killed in a bad…accident.” He paused, trying to think about how much to share. His next words seemed strained. “Yes, an accident. I saw it happening but I couldn’t get to her in time. “ Lifting his eyes, he looked at her. “When I realized that no one was bringing you, I knew you’d start walking. I worried that I wouldn’t get to you in time. I panicked.”

  “You panicked…?” she repeated.

  “I worried,” he explained. “I was worried that you’d get hurt…or worse. I had a vision of…” Words failed him and he stopped. He shook his head. “No, I don’t want to have visions of that. It was a long time ago anyway.” He tried to push away the memory.

  “I’m very sorry, Jake,” she said. She could feel his pain and it touched her. Clearly he was thinking about his wife. Part of her wished she could comfort him. To love someone and to lose her so tragically? There were accidents among the Amish, accidents on the roads or the fields, even tragedy in a one-room schoolhouse when two worlds collided, resulting in so much senseless death. But she had never personally known someone who lost a loved one in such a manner. “I wish I could take away the pain,” she whispered.

  He forced a small smile. “It’s alright but thank you for that. Remember I told you that I’m here looking to find myself. Now you know why. I’m looking for forgiveness and I’m looking for answers. But instead,” he glanced down at his coffee cup. “I found something else.”

  Forgiveness? Answers? Sylvia wanted to ask questions but she didn’t want to intrude. She could feel his pain and sorrow. It was still fresh. And fresh wounds needed to heal. “It will come in time, Jake,” she managed to say. “Hard work can repair the soul and the spirit.”

  He took a deep breath and gave her a genuine smile, breaking the melancholy of the moment. “If that is true, I’m well on the way to repair. Fixing up old farms is full of hard work!” He pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor, as he stood up. “And I have plenty of it ahead of me, especially since your brother wants to start on the fields as soon as the rain breaks.” He glanced at the window as he carried his empty coffee cup to the sink. The sky was dark and the splatters of rain on the windowpanes told the story. “Which does not appear to be happening anytime soon.”

  “It’ll let up by afternoon,” she said.

  “Well, in the meantime, I’m going to run a few errands. I’ll be back in time to take you home, rain or shine. No sneaking out of here, Miss Sylvia,” he said, shaking a finger at her teasingly.

  There was a special feeling about the house that day. The rooms were dark and there was a steady patter of rain against the windows. A few times, she heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. She liked the darkness as it made the rooms look different, smaller, and more welcoming under the mysterious cloak of grey shadows. The old piano seemed to speak about its past. She wondered who use to play it and how often. Why had it been left there? The old television reflected some of the light from the kitchen doorway. She wondered when it was last used and why it was still here. Clearly it didn’t work. She liked the smell of the rain and how the house began to take on its own damp scent. But the dampness was also of spring, of new beginnings and fresh growth. She could sense the importance of the storm. It would set the scene for the upcoming season of growth.

  It was getting close to eleven when she found herself feeling drained. Her eyes felt heavy and she knew that she was completely without energy. She needed a few moments, even if it was to just sit. Sit, she thought, and just rest my eyes. The past few nights of sleeplessness, of the constant barrage of thoughts and questions, had taken its toll on her.

  As she sat on the sofa, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes while she thought about what Jake had told her about his wife, that she had been killed in a bad accident. Sylvia wondered how he had happened to be there. Why would he have mentioned forgiveness and peace? Why would an accident warrant asking for forgiveness? These were questions that she knew she could not answer but they were there, on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.

  The rain continued to hit against the windowpanes and it lulled her into a very soft, light sleep. She dreamed of the upcoming crops and
how nice it would be to help her father with the first harvest. She felt the warmth of summer heat on her body, the moist humidity in the air. In her dream, she was barefoot, running through the fields, helping with the wheat chafes. It was only Sylvia and her father; the boys were nowhere to be found. But then, when she turned around, there was a figure, a tall silhouette against the sunlight. She raised her hand to her eyes and squinted. From the height and build of the man, she knew immediately that it was Jake Edwards. He approached her and brushed his finger against her cheek. She smiled at him but turned back to the harvest. When she glanced over her shoulder to the place where he had stood, he was gone.

  She woke up with a start and looked around the room. It took her a minute to place herself. And then she remembered. Her head was on the arm of the sofa and there was soft blanket over her shoulders. How long had she been sleeping and when had Jake returned? What on earth must he have thought about her, sleeping when she should be working? Quickly, she stood up, folded the blanket, and, after setting it on the sofa, hurried back into the kitchen.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He was facing the window with his back to the doorway of the living room. She wasn’t certain what to say or do. So, after a few long seconds, she cleared her throat, “I’m terribly sorry, Jake.”

  The sound of her voice startled him. He hadn’t been aware that she was standing there. Setting the paper down, he turned around and stared at her. She was in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest and the expression on her face was a bit sheepish.

  “I didn’t mean to sleep while working.”

  “It’s a perfect day for a mid-morning nap,” he replied, his words soft and reassuring. “You looked very peaceful. What were you dreaming?”

  No one had ever asked her about that. Dreaming? She tried to think back to her dream. She could remember the peaceful and reflective feeling in her dream. But it took her a moment to recall the details. “About the spring planting.” she finally answered. “It’s just a few weeks away. The fields will need to be plowed for the corn planting.”

  “And you enjoy that?”

  She smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “Oh yes. But not as much as the wheat harvest,” she answered. “That doesn’t happen until late June. We all work in the fields behind the binder. The mules pull it and we stack the bundles in shocks. At the end of the day, it’s quite beautiful…rows and rows of wheat shocks. The neighbors often come to help and we have a great fellowship meal afterwards.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “It does sound nice, Sylvia.”

  “I suppose…” she began slowly but hesitated. She didn’t want to sound too forward and the words had slipped out before she knew what she had started to say. But he knew.

  “What do you suppose?” he asked, a slight smile on his lips. It was as if he knew what she was going to say.

  She looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. “I suppose you might be invited to help this year.” She glanced up. He was smiling at her and she flushed. “Seeing that we’re neighbors and all.”

  “Well, that would be something,” he replied. “Seeing that we’re neighbors and all.”

  “I suppose I should get your meal ready,” she said softly and began to hurry toward the counter. By napping, she had completely forgotten to do her last chore before leaving.

  He stood up and walked over to her. “It’s OK, Sylvia. I grabbed a sandwich while I was out. I can take you home anytime you’d like. The rain is still coming down hard.”

  “But I didn’t finish my chores,” she stated.

  He glanced around the room. “Seems to me that everything is in order. And your father will probably need extra help today with the rain. Must not be easy to care for the dairy farm when it’s so miserable out.”

  She nodded. “Ja, takes a lot more time to feed, water, and clean. We have a busy weekend for sure. Fields will be a mess from the storm and this is a church Sunday. “ She hesitated. Dare she plunge ahead? Should she cross that line? She immediately realized that she already had, back on the day when she had accepted an escape from the market in his car…a stranger…and from an Englischer man at that! She had, indeed crossed the line of no return and, with the longest of hesitations, she began to close the door behind herself. “Plus, you see, there’s a singing that night so I have to be ready early for Steve to take me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A singing?”

  Her heart pounded inside of her chest. She felt as if she was floating above herself, watching the scene unfold. It was like one of the movies she had watched during her rumspringa. While she knew that she had disclosed too much, she was surprised that he had picked up on it. Would he care if she was at a singing? Perhaps it wasn’t of any interest to him. “Ja, at the Smucker’s.”

  “The next farm past?”

  She nodded.

  “What happens at a singing?” he asked, leaning against the counter, watching her thoughtfully.

  She laughed. “We sing!”

  He joined her laughter. “I see! I suppose that would make sense. Do you go with your parents?”

  She shook her head and, as she did, she felt a stray hair against her forehead. “It’s for the youths,” she explained. She was surprised when he reached out to brush back a stray hair that had fallen from beneath her white organza prayer kapp. His touch was gentle and warm, caring. For the briefest of moments, she almost had to catch her breath. Waves of electricity seemed to flow throughout her body and, in the boldest of moves, she raised her eyes to search his face. “Usually a young man will escort a woman home.” Her words were soft and low. She didn’t know why she was explaining this to him but the words just flowed from her mouth. “It’s the beginning of courtship.”

  “Ah,” he said. “So that’s how it begins?” He kept staring at her, watching as she nodded. “And how does it end, Sylvia?”

  She hesitated. Why was he asking her this? She wondered at his motives. But his expression seemed honest and open. “They meet secretly for a while,” she replied, her words slow and quiet. “That’s the courtship time. If they get along well and find admirable qualities…” she didn’t finish the sentence. The words simply would not escape her lips. She had been so bold and so brazen. It felt awkward and sinful. She almost felt ashamed of herself. Where was this coming from, she wondered? Had the months of rumspringa and watching so many movies ruined her? She looked away, chewing on her lower lip. Had the exposure to the outside world done exactly what the People didn’t want…captured her soul?

  He honored her silence, waiting to see if she’d continue. When she didn’t, he nodded his head and pursed his lips. “Well, let’s hope a nice young man asks to take you home then, yes?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost one o’clock. He took a deep breath. “It’s getting late so I suspect it’s that time. Gather your things, dear Sylvia, and I shall be the one escorting you home now,” he said, bowing down before her teasingly. “Your chariot will await you outside.”

  It took her a moment to catch her breath when he left the kitchen to “warm up the truck”. This is too much, she thought. Her sister-in-law, Shana, had been correct when she said she was courting more than danger. She had to regain her strength and focus. She stood there, alone in the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular. But her mind reeled.

  Yes, she thought, I must stop it now before something much worse happens. Her heart sank inside of her chest but she knew what she had to do. She had to tell her parents that she could not continue working for Jake Edwards. She would accept a ride home from a young man at the singing, start the courting process, and she would get back into the fold of the Plain way.

  Chapter Twelve

  The barn was full of kerosene lights that glowed in the increasing darkness. The barn smelled of fresh hay and animals with the faintest hint of manure. It wasn’t unpleasant and certainly not something that offended any of the Amish youths that crowded around the few home
made tables set up with bowls of popcorn and pretzels. There was a warmth among the group, with the boys on one side of the barn and the girls clustered together on the other side. The separation created an interesting flow of color with black and white on the male side and bright blues, greens, and purples on the other.

  Sylvia stood with her friends, Millie and Leah. She felt awkward, knowing that she was being watched by both the young men and the young women. She hadn’t attended many singings in the past few years since she was old enough to join them. In fact, she avoided them, knowing that there was so much pressure for pairing up with a young man. With that pressure came the eventual and inevitable joining of the church.

  Of course, during rumspringa, Amish youth were supposed to explore the outside world. Their parents looked the other way while their children tested the ways of the Englische. It was a true testament to the family that most of the children came back, disheartened by the blackness that they saw. Their exposure to the non-Amish way of life usually confirmed their loyalties and ties to the Amish community. Sylvia hadn’t met many youth who did not take the baptism but she did know quite a few who had run wild, both the men and the women. Some of the men drank and did drugs. It wasn’t unheard of for one or two to be arrested. For the women, their reputations were often ruined and they usually had to seek a partner from another Amish district. And if there was a baby involved, well…that created its own set of problems.