Naomi's Hope

by Jan Drexler

  But the rumors. First Susan Gingerich, and then Preacher Shem, and then Cap. Cap said he didn’t believe them, but he had to doubt her story. He must, or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

  “Lydia?”

  Naomi thrust the mending in her sewing basket and met Annalise Yoder at the kitchen door. “Hallo, Annalise. Mamm is in the garden.” She held the screen door open for her mamm’s friend.

  “That’s all right,” Annalise said. “I came to see you. I finished the cloth I have been weaving and I’m ready to thread the loom again. I thought you’d like to come over tomorrow morning to help me.”

  “I’m so glad you thought of that. I would love to help.”

  Annalise sat at the table and took the cup of tea that Naomi offered. “You haven’t seen the entire weaving process yet, and there is nothing like doing the work to learn.”

  “Do you think I’ll be able to learn to make fabric on my own? It is so complicated, isn’t it?” Naomi sat at the table with her.

  “I’m sure it seems that way when you’re first starting out. But once you learn how the warp and woof work together—”

  “Wait,” Naomi said, stopping Annalise with a hand on her arm. “Wait until you can show me as well as tell me. I’m lost already.”

  “For sure, it can wait until tomorrow.” Annalise sipped her tea while Naomi stirred a spoonful of honey in her cup. “It’s very quiet here today. Where is that Davey of yours?”

  “Off fishing with Henry and Cap.”

  “That’s good. I hope they catch plenty of fish.” Annalise finished her tea. “I must get home. Christian isn’t feeling well, and the twins do vex him so at times.”

  Annalise fumbled with her shawl as she walked toward the door.

  “I hope Christian feels better soon,” Naomi said.

  The other woman smiled, but it didn’t extend to her eyes. “I’m sure he will.” Annalise stepped onto the porch. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, ja?”

  “For sure.”

  Annalise was gone so quickly that Naomi doubted if she had heard. She took the tea cups to the sink to wash, but paused, the scene through the window capturing her attention. From here she could see the road leading to the river ford. Anytime now Henry and Cap would be returning with Davey. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Naomi forced her thoughts away from dark imaginings of Davey falling in the river and being swept away. Or Henry and Cap concentrating so much on their fishing that they don’t notice Davey wandering off and getting lost. Or a fish hook catching itself—

  Naomi shook herself and rinsed the cups.

  Mamm had said she should trust Cap and Henry and stop worrying. If only she could.

  6

  After an afternoon of fishing, Henry had three good-sized fish on his string, while Cap had two. The rain had stopped and the clouds melted into puffs of light gray in the cobalt sky as the sun sank toward the treetops.

  “I guess it’s time to head back home,” Henry said, pulling his line out of the water.

  “I haven’t caught a fish yet.” Davey balanced on a log, turning his longing eyes first on Cap, then on Henry.

  “We don’t catch something every time we go fishing.” Cap reached a hand out to the boy to help him over a muddy spot. “I’ll share mine with you.”

  Davey stopped and pulled his hand out of Cap’s. “I want to stay here until I catch one.”

  Cap glanced at the sun. “It’s almost suppertime. Your mamm will be waiting for you.”

  The thought of a meal waiting got Davey’s feet moving again, but his steps were slow, and he turned to look back at the river. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

  “Too much work to do tomorrow.” Henry’s pace was faster than Davey’s, and he was already several yards ahead of them on the road.

  Davey tugged at Cap’s sleeve. “Can you bring me?”

  Davey looked into Cap’s face, his lower lip pulled in and his eyes full of hope. Everything in Cap wanted to say he would take Davey fishing again tomorrow, but work came before pleasure. “I need to finish building my chimney tomorrow.”

  Davey hopped onto a stump. “Maybe I could help you do that.”

  Cap considered the idea. Building the chimney involved carrying heavy rocks up his makeshift ladder, cementing them in with a sand and lime mixture, then going back down the ladder to do it all over again. He’d never be able to keep his eye on an active boy.

  “I’m sorry, Davey. It’s a one-man job tomorrow. You can help me another day.”

  Davey stepped off the stump and trudged up the road ahead of him, his head hanging down.

  “Maybe your grossdatti will have some work for you to do.”

  Davey ignored him.

  Cap lifted his hand to reach out to the boy, but kept himself back. Learning to live with disappointment was a lesson best learned early. If a child had all of his wants satisfied, he would never learn to be content with what God had given him.

  When they reached the Schrock farm, Henry headed to the barn with his fish. Naomi was waiting on the porch by the kitchen door, and Cap drank in the sight as Davey ran to her, gave her a quick hug, and then went into the house. He forgot about Davey’s mood when Naomi smiled at him.

  “Did you catch any fish? Davey said he didn’t.”

  Cap held his string of two fish up as evidence. “Henry and I both got some. They’ll make a good supper tonight.”

  “Did Davey behave himself?”

  “Ja, for sure. He’s a good fisherman.” Davey’s bad mood wasn’t worth mentioning. Naomi could figure that out for herself. “I’d be happy to take him another day, if that’s all right.”

  Naomi paused for just an instant, then nodded. “Ja. He would like that fine.”

  Cap took a step toward his clearing. “I need to get ready for tomorrow’s work, now that the rain has stopped.”

  “Denki.”

  Naomi went into the house. But with that one word, and the smile she gave him with it, Cap’s mood shifted. Davey’s pouting had affected him more than he had thought, but Naomi’s smile had banished it.

  The trail through the woods had become packed earth in places, the grass worn away by Davey’s feet running along it between his home and Cap’s clearing. Another sign that this was becoming home for him. Eli and Henry, the Yoders, the Benders, and the Planks were all becoming good friends. And the families in the Elkhart County end of the district would, too, as he got to know them better. When he had made his plans to move west, his sisters had all argued against it, saying that he needed to be part of a church, part of a community.

  Cap paused to listen to an oriole singing from its treetop perch. Ruth and the others were right, he did need to be part of a church, and he had found it here. Someday soon he needed to write a letter, ease their worries.

  As he drew near his clearing, he heard Blau’s and Betza’s nervous grunting. Through the trees, he could see them on their picket ropes, heads up and ears pointing toward the cabin. Near the road were two riders holding the reins of two other horses with empty saddles. He put the cabin between him and the riders and approached the back door. When he eased it open, two men were crouched on either side of his tool chest and had just opened the lid.

  “Who are you?” Cap asked the question in Deitsch.

  The younger of the two, a boy who couldn’t be older than eighteen, answered. “Never mind who we are. Where do you keep your cash?”

  The older man boxed the other one on the ears. “Stop talking that gibberish.” The man’s voice was rough, and he spoke in English. “You.” He pointed at Cap. “Give us your money. Where is it?”

  Cap kept his eye on the younger one. The one who had spoken Deitsch. What was a young Amish man doing with a gang of English ruffians?

  The older man strode over and pushed Cap against the wall. “Look at me when I talk to you. Where is your money?”

  Cap shook his head, glad he had thought to leave the money he had received from selling his Ohio farm with his brother-i
n-law in Holmes County. “I don’t have any here.”

  The man, shorter than Cap, but double his weight, shoved him against the wall again. Cap felt the rough logs dig into his back through the fabric of his shirt. “Tell us before we take this place apart.”

  “All I have are my tools, and the horses.”

  The younger man had risen to stand behind his friend. He laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “If he says there isn’t any money, he’s telling the truth.”

  “How do you know?”

  The young man shrugged. “He’s Amish. They don’t lie.”

  “He’s just trying to put us off.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  The man shoved Cap again, then turned to the other one. “All right then. Get the horses and we’ll get out of here.” He pushed past the young man on his way to the door. “Don’t be all day about it. We’ve got to ride.”

  The young man didn’t look at Cap as he followed his friend, but at the door he turned back. “I’m sorry.” His words were Deitsch again. “I try to keep the gang away from the Amish community, but I didn’t know you were one of them.” His gaze flicked up to meet Cap’s. “We have to take the horses, though.” He closed the door behind him.

  Cap leaned against the wall. He heard Blau’s and Betza’s nervous nickers as the young man pulled their picket pins. The thud of the big horses’ hooves as he led them around the house. The other riders’ voices as they set off down the road, leading his horses away. Blau, with his habit of nuzzling Cap’s chest when he wanted more grain. And Betza, so gentle that his two-year-old niece could play around her feet in the meadow. Where would he find such horses again?

  He sank down until he was sitting on the dirt floor of the cabin and wiped his hands over his face. Everything in him wanted to follow the men. He would take his gun from the hooks over the door and confront them before they got any farther away. He would demand that they give his horses back to him.

  But the teaching of the church, the way he had been taught to live his life, was nonresistance. To give way, to give in, to love your enemy. This was Christ’s example.

  Cap’s muscles ached from the effort of remaining still. Of holding himself back. He would obey the teachings of the church, even though his head pulsed with rage.

  The next morning, after chores and breakfast were done, Davey ran to the barn.

  Henry was hitching the big horses to the plow.

  “Can I come, Henry? Can I?” Davey stood behind Henry.

  The horses’ feet could be dangerous, Mamm had said, so Davey stayed away from them. But he watched the big black hooves closely. They didn’t look dangerous. They looked like the pieces of flint arrowheads he had found on the hill in back of Mose’s and Menno’s house last fall. Did they feel as cold and slick as those stones? Someday, when no one was watching, he’d touch one and find out.

  Henry moved to the horse on the far side and Davey followed.

  “Can I, Henry? I can drive the horses.”

  “Ne. You’d only be in the way. You’ll be big enough to help in a year or two, but until then, it’s a man’s job.”

  Davey watched him gather the long leather reins in his hand. He balanced on one foot while Henry drove the horses out of the barn. Only big boys could stand on one foot for so long. He thrust his arms out to keep from tipping. If Henry could see how steady he was, he’d let him come and help plow. But when he looked up again, Henry was gone.

  He stood in the center of the empty barn. The cow was in the meadow. Grossdatti had taken the second team of horses and the felling ax to the woods while Davey was finishing his breakfast mush.

  Sunlight streamed in bars through the gaps between the pole slats of the corncrib outside the open door. Davey swished his hand through the motes floating in the beams and watched them swirl. Just like the water when a fish struck at an insect.

  The fishing poles hung on the barn wall next to the door, right where Henry had put them away yesterday.

  The barn was quiet. No one was around. No one could see him.

  A creeping shiver ran up his spine. He didn’t dare turn around. Someone could be watching him. A wolf, maybe, in the dark corner where Grossdatti piled the manure in the winter. Davey’s breathing came in little gasps. Not a wolf. An Indian. Mose had told him how the Indians who used to live in the Haw Patch wanted to come home, and sometimes they did. He said one lived down the river a ways all winter long.

  He took a step toward the door. All was silent behind him. He ran as fast as he could until he reached the porch. Then he turned around, breathless, and waited for whatever was in the barn to come out. The open door was empty. He could see the sunbeams lighting the floor, just as they had when he was standing there.

  The danger was past. This time.

  Footsteps rang on the kitchen floor. Grossmutti.

  Davey opened the door and peeked in. Ja, it was Grossmutti, but Memmi was there too.

  “Davey, are you ready to go?” Memmi smoothed her skirt and picked up a towel-wrapped loaf of bread.

  “Where?”

  Grossmutti tousled his hair as she passed him on the way to the dry sink. “Didn’t you listen at breakfast? We’re going to the Yoders’ this morning. You can play with William and the twins.”

  She stacked the clean plates and put them in the cupboard.

  “I want to go see Cap.”

  Memmi grasped his shoulder and turned him toward the door. “Cap is busy working today. Come along, Annalise will wonder where we are.”

  Davey ran ahead of the women until he got to the road. The stumps were farther apart between his house and the Yoders’ farm, but there were still enough to play the game. The ground was sinking sand, and the stumps were the only safe place. Memmi and Grossmutti walked past him, talking to each other about sheep.

  When Memmi got their sheep, he would take care of them. He stood on a stump, cradling a pretend lamb in his arms. Soon he would have his very own lamb. It would follow him just like Mose’s and Menno’s puppy did. And when it got big, it would never hurt him with his horns. They would be best friends, and he would always have someone to play with.

  “Hurry up, Davey.” Memmi’s voice came from far ahead. “Don’t fall behind.”

  He and his lamb ran fast through the sinking sand and it never grabbed his ankles and pulled him under. When he got to the Yoders’ farm, he jumped on a tall stump next to the road. William waved to him.

  “Davey, come on. We’re playing Indians. You can build your house over there.”

  Davey built his Indian house out of branches William and Gideon had dragged out of the woods, while Rachael helped. They played until dinnertime, and then Gideon and Rachael had to take a nap while William went to help his daed in the fields. Davey sat alone on the front porch. Through the window he could hear Memmi’s voice, along with William’s mamm and Grossmutti. He leaned against the post by the steps, but his eyes kept closing.

  His head bobbed and he jerked awake. If Memmi caught him sleeping, she’d make him take a nap like Gideon and Rachael. He jumped up, ran to his Indian house, and crawled inside. Now that his house was finished, he should go hunting. Maybe he would find a deer and shoot it with his bow.

  Davey looked around. He didn’t have a bow, but he had a fishing pole. He would catch a fish instead of a deer. Both were good.

  His fishing pole was hanging on the barn wall.

  He ran home and into the barn. He stopped in the doorway, then walked on his toes, like an Indian, until he reached the horses’ stalls. All was quiet. Henry and Grossdatti had taken their dinner pails with them to work. No one was around. No one would see him take his fishing pole to the river.

  The silence of the barn loomed above and behind him. Davey looked straight into the dark corner, but no wolf or Indian was there. He was alone. The only sound in the quiet afternoon was the chopping of Grossdatti’s ax far away in the woods.

  He reached his hand toward the fishing rod. Nothing happened.
No one stopped him. He grabbed the rod, balanced it over his shoulder, and ducked out of the barn.

  The sunshine bore down on Davey’s head as he walked toward the river. He moved to the edge of the road. The center was too open. The hand that held the fishing rod was wet, as if he had dunked it under water. He stopped and wiped his hand on his trousers, looking back toward the barn and the house. No one was around. No one could see him.

  When he brought home a string of fish, then Memmi would be proud. Henry, too. He could bring home enough fish to feed everyone.

  He started trotting toward the river.

  Naomi fingered the indigo-dyed skein of yarn Annalise had given her and eyed the warping board while Mamm watched. Annalise had tied the end of the skein onto the yarn already threaded on the board, so Naomi was ready to continue the pattern her teacher had started. She reached for the top peg.

  “Remember,” Annalise said, her voice gentle behind Naomi’s left shoulder, “this time you go over, under, over, and then back and forth on the pegs.”

  Naomi let the yarn slide between her fingers as she followed the path on the warping board. The board was a square frame, about four feet wide, with pegs at intervals on four sides. When she reached the bottom, she wove the yarn under, over, under, around, and then started the path back up. Over and over.

  “How many threads did you say we needed?” Naomi grunted as she reached for the top peg again.

  “Six hundred to make a full width of cloth.” Annalise grasped Naomi’s hand. “The tension isn’t even. Remember to let the thread out from between your fingers at a steady pace, just like when we were spinning the thread, and keep your arm moving at a steady pace too. Each of the threads needs to be like the others.”

  Mamm stepped forward to run her fingers over the threads already wound on the board. “Uniform and consistent. The order gives the warping threads a beauty all their own.”

  “I think so too,” Annalise answered as she watched Naomi’s endless motion. “Each conforms to the other.”

  Naomi kept winding. When she reached a tangle in the skein, Mamm took it from her and sorted out the knot while Naomi continued. When she reached the end of the yarn, Annalise took it and counted the threads on the board.