by Mary Ellis
“Not too good, I’m afraid.” She did her best not to sound defensive. “I found only one family who allowed me to administer the shots. The family has five children, but one was too young to receive. Only a handful of kids have been inoculated in the Amish and Mennonite communities in the area after all our canvassing.”
He frowned. “Did you explain you’re a registered nurse, licensed in this state to administer medications?”
“Yes, but questions regarding my training and expertise weren’t the issue.” She spotted a large moth trapped against the window glass. She longed to walk around his desk to set it free, perhaps feeling a bit of kinship with a bug.
“Then what in blazes is? You’ve had weeks on this. Did you go to every house that doesn’t send their kids to public schools?”
She trained her eyes on him to stay focused. “To the best of my knowledge, I did. Unless a family lives without mail delivery or isn’t listed on tax maps, I found them all. Some have already gotten their kids shots and the others possess definite ideas on the subject. They haven’t avoided vaccines because they never heard of them. They have their reasons.”
“I’d love to know what their reasons are.” His voice turned soft and controlled.
“A few think the shots could actually cause the disease.”
“That’s nonsense. That hasn’t happened in this country in years since we stopped using the oral Sabins.”
“Some believe the shots will lower a child’s overall immune system, making them more susceptible to unrelated maladies.”
“That’s an unproven theory that refuses to die.”
“I agree, but a few parents believe vaccines in general interfere with God’s will. If that’s their position, we can’t force them.”
“Whose side are you on?” His eyebrows drew together over the bridge of his nose.
“The State Board of Health’s, of course, but I’m not licensed to carry a gun to hold to people’s heads.”
“I could make that happen if you like…a few lessons, a discreet shoulder holster. You could be like one of those lady cops on TV.” He pantomimed a quick draw from beneath his armpit.
“Remember me? I’m one of those crazies who believes the Second Amendment needs to be retired to the history books.”
“Loosen up, Cline. I was joking.” He squinted down his nose at her. “Sounds to me like a few Amish parents did some hit-or-miss reading and convinced others of their so-called research. Aren’t there any leaders in the community you could talk sense to?”
“That would be the district bishop. He is the church leader for the twenty-five or thirty families in his area. There are several in Casey County. I talked to one I found an inroad with and got nowhere.”
“What do you have in mind in light of three more positives in Charm? You must have some insight into how their collective mind works.”
Donna felt a surge of resentment from his word choice. Collective mind? These were Amish and Mennonite Christians, not a colony of aliens that beamed down from a yet-to-be-discovered planet. Mothers and fathers who wanted only what was best for their children. But because he was correct about her and Pete needing to put two daughters through college, Donna selected her words carefully. “There is no easily influenced collective mind, but I will try speaking to a bishop on the other side of the county, away from Charm. What affects one will affect all. Maybe a different bishop will be more medically progressive in his thinking and will be willing to exert some influence.”
“Good idea. Get right on that. Finish up those reports you’re in the middle of, put whatever else on the back burner, and give this top priority.” He picked up a paper on his desk to peruse. “What are you still doing in my office, Mrs. Cline?” He was only half teasing.
“I plan to first do my own reading on the status of this disease along with current research on these vaccines. I don’t want to enter any debates without full information about potential risks and side effects.” She straightened from his uncomfortable plastic chair.
“Whatever it takes to get those Amish kids lining up for shots is fine with me. It’s not only polio we’re worried about. We need to protect the kids of Casey County and surrounding areas from mumps, chicken pox, measles, hepatitis B, and a whole variety of infectious viruses.” Phil focused in earnest on his stack of reports.
Donna retreated sheeplike from the room. But what else could she do? Argue against something that as a medical professional she believed in? But she also was a firm believer in personal choice for American citizens. Too often government bureaucracies only presented medical evidence which supported their current position. Often years down the road more in-depth research revealed a different conclusion altogether. Sitting down in front of her monitor, Donna clicked on a popular search engine. A little more time behind her desk before she hit the field wouldn’t hurt a thing.
Rachel let the shower stream run down her back and shoulders far longer than necessary. She washed her hair, applied conditioner, and aimed the showerhead at her sore muscles. Today’s mounted ride had been more tiring than others. And exhausted was the last thing she wanted to be. After drying her hair, she wrapped it in a bun and put on her prettiest dress in a deep shade of lavender.
Sarah did a double take when Rachel emerged from the bathroom. “I’ve not seen that one yet. You Pennsylvania gals are quite the fashion plates of the Plain world, jah?”
“Nein, not really. I just save this one for special occasions.” She walked to the cutting board on the counter and began slicing tomatoes, cucumbers, and celery for the salad.
“What’s the occasion? Did Bonnie or Ruby get word to you about the singing tonight? I hope Josh picks you up. The hosting family lives several miles away.”
Rachel regretted her word choice regarding the dress as her mind spun with ideas. She carried the finished salad to the table and distributed plates, forks, and cups. “I’m not going to the singing.”
“Then where are you headed in your special dress?”
Isaac shuffled into the room and sat down. “If your cousin thought it was your business, fraa, she would tell you.” He winked at his wife and then bowed his head.
Sarah carried over the pot of beef stew and bowed hers for silent prayer. Then her eyes practically bored holes through Rachel’s forehead.
Rachel ladled one small scoop of stew but took a full plate of greens. “It’s no secret. And Sarah may ask anything she likes. Jake is picking me up in thirty minutes.”
“You’re scheduled to work on a Saturday night?” Sarah filled her bowl and Isaac’s.
“It’s not work. He’s taking me to supper in Charm.”
“Then why are you eating?” asked Isaac—the man who seldom spoke and never asked questions of her.
She flushed. “Because I’m starving, but I don’t want to eat like a brood sow in front of him.
Isaac’s confused expression remained while Sarah snorted, perhaps in response to the porcine analogy. “Are you saying this is a date with him?” No one could mistake her opinion of that possibility.
“It’s not exactly a date. I told him I’m willing to see friends who are Amish, Mennonite or English because I don’t intend to get serious with anyone.”
Sarah swallowed a mouthful of salad. “I don’t see the point of seeing Englischers socially. That’s just wasting your time.” She speared a cherry tomato. “Will you take English clothes to change into later?”
“No, I plan to wear this all night.” Rachel was careful not to drip salad dressing on her outfit.
Isaac held up his bowl for a refill. “Because you don’t see the point, fraa, aren’t you glad you married me and don’t need to concern yourself?” His right brow arched.
“Of course I am.” Sarah remained silent from then on, but she glanced across the table at her young cousin surreptitiously.
Rachel finished as quickly as possible and washed her dishes. “I’ll take my key in case you’re already in bed.”
“Wh
y would we go to bed early?” Sarah placed a hand on her hip.
“Just in case. Sounds like he’s here.” Rachel grabbed her purse and sweater and sprang out the door at the first sound of a car.
Jake turned around and opened the passenger door. “You look awfully nice tonight,” he said when she climbed in.
“Which is it—awful or nice? And where are we headed?” She buckled her seat belt on the second try.
“Definitely nice. It’s a restaurant you might like called Bread of Life. I hope you’re hungry. They have a delicious buffet or you can order off the menu. The owners are Mennonite. And they have a sundae bar for dessert.”
“Good choice, not too far away. I’ve been there with my cousin.” Rachel regretted eating half a supper, borne of pride and vanity.
“I won’t keep you out late because you’re probably going to church tomorrow.”
She tried shifting under the restrictive belt but almost strangled herself. “Won’t you attend your church? Or do you have services a different day?”
“I’ll go if someone twists my arm.” Jake passed a car at high speed.
“Why would that be necessary?”
He wet his lips with his tongue. “It shouldn’t be, I suppose, but let’s talk about something else. My dad and I discussed a price for Calamity Jane if you’re still interested.”
Rachel fought the seat belt to face him. “You bet I am! What price did you decide on?”
“She’s a fine mare who gave us several nice colts, but now she’s simply a gentle riding horse, not worth so much as in her younger years. We thought four hundred dollars would be fair.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jake. Jane is worth far more than that. I have money from the sale of my parents’ farm, so charge me what you would anybody else.”
Jake kept his focus on the road. “Her price is four hundred dollars. I suggest you accept the deal, Miss King, because Monday morning I’m posting an ad in the break room that Calamity Jane is for sale. Someone else will snap her up by noon.”
Crossing her arms, Rachel took less than a moment to decide. “I’ll take her. You’ll have my check on Monday.” He was being overly generous, but she couldn’t take a chance of someone else buying her horse.
Jake’s hand left the steering wheel long enough to shake. “You drove a hard bargain, Miss King.”
“And I believe I’ve taken advantage of our friendship.” Nevertheless, she couldn’t sit still from her excitement.
Within ten minutes they pulled into a parking lot full of cars, a few buggies around back, and one bus. He opened her door and reached for her hand. “I’ll put a sign on Jane’s stall: Owner—Rachel King, Charm, Kentucky.” Jake dropped her hand and formed a square with his fingers.
“Don’t tell her yet. I want to be the one to break the news that I’m her mamm.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Now that you mention it, I see the family resemblance in the long legs and silky hair.”
She flushed. “Because Jane is absolutely beautiful, I thank you for the compliment.”
Inside the restaurant they browsed among the gifts until someone called the name Brady. The hostess led them to a table in the back. “What looks good to you?” he asked once she left.
“The buffet, what else?” Rachel closed the menu and tried not to stare at her dinner companion. She had painfully little experience with courting.
“The buffet for both of us,” he said to their waitress. “With sweet tea.”
“Help yourself, folks.” The young woman had barely uttered the words when Rachel sprang to her feet, out of anxiety not hunger.
Neither took much time selecting food. Jake loaded his plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a huge serving of salad. Rachel bypassed the chicken, choosing ham and corn on the cob instead. Later, they opted to split a strawberry sundae for dessert, although she couldn’t eat more than two bites.
When the sundae was nothing but melted cream in the bottom of the bowl, Jake set down his spoon. “Mark your calendar for four weeks from today—the second Saturday in November.” He wiped his sticky hands on a napkin.
“What’s going on?” Rachel took a sip of iced tea.
“It’s the Twelve Elms annual rodeo to benefit juvenile diabetes. We’ve lined up professional riders who’ll volunteer their talents. Then our students will put on a show, followed by a western barbecue during the late afternoon. In the evening, we auction off donated prizes and gift certificates to the highest bidder.”
Rachel pressed a hand down on her stomach. “The barbecue will sound great the day of the rodeo. Right now, not so much. Will I have mounted tours that day?”
“No, we don’t schedule rides during our fund-raiser. You could take the day off, but I would love it if you showed up. I invited the school for the blind as our nonpaying guests. You could sit with Bethany and explain what’s happening in the arena.”
“How much for a ticket?”
“Thirty bucks, except for Brady employees who work the show. They get in for free.” Jake leaned back in his chair. “That goes for everybody, so don’t get antsy.”
For the third time that night, Rachel caught a whiff of Jake’s spicy aftershave. She loved the scent because it reminded her of baking day in mamm’s kitchen. “I wouldn’t mind paying the fee because it’s for a good cause. Count me in! I will be happy to be Bethany’s eyes for the day. I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon.” Rachel licked the last of the strawberry jam from her spoon and placed it in the empty bowl. Then she blushed, feeling Jake’s gaze on her.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me along with Reuben and John.” His handsome face turned serious. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long while.”
“Think nothing of it. I’ve enjoyed your company as well.”
As though her statement required proof, Rachel couldn’t stop smiling, not at the table, not wandering the shop while he paid the bill, not even on the drive back to the Stolls’. But she knew she had better stop speaking the truth to Jake Brady or she would find herself beyond a point of no return with an Englischer.
Sunday morning
Jake turned over and buried his head beneath the goose down pillow, trying to return to his sweet dream about Rachel. In his dream, they were at some sort of a play or show. She had her arm affectionately looped around his waist with her head on his shoulder.
“Jake.”
Rachel called his name in her melodic voice, perhaps from across the room or better yet, from the kitchen of their first home together as newlyweds.
“Jake! Are you awake? I need to speak to you.”
He bolted upright and shook off the last pleasant vestiges of his dream. It hadn’t been the gentle voice of his beloved Rachel, but the exasperated tone of his mother.
“Give me a minute,” he called, pulling on sweatpants. Jake opened the door a few inches.
His mom stood before him without makeup and with her hair damp from the shower. “Goodness, a freight train outside your window couldn’t wake you.”
“What time is it?” He scratched his stubbly chin.
“Almost seven thirty. Time to get up.”
The dense fog slowly began to clear. “Wait a minute. It’s Sunday, my only day to sleep in.”
Taylor nudged the door wider with her knee. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. It’s also the Sabbath, and your family goes to the nine o’clock service.”
“Thanks for the invite, Mom, but I’m bushed. This is my chance to catch up on beauty sleep.” He tried closing the door, but her foot was quicker than his slow reactions that morning.
“When was the last time you joined us at church? You always liked attending Sunday school and VBS when you were a little boy.”
Jake shook his head. “Mom, you’ve been working too many hours. I’m twenty-three years old, not seven.”
“So you’ve outgrown your faith? You don’t consider yourself Baptist or even a Christian anymore?
”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just exhausted. It’s been a tough week. Maybe next Sunday.” He started to close the door.
“That’s not good enough, son.” She pushed the door open and walked into his room. “While you live under our roof, you’ll follow our example. This family worships on Sunday mornings. When you get your own place, you can make your own rules.” She crossed her arms.
“You must be joking. You’re going to make me go to church? Force religion down my throat? I thought America was a free country.”
“America might be, but this is still your dad’s household. And we’d like you to set a better example for Virgil.”
Jake scraped his face with his hands. What has gotten into her? She had never made a fuss about attending services. He went four or five times a year to keep them happy. When he met her gaze, she looked as determined as him. “Fine. I’ll take a shower and meet you downstairs.”
Taylor turned on her heel and marched out the door. No “thank-you” or “atta-boy” or anything.
But he saw no point making this into a big deal—it was an hour out of his week beside the drive time. No one would know what he thought about while the minister droned on about turning the other cheek or the narrow road to heaven. Jake had nothing against religion, but at his age he felt he had plenty of time to worry about making amends. Of course he believed in God, but as far as an up-close-and-personal relationship? He had no time for that. He was too busy working to sin anyway. He didn’t drink more than an occasional beer, never swore since the time his grandmother washed his mouth with soap, and never set foot inside one of those girly dance clubs. The two bachelor parties he attended had been at a racetrack, where they had eaten spicy nachos and made two-dollar bets all evening. He would worry about heaven when he was an old man.
An hour later, dressed in chinos with a polo shirt, Jake arrived in the kitchen. It was the first time he had worn clothes other than jeans in months. “Good morning, everyone.”
Virgil and Keeley’s eyes bugged from their faces. “Who are you? And what have you done with our brother?”