by Mary Ellis
Rachel clapped her hands. “That is great news! Much better than mine, I’m afraid. The singing went fine, but afterward Reuben Mullet occupied all my time talking about his dairy herd. I don’t know how I can meet the rest of the district if he monopolizes every minute.”
Jake tried to act sympathetic while inside he celebrated hapless Reuben shooting himself in the foot. One competitor out of the running.
Too soon they arrived at the First Baptist Church of Charm. Rachel sprang out of the vehicle. “I noticed this church’s steeple when I arrived in town. Now I get to see the inside too.” She clasped his hand as they hurried up the steps, not waiting for the call-to-worship bell or the rest of his family. Selecting a pew near the front, Rachel spent the time studying each new arrival to the sanctuary. During the service they shared a hymnal, bowed their heads in prayer, and listened intently to Reverend Bullock’s sermon. When they finally filed out into the cold rain, Rachel’s face was glowing.
“That was great! What an inspiring message. And to think I once asked if you were Christian. What a goose I was.” She skipped down the stone path, dodging puddles of standing water along the way.
Jake tried to keep up with her, feeling like a phony. She pegged him as genuinely spiritual, but wasn’t he just a poser, going through the motions?
Donna arrived at work dreading the meeting with her boss. She had avoided him for as long as possible, communicating through text messages and e-mails, and was conveniently out in the field whenever she knew he would be in the office. But Phil Richards refused to be put off any longer. When she walked into his office at nine o’clock, she was armed with a twenty-ounce cup of coffee and a stack of archived news printouts for ammunition.
“There you are, Cline!” he barked from behind his desk. “I started to think you skipped town with some Latin dance instructor and have been fudging your paperwork to keep the paychecks coming.”
“That might not be a bad plan, except I have two left feet.” She took the chair across from him.
Phil did not laugh. He didn’t even smile. “What’s going on with the Amish? Where are your numbers for new inoculations?”
“I’m here to update you.” She forced a smile. “The state techs and I finished our door-to-door canvass of the Amish and Mennonite homes in the county. Some agreed to have their families checked for the virus, but many refused to submit samples for the test.”
“I already know that much. That’s how we found the four new cases. How many vaccines did you administer?”
“Less than half a dozen.”
“That’s not good enough. What’s wrong with these people?” His face scrunched into an unappealing frown.
“There’s nothing wrong with them, Phil. If you will calm down, I’ll try to explain their logic.”
He appeared surprised at her response, but he clamped his mouth shut and settled back in his chair. “You have the floor, Mrs. Cline.”
“Most felt the collection of stool samples to be embarrassingly invasive of their privacy, even after I explained about the new cases of polio. They asked if any of the children had become paralyzed and I had to say no.”
“Why are you giving them reasons not to immunize?”
“I’m not, but I researched this to the best of my abilities. These children don’t have the wild polio virus that can paralyze. The last case of wild polio in the US was in 1979, and three of the four children in Charm are asymptomatic, like ninety-five percent of all infections. Even in the sick little girl, no one would have discovered polio if she hadn’t been hospitalized from other conditions.”
“What about the five percent who do catch polio?” Phil leaned across his desk. “You wouldn’t want one of your kids to be one of them.”
“True, but the virus so closely resembles the flu that most parents don’t realize what they have. The children recover completely within a week and will have lifetime immunity. Less than one percent of cases result in paralysis, and even many of those recover eventually. More American children drown each year taking baths, but the CDC hasn’t banned bathtubs.”
Phil narrowed his eyes. “I hope you haven’t been spouting your research to the county residents.”
“No, I haven’t, not unless someone asks a direct question. But with people leery about potential toxins in vaccines, how could I just ram this down their throats?”
“Maybe because it’s your job.”
Donna sucked in a deep breath. “For the record, Phil, I had my kids immunized and have never regretted the decision. But there are two sides to this issue.”
He squinted as though focusing on small print without his glasses. “But you only work for one side.”
“One Mennonite woman asked me how the first child contracted the virus. I said I didn’t know but I would look into it.”
“Well, as the hospital researchers and pediatricians don’t even know, what did you come up with, Sherlock Holmes?”
“We’ll never know for sure, but tests show the child’s virus was almost identical to the oral polio vaccine given throughout the world, but not in the US since 2000. Based on how the virus mutates, it’s been circulating for two years. Yet the little girl never left the country.” She crossed her arms.
“I read all this, Donna. Get to your point.” Phil picked up a folder from the stack.
“The child had been shuffled between four hospitals while trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. That’s where she caught it—in the hospital. Maybe a foreign health care worker didn’t receive enough vaccine to trigger immunity and passed the virus to her. Now this little girl is a carrier. Why should the Amish, who choose to separate from the world, trust our system? And with the girl’s compromised immunity, her polio might very well become paralytic.”
Phil scraped his face with his hands. “You’re making a lot of assumptions, Cline. And even if the child caught it in the hospital, what does it matter? Folks travel, including the Amish. Nobody can remain separate in the world anymore. You’ll never know if that person sitting next to you in the bus station is a carrier or not. People who don’t know they’re infected can spread it for two months. If twenty-five people got sick, twenty thousand more could have the virus if they haven’t been immunized. Our job is prevention, period.”
She sighed heavily. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Then go back there and give them the worst-case scenario. You need to explain that this can turn into a powder keg down the road. I want every family tested so we know exactly where we stand. Go to their leaders. No disease is eradicated as long as Americans travel overseas.”
She rose slowly to her feet. “I’ll call on the bishop again.”
“Donna, your job is to protect the health and well-being of county residents, and testing won’t endanger kids or step on anybody’s toes.”
“I understand, Phil.” She tried to keep her frustration out of her response.
“I want a full report in two weeks detailing your success rate. If you don’t like your job, you could look into cake decorating or telemarketing.”
He was only half joking. But what did she expect?
That afternoon she stopped on her way home from work to talk to her pastor. Although her church didn’t use a small, wooden enclosure to divulge sins and shameful behavior like the Roman Catholics, nevertheless, Donna needed to purge a guilty conscience. She had allowed her desire to respect Amish autonomy to cloud her judgment as a nurse and medical professional. So she sat knee-to-knee with her minister, pouring out the crux of her inadequacies.
When she finished, he placed his hand atop hers. “It sounds as though you’ve had a change of heart since beginning this project.”
“My boss made some valid points, but I want to do what’s right. This just isn’t as black and white as I’d like it to be.”
“Few things in life are, Donna. You’ve been using Internet research and medical statistics to deal with this. Maybe it’s time to consult the Lord. Then listen to what’s i
n your heart instead of only what’s in your head. God will help if you seek direction.” He patted her hand as though she were a child.
When she left his office she felt disappointed. Send the matter up in prayer? Wasn’t that always a clergyman’s answer? Did he really think that worked with everything? But why not give it a try? She’d already talked the subject into a circle.
Maybe it was time to try another approach.
FOURTEEN
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures
Wash day had its own cadence and rhythm. Rachel and Sarah would fix a large pot of soup to cook all day that would be ready for supper. The women coordinated tasks to have laundry and linens washed and dried by noontime. After their lunch of sandwiches and canned pickled vegetables, Sarah would bundle up and head to the barns to gather eggs, unable to stay away from her beloved birds for long. While Isaac tended other endless chicken chores, Sarah spent hours washing and sorting eggs by size and color.
Rachel gratefully stayed indoors—a good place to be in cold weather—and appreciated three hours to herself. While ironing dresses and Isaac’s shirts, she thought about yesterday and her future in general. It was easy to let things happen, to drift along through life-changing events with only minor consideration. But those minor changes eventually added up to a new identity for Rachel King.
Plugging in the electric iron, she thought about how even one household appliance impacted her life. Sarah’s Mennonite district permitted electricity from the grid for both homes and businesses. Although they still farmed with Belgians and drove horse and buggy rigs, electricity provided convenience and leisure Rachel hadn’t known in Lancaster County. With so many electric lights, families stayed up longer in the evening. Candlelight or kerosene lamps turned low caused eyelids to droop soon after sunset. Although the King family used a propane refrigerator, stove, and washing machine, they hung laundry on outdoor clotheslines in fair weather and on ropes strung across porches in foul. They used no vacuum cleaner, toaster, or food processor. They heated the house with three wood-burning stoves—one in the kitchen, another in the living room, and a third in her parents’ bedroom. They used a small potbelly only with a newborn at home, or on days with single-digit temperatures. Vents cut in the downstairs ceiling allowed heat to rise into the upstairs bedrooms, but she and her sisters had often slept wearing socks under heavy quilts.
Was Rachel becoming spoiled? No doubt about it. Life would take some readjustment when she returned to Lancaster. But it wasn’t easier chores that worried her this chilly December afternoon. She and Jake had taken another step toward the irrevocable chasm separating their two worlds. One step closer to the point of no return every Amish youth was warned about.
She had loved the Baptist church service down to the last detail—voices raised in songs of praise, folks giving testimonials about how the Lord had worked in their lives, even the minister’s sermon. His message had convicted her of self-absorption and inspired her to try harder during the upcoming week. Who could ask for more? Not that she found Amish preaching lacking in any way, but standing by Jake’s side had felt…right. Rachel gave her Sunday dress a few more swipes with the iron and hung it on a hanger. That was the long and short of it—Jake Brady. She never would have attended an English church if not for him.
When she returned home, Sarah and Isaac had studied her carefully, as though she might have grown an extra appendage. “What was so special about the Charm church?” Sarah had asked.
“Louder music.”
“Did people inquire about your clothes?”
“Nein. I drew a bit of attention, but everybody just smiled or nodded at me.”
“Did they have a big potluck afterward?” Sarah’s curiosity escalated.
“Not today, but Jake said they sometimes have church picnics in the summer. Everyone brings food to share to the pavilion behind the church.”
“Jake.” The tone of Sarah’s one-word reply changed the mood of their conversation. “Jake Brady had no business asking you to join his family as though you were his girlfriend.” She stomped off to check on her brooding hens, ending further discussion about Sunday afternoon.
Rachel didn’t mention she’d accompanied the Brady clan to a sit-down restaurant near the interstate. Half the Baptist congregation had been there or arrived during the meal. Everyone had waved or called cheery greetings. She also didn’t speak of the stroll huddled under a huge umbrella, enjoying the last autumn foliage in downtown Charm. Their kiss, shared beneath a glorious red oak, would also remain a secret. Rachel would savor the tender memory well into old age while bouncing kinskinner on her knee.
Just like it was easy to become spoiled by the electrical appliances in Sarah’s home, Rachel could effortlessly slip into Jake’s world. She already felt too comfortable with him and too much part of the Brady family. It would be easy to stop at the discount store on her day off for a few English dresses or skirts to wear to Jake’s church services. Or maybe buy a few pretty sweaters and certainly an extra pair of jeans for future trips to Somerset or to Bread of Life.
Before she knew it, she would be running around without her kapp, while the Plain dresses lovingly sewn by her late mother gathered dust in the closet, relics of her former life. Mamm. What would she say about Rachel’s behavior since she had found a job at Twelve Elms Stables? What wouldn’t she say? “Is this how your daed and I raised our four dochders to behave?” That had been Edna King’s exclamation whenever working the garden turned into a hose-drenching free-for-all or the basket of weeds ended up on Beth’s head.
Indeed not, but Rachel felt trapped like the hapless moth in a sticky spider web. The more she fought her circumstances, the more ensnared she became. She adored working with horses at Twelve Elms. But if she wasn’t careful, she would fall in love with Jake. He was so handsome, so kindhearted, so attentive…and so wrong for her. Deep inside Rachel hadn’t changed. She loved being Amish. If she left her faith, she would have to leave behind her beloved sisters and close the door on a world that had nurtured and protected her. She would shame the memory of her parents and break grossmammi’s heart.
She had assured Sarah that she could peek at the English world without wishing to join it, but she’d better not keep peeking at Jake or she would never find a suitable mate among her Plain brethren. It wasn’t his handsome face or fast truck or fancy horse farm that was hard to resist. It was how he made her feel about herself. And falling in love with him would be a major mistake.
“I said, could you help me take down and fold the sheets?” Sarah’s question finally registered. “What has you so distracted?”
“Of course I’ll help.” Rachel shook away her fog. “Is it all right if I drive to Becky’s tomorrow after we clean house? I’ve not spent nearly enough time with my new friends here.”
“It’s fine with me. People will stop inviting you to things if you don’t show some interest.” Sarah smoothed out her wrinkled apron on their way out to the porch.
“I would really like to know if Josh has any brothers. I need to expand my horizons, even in a small town like Charm.”
Sarah slapped her on the back, hard enough to cause Rachel to stumble. “That’s a great idea! Finally, I might have some good news to report to our grossmammi.”
Second Wednesday in December
Jake reached for a ream of paper to fill the printer and spilled his cup of coffee. Only his quick reflexes prevented liquid from flowing onto the computer keyboard. He muttered a rude word under his breath and then pulled off his sweatshirt to blot the mess.
“You’re no longer fond of the Kentucky Wildcats?” His father stood in the doorway, running a hand along the back of his neck.
Jake realized the sweatshirt supported his favorite college basketball team and his parents’ alma mater. “The Wildcats are fine and dandy, but coffee into the keyboard would be disastrous. I can always wash this.” He wiped the desktop one last time before balling up his
shirt.
“Rachel just called.”
Jake immediately stopped fussing with the spilled coffee and gave his dad his undivided attention. “What did she say?”
“That she isn’t feeling well and won’t be in to work today.” Ken jammed both hands into his back pockets.
“Is it serious? What’s wrong with her? Is there something I can do?”
His father grinned. “I’m sure it’s not life threatening. She probably caught one of the bugs making the rounds.”
Jake swallowed down his next stupid question but not his anxiety. He didn’t wish to appear like a nervous Nellie. “The last time we talked, she didn’t mention she was coming down with anything.”
“That’s how rude viruses tend to be—showing up without any warning. It’s probably just a cold, son, not the bubonic plague.” Ken’s guffaws could be heard halfway to the kitchen.
Shaking off his dad’s inane remark, Jake returned to his computer screen. With Rachel out for the day, he had little incentive to finish paperwork and head to the arena. There would be no lunchtime rides up to the pond or shared mugs of cocoa in the outdoor bleachers. He had to endure a full day without seeing her.
Jake checked his e-mail account for yesterday’s report on Eager to Please’s progress. Alan Hitchcock might be expensive, but the man was thorough. Almost daily he furnished the times and distances for each training sprint, plus measurements and weight changes every week. After poring over the figures, Jake began reducing his inbox one e-mail at a time. He’d nearly cut the clutter in half when his cell phone jangled. The fight song for the U of K jarred him from the screen’s hypnotic spell. “Jake Brady,” he said into the mouthpiece. He glanced at the unknown number displayed while advancing to the next e-mail.
“Hello, Mr. Brady? This is Alfred Terry of the Terry Point Investment Consortium. I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Alan Hitchcock gave me your cell number.” The voice on the other end sounded middle aged and well heeled, as though the man were wearing a thousand-dollar suit.