by Mary Ellis
“There you are.” Sarah bustled into the kitchen. “Isaac just about swatted my backside for letting you leave on such a cold day like this. I told my ehemann that imprisoning women was frowned on in the state of Kentucky.” Sarah filled the kettle at the sink and set it on a burner to heat. Then she noticed Rachel’s blanched face. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling poorly again?” She pressed her fingers to her cousin’s brow.
Maybe it was due to Sarah’s tender ministrations, coming on the heels of the bishop’s patient counsel, but Rachel burst into tears.
“Goodness, should I send Isaac for the doctor or maybe call nine-one-one?” Sarah wrung her hands in her apron. “Can I help you to your room to lie down?”
“Neither, but I would love a cup of coffee if there’s any left from lunch.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “And maybe a slice of pie might help too, if those aren’t already spoken for.” Slumping onto a chair, she caught Sarah’s skeptical expression.
“So you’re not still sick, but you are crying. I take it things didn’t go well at Bishop Mast’s?”
Rachel buried her face in her hands. “You could say that.”
Sarah placed two mugs of coffee on the table before sitting down with the pie, two plates, two forks, and a knife. “Did he bawl you out for going to an English church when we have a perfectly fine Mennonite one in Charm?”
“Nein. He was very kind and patient with me.” Rachel words sounded muffled from beneath her hands.
“Then I suppose you didn’t tell him what you’ve been doing—dating an Englischer. And not just any Englischer, but your boss of all things. That’s the stuff they make into bad television shows.” Wrinkling her nose, Sarah attacked the pie with her sharp blade.
Rachel peered up, dabbing her face with a paper napkin. “No, I told him the truth. I asked him questions about the Baptist faith and how it differs from the Amish and Mennonite.”
“And what he said made you cry?” She slid large slices onto plates. “I told you not to monkey around tempting the Lord’s disfavor.” Sarah handed Rachel one of the mugs.
“Actually, he explained there’s not that much difference between the Christian sects in theology.”
Sarah tilted her head to one side. “Then why are you sobbing as though the world were about to end?”
“Because my world is about to. The big difference comes with the Amish lifestyle compared to the English. The bishop made me realize I can’t just turn Baptist. I would have to leave behind everything and everyone I know and love.” A floodgate of tears opened anew.
“You don’t want to stop being Amish?”
“I don’t. That’s why I’m miserable. I’m in love with Jake Brady, and I don’t want to be.” Rachel cut off a piece of pie with her fork, but it tasted dry and flavorless on her tongue. She swallowed it down with a gulp of coffee.
Sarah could have said “I told you so,” or “See what happens when you don’t take grossmammi’s advice?” But she didn’t. Instead, her eyes grew moist and shiny. “Eat more pie. That usually helps when I’m upset with life.” She sipped her coffee with a face filled with pity.
Rachel tried another bite, noticing this time the crust tasted far less dry. “I didn’t want to fall in love with him, Sarah. It just happened.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t date Englischers. Stuff like that happens when a person’s young.”
Rachel scraped the remaining apples from the crust. “You talk as though you’re fifty years old.”
“I’m old enough to know that broken hearts heal with time. You would be shocked at how fast too.” Sarah pushed the pie pan across the table. “What are you going to do—quit your job? That’s what I would recommend.” She began to devour her slice.
“No, I love my job. I don’t want to leave Twelve Elms.”
“You can’t live in two worlds forever, Rachel. Sooner or later you will have to choose. Why prolong your misery? Look at you—shedding tears all over my fresh-baked apple pie.”
Rachel waited until they had both finished eating before answering. “I’ll never have a job like this again. I love working with horses.” Emotion began to clog her throat as her limbs grew weary. “But I will certainly break up with Jake. He’s not my boss anymore since I was promoted to exercise girl. With any luck, once I make it clear we can’t be friends he and I will rarely cross paths.” She lifted her eyes to meet her cousin’s gaze.
Sarah sighed. “It’s not luck you need, but the providence of the Lord. He is the only one who can help you heal.”
“Truly, Sarah, I’ll be fine at the stable. But if I’m uncomfortable, then I’ll quit.” A large tear dripped from her chin.
“I trust your judgment. If you’re feeling okay, why not come to church with Isaac and me tomorrow? Maybe we’ll go visiting in the afternoon, somewhere where there are young men who are your own kind. Right now, go upstairs and take a nap. You look terrible. I don’t need help fixing dinner. I can cook chicken and dumplings in my sleep.” She sprang up, the girl-time drawing to a close.
“You and Isaac are silver-tongued flatterers. He told me I looked like a ghost.” Rachel set her plate and mug in the sink.
“Isaac said that? Used the word ‘ghost’? There’s no such thing.” Sarah dug in the cupboard for her big pot.
“There was a plastic one hanging from the ceiling in Kmart. Apparently she and I are dead ringers.” Rachel patted Sarah’s shoulder on her way out of the kitchen. “ Danki for cutting up the pie early.”
“What are cousins for?” Sarah cast her one last solemn look.
Up in her room, Rachel slipped off her apron and shoes and then crawled beneath the quilt with her dress on. She closed her eyes, but despite her fatigue, sleep refused to come. The enormity of what she’d just admitted to Sarah, along with what lay ahead, welled up inside her. She would have to look Jake in the eye and say they had no future together. His being English made all the difference in the world. Christians might all be the same under the skin, but being Plain was a lifetime of choices. Choices that kept them separate from others. How ashamed she felt to have encouraged his attentions…ashamed and selfish.
All the sweet apple pie in the world couldn’t take that bitter taste away.
The last person Donna expected to hear from on a rainy Tuesday morning was an Amish tour guide.
“Hello, Donna? This is Rachel King.”
She leaned back from her daunting stack of case files and focused out her steamy window, not seeing anything. “How are you, Rachel?”
“I’m fine now, but I had a bad cold recently. Thank goodness, it wasn’t polio, jah? While I was sick in bed I thought about you. How is your project coming along to vaccinate folks?”
Donna thought about what to say and opted for complete honesty. “Not that well, I’m afraid. Folks heard that the sick little girl might have caught the virus from a health care worker and they don’t wish to cooperate.”
“Is that how she got sick?”
“We don’t know. We’ll probably never know for sure, but it’s possible. I’ve done more research on the topic and realized that regardless of where the child contracted it, this situation is very serious. Plain folks cannot afford to ignore polio or other communicable diseases any longer.”
“Dear me, I’d hoped for better news. I told my grandmother about meeting you and about the four positive tests for polio here in Charm. She still remembers when state authorities came to Pennsylvania and set up clinics all over town. About a third of the folks got the shots, including my granny.”
“Your grandmother lives in Lancaster?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am visiting a cousin who lives here.”
Donna’s head swam with ideas. “I need another audience with the Mennonite bishop. Do you think you or Sarah could arrange this again? He and I need to discuss this, and I’d love to have you there too.”
There was the briefest of hesitations. “Sure. Why don’t you come talk to Sarah and me today. I will be going back to
work tomorrow.”
Donna consulted her day planner of staff meetings and routine appointments with lab techs and then shut the book. “When would you like me to come?”
“How about now? Sarah and I are cleaning house. Any excuse that takes us away from that would be fine with us.” The young woman giggled.
Checking her watch, Donna scrambled to her feet. “I can be at the Stolls’ in thirty minutes or less.”
“We’ll be ready with a pot of coffee. If you’re lucky, maybe one of the pumpkin pies will be ready to eat.”
“I’m plenty lucky just to have met you, Rachel, with or without pumpkin pie.”
When Donna pulled up at the chicken farm’s back door, the two women walked onto the porch, dressed in heavy wool with full bonnets. The offer of refreshments appeared to have been rescinded. “Good afternoon,” she called, opening the car door. But before Donna could step out, they bustled down the steps and climbed inside her sedan—Sarah into the backseat again, with Rachel up front. “Does this mean we’re calling on Bishop Mast today?”
“I thought you said you needed to talk to him,” Sarah said, slamming the car door twice as hard as necessary.
“I do, but I assumed it must be arranged in advance—”
“It’s Tuesday. Where would a farmer be in December? I called his fraa. She said he’s home. I said we would come, so let’s get going. I don’t like leaving my chickens alone for too long.”
Rachel pivoted on the seat just enough to reveal her smile. “Even better than pumpkin pie and coffee, jah?”
“Definitely, jah. Thank you, Sarah. Off we go.”
When they arrived at the small, modest farm, the bishop’s wife met them at the door. “It’s too cold for the porch today. Go sit in the living room, although there won’t be much of a fire until the evening. I’ll holler out to James in the barn.” Mrs. Mast pointed down the hallway with a thin finger. “Don’t bother hanging up your coats. You probably won’t be staying that long.”
Sarah led the way, while Rachel and Donna exchanged an amused look. Once they were seated in the austere front room, they had only minutes to wait.
Bishop Mast entered the room with a stiff gait. “Mrs. Cline, Sarah,” he greeted. “Good to see you again so soon, Rachel.” He patted the young woman’s shoulder on his way to the rocking chair. He waited to address Donna until he had lowered himself to the cushioned seat. “I suppose you bring me news about the sick little girl. Is she any better?”
Visions of the medical review board swam through Donna’s head. She could lose her job for divulging protected medical information to the public, yet the child’s mother assured her she wanted no one to contract this virus from her daughter or anyone else. “The child is quarantined in an undisclosed medical facility, where she receives treatment for her immune deficiency disorder. She hasn’t yet developed paralytic polio.”
“Thanks be to the Lord,” said the bishop. The three women echoed his sentiments.
“But due to her weakened resistance, her body hasn’t been able to shed the virus either, which is usually what happens by now. It’s hidden in her bloodstream, but it can be spread to others.”
“For how long?”
“It can hide for years, unless doctors can strengthen her body’s immune system to fight off the virus. No one will be allowed in contact with her who hasn’t been vaccinated.”
Sarah shifted on her chair. “Did her family get the shots?”
“They have.” Donna glanced at Sarah and then back at the bishop.
“Some people think she caught it in the hospital from a doctor or nurse.” The bishop’s tone was as smooth as warm milk. “Unfortunately, many will be even more reluctant to trust English hospitals.”
“She very well could have caught it from a health care worker, or from another child in the hospital, but in the end, it doesn’t matter for those of the Plain faith. You cannot separate yourselves from the world—not in this day and age.”
“How can you say it doesn’t matter?” He stopped rocking.
“Because an infected person could have the virus incubating for decades, all the while spreading it to those who are unprotected. If a person’s immunity becomes weakened, he or she could develop polio. The Amish and Mennonite travel throughout the US and Canada. They come in contact with other travelers in bus and train stations or in restaurants. It doesn’t have to be in a hospital. Because no one stays in one place anymore, the only way to be safe is to get the vaccine.”
“Have there been recent outbreaks?”
“In the last ten years, outbreaks have occurred in Africa, India, the Dominican Republic, and Haiti. Who knows how many people in those countries are carriers and don’t know it?”
The bishop paled. “Several Mennonite districts sent construction workers to Haiti to assist rebuilding after the earthquake. Things still aren’t right in that country. We must remember them in prayer.”
“That’s true, but we should do more than pray. We must make sure Casey County citizens are safe and stay that way.”
The elderly man stared out the window. “I will order every family in my district to be tested, and I’ll ask the other area bishops to do the same. But I cannot order members to get shots. That must be their choice.”
“I’m grateful for whatever help you give me. I’ll leave flyers to pass out that explain how and when samples will be collected.”
“I could write to my bishop in Pennsylvania,” said Rachel. All heads turned in her direction. “He’s as old as grossmammi, so he would remember when people came to Lancaster County to vaccinate for polio. Most children received the shots, but that was a long time ago. They have kinner of their own, even kinskinner, by now. My grandmother said she doesn’t remember anybody getting sick from the vaccines.”
“Do you think your bishop would be willing to travel here and talk to Kentucky folks?” Donna held her breath.
“I can ask. I’ll call tonight and ask him to call me from a payphone.”
“If he does, our grandmother will probably come too.” Sarah winked at Rachel. “She’s been itching for a chance to talk to you.”
Rachel blushed a shade of bright pink.
“Call as soon as possible,” said Bishop Mast. “We’ll hold a district meeting as soon as he and your grossmammi arrive.” He turned his focus back to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Cline, for your diligence. If it be God’s will, a crisis can still be avoided.” He rose shakily to his feet. “Let’s go have some cookies. My fraa whipped up a batch of chocolate chip the minute Sarah asked to stop by today. She only acts like she doesn’t like company.” His smile couldn’t be more genuine.
Jessie climbed stiffly out of her friend’s tiny two-seater, eager to stretch her legs and her back. The drive home from their Lexington campus took only a couple of hours, but she felt worn out. Sherry had spent nearly the entire ride talking about her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. She loved him. She loved him not.
All Sherry needed were daisy petals to pluck to help make her decision. Twelve Elms Stable had never looked so inviting as when they pulled up the lane, despite an overcast sky and a thick mist hanging in the air. “Thanks for the lift,” Jessie said. “Not having wheels on campus has its downside. I appreciate your letting me borrow yours this past year.” Jessie walked around to the back of the sports car.
“It has its disadvantages too. My mom is threatening to charge me for my share of the insurance premium. Like I’m not broke enough already.” Sherry popped open the trunk with her key fob.
“I can’t believe all our stuff fit in here.” Jessie peered at the assortment of boxes and bags. “I’ve never seen so much dirty laundry. Didn’t you ever use a washing machine all semester?”
“Why take the time when a mall is so close by? My dad said, ‘Buy what you need while at school.’” She lifted out one of Jessie’s two suitcases.
“It must be nice to have a rich father, even if he spends most of his life away on business. Where’s he now—Hong Kon
g or Dubai?”
“Geneva.” Sherry’s smile faltered. “I suppose it’s not so bad now that I’m no longer a kid, but I envied you with a dad always at home. Remember the time he measured the length of your skirts with a tape measure?”
“How could I forget? ‘No daughter of mine leaves the house with less than eighteen inches of fabric.’” Jessie emulated her father’s voice. “He made me return everything I bought to the store. There’s sweetly old fashioned and then there’s downright prehistoric.”
Both girls laughed as Jessie dragged the heavier of the two suitcases out of the trunk. “Have a great Christmas vacation, Sherry. And remember what I told you. If your mom goes skiing or anyplace else over the holidays, don’t sit home playing video games and texting your ex. Come spend Christmas with the Bradys. We’re just as ridiculous as that sitcom family in reruns.”
Sherry hugged Jessie fiercely. “Thanks, I might take you up on the offer whether Linda Sue takes off with her boyfriend or not. You have that irresistible sugarplum brother living under your roof.”
Jessie shook her head, amused whenever Sherry referred to her mother by her first name. “If you mean Jake, he still lives here, but I’m not so sure about the sugarplum part. Your memory appears to be flawed.”
Her friend climbed into her car and turned it around in a narrow arc. “My memory is just fine. Women cannot appreciate a good man if they are biologically connected. Keep your cell fully charged and turned on.” With a wave of her manicured hand, Sherry drove off toward the suburbs of Georgetown—another hour away.
Jessie dragged in her luggage, feeling a tad guilty about Sherry’s crush on her brother. Should she have mentioned that Jake was over the moon in love? And with an Amish girl, no less. Seeing them together in church when she came home for the weekend erased any doubt in her mind. And she was fairly certain Rachel felt the same way about him. But considering the circumstances, Jessie had kept silent about Jake’s intentions. How could it possibly work out? Would Rachel give up her bonnets and capes forever and then drive off to Florida to honeymoon at Disney World? Or would Jake turn in his belts for suspenders, his Reds baseball cap for a black wide-brim hat, and his pickup for a well-mannered Standardbred buggy horse?