“Is there any significance to the number?” Jenny asked.
“I didn’t find any at the time.”
“Didn’t you say that the tattoo was popular with men in the military?” Jenny asked.
Schumann nodded.
“Well, what if it’s some kind of identifying number like a dog tag or a social security number?”
Schumann’s eye’s brightened, and he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket and perched them on his nose to take a closer look. After a minute he looked at Jenny over the glasses.
“You know, Jenny, you may have something there,” Schumann said. “The Navy issued commission numbers to officers. By the end of the war there were at least three hundred sixty thousand of them. Most of the ones over a hundred twenty-five thousand were issued at the beginning of the war.”
Jenny looked at the Roman numerals. “What if these numerals actually represent a large number, and it was the only way to write it in this form. Let’s see. One, five, three, a break, and then three, five, and one. What if the number is actually this?” She wrote down the number.
Schumann stared at Jenny’s figures. “Jenny, you could be right. It would fit the pattern of naval commission numbers. Our boy could have been a Naval officer!”
“Where could we find a list of those numbers and who they were issued to?” Jenny asked.
“War Department or the VFW. You’d have to know somebody who’s a vet.”
“My papa won the Congressional Medal of Honor. Do you think that might give him access to some of these records?”
Bob Schumann smiled. “Say, young lady, if you ever decide to leave the Amish faith, I could get you a job at the newspaper. You’ve got the makings of a good investigative reporter.”
“Well, Mr. Schumann, I probably wouldn’t have to leave the faith to write for you. I’m a history intern here at the library and have already written several articles about the local Amish and their contribution to Wayne County and the state of Ohio. I’m putting together a book that I’m hoping to publish someday. You might find some of the information of interest to your readers. But first I have to solve the mystery of my birth mother.”
“Jenny, you’ve got a deal. You’re a self-possessed young woman, and I would very much like to see some of your writing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Schumann. Now, is there anything else we can find out from the information you came up with?” Jenny asked.
Schumann turned back to the reader and scanned the article again. “There might be a lead in the license plate number,” he said. “The Department of Motor Vehicles would have a record of the registered owner at the time. Perhaps they might have some information about the car or have an idea who stole it. That’s about all there is. But we have two leads here to follow. The man who helped rescue your mama in nineteen fifty is now our sheriff. He could probably get you access to the DMV records.”
“Our family is still very close with Sheriff Halverson. In fact, I call him Uncle Bobby.”
“Well, there you go! This is looking more promising. I’m sure a young lady with your determination can find the answers to these questions.”
Jenny smiled at Schumann. “Thank you so much for your help. You’ve given me some hope.”
“Glad to help,” Schumann said. “Please keep me updated on what you find out. I would certainly like to print the end of this story. I’ll give you a byline.” The older man stood up and extended his hand again. “Good luck to you, Jenny, and may the Lord bless you in your endeavors.”
“Are you a Christian, Mr. Schumann?” Jenny asked.
“Who isn’t?” the old man replied with a smile. Then he strode through the door and was gone.
Jenny waited on the curb in front of the library. She had come away from her conversation with Bob Schumann with two important clues. Now she had to figure out how to get her papa to help her track the possible naval commission number. Getting Uncle Bobby’s help with the license plate would be easy.
She thought about the woman who had come to her in her dreams. An unshakable certainty settled on her, and she knew that the woman must be her birth mother. Mama, I’ll find out what happened and put this mystery to rest.
Just then Henry pulled up at the curb. Her papa was sitting in the front seat, so she climbed in the back.
“And how was your day, dochter?” Reuben asked.
“Just fine, Papa. I was doing some historical research today and found some very interesting facts.”
“Das is gut,” Reuben said as he turned to look at her. “Perhaps someday you can chronicle some of the information you’ve gleaned. I’m sure our people would be interested in reading about their history, and perhaps it could set to rest some of the misconceptions about the Amish.”
Jenny looked back at her papa. He was usually very skeptical about her research, and she wondered what had made him more open today. She hesitated and then spoke again.
“Yes, Papa, I’m sure it would be of value. I was thinking perhaps I might write some small articles about our customs and background and submit them to the local paper.”
Jenny watched her father’s face for any telltale negative responses. His jaw did tighten for just a moment, but then he said, “That might be something we could talk about. I would like to read some of your work if you don’t mind.”
“Why, Papa! I would love to show you some of my writing. Mama has seen it, but you have never seemed to be interested.”
“I know, Jenny, and perhaps I’ve been remiss in not encouraging you more. I know that you were an excellent student in Amish schule, but I must admit I was a bit skeptical when you desired to continue your education. It’s just my way, and I’m sorry for not showing more appreciation for your talents.”
Jenny didn’t know what to say. Her papa had seemed to resist her internship at the library, but Mama had convinced him that it was a safe way to work out her natural curiosity, so he had acceded to Jerusha’s request and let Jenny go forward. Now he was actually encouraging her. What was going on here? It wasn’t like him. She felt a small hope growing that he might let her follow up the leads she had uncovered.
Henry dropped them at their lane, and as he drove off, Reuben and Jenny walked together up to the house. The afternoon sun did little to take the chill out of the air, and the breeze carried the smell of fallen leaves and moist dirt. The fall was fully on them, and the harvest nearly done.
Off in the distance Jenny could see the rest of the Springer farm laid out like a beautiful quilt. There were the hay fields with the stacks of bales. Behind the house was the orchard with the luscious Gala, McIntosh, and Golden Delicious apple trees. The faint scent of grounded apples flavored the air, a smell that always comforted Jenny. Out past the barn the cornfield started. The rows stood tall and green with the first touch of light brown and gold touching the leaves. The silken tassels on the ears had turned dark—proof that the golden kernels were ripe and sweet beneath the husks. Beside the house was her mother’s kitchen garden with ripe red tomatoes, leeks, onions, herbs, beans, squash, and cucumbers climbing their stakes and racks in wild abandon.
Jenny took her father’s hand in hers as they walked, and she let her heart fill with the beauty all around her. She looked up at her papa, so tall and strong beside her, and the love that welled up in her heart gave voice to her feelings.
“It’s so beautiful here, Papa. Thank you for having me as your daughter and raising me in this place.”
Reuben was silent, but she felt his hand squeeze hers in quiet assurance. Jenny hoped she would never do anything to hurt Papa. She wanted to be a good daughter above everything else.
They went up onto the porch and into the house. Jenny heard her mama’s voice, beautiful and clear, floating from the kitchen, borne aloft on the aroma of roast beef, boiled potatoes, string beans, and carrots. She was singing Das Lobleid, the hymn of praise, and the words comforted Jenny’s troubled heart.
Lässt loben Ihn mit allen unseren Herzen! We
il Er allein würdig ist!
While Reuben went to the washroom to clean up, Jenny went into the kitchen. Her mama was setting the table for the early evening supper.
“Jenny, just in time. Can you put the applesauce in a bowl and get out the beets and pickles? I just put the biscuits in, and we’ll be ready to eat in about ten minutes.”
Jenny helped Jerusha put the food on the table. Along with the main course there was butter and jam, peaches in syrup, and Shoofly pie. Jenny liked her pie with maple syrup, but Reuben and Jerusha preferred fruit and thick cream on top.
Reuben returned, and the three of them sat down to eat. Jerusha was a wonderful cook, and the food was delicious.
Reuben spoke up. “I’ve never been able to decide which of your graces I appreciate the most, wife. When I kiss you, I’m sure it’s your beauty. When I watch you quilt, I know it’s your talent. But when I sit down to the table, I realize without a doubt it’s your cooking.”
Jerusha didn’t miss a beat with her reply. “It’s well understood that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so that doesn’t surprise me at all, husband.”
Jenny enjoyed the loving banter between her parents and decided this might be a good time to broach the subject of her conversation with Bob Schumann.
“Papa, today I spoke with Mr. Schumann, a man who used to write articles for the Daily Record. I talked to him about perhaps publishing some of my articles on the Amish way of life and history. He was very interested and asked to see my writing. I would like your permission to show my articles to him.”
“Yes, I would be willing to permit,” Reuben said. “But first I would like to read them for myself.”
“Certainly, Papa. I’d be happy to have you read them and tell me what you think.”
“That’s wonderful, dear,” Jerusha said. “I’m so glad you’re finding a way to use the gift God has given you.”
“Oh, Mama, we did talk about this before, didn’t we?”
Her mother nodded. “Yes, we did indeed.”
Jenny decided to go all the way with her request. “Papa, there was something else I talked about with Mr. Schumann.”
Reuben glanced up at her, and then her words came out in a rush. “Mr. Schumann was the one who wrote the article about finding me in the car in the storm and about the dead man they found in the pond. He shared some information with me that might help in solving the mystery of who my birth mother was, but I need your help. You see—”
Reuben put his utensils down and looked straight at her. His words came at her like knives.“Jenny, I told you that the matter of finding your birth mother is closed. I explained my reasons. If you pursue this, it could lead to serious consequences. I will say this one last time. The issue of your birth mother is not to be spoken of in this house again. If you don’t promise me that you’ll obey me, I’ll have to tell Mrs. Blake that you can no longer work at the library.”
“Reuben!” Jerusha exclaimed.
Reuben looked at Jerusha sharply, and she looked down at the table.
Jenny felt anger rising up in her, but she held her peace. Let it go, Jenny. This isn’t the place to fight the battle.
“Jenny, I want your promise now.” Reuben’s voice was quiet, but Jenny could hear the finality in it. She clenched her jaw so that she wouldn’t say something sarcastic. She took a deep breath and then spoke.
“Yes, Papa. I promise.” There, I said it. I hope I won’t become a liar.
Reuben relaxed. “Gut. I will accept your promise. I trust you won’t break your word to me. That’s enough now. Let us go on with our dinner.”
Then silence lay heavy on the Springer home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friendship
JENNY WALKED DOWN THE MAIN STREET of Apple Creek to the bus stop with a heavy heart. Since her tense words with her papa two days before, things had been on edge in the Springer household. She loved her papa, but her need to know the truth was consuming her. She stood waiting for the bus, her world filled with gray clouds even though the autumn sun was shining brightly. She didn’t see the young man who came out of the restaurant across the street, but he saw her and walked toward her.
“So we meet again.”
Jenny looked up into those troubling sea-blue eyes that had bewildered her that day in Wooster.
He looked different, and then she realized why. He wasn’t wearing the fringed jacket or the green suede boots. Instead he wore a plain brown wool jacket and loafers, and jeans and a pullover turtleneck had replaced the striped pants and tie-dyed T-shirt. His hair was still long, but it was pulled back and he was a lot less…noticeable.
“I took your advice,” he said with a smile.
“What?” Jenny asked, startled.
“I took your advice about the clothes, and I do feel a bit more local.”
“Oh, the clothes,” Jenny said as she pulled at her coat sleeve. “Well, I’m glad I could be of help.”
“Say, Jenny, um…it’s Jenny, right?”
Jenny nodded cautiously.
“I’m wondering if you can help me. The other day you said that your mother’s maiden name was Hershberger, like mine. I’ve been thinking about that. I remember my mother once saying that my family originally moved from Pennsylvania to Ohio a long time ago. I’m not sure how we ended up in New York, but it’s not so far from here, so that’s not a stretch. Then you told me that all the Hershbergers you know are Amish. I didn’t really know what that meant until I saw some Amish men working in a field not far from here. Here’s my question. If my family is originally from Ohio and named Hershberger, shouldn’t they be Amish too? I mean, how many different kinds of Hershbergers can there be?”
The historian in Jenny began to take over. “Well, uh, Mr. Hershberger—”
“Please call me Johnny.”
“All right, Johnny. I happen to work as a historical and genealogical staffer at the Wooster library. I research the history of Wayne County and its families. If you have a family tie to Ohio, I could probably locate it for you.”
“Really?” Johnny asked. “If you could, I would be very grateful. I…I’m not sure how to say this, but when I saw the Amish men working in the field, it touched me inside. I felt a connection, and my life suddenly seemed very complicated. It’s probably just because I have my own difficulties right now, and it seems that there are a lot of things I could get rid of in my life. Simpler would probably be better.”
For the first time, Jenny really took in the young man standing next to her—not just his features, but something of who he was. She looked into his eyes and didn’t see anything that frightened her. Then she said something that surprised her.
“Maybe God is trying to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I said, maybe God is trying to tell you something. If you have all these troubles, maybe God is showing you a way out of them. He does that, you know.”
Johnny had a strange look on his face. “You know, the Amish man in the field said the very same thing. The thing is, I’m not so sure I believe in God, although I’ve found myself asking for His help in the past several days, especially when I found myself in…shall we say, a delicate situation.”
“How about if we just say you’re in trouble and be honest,” Jenny said.
“Boy, Bull was right. You are direct.” Johnny laughed.
“Bull?”
“Yes,” Johnny said. “Officer Bull, in Wooster.”
“How do you know Bull?”
“I met Officer Bull the other day after I almost ran you over. He encouraged me to get out of town. It was all very much like a scene from a Western. He also said he worked for your uncle, and he said you were very direct, especially with foolish people.”
“Yes, he’s my uncle’s chief deputy, and sometimes he takes himself a bit too seriously. He also tends to give out information that he should keep to himself.” Jenny frowned, took a deep breath, and mastered her desire to walk away.
“Well, would you?” Johnny asked.
“Would I what?”
“You know, help me find out about my family?”
“My papa wouldn’t like me to be seen with a strange Englisch boy,” Jenny said.
“But I’m an American,” Johnny said, puzzled.
“Oh, no,” Jenny laughed. “I didn’t mean you were from England. We call everyone who isn’t Amish, Englisch.”
“Will you help me? Even if I am…English?”
Jenny paused before answering, torn between her fear of making her father angry again and the eager expression on Johnny’s face. Finally she decided. “All right, I’ll help you. Do you still have your van?”
“It’s in the shop getting the suspension fixed, but I do have a loaner. I can drive you to Wooster.”
“No, it wouldn’t do for me to be seen riding with you. My family and friends wouldn’t understand. Besides, I have work to do first. Just meet me in Wooster at the library in three hours. I should be done by then.”
“Where’s the library?” Johnny asked.
“Half a block away from where you tried to kill me,” Jenny said, but the bite was gone from her voice.
Just then the bus pulled up, and Jenny got on. She waved and smiled. “See you soon.”
Then the door closed and the bus pulled out, belching a black cloud of diesel smoke.
Johnny went back to the motel and hung out in his room. He tried reading the local newspaper he found outside his door that morning, but he couldn’t stay focused, so he played his guitar for a little while. The hours crept by until finally it was two thirty. He went outside and climbed into the brown Dodge Dart Dutch had loaned him. It was pretty funky inside, but it ran like a top. Dutch obviously knew his stuff.
As he drove by the field where he had watched the Amish men, he pulled over, hoping for a glimpse of them, but the field was empty except for four large haystacks covered with canvas tarps. He pulled back onto the road and drove on, thinking about the powerful feelings that had swept over him that day.
The Road Home Page 9