The Road Home

by Patrick E. Craig

  “That’s what Amish men look like,” Jenny said.

  “Yes, and when I was driving into Apple Creek, the first day I was here, I saw them. They were working in a field outside of town, and they were using horse-drawn equipment and singing. I stood by the fence and watched, and I felt that intense loneliness again, like a deep sorrow for something I’d lost. And then, all of a sudden, I was crying. Then a man came over, and he said if I was in trouble, I should ask God for help. What’s happening to me?”

  This time Jenny reached out and took Johnny’s hand. She looked at him for a long time before she spoke. “I think we are the same, Jonathan,” she said.

  “The same?”

  “Yes,” Jenny said quietly. “Neither of us knows who we are. We’re both searching, and I know the answers are right here in front of us, and yet they’re just beyond our reach. We’re both lost.”

  Johnny’s hand was warm in hers. She looked at him, adrift in his sea-blue eyes, and she remembered her mother’s words. Someday…you’ll meet a man whom you will love so deeply that you will gladly surrender everything of yourself into his care and protection.

  “Tell me the rest of the story,” Johnny said quietly.

  Jenny came back to herself. She took her hand from his and opened the book.

  “It will be hard. I’ve read it before, but of course I didn’t know that Jonathan was your ancestor. Now it makes sense, and maybe you’ll find the answers to your questions here. But I think they may be hard answers.”

  Johnny took a deep breath. “I want to know.”

  Jenny glanced up at the clock. “It’s almost five o’clock. I’ll miss the bus home.”

  She shoved the book into the desk drawer and then jumped up and grabbed her coat from the wall hook.

  “Wait, you can’t go! You have to finish the story!” Johnny stood up and tried to take hold of her arm, but she eluded his grasp and hurried away.

  “I’m here twice a week,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be back on Thursday. Meet me at noon.”

  And then she rushed down the hallway and was gone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Way

  JOHNNY SAT IN THE DODGE DART in front of the library. It was eleven thirty-five on Thursday, and he had been up since six that morning. He knew he was early, but he was eager to see Jenny again, and there wasn’t a lot to do in Apple Creek on a Thursday morning.

  He got out to stretch his legs and then got back in the car. He turned on the radio, spun the knob, and dialed in a station from somewhere in Indiana. The announcer was droning on about crop yields and weather reports, interspersing his dialogue with overly hyped commentary about the big sale down at the local Chevrolet dealer and the senior special at a place called Frenchie’s Restaurant. Then two little girls came on and sang a song about another local business.

  For every heating problem

  Be your furnace old or new

  Call Boyle Fuel Company

  And they’ll solve them all for you

  If you need coal or oil, call Boyle

  Fairfax eight, one-five-two-one,

  fairfax eight, one-five-two-one

  He tried switching stations to see if anyone was playing some modern music, but the closest he got was Eddy Arnold singing “Make the World Go Away.” With a sigh, he turned off the radio and slumped down in the seat. He had been thinking about Jenny and nothing else for the last two days. His dangerous situation somehow seemed like a distant memory, pushed aside by the powerful feelings the girl evoked in him.

  What has gotten into me? This girl is like someone from a different planet. She’s bossy and outspoken and emotional…and beautiful and smart…

  Johnny climbed back out of the car and slammed the door shut. It was the fourth time he had gotten out since he arrived at the library. He stood on the curb and watched traffic, trying to count how many Buicks went by. Eventually he gave up and walked up and down the library steps to get some exercise.

  Finally it was almost noon. He looked down the street and saw the bus approaching. His heart started racing, and his palms began to sweat. The bus pulled up, the door opened, and Jenny got out. She had her wool coat on and her black kappe, and Johnny felt as if an angel had stepped off the bus. A question he had never asked himself in his whole life crossed his mind. Am I in love with her?

  They stood for a moment, their eyes locked. A pink blush appeared on Jenny’s face, and a faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Johnny instinctively reached for her hand and then pulled back, remembering what she had told him about proper Amish behavior. He didn’t know what to do with his hands then, so they hung limply at his side as his eyes drank in her face. After what seemed like forever, he broke the spell.

  “Hi, Jenny.”

  “Hello, Jonathan.”

  Jenny looked down at the ground and they both stood, awkward and silent. The bus pulled away with a belch of smoke. Then she spoke again. “How are you today?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been looking forward to hearing more of the story. It’s kind of cold today—are you warm enough?”

  “Yes, thank you for asking,” she replied and then stood silent again.

  Johnny searched for something else to say. This is ridiculous. I’m Johnny the Candyman, breaker of hearts, conqueror of San Francisco women. What in the world is happening to me?

  “Well, maybe we should go inside,” Jenny said.

  “Okay,” Johnny replied.

  They walked up the steps together, the tall, long-haired worldling and the little Amish girl. Johnny snuck a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked sad but so beautiful.

  They pushed through the big glass doors, and Jenny stopped at the front desk to say hello to Mrs. Blake and remind her that she was helping Jonathan with some historical research. Then they walked down the hall to Jenny’s desk. They were silent except for the click, click, click of their shoes on the tile floor.

  The sound echoed in the wide hallway, and Johnny felt strange and disconnected as the events of the past days began to push their way back into his mind: Shub’s death, the flight from San Francisco, the close call with the gang near Cleveland, and then meeting Jenny and seeing the Amish men. Now he was in a library in Wooster, Ohio, of all places, walking with a wonderful, sweet girl who had somehow captured his heart.

  When they came to Jenny’s desk, Johnny walked around and pulled out the chair for her. She flashed a little smile at him and sat down. Jenny pulled the book out of the drawer, and Johnny drew up one of the chairs standing by the wall.

  “Where were we, do you remember?” she asked.

  “The Indians were attacking the house,” Johnny replied.

  “That’s right, the massacre.”

  “Massacre?” Johnny asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry you have to hear this, but it will explain to you how your branch of the family ended up outside the faith,” Jenny said quietly. “Let me finish and you’ll see.”

  Jenny opened the book to her marker and began reading.

  “When Jonas refused to defend the family, Jonathan became outraged with his father and denounced him as a coward. His brother, Joshua, defended our ancestor and took his side, choosing to follow the Amish way with Jonas. Jonathan disregarded them both and said he would go to the Englischers who lived nearby and bring help. He went to the back door of the house and, after looking to see if he was being watched, slipped out, promising to return as quickly as he could.

  “Meanwhile, the Indians continued to fire rifle shots into the walls of the house. Not meeting with any return fire, the braves grew bolder in their assaults. They took turns running past the front of the house and firing their rifles into the log walls. These acts of bravery seemed to delight them, and they filled the air with whoops and screams.

  “Finally, the Indians started a blaze and then produced some torches with which to set the house on fire. As the fire took hold on the roof, the family took refuge in the cellar and endured the smo
ke as long as they dared. When the flames began eating through the floorboards above their heads, they attempted to escape through the cellar window. They were quickly captured.

  “To their horror, they saw that after Jonathan slipped out to go for help, he had been discovered, overpowered, and dragged back to the house. The Indians tormented the entire family and finally killed the girls and the mother.

  “A few months before the attack, several Indians had come to the farm pleading for food, but Mother Hershberger had denied them and forced them to leave. This seems to have caused grave insult to the Indians and most likely was the cause of the attack, as the Indians of the border were known to be implacable in their hatred of any who might insult or dishonor them. But for this unkindness, the Hershbergers might have remained unmolested, but as there had been several other incidents along the border that spring, it is impossible to know.

  “Jonas was carried into captivity along with his two twin sons. The younger son, Christian, was deemed unfit for the journey because of his wounds and was killed.”

  Jenny laid down the book. Johnny sat in absolute silence. After a few moments he spoke. “How did your grandfather Ezekiel find out about all this?”

  “Jonas, Jonathan, and Joshua were prisoners for five years. Jonathan was taught the warrior oath and eventually adopted into the tribe,” Jenny explained. “Jonas and Joshua refused to learn the Indian ways and were made slaves. Jonas lived out his days as a slave but kept his faith, and ultimately he was able to help his son Joshua escape. Jonas, however, was killed in the attempt.

  “Joshua returned to the white settlements and rejoined the Amish community. He wrote down all that had happened in a journal and passed it down to his sons. Ezekiel used Joshua’s journal to write the story.”

  “What happened to Jonathan?”

  “While he was a captive, his skill as a marksman and his cleverness as a woodsman made him a favorite with the Delaware,” Jenny said. “He learned their craft and cunning and absorbed their tracking skills and woodland knowledge. As an adopted son, he was given a certain amount of freedom, and he bided his time until the opportunity to escape presented itself.

  “One day he was hunting in the woods with several other braves. He and two braves were far in the lead. He turned on them, killed them, and took off running. The other Indians chased him through the woods for three days. He finally stumbled into Fort Henry and was saved by the garrison there. The story of his exploit became legendary on the border.

  “After he recovered, he lived in the woods. He became a borderman—a hunter of Indians. He killed them whenever and wherever he could find them. The Indians referred to him simply as Nènhìlëwès— the Murderer.”

  “Did he ever reconcile with his brother?”

  “The book says that before Jonathan died, he forgave his father and brother. It did not say whether he ever came back to the faith.”

  “He had children,” Johnny said. “Does it say what his wife’s name was?”

  Jenny picked up the BGMI and reopened it to the section she had marked. She perused through the lists.

  “This is interesting,” she said. “Jonathan married Ruth, but there is no record of Ruth’s family history.”

  “How could that happen?” Johnny asked.

  “Ruth may have changed her name. In those days, many Indian women married white men, and they usually took a white name.”

  “Do you think Jonathan married an Indian girl even though he hated them so much?”

  “It’s quite possible,” Jenny said. “That’s the only reason I can think of that there would be no record of her before her marriage to Jonathan.”

  “Wow,” Johnny said. “This is really getting trippy. First I don’t know who I am, and then I find out I’m of Amish descent and maybe Indian too!”

  “I’m glad I could help,” Jenny said as she closed the book.

  Johnny saw a tear running down her cheek. “What is it?”

  “Well, you found out who you are, but I still don’t know who I am.”

  Johnny put his hand on Jenny’s shoulder. “I think we were meant to be friends. I promise to help you find out about your past, whatever that takes.”

  Jenny looked at him, and then suddenly they were in each other’s arms. Jenny felt his heart pounding, and his embrace was a place of safety, like the memory of her mother’s heart beating next to hers. A sensation unlike any she had ever known engulfed her, and she was burning and freezing at the same time. His arms tightened around her.

  “Jenny…” he whispered in her ear. “Jenny.”

  And then another voice whispered in her heart. This is the road home.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Conflict

  JENNY GOT OFF THE BUS at the stop near the lane that led to her house. Her heart was heavy and yet bursting with the newfound realization that she loved Jonathan. She couldn’t understand it or even explain it. He hadn’t tried to kiss her; he had only held her closely against his chest. Yet she had known in those few moments that she belonged nowhere else but in his arms and by his side for the rest of her life. But how could that ever happen?

  She trudged along the highway deep in thought, her emotions a roller coaster, until she came to the head of the lane. The familiar path stretched before her. Everything she knew and loved, everything that was safe and familiar was here. There were the fields that her daed and grossdaddi before him tended. The buckeye trees that she loved rose in fall splendor along the lane, their leaves painted golden red by the brush of September frost. The sheds where she had played as a child, the barn where she helped her mama milk the cows, the cooling room where she would hide for hours on hot summer days, dreaming among the jars of milk and fresh vegetables—all of this was in her soul, part of her, the core of her life. This was all she had, and always it had seemed enough.

  But today, the loveliness of the trees, the familiarity of the fields and livestock, the safety of the small house with her mother’s curtains hung in the window, all of it seemed to have dimmed as though she were seeing it through a mist, faded and gray. Today the glow in her heart didn’t come from her home and her family and all things loved and familiar. It came from a love for a man. Jonathan’s face came before her, and the warmth of his embrace enfolded her again. The knowledge that love had found her, unheralded and unasked for, was a miracle unlike any other she had ever known, and she had to stop and catch her breath at the wonder of it.

  She came to the front porch and looked at the steps up to the front door. There was the rocking chair where her mama would sit in the cool before sunset, reading the Bible. There was the bench where her grossdaddi rested in the evening, sipping lemonade, while she sat silently next to him with her hand in his, feeling the hard calluses and the strength of his hand. There was the chair where her papa sat, so handsome and so quiet, looking stern and formal but letting her into the secret place behind his eyes where the smile that could steal her heart lived.

  She felt a great emptiness in her heart, and she slumped down on the steps and began weeping, her head whirling and her heart pounding. She heard the door open and her mother’s steps on the porch behind her.

  “Jenny, my girl, what is it?”

  Jenny turned and saw her mother bending down to her. She rose and went into Jerusha’s outstretched arms, and her sobs kept time to the beating of her mother’s heart.

  That night at dinner Jenny sat silent as Reuben and Jerusha went over the events of the day. She hadn’t said anything to her mother about Jonathan. She had only stayed in the comfort of Jerusha’s arms until her weeping had quieted. Then silently she had gone into the house and to her room. Jerusha had watched her go, knowing with a mother’s intuition that she should hold her peace, that Jenny wasn’t ready to talk. So now they sat at the table, the corn and biscuits growing cold on Jenny’s plate as she picked at her food.

  After a while Reuben noticed Jenny’s silence. “What ails you, dochter?” he asked. “Are you not feeling well?”
/>
  He didn’t see the warning glance from Jerusha, so when Jenny didn’t answer, he pressed on.

  “Jenny, are you sick?”

  Jenny looked up, her face stricken. She felt as though every nerve in her body had been stripped bare, and his words were like burning swords piercing her.

  “Reuben,” said Jerusha, “Jenny’s not herself. Perhaps she just needs to rest.”

  “Maybe she’s spending too much time at the library,” Reuben said while he carved his meat. “Maybe she needs to come back to our ways and forget this foolishness that only gives her heartache.”

  “What do you know?” Jenny said quietly.

  “Entschuldigen Sie mich?” Reuben said, an incredulous look on his face.

  “Jenny, can you go fetch some cream for the fruit?” Jerusha asked, sensing a storm on the horizon.

  Jenny ignored her mother’s plea and repeated her response, this time looking directly at her father. “I said, what do you know about it?”

  “You shall not speak to me in such a way,” Reuben said slowly.

  “That’s what you always do, Papa,” Jenny retorted, and her words bit like sharp teeth. “You shut me off, turn away, and never listen to what I need or want. I’m a woman now, and I need your support. But you’re not there for me, ever. You only want what you want.”

  Reuben looked at his daughter, the sudden broadside catching him unguarded and unprepared.

  “Reuben…” Jerusha said, seeing her husband’s jaw set and knowing it could only bode ill for her daughter. But he laid his knife and fork down and went on.

  “Is this about your birth mother again?” Reuben asked. “Because I’ve told you what I want in this matter. I’ve told you to put this behind you and go on with your life. I’ve said what I want, and in my house, that is what will be done.”