Fields of Corn: The Amish of Lancaster

by Sarah Price

  Emanuel sighed and smoothed her hair back. "That's not important, Shana."

  "They burned our barn," she said quietly, almost a forced comprehension of what had happened. "The horse...it knocked me down," she whispered.

  "Shana," he began softly.

  "I couldn't find my way out of the barn. It was so smoky." She looked up at him. "It burned so fast. It was hot and it hurt me, my eyes, my nose, my body. It was Daniel's voice that guided me out of the barn, Emanuel." He ran his finger down her cheek.

  "Shana..." he started to say, his voice sad and pained.

  "I would have died without Daniel," she realized with a hint of panic edging into her voice. She could sense that he was holding something back, hiding something from her. Dear God, she quickly prayed, don't let it be Daniel. "Where is he? Is he alright?"

  He shook his head that Daniel was fine.

  "The house? The herd? What happened?" she demanded, her voice shrill.

  "You've been very sick and we've been very worried about you." Shana felt her ears start to ring and she realized that whatever had happened had happened to her.

  "Emanuel? What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper as she reached out to grab his arm. “You must tell me what happened!”

  "The baby..." he started, his voice low and his words hesitant.

  "The baby?" she asked, confused. Then, those two words sunk in and she realized. The pain she felt was not from the horse having knocked her down and trampled over her. It was from a miscarriage. She had miscarried in her sixth month. There would be no baby in August. "Where is my baby?" she asked, her voice shallow with disbelief.

  "The baby is with the Lord," he finally said. "We buried her this morning."

  "Buried?" she repeated in a whisper.

  "I'm so sorry, Shana," he forced out as he reached for her hand. His eyes began to well with tears but he held them back as he began to sense the anger behind Shana's realization. She clutched her empty belly and let out a low, deep wail. He had said that they buried "her". The unborn child had been a daughter, a little girl that hadn't been given the chance. It had been robbed of the life that Shana had breathed into her. Shana moved away from his touch, holding her sorrow within and sharing it with no one.

  "They killed my baby," she cried. And Emanuel hadn't even waited for her to bury the unborn. "They killed my daughter!"

  She cried out loud, her sobs echoing in the silence of the house. She ignored the second light shining into the bedroom from the doorway. She barely heard the female voice speaking in Dutch and Emanuel's response. She sensed that he got up and left the room but she saw nothing. She could only feel the pain in her heart, the swelling emptiness as she grieved for the death of the child she would never know.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "Shana? People are arriving," Emanuel called from the washroom. He poked his head into the kitchen. "Shana?" he asked, wiping his hands on a small towel. He set it on the counter and walked over to the sofa where she sat with Noah in her arms. She stared down into the baby's sweet face as he nursed from her breast. Her face was pale and her expression long. Emanuel knelt in front of her and stroked Noah's cheek as he peered into her face. "Are you feeling well?"

  Her eyes flickered from Noah to Emanuel. For a moment, he thought he saw anger in her gaze. "It's hardly been two weeks, Emanuel. Do you think I'm feeling well?"

  The bitterness in her tone startled him. She hadn't spoken much since he had brought her back to the farm. She had stayed at the Meyers for two more days, enough time for Emanuel and several neighbors to clear away what remained of the barn. When Emanuel brought her and Noah back from the neighbors' farm, Shana had cried when she saw the emptiness. The cows stayed in the fields with the mules and two horses. There wasn't the large, friendly barn to welcome her and to house them. Only a burnt foundation was left to remind her of what once had been there.

  Now, the fresh lumber was stacked neatly in the yard and the buggies were pulling into the driveway. Neighbors and family had donated most of it. For the past two days, Emanuel, Daniel, and two neighbors had worked at preparing the new foundation and getting the rest of the necessary supplied ready. The air was filled with laughter, friendship, and good faith for today their neighbors and family would join together to build a new barn.

  Trying to ease her sorrow, Emanuel touched her knee. "The Lord gave us life to live and rejoice in what we have, Shana. Not to mourn for what is lost."

  "The Lord also gave us the intelligence to make laws for protecting ourselves against the injustice of evil, Emanuel."

  Abruptly, he withdrew his touch and stood up. "Who are we to judge evil? We have spoken about this, Shana." He glanced over his shoulder. Outside the kitchen window, he could see the buggies in the driveway. In spite of the miscarriage, Shana would be expected to hostess to these people. Enough time had elapsed where her mourning should have passed. "It is not our way."

  "It's my way!" she hissed.

  "Not anymore," he said harshly. "Need I remind you of your commitment? Not only to me but to your community? The people that are just now outside, offering their assistance and love in a time of need? What has happened was God's will, Shana. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and dwelling on your loss. Reap in the benefit of what we have gained, the love and support of our neighbors." He could hear the people talking outside as the buggies continued to roll up the driveway. They were laughing and singing, happy to be able to come to Emanuel and Shana Lapp’s assistance. Emanuel lowered his voice. "Let us pray for stronger backs, not lighter burdens."

  Shana frowned as his words rang in her ears. "That's what your parents said when we announced our marriage. Are you comparing the death of our child to our marriage?"

  His patience at an end, Emanuel took a deep breath and said, "I won't hear any more of this talk, Shana. It is not up to us to judge those boys. And, even if you found those boys, it would not bring back what we have lost. It is best to move on." At the door, he reached for his hat and slid it onto his head. His back to her, he hesitated before going outside to greet his family and neighbors. "I'd advise you to forget the Englische laws, Shana, and mention your ideas to no one." Then he was gone.

  For the rest of the morning, her kitchen was flooded with women and young children. The women cooked and laughed, enjoying the day and time spent together. There were so many people helping with the raising that no one person had to work too hard. There was time for visiting and joking amidst the work at hand. Younger children helped on the ground, carrying smaller lumber or picking up nails while the men worked together to raise the barn's frame and the women worked at making a hearty midday meal.

  Shana tried to forget the bitterness in her heart. She tried to smile with the women and listened to their friendly gossip. No one mentioned the increase in persecution against their community in the past several months. Nor did anyone ask her about the fire or what could have happened if she hadn't gotten out of the barn when she did. To them, she had lived and there was nothing to mourn. To them, it was forgotten. But Shana couldn't forget the three young boys laughing as they drove away. Nor could she forget that her unborn daughter was laying in the cold ground not far from their farm.

  "Shana, you look so weak," Lillian said, laying her hand on her arm. "Perhaps you should lie down, ja?"

  But Shana shook her head adamantly. "When I lay down, I think. When I think, I remember. And then I get angry," she confided. The confused look on Lillian's face told Shana that her sister-in-law didn't understand the anger she was feeling over the loss of her child. "Lillian, perhaps if someone had stopped those boys before, we wouldn't have lost our barn or, more importantly, our child."

  Lillian glanced around the kitchen, making certain that no one was listening. "Will stopping them bring back the things you have lost?" Her expression remained pleasant and friendly but her tone was reprimanding.

  "Perhaps not, but it may prevent your barn from burning and you from losing a child!"

  "
Shana!" Lillian clutch Jacob closer to her chest, her eyes widened and her voice sounded fearful. "You must remember that the Lord giveth and He taketh. It is His way and His way is the law."

  Shana felt her pain rising in her throat. She fought the urge to cry again. She had cried too much already, mostly from the emptiness but partially from her frustration. "I just can't believe that those boys are sleeping every night and they don't even know that their cruel prank murdered my daughter."

  "Would that bring her back? What is it you want from them now that truly matters?"

  Shana was about to respond but she felt a hand on her arm. Looking up, she saw Katie's concerned eyes meeting hers. "Whatever you are thinking, child, speak wisely. For the choices you make, they can turn against you and effect the people you care about."

  "Mamm," she started.

  But Katie silenced her again. "Who are we to judge, Shana? The Lord reserves the right to judge others but He offers us the right to forgive sins against us. To forgive shows our commitment to the Lord's way and His will. There is no alternative for you, Shana. Forgive the boys and show the loyalty you have chosen or risk the possibility of being shunned," she whispered. "Now, no more of this talk. The men are building the barn and we must prepare their meal," she said, her voice suddenly fresh and cheerful.

  For the rest of the day, Shana worked alongside the women as they made pitchers of iced tea and served it to the men. At noon, the men sat at the picnic tables that neighbors had brought over for this day. On the ground behind the benches of men laid their straw hats, lined up in neat rows. The women stood behind the men, their heads bowed, while everyone silently prayed over the midday meal. Then, for the next half an hour, the women silently served the men their food. Shana helped by refilling the baskets of bread and dishes of chutney and relishes. Afterwards, there were dishes to wash and food to be put away.

  Throughout the day, she would pause to glance out the window to the spot where the skeleton barn slowly emerged. It was near the same spot as the old barn, although it seemed further from the house. At first, she saw the musical harmony as the men lifted the frames onto the new foundation. Later, she watched as the men climbed on the frame, lifting and hammering the inner beams into place. Finally, after all of the dishes had been cleared and the last pitcher of iced tea had been made, Shana sat on the porch steps, Noah cradled in her arms, as she watched the remaining boards being nailed into place.

  "Your garden looks wonderful, Shana," Sarah Yoder said as she sat in the shade while embroidering a hand towel.

  "It's grown well this year," Shana modestly replied.

  "And your chickens?" Katie asked.

  Shana smiled. "They're hardly any work but every couple of weeks, I keep finding new additions. I don't know where they hide their eggs from me." Some of the women laughed. "But they're welcome. We had a visitor in April who kept helping himself to my pullets," she added referring to the fox that had carried off at least three young hens before a neighbor’s dog killed it.

  "God is wonderful, ja?" one of the older women sighed. "In the face of sorrow, He finds the time to bring new life."

  Her words were spoken innocently, unaware of Shana's miscarriage. Shana fought the urge to cry. She had tried all afternoon, hoping to forget, at least temporarily. But even in the beauty of the symbolic life the community had restored to their farm, she couldn't forget the ugliness of death that still lingered in her heart.

  By the time the sun set in the sky and the last buggy had rolled out of their driveway, their new barn blocked the rising moon, needing only a fresh coat of paint. In just one day, a new barn replaced the old and was expected to wash away the memories that had so quickly burned in the fire. Shana recognized the effort of the people and genuinely thanked them as they finished the raising and began to gather their families together to return home for their own evening chores.

  Shana couldn't help but wonder if the same time and money the community had pooled together to assist them would be directed at another family the following week or the week after that. What kind of faith is this, she wondered, that allows us to be so blindly led by controllable circumstances? Who is next, she wondered as she watched the last buggy pull out of the driveway. Which one of them is next to feel the pain and agony of such senseless persecution?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The police car pulled up the driveway, stopping in the shade of the new barn. It had been a while since she had seen a car pull into their driveway. The police car looked foreign and unreal mixed with the tranquility of the farm. Curious, Shana finished hanging up the laundry and wiped her hands on her black apron that covered her plain, faded purple dress. She ducked underneath the clothesline and greeted the two uniform officers. They smiled at her pleasantly as they crossed over the green grass to meet her.

  Shana stood apart from them, her heart pounding inside her chest. The last Englische people to stop at the farm had been her parents, almost a year ago. Even during her visits to town, she rarely had to confront the Englische, the people of her past. Now, standing barefoot in her typical Amish dress that she saved for laundry and grass cutting day, a blue bandana covering her head for she didn't wear her prayer cap while cleaning, she felt awkward and shy. Certainly they knew she had left their ways to marry an Amish man, the town was too small for them not to know it. She wondered what they thought of her.

  "Good morning," she finally said, breaking the silence.

  "Mrs. Lapp," the taller officer started, absentmindedly twirling his hat on his finger.

  "Shana," she prodded politely.

  He nodded once then continued. "Last night, four teenage boys were picked up on the other side of town. They had started a fire on an Amish farm. A neighbor saw them and identified them."

  Shana lifted her chin. "Was anyone hurt?"

  The other officer shook his head. "The fire destroyed the barn and there were no injuries. However, we have a feeling that these youths may have some connection with the fire that took place here."

  "That is a shame about the barn,” she concurred slowly. She felt her pulse quicken and she tried to ignore the throbbing in her temple. Forgive them, she told herself. Just forgive them.

  “But it doesn't concern me anymore," she heard herself say. It had been over a month and she wanted to forget.

  "They were driving in a beat up blue pick-up," the first officer finished. "They aren't first time offenders, Mrs. Lapp. We want you to come to the station and identify them."

  "I see," she said softly but offered nothing more.

  "Do you?" the younger officer said as he stepped forward. It was clear that he was frustrated and wanted nothing more than to stop the arson. "These kids have been destroying Amish farms for the past year. They have no respect for your property, your religion, or even your lives. They slipped through the cracks in our system the first time. If you can identify them, we can stop them from doing this again."

  "If I identify them," she asked, "the law will send them to prison to pay for the crime, ja?"

  The officer tried to explain what she already knew. "The law will protect you, your family, and your community from this happening again."

  "As I'm sure you are aware, I am familiar with the laws of the Englische, Officers. Your law will put the boys into a youth shelter or, perhaps, just slap them on the wrist. That won't bring back my baby and, you can see, that our barn is already replaced. Your law may prevent those particular boys from burning again, but it won't prevent others. I am also familiar with the laws of the Amish. God's laws," she said. She could see the two men shifting their weight as she explained her position on the matter. She didn't care if they felt uncomfortable with her words. "And it is not up to us to judge or to choose their punishment.”

  “If someone had identified them before, Mrs. Lapp, you might not have lost your baby,” the officer snapped. “You can prevent others from suffering as someone else could have prevented yours.”

  Shana winced at his words, fee
ling as though he had flung a knife at her. Had she not come from his world, she would have taken offense at his harsh treatment. "Don't think I haven't thought of that, Officer. Every night as I lie in bed, praying for the soul of my unborn daughter, I pray for my own and those of my community who would not let me testify.”

  It was true. Many nights as she stared at the ceiling, listening to Emanuel sleep beside her, she had thought about how someone else could have saved her baby. Sleep didn’t come easily for her, though. Instead, she remembered the boys who threw the bottle at the horse and knew that, if Emanuel had let her tell the authorities, those boys would have been arrested then and her baby might have lived.

  She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, lowering her voice. “Those boys…the one who started the fire, his face will forever be engraved in my memory. In my heart, I wish nothing more than justice for what they did to our farm and my child. But, I have chosen a way that will not allow me to follow my heart. Not this time."