A Simple Charity

by Rosalind Lauer

  “Whatever she decides, with the number of pregnant Amish women I’ve seen around Halfway and Paradise, there will be plenty of work for all of us.”

  “Indeed. The Amish have large families. The women of Lancaster County will certainly keep you busy.”

  Meg grinned. “Music to my ears.”

  26

  As Fanny shoveled the freshly baked cookies into a basket for distribution at church, she thanked the Lord for the distraction of hard work. It cleared the mind, tired the body, and brought a sense of satisfaction when a task was completed. The chores of cooking, cleaning, and tending to the horses helped to ease the worry that nibbled at her conscience.

  That kiss. Oh, how could something so sweet and tender sour into a moment of disgrace?

  She could not undo the damage now. All she could do was hope and pray that Joan kept the knowledge she had gained from passing her lips. That was the only way Fanny and Zed could avoid a fullblown scandal.

  Fearing the worst, Fanny had spoken with her older children. “I just want you to know the truth,” Fanny told Caleb and Elsie one night after the little ones were in bed, “in case gossip starts.”

  Caleb took the news with stoic grace. He had already heard bits and pieces from Kate, who had suffered through the story from her aunt on the way home from the gathering. “Kate’s mamm told her that it’s no reflection on me,” Caleb said, “though she wishes that Kate would date someone from a better family.”

  “A better family?” Elsie’s face puckered in consternation. “We’re all sinners on this earth. I wish those Fishers could see that we’re not in competition for Gott’s love.”

  Elsie’s reaction eased Fanny’s embarrassment. “You are so right, dear girl.”

  “I know Joan doesn’t take kindly to you, Fanny.” Caleb frowned, running his knuckles over the scarred surface of the table. “She doesn’t know you the way we do.”

  “She doesn’t know you and love you,” Elsie said.

  Caleb stacked his fists on the table, a twinkle in his eyes. “It made me bristle when I first heard about it. But I remembered what Dat used to say about pointing out people’s faults. Before you point to someone’s faults, take time to count to ten—ten of your own.”

  “He did say that,” Elsie said with a delighted smile.

  “Oh, I’m sure I can count way past ten,” Fanny added.

  They laughed together, easing the tension in Fanny’s muscles. Laughter was truly the best medicine.

  Fanny and Zed had not spoken of the incident, but how could that happen when they were never alone? Fanny made sure of that, taking little Tommy out to the carriage house with her when she checked on Zed. In the mornings, Elsie and Caleb were here to provide a buffer, but that wasn’t necessary since Zed stopped inside for a mug of coffee and then ducked out just as quickly. Perhaps he was respecting her request to be left alone. Fanny had not been able to meet his gaze, and she longed for the mirth or warmth or compassion that flowed from Zed’s molasses brown eyes. While the embarrassment of being caught stung, the loss of her connection to Zed knocked the life out of her.

  She missed him. Her heart seemed to break just a bit more every day, and yet, she could see no end to the pain. She could not imagine a way back to his arms.

  In the four days that had passed since second Christmas, Fanny had not heard much of anything from outside the walls of her home. Sarah Beiler had gone into labor, but the birth had been handled by Doc Trueherz and Anna, whose cast had been removed. Anna had wanted to be there, since Sarah was her grandniece.

  Fanny would need to venture beyond the safety of her cocoon today; everyone in the Amish community would be attending church at the home of Dave and Lydia Zook. Oh, she was afraid to step out of the buggy and face the curious eyes! But one could not miss church. Besides, she might be making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe Joan had cooled off after she’d vented a bit on the ride home. Maybe she hadn’t told a soul.

  “Flicker is hitched up and ready to go,” Caleb reported. “And there are two warming bricks on the woodstove for the ride.”

  “Sounds like the cold spell has started.” Fanny handed him the basket of cookies. “These can go in the buggy. And, Will, don’t forget to put the milk back in the fridge.”

  Will looked up from the table and wiped a mustache of milk off with his sleeve. “Yes, Mamm.” When he crossed the room with the pitcher, Fanny had to bite back a smile. “You’re growing like a weed. Look at those pants!” The hem of his pants was a full two inches above his shoes. “There’s some sewing to be done this week.”

  Will shrugged. “They’re fine.”

  Boys could be so easy, Fanny thought, sweeping Tommy off his feet for a diaper change before church. They didn’t seem to be tempted to gossip as much as women were.

  Bundled together under lap blankets and singing carols with the children and young people, Fanny felt her worries fade. Family was the blanket of love that surrounded a person.

  Memories of family life rolled through her mind. Digging in the garden, the whole family working shovels and spades to turn the soil. Grooming the horses. Helping Elsie clean the Country Store so that the windows and floors were shiny clean. So much activity to be shared in the kitchen, the center of their home. Canning berries and tomatoes with the girls. Baking and cooking. Playing board games and working puzzles.

  And the joy when work became play! A few weeks ago, while Tommy was napping, Fanny had wrapped a kerchief on her head and put the children in old clothes so that they could help paint the center. Zed had pitched in, and fortunately he’d had the foresight to tape off the edges and cover the floor with a drop cloth. A good thing, because Beth didn’t seem to notice when her brush dribbled paint from the can to the wall. Will was put to work on the corners, Beth on the taped edges, and Fanny smoothed a roller over the walls. Zed painted the ceiling, cutting in the edges by hand.

  The laughter started when Zed straightened and brushed the ceiling with his head. That left him with a streak of white in his dark hair.

  “You’re a skunk!” Beth proclaimed.

  “Do I smell so bad?” Zed had teased.

  That had started the children laughing. Inspired, Will pushed his head against one of the walls and came away with a smear of pale blue in his hair. “I’m a blue skunk,” he proclaimed.

  Then Beth dipped a finger into the paint and dotted her arms with it, proclaiming that she had blue chicken pox.

  Fanny had noted the paint spatter on her own arm. “I see that it’s contagious,” she said. But really, the only thing that had been contagious was the laughter. By the time they were through, Fanny found that her sides ached from laughing so much. But the center got its coat of paint—and so did the children. Fortunately, the water-based paint washed off easily in the tub.

  Ya, family life was the way of the Amish, and Zed had folded into their family so effortlessly, Fanny had come to believe that was the way Gott intended it. She still prayed that other folk would come to understand that; that they might recognize the love that lived in Zed’s heart, love he shared with Fanny and her family. That was nothing to be ashamed of. Jesus himself had said that there are three gifts that last—faith, hope, and love. “And the greatest of these is love.”

  By the time they arrived at the Zooks, an easy smile had settled on her face. With Tommy in one arm, she handed off the basket of cookies and found dear Edna, who wanted to come by to help set up the center.

  “I’ve heard so much about it, Fanny, and I want to see it for myself,” Edna said, her breath a puff of white in the air. “How about Wednesday?”

  The offer of help was much appreciated, but more than that, Fanny was relieved that the gossip hadn’t seeped out to poison her friendship with Edna. “Wednesday morning would be fine,” Fanny said. “I could sure use some help hanging curtains. It’s a two-person job.”

  They chatted for a few minutes, but then it was time to file into the house for church. Like many Amish homes, the Zook
house had removable walls that had come down so that the entire ground floor of the house could be used for the service. Fanny took a seat beside Edna and settled Beth on the other side. As she pulled Tommy on her lap, she noticed that his nose was running. “Blow,” she said in his ear, pressing a hankie to his nose. He just gave a little whimper. Probably teething again. His four front teeth had come in, but he was approaching the time when he’d be getting more.

  A hush fell over the hundred or so people, who were all dressed in their Sunday best. The silence was broken by a voice that rose from the men’s section—the Vorsinger, who led the group in song. Church had begun.

  After a few minutes, Tommy’s whimper made it clear that he was not feeling well. Trying to comfort her boy, Fanny held him close and swayed a bit. Soon the warm, sad music of the Loblied washed over the rows of Plain folk, and she let out a breath and lost herself in song and prayer.

  Throughout the service, Tommy was fidgety. He did not seem warm with fever, but his cheeks were flushed and his little nose was dripping. “Either it’s teething or a cold coming on,” Fanny told Edna as they filed out of the house. Beth and Will skipped ahead to find cousins and friends.

  “Poor thing. From the look of him, I say it’s teething,” Edna said, patting Tommy on the back. “When you get home, give him a big, cold carrot. He can teethe on it to his heart’s content.”

  “A good idea,” Fanny said, wiping Tommy’s nose once again.

  There was no barn, as the Zooks leased their land to other farmers and pursued other businesses. However, a large tent had been set up outside, and two space heaters did a nice job of taking the edge off the cold. Under the tent, men, women, and teens were congregating in different locations, chatting while the hosts and their helpers rearranged the church benches around tables for the fellowship meal. Small children played on the fringes or outside the tent, where they could run about without bothering anyone. With Tommy calling to get down, Fanny thought it best to get him away from the large crowds. While Edna went into the house to help set things up, Fanny took her son out.

  At the door of the tent, she nearly ran into Joan, who was marching inside in a hurry. “It’s awfully cold out there,” Joan said crisply. Although she didn’t look Fanny in the eye, it was clear she was talking to her.

  “And from the sky, I’d say it’s going to snow,” Fanny said cheerfully. “I like it when the ground is pure white with snow, and the family can stay cozy by the fire.”

  “Not me.” Joan rubbed her hands together and scanned the crowd. “Snow clogs up everything. Bad roads and bad for business.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong. We might just have a cold, clear night,” Fanny said pleasantly.

  “Let’s hope so,” Joan said, moving toward a group of women clustered near a space heater.

  The sting of cold outside the tent was nothing compared to Joan’s brisk manner. Well, at least she had paused to speak with Fanny. That had to be a good sign.

  Seeing Will and Beth, she headed toward a group of children playing near a picnic table. But she didn’t go three steps before she spotted Zed talking to the bishop and some men.

  Dark-eyed, humble Zed. Since that shameful night, he had filled her thoughts. From looking at him now, she couldn’t tell if he missed her, too. His face was calm as a summer lake under his black hat. The dark eyes that seemed to peer into her heart were fixed elsewhere. And the hands that could drive a nail or gently rub a bump on Will’s head, those hands were hidden away, tucked into his black coat for warmth.

  She had to steel herself to keep from staring, but she noticed that one of the men was Tim Ebersol, the builder. Hadn’t Zed mentioned getting a job with him? And there was a woman in the group—Tim’s daughter Sarah. Known as a chatterbox, Sarah wrote a regular column for one of the Amish newspapers, and more than once the bishop had warned her not to share personal stories from the community, but to keep things general. Fanny had to tear her gaze away and focus on her children.

  Tommy seemed content to toddle around the picnic table and play in the midst of the older children, so Fanny took a seat there and braced herself against the cold. The table backed up to a tall boxwood hedge, and female voices traveled through it. Fanny tended to her little boy while one of the women revealed her recipe for cheddar apple pie and another talked of the lovely quilt she had received for her hope chest at Christmas. Then she heard someone mention Zed.

  “He’s going to be working for my father,” a woman said, “so I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

  That was probably Sarah, Fanny thought.

  “Do you fancy Zed Miller?” someone asked.

  Someone answered that she might, if she could get him talking. “Whenever I see him, it’s as if his mouth is glued shut.”

  Fanny grinned. Zed was not one to waste words, but he had plenty to say to her.

  “I think Sarah and Zed would be a good match,” another woman said. “She can fill in the blanks when he’s not talking. Which is most of the time!”

  Laughter twittered through the hedges like chirping birds, and Fanny felt a twinge of annoyance that these girls would poke fun at a good man like Zed. Were matters of the heart a game to them?

  “I see him at least once a week, sometimes more,” came a booming voice. Dorcas Fisher. “Zed has a weakness for good bread. I suspect he’ll be coming around more, once he finishes that center and gets himself free from Fanny Lapp.”

  “I didn’t know he was hitched up to her buggy.”

  The words went through Fanny, sharp as a knife.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Dorcas’s voice thumped like a heavy shoe. “They were caught kissing. Think of that. She’s still wearing black, mourning one husband, while she’s moving in on the next.”

  Fanny rose quickly, not wanting to hear another word. She scooped up Tommy, who was happily cruising around the seat of the picnic table, and marched toward the tent to find Caleb or Elsie. She needed to go home. Away from here. Now.

  Shame burned hot on her face, but she swallowed hard to stave off tears. She would not cry in front of the community.

  Tommy was fussing, upset at being torn from his fun. “Hush.” She pressed a hand to his cheek and looked him in the eye. “We’re going home now. We’ll get you a nice fat carrot for your gums. How about that?”

  His brow still furrowed in determination, but he stopped moaning and touched the string of her kapp. Not even a year old, and he knew when to give up.

  Why hadn’t she learned that lesson?

  Stung by humiliation, she slipped into the tent to find a way home.

  27

  Monday morning, Zed sat at the table in the Lapp kitchen and thought about the old saying to keep your boots under the table. It meant that a man belonged at home with his family, a message he had never really understood until he’d started coming here to work. Sitting with his boots under this table, it just felt right.

  The coffee, hot and black, was just what Zed needed to sharpen his focus. He sipped quietly, occasionally chiming in while Caleb told Will and Beth about his own days in school with a different teacher, Miss Marian.

  The story of a frog in someone’s lunch pail had Will giggling, but Zed could only smile. He was too preoccupied with Fanny to chip in on the conversation.

  He’d lain awake for most of the night, trying to build a plan that would keep Fanny safe from the scorn of gossipers, a plan that would protect them both from disapproving eyes until the time came when it would be acceptable for Zed to court her in February.

  The plan would begin with a simple talk after the others had gone. They could not go on this way, with Fanny staring at the ground, with him walking on eggshells whenever they were together for fear of someone seeing them and fanning the fires of gossip.

  He took another sip of the coffee, letting the bitter taste roll on his tongue. It was their timing that was bitter. Ya, it would have been far better to fall in love with her a few months down the road. Once a mourning period ended,
folks believed that Gott wanted a person to marry again.

  But who could stop an early frost or keep the sun from shining in the summer? Some things just happened the way they happened. Gott had brought Zed here. Gott had brought Fanny and him together. And Gott didn’t make mistakes.

  The sound of light footsteps on the stairs drew him back to the moment just as Fanny came into the kitchen with Tommy on her hip. The boy held a large carrot in his hand, while Fanny had one finger poked inside his mouth.

  “Look what I found poking through,” she announced. “A little nub of a tooth.” As she brought the baby closer to the table she noticed Zed sitting with the others.

  “Zed. Good morning. I didn’t know you were here so early.” Her gaze flickered immediately back to Tommy. “Show your brothers the new tooth that’s coming in.”

  But Tommy recoiled, hiding against Fanny.

  “At least he likes his carrot.” Caleb rose from the table and pinched Tommy lightly on the chin.

  “But he’s not eating it,” Will said. “Why doesn’t he eat it?”

  “It’s for teething,” Fanny said, explaining how it felt good to press the cool, hard surface against sore gums.

  Just then Elsie came in from outside, bundled up in a coat, hat, and gloves. “Let’s get a move on, folks,” she said. “It’s not getting any warmer out there.”

  Will and Caleb bundled up, collected their lunch pails, and headed out.

  “Fanny?” Zed was on his feet as soon as the door closed behind them. “We have to talk.”

  She dared to look directly in his eyes, and he saw that her blue eyes were rimmed with red. “All right, then.”

  He followed her to the front room, where Beth was playing contentedly, introducing her doll to the figurines in the Christmas manger. With Tommy content in his playpen, they returned to the kitchen and she picked up the coffeepot.

  “I have no words,” she said, pouring him another cup. “Sorry doesn’t really cover the shame I’ve brought upon you. And just when folks here were beginning to accept you.”