“The way I see it,” Patrick said, “the women’s role is the most important one. You’re providing nourishment to all of those people, to help them do their jobs. Take away the food and everything else would disappear too. Providing sustenance is the foundation.”
She had never, ever thought of providing food like that. Not once. To her, it was just hard work. The long preparation, the endless cleanup. And people gobbled the food down so fast! Hours and hours of work consumed in fifteen minutes. Here and then gone, just like that.
Patrick smiled. “What strikes me most about a barn raising is that it’s a metaphor for the Amish. I’m looking forward to a glimpse into a world where people give without expecting anything in return. They just . . . give. Their time, their food, their energy, their supplies. Even their Saturday. All given in love.”
But when Saturday came, Patrick thought he was getting a cold and told Ruthie he was going to have to pass on the barn raising. She had to admit that he looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept at all. Dark circles under his eyes, and he moved slowly and cautiously, as if he didn’t quite trust his body to do what he wanted it to do.
“Should I be worried about you?” she asked. “There won’t be anyone around if you need help. We’ll all be at Eli Zook’s for most of the day.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I just need a quiet day to knock this out.” Patrick shoulder-bumped her, a friendly, familiar gesture that felt strangely comforting.
“Is there anything I can get for you before I go?”
“If I think of something, I’ll tell you,” he said, opening the door and stepping aside for her to go through it.
“Will you?”
“Yeah.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah.” There was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead that made Ruthie nervous. She wanted to do something for him—bring him soup, aspirin, something like that. But he seemed to just want to be left alone.
Walking over to the main house at Eagle Hill, she saw Luke sitting sprawled on the porch steps. His head was tipped back to stare at an eagle soaring overhead and he didn’t see her approach. Handsome hardly began to describe him. So handsome that it made her a little queasy. She liked his dark hair—nearly jet black—that curled around his collar, she liked his sapphire blue eyes—distant and a little mysterious. She liked the whisker-scruff on his face, his Adam’s apple, the tense form of his athletic body.
The wind caught at her skirt, slapping it so that he turned his head at the sound. When he saw her, he looked at her in that intense way that made her stomach swoosh up and down, and she felt warmth spread along the ridge of her ears. He slowly rose to his feet.
“Patrick isn’t feeling up to joining us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ruthie lifted one eyebrow. “You’re not sorry at all. You are extremely pleased.”
“Pleased that Saint Patrick has to stay home and polish his halo?”
“Stop calling him Saint Patrick. He’s not like that, Luke.”
“Like what?”
“He’s not a hypocrite.” Hypocrisy was something Luke railed and ranted against, yet sometimes Ruthie thought he was the real hypocrite. He disdained everything Amish, yet he didn’t leave. Wasn’t that a false way to live? Patrick had come to the Amish because he sincerely believed in their way of life. He told her he admired that they worked so hard to safeguard the things that were beautiful and true in the world. She wondered how Luke would respond to that comment. “You haven’t even tried to get to know Patrick.”
“Not true! He declined my magnanimous invitation to go out with my friends last night.” His tone was jokey, but Ruthie sensed he was a little miffed.
“To do what? Look for trouble?”
“I don’t go looking for it. Trouble is just so difficult to avoid.” The stone-faced stare the comment earned only spurred him on. “Ruthie, if it didn’t seem downright laughable, I’d say Saint Patrick is trying to steal you away from me.”
Why did that seem so downright laughable? But to Luke, she only said, “He can’t steal me from you because I don’t belong to you.”
“Not yet.” He gave her that smile of his, the one that was hard to resist, and she felt herself ease up. His fingers toyed with the ends of her capstrings as he smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe after the work frolic, we can go to Blue Lake Pond. A couple of guys are meeting up to play kayak chicken.”
Kayak chicken. Such a stupid game! She shook her head. “Not after a long day of barn raising.” Cooking, serving, and cleaning up hundreds of dishes.
Luke put a finger to her lips. “Don’t say no. Let’s just see how the day goes.”
At Eli Zook’s, the strangest thing occurred. Only a handful of families showed up, more children than adults. There was a man in their church, Henry Smucker, who was the architectural brains of barn building—he knew how much lumber to order, knew how to number the boards so there would be an economy of effort in putting the barn together, like a jigsaw puzzle. But on this morning, no one knew where Henry Smucker was. No lumber had arrived from the sawmill, and when Ruthie’s father called, he learned that no lumber had been ordered.
Everyone looked to Luke, perhaps unfairly. He lifted his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t me! I’ve been here the whole time!”
They ended up clearing the debris of the old barn off to one side. Ruthie was glad Patrick hadn’t come today. There wasn’t the usual lightheartedness, the joking between people, the buzz of energy and excitement. People worked quietly, ate quickly, and left soon after lunch had been cleaned up. There was no reason to stay. The barn raising would be postponed, Ruthie’s father explained. But he seemed bothered by the day’s outcome. Everyone did.
Except Luke. He thought the abbreviated workday was awesome.
16
Luke was waiting for Ruthie outside Eli Zook’s kitchen. “Let’s go to Blue Lake Pond,” he said, as soon as she came down the steps. “Please. It’ll be fun. Like old times.”
She’d been out with Luke enough times to know how this would play out. “Luke,” she said, “I don’t think I’m going to go.”
He seemed genuinely disappointed. “But . . . I want you there for the games.”
The strange thing was that not so long ago, just a few months, she would’ve been jumping at the chance, pleased that Luke didn’t want to go without her. But today, all she could think about was how Patrick was faring, and if his cold was getting worse.
“C’mon,” he teased. “You’re my good luck charm. I never lose when you’re with me.”
The pull of old habits tugged hard. It was only two o’clock on a beautiful summer day. She wasn’t needed at home. “Fine. I’ll go.”
But she regretted that decision as soon as she climbed out of the buggy in the parking area of Blue Lake Pond and felt very . . . uncool. It was an effect Luke’s friends almost always had on her. In their company, she felt acutely aware of her tightly pinned hair, her plain dress and apron, her starched organza prayer cap. Most everyone was Amish, from different churches, but nearly everyone ditched their plain garb for the evening and wore jeans and T-shirts. She couldn’t let herself go that far.
“Hi!” she said, smiling, as a few girls approached the buggy.
Too loud, she thought.
It didn’t matter. Since Ruthie had broken things off with Luke, they never paid any attention to her, only Luke. “Hey . . . Luke!” one girl called to him and he waved back. He wasn’t immune to the flirting. She knew he could have pretty much any girl he wanted. So why was she even here this afternoon? Why had she let him talk her into going with him?
Because it was a glorious summer day, she wasn’t expected at home, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy the lake. Luke untied the kayak off the top of the buggy roof and lifted it easily over his head, smiling from head to toe. Ruthie got the paddles out of the backseat and followed Luke down the shore to join
the others. The beach was already packed with teenagers, kayaks, volleyball. Luke fist-bumped a couple of his friends on the beach, then stood talking to a group of them.
Within a few minutes, Luke had pulled off his shirt and was in the water, paddling out to the center of the pond in his kayak beside a couple of buddies. Ruthie took off her shoes and socks. The soft sand swirled around her toes, sun-warmed on top and cold underneath.
She plopped down on the sand to watch Luke. He and his friends played a game of chicken out in the water. Two boys paddled their kayaks to the center of the pond and faced each other, about fifty feet apart. Someone on shore would blow a whistle and the two kayaks would rush each other. Whoever swerved first lost the game. It was harmless fun, and the worst thing that ever happened was someone’s kayak would tip over and he’d get a dunking.
Luke paddled back out for more rounds of chicken. He never lost at kayak chicken and she grew bored of watching. A gentle summer breeze wafted over Ruthie, and she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of summer at the lake. She was starting to relax, starting to feel glad she’d come.
Too soon, Luke returned. He leaned close to shake water from his hair, the spray pelting her. Someone brought out hot dogs to roast on sticks over an open fire, someone else passed around a big bag of potato chips. Naturally, there was the ever-present, bottomless pit of six-packs of cold beer, which Luke and his friends dove into. He offered her one, but she turned it down.
As the sun dipped down the horizon, guys and girls gathered around the fire, eating, laughing, drinking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small flash of light. Someone was lighting a twig. No, not a twig. Too big. A cigarette? No. It had a brown wrap, like the wrapping of a cigar. The guy who lit it drew a deep breath and held it, before slowly exhaling. A sweet smell, like alfalfa hay, filled the air. Ruthie could see it being passed from one person to another.
“What is that?” she whispered to Luke.
“A blunt.”
“A what?”
“It’s . . . kinda like a small cigar. Better though.” He put it to his lips and inhaled slowly, holding his breath for a long moment, before he passed the blunt to her. She held the wrapped glowing light in her hand . . . wondering what magic this little thing held that made it so enticing.
“Use it or pass it,” a boy called to her.
“Go ahead,” Luke whispered. “Give it a try.”
Ruthie looked at him, then around the circle, resting eyes on the guy who had first lit the blunt. Watching him watch her, she tossed the blunt directly into the center of the fire.
“Hey!” the guy roared. “What are you doing? That cost good money!”
She stood up. “I need to get home.”
Luke tugged on her dress sleeve. “Chill out, Ruthie.”
“No. I want to leave. You can stay but I’m leaving.” She started walking up the shore.
Luke snatched his shirt and ran to catch up. He grabbed her arm to make her stop. “What is with you lately?”
“I’ve put up with your derelict friends, and I’ve put up with your drinking . . . but I’m not putting up with that.”
“Then just pass it along. No one was forcing you to try it.”
“You’ve tried it before, haven’t you? That’s why sometimes your eyes look weird. Dilated.”
Luke blinked slowly, his head tilted as if he was considering the appearance of his pupils. “It’s no big deal, Ruthie. Marijuana is legalized in a bunch of states.” He cut her off, brightly raising a finger in the air, as if to point to the source of his inspiration. “And you’re the one who wants me to drink less.”
“Me? You’re smoking marijuana to appease me?” She shook her head. “You can justify anything.”
“Maybe you should try it before you get so high and mighty. It might loosen you up a little. Geez, you’re wound so tight lately. You used to be—”
“Stop it!” Halfway to the buggy, she wheeled around on him. “Don’t turn this into my problem.” She climbed into the driver side of Luke’s buggy.
“Hold it. If I’m taking you home, then I’m driving.”
“You’re not driving me anywhere. You can either get in the passenger side or stay here and get a ride home from someone.”
From down on the shore, a girl called Luke’s name. He glanced back at the bonfire.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to give you a ride home. As for me, I’m going alone.” She snapped the reins on the horse’s rump, perhaps a little harder than she should have, and nearly ran the buggy wheel over Luke’s foot as it lurched forward. He ran along and jumped in the open door as she circled the parking area. Once she reached the road, she pushed the horse to a fast trot, jostling Luke as he tried to slide the door closed. He made a strange choking noise, and fearing that he was going to throw up, she pulled over onto the shoulder. Luke slumped against the passenger door. He was drunk. Or worse.
“Luke,” Ruthie said. “Don’t you dare get sick in—”
But she was interrupted by blue and red lights in her rearview mirror and one short burst of police siren, which was enough to cause her to cry out. “Straighten up!” she barked at Luke. “And don’t say anything.”
She put down her window as a flashlight came poking into the interior of the buggy. She looked up. The police officer was Matt Lehman. “Ruthie? Your right taillight is out. Makes it very hard to see a buggy, even with the reflector.”
“I didn’t realize. I’ll have my brother fix it tomorrow.” Now wasn’t the time to point out that this was Luke Schrock’s horse and buggy. Matt wouldn’t care whose it was.
Matt frowned. “Have you been drinking, Ruthie?”
“Me? No. I don’t drink.”
Matt poked his head into the buggy and studied Luke, leaning against the buggy window. “Is he drunk?”
“Affirmative,” Luke said, without opening his eyes.
Ruthie sighed. She had hoped Luke would pretend to be asleep. She hoped he was asleep.
Matt studied Luke for a second and then Ruthie for a longer second. Finally, he said, “Seems like you could do a lot better than Luke Schrock, Ruthie.”
“You’re so, so right.”
“Hey!” Luke said.
She kept her eyes on the twitchy ears of the horse.
“How’s your aunt doing?”
“Good, I think. Over the last week, she had a few more patients come in to the practice. She seems a lot more encouraged.”
Matt straightened up. “I could give you a ticket for that taillight. You know what happens when a buggy and a car collide. The buggy always loses.”
“I know.” She knew all too well.
“You’re almost home, so I’m going to let you off with a warning. Be smart, Ruthie. Get that taillight fixed.” Luke let out a deep snore. “And maybe give some thought to getting rid of your boyfriend.”
“I will,” she said. Both.
David was flummoxed over Eli Zook’s barn raising . . . or lack thereof. After he left the Zook farm, he went straight to Henry Smucker’s, the church’s architect of barn building, to find out what had happened to the ordering of the lumber. And to find out what had happened to Henry Smucker.
And then came a shock. Henry hadn’t ordered the lumber because he had forgotten all about Eli Zook’s barn raising and gone fishing with Hank Lapp. David learned all of this through a visit to Edith Fisher Lapp, sister to Henry, wife to Hank. David interrupted her as she was in the middle of canning cherries in a steam-filled kitchen. David asked why she wasn’t at Eli Zook’s today, and she pointed a large cherry-stained finger at a counter full of bowls of pitted cherries, as if it was obvious. “When the fruit is ripe, you don’t wait.”
She gave David a look of mild exasperation when he asked her why she hadn’t thought to let anyone know about the fishing trip. She folded her arms across her ample middle section and looked down at him through spectacles perched on her nose. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” she snapped.
“Well,
yes,” David said, which only annoyed her all the more.
Since she was already irritated with him, David went ahead with the question that had been rumbling around his mind for weeks. “Why did you and Hank buy a golf cart?”
Edith sighed a grievous sigh. She never had fully accepted David as the bishop. In her mind, he was too young, too inexperienced. Too everything. “To get the eggs down to the roadside stand.”
“And a wagon or pony cart wouldn’t suffice?”
“Not with Hank. The way he handles a horse or pony, taking corners too tight, he tips the cart so my eggs jiggle and break. The golf cart has solved that problem. And it runs on a battery, you know.” She gave him a look as if to dare him to find fault with that.
He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he didn’t.
Tonight, after David saw Ruthie march into the house and go straight upstairs, apparently bothered about something, he sat at his desk and opened his Bible, the best way he knew to settle his mind, his heart, and to seek God’s wisdom. He read a passage from Exodus 16, about the manna that rained down from heaven to help sustain the Israelites as they wandered in the desert, slowly making their way to the Promised Land. Two verses kept running through his mind. “And the children of Israel did so, and gathered, some more, some less. And when they did mete it with an omer, he that gathered much had nothing over, and he that gathered little had no lack; they gathered every man according to his eating.”
Not too much, not too little. Just enough.
He sat back in his chair, feeling that something had arrived and hovered over Stoney Ridge, like a low-lying cloud.
The church seemed to have lost a sense of “enough.” The income from the oil traps wasn’t the problem. Money was only a tool. It was the attitude that came along with the income. Instead of drawing a line in the sand on a lifestyle and sharing the abundance, church members had merely erased the line and moved it farther out. A new line, one that included an emphasis on leisure and pleasure. Curiously, it seemed to correlate with a de-emphasis on caring for those in need.
The Devoted Page 17