The Haven

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “Working the falcons is something of an art. The bond between a falconer and its falcon is interesting. It’s a relationship of trust. Every time a falconer lets go, the bird has a choice as to whether it will return or not.” Amos shrugged. “It could be in Mexico tomorrow.” He looked at Charles. “But it has to choose to come back.”

  “Why would it? Why doesn’t it just fly off?”

  “Being a predator—it’s a hard life. The falcon has learned that life is easier if it returns to the falconer. It will always get fed, even if it doesn’t catch something. Even if it’s not successful out there. No matter what.” Amos watched Adam circle high above and stoop down to nab a bat, then sail with it back to the scape to feed a chick. “Maybe the falcon just knows a good deal when it sees it.” He looked back at the little cottage. “But the falconer gives the falcon the choice to return.” He walked a few steps, his hands clasped behind him.

  Charles remained behind. Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Amos realized Charles knew exactly what he was getting at.

  At the bottom of the rise, Amos turned to wait for him and pointed to the cottage. “Will’s probably about done packing. I imagine he could use some help carrying things to the car.”

  Amos jerked his chin toward the farmhouse. “I might head on back. Give you a moment to talk to your son.” He strode up the hill.

  “Amos Lapp?” Charles called out.

  Amos spun around.

  The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Why do I feel as if I’ve just been counseled by an Amish farmer?”

  “No charge!” Amos started up the hill again, grinning.

  Will finished packing up his belongings and looked around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. The place was still a mess. He shouldn’t leave the cottage like this for Fern, though he remembered a remark she had made when he had tried to help her with a cleaning project at the farmhouse: “Unexpected things happen around you, Will, and cleaning is not always one of them.” Well, Fern, today I am going to surprise you. He would leave the cottage as clean as it was when he arrived. He would try to, anyway.

  He started a fire in the stove and set a big pail of water on it to boil. Squeezing some dish soap into the sink, he ran cold water and swished his hand in the sink to get the water sudsy. He hadn’t heard his father come in, but suddenly, there he was, stacking dirty dishes on the small counter.

  “It won’t take long to wash these dishes,” Will said, glancing at the water that wasn’t even close to boiling. “This is the last thing I need to do.”

  “There’s plenty of time,” his father said.

  Will almost dropped the dish he was holding. He had never remembered a time in his life when his father wasn’t tense, eager to move on to the next thing. But here he was, patiently stacking dirty dishes with dried food crusted on them. Will set the dishes in to soak and waited for the water to boil. He and his father stood there, awkwardly, side by side, waiting to see bubbles rise to the surface. Why was it taking so long? In his mind, he heard Fern’s voice: A watched pot never boils. Or was it, a boiling pot is never watched? He should have written down her sayings so he would remember them.

  Quietly, his father said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me you didn’t want to be a doctor?”

  Time skipped a beat before Will said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me you were raised Amish?”

  His father wasn’t used to someone crossing him. An eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t respond. Nor did he meet Will’s eyes. He seemed uncomfortable. In a clipped, controlled voice, he said, “I lived under my father’s very large and very heavy thumb. I had to break free.”

  Will snorted. “That . . . I can understand.”

  Then there was silence. It went on that way for a while, the two of them staring at the pot of water, which seemed to refuse to boil, neither one speaking. A perfect example of how things were between Will and his father—neither one would budge.

  Sadie had told him that forgiveness was a process, that it didn’t happen overnight. She likened the process to filling a bucket of water at a well. God was the well, forgiveness was the water. Sometimes, she said, the bucket would be leaky and it would require numerous trips to the well. But the important thing, Sadie said, was to keep going to the well to fill the bucket.

  She also said that someone had to be willing to take the first step. Will blew air out of his cheeks. This was the hardest thing he had ever had to do . . . but it had to start somewhere. Things had to change.

  “Dad, I’m sorry.” The words erupted from Will in a sob. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his watering eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice in shreds. “I’ve made a mess of . . . everything.”

  Then his father’s arms were around him. Will buried his face in his father’s neck. He wept, unashamed of his tears.

  “I’m sorry too,” his father said. “You made some of those choices because you felt trapped.” His father released him and stepped back. “Of all people on this earth, I should have known not to assume you were going to do what I wanted you to do with your life.” He blew a puff of air. “I’m my father’s son. Same song, different verse.” He rested his hands on the counter. “Where do we go from here?”

  For the first time that Will could ever remember, his father looked unsure of himself. He never second-guessed himself, and here he was, looking baffled, sad, confused. He had Fern to thank for that. She had completely baffled an unbafflable man. Will felt a twinge of pity for his father. “You haven’t met Hank—he’s Amos’s uncle—but he says life is full of turnarounds.”

  His father looked at him sharply. Another awkward silence fell.

  “Maybe . . . we could start again. You know . . . this time as father and son. Instead of . . . brilliant brain surgeon and numbskull protégé.”

  To his surprise, his father’s eyes closed in pain. “I . . . wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  His total helplessness touched Will. This wasn’t easy for his father. “Maybe you could just give it a try.”

  The water started to boil then, rolling, gurgling bubbles. “Let me show you how we used to wash dishes on the farm,” his father said, rolling up his sleeves.

  As Will and his father scrubbed and rinsed and dried dishes together, they started to talk. It was clumsy, uncomfortable, stilted, painfully awkward. It was wonderful.

  After Will said goodbye to Amos and Fern and M.K., he jerked his head to the side in a silent bid for a private conversation with Sadie. He turned to his father. “There are a few things I need to discuss with Sadie. Could you give us a moment of privacy?”

  His father told him he would wait in the car for him. Once Sadie followed Will outside, he didn’t waste time. He knew M.K. was watching them from the family room window, but he didn’t care. He took both her hands in his and said, “Let me get the worst of this over straight off. Gideon Smucker is absolutely correct. I came to Windmill Farm with the intention of doing something illegal. I was going to try and sell a falcon chick to a private breeder. Then he wanted two chicks. Then three. I needed the money and I was going to do it, Sadie.”

  She gasped. Other than the sharp inhalation of breath, she neither spoke nor moved.

  “In the end, I couldn’t see it through. That’s why I called my father today. That’s why I’m leaving tonight.” He took a step closer to her. “Sadie, I care for you in a way I’ve never cared for a girl before. I couldn’t leave here without telling you. I came here as one kind of man, but I’m leaving as another. I’m a better man because of you.” The words slipped out as though his tongue belonged to someone else. He didn’t try to snatch them back or pretend he hadn’t confessed something so serious aloud. Will opened his mouth to comment on her lack of reaction, then realized this must be what she was like as she listened to her clients spill forth their problems—she seemed calm and still and ready to hear anything. “Have you nothing to say to me, Sadie? No words of goodbye?”

  Finally, she
looked up, her eyes filled with tears. She looked at him as if she was memorizing his features. Then she brushed his cheek with her lips. It wasn’t the kiss he wanted. It was a kiss for a child, with something final in it, something of a farewell. Yet she moved nearer than she probably meant to. He wasn’t just looking for a sign; he knew—deep down, he knew—something in her wanted him to take her in his arms. He knew it, and he knew she wouldn’t let it happen. Sadie who never wavered might have come near the brink, but she stepped back again.

  “We’ll meet again, you know,” Will said.

  “Will we?” she said, sounding as if she didn’t believe him. Her eyes became blurry and she turned away, but he put his hand under her chin and made her look at him.

  “I need to get some things sorted out . . . like, my whole life. But I promise you that we will meet again.” He cupped her face with his hands. “Sadie, you and me, what we have—it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if we’d seen it through.”

  She lifted her eyes and looked at him as if she couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. “But Will, it would have been the end of my world.”

  Sadie followed Dr. Stoltz’s car out of the driveway, waving until her arm ached. She wondered if she’d ever set eyes on Will again, wondered if what he had said might someday come true. Would they ever meet again? She’d had a sense from the beginning to hold onto him lightly.

  Pity for Will welled inside her, along with sadness for what he’d missed in his life. He didn’t seem to know what he had been lacking until he saw it this spring with the Lapps. Yet she could see something had shifted inside of him today. The time he spent at Windmill Farm was no accident. It was a chapter in Will’s book, but the ending wasn’t written yet. That would be up to Will. “May God go with you,” she said aloud, as the car’s brake lights went on, preparing to round the bend in the road.

  Just as the car turned toward the bend in the road, a buggy appeared on the opposite side. A long pole stuck out of the buggy window, and on it, a blue bird feeder. The car honked loudly and then swerved dramatically to avoid the bird feeder. In the buggy was Gid, heading up to Windmill Farm. He waved to Sadie from down the road, using his left hand, still in a large white cast. Sadie knew he had built the blue bird feeder to replace the one he had ruined in the ridiculous tussle with Will. It was a silly sight, really, to see a bird feeder sticking out of one side of the buggy and a big white cast waving to her from the other side.

  Gid pulled over to the side of the road as he reached the end of the driveway. “I brought you a new bird feeder.” He picked up a dinner dish with a hole drilled in the center and held it up to her. “The squirrel thingamajig too.”

  Sadie looked at the bird feeder. “How did you ever manage to build it with a broken hand?”

  He shrugged. “Simple.”

  “Nothing’s simple, Gid,” she said. She lifted her eyes to gaze at him. “But you know that.”

  The tips of his ears began to turn pink. “Well, you can test it out when I finish installing it.”

  She took her time, paying attention to her words as she always did. Tilting her head. Taking him in. His eyes found hers, and she felt her mouth curve, offering him a shy smile. “That’s all right,” Sadie said. “I think it’s going to work.”

  Discussion Questions

  This story begins like the child’s game of telephone—Mary Kate tells exciting news about Sadie to her friend, who tells another friend, and another. Soon, the story spreads like wildfire. Have you ever been the victim of a hurtful rumor? Certainly, most of us have participated in them. What is the difference between sharing information and spreading gossip? This Amish proverb might help: “There is a vast difference between putting your nose in other people’s business and putting your heart in other people’s problems.”

  Will Stoltz could charm even a crying baby with ease, yet he kept himself carefully hidden behind that casual, lighthearted facade. Have you ever met someone like Will—easy to like but hard to know? How did your feelings about Will change after you learn more about his father? How did his autocratic father affect him?

  Oddly enough, Sadie—from an Amish community—felt free to choose the life she wanted. Will—from a wealthy, professional family—felt no such freedom. What’s behind that irony? What does it say to you about choices?

  As Sadie found her purpose as a healer, she started to bloom—just as Fern had hoped she would. Have you ever found yourself blooming unexpectedly? In what way? Or maybe you have a dream that hasn’t yet been realized. Are there people in your life who could help you realize that dream? If not, pray that God will bring an encourager, like Fern, or a mentor, like Old Deborah Yoder, into your life.

  How did Sadie’s friendship with Will help her to become a more confident person? Do you think Sadie’s newly acquired boldness might have backfired on Will as he attempted to romance her? In what way?

  What a fluke! Will thinks. “To end up on a quiet Amish farm and find himself reenergized, renewed, inside out. But it didn’t feel like a fluke. It seemed that this place, Stoney Ridge and the people here, had been prepared for him, designed ahead of time as a nurturing nest, a soft place from which to grow new wings.” Have you had a similar experience of God’s provision in an unexpected way?

  Free will is a theme in The Haven—for the falcons; for Will—who is flirting with the wrong side of the law; for Annie—a young mother who abandons her baby. Each has a choice to make and consequences to bear. In what way does that parallel God’s relationship to us?

  Do you think Annie deserves a second chance? Discuss how you felt about the way the Lapps handled Annie’s return.

  In order for Annie to succeed, the help of the Amish community will clearly be needed. How can strong communities—churches or neighborhoods or circles of friendships—help when a member struggles through difficult situations? When has your community helped you in a time of need?

  Amos believes that trust is a fundamental part of the relationship between a falconer and his falcon. When the falconer releases the falcon, it has a choice to return. What message is he trying to get through to Will’s father? Is there someone in your life whom you have to “let go”? So much of the Christian life is about trusting God. How can you trust that, as you let go, you are really handing that individual into God’s care?

  The story doesn’t end with the reader knowing, without any doubt, who Sadie will end up loving—Gideon Smucker or Will Stoltz. How would you finish Sadie’s love story? Which young man do you think Sadie will ultimately choose, or which one should she?

  Acknowledgments

  In the writing of this book, I had the pleasure of learning about the art of falconry through Kit Daine, falconer extraordinaire. Kit provided more than just information—she gave me a sense of the rare and wonderful bond of trust between a falcon and its trainer. Thank you, Kit, for your time and for sharing some valuable resources. A heartfelt high five to Mela Brasset, for linking me to Kit. And a grateful shout-out to Cheryl Harner, president of the Greater Mohican Audubon Society and blogger behind the Weedpicker’s Journal (http://cherylharner.blogspot.com).

  On the publishing end, my gratitude goes to the incredible group at Revell. To Andrea Doering and Barb Barnes, thank you for being everything a writer could hope for in editors. Thanks for your guidance, astute suggestions, and encouragement, and for helping Stoney Ridge come to life.

  To the crew in marketing, publicity, and art (Deonne, Twila, Michele, Janelle, Claudia, Donna, Cheryl)—I so admire the awesome job you do in bringing the books to the shelves. To my agent, Joyce Hart, thanks for taking care of business so I can focus on writing.

  Gratitude beyond measure goes out to reader friends, far and near. Thank you for sharing the books with friends, recommending them to book clubs, and taking time to send little notes of encouragement my way via email and Facebook. Thank you, all of you, for being a blessing, a joy, and a treasure. I hope you find a few treasures of your own in Stoney Ridge, and that thi
s story returns the joy and the blessings in some small measure.

  Last but never least, an over-the-top, words-can’t-express thank-you to God for the opportunity to write stories of faithful people.

  Sneak Preview of

  The Lesson

  Stoney Ridge Seasons • Book 3

  Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Available January 2013

  The year Mary Kate Lapp turned nineteen started out fine enough. Life seemed full of endless possibilities. But as the year went on, a terrible restlessness began to grow inside of her, like sour yeast in a jar of warm water on a sunny windowsill. There were days when she thought she couldn’t stand another moment in this provincial little town, and days when she thought she could never leave.

  On a sun-drenched afternoon, M.K. was zooming along on her red scooter past an English farmer’s sheep pasture, with a book propped above the handlebars—a habit that her stepmother, Fern, scolded her about relentlessly. She was just about to live happily ever after with the story’s handsome hero when a very loud Bwhoom! suddenly interrupted her reading.

  Most folks would have turned tail and run, but not M.K. She might have considered it, but as usual, curiosity got the best of her. She zoomed back down the street, hopped off her scooter, climbed up on the fence, and there she saw him—an English sheep farmer in overalls, sprawled flat on the ground with a large rifle next to him. The frightened sheep were huddled in the far corner of the pasture. Doozy, M.K.’s big old yellow dog of dubious ancestry, elected to stay behind with the scooter.

  M.K. wasn’t sure what to do next. Should she see if the sheep farmer was still alive? He didn’t look alive. He looked very, very dead. She wouldn’t know what to do, anyway—healing bodies was her sister Sadie’s department. And what if the murderer were close by? Nosir. She was brave, but she had to draw the line somewhere.