"I learn the hard way," Nick had once told her haughtily. And Rose knew it for truth. He'd insisted on using a makeshift fishing pole from a willow branch, even though he could see how many fish she caught by simply using her brother's conventional fishing pole. But he would stubbornly shrug and cast his line into the water. The same was true when it came to cutting hay with Dat or hanging tobacco to dry for a neighbor. Nick refused to imitate what her older brothers - or his foster brother, Christian - did routinely ... and correctly.
Rose justified his disruptive behavior, considering his difficult childhood - something Nick never talked about. It wasn't surprising to her that he seemed so angry. Angry at everyone, really.
Everyone but me.
At twenty-one, Nick had passed the age many young people joined church, yet he still showed no sign of wanting to do so. Didn't he understand that being selected by the bishop to be raised Amish meant the Lord God himself had chosen him? Out of all the lost, worldly souls.
"But by the grace of God I am what I am." Rose thought of the verse from 1 Corinthians that she and Silas Good had discussed months ago, when she'd last gone riding with him. "Sure seems like Nick would look on being chosen as a mighty gut thing," she'd suggested to her former beau, and he had agreed. Silas had felt as strongly as she did about the privilege it was for Nick to have the bishop as his father. "What most fellas wouldn't give for that," Silas had remarked as she rode beside him in his black courting buggy.
Now, while she distributed the feed, Rose felt a twinge at the memory of blond, blue-eyed Silas. She had no idea where things stood with him, since her expanded caretaking duties had kept her from attending Singings for quite a while. And, too, the few Sunday evenings she could've gone, she'd chosen to ride horses with her friend Nick instead. The thought of sitting still and singing the same songs put her on edge - hoping a nice fellow would smile and catch her eye for a ride home and all - when she could be out on a galloping horse, breathing in the nighttime fragrances.
It was her nighttime romps through the countryside with Nick that made her life most cheerful. They'd kept their outdoor jaunts secret - between just the two of them. Even now no one was aware of their companionship, apart from the work they did together in the barn. It was best, they'd long agreed, to avoid needlessly raised eyebrows.
She turned now to look at Nick. He smiled back and fixed his eyes on her head, where he'd once snipped off a strand of her strawberry hair when he was sure no one was looking. They had been pruning the grapevines near the road, after harvesting a bumper crop. He'd pressed the curl into his pocket, declaring it the "most striking red-blond" he'd ever seen. Rose had worried the clipped spot would show till it grew out again. But not a soul ever noticed.
Nick's scruffiness had amused her from his first day here. And sometimes she caught herself double-checking her own schtruwwlich hair, reaching up to push a loose strand over her ear, hoping she didn't look as unkempt as Nick. Goodness!
There were times the womenfolk shook their heads, though not unkindly, when they saw her at canning bees or quilting frolics. They took one look at her and must've understood that her mother couldn't rein in her youngest daughter like most able-bodied mothers did. Still, they liked her even as they winced at the stray hairs at her neck. Rose was known, after all, as a dutiful and loyal daughter. Unlike her sister Hen.
Plitsch-platsch - slapdash - Hen liked to describe her, but with a loving expression to soften the truth. There was no arguing it - Rose did have a penchant for letting things go. She couldn't deny her aversion to tightly twisting her hair on each side to pull it into a tidy bun. After all, she figured no one really noticed her hair beneath the boyish blue paisley kerchief she preferred to wear around the house - nor under her best Kapp on Preaching Sundays, either.
But Hen's opinion didn't count for much anymore. Not since she had joined ranks with the "high people," as Nick called them. For the life of her, Rose had never understood why the rough-and tumble boy from Philadelphia could just blurt out whatever was on his mind one day and clam up the next.
Today, Rose moved along the horse trough. She walked right up to Nick. "I've been wonderin'," she said. "Are all English bigheaded, do ya think?"
Nick smirked and returned to his shoveling. "I'm English, jah?"
"Ain't what I meant." She shook her head. "Remember what you said about my sister?"
"What about her?"
"That she joined up with the high folk when she married."
"Well, she got herself hitched to an Englischer, didn't she?" His black eyes pierced her own.
"That didn't make her uppity, though."
"Says who?"
"Honestly, I'm tellin' ya, Hen's not stuck on herself like some fancy folk." She stroked Upsy-Daisy's mane. "I'd be more apt to worry over her loss of faith."
"Why's that?"
"She rarely talks of the Lord anymore," Rose said.
"Does she read the Good Book?"
"Not to judge, but I doubt it. And her husband won't let her attend worship services, either, let alone come to our Preaching Sundays."
Nick huffed. "And that bothers her?"
"Can't say for sure. But it wonders me sometimes ... and makes me ever so sad."
Nick ran his hand over his stubbly chin. "So you're worried about her soul, then."
"I pray for her, if that's what ya mean." Rose turned and headed back to the feed bin with her empty bucket. Fact was, Hen had shown her true colors back when she first met Brandon Orringer near the old sawmill on Mt. Pleasant Road. But English as she was now, Hen wasn't a know-it-all, as the high people were thought to be.
Rose sighed, rehearsing those hush-hush things Hen had confided to her years before. Nick would not be hearing any of that from her lips, nor what Rose thought about Hen's impulsive marriage - and her lack of interest in joining church. Surely he could see how Hen's stubbornness had broken her parents' hearts. Rose herself saw the pain clearly in both Dat's and Mamm's eyes each and every day.
Mammi Sylvia was testing the roast for tenderness later that afternoon, with Mamm sitting primly in her wheelchair near the woodstove, when Hen's blue car pulled into the lane. Rose heard the motor before she saw Hen get out of the sedan and open the back door for blond, curly-haired Mattie Sue. Typically, months passed and they wouldn't see hide nor hair of Hen, and even less of Mattie Sue. The elusive Brandon had never once stopped to visit.
Glory be! Rose took off running out the back door, straight to Hen. "Oh, sister, you're here again ... three times in two weeks!"
Hen's pretty hazel eyes blinked rapidly. "We came for supper, if that's all right." She gave Rose a hug and then glanced down at a smiling Mattie Sue.
"Well, you're just in time. Mammi's cookin' a delicious meal." Rose fell into step with Hen while four-year-old Mattie Sue hurried away to the barn to play with the kittens.
Hen paused on the sidewalk, her eyes following Mattie. "How's Mamm doing?"
"About the same ... she does complain of bein' chilly lately. And I'm afraid she's come down with a cold."
"It's getting to be that time of year again."
"Truth be told, I don't think it's just the change of seasons. Mamm's getting weaker."
"That's why I came to check on her."
"Since when are you a nurse?" She bristled at Hen's insinuation, as if Rose weren't up to the daily task.
Hen tweaked her elbow. "You silly goose. Don't take things so seriously."
The tightness in her stomach would not give. "I'm do in' just fine looking after Mamm," Rose said softly, motioning for them to go inside.
Lately I've scarcely done anything else!
After supper, Rose slipped out to the screened-in porch, surprised to hear the bishop's son, Christian, and Nick talking loudly near the side of Dat's barn. Nick's head was down, his posture slouched, as it often was when Christian cornered him.
"Well, you're not listening ... Daed insists you attend the family meetin' tonight," Christian was saying
.
Nick looked away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"You'd better be there." Christian leaned forward, his straw hat square on his chestnut-colored hair. He waited for a response, shook his head, and turned to leave. Then he stopped in his tracks. "If you'd just loosen up your tongue, things would go a lot better round here, brother."
Nick raised his head. "I pull my weight, and you know it."
"Anyone can muck out a barn."
Nick's expression soured.
"If ya can't appreciate what Daed's done for ya," Christian barked, "you're downright dumm!"
Nick walked to the barn door and gave it a shove to the side.
Christian hollered after him in Deitsch, his face red, his eyes blazing. "Undankbaar, that's what you are!" Christian stormed off across the pasture to the bishop's house. "Ungrateful!"
The word hung like a broken tree branch after a squall. Rose planted her bare feet on the wooden planks of her father's porch, wondering what had gotten Christian so riled up again.
What she wouldn't give to see Christian offer the hand of acceptance to his English foster brother. Her own brothers, especially Mose and Joshua, were the best of friends. They shared each other's farm tools and whatnot, as did Dat and his brothers. All of them seemed to be unified in working the land and caring for the animals. But never once had she heard Christian speak a kind word to poor Nick.
What she had heard were Dat's worrisome comments to her oldest brother, Joshua, who came frequently to assist with welding hitches for buggies and wagons and other heavier jobs that had to do with the conveyances Dat made. "Something must be done to get Nick's attention, to sway him toward the church . . . and mighty soon," her father had said.
This had surprised her. Wasn't swaying Nick up to the Lord? After all, God loved Nick more than even his own mother did. "More than anyone," Rose whispered.
Recently, after a Preaching service, she'd spotted Nick walking past the chicken coop, dressed in his black trousers and coat like the other fellows. In that moment, it struck her that although he looked the same as the others outwardly, he did not resemble any of them on the inside. Then and there, she'd wondered if he would ever join the ranks of the People.
Rose wandered down the back steps and across the yard to the barn. From the day Nick had come to live next door, he had been at odds with their community. Especially with Christian.
A year younger, Christian had always enjoyed a solid relationship with his bishop father, having been the only son for nine years - until Nick arrived on the scene. With his dimpled chin and sparkling green eyes, Christian was exceptionally goodlooking. Rose had once had a short-lived crush on the tall, muscular boy, till it became obvious that he took much pleasure in picking on Nick.
Hearing Dat come into the barn now, Rose headed straight to the stall to check on the bedding straw for their two new foals. She heard her father's work boots on the cement. "Can ya come early tomorrow to help me lift some boards?" Dat asked Nick. "The old bench wagon's nearly shot after all these years." Her father told him that the bishop thought it was time to replace it. "Your Daed wants it finished up in a few more days."
"Sure," Nick said, pausing. "I'll help ya."
"All right, then. We'll get started just after dawn." Dat glanced over at Rose before he slipped out the barn door.
Rose sat down in the fresh straw, still thinking about Christian's rash remarks. Why had the bishop called a family meeting? She was curious, even though it wasn't any of her business.
"S'pose you heard what Christian said earlier," Nick said, coming her way.
She nodded, wondering if she ought to say what she was thinking - that it might be best not to pay any mind to what his brother said.
"Christian? Puh! They should've named him Cain," Nick added. Then he said more softly, "Or Aaron, after his father."
Rose looked at him. "Bishop Aaron's your father, too."
Nick wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He stood there, looking dejected, his mouth in a thin, straight line. "Verna and the twins and their husbands and kids are all comin' over tonight," he muttered.
"What for?"
"Same as last week, prob'ly." He stopped abruptly, his ruddy face streaked with a line of dirt on one cheek. "They think it's time for me to join church."
Just then, Hen opened the barn door. Sunlight poured in like a brilliant waterfall. "We're heading for home now, Rosie."
Before saying good-bye to her sister, Rose turned to Nick. "I'll come over and see the bishop's grandchildren later on."
Nick gave a slight wave. "Bring a jar to catch lightning bugs."
She smiled at him, then watched her sister get into the car, wave, and back away, down to the road. And all the while she realized how sad she still felt, for having missed out on seeing Hen as a bride on her wedding day. How could she have denied me that? Rose thought. How, when we were such close sisters?
Solomon Kauffman finished power-sanding the smooth planks of pine to create the bottom and sides for the new bench wagon. He was mighty glad his bishop allowed compressed air to run his woodworking tools. He ran his callused hand down the fragrant lengths, relishing the light flouring of sawdust on them.
The door to the shop opened, and Bishop Aaron stepped in. "Got a minute, Sol?"
"Sure do." Anything for the bishop. He wiped his hands on his coarse work apron. "What can I do for ya?"
The bishop's eyes were sunken, like he hadn't slept much last night. "Ravin' more troubles with Nick." He stroked the length of his brown beard. " 'Tween you and me, I found some empty beer bottles back behind the barn."
Solomon held his breath, then said, "Again?"
"Nick's either in with a bad crowd, or he's doin' the drinking on his own."
"Have ya talked to him again 'bout church baptism?"
"Barbara and I have said all we can." The bishop removed his straw hat and stood there looking mighty helpless. "Don't know what more to do." He drew a long, labored sigh. "Unless the Lord gets ahold of him - or one of the district girls catches his eye - I'm afraid we'll lose Nick to the world altogether."
Solomon was sorry to hear it. And he was worried, too, because he knew Rose Ann had befriended the sometimes surly young man. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.
"Doubt it, really."
Sol knew, as with his own daughter Hen, once the world grips a person, they rarely come back. An enemy of God ...
"Well, it's obviously too late this year, but by a year from now, I'd sure like to see him make the kneeling vow," the bishop said. "I'll keep workin' toward that end."
For that to happen, Nick would have to start attending baptismal instruction classes with the bishop next summer. "Ach, growin' up in your house ... surely Nick's overheard plenty of the teaching for the baptismal candidates. If ya don't mind my suggesting it, what if you made an exception and did some one-on-one training with him right away?"
The bishop eyed Sol. "That could work, I s'pose." He nodded his head. "Might get him committed to the idea, anyhow."
"You don't think he'd just up and run off, do ya?"
Bishop frowned and glanced back at the door. "Hard to say with that one. He's all filled up with a contentious spirit."
Something inside Solomon gripped him. "He won't influence Christian against the church, will he?"
"It's difficult to know what Nick's capable of." The bishop went on to tell about the family meeting they'd had last week. "We've got another tonight. Verna's husband, Levi, is trying to take Nick under his wing, but that's proving to be mighty hard when the boy's keener on the world than God."
Solomon's sons - all of them - had followed the Lord in holy baptism early on, settling down with their sweethearts right away. Hen, though, had caused enough chaos to make up for all of her compliant and upstanding brothers put together. "I'll keep you in prayer." Sol's throat constricted with the memories of his rebellious daughter.
"Denki, Solomon ... mighty kind of you."
> "The Lord knows what it'll take. You can trust in that." It felt odd counseling the man of God this way, but it was all Solomon knew to say.
He thought back to Rose Ann's own baptismal instruction and was happy she had decided to forgo a typical Rumschpringe to join church at age fifteen. That way, when the time came, she could only date Amish fellows, and her promise to God would keep Rose safely in the fold. He'd encouraged his youngest to become a member mighty young ... for dear Emma's sake. Emma had been afraid she might pass on before she could witness Rose's baptism. And everything, after all, hinged on his wife's frail health. Just everything.
The bishop sighed, his expression dreary. "The ministerial brethren are all doin' whatever they can, trying to keep Nick in the church."
"I'm sure you've warned him 'bout touching or tasting the unclean things of the world, jah?" said Sol.
"Oh goodness, have we ever, and you can see what good that's done. Poor Barbara. .. sometimes I believe all this is goin' to break her health," the bishop admitted. "I'd hate to see that."
Thinking again of Hen, Sol offered, "Well, our wayward daughter's startin' to show interest in us once again ... if that's any encouragement."
The bishop nodded and looked away, as if struggling to maintain his composure. "We're nowhere near that with Nick, I daresay."
"Does he show you and Barbara any respect?"
"Most of the time -'least outwardly."
Sol felt for the man. "Don't give up on him."
"No intention of that. My very calling in the community depends on getting Nick settled down."
Sol understood the bishop could soon be under serious scrutiny from the other ministers if he didn't get Nick into the church, and soon. Having a rebellious son - even a foster one - called his qualifications for bishop into question, even though he'd drawn the divine lot for the office as a younger preacher than most, some fifteen years ago.
The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy) Page 2