by Claire Adams
"I don't have a lot of time, nor do I care to pick through the carefully constructed sales pitch you're about to give me," he said as he held my gaze. His bushy eyebrows twitched slightly as he stopped speaking and stared at me. "Tell me what you can do for me and why I should entertain the idea of doing whatever it is you want me to do."
"Look, I know that you don't hook up to the electrical supply because you don't want to be part of the system or dependent on the English," I said, hoping that what I was about to do would be what he wanted. "At Agape Resources, we've got a wind turbine that will ensure that you don't have to be on the grid. It's cost efficient and will supply enough power to your community to keep you independently operating all year round."
"I see," he said. I waited for him to follow up with more questions, and when none came, I continued speaking.
"We can set up the turbines in the fields where you grow crops," I said leaning forward on my elbows as I spoke. "Each set of turbines will generate enough energy to run the ten households closest to them, and it is possible that we could install enough turbines to run the entire city of Corner Grove—businesses included."
"I see," the Bishop replied, but said nothing more.
"The initial cost is steep, but this would be offset by the savings you will reap on the elimination of the need to buy gasoline for generators and wood for furnaces,” I said as I tried to gauge Miller's response. So far, he'd given me nothing to work with. "Turbines can also help pump water and operate machinery that grinds grain, so for your farm endeavors, this would be extremely useful."
Bishop Miller sat staring at me with an impassive expression and did not say a word.
"Mr. Miller, I'm not sure what it is you want me to say, but I am more than happy to answer any questions you have or address any reservations," I offered as I tried to get a read on what he was thinking or what he wanted. This was not my strong suit since my father had always let me know exactly what he was thinking, whether I wanted to know or not.
"Mr. Wallace," the bishop began after a long silence. "Do you know anything about the Amish culture?"
The question caught me off-guard, but since I'd spent time researching their community and thinking about how to best formulate a sales pitch, I felt confident when I answered. "Your community prides itself on being independent and self-reliant. You avoid government interference as much as possible, and you maintain a community based on tradition and religious devotion."
"What history book did you pull that out of?" Miller dryly asked as he folded his hands and rested them on the worn, oak surface.
"I read it online," I said.
"I see," he nodded before looking down at his hands. For me, it was an agonizingly long time before he spoke again. "Mr. Wallace, we are simple people who do our best to uphold the values set forth by God. Part of those values involves maintaining a certain distance from the outside world. That is true. My concern about your project is that it invites the outside world into our fields and farms."
"No, it would give you the freedom from the outsiders," I said wondering if he'd listened to anything I'd said.
"It would not," he replied. "It would open up our community to a wide range of interference as you'd be required to get permits to install such technology and then would bring machines and crews into actually do the installation. And what about when the machinery breaks down, Mr. Wallace?"
"Those are short periods of time for the installation, and the maintenance is minimal," I replied as I felt my frustration building. This man didn't want to see how much his community could be helped by the turbines. "The licenses would be obtained through Agape Resources, and you wouldn't have to have anything to do with those."
"I see. Then what happens if there is a problem with the turbines, Mr. Wallace?" he asked as he raised his eyes up to meet mine. "Whose responsibility is it then?"
"Well, we'd deal with the problems," I said. "We'd be responsible for resolving the issues and dealing with the outsiders."
"So, you're going to move someone down here to be onsite at all times?" he asked.
"Well, no," I admitted. "But you can always call us in Chicago and we'll send someone down immediately."
"Outsiders running things in our community from the outside," he murmured.
"Mr. Miller, we are trying to help your community," I sighed as I frantically tried to think of a line of reasoning that would convince him we were the best option for Corner Grove. "We are not trying to interfere with your way of life."
"Oh, but you are," he said shaking his head. "You most definitely are. And as far as I can see, Mr. Wallace, this partnership will most likely benefit you more than it will benefit us."
"Why are you being so stubborn?" I blurted as I pushed my chair back from the table and shot up out of it. "My God, it's not like you people have trade secrets to protect or something! You're farmers! You need energy and we have a means of supplying you with it that won't interfere with your primitive lifestyle."
I could feel the anger rising and I wanted to shout at the man, but I knew that I'd probably already gone too far. He said nothing as he sat looking up at me. His expression gave nothing away. How could he not see that technology would make their lives easier and less stressful? Could he really be as blind as my father?
"Mr. Wallace," he said breaking the silence and pulling me back to the conference room. "Thank you for coming all this way, but we are not interested in installing your turbines in Corner Grove."
"That's it?" I said incredulously. "That's the end of it? You listen to part of my pitch and then just say no? You aren't going to ask the community what they want?"
"Mr. Wallace, as I'm sure you're aware, I am the bishop of this community," he said calmly rising out of his chair. "I am endowed by God the Creator and the members of this community to make the decisions for Corner Grove. I do not need to consult with anyone, so long as I abide by the word of God."
"Well, God is being pretty damn short sighted," I retorted as I quickly grabbed the presentation materials off the table and headed for the door. Before I exited, I turned and said, "You will regret this, Bishop Miller. I guarantee it."
"If it is God's will," he replied, "Then so be it."
I turned, yanked open the door and stormed down the hallway past the front desk where the young man who'd first greeted me sat. As I headed for the front door, he called out, "Have a blessed day, sir!"
"Go to hell!" I yelled as I slammed the palms of my hands against the heavy glass door forcing it open. I marched to the Mustang muttering under my breath, "Blessed my ass."
I yanked open the door and threw the handful of papers toward the opposite side of the car and watched them fly in all different directions. I slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and jammed the key into the ignition. The car roared to life and without looking behind me I put the car in reverse and backed up, narrowly missing a buggy full of Amish teenagers pulling out of the parking lot.
"Watch where you're going!" the boy holding the reins yelled.
"Fuck you!" I yelled flipping him the bird as I stepped on the gas. I knew my anger was over the top, but I'd had enough of old men telling me that my ideas weren't good enough. Much like my father, Bishop Miller was behind the times and refused to see that it was essential that he employ new technology to improve things.
At the edge of the parking lot, I waited for another buggy to cross the factory entrance. "Goddamn it!" I shouted as I slammed my fists against the steering wheel. "Will you people please join the twenty-first century?"
As soon as they'd moved away, I swung the car left and hit the gas. There was nothing but open road in front of me and I knew that a little speed would help burn off the anger that threatened to consume me. I punched my foot to the floor and felt the car take off. Flying down the road the speedometer climbed: sixty, seventy, eighty. Soon, I hit ninety and watched the factory disappear in my rearview mirror.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and th
e next thing I knew, I hit the brakes and was sliding sideways along the sand covered asphalt. I pulled my foot off the brake and wrenched the wheel to the other side as the car continued to slide.
"Oh shit!" I hollered as the Mustang went sliding over the edge of a grassy bank, and then everything went dark.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace
"C'mon Blackie, let's get home and get some supper," I said to the brown work horse who'd been waiting under the shelter Dat had long ago built for Toby after I'd cried and told him I thought it was inhumane to make an animal wait outside in the sun or rain or snow. I could feel the tears welling up as I pulled myself up into the buggy and prepared to head for home.
It had been another extremely long day at the store and I was feeling the weight of everything crashing down on me. I'd spent the day sifting through Dat's papers, trying to organize the supply orders and the bills, but Dat seemed to have carried the information in his head rather than recording anywhere and now the office looked like a tornado had blown through it.
What I could piece together didn't paint a pretty picture. As best I could gather, the store was in some big financial trouble. It looked like Dat had been robbing Peter to pay Paul and the entire set up appeared to be in danger of collapsing leaving the store in a very precarious position. I wasn't ready to panic, though. Mamm had told me that Dat had always managed to put a little extra away for a rainy day, and I was feeling certain that I would be able to locate the money as soon as I cleaned out the office.
The velvety black night sky stretched out across the countryside and without the glow of electric lamps to interfere, I could see the various constellations shining brightly. This was the one think I loved about being home. I always loved how close I felt to the land and the sky. I loved the city for its busy bustling movement and the way it always felt alive and ready. But in Chicago, buildings rose out of the concrete landscape blocking out the sunlight often making me feel closed in and walled off.
I breathed deeply and smelled the scent of damp earth mixed with fresh cut grass. It was the scent I associated most with Corner Grove, that and Mamm's cooking. I bit my lip to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to come crashing down as I struggled to suppress memories of Mamm standing in front of the stove frying chicken or bent over the counter rolling out pie crusts laughing as she tried to teach Danny how to emulate her technique. My brother would invariably end up with a lopsided lump of dough covered in flour. His silent laughter making Mamm laugh all the harder. I couldn't believe I'd never see her or Dat again. I choked back a sob as I turned into the drive and found Honor leaning against the fence post. She was barefoot with her arms crossed over her chest and an obstinate expression on her face.
"Honor, what are you doing out here?" I asked as I pulled the buggy around to the side of the house and hopped out. "It's late; shouldn't you be inside helping Danny clean up after supper?"
"I'm sick and tired of this family, Grace," Honor muttered as she helped me pull the harness and reins off Blackie. "It's absolutely ridiculous around here."
"What are you talking about?" I asked as I led Blackie to his stall and made sure he had plenty of feed and hay. I grabbed the hose and filled the trough with fresh water before grabbing the brush and going over his coat. "Honor, what's got you so worked up?"
"Verity brought a stranger into the house," Honor said grumpily. "He's on the couch and I think he needs a doctor, but she says he's fine. I'm sick of her bossing me around and acting like she knows what's best!"
"Wait, back up, what stranger?" I asked as I turned and looked at her. Honor was well known for her dramatic storytelling skills, so I always tended to wait to hear the full story before drawing any conclusions about what she was saying.
"The stranger who put his car in the ditch!" Honor said impatiently. She had finished hanging the tack on the wall of the barn and had joined me in Titus' stall. "The guy put his Mustang in the ditch and Verity, Danny, and I got him out of it and hauled him to the couch. I told Verity to call 911, but she said it wasn't necessary. He wasn't hurt that bad."
"Are you telling me that there is a strange man in the house?" I asked.
"Grace!" Honor yelled. "You never listen to me!"
She turned and took off toward the back door of the barn running out into the cornfields. I was too tired to chase her. Instead, I hung up the brush and secured Blackie's stall before heading into the house. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd find, but I knew that it would probably be a lot less dramatic than the picture Honor had painted.
"Verity? Danny?" I called as I opened the door and entered the kitchen. The smell of dinner hung in the air and I felt my stomach growl as I looked around and saw a covered plate sitting on top of the stove. I called again, "Verity?"
"Grace, I'm so glad you're home!" my sister said as she walked into the kitchen carrying a tray that held a glass of water and a host of first aid supplies. "It's been awful busy around here today."
"Honor told me," I said eyeing the tray and looking back at Verity. "What's going on?"
"One of the English crashed his car into the ditch across the road and we helped get him out!" she said as her eyes shined with the excitement.
"When did this happen?" I asked.
"This morning after we milked," she replied as she removed the bowl and glass from the tray and moved to the sink.
"This morning?" I exclaimed. "What is he still doing here? Do you know anything about him? He could be dangerous! What were you thinking, Verity?"
"Calm down, Grace," she said smiling. "He's staying over at Mrs. Yoder's place and he had a meeting with Uncle Amos this morning. He's very interesting, you know!"
"Verity," I said sternly. "This is not okay, and you know it."
"But Grace..." she pleaded, ”he's talking to Danny."
"He's what?"
"He's been talking to Danny all day, and Danny's been sitting next to him listening," she said. "Go see for yourself!"
I dropped my things on the kitchen table and walked into the living room. There on the couch under the window that looked out over our backfields, sat the very handsome man who'd been so flip with me the night before. Except now he was dressed in business attire and looked like one of the young executives I regularly worked with in the offices in the Loop.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in a flat voice looking him over. He was stretched out on the couch with one of Mamm's quilts spread across his body. It wasn't quite long enough to cover his whole body, so his feet stuck out on one end. His eyes met mine and I couldn't look away. He threw back the quilt and tried to stand, but the pain was too great and he groaned as he sunk back down on the couch.
"Well, if it isn't the irritated store clerk!" he said in a tone that implied we were long lost pals.
"Who are you?" I asked ignoring his pain for the moment.
"I told you last night or did you forget? I'm Adam Wallace," he muttered through clenched teeth wrapping an arm around his mid-section. "You know, that dinner you sold me was outstanding despite the microwave."
"Wonderful, Mr. Wallace," I said in a clipped tone. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now, please tell me what you are doing in my house?"
"He crashed his car in the ditch across the street," Verity said quietly. "Danny, Honor, and I got him out and brought him inside."
"Why on earth would you do that, Verity?" I said as I spun around to face my sister.
"Because he was hurt, Grace!" she cried. "I didn't want to leave him trapped in the car."
"He's a stranger, Verity," I scolded. "Didn't you think about your safety? Or Danny's? You're old enough to know better!"
"Grace," Adam interrupted, "It's true I'm a stranger in town, but I promise I'm not dangerous."
"Your car in the ditch would indicate otherwise, Mr. Wallace," I said dryly.
"Well, that was definitely an error in judgment," he chuckled. "But not dangerous in the way you're implying."
"Has anyone called a tow truck
?" I said changing the subject. The talk I wanted to have with Verity would have to wait until we could get the English man out of our house. "Or an ambulance? You're obviously hurt, Mr. Wallace."
"Oh, I think it's just some bumps and bruises," he said waving me off. "I would have called a tow truck, but my phone got smashed."
"One of my sisters could have walked down to the phone and called," I said as I tried to maintain a neutral expression. It wasn't easy while this handsome stranger flashed me a smile that both irritated me and threatened to melt my icy defense. "In fact, I'll go do that now."
"No, no, it's not necessary," Adam said as he sat down to put his shoes on. He winced as he bent over and then stayed perfectly still for a few moments before bending further.
"Mr. Wallace, you're obviously hurt and in pain," I said as I moved toward him and knelt to help him with his shoes. His only response was to raise his gaze from the floor and when he did, I gasped. His face was etched with pain, but he still tried to smile at me. I moved his shoes out of the way and gently pushed him backwards on to the couch. "Lay back and rest. I'm going to go down to the corner and call an ambulance."
"Please don't," he said quietly. "I'm okay, really. I don't think anything is broken. Besides, it's just some bumps and bruises, nothing compared to what you and your family are going through. "
I bit my lip and looked away. The pain of my parents' death had barely become bearable, and to have this handsome man poking at the fresh wound was almost more than I could take.
"So, why are you here, Mr. Wallace?" I said trying to hide the shakiness in my voice.
"Look, it's a long story, and one that I'm sure you'll have very little interest in, but I really don't think we need to involve the police," he said. "And can you please stop calling me Mr. Wallace? That's my father's name, not mine. I'm Adam."
"Fine, Adam," I said putting my hands on my hips. "Tell me what your story is."
"Grace," Verity interrupted. "Let me take care of him before you grill him about his life story."