This workday was a lost cause.
It took some doing, but David finally convinced Bethany to go home, that it was a slow day and there weren’t enough customers to keep the store open—which was partially true. A little before three o’clock, he couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the store, and walked to school to meet his daughters. He wanted to hear about the first day of school while it was fresh on their minds. Nearly halfway there, he regretted that he hadn’t driven the buggy today. The strong north wind that had come in to blow away lingering clouds from last night was now surrounding him at every turn, slamming against him. He barely snatched his hat before it went sailing, and he walked the rest of the way with one hand firmly on its brim.
A metaphor, he realized, for this was how he felt as a minister in Stoney Ridge—pushing against a strong but invisible force. Maybe he should consider returning to Ohio. Certainly, he wasn’t doing much good here. Maybe his children had enough time away to heal by now. Maybe the fact that Katrina’s ex-boyfriend was getting married was a sign—it was time to go home.
As he turned onto the road that led to the schoolhouse, he saw that the playground had already emptied out. Only Birdy was left, standing on the porch in nearly the same spot she had been this morning, her eyes fixed on the sky.
“Isn’t it amazing?” she said, pointing to a hawk riding the wind. “That majestic creature is playing. The wind is his friend.”
David laughed. “After trying to walk straight into the wind to get here, it’s no friend of mine.” He looked to the hawk flying low on the horizon. The hawk aimed his head toward the sun and thrust his body upward. When he reached an invisible peak, he adjusted his angle, succumbed to the force of the wind, and gently glided left, then right, down, and up again.
“It’s such a vivid picture of the Christian life.”
“The same thought had just occurred to me,” David said, more to himself than to Birdy. “The wind is constantly pushing us backwards, making life more difficult.”
Eyes on the bird, Birdy shook her head slowly. “I meant, the hawk. About not fighting the wind, but embracing it. Recognizing it as God’s presence, engulfing us.”
David turned toward her, surprised at the parallel she had drawn. Surprised by the depth of her thoughts. When she realized he was staring at her, she became awkward and ill at ease, backing up toward the schoolhouse door until she bumped into it. “I have a few things to finish up before I go home.”
“Birdy, hold on.”
She spun around and looked at him. She had brown eyes. Warm like coffee. Funny, he’d never really noticed those eyes before. They were the same dark color as Freeman’s, David realized, having just seen him earlier today, yet Birdy’s eyes were soft and sweet. Frankly, despite her substantial height, everything about her was soft and sweet. It was hard to believe she was related to Freeman and Levi. “How did the day go?”
Birdy thought for a moment, then grinned. “Let’s just say there’s room for improvement.”
On the way back to the store, David realized how tense he had felt as he’d walked to the schoolhouse, how tightly he had been clenching his muscles. Fighting the wind. He deliberately tried to loosen his body by moving his neck and arms about.
Instead of perceiving the force of the rushing wind as an enemy, he began to imagine it as the presence of the Holy Spirit enveloping him. And if that were true, then it was a reminder that God was with him, in this and around this. He had been fighting so hard, ready to give up, exhausted by the fight, because he assumed he was alone. He wasn’t. And he wouldn’t give up on this little church. Not now. Not yet.
Something incredible happened. He suddenly became relaxed. His soul settled, as if it had found its still point. He found peace.
A great spiritual lesson about submission, he realized, had been given to him today, through two unlikely sources: Birdy Glick and a bird.
For the third day in a row, Jesse had missed breakfast. The household was well into its day as he opened cupboard doors, trying to remember which one held cereal boxes. His father came down the stairs two at a time and went straight toward the door. Catching sight of him, his father backtracked and stuck his head in the kitchen. “Morning, son,” he said pleasantly, “what’s left of it.”
Jesse lifted the cereal box. “Care to join me?”
“No, I need to get to the store. A delivery is due in by ten. And you don’t have time for a leisurely breakfast, either. Hank Lapp is expecting you.”
What? So his father had been serious about this buggy repairman notion?
His father studied him in a way he knew all too well. “It’s time to put that head and body of yours to work.”
“I see.” He wished he did. “Dad, I’ve been thinking it over. I don’t think I’m really suited for buggy work.”
“Son, you seem to think you’re not suited for most employment.”
That was a fair statement, one that Jesse agreed with. The problem was that boredom set in so quickly in a routine job, and his mind left for greener pastures. “It doesn’t seem fair to Hank Lapp to have an apprentice who doesn’t want to learn how to repair buggies.”
His father waved away that concern as he opened the door. “Just remember . . . inspiration follows perspiration.” He stuck his head back around the kitchen doorframe. “Hank was expecting you at Windmill Farm two hours ago.”
Hank Lapp. Jesse wasn’t quite sure about that wild-eyed fellow, who always seemed slightly off-kilter.
For now, another bowl of cereal would definitely lift his spirits and mask the fact that he had a very real problem to face. Employment.
Jesse peered into the open door of the buggy shop, though there was no sign of life. It was a glut and bedlam of a place, utter chaos. Tools lay scattered on every horizontal surface, crinkled brown bags filled with tacks and grommets and nails lined the floor, spare buggy parts sat heaped in piles, fishing rods angled against a wall. Spectacles lay atop a worn ledger—had Hank Lapp forgotten them? Jesse poked around in the dimly lit room, wondering how anyone could ever find a tool in this mess. His heart sank. This apprenticeship was a terrible idea. Then a sliver of hope grew in his heart. If Hank Lapp were nowhere to be found, it seemed entirely reasonable for Jesse to return home. What good was an apprentice without a tutor?
Jesse was of medium height—still growing, he fervently hoped—but when he turned around, he was staring straight into a shock of wild white hair. Hank Lapp stood before him, wearing work coveralls that showed no evidence of work. One eye peered right at Jesse, the other eye wandered to the open door.
“Why, Jesse Stoltzfus,” Hank said, his voice as gravelly as a gizzard. “You’ve gone and gotten tall!”
Jesse swept his hat off his head and bent over at the waist in an exaggerated bow. “Your humble apprentice is at your service, O wise one.”
Hank held out a knobby hand for a shake and grinned at Jesse like an elf. Although he was only somewhere in his late sixties, he did not look strong: he was a slight man, with a willowy look, as if the powerful gusts of wind that swept through Stoney Ridge yesterday could’ve easily lifted him up and carried him off. In his mind’s eye, Jesse saw Hank in his overalls and shirt, arms flailing, being picked up by the wind and cartwheeled through the sky, off toward Philadelphia somewhere, and dropped down suddenly on the ground, confused, in a bustling city.
“What’s so funny?” Hank asked, frowning.
Jesse corrected himself quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking of something else. Funny things come to mind.”
“Well, don’t keep them to yourself. This world is in serious shortage of laughing matters.”
“Hardly.” A tall, thin, stern-faced woman stood at the open door, fixing a look on Jesse as if she had shrewdly caught him at something.
“FERN! Here’s my new apprentice, Jesse. He’s going to take over the buggy shop when I retire.”
A small smirk lifted Fern’s stern countenance. “I thought you’d already
retired.”
“Nope! Just the tired part.” Amused at his own joke, Hank slapped his knee in delight. “Jesse, best part of the job is taking the noon meal in Fern’s kitchen.”
Jesse had hoped the wages might be the best part of the job.
Fern looked Jesse up and down. “I can tell from here, your belly button is hitting your backbone. Wash up, the pair of you, and come on up to the house.”
The table was laid for three when Jesse followed Hank up to the house. Fern popped out of the kitchen with a pan of hot-from-the-oven cornbread and nodded to where he was to sit, saying, “Amos won’t be joining us.”
Tucking in his napkin, Hank dropped his head to signal a silent prayer. Then Fern speared a broccoli crown and passed the dish to Jesse. “You must have hit Hank when he was hard up for help.”
“I was as taken by surprise as you appear to be,” Jesse said honestly.
“Do you have experience with buggy repairs?”
“Not really.”
“He doesn’t hire just anybody.”
Hire! There was a word that appealed to Jesse’s sensibilities. He felt a glimmer of hope rise within. “We hadn’t quite finished that conversation when you called us in.” He looked expectantly down the length of the table at Hank.
Sadly, the hint fell flat on Hank’s ears. He was preoccupied with buttering his cornbread, lavishly and thoroughly. “Where’s Amos?” He lifted his empty coffee cup.
Fern poured coffee into Hank’s cup, then filled her own.
“Sugar there behind you,” Hank grunted. Jesse reached over to the counter and handed him a sugar bowl. Hank stirred in the sugar, added cream, took a sip, added more sugar, took another sip, let out a loud “Ahhhhh,” apparently satisfied.
“Freeman Glick is making his rounds to assess everyone’s finances, and Amos had to go down to the bank to get a copy of the most recent statement.”
Hank looked like he had bit down on a sour pickle. “Freeman’s poking his nose into everybody’s business.”
Between bites, Jesse asked, “He’s the minister, isn’t he?”
“Bishop,” Fern said. “Elmo Beiler passed on a month or so ago and Freeman Glick drew the lot.”
Hank lifted a fork in her direction. “I blame myself. I shouldn’t have slept in that morning. Mighta changed everything.” He shook his head. “Freeman Glick is the type who takes pleasure in kicking puppies.” He glared at Jesse with his one good eye. “If you find yourself around him, you better watch your sweet—”
“Hank! Don’t blaspheme.”
“—step, is all I was gonna say, Fern.”
“He’s our bishop,” Fern said, in a tone to put an end to Hank’s tirade.
“That man is tougher than—” sawing strenuously at the piece of pork chop on his plate, Hank glanced in Fern’s direction and hedged off—“leather.”
“Hank, rules,” Fern said. “Use a knife, not a fork.”
“So Hank, I hoped you could enlighten me about the parameters of this gainful opportunity.”
“Righto,” Hank confirmed, spooning more sugar into his coffee.
“The kinds of hours you keep, for example. And then there’s sala—”
“NOW YOU’RE TALKING!” Hank slapped the table resoundingly. “Come early, stay late!” A rooster belted out a loud crow, and Hank paled, then “Chickens!” came from his lips in a hoarse whisper. He thumped his chair down on all four legs and bolted to his feet. “Blast it all! I forgot to feed Edith’s chickens. She’ll skin me alive.” And suddenly he bolted for the door.
Jesse popped the last crumb of cornbread into his mouth. “Edith?”
“Edith Fisher. Jimmy’s leaving left her in a pinch with all those chickens to feed and clean up after. Hank’s trying to help her out.”
Fern Lapp and Jesse considered each other. An awkward silence filled the room—awkward, at least, for Jesse.
He finished swallowing his last bite of pork chop and bowed his head, then quietly rose to his feet. “I thank you, Fern Lapp, for the splendiferous and robust meal.”
“Save your charm for the girls,” she said. “You don’t need all that embroidery with me.”
Jesse blinked innocently back. “Why, I meant it!”
She nodded. “I’m sure you always do.”
“I’ll be off, then.”
“Just where do you think you’re going? You’re on the clock.” Her arched eyebrows expressed all that was needed.
Jesse wondered if it would make a difference if he pointed out that there really was no clock because there really was no work to do because there was no boss. Upon deeper consideration, he chose not to debate that point. Fern Lapp did not seem to be a woman who invited questions. “Regrettably, I am not seer enough to know what Hank’s intentions are.” He smiled, then swallowed it when she frowned at him. He tried again. “Unfortunately, in his haste to depart, Hank failed to give me instructions about what to do in his absence so that I could be of better assistance. Therefore I will wait until—”
Fern leaned over the table. “Boy, you have a brain. Make yourself useful.” Her eyes swept downward toward the buggy shop. She swept a few dishes off the table and whisked them to the sink. “Freeman wants an inventory of everything on this farm. Every cow, every sheep, every tool. He said he wants it down to the number of nails in a brown paper bag. You get started on the buggy shop. And while you’re making the inventory, do a little cleaning. We’re hosting church in a week’s time. Everything in that shop needs to be spick-and-span. I’ll be down within the hour to check on your progress.”
And that was definitely that.
Caught by surprise, Jesse had an odd feeling that the supervision of his apprenticeship had just changed hands and he was now reporting to Fern Lapp.
5
A blast of wind slammed into the windows, and upstairs something rattled.
Katrina stretched out under her covers, gobsmacked by the exhaustion that had plagued her for the last few days. She’d had indigestion all last night, so badly that she had to get up for Tums six or seven times, and it still bothered her now. Eating eased it a little, though the coleslaw she’d had for supper hadn’t helped.
Neither had the fact that John had yet to return her phone call.
She had tossed and turned every night since making that call, dozing off and on, reviewing their relationship, flashing on memories she’d struggled to stop thinking of. It amazed her to think that leaving a simple phone message for John would cause her to lose sleep. How many times would she and John sit together and talk for hours about everything and nothing? Just ordinary things, all of it.
Gone.
She wondered if Bethany was feeling the same way after Jimmy Fisher’s abrupt departure yesterday. Why did love have to be so difficult, so filled with peaks and valleys? More valleys than peaks, it seemed.
She finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed. She checked on Thelma, listened for a moment to her whiffling snore, and decided to take a walk before breakfast. A soft morning light was gently, slowly filling the sky. Chickens clucked and flapped when they saw her, expecting breakfast. Her ladies, Thelma called them. “You’ll have to wait a little longer, ladies,” she said as she passed the henhouse. She took a deep breath of sweet morning air and found that it eased her anxiety a little. Just a little, but it helped.
She climbed the path that led to the moss hill. The sight of the morning sun hitting the bright green giant pincushions caught her right in the throat and she halted, almost aching. The rocks were almost glowing, nearly iridescent, in the slant of the morning sun.
She sat down on a rock and took a deep breath, in and out. The pain she’d been carrying let go, as if she’d dropped a heavy backpack to the ground.
This. This was what she needed. Time alone, time without responsibilities. Time to think. To heal.
She turned around and saw Andy cresting the hill. She lifted a hand in a wave.
“You’re up early,” Andy said. He’d come up th
e path, carrying a shovel in one gloved hand and a heavy burlap bag in the other. He pushed the brim of his straw hat back with one hand, and she could see that he’d been working hard. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He hesitated, then set down his shovel and sack and sat down on the rock next to hers. He was staring at the trees that lined the base of the hill, and this gave Katrina a chance to study him. He was quite a fine-looking man. Different than John, but definitely attractive in his own way. She wondered what Bethany Schrock might think of Andy Miller, now that Jimmy Fisher had abandoned her for Colorado.
He turned toward her so suddenly that he caught her staring at him and his blue eyes crinkled with amusement. Probably used to women admiring him, she thought.
“I’ve never given much thought to moss before I came to stay with Thelma.”
Andy brushed a hand over the cushion top of a rock. “Moss is an all-purpose sponge. It stores water, releases nutrients, houses tiny critters. Pretty amazing stuff, actually. But it has to be harvested carefully.”
“How do you harvest it? By stripping the rocks?”
“Yes, but you never gather it all,” he said. “Not if you want it to grow back again. Always leave clumps behind to help the plant regenerate. It’s spore-driven. To thrive, it needs moisture, cool temperatures, and shade. And plenty of runoff, because moss can’t tolerate saturation.” He spread his palm in a wide half circle. “Just what this hillside has to offer.” He rose to his full height, towering over her.
“How long will it take to grow back?”
“All depends—if it’s taken properly, it survives and grows back. Sheet moss is the most common moss that’s harvested illegally. That’s why I’m trying to harvest it properly, here.” He tilted his head. “Come with me. I’ll show you where I’ve been harvesting this morning.” He led her through a wooded area on the north side of Thelma’s hill and pointed to a section on the hillside that had been harvested. She had never noticed moss before, and suddenly, it was everywhere. On the trees, on the ground, on the rocks.
The Imposter Page 6