by Marta Perry
“You’re worried, ain’t so?” Lines formed between Adam’s straight eyebrows as he studied her face. “I heard Bishop Thomas had a meeting with some parents yesterday.”
“That’s true.” Mattie moved a few steps farther away from the house to be certain sure the kinder couldn’t hear. She leaned on the rail fence that surrounded the pasture, and Adam joined her. “All the boys and girls who are turning fourteen had both their parents there for the meeting. Except Rachel.” Her fingers tightened on the rail.
“I’m sure you did fine.” Adam’s voice was warm. “Just as Ben would have wanted.”
She shook her head, thinking that with Adam, at least, she never needed to be anything but honest. “Shy little Mattie who couldn’t say boo to a goose? That’s what my mamm always said of me. I was tongue-tied the whole meeting.”
“No doubt there were plenty who talked, ain’t so? The world needs some listeners.”
Mattie had to smile, even though the smile trembled a bit on her lips. “We should have been prepared for this trouble, I suppose. We knew the Englisch were talking about building a new high school way over near Jefferson and busing the scholars to it.”
“Ja, we should have.” Adam’s usually merry face sobered, making him look more like the mature widower she knew he was and less like the little boy she remembered. “I guess we just thought it wouldn’t affect the Amish. We figured our young ones would still go to the four-room school down the road and still finish at eight grades.”
“Now they say they won’t let us.” The words burst from Mattie.
Adam nodded. “It seems the law says that our kinder have to go to school until they’re fifteen. Nobody paid any attention to that before. We just kept doing what we’d always done.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if they could still go to the Rock Creek School. At least there, the Englisch kinder are more like ours—farm kids who have always lived around the Amish.” Mattie shivered, despite the heat of the August day. “But now the new school board is sending them off to that big consolidated high school. There will be so many Englisch teens there—kids who don’t know anything about us. The bishop says our young ones will be taught all kinds of things about the Englisch world. I’ve never seen Bishop Thomas so upset.”
“He probably thinks he should have seen it coming and been able to prevent it, so I’ve heard,” Adam said. “But I don’t know that anyone could have done anything. There’s been talk of forcing our children into Englisch high schools for years. Maybe the Englisch think that will cause us to leave our path and become more like them.”
“That’s what Bishop Thomas said.” Her voice trembled despite her attempt to keep it steady. “He thinks it could be the end of us as a people if our teenagers are pushed into adopting Englisch ways.”
“And you’re worried about your Rachel,” Adam said.
Mattie nodded, not entirely trusting herself to say the words. Sweet, gentle Rachel—what if the other students made fun of her? What if they teased her for wearing plain dress and speaking different? Mattie could feel Adam’s gaze on her face. Did he understand what she was feeling, or did it take a mother to feel this way about a daughter?
“I know. You thought she’d be staying home this year with you, learning how to run a house and take care of kinder.”
“That’s the way it’s always been.” Mattie could hear the yearning in her voice. “And Rachel’s so clever with a needle that Ada Busch said maybe she would teach her to work with her as a seamstress.”
“Is that what Rachel wants?” Adam had a way of going right to the heart of the matter.
“She says so. She likes the idea of having a job. You know how serious and mature she is. The idea of making some money to help support the family appeals to her. And she gets along so well with Ada.”
“She’s a gut person, our Rachel. Her daadi would be proud of her.” Adam’s voice had roughened a little, either because he spoke of Ben or perhaps because Rachel made him think of his own little daughter, lost at birth along with his young wife.
“Ja. I fear Ben would not be proud of me, though. I couldn’t think of a thing to say when all the rest of the parents were talking about what we should do.” She tried not to let herself feel afraid, remembering the loud voices that had made her tremble inside. “Some folks think we should take the school board to court, but Bishop Thomas could not agree to that idea.”
“We always try to avoid being entangled with the law.” Adam sounded as if he were thinking it through, slow and careful as always. “But in the war it was a gut thing that the other peace churches were willing to get involved to keep our boys from being sent to fight.”
It hadn’t been that long ago that young Amish men had faced the fear of being drafted and forced into the army to fight the war in Europe or the Pacific. At least they’d found a compromise that considered the Amish belief in nonviolence.
“That was different. That affected all of the peace churches. This is just our little school district.”
“Like David and Goliath, ja?”
Adam was trying to get her to smile, but she couldn’t. She could only stare out across the land, thinking how dear this place was to her, as it had been to Ben. Some folks were even thinking of leaving for another settlement to escape the law, but she couldn’t possibly leave the place that had been home to her and Ben.
“The bishop is going to talk to some of the school board members to try and get them to see our point of view. If not—well, if not, he says we parents must each decide. And if we keep our kinder home when the law says they must go, then we’ll have to face the penalty.”
She could feel herself grow cold inside. What would that penalty be? A fine? Jail? Would they try to take her kinder away from her?
Adam put his hand firmly over hers where it rested on the railing. “You are imagining the worst, ain’t so? But this isn’t the time of the martyrs any longer, Mattie. Surely people of good will can come to a decision that is right for all.”
Something about the strength of his grasp and the confidence in his voice heartened her. Adam was right. There wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved if folks tried hard enough.
“You always make me feel better, Adam.” This time she didn’t have to force a smile. “Just like you always made me laugh when you were tagging along behind Ben and trying to do what your big cousin did.”
For a moment, Adam didn’t respond. Then he smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not that little cousin any longer, Mattie.” He took a step away, his gaze steady. “But I will always be here to help you in any way I can.”
• • •
“Are you asleep on your feet, Judith? I’ve asked you three times for the salt.”
Judith blinked, pulling her thoughts away from her worries about Isaac. “Sorry.” She put down the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the pork barbecue and handed the salt shaker to her cousin Barbie, who was mixing up a mammoth bowl of potato salad. “I guess I was daydreaming.”
Barbie’s eyebrows lifted. “They aren’t very happy daydreams, by the look of you. You’re not worried about the food, are you? With all the stuff the aunts and cousins are bringing for the birthday supper, there’ll be more than enough.”
“There always is, ain’t so?” She gave the barbecue another stir and turned the gas flame all the way down. “I’m fine, and wonderful glad you came early to help.”
“No trouble at all. I was done work early at the bakery, and with visitors slowing down at the farm-stay, Rebecca and I haven’t been so busy there, either.”
Barbie, younger by several years than Rebecca and Judith, was still not married, or even courting, as far as anyone could tell. With her pert, lively face and her fondness for pushing the boundaries, Barbie had caused her elders more than a little concern, but she was certain-sure a hard worker. Besides working part-time at the bakery in t
own, she’d taken on a big responsibility in helping Rebecca run the farm-stay this summer, and Rebecca declared Barbie was better at it than she was.
“You’re sure there isn’t anything wrong?” Barbie seemed to have grown more sensitive to other people’s feelings in the past year, which was a fine thing, except not right at this moment.
“Nothing at all.” Judith pinned a smile to her face. “It isn’t every day a boy turns fourteen, so maybe I’m doing a little looking back. Wondering where the little boy has gone that I used to tuck into bed at night.”
Barbie deserted the potato salad to give Judith a quick hug. “You’ve been a fine mother to Joseph.” Her eyes sparkled suddenly. “I wonder how long it will be before Rebecca adds another boppli to the family.”
“It’s too soon to talk about the possibility of another baby,” Judith chided, but she couldn’t help thinking about it, too.
“Matthew’s already acting as a father to Rebecca’s two,” Barbie said. “For sure they’re going to want more children.”
Barbie was probably right, but they shouldn’t be speculating about it. “We need to be starting to get things lined up for the wedding, not wondering about babies. Lots of couples will have started their planning a year ago, most likely, and every Tuesday and Thursday after fall communion will be jammed with weddings.”
“I’m making lists,” Barbie said, adding some fresh parsley to the top of the bowl to brighten up the potato salad. “Folks are so happy for them that they’re lining up to help. Maybe one afternoon next week we should get together with Rebecca to talk.”
“Good idea. Rebecca will have ideas of her own, especially since it’s a second wedding.” Judith glanced out the kitchen window. The boys were tossing a ball around with Joseph, with even little Noah grabbing for it, missing, and then running after it as fast as his legs could carry him. The boys obviously wanted to be outside to see the first guests arrive—the little ones more excited about it than Joseph, even. But Isaac was nowhere to be seen.
Her heart gave a lurch. Isaac had to be there to greet the family. It would look so odd if he wasn’t. She bit her lip. Poor Isaac. She was trying to understand his feelings, but it was hard when he wouldn’t talk about them. She had tried twice since Joseph had blurted out the truth of when the farmhouse burned, and all she’d gotten in return was a stony, forbidding expression.
Joseph had known, and Isaac’s own wife hadn’t. Did Isaac even realize how strange that was?
Barbie slid the potato salad into the gas refrigerator. “By the way, what vocational class is Joseph taking? I was going to ask him, but I didn’t get a chance.”
“Vocational class?” Judith echoed the words, turning to stare at Barbie. “What makes you think Joseph is taking a vocational class?”
“Isn’t he?” Barbie tilted her head to the side. “Really? You know we have a bulletin board at the bakery with all those workshops and courses listed, and Joseph was in the other day, studying it as if it was the most important thing he’d ever seen. I noticed he took one of the folders away with him, so I just assumed he was taking something. Lots of the young ones do, once they’re finished with eighth grade.”
Barbie spoke of the “young ones” as if she were decades older than they were instead of eight or nine years.
“I don’t think he’s mentioned anything about it. Anyway, why would he be wanting to take a class? He knows the farm will be his one day. Isaac is already teaching him what he needs to know to run a dairy operation.” Somehow, even as she said the words, doubt crept in.
Barbie shrugged. “Sometimes kids have ideas of their own. I surely did when I was that age.” She grinned. “Maybe I still do, come to think of it.”
Judith suppressed the urge to say that Joseph couldn’t. Of course he could. Just because he didn’t talk about it, that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it.
“He was probably getting the folder for a friend of his, that’s all,” she said.
She tried to believe what she was saying. Isaac was already irritated enough over Joseph’s daydreaming and inattention to his work. If he thought Joseph wanted to take a class at the vocational school just when he’d started learning about the dairy operation, she could imagine his reaction.
“Could be. I’ll ask him when I get a chance—” Barbie began.
“No!” The word came out far more emphatically than Judith intended, but somehow she had to stop Barbie from saying something that might cause a quarrel today of all days. “I mean, please don’t say anything to him.”
“Why not? And don’t tell me nothing’s wrong again, because I just don’t believe it. If you don’t want me to put my foot into the trouble, you’d better tell me what’s going on.” Barbie’s persistence was legendary. When she wanted something, she’d never let go.
“Please, Barbie.” Judith clasped her hands, trying to convey her urgency. “I’d rather not talk about it, at least not now.” She’d have to say something more, she knew. She’d just whetted Barbie’s curiosity. “It’s just that Isaac is so set on Joseph getting serious about the dairy farm, and I . . . well, I’d like to speak to Joseph about it myself, quietly, before anyone else hears.”
Barbie studied her face, her blue eyes intent. Then she nodded. “Okay. Don’t worry.” Her dimple appeared briefly. “I know you think I’m a terrible chatterbox, but I can keep my mouth shut when I want. I won’t say anything.”
“Denke, Barbie.” Judith felt as if she could breathe again. “Let’s just get through the birthday first. Then I’ll figure it all out.” She would, wouldn’t she?
“I hear a buggy,” Barbie exclaimed, turning to look out the window. “It’s Isaac’s cousins, here first to celebrate.”
Isaac’s cousins. They would know the significance of this day, even though she hadn’t. If Isaac wasn’t there to welcome them—
But he was. He came walking over from the generator shed just as they were pulling up. Isaac was putting up a good front, but Judith knew him too well to be fooled. He was hating every second of this party before it had even begun.
Her glance shifted to Joseph, and her breath caught in her throat. Joseph knew Isaac well, too. And Joseph knew exactly what his brother was feeling. Hurt and anger mingled in the boy’s face before he could manage to hide them.
Judith realized she was holding her hand against her heart, as if she could keep it from bursting with pain. Surely, if she loved Isaac and Joseph enough, she could heal this rift between them. She needed to believe that, but every day it became less and less likely that she could.
CHAPTER THREE
Joseph’s birthday party was drawing to an end, and as far as Isaac was concerned, that end couldn’t come soon enough. Still, he had to admit that it hadn’t been as painful as he’d thought it might be.
Judith probably deserved the credit for that. He knew she’d been keeping him busy, pulling him into one task or another, or insisting that he chat with each person there. He felt a tiny edge of resentment at being managed as if he were one of the kinder, but it had worked, so who was he to argue with it?
He’d done a good thing in marrying Judith—a very good thing. No man could ask for a better wife and mother. She’d taken on the responsibility of raising Joseph without a backward glance, something not every nineteen-year-old girl would do, that was certain-sure.
His gaze rested on her as she moved from one group to another seated in the backyard under the shade of the oak trees, making sure everyone had had plenty to eat and refilling lemonade glasses. She still looked much as she had that day he’d taken her hand, standing in front of the ministers and the entire church district to make their promises. Her figure might be a tad curvier, but that was all to the good. Her thick brown hair, smoothed neatly back, would be filled with waves when she let it down at night, and her oval face was as serene as if she hadn’t a thing in the world to worry about.
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br /> Isaac’s train of thought stumbled. Why would she worry? But he knew she did, about Joseph, about the boys, about him, most likely. She wanted everyone to be happy, and sometimes that must seem like an impossible task.
“A fine meal, Isaac.” Onkel Simon clapped him on the back. He was followed by his oldest boy, Lige, a few years older than Isaac himself. He and Lige were nearly as close as brothers, as much time as they’d spent together growing up.
“You’d best tell Judith that,” he said. “I didn’t do much except see that the boys set up chairs. She always makes a fuss over birthdays.”
“All women do, ain’t so?” Lige said. “You should have heard the fuss about it when our James turned sixteen. You’d think no one had ever had a rumspringa before.”
“Rumspringa means letting go of the reins a bit,” Onkel Simon pointed out. “No mammi ever thinks it’s time for letting her chicks out of her sight.”
Isaac’s throat clenched. His mother hadn’t been there to see what happened after he turned sixteen, because that was the night she died.
“Mammi might have been right at that.” Lige leaned against the fence post, tilting his hat to shield his eyes from the setting sun. Lige had his father’s lean face and blue eyes, but his reddish brown hair came from his mother. “That boy hasn’t given us a moment’s peace lately. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
“Like you didn’t do any such thing when you were his age,” Isaac said. “Seems to me I remember a boy who about drove his mamm crazy because his haircut wasn’t as stylish as he wanted it to be.”
Lige grinned. “I guess. But at least I wasn’t asking for a cell phone.”
“Only because they didn’t have them back then,” Isaac retorted.
“Ach, it’s natural enough for a teenage boy,” Onkel Simon said. “Seems to me every teenager I see is talking away on one of those things.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want him to have one. Of course he says that every single kid in his rumspringa gang has one except him.” Lige sounded as if his son was giving him as hard a time as he’d once given Onkel Simon.