Bethany nearly grinned, despite the seriousness of the matter. Rose could be surprisingly stubborn.
“Another day or two won’t matter in the grand scheme of things,” Rose said. “You’ll just have to sit tight. You’re welcome to help with the frolic. You can stay here, at Eagle Hill.”
“Frolic? Under the circumstances, that hardly seems like an appropriate use of time.”
Rose’s face softened into a faint smile. “It means a work party.”
Allen Turner rubbed his forehead. “This is highly unorthodox.”
“You have our word, Mr. Turner. We will leave with you on Monday morning.”
“Do any of you have an idea where Hertzler might be?” Allen Turner asked. “Favorite places? People tend to do predictable things even when they’re in trouble, maybe even more so then.”
Tobe shook his head. “Jake won’t do anything predictable.”
“True, but it’s also true that an animal run aground usually finds a way to reproduce the familiar.” Allen Turner turned to Bethany. “How did you contact him when he was in Stoney Ridge?”
“I had his cell phone number. I still have it.”
Allen Turner’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? We might be able to trace his location.”
“His phone isn’t on very often,” Bethany said. “Usually, I just left messages for him.”
Allen Turner turned over his yellow pad of paper to a fresh page. “That’s because he knows to keep it off so it can’t be located. And if he’s smart enough to take the battery out, we can’t trace calls at all.”
“Jake is freakishly smart,” Bethany said.
Tobe scratched his chin. “How can a cell phone be traced?”
“Mobile phones work by hopping from one tower to another. As you drive out of one range, you hook onto another. Each of these towers have a certain range, and the cellular provider can use triangulation and calculate the time it takes for the signal to get from the tower to your phone and back to calculate distance from that point.” Allen Turner tapped his pencil on his pad of paper. “So do you have the number?”
“It’s up in my room. I’ll go get it.” As Bethany passed the front door, she saw Geena Spencer come up the steps with her breakfast tray. She hurried to open the door to let her in. “I forgot all about your tray.”
“No problem. I’m heading into town so I thought I’d drop it off.” Geena handed the tray to Bethany, then looked quickly around the table. Her smile faded at the sight of Allen Turner. She backed up against the pistachio-colored wall, a look of astonishment on her face.
Allen Turner stared at her for a long moment. Then the craggy lines of his face softened in a smile. “Hello, Geena. Long time no see.”
Of all the people in all the world over, Geena thought, as she made a hurried return to her guest flat, she would not have expected to find Allen Turner on an Amish farm. She hadn’t seen him in years and years, not since the day she had told him she wouldn’t marry him.
No—that was only part of it. She wouldn’t give up the ministry for him. That was what he wanted from her and it was more than she could give him. She had hoped that Allen would reconsider and discover that he couldn’t live without her, but that wasn’t the way he was wired. He loved her but wasn’t willing to share her with a church. She loved him but wasn’t willing to give up the ministry for him. And so they parted ways.
A year or so later, news trickled to Geena that Allen had married. It was for the best, she knew, and she had prayed for Allen and his bride to be blessed. But she’d never gotten over feeling a bit of a sting whenever she thought of Allen.
At that moment the subject of her thoughts knocked on the guest flat door.
“Do you mind if I come in for a moment?” Allen said as she opened the door. He was big, blond, and had the kind of angular face that some might find handsome. She did. The added lines in that virile face had only given him character. His was the kind of presence that filled a room. “I’m going to be staying up in the farmhouse for a few nights. Three, to be exact.”
“Did they invite you?”
“Sort of.” He wiped the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “This heat wave is really something. No air-conditioning anywhere.”
“It’s an Amish farm, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He grinned. “I did, in fact. Geena, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
She raised a palm toward the sofa. “Well, then, why don’t you sit down.” She sat across from him in a chair. “I take it this is legal business?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve only been here a week and a half.”
Allen leaned back and raised an arm against the top of the sofa. “What brings you here, of all places?”
“Someone in my church gave me a gift certificate and I finally had time to use it. The inn has been booked up for months, but this heat wave brought some cancellations. So . . . I was in luck. At least until the heat wave breaks, anyway.”
“It is hot. I’ll never take air-conditioning for granted.” He picked up a magazine and started to fan himself. “So, have you been able to get to know the Schrock family? The Amish tend to be utterly private people.”
“They’ve been very welcoming to me. Very pleasant. I’ve gotten to know Bethany, in particular. She’s the oldest daughter.”
“Has anyone mentioned a fellow named Jake Hertzler to you?”
“No. And Allen, even if she did, I would consider it to be a confidence.”
He nodded. “The privileges of the priesthood.”
She bristled. How strange. Twenty years had passed and they were automatically in the roles they had left behind. She stood. “If there’s nothing else, I have an errand to run in town.”
“Wait, Geena. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Really. It was a careless comment. I just meant it as it was—you have the right to hold confidences. Please, sit down. I’d like to catch up with you.”
She slowly sat down again. “There’s nothing much to say.”
“Are you still working at the church in Ardmore?”
How did he know where she was working? “I’m . . . in between jobs right now.”
“Is that why you’re hiding out here, on a remote Amish farm?”
Okay. That was enough probing. She glanced at her watch. “I really need to head into town to get an errand done.” That wasn’t entirely an untruth. She had planned to go to the Sweet Tooth Bakery where she could get wi-fi and update her résumé on her laptop. And get a cinnamon roll. “If you’ll excuse me, Allen.” She went to the door to open it.
He rose and walked to the door. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to help the Amish build a community garden tomorrow.”
He smiled. “So am I. Wherever Tobe Schrock is, there I will be. See you tomorrow, Geena.”
11
On the day of the work frolic, Jimmy Fisher came to Eagle Hill just after breakfast to pick up Bethany. She was waiting on the porch step, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight that bleached the blue right out of the sky. “Looks like another scorcher.”
“Not hardly,” he said, drawing out the words teasing and lazy. “Won’t be truly hot until the water in the creek gets to boiling.” He handed her some drawings. “Last night, I figured out how much lumber we had and drew up some plans for the garden plots. See what you think.”
She looked over his detailed sketches. “Why . . . they’re excellent. Jimmy, you did a fine job.”
He shrugged, as if it was nothing, but she knew it wasn’t. He must have spent hours laboring over those plans. And then there was the recruiting he had done to talk dozens of people into volunteering a few hours for the community garden, despite the week’s record heat. She handed the sketches back to Jimmy. “Why are you doing all this?”
He looked at her as if she might be sun
-touched, then shook his head. “How could anyone in their right mind refuse an opportunity to spend a day slaving like a dog in ninety-five-degree weather with one hundred percent humidity?”
She lifted her chin and tried not to grin. “Excellent point.”
By eight o’clock, dozens of Amish had arrived and stood in a large clump, under the shade of the Grange Hall roof, listening to Jimmy Fisher explain how the garden plots would be laid out. By midday they would all be sweltering beneath a blanket of gummy, heavy air. And yet, the heat hadn’t stopped anyone from coming.
As Jimmy spoke, Galen stood with his arms folded, until Bethany saw him gesture to someone in the crowd. Then she spied her two brothers, sneaking through the rows of people, tiptoeing with exaggerated silence toward the platter of day-old pastries from the Sweet Tooth Bakery. Galen shook his head. They halted, making gestures of protest. He pulled his brows together and pointed to the edge of the crowd, far from the table of snacks. Deflated, they slunk away.
Jimmy had organized the day quite efficiently. Within minutes he started a group of men measuring and building raised wooden beds. Young boys were given the task of wheeling in barrows of topsoil and dumping them into the beds. Clumps of girls and women planted the vegetable starts that Amos Lapp had donated. Hank Lapp pounded in small wooden placards in front of each one, to identify whose garden plot was whose.
Allen Turner, the SEC lawyer who was investigating Tobe, worked alongside the Schrock family. For a lawyer, he was surprisingly capable with a saw and hammer. But he was never far from Tobe who was never far from Naomi. Bethany knew Allen Turner didn’t want to let Tobe out of his sight—the man was sleeping on the lumpy couch in their living room, which made Mammi Vera furious. But he didn’t let Mammi Vera’s cold stares bother him. He seemed to Bethany like a man on a mission and that mission was Tobe. Or maybe, in the end, it was Jake Hertzler.
But it was Geena who impressed Bethany the most. She had a pleasant way of getting everyone involved in a task. No one was left out, especially children.
Despite everything that weighed at the back of her mind, Bethany felt it was quite an astonishingly wonderful morning.
After a simple lunch of ham-and-cheese sandwiches had been served by the sisters of the Sisters’ House, most of the Amish families went home. The bulk of the work had been done. All who remained were those who wanted to grow and manage a garden plot. Geena had heard about the community of the Amish, but seeing it up close and personal—it was something to behold. They arrived early and slipped seamlessly into a role, as if they all knew where they fit best.
To Geena, it felt like watching Paul’s words in action from his letter to the Romans: “We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.” Watching Bethany, Jimmy Fisher, Galen King, Amos Lapp, Hank Lapp, Rose Schrock, and Naomi King spread out among the newly built plots and teach people how to care for the gardens . . . Geena went suddenly all soft inside with choking that was so close to tears. Every church in the world, she supposed, had a little knot at its solid center. The goodness, the simple honest goodness in some people!
Geena knelt by the Grange Hall garden plot, gloves on her hands, looking at the soft open space with fierce intent. She picked up a handful of dirt, smelling the heady dampness of it. With her spade, she made a row and tucked some pea starts into the dirt every few inches, then patted the earth around each little start. Sammy and his dog Chase appeared at her side.
She held up a handful for him to examine. “This is good earth,” she told Sammy. “See how dark it is?”
He nodded seriously, and smelled it when she did, his big eyes always taking everything in. The sun sparkled over the top of his head. “I still don’t like peas, though.”
“Maybe you’ll like them better when they’re fresh and you pick them yourself.”
Sammy looked unconvinced, then heard Luke call to him, and he ran off, his dog loping at his heels.
“How are you doing?”
Geena had to squint to look up at Allen, and he noticed and moved around to the other side. “Sorry about that.”
“Doing fine, thank you. Getting the peas in on this end. That end will be tomatoes. Maybe pumpkins in the middle, where their vines can sprawl over the edges.” She picked up a packet of pumpkin seeds and shook it. The big seeds rattled inside. “Might be a little late to plant these, but we’ll give them a try.”
“You’ve done this before, I think.” His blue eyes had the gleam of a blue pearly marble she’d had as a child. Such clear eyes seemed as if they could see too much. “Are you going to go back? To the ministry?”
“Of course. I . . . just have to figure some things out.” How could he possibly understand how deep her calling to ministry went? To her very marrow.
“It must be hard to be a person of God. When you were trying to eat lunch, I saw that you kept getting interrupted by people who wanted a word with you.”
Just one or two. Maybe three. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t had a chance to finish her lunch. No wonder she was still hungry.
“It brought up memories,” Allen said. “I remember how mothers always wanted to talk to you, anytime they were worried about something. Doesn’t it drive you crazy, people needing you constantly like that?”
Geena thought, with longing, of the way children, teens, even parents from her church would look in her direction when she arrived at their home, or to the waiting room of a hospital, or once at a county jail. When they realized she had come to help them, their upturned faces were expectant, hopeful, grateful. “No.” She took a breath. “I love it. I love being needed.”
“I guess that’s the nature of your job, isn’t it?”
Geena didn’t know how to answer him.
“You seem happy, Geena. Really happy.”
“I am.” And she was. Even if, at the moment, she was a youth pastor without a church, she was happy. She knew who she was and what her purpose was.
“You’re very lucky.” He strolled off before she could say another word.
Geena watched him walk through the middle of the lot, looking at all of the garden plots, smiling at the other gardeners, who smiled back. The sound of happy voices and laughter filled the air. Children chased one another through the pathways between plots, and a few dogs trotted along behind them, the Schrocks’ golden retriever Chase among them. He spied Geena and came loping toward her, tongue lolling.
“You look thirsty, ol’ boy. C’mon, let’s find some water for you, shall we?”
In the kitchen, she found a dented, old stainless steel bowl and carried it outside. She filled the bowl and put it down in the shade and whistled for Chase, who came racing and dove into the water with eager slurping.
Geena went back inside the Grange Hall to wash her hands. A little sunburn gave her cheekbones some color. She took a moment to try to tame her hair and wash the dirt streaks off her face. Even with a big garden hat on, the sun had kissed her. She looked rested and healthy.
Thinking of how lovely Bethany looked even after hours of hard work, she peered into the mirror, wishing she had fuller lips or a bit more chest, or darker eyelashes, or some extraordinary feature, but she was honest with herself. Her eyes were an ordinary brown, her mousy brown hair too frizzy, her cheekbones too broad to ever be considered pretty.
She plucked a few more curls from her ponytail, let them frame her face a little, fall down her neck. Better.
In the mid-afternoon, Bethany sank down at the picnic table under the shade of the Grange Hall roof, took off her gloves, and slapped the dirt from them. Her hands were shaking and she realized she hadn’t stopped to eat since breakfast. Geena walked over and brought her a sandwich and a glass of sweet, cool lem
onade—just what she needed.
“Look at this,” Bethany said, satisfied. “Look what you started, Geena. It was your idea to turn a crummy old vacant lot into a garden.” Each plot had small vegetables growing in it: tomatoes, carrots, radishes, lettuce, zucchinis, cucumbers, beans, peas, onions, eggplants, corn shoots. It wouldn’t be long at all before those plants started to sprawl, covering up the entire beds with thick green vines and leaves.
“It is beautiful,” Geena said, gazing around the garden. “But an idea is one thing. Doing it is something else. This community garden was everyone’s doing.”
“Mostly Jimmy Fisher, I think. He’s spent a lot of time on this.” Bethany’s eyes had often sought Jimmy out and her chest tightened with a sweet longing. He seemed to be everywhere at once, handing people tools, wheeling in a barrow full of dirt, carrying boxes of Amos’s plant starts, scooping up the leftover messes.
Her gaze followed Jimmy as he attached a hose to a spigot at the back of the Grange. Luke and Sammy sneaked up from behind to jump on him, but he must have heard or sensed the imminent attack. He spun around, hosing them down with water. The boys screamed and laughed. They adored Jimmy. He was always surprising people, Jimmy was. Bethany, mostly.
Speaking of surprises, Bethany’s little sister seemed to be filled with them. She watched Mim walk slowly along the garden path with Ella, holding the old woman’s elbow to keep her from falling. Mim had become Ella’s keeper. She shadowed her, helping her along, answering questions, making sure she stayed safe. Ella’s safety was a growing concern. But who would have thought Mim would become someone’s caregiver? She had to be asked to spend time with Mammi Vera.
There was more to Mim than Bethany had thought—or maybe she just hadn’t noticed. Mim didn’t know this, but Bethany had started to read the Mrs. Miracle letters that were published in the Stoney Ridge Times. Not always, but often, Mrs. Miracle revealed a surprising depth, a startling wisdom. Of course, Bethany wouldn’t share that thought with Mim, but she was impressed.
The Calling Page 14