“Twenty-eight!” Emma piped up.
“I was gonna say that!” he cried. “That’s not fair, Miriam! You asked me.”
“I asked all of you. Katie could have answered if she wanted.”
He snorted. “Like she could! You’re being silly.” He made a face at Katie and she giggled and slapped her hands on the plastic tray of her high chair, scattering biscuit crumbs.
“I thought we could drive into town later today for some supplies,” Sarah said. “I thought I’d get some fabric to make a few new dresses and shirts for the kinner.”
“Can we come?” Emma asked.
“Schur.”
“I’ll stay and help Daed,” Isaac said. “I don’t want to look at stuff like that.”
“Me, too,” said Jacob. “I’ll stay.”
“It’s nice to have a kind of girl’s day out,” Miriam said as they rode into town. “Even if it’s just for a few hours.” She glanced into the back seat. “Katie’s asleep.”
“She always falls asleep when we go for a ride.” Sarah said and she smiled. “You, on the other hand, were always awake and ready to jump into action.”
“Daed called me a busy bee.”
They passed the Miller farm. Miriam felt her spirits sink.
“Don’t be sad. Things will work out. You know they will.”
Miriam turned and forced herself to smile. “Ya.”
Mark rubbed his forehead. A headache was beginning to form. He shut down his laptop and rose to set it on the dresser.
Lou had come through with the name and address of the teenaged driver who had hit the Miller buggy. He hadn’t found any other information about any crimes the kid had committed, but that didn’t surprise Mark. Juvenile records were protected from the public.
Of course, there was a good reason. Teens were considered immature and deserving of a chance to learn from their mistakes. By keeping their juvenile records secret, they had a chance to go into adulthood without a criminal record.
Mark thought that was fine, so long as the crimes were minor in nature. The buggy situation hadn’t been. It had been a deliberate act that had caused injuries to humans and animals as well as to valuable, necessary farm property. And the whole thing could have been worse. As Miriam had pointed out, the Miller children had been traumatized, and both they and their parents could easily have been killed.
And so far, the teen hadn’t even been arrested for his crime. Something had to be done. He’d given Abraham a couple of days to think about their conversation. He figured it was time for them to talk again.
There was a rap on his bedroom door. His grandfather stuck his head in. “Church tomorrow at the Zooks’ house. Thought you might like to go.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, but he hadn’t attended a service since he came, and this might give him an opportunity to talk to Abraham.
“I might. I’ll let you know in the morning?”
“Schur. Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
Dawn came earlier on Sunday than other days of the week. Or at least it seemed to do so this morning. And his grandfather seemed to make more noise than he did on other days. Did he do that so that Mark would get up and join him for church?
He lay there in bed for a long moment, remembering Sundays back in his world. He’d get up late, meet Tiffany for brunch at the country club her parents belonged to, and spend the afternoon in the VIP box at some pro sports team event or playing racquetball with his buddies.
Then he got up.
His grandfather was important to him, and if he wanted Mark to go to church with him today, it was the least he could do. In any event, while the services were long, he’d enjoyed himself in years past.
He remembered visiting the Zook home many times, but this was the first he’d been in it for a church service. There was something very intimate and simple about a church service in a family’s home. Perhaps it was one of the reasons the family, the community, was stronger here.
As he and his grandfather found seats in the men’s section of the temporary benches brought into the Zook home, Mark was welcomed by the men he’d been working with this summer. A flurry of motion made him glance over at the women’s section. Miriam smiled and nodded.
It took Mark a moment to recognize the sober looking man who walked to the front of the room. Was that really Samuel Troyer dressed in Sunday best and about to lead the service as lay minister? Mark had joined him on some adventures looking for a beer on a hot summer night when Samuel was on his rumschpringe. Fortunately, they’d never gotten in serious trouble. Mark knew what damage an arrest could do to his chances of getting into law school, and Samuel was deeply afraid of what his mother could do to him.
Mark had met Mrs. Troyer, and she could scare any boy straight.
A few minutes later, Abraham came in and took a seat. His arm was still in a cast and sling. Dark shadows lay under his eyes and his mouth was bracketed by lines of pain. He avoided Mark’s gaze.
Well, that was fine. He was looking forward to beating down that resistance. He’d won over many a jury whose nonverbal body language had signaled an uphill battle to prove his client’s innocence.
The assemblage quieted and Samuel began. Mark had always liked the Amish choice of lay ministers more than the paid ministers in the church his parents had attended. It seemed to him that the message of faith was more humble, more sincere, coming from a peer than from some man of the cloth who held himself above his congregation.
Samuel spoke of gratitude for God’s abundance as the harvest grew to a close.
Mark winced at the reminder of how long he’d been here.
“You allrecht?” his grandfather leaned close to ask.
He nodded, keeping his eyes on Samuel.
The hymn singing soothed him as it always had. Voices raised in praise—pure and simple, without musical accompaniment—touched him in a way no other had.
When the service ended, he remained in his seat, weighed down by a flood of mixed emotions.
“Did you fall asleep, sohn?” John teased.
“No, no, of course not. Just thinking.” He got up and helped turn the benches into seating for the light meal the women would soon serve.
“Mark, so gut to see you join us this morning,” Samuel said, holding out his hand and grinning. “Did I surprise you by leading the service?”
“A bit,” Mark admitted.
The tips of Samuel’s ears turned red. Mark chuckled and leaned closer. “Don’t worry, what happened during that one summer is our little secret,” he murmured.
“Gut.”
He watched Abraham quietly slip out of the room, and an idea came to him.
Maybe Samuel could help him persuade Abraham to accept his help in getting restitution for the buggy and the medical expenses.
“Listen, Samuel, do you think we could talk outside for a few minutes later?”
“Schur.”
Mark settled down with one of his favorite after-church treats—“church spread,” a mixture of peanut butter and marshmallow spread on home-baked bread. “I remember Grossmudder used to give this to me,” he said, slipping into Pennsylvania Dietsch.
John nodded and his faded blue eyes warmed. “She knew it was one of your favorites.”
“And her ginger cookies.”
“Ya. I miss those.”
“I didn’t know you missed those.” Miriam approached with a tray filled with glasses of iced tea. “I’ll make you some.”
“Ach, you’re a gut maedel,” John said. “You do too much for me.”
“It’s a pleasure,” she said simply. “Mark? Some iced tea?”
Mark accepted a glass gratefully. The church spread was rich and stuck to the roof of his mouth. He finished the light meal and took his plate and glass to the kitchen, then caught Samuel’s eye and jerked his head in the direction of the front of the house. Samuel met him there.
“You wanted to talk?”
Mark guide
d him toward the rocking chairs and they sat. “I spoke with Abraham the other day,” he began without preamble. “I’d like to help him get restitution for the damage to the buggy and the medical expenses.”
Samuel set the rocking chair in motion with his foot and stroked his beard. “You know it’s not our way to press charges.”
“Of course I do. But there are ways to get a guilty party to pay for the consequences of his actions.”
“We look to God for justice, not to man’s law.”
No matter what argument Mark came up with, Samuel remained as unconvinced as Abraham.
“I was hoping you’d help me talk to Abraham about it.”
Samuel stopped rocking and shook his head. “But I will talk to you about why we Amish feel this way, if you like,” he said gently.
“No,” Mark said with a sigh. “Thank you. I have my grandfather for that.”
“A wunderbaar man to talk to about it,” Samuel said with great seriousness. “I’ve learned much about faith from John.” He paused. “And I think you have, too, ya?”
“Ya,” Mark said, and realized for the second time that afternoon he’d slipped into the language he’d learned at his grandfather’s knee.
Samuel went back into the house. His grandfather came out a short time later. “Ready to go home?”
Mark stood. “I’ll get the buggy.”
John sat in a rocking chair and grinned. “ And I’ll let you do that.”
Twenty
It was Miriam’s favorite day of the year. Even better than Christmas. Well, maybe not better than Christmas.
She adored the first day of schul.
No need to set her alarm. She woke an hour early and fairly jumped out of bed. For weeks, she’d reviewed her lesson plans and spent hours cleaning her small one room classroom. Her bruders and schweschders traveled to the schul with her, of course, and knowing they wouldn’t want to be there as early as she liked, she made pancakes—the family favorite—before calling them downstairs.
Their clothes had been laid out the night before, lunches packed, and they’d been persuaded to go to bed early by her promise to read them an extra story.
Now she stood on the front steps of the schul and watched kinner making their way up the road carrying their lunch boxes and chattering madly.
They filed inside, giving her bright smiles and a cheerful, “Guder mariye, Miriam!”
Once the last scholar had stepped inside, Miriam shut the door and walked to the front of the room. The blackboard was scrubbed clean and bore the date and a quote from the Bible. A banner with the alphabet in block and cursive letters was pinned above it for the younger scholars. The wood burning stove under one window sat cold and empty for now. It wouldn’t be long before she’d fill it with wood and it would burn cheerfully, warming the room and the occasional foil-wrapped sandwich a scholar set on top of it at lunchtime.
She began the day with a prayer, then started the kinner on their lessons. It was a challenge teaching all grades, but one she relished. Older scholars often helped younger ones with arithmetic or reading, which reinforced their own understanding. Here, too, scholars learned to get along with not only kinner from other families, but with their own siblings.
And how special was it that she taught her own bruders and schweschders?
“Recess!” she called, and made sure she was out of the way of the door. Her first week teaching, she hadn’t remembered to do that and had nearly been mowed down. Amish kinner worked hard and played hard. They were always eager to get outside when the weather was gut.
The weather was so gorgeous this time of the year. Crisp enough for sweaters but not too cold for playing outside. She enjoyed being out with them and did her best to hide her own regret when they had to go back inside.
The day ended too soon. She didn’t assign homework on the first day, but didn’t often anyway. Amish kinner started and ended their day with chores on the farm.
She had chores when she got home, too, helping her mudder with the kinner. But she lingered at schul, straightening the desks into orderly rows, wiping down the blackboard and writing the next day’s Bible quote, date, and lessons. Her bruders and schweschders walked home with other kinner so she could stay and finish her work.
It felt so gut to be back here with work that centered her and made her feel useful. That was most important to her—being useful.
She wondered what Mark had done that day. Had he heard from any of the firms he’d written to looking for a new job? It was still hard for him to not do the work he’d trained for, even though he was such a help to his grandfather.
Today could be the day he’d hear and be gone from her life . . .
She forced away the thought, locked the door to the schul, and started home.
Fall didn’t just signal the beginning of schul. Weddings began to be performed. One of the first was Fannie Mae’s, and Miriam served as one of her attendants.
Fannie Mae glowed all during the daylong festivities. Miriam had begun to wonder if she would ever marry the man she’d loved most of her life. Abram had been so determined that they start off right with their own place, but finally she’d convinced him that she didn’t mind living with his parents until they could afford one. After all, so many couples did that here. Since they were good friends, Fannie Mae had told Miriam of the conversation with him.
Busy with her duties as one of the newehockers, Miriam didn’t notice Mark at first. She was startled when she carried a tray to one of the tables and found him seated there with his grandfather.
He grinned at her. “You look surprised to see me.”
“I am,” she said, setting a glass of iced tea before him.
“I was invited.”
“Well, of course you were,” she replied. “You’re part of the community after all. Hello, John. You’re looking handsome today.”
“Hey, what about me?” Mark demanded, his eyes alight with mischief.
“You look nice, too,” she said quickly, feeling her face redden.
“Nice?” he said, acting indignant. “Nice?”
His laughter followed her as she moved on, serving others at the table. Did he notice how the other maedels here stole glances at him? He was taller than most of the men here, with darker hair, and he had that air of confidence that was so attractive. And she was sure that he was even more attractive to the other maedels because he was Englisch and therefore more than a little forbidden to them. She knew they were curious about whether he was going to stay. If he did, he’d inherit one of the most prosperous farms in the county.
She carried the empty tray back to the kitchen, and as she passed his table, he winked at her, teasing and irrepressible as always.
The day was long, but weddings were always so much fun for a community that had worked hard. They enjoyed any reason to get together, but especially one that saw two people in love joined in marriage. Wedding days started early with the ceremony in the bride’s house followed by a bountiful noon meal. Baked chicken and roasht were always the star of the meal. Her dat always asked her mudder to prepare anything but chicken or turkey for Thanksgiving because so much baked chicken and roasht was eaten at the many weddings after the harvest. Creamed celery was a special feature here in Lancaster County, one Miriam liked.
She sat and pretended to eat after she finished serving. It wasn’t her nature to feel envy, but she felt a little let down today. She kept telling herself she wasn’t an old maedel, but still, maedels younger than her were getting married.
“Not hungry?”
She looked up. Mark stood before her. “Nee, I had a big breakfast.” She hoped she didn’t blush at the fib.
He sat in the empty chair beside her. “If this were an Englisch wedding, I’d ask you to dance.”
“I wouldn’t know how.”
“It’s easy.”
She couldn’t imagine being held so close to a man, dancing with him. Now she did feel herself blushing.
If he
noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead he watched the kinner playing a game.
“I can’t believe a wedding lasts all day here,” he said. “The only time I was a guest at a wedding that lasted all day, it was one I was invited to by a friend whose family is Greek.” He leaned back in his chair. “Boy, there was some great dancing at that one. Everyone dances, no matter how old or young, in a big circle, with lots of enthusiasm. Had my first taste of ouzo. Had lots of ouzo.” He grimaced. “I found out it’s more . . . potent . . . than anything I’ve had before. My friend had a wedding videographer. I kind of made a fool of myself dancing.”
“I can’t imagine you making a fool of yourself.”
“If you ever meet Paul, he’ll insist on showing the video to you.”
She laughed. “Sounds like you enjoyed yourself.”
“Perhaps too much.”
“You need to do that sometimes. You’ve always been a very serious man.”
“Says a very serious woman.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. It wouldn’t do for the teacher to be silly.”
Fannie Mae and her mann rose from the eck, the corner of the table where the new couple sat, and walked around and visited with their guests. Before Miriam knew it, it was time to serve the evening meal.
“I’m stuffed,” Mark groaned when she brought a basket of rolls to his table.
“Me, too,” said John and he patted his stomach. “I think it’s time for me to be getting on home.”
Miriam’s mood had lightened during the day, but now she felt her mood shifting.
Always a newehocker, never a bride. She carried the empty tray to the kitchen. How soon could she leave without being rude?
A few minutes later, Sadie walked up to her looking upset. “Miriam, I feel sick.”
Miriam put the back of her hand to her sister’s forehead the way she’d always seen her mudder do. “You feel warm. Let’s go tell Mamm we’re going home.”
“Something wrong?” Mark appeared at her side.
“I don’t feel well,” Sadie replied.
“I’m going to tell Mamm I’m taking her home.”
“I’ll get my car and drive you.”
Seeds of Hope Page 17