by Gayle Roper
I doubted her confidence in either had been much shaken. If anything, she was one happy cookie that she’d been the second-degree victim of a crime. How else would she have gotten to meet Adam Hurlbert?
I glanced at Clarke to see his response to this gushing performance and watched one of those fascinating dark eyebrows arch in skepticism.
“And you, young lady,” he said, adopting a brisk, businesslike tone with me. He took my hand, pressed it briefly, and then dropped it. “I understand you had the misfortune of being robbed this evening. Please accept my apologies that such a thing happened at one of our rallies. Let my office expedite the replacement of your driver’s license and any other items within our purview.”
“Thank you for your concern and for your help. I appreciate them both,” I said politely. My mom would have been proud.
“It’s the least we can do,” he said, reaching to shake Clarke’s hand too. “And you, sir, take good care of her.” The handshake Adam gave Clarke was firm, quick, and manly. I was willing to bet he and his team discussed how much was acceptable flesh-pressing time for different types of voters. If so, he’d learned the lessons well.
As Adam Hurlbert smiled charmingly at me one more time, I had to admit it: The guy was really, really good. I just hoped I hadn’t looked as delighted as I felt when he’d taken my hand in his and given it that quick, warm squeeze. At least I hadn’t drooled like Bitsy.
A tug on my arm turned my attention from the smooth politician. Standing before me was Nelson, curiosity bristling from every inch of his lumpy little body. I had forgotten all about him.
“What happened, Miss Matthews?” He was all agog as he took in my torn jeans and bleeding knee and Bitsy’s wounds and bloody pillowcase.
“She was robbed, son,” Adam said pontifically. “Isn’t that terrible?”
“Yeah?” Nelson’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Wow! I didn’t know people robbed teachers. Wait till the guys at school hear!”
I hoped my lip wasn’t curled in a snarl when I said, “Thanks for the sympathy, Nelson.”
The kid was in his glory. Not only a helicopter ride, but crime and blood and guts as well.
“What happened to the fat lady?” He pointed indelicately at Bitsy.
“I bumped into her.”
Nelson laughed happily. “Hey, Mom!” he screamed across the room. “My art teacher beat up on this fat lady!”
Irene’s flawless eyebrows arched delicately as she looked at me. “Really?”
“Shh, Nelson.” Adam grabbed for the boy’s shoulder and missed as Nelson artfully dodged. “We must let these kind people go. They’ve had a very tiring night.”
Nelson, however, stepped closer, planting himself in front of Clarke.
“Are you Miss Matthews’ boyfriend?” he asked in a typical display of tact.
Clarke nodded. “And may you be so lucky when you grow up.”
Nelson looked at me, clearly seeing me in a whole new light. “Wow!” he said.
My thought exactly.
16
Agreat surge of activity was taking place around the farm. Jake was suddenly engrossed in painting the porch and the fence that lined the yard. Elam was on a ladder painting windows. Ruth had taken time from her pretzel factory again, and every time I saw her, she was in the kitchen with her mother, busy about the stove. Mary had stopped going to the farmers’ market and was seeing that all the preserves, apple butter, and chips were stored in the basement. One day I came home from school to find the entire family cleaning and whitewashing the cellar, which had already been scrupulously clean.
The reason for all this activity became obvious the last Sunday in October, two weeks after Elam and Ruth knelt to take the vows of their church. It was a messy, cold, rainy day, the nasty kind of autumn day that made me wonder if Todd hadn’t been right about my freezing this winter. My little ceramic heater was chugging away close to Big Bird’s cage, and heat rose through a grate in the hall by the stairs, but it wasn’t central heating. I needed to remind Jake about that baseboard heating before I froze.
I wrapped myself in several layers of clothes as quickly as I could and hurried downstairs to enjoy the radiant warmth coming from the great wood stove. I planned to sit beside it and warm my outsides while I drank a huge cup of tea to warm my insides.
“Ruth!” I stopped and stared at the girl sitting in the rocker by the window, reading. I had never seen her read before. But the bigger cause for surprise was that I had heard the Zooks leave for church hours ago. I distinctly remembered thinking how uncomfortable a buggy must be on a day like this and how thankful I was for the heater in my yellow car.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Don’t you feel well?”
Ruth grinned. “I feel great! In fact, I’ve rarely felt better.”
There was an undercurrent of excitement crackling about the girl. Her gray eyes sparkled, her color was high, and she seemed more like the ever-active Elam than her usual quiet self.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
From the doorway of his apartment, Jake said, “She and Isaiah are being published today. That means the minister is announcing their engagement.”
“Oh, Ruth, I’m so happy for you!” I said with a hug. “Now all I need to do is meet your Isaiah.”
“You will,” Ruth said. “And very soon. He’ll be living here from now until the wedding.”
“Here? Really? And when is the wedding?”
“A week from Thursday.”
“You’re getting married next Thursday? As in—” I counted quickly—“eleven days from now?”
Ruth nodded happily. “It was the first Thursday in November, the first good date we could pick.”
“There’ll be weddings every Tuesday and Thursday in November and into December,” Jake explained. “Sometimes there’ll be more than one a day. Harvesting’s done and it’s time to relax before preparing everything for next year. It’s the one time all year that weddings won’t interfere with farming.”
“But how will you ever get everything ready so fast?” I asked. I felt overwhelmed, and it wasn’t even my wedding.
“Oh, most things are ready now. We—or I should say, Isaiah—has to ask the people we want to help with the wedding meal and the couples we’d like to be in the wedding, but much of the other preparation’s done. Why do you think we’ve been painting and cleaning like crazy? And why do you think Mom and I have been baking and storing so much food?”
“Then you’ve quit your pretzel job for good?”
She nodded. “There’s no need for me to work anymore. Besides, there isn’t time. There’s still a lot to do to get ready. And then afterward we’ll be visiting relatives for a while.”
“Where will you live when you’ve finished visiting?” I asked, thinking that I’d like a more private honeymoon when it was my turn.
“Besides their family farm, Isaiah’s father has a small farm in Honey Brook, not too far from where my sister Sarah and Abner live. We’ll live there.”
“How very nice for you,” I said, meaning every word. “With land being so scarce, you’re lucky to have your own place.”
“I don’t think Isaiah could be happy if he wasn’t farming,” Ruth said. “He loves it. And I’m going to love being his wife.” She smiled at me with the delightful smugness of someone who’s getting exactly what she wants.
I thought about Ruth’s impending marriage as I drove to church. I found it fascinating to think about how settled the girl was, how secure she felt in her thinking, how lacking in curiosity she was about life beyond Isaiah and the Amish community. Even her rumspringa had been gentle, and she gladly joined the church, accepting the restrictions as normal and right.
She would marry, have children, and live and die in the same pattern as generations of Amish women before her. She wouldn’t be moved to go back to school at forty-five, as my aunt had been. In fact, should such a thought enter her mind, she would squelch it. Education m
ade you proud and interfered with the development of that much-desired quality, humility.
Did Ruth feel shortchanged by her life? I didn’t think so. In a culture that gave few choices, she appeared satisfied with what I saw as limited horizons.
Even her quiet rebellion had not been so much against Amish legalisms as against biblical standards. When she and Isaiah went off on their jaunts, they were still readily identifiable as Amish. Kapp, straight pins, and black stockings; black brimmed hat, broadfall trousers, and suspenders—all were in place. It was not the Ordnung that got short shrift in Ruth’s life; it was the Word of God.
Not that Ruth’s life was bad by any means. Just the opposite. She was part of a close, loving, encouraging family and community. Many English people would give all they had to belong like that. Ruth knew Isaiah wouldn’t leave her. She knew she’d always have a home, always have someone to look after her, always know exactly what was expected of her.
Such well-ordered rigidity was not for me. The exhilarating freedom of being a Christian woman with a future limited only by the will of God was something I’d never change for temporal security. I liked asking questions, trying new things, exploring my options. I was a modern Christian, not one caught in a pleasant, restrictive, and loving time warp. God and I—together we would make the many choices in my life.
It wasn’t until after church that it dawned on me that the Zooks should be allowed to celebrate Ruth’s engagement without an interloper hanging over their shoulders. But what would I do if I didn’t go home? Clarke was away today, speaking at a friend’s church, and doing anything with Todd was out of the question. I thought for a minute and decided to drive over to Honey Brook where Ruth and Isaiah would be living. Not that I expected to find their farm, but I could see the area.
I took Route 23 east to Route 10 and went south. When I got close to Honey Brook, I began taking side roads. I thought once again how beautiful this whole area was, whether back in Lancaster County or just across the line into Chester County, where I now was. I loved the patchwork-quilt farms and rolling vistas, the wandering streams, and the rich black soil. Even with the end of the color and richness of the growing season, the countryside filled my artist’s eye with light and shadow, harmony and contrast.
Everywhere I drove, I saw signs of the growing cottage industries among the Amish—greenhouses, woodworking shops, and signs announcing the selling of quilts, preserves and baked goods, picnic benches, puppies, and rabbits. All the signs also read Closed Sundays. These businesses were the practical way the Amish dealt with the twin concerns of dwindling farmland and increasing population. I was struck again with what a marvelous mixture of accommodation and isolation the Amish were.
Eventually I came to the steep hills south of Honey Brook where Jake had had his accident. I looked again at the side of the road for the cross marking that intersection as a death spot. I wanted to stop and examine the cross, to see if there was a name written on it, to wonder what had happened to this person. The line of traffic behind me precluded that.
Instead I drove through the intersection and came almost immediately to a business drive on the left. I pulled in and turned, stopping just before I drove back onto the road. I looked the area over carefully, and my eye was drawn to the house nearest the intersection. Maybe those people knew something about the accident the cross commemorated. Maybe they knew something about Jake’s accident too.
I noted the name on the mailbox as I pulled up to the house: Martin. A good Lancaster County name relocated here in Chester County.
I rang the bell and a woman about my mother’s age answered. I introduced myself.
“I’m interested in information about the cross at the intersection. Do you know anything about it?”
“I should say I do,” the woman said. “My daughter Rose put it up and takes care of it. Come on in and you can talk to her.”
Mrs. Martin led me to her living room and left me in a navy overstuffed chair with a Wedgwood blue-and-rose afghan lying over its back. She was back in the briefest of moments with a young woman with curly brown hair and glasses worn over brown eyes. She wore jeans and a red sweater over a white turtleneck.
“I’m Rose,” she said, extending her hand. “Mom says you want to know about the cross.”
I nodded. “I have a friend who was hurt at this intersection too, so I was wondering what the story is.”
Rose walked to the bow window and looked out across the lawn to the cross.
“I’m a nurse,” she said. “I should have been able to help save him.”
Her voice and face were full of pain.
“When did it happen?” I asked.
“Last October. October twenty, to be exact. The worst day of my life. My fiancé and I had a horrible fight. I broke up with him and he got furious, even nasty. I’d never seen him like that before. ‘Who’s the other man? You’d better just tell me because I’m going to find out and kill him!’ ”
She was still having trouble with the memory a whole year later.
“When I handed him his ring,” she continued, “he rushed outside into the rain, ran across the yard, and threw the ring into the field across the street. ‘If you won’t wear this, no one wears it!’ ”
“He threw away a diamond ring?”
“A bit melodramatic, wouldn’t you say?” Rose put her hand to her forehead and rubbed.
“A bit idiotic, I’d say,” Mrs. Martin chimed in.
“Mom.” Rose made it a gentle warning.
Mrs. Martin ignored Rose and turned to me. “We never did like him, her father and I,” she said. “We thought he was two-faced, a hypocrite. But Rose couldn’t see it.”
“I couldn’t,” Rose agreed.
“We thank God every day that she broke up with him.”
“Are you sure he didn’t just fake throwing the ring to make you feel worse?” I asked.
“I’ve thought of that, especially since Mom and I have searched for the thing over and over all year with no luck.” She shrugged. “I really don’t care.”
“I do,” Mrs. Martin said. “I want to get some value out of the mess he made!”
Rose shook her head. “Mom, not now. Kristie doesn’t want to hear your opinion of Ben.”
“She already did.” Mrs. Martin put her hand up quickly to silence Rose, who was becoming quite agitated. “But I know I’ve said too much already.” She got to her feet. “I’ll try to redeem myself by leaving you two alone.”
Rose watched her mother leave the room. “She’s still mad at him for all that he put me through,” she explained.
“Moms are like that,” I said knowingly.
Rose went on with her story. “After he threw the ring and yelled a few other lovely things at me, Ben got into his car and roared out of the drive. I had turned to go back inside the house, trying to decide whether I was relieved or devastated. That’s when I heard a screech of metal and saw sparks sliding along the road. I heard a thud and a terrible scream. There are no street lights out here, and the night was dark because of the clouds. I ran to see what had happened, and there was a man pinned under a motorcycle.”
“A man pinned under a motorcycle?” Wait a minute!
She nodded and shivered. “I knelt beside him and felt for his pulse. He was still alive. I had to leave him to rush back and call for the ambulance. Then I went back and sat with him until the ambulance and EMTs came. They finally ended up medevacing him. They put the helicopter down in the field over there.” She pointed directly across the road from her house.
In my mind I could see the flashing lights, hear the crackle of static from car radios, feel the cold wash of the rain, smell the leaking gasoline and fear. And I could see Rose sitting by the road, holding the hand of the injured man, talking, talking to help fight shock, both his and hers.
“I sat in the rain with him for twenty minutes or more,” she said. “He was in and out of consciousness, but he didn’t seem to be in pain, which worried me a lot. As
the medics worked on him, I saw them look at each other and I could tell their thoughts. No hope. No hope. That’s how I knew he was going to die. ‘Hold on,’ I yelled at him as they carried him to the helicopter. But he was unconscious. Then suddenly the helicopter was gone, and so were the emergency vehicles. It was just us Martins again, and we never heard another word about anything. But I made him the cross.”
“Oh, Rose!” I was so excited I was bouncing. “He didn’t die. I think that was my friend Jake.”
“What?” She looked at me as though she was afraid to believe me.
“It was Jake! It had to be Jake. How many motorcycle accidents can you have out here? He’s a paraplegic, but he’s very much alive!”
Her hands clutched each other in her lap and her face was tense. “How can I find out if it’s really him?”
“I know Jake’s accident was last October, but I don’t remember the date. I do know that it was at this intersection. I’ll talk to him and then call you.”
“Could you call him now?”
“I think this deserves a face-to-face conversation because the accident is such a painful subject for him,” I said. “But I’ll talk to him as soon as I can and let you know what he says.”
Rose stared at me, tears in her eyes. “I’ve always thought the accident happened because Ben ran the stop sign when he left here in such a temper. I don’t know that because I didn’t see it, but he lives in that direction. I’ve always blamed myself. If it weren’t for me, Ben wouldn’t have been mad. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have run that sign. If it weren’t for me, that man wouldn’t have died. It would be such a relief if he wasn’t dead after all!”
I bet it would, after living with all that guilt for a year.
And of course he wasn’t dead. He was alive and grumpy right up in Bird-in-Hand. Rose cried when I called her and told her that her cross could be taken down. No one had died that evening at that intersection, though I wasn’t convinced Jake was completely living yet, either. But time and God could deal with that.