by Sarah Price
“What’s this about, Gloria?” she asked, surprised that her tone didn’t waver as she approached the older woman.
“I’m sick of seeing your dogs, smelling your manure, and looking at your weedy garden!”
The sleeveless shirt that Gloria wore exposed her arms. The flesh lacked muscle and flapped as she hammered the metal stake into the ground. Four feet away, Camille followed her mother’s example, feverishly pounding another post. With her recently cropped hair and wrinkles around her lips, the young woman looked almost twenty years older than she was. Despite the differences in their body shapes, they looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.
“And I know what you are telling everyone! Complaining about us to neighbors!” Gloria lifted a tobacco-stained finger and pointed it at Rosanna, a fierce look upon her face. “You are a liar, Rosanna Zook!”
The accusation took the wind from Rosanna’s lungs. A liar? Complaining? Certainly Gloria was mistaken. Speaking ill of others was not in Rosanna’s nature. Yet Gloria’s force and vehemence indicated that she believed what she was saying. Her knees buckling, Rosanna fought a light-headed feeling and somehow found the strength to remain standing.
“I . . . I don’t understand, Gloria,” she said, fighting to maintain a sense of decorum as she watched Camille furiously pounding another green metal garden stake. She looked at the line of them they had already forced into the ground. Around the first four, the women had attached a heavy green tarp by stapling the edges together. It looked hideous and trashy, a testament to their lack of class.
“I don’t want to see you spying on us anymore,” Gloria hissed, spittle flying from her lips. “I see you looking over here all the time, watching what we’re doing! And I don’t want to hear your barking dogs, either!”
The dogs did bark, that was true. But only when they played with Cate. Was that a crime? As for spying on them, Rosanna would have laughed if the loathing in Gloria’s dark eyes hadn’t warned her that this was no joking matter. “This is a bit ridiculous,” Rosanna said, her nerves beginning to stretch thin. How long must I keep turning the other cheek? she wondered. “No one is spying on you.”
The truth was that she was the one who always felt eyes watching her whenever she worked outside, whether it was watering or weeding the garden. She had taken to walking with her head down and her shoulders hunched, as if to shield herself from Gloria’s eyes. Even now as she stood there, trying to reason with the unreasonable, she felt the heaviness of tolerance and restraint bearing down upon her.
In the back of her mind, Rosanna wished that she had followed Aaron’s advice and awakened Reuben to handle this. Clearly the presence of her daughter was giving Gloria a false sense of invincibility. And the daughter’s frenzied pounding of every stake made her appear even crazier than Rosanna was beginning to suspect she was. Perhaps, she thought, Gloria would be more subdued when speaking with a man. Then again, in his present mood, Rosanna wasn’t sure Reuben would handle this any better than she was doing.
Suddenly Camille looked up from her pounding. Her narrowed eyes gave her a sinister look. Dropping the hammer, Camille rushed at Rosanna, her arms lifted in a threatening manner. For a moment Rosanna thought that Camille would reach over the fence and strike her. The anger and hatred in the woman’s eyes caused Rosanna to catch her breath. Where had that come from? It was as though her loathing consumed her soul.
Rosanna took a step backward in surprise.
“I’m protecting my child, Rosanna,” Camille yelled, her voice high-pitched and nasal. “I have that right, too!”
Rosanna remembered Camille as a young girl, no older than Cate. She had never seemed particularly friendly or pleasant, but she had never paid much attention to her Amish neighbors. Then, about two years before Timothy died, Camille’s battered green car had pulled out of the driveway one day and didn’t return for many months. Rosanna hadn’t given much thought to Camille leaving home until she heard a whisper of drug use and jail time. Praying for the young woman, Rosanna had asked the Lord to take care of His lost sheep. Whether or not the stories were true, Camille eventually returned home—with a baby—but the hardship of life without community and faith had taken its toll.
With the gaunt and washed-out Camille standing before her and only a fence separating them, Rosanna wondered what could possibly have created such hostility and self-righteousness. What was it about the world of the Englische that created such poison among their people? That now left her facing the rancor of a woman both jaded and disgraced?
“I’m not certain what you are protecting your child from,” Rosanna said.
“Your dogs!” Camille yelled, waving her arms again. “They constantly try to attack us!”
“Camille, please,” Rosanna said, holding up her hands in an attempt to calm the woman’s raving temper. “I’ve told Cate to play in the other fields. The dogs haven’t been back here for days.”
“I have the right to protect my child,” Camille said through clenched teeth, and then, leaning forward, she grimaced and added, “Just as you protected yours!”
The air rushed out of Rosanna’s lungs, and she almost reached out to steady herself against the wire fence post. She stopped herself in fear that one of the women would hit her hand with the hammer. The color drained from her cheeks, and she felt dizzy and faint. Was it possible? she thought. Did Camille know?
Rosanna swallowed as she backed away a few paces, letting the angry women continue raging as they built their ugly makeshift fence. She needed to get to the safety of the house and sit down. Actually, she needed to lie down, even if that meant facing Reuben again that evening.
When Rosanna was at a safe distance, she turned and walked toward Cate, who had witnessed the entire scene. “Come along,” she whispered, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and guiding her toward the house.
“What’s wrong with those Englische?” Cate asked, her voice wavering. Rosanna had never seen such an expression of fear on her daughter’s face. It upset her almost as much as the display of anger from her neighbors.
“They’re ferhoodled,” Rosanna finally said, resorting to simply calling them confused for lack of a better explanation.
“Are all Englische like that?”
Rosanna glanced over her shoulder and saw that Camille was mocking her, imitating Rosanna’s shocked expression to her mother. The thought of two people behaving in such a manner stunned Rosanna, and she felt a wave of pity for them. “I don’t know, Cate. I just don’t know.”
It was a growing problem with the Englische, the ever-increasing importance they placed on the individual’s rights, even when they conflicted with the collective whole. Rights over duty, Rosanna thought as she guided her daughter toward the house and away from those awful people. Jesus had instructed His followers to do unto others. The Golden Rule. He had clearly made it the duty of the individual to ensure that all rights were respected and that no one had more entitlement than another.
“Come, Cate,” she said softly, hoping to distract her daughter’s attention to something else. “Let’s make those flyers for the neighbors, ja? The ones for Fannie Miller’s clothing donations? Then you can distribute them in the morning after chores. I’ll be at market, so it will give you something to do to pass the day. Something good to forget the . . .”—she hesitated, trying to find the right word—“the un-Christian behavior of others.”
Cate nodded, walking faster to keep up with Rosanna.
“And we can pray for them, too,” Rosanna added. “They must be very unhappy people. They need God in their life. Prayer would do them good and make us feel better, I’m sure.”
At this, Cate bristled. “Won’t make me feel any better, no how!”
Rosanna knew she should scold her, but she couldn’t find it in herself. Even though Rosanna would pray for Gloria and Camille, it was only because she knew it was the Christian thing to do. Her heart would not truly be in it, but it was her duty to pray for those two mi
sguided people.
Rosanna and Cate spent the next hour seated at the kitchen table, their heads bent as they wrote with big blue markers on white paper: Clothing Donations Wanted for Quilting. Rosanna wrote their address underneath the words, which were evenly spaced and neatly written. Cate copied the flyer, her handwriting not as smooth and her lines a bit lopsided. Still, she didn’t complain once, not even when Rosanna took a moment to pray for the Smiths.
“Oh help,” Rosanna mumbled. The clock on the wall had chimed eight times. “You need to be getting to bed soon, dochder.”
“Aaron hasn’t come in yet,” Cate began to protest.
Rosanna capped her pen and set it onto the last flyer that she had printed. Leveling her eyes at Cate, she shook her head. “Never you mind about Aaron.” She had heard the buggy leave shortly after the altercation with the neighbors. “Besides, tomorrow’s Friday, and I have to fill in for Annie Yoder at market again.”
Cate did not argue further, but Rosanna could hear her grumble under her breath. She got up from the table and shuffled barefoot across the floor toward the stairs. Rosanna watched her for a moment, her eyes lingering on her back.
For a short while, Rosanna sat alone in the silent kitchen, staring at the empty staircase. Cate was growing more willful by the day, something that Rosanna would have to address well before the girl turned sixteen. While she knew that Cate’s behavior was a defense mechanism, she also knew that it would not sit well with others in the church district. After attending a series of baptism meetings during worship service, all potential members needed to be voted into the district. A young woman with the reputation of being strong willed risked having to take the instructional twice. And their church district, being led by Bishop Smucker and the three preachers, was particularly strict when compared to others.
Shaking her head, Rosanna returned her attention to the flyers. Cate’s were scattered on the table, the marker left uncapped. With a sigh, Rosanna reached for the papers and stacked them neatly atop hers. She knew that she’d have to remind Cate to distribute them in the morning. Perhaps, she thought, Aaron might go with her.
Rosanna moved to the sofa to embroider while she waited for Aaron to come home. She wanted to speak to him. She must have drifted to sleep, because she awoke to the door opening. The needle had fallen from her hand onto her lap, and the linen rested by her side.
“You all right, then, Maem?”
With the pale light of dusk filling the room, everything in the kitchen and sitting area appeared dark, almost an eerie blue. “Don’t turn on the light,” she said. “I’m headed to bed. I just fell asleep here.”
He crossed the room in four easy strides and sat down in Reuben’s recliner. She didn’t want him to worry, not about her. This was his running around time, the time to have fun with his friends. The last thing her son needed was to be burdened with her problems and anxieties.
“You have fun tonight?” Rosanna asked.
Aaron hesitated, as if taken aback by her casual tone. “Why are they so angry?”
Rosanna reached up to rub her temples. “Ach, Aaron,” she sighed. “I don’t want to talk about them. I’d much rather hear about your night. You’re home early.”
Now it was his turn to sigh. “I don’t know which is worse . . . our neighbors or that Nan!”
“Nan?” Startled by the change of subject, or perhaps merely by the topic itself, Rosanna sat up and stared at her son.
“I went to the youth group,” he said. “We met at Amos’s place.”
“Troyer?”
In the dark, he nodded. “Ja, Amos Troyer.” He remained silent for a moment. She could sense the intensity of his emotions. When he finally took a deep breath, she braced herself for whatever he intended to tell her. “Nan showed up. At first she kept talking about the harness shop.” He paused, and she could sense his anger. “Maem, she told everyone that she’s Reuben’s second-in-command and that she’s in charge when he’s not there. Why, you should have seen Daniel’s face!”
“Daniel was there, then?” Rosanna asked.
“Ja, he was. He left shortly after she started bragging so much.” Aaron emphasized the word “bragging” in a tone of disgust. For Aaron, her child who never complained, to comment on someone else’s behavior spoke volumes about how inappropriate Nan must have been. “Why, I couldn’t believe the things that she said, Maem! And so unappreciative of all that you have done for her.”
“Me?”
In the increasing darkness, Rosanna saw him nod. “You and Reuben. She even commented on how messy the shop was. And the haus!”
Rosanna trembled as she tried to calm herself.
Aaron seemed to sense Rosanna’s increasing anxiety and immediately softened his tone. “I know you went and cleaned that house for her and her bruder. Rebecca told me how Nan barely helped you.” He leaned forward and reached out to touch her knee. “You need to stop giving so much to other people. Givers need to receive, too.”
“Helping others is the Christian way—” Rosanna started.
Aaron interrupted her. “Jesus said to teach a man to fish is better than merely providing the fish.”
“He also said to help the needy,” she countered.
“Bah! She’s not needy. She’s boastful . . . thinks too highly of herself, for sure and certain!”
“She’s been through a lot. She lost both of her parents, after all.” Rosanna could hardly believe that she was defending Nan. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to judge others or to speak unkindly of them. “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.”
Once again, Aaron scoffed. “I’m talking to my maem.” He leaned back in the chair and ran his fingers through his hair. The remaining light from the window behind him hid his features, but she could see the silhouette of his wild mass of unruly curls. “But it gets worse. She started flirting with Elijah and then with Abe!”
Rosanna frowned, thankful for the cloak of darkness that hid her expression. Flirting? That wasn’t something Amish women did very often. In fact, Rosanna couldn’t remember witnessing one instance of anyone outright flirting with a man. “Are you sure, Aaron?”
“I’m sure, Maem. I was standing right there. Why, she even whispered in Elijah’s ear, asking him to take her home in his buggy.”
“Oh help.”
“That’s right! The shop and her haus are right next to the Troyers’ farm. He didn’t even know how to respond and walked away from her. That’s when she moved on to Abe. I saw her hanging on his arm like . . . like . . .” Good-hearted Aaron couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to continue. Rosanna suspected she knew what he was avoiding saying.
“I’m not certain how to respond to this news,” she admitted. While Nan wasn’t her problem, she suddenly worried that if word of her behavior traveled the Amish grapevine, it could reflect poorly on Reuben. “I will confess that I’m a little surprised. She doesn’t seem to be that sort of woman.”
“According to Daniel, Nan acts different at the shop when Reuben’s around. When he leaves, she’s awful bossy and just downright mean.”
Contemptible behavior seemed to be running rampant these days, Rosanna thought.
The last thing Rosanna wanted to do was burden Reuben with this. Anyway, there was nothing she could do about it right now—she had to leave the house early for market. And on Saturday she needed to bake in the morning before she visited the old folks’ home with a group of women from church in the afternoon. Even though Sunday was an off day with no worship service for their g’may, Reuben would use the day to rest. She certainly wouldn’t want to discuss Aaron’s story with Reuben then.
“Best keep this between us for now,” Rosanna said. “I’ll try to speak with Reuben about all this. Find a way to let him know, I reckon.”
“Sooner rather than later,” Aaron said as he stood up. “At the rate she’s storming the yo
uth group, the bishop will catch wind of her behavior in no time.”
No doubt, Rosanna thought as she listened to the echo of her son’s heavy footsteps on the hardwood stairs in the darkness. For a few long minutes, she sat alone once again. The last thing she needed was another problem to deal with. Between helping Annie Yoder and the visit to the elderly, she had enough to do over the next two days. Now, knowing that Reuben might have a problem brewing at the shop, Rosanna’s heart felt overburdened. If only she could share it. She had always taught her children that a load is lighter when many hands lift it. It was just one more philosophy that she preached without practicing.
Sighing, she made her way through the darkness to the bedroom. She knew it was almost nine; the clock would certainly chime soon. But despite having to arise so early in the morning and the long day that awaited her, she knew that she wouldn’t sleep. With so much on her mind, anxiety would once again rule the night.
CHAPTER TEN
On Tuesday, after morning chores were finished, Rosanna used the kick scooter to visit Reuben at the shop. Since his workload had picked up so much, he no longer came home for the noon meal, and so she thought she’d bring him some dinner.
At first she’d been surprised by how little he’d been home recently, as this was the time of year when work was typically slower. Reuben had attributed the increase of business to the rising cost of gasoline. It hindered the Amish from hiring drivers, and the long distances they had to travel by buggy were wearing on the horses’ harnesses.