The young man shrugged. “Sure. Around the same time?”
I looked at Elias, who said, “Ya.”
After I’d cleaned my tools and wheel, I bid my teacher guder daag and exited the workshop. In the showroom, Leah was engaged in conversation with a pair of Englisch ladies, holding up a sturdy earthenware mug and pointing out something on its side. At our appearance she looked up, and her gaze locked onto mine. At least today I knew the reason for the disapproving twist of her lips. No doubt she was thinking of my task tomorrow in light of her own past. I dipped my head in a silent farewell and left the shop.
The clock on the dashboard of Robbie’s car read fifteen minutes before one. My stomach rumbled. It had been a long time since breakfast, and I’d missed the noon meal at home.
I turned in my seat toward my driver. “Have you eaten lunch?”
“I haven’t had a chance yet,” he said as he steered the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. “I was gonna grab something after I dropped you off.” He glanced sideways. “You hungry?”
“I did not realize how hungry until just now. What were you planning to grab?”
Without removing his hands from the steering wheel, he shrugged. “I don’t know. A burger or something.”
A fast-food hamburger would not be my first choice. Because we raised our own meat on the farm, beef prepared commercially always tasted a bit off to me.
I offered an alternative. “There’s a Subway on Main Street. Let’s go there if you have time.” He was silent a moment, and I noticed him biting down on his lower lip. A possible reason occurred to me. “I will buy your lunch.”
His head jerked toward me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Ya, I know. I would like to.” My stomach growled again, louder this time.
Apparently loud enough to be overheard. Robbie laughed, and his grip on the wheel relaxed. “Since you put it that way, okay.”
The short drive to the restaurant was spent in an easy silence. Inside, we joined the line of those waiting to place their sandwich orders and studied the menu board. Though fast-food hamburgers held little appeal to me, I didn’t mind deli meat. One of my favorite sandwich meats was Stoltzfus Sweet Bologna, made and sold locally. Mamm sliced it thick, fried it, covered it with plenty of melted Swiss cheese, and served it between two slices of her homemade potato bread. Because Subway didn’t offer Stoltzfus bologna, I settled on ham and watched with admiration as the girl making my sub piled on a generous amount of vegetables and managed to deftly fold the sandwich in half and roll it in a wrapping of paper.
After a slight disagreement at the register, I paid for both meals, and Robbie and I claimed a table near the front door.
He unrolled his sub. “Thanks for this, but I still feel bad about your buying it.”
Before answering, I folded my hands in my lap and bowed my head. In silence I thanked the Lord for the food and for granting me the ability to bless the young man sitting across from me. When I opened my eyes, I found that his hands, too, rested in his lap as he waited for me to finish my prayer.
“Amen,” I said. “And you shouldn’t feel bad. You’ve been good to me. I’m happy to do something for you.”
He didn’t smile, but instead his expression became even more solemn as he smoothed the wrapping from his sandwich out on the table like a place mat. “I haven’t been good to you. You pay me for driving you.”
“Not very much.” I’d intended to discuss Robbie’s rates with him today anyway. I had no way of knowing how much he had charged Johann and Naomi for delivering them to Wakefield, but when he dropped me off at home Saturday afternoon, I’d been stunned when he would accept only a few dollars from me. “Since it appears that I may visit the pottery shop a few more times, I’d like to know how much I should expect to pay my driver.”
The young man shrugged before taking a huge bite out of his sandwich without answering.
“Really.” I leaned toward him. “How much will you charge me?”
After he had chewed, swallowed, and washed down the bite with a long draw on his straw, he said, “I haven’t really thought about it. How about three dollars?”
I’d picked up my sub, but now set it back down to stare at him, incredulous. “Three dollars? That’s outrageous. Kevin Cramer would charge five times that amount.”
One eyebrow quirked upward. “Then you should definitely call me instead of Kevin Cramer. It’s only seven miles. In my car it doesn’t even take a gallon of gas both ways.”
“But you drive from Lancaster,” I pointed out.
“Just south of Eden, actually. Our house is only about ten miles from yours.”
“Unless your car gets forty-five miles to a gallon of gas, that means you’re losing money every time you pick me up.”
He glanced through the window at his little red vehicle. “It gets almost thirty, so the whole trip doesn’t even use two gallons. So then let’s say five dollars.”
I sat back against the hard booth. “You’re forgetting about your time.”
That drew a blast of laughter. “Believe me, I don’t have anything important to do with my time.”
My idea about the reason for Robbie’s visit to our farm to offer his services as a driver had been wrong, then. Apparently he was not in need of money. Why, then, would he offer to drive the Amish?
“Do you work?” I asked.
His mouth full again, he shook his head. I picked up my sandwich and bit into it, waiting for him to answer.
“I ought to get a job, I guess, but…” He shrugged. “My parents aren’t pushing me to. Not yet, anyway.”
So he lived at his parents’ home. Perfectly normal for an Amish man of Robbie’s age, but not so much for the Englisch.
“How old are you?” As soon as the question left my lips, I wanted to take it back. We did not typically express curiosity about our Englisch neighbors. We kept to ourselves, separate from the world. But something about the young man across from me compelled me to know more.
“Nineteen.” His lips twisted into a sardonic line. “Yeah, I know the next question. Why aren’t I in college?”
I would not have asked, but now that he’d brought the subject up, I couldn’t help but wonder. Amish children stopped their official schooling at the completion of eighth grade, but Englisch went on for another several years. Still, I took another bite of my sandwich, an excuse to remain silent.
“I’m taking a couple of online courses to keep my dad happy. But I…wasn’t ready for college.” The lightness of his tone a moment before had disappeared. He set his food down on the makeshift place mat and stared at it, a struggle plain on his face. “I barely graduated from high school. Just couldn’t concentrate those last few months of my senior year. My counselor felt I needed to take a year off to get my head straight.”
Though I’d never attended any school but the one-room schoolhouse within walking distance of our farm, I was aware of the purpose of guidance counselors. My general impression was that they helped Englisch teenagers decide on a suitable profession and steered them toward the education that would help them achieve it.
What could he mean by get my head straight? Had he gotten off track, as so many young people did these days? Gotten mixed up in drugs or alcohol? We knew that drugs were a growing problem in the world. Thanks to some who carried the freedoms of rumspringa too far, the insidious stuff had even snaked its way into our community, though the bishops worked hard to stay on top of the issue.
Whatever Robbie’s problem had been, clearly he still struggled with it. His downcast expression could almost be described as haunted, something with which I could relate. Compassion welled up in me. If he had been on drugs, I was confident that he no longer was. I’d never detected a hint of impairment in him, and his driving skills were excellent. He had never even displayed the effects of a hangover, something I was familiar with from my rumspringa days.
With a visible effort, his countenance cleared and he picked up
the remaining section of his sandwich. “Anyway, I guess my job is driving you people around. So if you hear of anyone else who needs a driver, I hope you’ll give them my number.”
“I will do that.”
We finished our lunch and Robbie drove me home. When we arrived, he balked at my offer of payment, claiming I had bought his lunch and that was payment enough. I tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the passenger seat and hurried into the house before he could return it.
SEVEN
My ride arrived to pick me up a few minutes before eight o’clock on Tuesday morning. Bishop Beiler had rented a van to accommodate the number of people included in this visit because Kevin’s automobile could only seat five. Besides Susan King and me, Bishop Beiler had included Laura’s younger sister Irene and, to my surprise, Daniel Schrock. My conversation with Josiah on Sunday played again in my mind, along with the sight of Daniel’s infatuated attention on Katie Zook. An odd choice for the day’s errand, to be sure. His mother, Abigail, was not in the van, and the reason for the bishop’s conversation with her on Sunday became clear. He had enlisted Abigail’s help in convincing Daniel to join us. The young man sat alone on the rear bench, a morose expression darkening his features. Apparently, he had not agreed to participate willingly.
I gave Kevin the slip of paper on which Elias had written the address of the ceramic shop in Philadelphia, and he verified that the place was not far out of our way. We would be able to perform the errand.
Mamm followed me out of the house and handed a basket to Susan. “I made lunch. Sandwiches, cookies, and a few odds and ends.”
Susan’s eyes flooded with tears. “Danke,” she managed as she accepted the basket. Anyone with eyes saw immediately that her emotions were not stirred merely by the kind gesture and gift of food. The fate of her daughter’s eternal soul rested on the success of the day’s errand. What mother would not be emotional?
The bishop occupied the front seat beside Kevin, while Susan and Irene sat on the middle seat. I slid onto the back bench and nodded a greeting at Daniel, who returned the gesture and then immediately plastered his face against the opposite window.
The drive to Philadelphia was made mostly in silence. Occasionally, the soft sound of sobs drifted back to me from the middle seat, and once Irene unfastened her seat belt to slide to the center of the bench, where she could sit closer to her mamm.
When the skyline of the city rose before us, Bishop Beiler twisted around in his seat. “We must agree on our approach. I will speak to Laura first and remind her of the community’s love and concern for her.”
Susan’s sobs returned, louder this time, and Irene leaned toward her so that their shoulders touched.
The bishop spared a compassionate glance for her and then addressed Irene. “You must tell her how it has been at home since she left. Do not soften your words. Describe how her decision has hurt your family and you.”
Irene nodded, and the bishop raised his gaze to Daniel. “You will apologize for hurting her.”
The young man’s head shot up, defiance glaring from his eyes. “I have done nothing to apologize for. We never had an understanding. Ya, I drove her home from the singings a few times, but we never…” He bit his lower lip. “…touched. If she thought more would come from our relationship, that is not my fault.”
More sobs from the middle seat, and Irene tossed a quick glare over her shoulder.
I watched the bishop closely and was impressed to see not a hint of disapproval at Daniel’s rebellious display. Instead, his smile softened.
“I am not suggesting that you are to blame, Daniel. I have no doubt that your treatment of Laura has been honorable at all times. But her letters to her schweschders mention you as one of the reasons for her unhappiness in our district.” When the young man drew breath to interrupt, Bishop Beiler held up a hand to stop him. “Through no fault of your own, you played a part in her departure. Therefore, you may also have a part in her return. Our task today is not to throw blame toward you or Laura or anyone else. It is to remind her that a Plain life is God’s will for her, and to convince her that great comfort can be found in our way of life.”
Daniel’s head dropped forward so that his chin nearly rested on his chest. He accepted the bishop’s logic with a barely perceptible nod.
Our leader’s gaze slid lastly to me, and my spine stiffened. If he dared to suggest that I offer a romantic reason for Laura to return, I was not sure I could control my temper. I might even desert the group and find a phone to call Robbie to come get me.
I don’t know if my guarded expression halted the words he was about to speak, or if his long silence was due to his uncertainty about my role in the upcoming confrontation. We stared at one another for moments that stretched longer than was comfortable.
Finally, I drew a resigned breath. “And what of me? What have I to say that may convince her?”
“You can speak to her of the comfort of our Lord.” His tone was so soft that the rigid place in my chest melted. “Tell her how our community has supported you, and of the strength you’ve received through adherence to our way of life.”
His words were well spoken. Not once did he mention the double tragedy I had suffered, which would certainly have raised my carefully constructed defenses and closed in my emotions. Instead, he spoke of the comfort found in being part of a faith community. I dipped my head in acknowledgment, and the bishop faced forward once again.
Kevin’s cell phone directed us through the streets of outer Philadelphia with a pleasant, if stilted, female voice. The neighborhood through which we drove was not a wealthy one. Though the time was midmorning, I spotted a group of school-aged youth clustered in an alley, a cloud of smoke rising above them. Trash littered some of the dirt-packed yards we passed, and grass grew only sparsely. When the phone announced that we had arrived at our destination, Kevin parked the van in front of a narrow three-story house. At least this building appeared clean and well maintained. Frilly white curtains showed inside a large front window, and a rainbow of colors covered the others.
As we piled out of the van, Kevin opened a thick book and propped it on the steering wheel, apparently prepared to wait as long as necessary. Our little troop filed up the short walkway and onto a small covered porch. Plastic chairs sat on either side of a round table, where an ashtray filled with cigarette butts emitted a pungent and unpleasant odor.
An Englisch woman answered the door. She had short hair, which was mostly gray but with enough red locks still to see that her hair had once matched the liberal spray of freckles covering her face. She wore jeans and a T-shirt covered with a bright yellow apron with a giant smiley face.
Her gaze swept our group, and the smile left her lips, replaced by a caustic line. “Who are you here for?”
The question and her manner surprised me. Obviously, she’d received delegations such as ours before. Did she have several Amish people staying there?
“Laura King,” answered the bishop in a firm tone.
“Hmm.” The lips pursed while she nodded. “Well, you’re in luck. She hasn’t left for work yet.” She swung the door open and swept a hand inside. “Come on in. I’ll get her.”
Daniel and I exchanged a glance as we followed the others into the house. I don’t know what he’d expected, but I thought we’d find Laura living in a cheap hotel room, or maybe sharing a shabby apartment with someone else. I’d not often had reason to visit Englisch houses, so I glanced around curiously as the woman led us through an entry hall and into the front room, the one with the white curtains. The walls were covered with decorations, including photographs, that would never be found in an Amish home. Above a carved mantelpiece hung a huge painting of a cottage beside a stream, surrounded by trees beneath a brilliant sunset that nearly took my breath away.
“Have a seat,” our hostess instructed. “I’ll tell Laura you’re here.”
When she’d gone, we stood frozen for a moment. The furniture in this room was all so, well, fancy
. Cushioned and covered in brightly patterned fabric, with matching pillows in the corners of the sofa. On a highly polished table in the center of the room rested a gleaming vase full of flowers amid sprigs of greenery. Flowers in March?
The bishop moved first, selecting perhaps the plainest seat the room had to offer—a high-backed chair with upholstered arms. He perched on the very edge, not allowing himself to lean against the padded back. The rest of us did likewise, spreading ourselves around the room. Before I sat, I bent to inspect the vase. Its shape was beautiful, delicate with a graceful curve at the top. Ceramic, certainly, though not the earthenware Elias produced in his workshop. I also noted that the flowers, though pretty, were not real. What a shame to use such a beautiful vase to hold something unnatural.
I’d just settled on a soft chair when Laura entered.
At the sight of her, Susan leaped off of the sofa and flew across the floor, her sobs filling the room. She gathered her daughter into a hug, weeping on her shoulder. Irene, too, went to her sister’s side and wrapped her arms around them both. Laura returned the embrace and her shoulders, too, heaved with tears. I glanced at the bishop. Perhaps our task would not be so difficult after all.
When the torrent of the women’s emotions slowed, they stepped apart, though Susan grasped Laura’s hand and pulled her back to the sofa where she maintained her grip after the three had been seated. Glancing around the room, Laura acknowledged first the bishop and then me. When her gaze fell on Daniel, who did not look up from his close examination of the carpet between his shoes, her face crumpled and tears once again filled her eyes.
Though she was still our Laura, she wore the clothing of an Englisch girl. Her T-shirt bore a bright zigzag pattern of orange and green, and she wore jeans that clung rather too tightly to her slim frame. Her feet were bare, not at all unusual for the Amish, but each toenail had been painted a bright red, as had her fingernails. Her lips also bore color, and the makeup on her eyes had run down her cheeks in black streaks with her tears. Her hair flowed loose down her back, with no kapp covering her head.
The Amish Widower Page 9