Mamm stepped close to my side, nodding.
What could I do but agree? They were right. If I could not control my temper, another outburst might lead to worse sin than fighting with my family.
“There is a favor I would ask of you,” Aaron said.
If he had a suggestion for taming a wild temper, I wanted to hear it. More likely, the planting lay heavy on his mind. With his wife and new dochder in the hospital, he would feel torn between his duties to them and to the farm. Of course I would do whatever I could.
“Ya, sure. Anything.”
“Saloma and I talked about it just now, and we are in agreement.” He drew in a breath and held my gaze. “If it would not be painful for you, we would like to name the baby Rachel.”
I lost my struggle with my tears. Rachel, my Rachel, would be honored in the precious life of this tiny new baby. With salty rivers pouring from my eyes, I managed to utter a hoarse, “I would like that very much.”
Word of Saloma’s early delivery spread through our district as if it had been picked up by the wind. By noon the following day, a team of farmers arrived with their own equipment, ready to pitch in and help a friend in need. With relief, Aaron left the organization of the planting in the hands of our bishop and returned to the hospital to spend time with Saloma and little Rachel. Bishop Beiler handed off overseeing the cornfields to Kurt Miller and James Troyer, while he directed the teams who would plant the tobacco.
I took my place at the tobacco setter, feeding seedlings into the planter alongside Daniel Schrock, while Noah sat in the driver’s seat and guided our horse up and down the straight furrows. Josiah and his daed started at the opposite end of the field, and by the time the sun set on Thursday, we were finished.
After a mere two days of work, all our corn and tobacco were planted.
At the end of the day on Thursday, we bid goodbye to our neighbors. Noah and Daed and I stood in the yard, watching as the last of the farm equipment pulled off of our property.
“Sometimes,” my daed said, “it is very good to be Amish.”
I could not agree more.
I returned to my pottery job on Friday. When I entered the shop, Leah looked up from her computer, surprise coloring her features.
“What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you for another week at least.”
Warmth for my district had done a good work on me in the past two days. The anger that lately hovered at the edges of my temperament felt far removed. Or maybe it was the sight of little Rachel, looking tiny but healthy in her incubator, which I had been granted just the night before.
“We finished early. And we had a baby.”
I could not help taking credit. I felt responsible for Rachel somehow and didn’t bother to question the feeling. Speaking with an enthusiasm that I saw gradually reflected in Leah’s face, I related the events of the past few days.
When I finished, she was smiling broadly. “I am so glad, Seth. You saved that baby’s life.”
I dismissed that with a snort. “I might have found a more peaceful way to do it.”
That brought a laugh—a genuine one that not only showed on her face but shone through her eyes. In that moment she looked truly happy and as peaceful as I felt.
A question rose in my mind, and I voiced it without thought. “Will you ever return to the Amish?”
Her expression slammed shut. She stiffened. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
I drew in a breath and held it. Why, indeed? It had seemed a natural question, given the warmth of feeling I held for my family and my friends today. And for her. But apparently my question struck a nerve with her.
I shrugged to make light of the situation. “I just wondered, is all.”
But inside me, the question burned. If Leah were Amish, what would that mean for our relationship?
“No.” She answered with certainty, jerking her head sideways. “I will never return.”
I accepted her answer with a nod, and though disappointment threatened my happy mood, I left her in the showroom with no further comment. Determined to put the disturbing conversation out of my mind, I went about setting up my supplies for the day.
Bishop Beiler’s visit a few hours later did not surprise me as it had before. In truth, I had expected him to initiate a conversation two days ago, while we worked together to plant my family’s cash crops.
I’d just finished trimming a platter, one of a matching set of tableware with which I was particularly pleased, when he entered the workroom through the curtain. Elias looked up from his wheel. A pleasant greeting on his features died when he spied the bishop’s serious expression.
The bishop addressed Elias before me. “I would speak with Seth in privacy, if you do not mind.”
“Ya, of course.”
My teacher made as though to rise from his wheel in order to leave us alone, but I waved him down. The thought of being confined within the walls of the workroom with a stern-faced bishop set my insides to trembling.
“Can we walk while we talk?” I looked to the bishop, who nodded approval.
We left the shop, and I avoided Leah’s inquisitive glance when we passed her.
Outside, the May sun lay hidden behind a layer of clouds. The promised rain would be good for the crops we’d just planted, but not great for a stroll down the street. I hoped the rain would hold off for as long as it took for the bishop to deliver the lecture I expected.
He walked much as my father would, with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze, partially hidden beneath his round-brimmed hat, fixed on the horizon in front of us.
“I have heard disturbing things, Seth. They leave me concerned for you.”
The question of who had spoken with the bishop crossed my mind. My father, or my brother, or perhaps even my mother? I rejected the thought as not worthy of consideration. Given my behavior, whoever had talked with Bishop Beiler had been justified.
I matched his pace, our steps falling in unison on the pavement. “I understand your concern.” I paused to swallow. “In fact, I share it.”
He glanced sharply at me. “Do you? That makes my task easier.”
“Your task?”
He came to a stop and turned to face me. “You carry a heavy burden, Seth. One I have tried to understand but failed. So I want you to speak with someone else. Someone who can help you.”
In an instant I knew what he was asking. I started to shake my head, but he stopped me with a raised hand.
“I know of a counselor who understands our ways. He is Mennonite and respectful of the Plain lifestyle.” He held my reluctant gaze. “I want you to talk to him.”
My instinct was to refuse. With all my heart, I wanted to shout, “What good will talk do?” But the guilt of my uncontrollable temper lay heavy on me, and so I nodded. “I will talk to him.”
“Gut.” Bishop Beiler produced a piece of paper from somewhere within his coat. “Here is his name and number. Call him today, please.”
I clutched the paper in my hand. Though we had not reached a crossroad physically, we turned on the road and began our journey back to the shop.
“If I may voice one more concern,” the bishop said, his gaze fixed ahead of us, “I would ask about the woman who works with you.”
My head jerked toward him. “Leah? She is my teacher’s granddaughter.”
He nodded. “I understand that. And even a casual observer can see that she has suffered much.” Though he did not glance at me, I felt the weight of his regard. “I must caution you against feelings for her. She has made her choice for her future, and her choice is not compatible with yours.”
Apparently Bishop Beiler had detected the developing friendship existing between Leah and me. His warning served a purpose that he had not intended. Though I saw the truth of his words—that a relationship between us was impossible—for the first time I acknowledged reality.
I was attracted to Leah, and I thought maybe she shared the attraction.
And
that attraction was apparent to outsiders.
We walked on a few steps before I could manage an even reply. “You have no need for concern.”
“Still.” He stared straight ahead. “I have heard of your plans to move here, to live with your teacher, who is this woman’s grossdaadi. I cannot help but feel concern for one of my flock.”
“She is Englisch. I am Amish.” I stopped on the road and faced him. “That will not change.”
“If she could be persuaded—”
I held up a hand to cut him off. “She will not.”
He heaved a sigh and we resumed walking. “What a shame you have no feelings for Laura King.”
Why must everyone continually throw her at me? Was it not enough that she threw herself at me? The peace of the last few days began to crumble, and I clenched my jaw against a sharp reply.
When I said nothing, he continued. “The bishop of this district is a good man. May I speak to him of my concerns for you?”
In other words, he would make sure my new bishop was aware of my history, my temper, and my stubborn refusal to comply with everyone’s wishes in the matter of taking a wife. I would come to my new district with my past already there before me.
Such conversations between bishops were probably common. I supposed I should feel honored that he had asked permission first.
I gave it grudgingly. “If you feel you need to, then you must.”
We reached the shop, and he bid me goodbye. I stood in the parking lot, watching until his buggy became a distant black spot on the road. Our conversation replayed itself, disturbing on many counts. Talking to a stranger about my failures would not be easy. Why had I agreed to call the Mennonite counselor? Because I had promised, I would keep my word, but I dreaded the task.
Beyond that, the bishop’s perceptive comment about my feelings for Leah sat like a heavy stone in my mind. When had my feelings changed? At first I’d felt nothing but pity for her, and maybe a little defensive at her obvious mistrust of me, displayed in caustic comments and hard expressions. Over the past two months her tongue had softened, and now she smiled in my presence more often than she frowned. More, she had a kind ear into which I had poured some of my inner turmoil. If she were Amish, I might be tempted to ask to drive her home. Maybe then she would open up to me, as I had to her, and discuss the traumatic event that left her scarred and bitter.
I kneaded a knot in the base of my skull, my decision to never marry again at the forefront of my thoughts, firmer than ever. It was a good thing Leah was not Amish. If she were, I would be forced to reject her friendship as firmly as I did Laura’s bold attempts. Leah’s determination to remain Englisch made it possible for us to continue to be friends. A good thing, as I was about to move in with her closest family.
The bishop’s concerns about Leah resolved in my mind, I entered the shop, eager to immerse myself in work.
That afternoon, Leah left the shop to run errands in town. I finished forming the platter I had thrown, and when I was satisfied, straightened from my work.
“May I use the telephone?” I asked Elias.
He did not even glance up from the bowl taking shape on his wheel. “Of course. You do not need to ask.”
Thanking him, I went to the shop and called the number written in Bishop Beiler’s neat handwriting. The woman who answered the phone listened to my hesitant request for an appointment with Dr. Phillips.
“You’re in luck,” she told me. “He just had a cancellation. Can you come on Monday at three o’clock?”
So soon? I had counted on having a week or so to grow accustomed to the idea of talking about my private pain with a stranger.
On the other hand, the less time I had to fret, the better.
“Yes, I can come then.”
She took my name and then asked for insurance information.
“I am Amish.”
“Oh, okay.” She did not sound at all surprised. “Then you’ll have a discounted price for the session because we don’t have to mess with insurance forms. Can you give me a phone number where we can get a message to you if we need to?”
I provided the number for the store, jotted down the address of the counseling office, and then hung up. My next phone call was to a familiar number I knew without looking.
“Hey, Seth,” Robbie said when he answered. “It’s good to hear from you. Everything going okay?”
My mood lifted at the sound of his voice. I had missed him.
“Ya, everything is good.”
The door opened, and Leah entered. She spared me a surprised glance as she made her way to the counter.
I said into the phone, “I have an appointment in Lancaster on Monday at three o’clock. Can you drive me?”
“Oh, man, I’ve got a thing at two, and it won’t be over until around three.” He sounded distraught. “Let me make a call to see if I can change it.”
“No, don’t change your schedule. I will find another driver.”
“Dude, I hate that. I told you I’d help whenever I could.”
“You have helped, many times.” I poured assurance into my tone. “And I will call you again, I promise.”
“Well…if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
We said our goodbyes, and I disconnected the call. The distance between Elias’s shop and the office in Lancaster was close to fifteen miles. I’d much rather make the trip in a car than spend so much time on the road.
Leah had been standing at the edge of the counter, eavesdropping on my conversation.
“I’ll drive you to Lancaster on Monday,” she offered. “Daadi can cover the shop by himself for a while.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to accept, but Bishop Beiler’s warning returned to me. Was driving in a car, a man and woman alone, the same as driving a girl home from church in a buggy? Perhaps not, but the two were too similar for my comfort.
I fixed a polite smile on my face. “No, but danke for the offer.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Picking up an envelope from the counter, she waved it in the air. “I forgot the electric bill, and it’s due today.”
When she’d gone, I stared at the closed door for a long moment. After my conversation with the bishop and the realization that my feelings for Leah could be deeper than I was comfortable with, a barrier to our friendship had been erected. Only in my own mind, perhaps, but it left me sad.
I once again picked up the phone. If Kevin Cramer couldn’t drive me, then I would make the trip by buggy.
EIGHTEEN
Breakfast on Saturday was a solemn meal. Saloma’s absence upset the twins, who had never spent more than a few hours away from her. Aaron had stayed at the hospital with her and baby Rachel Friday night, so his chair sat empty as well. To make matters worse, this was to be my last meal while living under the Hostetler roof. Mamm wore a somber expression, and Daed refrained from his typical morning talk of the Almanac’s predictions for the weather. Mammi cast more than a few tearful glances across the table in my direction. Even Sadie seemed affected by the solemn atmosphere. Her little lips formed a frown, and she whined when Becky tried to coax her to taste a biscuit.
“But who will milk the cows?” Luke fretted, pushing his eggs around on his plate without eating.
“Onkel Noah will,” I said.
Noah nodded and spared the child a kind smile.
The twins had requested to sit on either side of me today. I placed a comforting hand on Luke’s shoulder and another on Mark’s. “Perhaps he will need help. You are almost four years old. Time enough to learn milking.”
Mark straightened, his expression eager. “Can we, Onkel Noah?”
He nodded. “It is a good idea, I think. We will ask your daed when he comes home.”
I squeezed gently. “But take care around Delilah. She likes to use her tail as a whip. I will have a talk with her before I leave, and tell her to behave herself around my nephews.”
A twinge of regret surprised me as I looked around the table. My move was the right thing for me and for my family. It wasn’t as if I were moving to Ohio or somewhere far away. Still, things would be different when I visited. The children would grow accustomed to the newness sooner than I would, and that saddened me. I would become the visiting onkel. Sadie would not even remember a time when I lived here, and what would I be to baby Rachel? I battled sorrow as I finished breakfast.
I did not have much to move. My clothing fit into a bag Mamm gave me, and the few personal items I owned—books and the like—were placed in a wooden box and set on the back bench of my buggy.
I promised to return the following week for the Sunday meal and said goodbye to my family, who lined up to wave as I flicked the reins and Orion took me away.
No. He was not merely taking me from somewhere. He was taking me to somewhere. A new home, and a future I viewed with a great deal of satisfaction. With that thought, I steered him onto the road and headed for Strasburg.
At the end of the workday, Orion and I followed Elias’s buggy out of the parking lot. Leah’s car passed us on the road, and we covered the short distance to my teacher’s house at an easy trot. We took Star Road past the dairy farm, where herds of cattle grazed in pastures on both sides of the road. A series of homes lay beyond, some with long, freshly planted fields behind them. I spied Leah’s car in front of a white house up ahead, and then saw her standing in the yard beside an Amish woman in a lilac dress and white apron.
As the horses slowed, I examined Lily Beachy with interest. Strange to think I had worked with Elias for two months and not met his wife. I’d certainly eaten enough of her cooking, but either Elias brought the lunch basket with him in the morning, or if the meal was to be served hot, Leah went to pick it up. A glance around the large yard revealed one possible reason. Mine and Elias’s were the only two buggies, and I saw no horse in the pasture behind the house. With their only buggy at the shop all day, she had no transportation.
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