by Beth Shriver
“How do you always know the weather?” Hanna followed his gaze as Annie watched the two talk.
Annie wasn’t alone in thinking him a know-it-all, an unwanted characteristic in their community, but because this ability was desired and helpful to the farmers, it was overlooked, among other traits. As she considered him, she felt subtle feelings of appreciation instead of the usual irritation for his capacity to help. “How do you know when it will come?” She studied the clouds with them.
She felt his stare as they stood in uncommon silence. “Umm, the color of the clouds, distance, temperature change, wind chill factor. A lot of different things are taken into account.”
She nodded in admiration, another feeling forbidden and not one of her normal struggles, but there it was all the same. “Looks like you’ll have plenty of help.” She pointed to the large black-and-white cluster of men coming down the main dirt road. The closer the men came, the more joined, one after another, until all the able-bodied men in the community were together. Harvest was near, and their livelihoods were at stake if the storm was strong enough to ruin a man’s crop. It could not be replaced, only supplemented by his neighbor, and that farmer would have to wait for another year’s crop to gain a profit.
John stepped away from Annie and Hanna and into the mass of quiet movement heading to the first field. She watched him go with rapt attention. He slapped his friend David on the back as he entered the group, then looked over as if sensing her gaze upon him.
His smile made a pulse pound in her ears, causing her to let out a small breath of air. Unsure of the reason for her reaction, she began her walk to the house. There would be sandwiches to make and potato salad to prepare, drinks and equipment to bring to the men.
Her mamm was already in the kitchen bringing out the necessary items to make the men their lunch. She would continue to make food, not just for her own but for as many as she could feed, until her supplies were gone. Many others would do the same.
The older boys were already with Amos and the others. Thomas and Samuel would go with Mamm and the girls to take food and then stay with the men until the job was done.
“Annie!” A mother and her young daughter walked up quickly behind her. “Can you watch her for me?” She bent forward and whispered to Annie. “Her brothers and sisters are with my mamm, but she asked to stay with you. She’s a bit worried about the storm.”
Annie reached out for the girl’s hand. “Don’t be fearful. Gott will be with us through the storm, just as he told Isaiah not to fear because Gott was with him.”
“Annie, danke for watching her.” Her mother turned to walk away. “I’ll be by later to fetch her.”
Annie noticed her grandparents’ buggy tethered to the front post as she walked into the house.
Although Dawdi Vernon was too old to be of much help, he came over with Mammi Rebecca to see what was taking place. Mammi sat in Mamm’s large kitchen stuffing the sandwiches in bags when they entered the room.
“Sit at the table and hand us the bags.” Annie asked the little girl, and she complied.
“Puh! You have enough here to feed the entire community.” Mammi frowned.
Mamm let the words wash over her as she took Mammi another plate stacked with sandwiches. “Better too many than not enough.”
Mammi shook her head and continued her chore. Annie sat with her and helped make more sandwiches. “Where is Dawdi?”
Mammi answered with a curt tone. “Ach, bin ins feld glaafe. He went into the field to see what’s happening.”
“He probably misses being there with them.” Her mammi’s hard face relaxed, and she sighed.
“The wagon’s here.” Little Samuel bounced into the room, cheerful as usual. He stood in front of Annie and snapped his suspenders. “Guess who does this?” He grinned.
Annie’s heart warmed. “John, you silly bird.” She reached for him, but he turned and hopped away.
“Don’t do that, Samuel. You’ll stretch out your suspenders,” their mamm called after him.
“Stop your yelling,” Mammi ordered. “I may be old, but I’m not deaf.” Which was contrary to the truth. Samuel approached his mammi. “Ich bin anschaffe,” she said, without looking up.
“What did she say, Mamm?” Samuel frowned his confusion.
“She’s busy, Samuel. Come help me find more bags.” She gently guided him in the right direction with a hand at his back.
“These young ones should still be expected to learn our sacred tongue, or it will soon be lost.”
“I think it already is with the upcoming generation.” Mamm went to the sink and placed her palms on the counter. Annie saw her take in a deep breath.
Amos’s parents were good people but didn’t approve of the new ways. They were fearful that Annie’s generation would become more like the New Order than what Annie’s parents and grandparents were raised with, and this hardened them as they got on in their years.
“Soon we’ll live as the Mennonites do,” Mammi bellowed.
Many of the Amish men were forced to find employment in the nearby town as land became scarce. Churned butter was rare, and milking by hand was also a thing of the past. Although they still didn’t use electricity or plumbing, finances and survival made it necessary to give up some of the old rules.
“We’ll always stay Amish, Rebecca. All of us.” Mamm lifted her eyes to Annie briefly.
Annie knew her mamm felt her struggling with the information she’d learned. There were many questions she wanted to ask. Did her mammi and dawdi know? But the conversation was over in her daed’s mind.
“Jah, it may be so. Let’s go. We don’t want to keep them waiting.” Mammi rose from her chair and went to the door. Before leaving she pinched off the dead buds of pansies in a flowerpot that showed signs of the upcoming fall weather. Then she whispered a prayer for the men before they set out.
Annie fetched their large draft horse while Hanna readied the wagon. They hitched up Otto, and the women and small children rode out to the men. They brought baskets of food and a hay sled to move the haystacks and piles of crop. Other families did the same, and by the time the men stopped for lunch, most of the community had gathered.
After she finished passing out the food, Annie went back to the wagon to consider the whirl of thoughts and emotions that would not leave her be. She moved her gaze over the red, gold, and orange forested slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains, swinging her feet.
The thud of her left foot on the wheel must have caught John’s attention. Before she knew it, he’d swung up to sit beside her, holding a half-eaten sandwich.
“I was wondering where you were.” He met her eyes. “So, what is it?”
Annie almost frowned at him, not wanting the intrusion, especially from him. He could read her like a book, and she didn’t want to be read right now. “Are you going to be finished with this before sundown?”
He gave her a questioning gaze and took his time to respond. “Nee, we’ve been to half a dozen farms but finally decided to split up to do double the work. If we had done that from the start, we might be close by now.”
Annie stilled her foot. “Whose idea was that?”
His smile gave her the answer she already knew.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” He stopped chewing. “Or do I have to drag it out of you, like an old mule?”
She bumped into him with her shoulder. “Don’t compare me to your old Lou.”
“It’s actually a compliment. I like old Lou. You’re both just stubborn.”
“So you like me too?”
“Except when you’re so mad you’re kicking the wagon wheel.”
He knew her too well. She clamped her lips together and fixed her gaze on some little children chasing each other around the wagons.
“Well?” He nudged her with his elbow.
“Jonathon Yoder, don’t you know when you’re being a pest?”
“Nee, I guess not.” Shading his eyes, he watched tw
o young men his age play catch with an overripe pumpkin. It was only a matter of time before one would have pumpkin innards covering his white shirt.
He had the good grace not to look her way. She didn’t need any more aggravation, and he was providing exactly that. “I’m frustrated, not mad.”
“Okay, but I still want an answer.” He took one last huge bite of his sandwich and then dropped a hand to his side.
Annie let out a breath. “Do you know about me? About where I was born?”
“Same as the rest of us, I assume.” He rested his hands on the edge of the wagon. “With Alma at your mamm’s side.”
She sighed, amazed and glad she lived among people who didn’t gossip about another’s hardship. “I found out that I was abandoned as a newborn and found by my daed.” She studied him to make sure he was still looking at her the way he always did—without judgment or accusation—even when she carped about her chores, loved to play baseball, or asked him questions she shouldn’t.
His eyes never wavered, just kept their steady probing into hers. “So you were meant to be here even more than the rest of us.” One side of his mouth lifted.
She was surprised for only a second by his answer. But was he right or reaffirming her, knowing she had doubts? “You can’t be sure of th—”
“Jah, I can.”
Now she was even more frustrated, as if she were talking with her daed. “I have another family somewhe—”
“Your family is here.” He gestured to everyone playing, eating, and talking in the field.
“But I want to know things.”
“What do you need to know?”
“I was adopted and—”
“Adopted by Christ and raised by people who love you. That’s more than you may have gotten otherwise.”
His words lashed at her, as if he’d thought out every one before she even asked. He showed no patience with her questions and clearly wanted the conversation over.
“Because it’s expected? Or because I am truly loved?”
John crossed his arms over his broad chest and shook his head. “Why do you doubt our ways? You never have before, until now when it’s the most important.”
“What’s wrong with questioning if there is nothing to hide?”
“Peace, to live in harmony.” He gazed ahead as if to say the subject was now over.
She had gotten little farther with him than she had with her parents. Expecting more, she surrendered to his wishes. “What do I do now?”
“What is there?”
“Find out about my birth family. Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“Nee, I wouldn’t. And neither should you.” He jumped down from the wagon, wiping his hands on his britches, and joined the men to help one another through the storm as the tumult began inside Annie.
Chapter Four
ANNIE SAT AT the kitchen table trying to read, but her mind kept drifting from her book to a beach with blue water. She wondered what it felt like to have the sun touch her thighs and stomach. While she dreamed about the outside world, she was away from the daily chores, evening mass, and cooking. She had to admit her mamm’s food was good, but eating it was much more enjoyable than making it. Was she becoming self-serving in that she only cared about her stomach?
Annie was no larger in size than the other girls her age but more so than the women in the magazine she had seen in town one day—beautiful women with perfect bodies and hair, wearing colorful clothes. She knew this was why she was forbidden to see such things but then wondered why the Amish couldn’t learn self-restraint by choosing instead of being told.
“What could an eighteen-year-old girl be so angry about?” her mamm asked. “Come and help with dinner.”
“The English would be happy to see their children with a book in their hands,” Annie threw back at her mamm.
Her daed stretched out his long legs and set his Bible on the fireplace hearth. “Annie, do not disrespect your mamm.” Then he picked up his Bible again and resumed reading.
Annie had so much to say to him that she knew she never could, and questions to ask—so many whys: Why didn’t you tell me? Why can’t I find my birth mother? Why did you decide to keep me?
“Come help me with dinner.” Mamm held out a hand to Annie.
Glad to get away from her daed, she followed her mamm without hesitation.
Chicken and dumplings simmered in a large black pan on the stove. Annie followed her nose to the bread in the oven and grabbed an oven mitt to pull out the two steaming loaves. She placed them on a cooling rack and leaned against the counter.
“Daed seems angry with me.”
“Ach, he’s just a man of few words.” Her mamm smiled and handed her a jar of tomato relish. “Will you go to the cellar and fetch two jars of bean salad?” Mamm wiped her cheek with a single finger then poured off the boiling water from the potatoes grumbeere. “Make that three. Thomas will eat a jar all by himself.”
The damp coolness of the earthen walls gave Annie a chill as she descended the planks leading to the underground storage area. Most of the summer harvest was set aside for winter eating, and because they didn’t use refrigerators, they pickled nearly everything.
Annie glanced up at one of the many cabinets filled with applesauce, jam, coleslaw, and pickles. They’d gathered an unusually large number of tomatoes, enough to fill four bushels. They’d been salted and stored in white buckets, and after a week’s time the excess water was dumped off, and they were placed in kettles, cooked to the right thickening, and then jarred with spices and sugar.
She took some tomatoes, along with the bean salad, then turned to make her way up the narrow stairs. She stopped and stared down the short tunnel at the end of the cellar. Nothing was stored there, as it was too narrow, but the darkness captivated her, not only this time but every single trip she made down to this underground hole, and she felt the obscurity there. A vacant part of her connected with the uncertainty of what might be in the darkness.
Once Annie turned away, she took each step quickly to the top, almost dropping one of the jars. “Here, Mamm,” she said in a breath.
“Are you running from ghosts again?” Mamm reached for the jars as Annie tried to set them on the counter. One rolled to the edge and fell to the floor with the splintering sound of glass.
Her daed was at the door within a moment’s time. He held one hand on the door frame, staring at the runny, red tomatoes mixed with shards of glass. Annie’s gaze met his as his eyebrows gathered, drawing lines into his forehead.
“What’s gotten into you, girl?”
A name he hadn’t called her since she was young, a reprimand she couldn’t ignore. “I’m sorry, Daed.” She reached for a towel and began to spread the mess into a larger circle of red. Her mind regressed as if she were a young girl instead of a young woman.
A swell of emotion lurched up in her chest and pushed upward, causing a small cry to expel from her lips. Amos grunted and walked to the table to wait for his meal.
Mamm brought over the trash bin and began scooping up the larger pieces of the now-mangled tomatoes. “Go wash up.” She patted Annie on the top of one hand and continued to clean the stained floor. Annie stood, looking down at the mess she’d made. She felt disjointed inside as well as out. She couldn’t grasp what she now knew. She had to do something. What, she didn’t know, but something for sure.
As she washed, her siblings came in one by one and sat down at the table. Feeling the tension, they spoke in low tones, waiting patiently for Annie.
Her daed eyed her as she sat down right after her mamm. They said a silent prayer, and as the food was passed, his stare returned to her throughout the meal. Annie knew there was a “talk” coming but tried to enjoy her meal in spite of it. Were her actions so obvious that her parents knew her thoughts?
Mamm asked Amos if he wanted some of the bean salad, but he ignored her. Annie decided right then that her husband would look her in the eyes when she spoke. He’d act interested
in what she said, even if he wasn’t.
When the meal was finished, Annie and Hanna worked beside their mamm, washing dishes as Frieda cleared the table. Amos took the boys out with him to gather wood and check the weather. The wind whipped the sides of the house. The wooden chimes Eli had made that hung on the porch clanged and twisted in the snapping gales.
Hanna, Annie, and their mother peered out the window as they finished cleaning up. Annie searched for a glimpse of the men or a drastic change in the weather. From the corner of her eye she could see her sister and mother did the same. By the time they finished, Mamm was almost pacing, attending to tiny, trivial details around the kitchen.
Finally Amos guided Samuel and Thomas through the kitchen door with Eli and Augustus following at his usual snail’s pace even now. The door fought against Amos’s grip on the doorknob, and the wind caused it to bounce against his boot.
Mamm gathered the younger boys around her. “What took you so long?”
“That wind’s fierce.” Amos kicked off his boots and placed them in the mudroom, side by side.
“We moved what we could into the barn, tied down the rest.” Eli removed his coat and hung it on a rack that held ten rungs and twice that many coats.
“Do you think it’ll turn into a tornado?” Mamm helped the younger boys off with their jackets and sent them out of the room with the girls.
“Hope not. All that crop-moving would be for nothing.” Amos sat in a chair by the black wood-burning stove. He opened the small door where the logs were fed and rubbed his hands together. Mamm set the kettle on the stove to make tea just as Annie headed toward the door.
“Come here, Annie.” Amos’s strident voice filled the room.
Annie stopped and turned to her daed. He continued the same motion, warming his hands and leaning toward the hot stove. It was almost as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Mamm turned at the waist, froze, and then looked at her husband.
Annie sat in a chair by her daed, placed her hands in her lap, and waited. Amos closed the stove door and studied her. “You need to go back to the way things were.”