Never an Amish Bride

by Ophelia London

  “You said you’ve been gone for ten years,” Yellow Shirt said. “A lot’s changed, right?”

  “Apparently,” Lucas said in a low voice, trying to wrap his brain around the concept.

  “The dairy farm by my house is all electric. I asked the owner about it once, and he said the FDA won’t let him sell milk unless the whole plant is refrigerated.”

  “That seems…logical,” Lucas said with a nod. Maybe he wasn’t such an expert after all.

  For another thirty minutes, he answered questions as best he could, though now he wasn’t at all sure he was giving current information.

  For a religion that has been based on the same strict traditions for a few hundred years, how has so much changed in a single decade?

  While the room emptied, Lucas packed up his notes and laptop. A few people gave him a quick thank-you, and the female intern who’d sat in the front stopped to give him a big smile, which Lucas barely returned. His thoughts were still lost in all the info he’d gleaned from the class.

  “Rough day?”

  It was the older man with the short gray beard.

  “I’ve had better.” Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for attending, by the way.”

  The man slid his hands into his white lab coat. “I wouldn’t have missed it. High time we heard a lecture from…well, from someone like you.”

  Lucas lifted a polite smile, feeling about as Amish as Gordon Ramsey. “I reckon I’m not as much of an expert as I used to be.”

  “You did fine. It was interesting. Fascinating, actually.”

  Even with the compliment, Lucas’s mood refused to lighten. “That’s very kind of you.”

  The man took a step toward him. “I’m sincere. We see more and more of you plain folk these days. In order to treat a specific type of person, it’s vital to know as much about them as possible—medical history. I’m sure you agree.”

  “I do.” Lucas set down his computer bag. “That’s the whole reason I’m here. A friend of mine who works at the med center asked me to do this seminar. You might know him—Greg Browning.”

  The old man smiled. “Doctor Browning has worked with me on several projects. I asked him to set this up.”

  “You did?”

  When the man smiled again, lines crinkled the sides of his twinkling eyes. “I’m Griffin Ballard. I head the lecture committee. Please, call me Griff.” He extended his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Griff,” Lucas said, shaking his hand.

  “I suppose you have some questions for me now.”

  Only about a million, Lucas was about to utter. But he didn’t, knowing exactly why he’d been asked to do the Q&A. And despite some rocky moments, he was glad he’d done it.

  “Are the plain folk who seek professional medical help coming in for basic needs or only bigger issues?” he asked.

  “It varies.” Griff sat on a chair, turning it to face Lucas. “Fortunately, we see far less childhood disease than we used to. Vaccines aren’t as frowned upon now.”

  That’s wonderful news to hear, Lucas thought as he remembered vividly one of his baby sister’s playmates getting tetanus from a construction site and quickly passing away. It shocked the community, yet he couldn’t recall if any action was taken at the time. Did that incident cause the brethren to rethink their strict policy?

  “Expectant mothers are relying more and more on certified midwives,” Griff added, “instead of untrained women in their neighborhoods.”

  Lucas sat down across from Griff. “A few days ago, I treated a woman with injuries that looked like they came from abuse. Is that becoming common?”

  “About as common as the rest of the world,” Griff replied. “Maybe a bit less, though. I do envy their strong devotion to family and faith—your devotion. I’m sorry, I had a hard time determining if you’re still a follower of the religion.”

  The question made Lucas shift in his seat. “Not, um, no…”

  “Forgive me.” Griff put a hand on his shoulder. “That was a very personal question. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Lucas exhaled, grateful for not having to answer any further. Because…he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t gone to church in years, he seldom read from the Bible, and he couldn’t think of the last time he’d actually knelt down to say a proper prayer.

  But did that mean he didn’t believe in the celestial Creation of the world? Or heaven and hell? Or that God could answer prayers? Even if he felt like he had no business praying because of the bitterness in his heart almost too heavy to carry?

  Lucas felt a tightness in his chest.

  “We had a case just a few months ago,” Griff said, interrupting his gloomy thoughts. “A young Amish girl was brought in with swollen glands, high fever, and blood in her urine.”

  Lucas’s spine stiffened as he leaned forward to listen.

  “Turns out it was only a nasty case of mono, but when other diseases were brought up, her parents had no problem discussing potential treatments.”

  That old resentment flared up, making his head hurt and his stomach churn. Resentment aimed directly at his father. Was he still so close-minded today?

  “What a relief,” Lucas offered so he wouldn’t speak what was truly on his mind. “Sounds like good progress has been made. I hope it continues.”

  “I honestly believe that with you working at the Honey Creek clinic, this area will gain even more trust in the professionals.” He began stroking his beard. “Especially if you come back to do another lecture.”

  “Me?” Lucas said.

  Griff nodded. “After hearing you today, I’m actually thinking of adding a lecture series to the curriculum. Continuing education for the local docs, as well. Anyone who wants to learn.”

  “Oh,” Lucas replied, a little dumbfounded. “You want me to teach a class?”

  “Well, there won’t be books or homework,” Griff said, his eyes twinkling again. “But the information you presented today is imperative to this area, while your background and personal knowledge is unprecedented.” He leaned forward. “Like it or not, you’re the subject expert.”

  Though the idea had been sprung on him, Lucas couldn’t find a reason to disagree. “How often? I already volunteer here twice a month.”

  “Let’s double that,” Griff suggested. “Two days to volunteer, two days to lecture. Wait.” He scratched his beard. “I think I’d like to make the lecture series once a week. The money will be good and you’ll truly be making a difference.”

  Lucas didn’t care about the money. In fact, he might’ve offered to do it for free. “Sounds good.” He pulled out his cell phone and opened the calendar app. “What days?”

  As the two men worked out the new schedule, Lucas got even more excited. If the head of the lecture committee thought he had important knowledge to share, he wouldn’t shirk his duty.

  “So, would you like it to be a Q&A like today?” Lucas asked.

  “Maybe some basic questions at first,” Griff said, “but I’d like you to delve deeper. Tell us more about the current health habits, traditions, and overall way of life of today’s local Amish.”

  Lucas got that sinking feeling again. Was he really the right person for this?

  “I know there were some bumps in the road today,” Griff said with a wink. “I suppose that means you’ll have to do your research. Reach out to your people.” He stood to leave. “From what you were saying earlier, it sounds like they’re wonderful folk, caring and generous. You shouldn’t have any trouble reconnecting with them.”

  …

  As he drove home, Lucas kept the radio off. The raunchy lyrics of even the mildest pop songs were getting on his nerves. Besides, he needed to think. How was he supposed to reconnect with “his people”? Only Esther Miller acknowledged that he was back in town. Even after all those letters to his mother, had his
own family written him off?

  He ran a hand through his hair, remembering what it had been like to have that infamous bowl cut. Sure, it looked strange to the Englishers, but when he’d been a kid, it was how all his buddies looked. It hadn’t been strange at all.

  As he neared town, Amish farms began popping into view. As he passed one—set way back on its lot—he noticed a power line reaching from the main road of restaurants and stores straight to its barn. He knew who lived there, or who used to live there. The Mast family made the best cheese in twenty miles. He’d grown up snacking on the leftover curds and dry ends. No cars in the gravel driveway, but two buggies and a tractor. Plus, a big handwritten wooded sign. Yep, white cheddar and cottage cheese were on sale today.

  Huh. Had Yellow Shirt been right? Was it not rare now for Amish farms to have some source of power? As he was about to turn off the main road and head for home, something made Lucas keep driving straight instead.

  Slowing down, he slid on a baseball cap and sunglasses. Not much of a disguise, but he knew it’d be best if he wasn’t recognized. Just around the next corner, up a rolling hill, a red barn with a green roof appeared in the valley, then the white house with the summer pond. The same straight rows and rows of beet plants.

  Lucas shifted his truck into park. Far enough away that he wouldn’t be seen, he stared down at the barn, the pond, the crops, the house that might still have the drawing of a sheep named Dan on the back of the closet door.

  He felt a strange sense of relief when he noted the absence of any power lines. Hearing a bark, he glanced toward the barn, seeing two dogs run out the double doors. A tall man in a blue shirt, black pants, suspenders, and straw hat followed them out.

  Lucas stopped breathing.

  The man filled a bucket at the water pump, then walked to the side of the barn, pouring it into the horses’ trough. Next, he stood on the base of the wooden fence, reached out, and stroked the nose of a brown pony. It didn’t look too big. Maybe a late summer foal, ready to be trained to pull a pony cart.

  That used to be Jeremiah’s job. And he’d been teaching Lucas. Jacob would’ve been next in line…

  Lucas swallowed hard, leaning forward to watch the tall man throw a rubber ball for the dogs to chase. The cows must’ve all been milked and the other animals fed. The clusters of zucchini plants and pumpkins were larger than he’d ever seen. It must’ve been a leisurely moment for the farmer, one of the few before the October harvest.

  Suddenly, the man aimed his gaze toward Lucas, shading his eyes with both hands. Even though they were a good sixty yards away from each other, Lucas couldn’t help sinking down in his seat. Even if he’d been seen, there was no way the farmer would’ve recognized him.

  Not after ten years.

  Yet, the farmer didn’t look away. In fact, he began pacing forward, past the pig sty and chicken coop, even past the old outhouse, as if he was going to march up that hill and straight to Lucas’s truck.

  But that was crazy. When the man stopped to shoo a few loose hens, Lucas started the engine and drove away, watching in his rearview mirror how the man, too, had stopped but was still looking out toward the road. Lucas pressed on the gas, kicking up gravel.

  It was only a coincidence and was not about to be some cinematic reunion between father and son. Lucas felt like an idiot to think for even a split second that could happen. The bitterness and blame he felt toward his father was stronger than ever.

  Jacob used to climb that tree. And splash in that pond. And chase the new spring piglets around the yard. In some way, his father had taken that away from him.

  Lucas gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, wanting to push the bad memories away. Otherwise, he might not survive in Honey Creek. Could he ever figure out how to forgive him? Lucas bet a day’s pay that he was considered dead to his father—or at least gone forever.

  What was it that Griff Ballard has said? That “his” people were wonderful and generous? And they’d be ever so easy to reach out to.

  As simple as that.

  Because of his upbringing, full of love and all the comfort he needed, and by truly generous people, a part of Lucas believed in the theory of reaching out.

  But in the flesh, it was not at all simple.

  Not for him. Was it shame that kept him from moving forward? Would the old bitterness stay stamped on his heart forever?

  Almost like a lightning strike in the middle of the road, Lucas thought of Esther Miller, pictured her smiling face—the same one he remembered from years ago when he’d thought of her as nothing more than the girl his brother had a crush on. Was she an enigma, or might others from the village be as open?

  He bit down harder on his back teeth, knowing the pride in his heart would never allow him to be vulnerable. He was content to reconnect with Esther, reminisce over some of the good times and share funny stories. She was easy to talk to and didn’t make him feel uncomfortable about being home. She’d even seemed happy to see him.

  His cell rang. He pulled it out and read the face. “Hey, Greg.”

  “How’d it go today?”

  “I’m not sure whether to thank you or punch you in the mouth.”

  Greg laughed. “I heard great things. You’re a celebrity around here.”

  Lucas pulled the truck over to the side of the road and parked. “It was an experience, I’ll give you that.” He rolled down the window, letting the light September breeze blow through the cab.

  The two men talked, Lucas filling Greg in about Yellow Shirt, the smiling intern, and then about the job offer from Dr. Ballard. “He wants you bad, man,” Greg said. “He’s been looking for an Amish expert for years.”

  I’m not an expert anymore, Lucas wanted to say. But his self-inflicted pity party had gone on long enough. “I’m glad I can help,” he said instead. “It’s a good cause. The Amish are pretty secluded folks, and if something about them seems secretive, it’s usually because they want it to be.”

  “I hear that.”

  “But there should never be a question about offering help with health and taking care of any population’s general well-being,” Lucas continued. “We mustn’t allow traditions to keep professional medical care off-limits. That’s devastating to families and communities.”

  He was beginning to get frustrated again, hot under the collar, so he leaned his head out the window and took a few slow, deep breaths.

  “Sounds like they’ve got the right man for the job,” Greg said.

  Lucas laughed, mostly at himself. “Maybe.”

  “Buddy, I’ve known you for years. You’ve got the best bedside manner of anyone I know, and your dedication to research is unsurpassed. I never understood why you didn’t go on to finish med school and become a doctor.”

  At the time, research was all Lucas had been interested in. And when Jacob had gone home after staying with him for Rumspringa, Lucas saw no reason to continue down the path of advanced education.

  “Who needs the headaches of those MD initials? I’m satisfied with PA.”

  Greg laughed. “That’s no lie, man.”

  The friends wrapped up the call, and Lucas resumed his drive home, grateful for his buddy’s confidence in him.

  As he pulled into the driveway, he thought again about Esther. Just the day before, he’d boldly asked if they could meet again. And she’d said yes. At the time, he’d simply wanted the pleasant feeling of connection to continue. She’d brought a calmness to his soul he hadn’t felt in years. Was it selfish to want that again?

  When he sat down on his couch, out of habit, he reached for the TV remote, ready to catch up on Cake Boss or Master Chef or any of the other food shows that addictively lulled him into a zoned-out state every night.

  Instead, he noticed his Bible on the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

  Without wondering why, Lucas walked over and picke
d it up, running a hand down the smooth, worn leather cover. Over the past ten years, it had been moved from box to apartment and box to apartment four times. Never once had he not unpacked it and given it a place on the bookshelf. Yet, it had been far too long since he’d opened it.

  The clock over the fireplace ticked loudly as he continued to run his hand over the leather, one finger tracing the gold lettering. Inside the front cover, he’d see his mother’s handwriting, as well as his grossmami’s—Maam’s mother. Notes and messages from them would fill the margins and headers.

  He’d received that Bible on his tenth birthday, and he’d carried it to every church service and scripture study for the next six years. As a youth, he’d underlined his own favorite verses in St. Matthew, Romans, practically all of Psalms. There was one particular passage from James that he used to recite to himself before his nightly prayers.

  Lucas closed his eyes and bowed his head, straining to remember the words. Though seemingly just out of reach, he simply could not remember them. Instead of letting another rush of frustration take over the moment, Lucas sat down in his favorite chair, his heart beating faster as he flipped open to nearly the end of the book, scanning for those verses in James that had so inspired him once upon a time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The hours couldn’t fly by quickly enough for Esther. Knowing it was the day she planned to meet Lucas made the humdrum activities seem almost exciting. Even consulting with Sarah for the fourth time about the style of the wedding dress was bearable. She’d already laid out the pattern and blue material, ready to be pinned, then cut out in the morning when the light in the sewing room was best.

  The rest of Maam’s students had already gone home to help with chores. Only sweet little Abraham was left. The more time it took for her brother to finish his long division, the more impatient Esther became. It wasn’t his fault she’d made secret plans.

  No, not secret. That would be sinful. She had plans that she just hadn’t told anyone about yet. A woman was allowed time to herself, after all, jah? She glanced down at Abraham’s work.