Mending Fences

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Put that way, it was hard to dispute the value of such a tradition.

  Others spoke up too. They weren’t as controversial as Luke, but they were curious and invested in the process of baptism. But Izzy, she never said a word. Something about her silence was unsettling to Luke, although he couldn’t put his finger on the reason and say, That’s it. That’s the problem, right there.

  Fern needed some pickling spices at the Bent N’ Dent one afternoon—she wanted to make pickles out of the garden’s abundance of zucchini—and Luke volunteered to scooter over there. He hoped the store might be empty and give him a chance to talk to David. They hadn’t talked in a while, not one-on-one like they used to, and he missed those talks.

  Alas, alas. There sat Hank Lapp in the shade of the store’s porch.

  “WELL, WELL, WELL. It’s the NEW AND IMPROVED LUKE SCHROCK. I hear YOU’RE GETTING DUNKED.”

  “If by that you mean I’m taking baptism class, then, yes.”

  “THE RACCOON! WHAT’S HAPPENED? HAS HE MOVED ON YET?”

  “Not exactly. Soon, I hope.” In truth, Luke had just about given up. The only good thing was that the horse seemed to be coming in just once a night now to wake him up. Under the circumstances, that felt like a considerable improvement. Once a night to be greeted with Bob’s whiskers felt oddly manageable, which was a strange thing to realize. The raccoon—he had beaten Luke. Beaten him. It was appalling. And yet, he had too many other things on his mind to care much.

  But he didn’t want to go into any of what was on his mind with Hank Lapp. No sir. “David in?”

  “HE IS. HEAD ON BACK THERE.” Spoken like he was David’s personal assistant.

  Luke knocked on David’s door and opened it when he heard him call out to come in.

  “Sit down. What’s on your mind?”

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, but I feel a little funny. It might not be my place. And who am I to suggest such a thing? I mean, look at the way I used to handle church.” He was rambling, and completely confusing David.

  “Luke, I’m not following you. Start again. At the beginning.”

  Luke leaned forward in his chair. “Have you noticed how quiet Izzy is during baptism classes?”

  “Sure, I’ve noticed. She’s a quiet person.”

  “I just wonder if . . . maybe she’s joining the Amish because she thinks it’s the right thing to do. And not because . . .”

  “Not because of . . . what?”

  “Well, you’ve always told us to not join the church unless our whole heart is willing.”

  “That’s true. I stand behind that.” David steepled his hands. “So you think Izzy’s whole heart isn’t in joining the church?”

  “I hope it is. I want it to be. It just seems as if, well, as if she would be sharing more if her heart was a part of the decision. I know her well enough to know that when she has an opinion about something, she’ll let you know.”

  David nodded, thinking carefully. “I think I know how to find out the answer to that question.”

  “Good.” Excellent. Luke stood up.

  “You need to talk to her. To ask her.”

  Luke sat down. “Me?” His voice rose an octave.

  “If the Lord has put this concern on your heart, Luke, you need to see it through.”

  “Me?” It rose still another octave.

  “Assuming your concern for her is genuine. Is it?” With the lift of an eyebrow, David said much.

  “Yes, it is. I mean, she’s a beautiful girl, but that’s not what’s been worrying me.”

  “I think it’s significant that you feel worried about Izzy, Luke. And I believe God wants you to act on it.”

  “But”—he slapped his chest—“me?”

  “Yes. I’ll be praying for you, Luke, so that you’ll approach Izzy with a humble and contrite heart. And I’m pleased that you’re growing aware of your sensitive heart.”

  “Sensitive?” He’d never in his life heard himself described as having a sensitive heart. Not once.

  “Yes, of course you have a sensitive heart.” David looked genuinely surprised that Luke didn’t consider himself in such a way. “Why else do you think you’ve had so many lingering issues from your father’s death?”

  “I’ve never thought that it might be because I’m sensitive. I just assumed it was easier to be angry with my father than to grieve for him.”

  “That probably was the root cause of your anger. It became a way to cope for you. But no longer.”

  “No. Not any longer.” At long last, he was coming to peace with his father, forgiving him his flaws, which were many, and recalling his virtues, which were few. But there were some virtues. His father had had a nice way with people, which made him a good salesman.

  “Luke, at any given moment, your life is going to be determined by your view of you, or God’s view of you. I’ve never doubted that there’s a God-given destiny for you. Perhaps this is the start of it. The one thing I’d caution you is not to preach at Izzy.”

  “Preach at her?”

  “Yes. The way you did with Alice Smucker. She said she felt like she’d had the bishop come calling one evening, quoting all kinds of Scripture at her. I believe she said it felt like you were whacking her on the head with the Bible.”

  “She said that? Huh. I thought I handled it very delicately.” Luke sighed. “But she did come to church.”

  “She did. And it might have been just the right way to work with Alice. I think you wore her down. Izzy’s different, though. She’s not going to respond well if you approach this topic with her like a bull in a china shop.”

  Luke left David feeling a little dazed. This meeting hadn’t gone at all the way he’d expected.

  twenty

  A flock of geese flew overhead, honking loudly enough to startle Amos. He’d noticed more and more birds heading south. Another summer was wrapping up. His last one, perhaps? He hoped not, but only God knew that answer.

  Time was passing so quickly. Too quickly, but he brushed that thought off and tried not to dwell on it. There was time enough to do the things he needed to do.

  Jenny and Jesse’s wedding was just a few weeks away. Fern must have had an inkling about its coming last spring. She always seemed to have a sense about these things.

  The church ladies met yesterday to plan the wedding dinner. Every female in Stoney Ridge would bring a dish or two to share. That’s one of the things Amos loved about these people. All hands on deck, all the time.

  Not long after Jenny’s wedding, Izzy and Luke’s baptism would follow. So many important, life-changing moments in the lives of these young people. He never tired of it, nor did Fern. It spoke to their hearts in a profoundly meaningful way.

  Fern loved every minute of these big events, especially the preparing part. She’d always reminded Amos of a hummingbird, flitting from one flower to another, moving so fast its wings were invisible. He didn’t think Fern had sat down to read the Budget or work on a jigsaw puzzle in months. And she was running poor Luke ragged with a never-ending to-do list.

  Poor Luke. Ha! Now wasn’t that evidence of a change in his attitude toward the boy. He’d never share that thought with Fern, of course. He could imagine the look she’d give him, that smug “I told you so.”

  Maybe he should tell her, though. She’d always had a soft spot for Luke, even when he was at his worst. Amos never had anything for Luke but disdain and distrust.

  He never could’ve imagined the strides Luke had been making toward becoming the man he was meant to be. Even Hank called him “the 2.0 version” as if he understood computers, which he didn’t. Luke wasn’t making excuses for himself the way he used to. That self-pity tone in his voice was gone. He went above and beyond the call of duty for his fence-mending list—others had commented on it. Look at Alice Smucker! She’d been at church twice now, and Fern said she was seen at the Bent N’ Dent, buying a bottle of Clorox bleach.

  But there was one thing Luke d
id, and kept doing, that really spoke to Amos’s heart—he had started to care for Windmill Farm like it was his own. He did much more around the farm than his daily chores, and even more than Fern’s to-do list. She’d come up with the idea of letting Luke turn the buggy shop into a fix-it shop, and Amos was actually considering it. Amazing. And he saw for himself how Luke treated those trees in the orchard, just like Amos did—as if they were made of glass.

  Amos had three sons-in-law, fine men, but not one of them loved his trees like he did. Even his daughters didn’t understand the importance of those trees—their history and legacy, the ongoing burden of caring for them through every season, and their blessed fruitfulness. To his surprise and delight, to his shock—of all people, of all people!—Luke Schrock did.

  It was a beautiful September day, not nearly as hot as it could have been, nor as cold as it would soon be. Some of that comfort could be credited to the sheltering roof on the new farm stand. Izzy appreciated that sloping corrugated metal roof more than any other feature, and some day she might even tell Luke so. She didn’t want him to get a big head, though. It was plenty big enough.

  How could fall be here so soon? Time seemed like a fast-moving river ever since she’d come to Stoney Ridge. The moment she’d set foot at Windmill Farm, she wanted the days to slow down. Instead, they sped up. Jenny’s wedding was right around the corner—early October.

  Prior to coming here, Izzy had always wanted life to hurry up, to gallop past the awful years to get to the good times, when she would be free to do what she wanted to do. No social workers deciding where she’d live and with whom. No depressing group homes. No more living hand-to-mouth on the street.

  It might seem strange, but Izzy considered this new farm stand to be her first true home. Luke and Teddy had outdone themselves and designed details with her in mind. Even the countertop was the perfect height for her 5 foot 9 inches. She didn’t have to bend over like she did at the old farm stand. Or even worse, at the card table. There were extra shelves placed along the back wall, providing space for jewel-colored jars of jams and jellies.

  Those would be coming in soon from the church ladies, now that the harvest was in full swing. Jenny’s baked goods were a big hit, and she’d started selling some handcrafted goods made by church ladies—potholders, tea cozies. She’d asked David first, because the goods had been displayed on a dusty corner shelf inside the Bent N’ Dent. She didn’t want to steal his business.

  “Steal it? You’d be doing me a favor,” David had said. “I want the Bent N’ Dent to stay focused on food. It was never meant to be a handicrafts store. I just didn’t have the heart to say no to those ladies.” He seemed overjoyed. “Now I can send the ladies right over to you.”

  Not a minute later, David had packed everything on that dusty corner shelf into a cardboard box to move to Izzy’s farm stand. If anything sold, he explained, Izzy would get a 5 percent commission.

  Everything did sell, and quickly. It was all about presentation. Who would want to buy a dusty tea cozy? No one! But dust it off, and display it next to a delicate china teacup. Snap! Sold.

  Izzy had been mulling over the notion of asking Amos if he might consider converting the buggy shop into a store. The only problem was that the shop was jammed full of stored seldom-used equipment. Amos’s attic, Fern called it. Farmers, she said, couldn’t throw anything away. They never knew when they might need something, so they kept everything.

  If the tour buses continued to come through the fall and spring, Izzy could imagine a path from the driveway that led right to the store. And there was still another idea that was simmering in the back of her mind, something that sparked when Fern told her that saying of her father’s: Es nemmt en schlecht schof as sei eegni Woll net draage kann. It’s a poor sheep that can’t carry its own wool.

  It still troubled her to think of her woollies being sent off to market. Amos raised Polypay sheep, known for their meat and wool. And wool. She wanted to try to talk Amos out of raising sheep for their meat and let Izzy sell their wool. In the store she envisioned in the buggy shop.

  Stoney Ridge didn’t have a yarn shop. Even Edith Lapp complained that she had to take the bus all the way to Lancaster to buy yarn. There was a market here, just waiting to be tapped. A vision of the interior of the store was taking shape in Izzy’s mind—skeins of colorful wool, like a rainbow, hanging off wooden wall pegs.

  Thinking about the yarn shop made her happy. But the thought of talking about it made her anxious. Amos and Fern had never indicated how long she could remain at Windmill Farm. She pulled her weight, she knew that, but it was one thing to have a long-term houseguest. It was another thing for that long-term guest to ask to convert a buggy shop into a permanent place of business. As she thought about how to say what she wanted to say to them, she heard someone call her name.

  “Izzy, can I talk to you about something?”

  She spun around and saw Luke Schrock standing there, holding a basket of fresh-picked apples in his arms, an awkward look on his face. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

  “No.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Why do you always think something’s wrong?”

  She shrugged. Usually, it was.

  He set the basket on the counter and she started looking through it for the best apples. Whatever it was that was on his mind, she had a sense that she didn’t want to hear it. She decided to take charge of the conversation. “Do you know how to shear sheep? And how to card wool? And dye it?”

  He seemed confused. “I’ve sheared some. Scalped the poor things might be a better description of it. But I’ve never carded wool or dyed it. Why do you ask?”

  She examined a bruised apple and put it in the Fern-to-make-applesauce pile. Nothing went to waste on this farm. “Just wondering. But if you happen to be at the library sometime, could you bring home some books about raising sheep for wool?”

  “Whoa. Really? Is that what you’re thinking to do?” he said, not surprised, indeed almost smiling. “What does Amos say about it?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. So please don’t say anything.” She started on a pyramid display of apples. This took some concentration. “The bus should be coming along in a few minutes, so I have to keep setting up.”

  “But there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Talk while I work. As long as you talk fast.”

  “It’s about the baptism class.”

  “What about it?”

  “You don’t say much in it.”

  “I’m listening, that’s why.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  She stopped to glare at him. “What does that mean?”

  “I just wondered . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’ve spent a lot of time listening to preachers and never really taking it to heart.”

  Izzy could feel a swirl of anger start in her belly. “I need another basket of apples before the next bus comes.”

  Typical of Luke, he kept plowing on, oblivious to how uncomfortable she was with this topic.

  “I’m speaking from my own experience. I know there’s a difference between listening to God and, well, having God’s Word go deep. It had to start changing me from the inside out, changing everyday situations. It’s like . . . the difference between—” he scanned the farm stand until his eyes landed on a glass jar of fresh-cut flowers—“those flowers in water, looking good for a few days before they start wilting because they lack nourishment. Compare it to a flower planted in the ground, with roots going deep in the soil. Growing and blooming and lasting.”

  She stared at him.

  “The flowers in the jar, they might look pretty, but there’s so much more to being a flower than just sitting in a jar. A plant, that’s what the flower wants to be. What it’s meant to be.” Looking concerned, he added, “Am I making any sense?”

  She glanced behind him when she heard a loud rumbling. “The bu
s is coming and I still have work to do. And you do too. I need another basket of those apples. Fast.”

  “But you know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

  “Luke,” she said in an expressionless tone. “Those apples. I need them in time for the tour buses.”

  The problem was, she knew exactly what he was getting at. It was the last question in the world she’d expected to come from him.

  Thunder rumbled across the ridge to the north. The morning’s blue sky was gone, replaced with heavy, leaden-gray clouds. Izzy closed up the farm stand and made a dash to the house before the rain thickened to a downpour. During thunder and lightning storms, Amos insisted she close up shop, and Izzy didn’t argue. The metal roof worried Amos, but it was the lack of customers in pouring rain that sent Izzy up to the house.

  As Izzy ran up onto the porch, the rain started coming down hard and fast. Down the hill, she saw Luke bolt to the barn. Amos stood at the open barn door, waiting for Luke, watching the storm unfold. Inside the kitchen, Fern sat by the window, absorbed in mending a rip in Amos’s white shirt. The yeasty fragrance of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen. In that moment, everything was so lovely, so perfect, it almost hurt. Izzy couldn’t help wondering how different life would’ve been with Fern Lapp as her mom.

  “Yum,” she said, inhaling.

  “Dry rags are on the counter,” Fern said, not even looking up.

  Fern was actually sitting down, Izzy thought. The house was quiet, Amos and Luke were in the barn, and the bad weather would keep everyone right where they were. Now was the time. “I’ve been thinking about something for next summer,” she said, wiping her wet face off with a rag. “What would you say if I turned the buggy shop into a shop? I’ve been thinking about . . . selling yarn.”