“They won’t,” I say.
“That’s up to God.”
I sit next to Mose and push myself back. “I may have to take Ben and run… if it looks like he might be turned in to the authorities.”
“That’ll never happen,” Mose says. “We may need to ask you to leave, but we’ll never do that.”
“How can I be sure?”
Mose stands again to leave. “I’m not giving up on you. Or Ben either. Not right now. So you don’t give up on us.”
I stand too, awkwardly, but I don’t know what to say.
“We’ll meet with the elders,” Mose says, “and then we’ll leave it to God.”
My eyes meet Mose’s and register acceptance, but I don’t answer, and as Mose steps off the porch he adds, “And John wants to talk to Ben. Is it safe?”
“I believe it is.”
“Then, okay.”
* * *
The next morning, John, Ben, and I meet at the milking barn at the regular time. It seems that John and Ben have talked, and there is an uneasy peace in the morning air. The two friends work together to get the cows milked while I focus on Polly. And this time, I make sure she’s tied securely and that her head is in the stanchion as she feeds on sweet grains and oats, with just a little molasses stirred in for taste.
As we’re cleaning up and the boys are taking the cows back to pasture, and Polly back to her pen, Mose enters the barn. He sees that I’m alone, and I can tell that he wants to talk.
“How is our Polly?”
I place the sterile pail upside down on a cloth on the workbench, and Mose walks over to stand with me. “She’s doing great. She should be back with the others in three or four more days. She could probably go tomorrow, but we’ll keep her back a few days and keep an eye on her.”
“Excellent,” Mose says.
I pick up a tin of udder balm and rub some of the grease into my hands like lotion. “My hands are getting stronger every day,” I say as I work in the lotion. “A long time since I’ve done this kind of work.”
“Doctor should keep his hands strong,” Mose says.
“Especially if he might have to go on the run again.”
Mose looks at me and frowns. “Don’t be hasty, Doc,” Mose says. “I said I need to tell the elders. I didn’t say when.”
“As soon as you tell them, we’ll be gone. They won’t let us stay, and once that many people know about Ben… it’s too much of a risk. The government will find out he’s here.”
Mose looks at me with a frown.
“People talk, Mose,” I say. “All people talk.”
Mose stares at his feet for a full minute. An awkward minute. I feel the urge to say something more. To plead for Ben. But I don’t.
“Maybe we can wait, then,” Mose says. “Until you both are more settled. More a part of the community. Until people know you both better.”
“I see.”
“Maybe until after you marry April Troyer.”
“Who says I’m marrying anyone?”
“Everyone says it.”
I look annoyed and furrow my brow at Mose.
“I don’t know what I’ll say to the elders, or when I’ll say it,” Mose says. “You let me work that out with my conscience. But I will tell you before I speak to them. Okay, Fred Bontrager?”
“Okay.”
Mose turns to leave and speaks to me over his shoulder. “You just keep that young man a young man.”
“I will,” I say. “I… I will.”
* * *
Gordon the Night Watch finds me at the local dairy, just as Ben and John haul the milk to the scales to be weighed. I don’t know why he’s there, or how he even recognizes me, but I recognize him.
“You boys shouldn’t be around here, Kenny,” Gordon says.
I glance at the old bearded bum and my eyes narrow. “My name’s not Kenny.”
“Don’t matter,” Gordon says, “you shouldn’t be here. Some bad folks lookin’ around for the two of you.”
“How do you know?”
“Knowing things is one of the many wonderful things I do, Kenny.”
I step off the wagon and join Gordon as he looks around conspiratorially. He smells like booze and tobacco and a long time without a shower, and his beard is long and wild.
“I heard they were looking around town a few weeks ago,” I say. “But now they’re gone.”
“Were gone. Now they’re back.”
“How many?” I ask, “And where are they?”
“Five men,” Gordon says. “Scouts. Don’t know exactly where they are, but last word I got was they’re south end of town, going door to door.”
“And how are you ‘getting word’?” I say.
Gordon laughs. “Little birdie.”
He probably overheard something while passed out in a trash can. But I’m grateful for the warning.
“What’re they doing?” I ask.
“Just talking it up. Showing a picture. So far as I know, they only have a picture of you. Not the young man.” Gordon fishes a short cigar butt out of his shirt pocket and lights it with a metal cigarette lighter, which looks incongruous in the old drunk’s hand. Then he slips the lighter back into his filthy trouser pockets and smiles again. “But the Amish don’t talk, and the English haven’t seen you for a while. Which,” he adds, “is precisely why you shouldn’t be here.” He points at the ground with a flourish to emphasize the word here.
“And what are they wanting with me… with us?”
Gordon removes the butt from his mouth and smiles. “Evidently you have something they want real bad.”
“Why are you warning me?” I ask.
Gordon puffs on the cigar butt and inhales deeply before exhaling. “I like you, Kenny. We’re not so different, you and I.”
His breath wafts over to me, stinking of alcohol, and for a moment I wonder if he’s right. There but for the grace of God…
Suddenly I want a drink.
Gordon turns to leave. “Best stay out of town, Kenny. Anywhere the Englischers are, don’t go there, because the English will talk.” He takes a few steps, then stops and turns back. “You remind me of a friend named Kenny who I knew back in Oklahoma. We worked in the mines together.” He looks around suspiciously, as if worried there are secret agents hiding in the shadows of the old dairy. Then he adds in a dramatic whisper: “’Course, that was in the future.”
“You’re crazy, old man,” I holler at Gordon’s back as he wobbles away.
Without turning around, he chortles, “I know!”
* * *
On the way back to the Shetler farm, I talk to Ben about his prognosis. I no longer care if John hears, since John knows almost everything anyway.
“With the exception of the little event in the barn the other day, you’re progressing wonderfully, Ben.”
“But in the barn,” Ben says, looking down. “That was bad?”
“I’m not saying it was bad. You saved John and you controlled yourself pretty well, considering what you’re trying to manage.” I put my hand on Ben’s shoulder, and he doesn’t pull away. “But you have to know that if you do that—if you change—and if someone else sees you… well, all kinds of bad things can happen. We might have to leave here. We might have to go back on the run. Or worse. And worse things can happen. Do you understand?”
Ben looks at me. “You said we have to lie sometimes to do the right thing. Mightn’t I have to… to change… to do the right things sometimes?”
There is a pregnant pause as I think about what I’m going to say next. I’m glad that he’s asking himself these questions, but with a mind that’s only eleven years old, I’m not sure what all he can handle right now.
“Do you know what the Amish believe about violence, Ben?”
Ben sits back against the bench, and I remove my hand. His head tilts back a little and I can tell that he’s accessing his computers.
“The Amish are pacifists,” Ben says. “They believe that
they’re forbidden to engage in any violent acts toward humans, and that all violence in that way is a sin against God and a denial of his sovereignty. They believe that God can protect His people if He so wills it, but even if He chooses not to, we are to acquiesce to His will at all times.”
“That’s correct,” I say. “And you’re Amish, aren’t you?”
“I’m Amish.”
“So you need to be Amish, son,” I say.
“Killing men… it’s always wrong?” Ben asks.
I know what he’s asking me, and I know that this is a pivotal point in his development, but I’m not sure exactly what I should say. “Listen… I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask those questions. Maybe you can talk to Mr. Shetler about it sometime.”
John, who has been silent throughout the exchange, leans forward and gets our attention. “I think if my people were being attacked, or if I knew someone was bad and wanted to harm my mother or father… I think I would want to fight,” John says.
“Maybe you should talk to your father too,” I say.
After a few more minutes of thought, I think of another reason for Ben to try hard not to change.
“You know, Ben, if you can keep it inside—if you can fight hard against the change, and live as a good Amish young man—it’s possible you can make a life here. You might even be able to visit your parents someday. Not for a long time. Not until the heat dies down and they give up looking for us. But someday…”
Ben looks at me and his eyebrows lift a bit. I can tell that this is a thought he hasn’t considered. He hasn’t mentioned his parents or asked to see them.
“I haven’t thought about my parents for a long time,” Ben says. “Maybe that’s wrong of me. I don’t know why… Maybe I thought they were dead.”
“They’re not,” I say. “At least, as far as I know.”
* * *
An Amish man is working on a fence, lifting up a split rail and fitting it back into the slot in the post. His wife comes to him, walking up the drive from the house, and she has some lemonade and a pewter cup, which dangles from her pinky. She greets her husband and they pray together before she pours him a cup of the lemonade. He drinks deeply.
A black car pulls up in the drive, right alongside the Amish couple. Another black SUV comes to a stop behind the car. Some men get out of the vehicles, and a tall man in a trench coat approaches the couple.
“Jonah and Ellen Miller?” the man says. He smiles, but his eyes are cold and blue. Menacing. The smile fades as he approaches.
“Yes?” Jonah Miller says.
“Excuse me for bothering you both on this beautiful day,” the man says, his unblinking eyes holding Jonah’s. “Do you remember, maybe a month ago, when some men came to ask you questions about Dr. Christopher Alexander? The doctor who worked with your boy? With Frank?”
Jonah looks at his wife, then back at the Englischer. “Yes. I remember.”
“Well,” the man says, “I need to follow up with you. Have you heard anything at all from or about the doctor? We need to clear up some things in our files.”
Jonah shakes his head. He looks at his wife again, and their eyes meet. A profound sadness washes over her features like a burial shroud, and her eyes drop to the ground.
“Nothing,” he says. “We’ve heard nothing at all from him. Why should we? Our boy has gone to God.”
The blue-eyed man laughs. “He’s gone to God, has he? Is that what you think?”
“I don’t understand.” Jonah’s jaw tightens and he speaks stiffly, fighting back anger. “Is this some… some kind of Englischer joke you’re making? Some kind of insult. As if… and pardon me for saying so if it is not true… but as if you do not believe in God and you are saying our son didn’t go to Him?”
Ellen is frightened, but she speaks up. “Are you here to torment us? Is it not enough that we’ve lost our son?”
“Shut up,” the Englischer says sternly. “I’m asking the questions. Have you heard anything about the doctor, ma’am? Yes or no.”
“No,” Ellen Miller says and steps backward, moving in behind her husband.
“You Amish!” the man says in a growl. “Always lying.”
“My wife speaks the truth,” Jonah Miller says. “Since our son died, other than the visit we had with men like you, we’ve spoken to no one about our son or the doctor. No one but you has come to ask. It is not done… among our people; people do not come to torture you after the death of a child. And I do not understand why you are here. Why you are acting as if we’ve done something wrong.”
Jonah Miller then turns to his wife and speaks to her in the Amish tongue. He puts his hands on her shoulders to console her.
“Shut up, I said!” The blue-eyed man’s head dips slightly at his men, and they move quickly to grab the Millers. The Amish couple do not struggle, but the men restrain them and push them toward the waiting vehicles.
The blue-eyed man smiles and follows. When his men pause to open the doors to push the Millers in, he man leans forward and growls at Jonah Miller. “You and your wife are coming with us. Your boy isn’t dead yet, but he will be soon. Welcome to the real world.”
* * *
As we pull up the drive to the farm, I see Mose and Sarah Shetler sitting on the front porch with April Troyer. I’m not exactly prepared to talk to April, and I don’t know what all—if anything—Mose has told the two ladies about Ben.
John and Ben pull the wagon back to the barn to put up the horses, and I walk to the porch. I’m trying my best to pretend that everything is all right, but with everything that’s happened, and Mose talking about telling the elders, and now the Transport Agency sniffing around Drury Falls, I find it hard to act as if everything is just fine.
I step up on the porch and greet the Shetlers and April. They’re cordial to me, but there is something new in the air. Something I can’t quite identify yet. Something tells me that Ben and I have been the topic of conversation.
“Come up here and have a seat,” Mose says.
“Okay.”
I sit on a wooden bench and prepare myself for anything. I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office, or maybe my project is being brought up before a review board. I’m not used to that feeling of helplessness, and I don’t like it.
Mose stands, puts his hands in the pockets of his broadfalls, and walks to the railing of the porch before turning to face me. “I’ve talked to the women about what’s going on, Doc. I felt like they both needed to know.”
I don’t feel I should talk just yet, so I just nod slightly. I’m wondering if this is the get the hell off my land speech. Or maybe the there are some people waiting inside to talk to you speech.
“I’ve prayed on it a lot,” Mose says, “and I’ve considered what you’ve said.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“And I know I should tell the elders, that they have a right to know. But after talking with Sarah and Miss Troyer, I am inclined to believe you when you say you can control Ben.”
Neither of the women speak, and I know that this is not uncommon, but I can’t help but want to know what they think.
“He’s not a monster,” I say immediately. Hope, for the first time since the incident, floods through me like a river. I turn to look at Sarah, and then April. “He’s not. He’s different, and I know that you all may not approve of what I’ve done. I’m not even sure I approve of it. But I was his doctor. I wanted to save his life, and I had the tools available to do it.”
“I think we understand,” Mose says. He looks at each of the ladies and they nod in turn. I can see that April is studying me, like she doesn’t know for sure if I’m a good man or a bad man. Or maybe she just has no real understanding of what we’re really saying. Does she know that Ben is a HADroid? An android with the heart and mind of an Amish kid? What exactly has Mose told her?
“I’ve decided that I’m going to hold off on talking to the elders, Doc. I know maybe I shouldn’t, but I’m tor
n between my duty to the community—to the church—and my duty to another human being who also happens to be Amish.”
“I understand,” I say. But now I’m thinking of what’s going down in town. Now I’m thinking that maybe they’ll run into the agents in Drury Falls and then things will get really bad. I know what those men are capable of. I know I could be bringing fire and hell down upon this community.
But what else can I do?
You can flee.
It’s true. I can take Ben and get back on the road. That’s an option. I can try to get hold of Carlos and the BDD and get back on the original plan… but what then? Can we hide forever? Will it be any different if I bring fire and hell down on some neighborhood in Louisiana, or Mexico?
The original plan was to eventually get out of the country. To find an island somewhere that has no extradition. To blend in with the expats and try to build a life. But now I have to wonder if that’s best for Ben.
He’s Amish.
I’ll never be able to get past the fact that I stole him from his family and his life. And maybe here, with the Shetlers, is where he needs to be.
Maybe I have a heart after all.
As April rises to leave, she brushes past me and touches my hand. It’s just a feather touch, but I notice, and I know she’s speaking to me. And as she walks away, Mose shouts after her…
“I’m sure the Doc here will be ready for the next barn gathering,” Mose says. There is a smile in his voice. And that is when I get the feeling that maybe… maybe… everything might be all right.
I blush. That’s a little forward, I think. Maybe even improper.
Mose sees me blush and just laughs.
Brother, Frankenstein Page 18