“Hi there,” the driver said. Samuel introduced him as Joe Karpin. Samuel explained that Joe shuttled the Amish, or anyone else needing a ride, for a small fee in his fifteen-seat Ford Club.
“You folks buckled in?” Joe asked, grinning through the rearview mirror.
“Ya,” Samuel said. “We’re all settled. Off for home, Joe.”
Chapter 2
Daniel Schrock was measuring an oak plank for his mother’s corner kitchen cabinet in the quiet of his woodshop when he heard the crunch of gravel from an English vehicle pulling into the driveway. Peering out the window, he saw that it was Joe Karpin dropping off his father and that Englishman from the crash scene. He was unsure what to think of his parents inviting a stranger to stay with them. He understood the man had risked his life to save his family; still, they knew nothing about him, other than he was writing some article about the Amish.
Few people stayed with the Schrocks, particularly anyone English, and Daniel preferred it that way. Strangers, from his experience, caused too much trouble. Especially those from the big city who made their living by prying into other people’s lives. Not that he disregarded all that the man had done; he was impressed with his fast thinking. He simply did not wish to deal with a pesky guest.
With just five bedrooms, it was hard enough to squeeze in the nine of them. His parents had made him give up his bedroom for the Englishman and temporarily move in with his two younger brothers. They didn’t seem to care. Young David was excited to get to sleep in Daniel’s sleeping bag. But Daniel cared. He’d felt bad enough when he had moved back home three months ago and had forced his teenage brother back in with David. And now with an extra body, things were really going to be tight. He hoped the Englisher would have enough modesty to keep his visit short.
Whether he had saved them or not, the whole idea of his staying there seemed ridiculous. What would an Englisher know about life on an Amish farm, Daniel thought, as he watched his father place a bill in Joe Karpin’s hand. He seemed sturdy enough. At least he had the gumption to swerve his car in front of that crazy Bobby Jonesboro. But he was obviously too city-soft to be of any practical use on their labor-intensive farm.
Daniel watched his father and the Englishman wave to Joe as he pulled out the driveway, then head up to the house. What was it about the stranger’s eyes? He remembered being struck by them when he’d first craned his neck to look at him when he had pulled them over, most likely to ask for directions. He’d never seen eyes so pale brown, like the color of honey. And that raven-black hair of his. Shiny and curly like a lamb’s. Tugging at his beard, he turned back to finish up his work before heading in for supper. He figured he had no choice but to officially meet the Englisher.
Duffel bag in hand, Aiden followed Samuel up the gravel driveway and gazed wide-eyed about the midsized farm. The two-story white house stood on a manicured lawn surrounded by a weathered white picket fence. Across the driveway sat a metal-framed shed and large brown barn, both a bit worn but functional-looking. A thin windmill leaned toward the barn. Next to what he assumed must be the henhouse stood a smaller wood-framed building; a moment ago he had thought he’d seen a man with a beard peeking out the window.
An oat field stretched across the flat land to what seemed the horizon. Oat bundles lay in the field in tidy rows like strange, furry creatures. The unharvested oats swayed in the light breeze and sparkled golden as the afternoon sun broke through the gray clouds and the temperature rose.
Samuel held open the door. “Come the house in.”
Aiden wiped his feet on the well-trodden welcome mat and stepped inside, inwardly chuckling at the man’s interesting vernacular. Surrounded by the smells of beeswax and wholesome cooking, he thought the house looked similar to the typical American home. The sitting room where they entered was furnished with what one would expect to find in sitting rooms across America, except perhaps less ornate, and of course they had no television. No pictures or knick-knacks hung from the ivory walls other than one red and blue patchwork quilt above the sofa. Rag rugs were strewn over the dull and worn mahogany floor. An enclosed staircase led from the hallway to presumably the upstairs bedrooms.
He saw down the hallway into the large eat-in kitchen where Samuel’s wife and daughters scurried about preparing supper. There looked to be a refrigerator and oven, but he was uncertain how modern. He caught a glimpse of the wife opening the refrigerator and made a mental note to ask about the use of modern conveniences once he became more comfortable with the family. In his online research before leaving Chicago, he had been confused about how modern the Amish really were.
“The kinner are around someplace.” Samuel hung his black hat on a wooden wall peg. Many other wide-brimmed hats hung from pegs, along with bonnets and shawls. Grunting, he took Aiden’s duffel bag and leaned it against the wall. “Ach. Here they come.”
One by one, Samuel’s barefooted kinner shuffled in from all parts of the house. They undoubtedly recognized Aiden from the accident scene, but no introductions had been made. Samuel gathered his children closer and introduced each one: Elisabeth, twenty-three; Mark, eighteen; Grace, fifteen; David, eleven; Moriah, nine; and Leah, seven.
“Goot. You’re here.” Samuel’s wife came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. Samuel introduced her as Rachel. She blushed under her white head-covering, a tad longer in front than those worn by her daughters. The kapp pushed out in the back, and Aiden knew it hid hair that hadn’t seen shears in perhaps as many years as she and Samuel had been married.
“It’s very good to make your acquaintance,” Aiden said.
“Yours, too. I hope your stay in the hospital went okay.”
“For my first time in a hospital, it wasn’t too bad.” It was, in fact, for Aiden so far a trip of firsts: first ambulance ride, first time in an emergency room, first visit in an Amish home. What other firsts lay ahead?
“Doctors didn’t find anything wrong with him,” Samuel said. “He’s in goot shape.”
“Fine.” Rachel grinned with a blush.
“Supper ready?” Samuel arched his eyebrows high on his forehead. Rachel’s unwavering smile indicated that it was. Turning to her two middle daughters, Grace and Moriah, she instructed them in Pennsylvania German to set the table. Obediently the girls set off for the kitchen, where Aiden heard them grab dinnerware from cupboards and place it around the large oak dining table.
“Where’s Daniel?” Rachel glanced around.
“I’m here.” Daniel had just opened the front door and was wiping his boots on the mat. He stepped inside and hung his hat next to his father’s. Samuel took his dark-eyed son by the arm and introduced him to their guest.
They shook hands clumsily, like bashful schoolboys. Aiden was surprised the stalwart twenty-five-year-old didn’t clasp his hand with two or three forceful pumps. Impossible that Daniel could’ve been as flustered as Aiden was at that moment. Easily six-four, near a man’s hand-length taller than Aiden, Daniel’s masculine physique forced blood into Aiden’s cheeks. With all the commotion at the crash scene, he’d failed to notice his striking good looks. Now it was impossible not to. But the eyes he remembered. They were as dark as onyx. His handsome features snatched Aiden’s voice.
Like his father, he sported a moustacheless beard. His was much shorter and a deep brown. Aiden knew the Old Order Amish of central Illinois permitted only married men to grow them. He figured Daniel lived on a farm of his own someplace with a wife and perhaps a few small children, yet he did not see any sign of them. Come to think of it, they hadn’t been with him in the buggy that morning, either. He wondered where they were hiding.
Daniel released his awkward grip and quickly excused himself to wash up. Aiden watched the brawny Amish man march down the hallway and disappear around a corner. He mentally punched himself for what he was thinking about Samuel’s eldest.
During the lengthy meal prayer when Samuel thanked da Hah for sending Aiden to save the family, Aiden was glad ever
yone’s eyes were shut. He didn’t want anyone to see his searing cheeks. Glancing around the sturdy dining table as he pretended to pray along with the family, he believed he was undeserving of such praise—especially since he remained unconvinced there was a god who had sent him. A spasm shot through his throat when Samuel paid tribute to the deceased Bobby Jonesboro. Difficult to believe that a mere eight hours ago he’d been involved in a car accident in which someone had actually died.
After the prayer, heavy bowls filled with baked chicken smothered in cheese sauce, mashed potatoes, succotash, homemade biscuits, applesauce, pickles, and peanut butter circled the table. Aiden asked about some of the food. The Amish peanut butter interested him the most; it was a mixture of homemade peanut butter, marshmallow cream, maple syrup, and butter. He put some on his biscuit and took a taste. Everyone giggled when he moaned with pleasure.
Everyone but Daniel. He sat stiff and austere, his dark eyes focused on his plate, as if he held the weight of the entire house on his back. Since taking his seat at the other end of the table, Daniel had not paid any attention to Aiden, who was only too aware of the handsome man’s presence. Aiden thought he appeared preoccupied, perhaps even angry.
He speculated whether the day’s events might’ve affected him worse than the others. The smaller children seemed remarkably unfazed. Still, Aiden had a deepening impression that Daniel resented him for everything that had happened. Daniel had been so quick to rush to him at the crash scene—why the sudden aloofness? Remembering the way Daniel had knelt beside Bobby Jonesboro, Aiden wondered if he and Bobby had been close friends. Did Daniel blame him for Bobby’s death?
Excited in front of an English stranger, the other children lavished Aiden with attention. They smiled at him with unblinking eyes, eyes that seemed to come in all colors, from the palest gray of Grace’s to the softest brown of Mark’s. The youngest girls in particular peered at Aiden over their food, turning away giggling when he looked their way. Using Pennsylvania German, Samuel and Rachel admonished them for their poor table manners. Aiden waved it off, chuckling.
“What? You understand the German?” Samuel said.
Aiden explained that while in college he minored in German to get in touch with his “roots.” But he understood only a fraction of their unique pronunciation of German words.
“My mother’s ancestors came from the southwest German state of Baden-Wurttemberg,” he told them. Samuel nodded, asserting that they could trace their roots back to that same area in Switzerland on the banks of the Rhine River where the first Anabaptists broke from the Catholic Church, giving nascence to the Amish faith.
“We’ll have to be careful what we say,” Samuel said. “No retsha in front of you.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rachel said. “We don’t gossip.”
Glancing at the surprisingly contemporary-looking kitchen with its numerous stained oak cupboards, full sink, two ovens, and large refrigerator, Aiden thought it an appropriate time to ask about modern conveniences for his article. “Are you allowed to use plumbing and electricity?”
“We can use plumbing,” Samuel said. “We get water pumped in from the windmill by the barn. Gives us good enough pressure for our kitchen and the bathroom. But electricity? Nay.”
Rachel shook her head. “All our appliances are gas-powered,” she said. “We can use gas for our ovens, refrigerator, and lanterns, but never electricity. Nothing from a public service.”
“With the price of gas these days,” Samuel said, crinkling his bulbous nose, “it’s just as costly.”
“Are you not married?” eleven-year-old David asked out of the blue, his large dark gray eyes shiny like marbles. He wore a mound of bowl-cut hair atop his head like his eldest brother and father. Only the teenage Mark stood out; his hair was rebelliously cut short.
“Don’t be so shussly,” Samuel said, tossing a stern glance at his youngest son.
“I’m not being silly,” David said. “I was just wondering. Englishmen don’t grow beards when they marry, it’s hard to tell.”
“You can tell by their left hands,” nine-year-old Moriah said from across the table, as if she and she alone possessed this knowledge.
“Hold up your hand,” David said.
“Kinner, shtill!” Rachel shot her children an admonishing glare.
“That’s all right.” Aiden flushed. “I don’t mind, really.” He laid his fork aside and raised his left hand, showing the children the back and then the palm.
“See, he has no ring, he doesn’t,” Moriah declared. “He’s not married.”
“Why aren’t you married?” David asked.
“That’s his business,” the oldest daughter Elisabeth stated, as if she, at twenty-three, had been asked the same meddling question many times before.
Moving his food with his fork, Aiden tried his best to appear unruffled. How honest could one be with the Amish? He couldn’t tell them the truth—that he was gay.
Would they even know what that was?
Being gay for Aiden was never a large part of his identity, yet it was still a part. Could he tell the Schrocks that right after college he’d followed his boyfriend, Conrad, all the way to Chicago like a lovesick puppy—something he’d promised himself he’d never do again—to be dumped two months later, abandoned and alone in a strange city?
Could he tell them his desires weren’t much different from theirs, only he envisioned himself “married” to another man, living a subsistence lifestyle, much like the Amish, but without religion?
Aiden knew he could not. If he dared, the fears he had while at the hospital would no doubt come true. Surely they would throw him out, slam the door behind him, wash their hands of him for good, whether he’d saved their lives or not. In their world, Aiden’s “lifestyle” renounced acceptance. Such notions of sexuality must be as alien to them as milking a cow was to Aiden.
Surrounded by the Amish, he figured the best approach to answering questions such as “why aren’t you married?” was to avoid particulars.
“I guess I haven’t met the right person yet,” he told David, the wholehearted truth.
“You should get married and buy a farm,” David asserted, repeating what he’d most likely heard all around him since the day of his birth.
“He’s a city folk,” eighteen-year-old Mark said. “That would be like you moving to Chicago or St. Louis.”
“Actually, Mark, I don’t like the city much.” Aiden was happy to shift the conversation away from the topic of marriage. “Chicago is great as far as cities go, but I would love to live in the country, someplace out west.”
“Like a cowboy?” Moriah asked. The table vibrated with giggles.
“No, not really like that.”
“You like the mountains,” Mark stated, biting into a buttered biscuit.
“Yes, exactly. I would love to live in the mountains. My dream is to one day live someplace like Montana, maybe buy a small cabin with some land.” With the man of my dreams, he wanted to add, but held the musing for himself.
Daniel stirred in his seat and seemed to stiffen; fifteen-year-old Grace looked as if she adhered to his every word.
“Do you know how to farm?” David asked, shoving a heaping forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“My grandfather used to own a small farm where I grew up in southern Maryland. I even helped out on it a few times when I was a kid.”
“Ach.” Samuel’s gray eyes widened. “What did you do there?”
“He grew tobacco. I used to cut off the flowers that grew on the stalks, I think he called it topping. I only did it a few times. He sold the farm when I was thirteen. Sold it to an Amish family, actually.”
“Ach, he did?”
“Most the tobacco farms in Maryland are owned by the Amish,” Aiden said, recalling an article he’d written on the topic for his college newspaper his sophomore year. “There’s a really interesting story about how that came to be.”
The fascinated gapes of his
host family prodded him on.
Taking intermittent bites of the hearty Amish meal, Aiden related his article about the Maryland government’s attempt to eliminate the tobacco crop from the state by offering buyouts to farmers and how the local Amish capitalized on the move.
“The state forgot that it’s against the religion of the Amish to take government subsidies,” Aiden said. “The English farmers were quick to take the buyouts, but no matter how hard the government tried, the Amish wouldn’t go against their customs. Before long the Amish were the only ones farming tobacco. On top of that, with all that vacant land laying all around them, the Amish realized they could buy their English neighbors’ farms and expand their own crops. My grandfather was one of the first to sell. It meant he couldn’t get the government subsidies anymore, but he didn’t care. Like most of his English neighbors, he was just happy to take the good money the Amish offered and retire to Florida once and for all.”
Between Two Worlds Page 2