And to read through more back issues of the Blade.
One evening, working late, he sat cross-legged on the floor before a large box, sorting through some more back issues of the yellowing newspapers and reading a few at a time, when an issue from 2006 caught his attention. On the back was a large ad for a rodeo in Urbana with a half-naked cartoon cowgirl. The provocative ad triggered his memory. Tucking the newspaper into his new chronological order system, he turned to his boss.
“Hey, Kevin….”
Kevin was working at his computer, typing an article into the template using the index finger only method. An old Mr. Coffee machine dripped in the background behind him, sighing and gurgling, filling the tiny utilitarian office with the comforting aroma of brewing coffee. He finished typing what looked like a lengthy sentence before responding. “Yes?”
“What’s the deal with that huge X-rated store?” Ever since passing the adult superstore on the way to the horse auction with Daniel a month ago, he had wanted to ask someone about it. Kevin, twice divorced with three grown daughters living in nearby states, was no neophyte when it came to discussing such matters. A hardened newspaperman, Aiden had discovered it took a lot to make him flush.
“You mean the one by the Interstate?”
“Is there more than one?”
Kevin chuckled. “No. That’s it.”
“How did a place like that get there? I mean, in a community like this?”
“It’s a prime location along the Interstate,” Kevin said, peering at a handwritten note. Crumpling it and tossing it into the wastebasket, he glanced at Aiden before setting back to his typing. “There’s lots of trucker traffic between Chicago and western Kentucky. It’s one of the largest employers in the area.”
“Really? How long’s it been there?” Aiden thumbed through more newspapers, but he kept his ears pricked toward Kevin.
“About twenty years. There was controversy when they first built it, of course. The Southern Baptists organized to have construction halted, but court hearings ruled in favor of the business owners. A few months after it went up, the Southern Baptists got the county to pass a sign restriction, requiring signs to be only so large. I’m sure you noticed the sign of that place.”
“How could I miss it? It’s taller than some of the silos around here.”
“Well, eventually the sign ordinance failed in court too, as you can see.”
“What about that billboard, the one with a picture of Jesus looking down on the store?”
Kevin leaned back in his swivel chair, as if taking more interest in the conversation. Cleaning off his thick glasses with his shirt, he said, “After losing twice in court, the Southern Baptists decided to work with what they could. They rented the billboard right across the Interstate and put up that sign. It’s been there ten years now. Rumor was the porn shop owners kicked themselves for not thinking of renting it first. It’s all kind of funny, when you think about it.”
“It seems strange to me, a place like that being in a community like this. The sign, the store. They stand out like sore thumbs.”
“Yeah, well, people have learned to tolerate them over the years, I suppose.” Kevin replaced his glasses and leaned back toward his computer. “Us locals don’t even notice it anymore. Kinda blends into the background. Most of the tourists coming from Chicago don’t use that exit anyway. They get off further north. I figure it’s far enough away from the main Amish center here, businesses don’t complain. Not much they could do about it anyway. The law wasn’t meant to be one-sided.”
Aiden was about to say more about the adult superstore when another back issue of the Blade grabbed his attention. Eyes and mouth gaping, he folded it in quarters and read through the page-three story.
“Wow, this is something,” he said after he finished reading the article.
“What?” Kevin asked, but he seemed to pay only half attention while he typed.
“This story from 2002, about an Amish kid. He killed himself.” The newspaper, dry in his hands, fell limp as he lifted it closer to his eyes. He gave it a cursory flex so that it would stand firmer. “He was found hanging in his family’s barn. A seventeen-year-old boy named Kyle Yoder.”
“Gee, I forgot about that. Pretty much shocked the whole community. First time I ever heard of anything like that happening to an Amish kid, at least around here.”
Aiden scanned through the article again. “They never found out why?”
“Does anyone ever know why someone commits suicide?”
“Did you do any investigation into it?”
“Investigation?”
“Yeah, like what might have caused him to do it?”
“This is a small town newspaper; we don’t do investigations.” Kevin snickered as he uttered the word “investigations.” He shook his head. “Besides, like I said, no one would’ve been able to answer why. The parents couldn’t. No one could. Not even his friends. I left it at that. There’s not much investigation involved in reporting on gossip, especially when it could hurt people. That’s why I ditched Indianapolis.”
Aiden concurred. He appreciated his boss’s ethics. Too much of the media reported on speculation, he believed, and not enough on concrete facts. Kevin had mentioned lack of ethics as one of the reasons why he’d moved back to Henry, his hometown. He had worked as an editor for a large Indianapolis daily until, after fifteen years, he’d had enough. Conjecture, outright lying, getting too buddy-buddy with local politicians—all had sickened him to the point he’d seldom made it into work each morning without pouring two shots of bourbon into his orange juice. When he’d learned the Blade was for sale during a visit back home ten years ago, he’d taken most of his savings, bought the newspaper, and happily resigned from his editorial post in Indianapolis.
Aiden gently slipped the newspaper into his order system, as if to show respect for the poor deceased boy whose short life was summed up in a mere six-paragraph article. And, being Amish, he had not even a photograph to accompany it.
“Weren’t you ever curious why he did it?”
“I’m always curious,” Kevin said. The blue computer screen reflected in his thick glasses. “That’s why I got into the news biz. But that doesn’t give me the license to plaster speculation about people’s personal lives all over for the whole community to read. For what? Just to sell newspapers? I saw too much of that in Indianapolis. I watched how it ruined people.”
“But didn’t you ever have any guesses why he might’ve done it, just offhand?”
Glancing out the window, where the western sky across the street lit up in a blaze of orange and pink from the setting sun, Kevin shrugged and said, “I figured it had to do with a girl.”
“A girl?”
“Yeah. Unrequited love. That sort of thing. Why else would a young, good-looking Amish boy kill himself?” After a moment of quiet, he said, matter-of-factly, “He was a relative of the Schrocks, you know.”
“Kyle Yoder? A relative of theirs?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Schrock’s niece’s son or something like that. Most of the Amish are pretty much related to each other one way or another anyway.”
“Wow, the Schrocks really have had a lot of tragedies to live through,” Aiden whispered.
“You’d think living in a rural community would shield a person from all that stuff, right?” Kevin stood up with a discordant screech of his swivel chair and went to get some coffee. With a full mug in hand, he grinned and moved back to his desk. “Bad news will find you anywhere, even in Amish Country. That’s what keeps people like you and me in business.”
“I guess so.” Aiden, the sides of his mouth turned down in reflection, continued sorting through the newspapers, wondering why a seventeen-year-old Amish boy would want to hang himself.
Chapter 12
Daniel called Aiden at the Blade office several days later from the furniture shop. In the three weeks Aiden had lived in Henry, Daniel had talked to him maybe four times. He noted the surprise in Ai
den’s voice.
“Daniel? I’m… I’m glad to hear from you.”
“We’re hosting church this Sunday.” Daniel was firm and to the point. “Mom wanted me to invite you.”
“Oh? That sounds nice.”
“Should I tell her you’ll be there?”
“Of course, yes, I’ll be there.”
“Fine.”
“Okay…. See you then.”
Daniel hung up the phone and thought about Aiden. He hated thinking about him, but it was hard not to. He was always so considerate, and, well, handsome in his English clothes. The way he looked in his jeans always made his throat swell. He even liked the tone of his voice. It was wrong to think of such things—very wrong. He knew that. The thoughts flowed nonetheless.
Why did that Englishman have to move to Henry?
What was the point in dwelling on it anyway? No way would Aiden want to reciprocate his feelings. Even if he was “one of those,” Daniel had dodged Aiden enough to leave him uninterested, he was sure. He figured he should be grateful for that. How much more complicated would his life be if Aiden actually saw him the same way he saw Aiden?
It was best to keep his distance, in any case.
Four times Aiden had had supper with the family since moving, and the one time Daniel had bothered to eat with them, he’d stayed silent. Just like that first supper after Aiden’s release from the hospital, Daniel acted as if Aiden were invisible. When Aiden gave the family a printout of his Amish article for Midwestern Life, everyone but Daniel expressed enthusiasm. The article was a just portrayal of their community, Daniel thought at the time, but he refrained from complimenting the Englishman. All he mustered was a shrug. And just like last time, he hid out in his woodshop after supper. He was still hiding out when he spied Aiden from the window a few hours later, sleepy and sad looking, twist into his Chevy and pull out of the driveway.
One time Aiden stopped by the family’s furniture shop when Daniel and his brothers were working. Daniel insisted he was too busy to chat. He heard Aiden, Mark, and David catch up on things from behind the storeroom’s door. He felt like a fool hiding away, but he knew no other way to deal with such awkward emotions.
At the town’s Fourth of July celebrations, Daniel kept his distance from Aiden still. Aiden was there taking photographs for The Henry Blade, but Daniel saw him mingle with his family and many others in the crowd. After watching the parade pass down Ivy Street, Daniel left to check on Uncle Eldridge at the furniture shop before Aiden could try to talk with him out on the street in front of everyone.
Silent and aloof. This was Daniel’s stance whenever in Aiden’s presence. Guilt pulled on him for hurting the Englisher’s feelings. But he knew his coldness was for the best. For both of them. For however long Aiden lived in Henry (and Daniel was sure it would be short), they both would have to get used to it.
The smell of beeswax filled the Schrock’s home when Aiden entered that Church Sunday. Rachel had put much effort into preparing for the hundreds of fellow worshipers who would be gathering in her home. She and the family must have spent an entire week just dusting, scrubbing, and polishing. Aiden had never seen the mahogany floors so shiny. The windows were so clean he was unable to distinguish the openings from the glass.
Rachel introduced him to a few community members who had yet to make his acquaintance. Talk was hushed and abrupt, for chatting before church was frowned upon. David tugged on the sleeve of his olive sports coat and led him to one of the many benches, transported with the other church accouterments in the community’s Church Wagon, parked by the side of the house. He sat with Mark and David as the benches filled. As far as he observed, he was the only Englishman present.
Most of the Schrock’s furniture, including Samuel’s beloved recliner, had been pushed against the walls and covered with white sheets; the benches were set up in the sitting room, hallway, and even into the kitchen. The males sat on one side of the rooms and the females on the other. Small children of both sexes sat with their mothers or older female siblings.
Aiden squirmed and tensed when the stalwart Daniel, smart looking in his dark dress pants, vest, and crisp white shirt, sat next to him. He took his seat reluctantly, Aiden sensed. David had patted the only available spot, which happened to be between him and Aiden.
Aiden smiled at him in silent greeting, but Daniel’s ebony eyes remained fixed near the front door where a lectern and two benches were set up. Aiden assumed this was meant to be the “pulpit.” Daniel sat firm and erect. His mouth taut, his hands stiff on his knees. Sweat beads formed on the smooth shaved skin above his upper lip. Aiden did not expect to strike up a conversation with Daniel, since it was considered improper to speak in church, but he would have appreciated at least a nod or even a glance to acknowledge his presence.
When Daniel had telephoned him to invite him to church, Aiden had been honored. But he had not looked forward to another cold shoulder treatment by him. He was unable to grasp why Daniel disliked him so much. Was he uncomfortable in front of all the English? Did he dislike journalists? Or was it something particular about Aiden he loathed? Did Daniel have little doubt he was gay and abhor him for that? He enjoyed his time with the Schrocks. He considered them his second family. Too bad Daniel did not share his feelings.
David whispered to him that upstairs the ministers were meeting in a bedroom. It was customary before each gmay, church gathering, for the ministers to discuss important issues affecting the community in private, usually in one of the host family’s bedrooms. Hymnbooks were passed out, and the flock sang in High German while waiting. Their voices, unaccompanied by musical instruments, were droning and low.
At first Aiden hesitated to sing from the Ausbund, the Amish hymnal, thinking perhaps it was inappropriate. But as he noticed that even eleven-year-old David sang unabashedly, he joined in, his voice gaining volume along with his confidence. Aiden learned the somber melodies by following the others. He was quick to catch on.
Aiden noticed Daniel stiffen as his voice, rising louder, flowed around him. Daniel clenched onto his knees, his dark eyes unmoving from the pulpit, mostly mouthing the lyrics. Aiden quieted his voice, thinking maybe Daniel was offended by an Englisher singing centuries-old Amish hymns so loudly.
Aiden saw the dark shoes of the ministers come off the last steps of the enclosed staircase. Gradually, the singing stopped. The gmay gently closed the hymnals and placed them in their laps. Aiden followed suit.
The four ministers took their seats on the benches by the lectern. After a moment of self-composure, one minister, clearly the eldest, with a scrappy silver beard hanging to his front pant flap, stepped up to the lectern. Keeping his eyes fixed to his Bible, he began his sermon.
For most of the sermon the old minister’s head remained downturned. The one time he lifted his head for a glance at the gathering, Aiden could not help but notice his stabbing blue eyes. They cut into Aiden like blue lasers. When their eyes met, Aiden turned away, embarrassed, almost before the minister did.
That same predictable guilt he experienced while living with the Schrocks poked him. Here he was, at a church gathering surrounded by some of the most ultraorthodox people in the United States, people’s whose old-fashioned ways enthralled him, yet he knew he could never share their religious devotion. He felt like a hypocrite.
Attending Baptist services as a boy with his family, he’d also doubted the minister’s words, yet he did not recall being troubled with shame. To admire the Amish lifestyle without believing in God was a strange paradox. It was like praising animal rights activists while wearing a baby seal fur coat, direct from the slaughtering grounds of Newfoundland.
Lunch break was a well-received reprieve. He almost jumped to his feet when he noticed the congregation move from the benches. After more than three hours listening to the sermons, much of them spoken in Pennsylvania German (he had related to the toddlers’ yaps of displeasure while squirming in their caretakers’ laps), he was more than ready to g
et up off the hard bench.
Most of the men headed toward the backyard, where picnic tables brought in by the Church Wagon had been set up, while the women gathered in the kitchen. Boys and girls leaped about outside, tossing a football someone had found in the barn and running around the field where the oat shocks provided perfect obstacles for chasing each other in circles.
The women served lunch to the men first. Since limited seating meant that not everyone could eat at the same time, the males were split into two groups: married men first, then the teens and single men. Samuel, as a show of honor, insisted Aiden sit with him with the first group of married men. Bologna sandwiches, noodle salad, and pickled beets were piled onto their plates. He noticed that Daniel waited to eat with the second group of teenagers and single men rather than with the older men. Widowers, he was sure, must have the same standing as married men. His choosing to eat apart from Aiden seemed deliberate.
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