The anchor chuckled. “Good answer. But tell me, how did this happen?”
Tyler kept his smile bright. “I pursued an assignment from an editor I often work for. He wanted a public interest piece on the Amish, a report on how they had recovered from the tornado that ripped through southeastern Oklahoma a couple of years ago. That story line got me a hearing with the Amish, who opened their homes to me, invited me for supper, and showed me how their rebuilt properties were faring. Sensing more to the story, I dug deeper, followed my instincts, and soon there was a trail to follow.”
“You make that sound so easy,” said the anchor, grinning. “But that’s unusual access for a journalist among the usually media-shy Amish. How did you accomplish that?”
Tyler glanced up at the ceiling. “Maybe I had some aid from above. Who knows? That makes the most sense to me, but the Amish and I did learn to trust each other rather quickly.”
“Any truth to the report that you had a romance with one of the young Amish maidens, in particular a young schoolteacher?” The anchor gave Tyler a sharp look.
“Why does everyone always come back to that?” Tyler forced a laugh. “I’ve answered the question in detail. A romance would have closed the door for me with the Amish, not opened it.”
The anchor leaned forward again. “Your fellow journalist, Mimi Coons, insists that she reported accurately. Miss Coons also claims as your former girlfriend that your charms are well documented.”
Tyler made a wry face. “Is that supposed to help or hinder the reporting?”
The anchor ignored the remark. “Miss Coons has a new article up this morning. Have you seen it?”
Tyler sat up straighter. “No.”
A look of glee filled the anchor’s face. “This is what Miss Coons has to say.” He motioned toward a large TV screen now filled with script. The anchor read aloud, “Following my conversation with Tyler Johnson about his time spent among the small Amish community in Clarita, Oklahoma, I have been challenged by Mr. Johnson on my version of what transpired at our interview.”
“I never said what she claims I said,” Tyler interrupted.
“Let’s see then,” the anchor continued, and the screen scrolled down. “In an attempt to buttress my claims, I have made my own inquiries into the small Amish community at Clarita. The local sources couldn’t supply me any further information, but I was assured that the kind of access Mr. Johnson speaks of is unprecedented for the Amish. So I stand by my original claim. Mr. Johnson had the inside track somewhere, but only he can give us the details.”
“See,” Tyler laughed. “It’s a dead-end street. The Amish are a godly people. They have their strange ways, but those are to further their chosen way of life. In no way did I or anyone in the community compromise their faith. I have gone out of my way to ask for respect from the investigators. The Amish’s desire to avoid testifying in court is deeply ingrained in their belief system, and the investigators have agreed. With ulterior motives perhaps, because they have plenty of other witnesses now to interrogate. I suppose a scene in which the Amish refuse to testify in open court and are held in contempt is the last thing any decent investigation needs. That could reflect badly in the public’s opinion, to say the least. And any appeals court would likely uphold the Amish religious objections to testifying anyway.”
“You seem well versed in the Amish faith.” The anchor smiled. “Ever think about going back?”
Tyler hesitated. “I still have contact.”
“Will you elaborate?”
“Not really.” Tyler grinned.
“Now you’re leading me around,” the anchor scolded.
“Just don’t misquote me, as Mimi… Miss Coons did,” Tyler warned.
“So there was no romance, even an Amish version of it?” The anchor gave Tyler a steady look.
“I’m afraid that’s a story for another day,” Tyler shot back. “I think you’re out of time.”
The anchor chuckled. “And that’s it for us today, folks. Thank you for watching. And the best of luck to Mr. Johnson and his romance with the Amish maidens. Maybe we’ll have him on for his Amish wedding announcement someday.”
The music rose and the TV lights dimmed.
“Very funny, I’m sure,” Tyler said, glaring at the anchor.
“I believe you’re hiding something,” the anchor responded. “Maybe I should take a trip into Amish country myself and meet this schoolteacher of yours.”
“Happy hunting,” Tyler quipped. He stood up and was escorted back to the makeup room, where he cleaned his face. The makeup didn’t come off easily, and Tyler grumbled, “This is the last time I’m going on one of those things.”
“I heard that.” His escort stuck her head around the corner. “You’ll come back if you get the chance. This is television. Good PR for you.”
Tyler finished and was shown out. He wondered if the statement was true. Would he continue this kind of life? Would the success he was experiencing give him what he wanted? Next week this hoopla would be over, and certainly by the time the corruption trials began in the spring, he’d be old news. In fact, he felt old now. Not rejuvenated as he’d always imagined. Fame was supposed to lead one to the fountain of youth, but that hadn’t happened.
Tyler’s cell phone beeped, and he glanced at the text. “Can’t make tomorrow but will reschedule. Gladly!” He had taken Lisa Burke out for dinner last week after they had met at a party. Tomorrow night he was to meet her again.
A smile played on Tyler’s face, but it soon faded. He returned the phone to its holder without a response. He was bored with everything—the fame, the fortune, the charm, the whole thing. The date with Lisa might rejuvenate him, but the relationship wouldn’t last. It never had before. Hilda had finally stopped texting after he wouldn’t respond. And it wasn’t Lisa’s fault, either. Tyler was sure of that.
The truth was, the girl he wanted to see was Miriam. He wanted to be back with her people. What an odd thought. Tyler sobered at the notion. Was the community something he should seriously look into? Not in an investigative way. He’d already done that. But as his possible future? The thought wasn’t new. He’d seen it float by a few times before but hadn’t wanted to take a serious look.
Of course, Miriam was at the center of the question. He couldn’t get his mind off her. Hilda hadn’t done the trick. Nor had Lisa. No, it was Miriam he wanted to be with, which was why he’d kept tentative feelers in the Amish community. He’d gone so far as to ask Deacon Phillips two weeks ago whether he could speak with Miriam.
“I want to do things right this time,” Tyler had offered.
A patient look had crossed Deacon Phillips’s face. “You’re not one of us, Tyler. It’s for the best that you not speak with Miriam again.”
He had felt a scolded schoolboy, but the truth was he also felt taken care of, as if he belonged somewhere, perhaps was even loved. That was the strangest feeling of all. Correction and love had never connected for him, and yet there was that component to the deacon’s words. He wouldn’t violate Deacon Phillips’s wishes. The deacon’s words were like a path he had to follow. And he knew it was best for Miriam. She was going to marry that bishop. He had stared at the man’s face on TV and hadn’t liked it. There wasn’t a kind look in his eye when his glance shifted toward Miriam. Yet Miriam had stood bravely by his side, her face set. He couldn’t imagine Miriam kissing the man.
“Skunks!” Tyler exclaimed. It was all a mess, and he could do nothing about it. Well, there was one thing he could do, but it seemed utterly impossible. He could join the Amish. Then he could marry Miriam. Miriam would never leave the Amish… nor did he want her to. Her Amish life was an asset for her, not a liability. Why did the English always see being Amish as a sort of prison, when the Amish were some of the freest people he’d ever met. He was no longer impressed with his life out here “in the world,” as the Amish would say.
He could see his future where he was. Mostly he would spend average days and nights w
ith girlfriends that all ultimately bored him. He couldn’t imagine marriage with a girl from “the world.”
Tyler sighed. He would consider joining the Amish. Who would care if he disappeared into a reclusive community? Tyler grinned at the thought. His charm and money might be missed by his girlfriends. On the other hand, his money didn’t carry weight with the Amish. But maybe his charm could still be put to good use. If he didn’t miss his guess, the deacon’s wife, Katie, certainly had hopes he’d join the community. Their daughter Ruth had turned up her nose at him the last time he stopped by. And afterward Ruth had peeked out of the kitchen window and made sure he saw her look of disinterest before she retreated again.
Tyler chuckled. Crushed puppy love—that’s all Ruth had. Miriam, on the other hand, had never turned up her nose. She had rejected him in a deeper way, like a woman whose heart had reached his. Tyler groaned. Who would have thought his life would take this turn? The least he could do was to be honest with Deacon Phillips.
But Tyler could hear the deacon’s first question already: “And why would you wish to join the community?” And the one that would follow: “Why would we want to have you after what has happened so far?”
Deacon Phillips might not ask the second question that way, but he would think it. And the answer was the truth: “Because I’m in love with your schoolteacher.”
There! He had said the words, and he felt better already—more wholesome. Tyler laughed. He would wax eloquent with the deacon. Not that the man would be easily persuaded by his charm—and there was still the problem of Miriam’s engagement. She wouldn’t break it. He was sure of that. So why should he waste his time?
He didn’t know, but he had to try. If he didn’t, he’d always wonder what could have been. He’d think and dream of what life could have been like with broadfall pants and suspenders and Miriam by his side. There would be drawbacks, but with Miriam’s love, they could be overcome.
Deacon Phillips would be sure to point out the conflict of interest involved in his proposal. His professed interest in the community came with the love of a woman. Well, he’d just have to be honest and see where things led. This time he would cut no corners, take no shortcuts, steal no kisses from engaged women. He would go in openhanded and open-faced, and the sticks would fall where they would.
“May the best man win!” Tyler declared aloud. “The outsider against the bishop. The heart against the head.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mose settled into his rocker at the end of a hard day’s work and tore open the envelope in his hand. Why would Deacon Phillips from Oklahoma write him a letter? Surely Miriam hadn’t transgressed again? He couldn’t face the shame the second time. Minister Kemp would laugh heartily at his continued trouble with the young schoolteacher and do more than drop hints about his widowed sister Bethany with two children. Mose didn’t doubt the need for a man in Bethany’s house—just that he was the proper candidate. The next time the subject came up, he’d tell Minister Kemp that he was in prayer for his sister. Mose chuckled at the thought.
Mose returned his focus to the page in front of him and began to read.
Dear Bishop Mose,
Greetings in the name of the Lord. Praises be to the Most High God and our precious Redeemer and Lord. I hope this finds you in good health and prosperous in soul and body. We are looking forward to spring weather soon out here on the prairie. I don’t remember Ohio having this cold a winter, but we’ve had quite the time of it. Seems like my bones feel the weather more each year.
But anyway, it has fallen to me to write this letter as the deacon and also because of my close contact with you while you visited our community. I assure you of my continued friendship and affection, and also of my respect for your new office. I pray the Lord may prosper you greatly. But I wish to raise an issue with you. Our concern as a community has been great these past weeks concerning our schoolteacher, Miriam, who is your promised one. We in no way wish to interfere in what the Lord has done or wills, but as you know, our people believe in community, and in speaking to what we see. We know that such efforts are feeble at best and greatly subject to error. In this we ask your forgiveness if we speak out of turn or stray into things that are not the truth.
It seems to us that Miriam has been greatly troubled since you left before Christmas. We thought at first this was the effect of the discipline placed upon her while you were here. But now we are well into March and our happy, cheerful schoolteacher is not back with us. I’m sure you can see how this would be a cause for concern with all of our parents as well as the ministry. I do hasten to say that Miriam has not complained or spoken unworthily of her position as your promised frau or against you. Miriam has not complained at all. I know these details only through her uncle and aunt and what I and others have observed. William has been over to visit me, and his concerns as well as Fannie’s bear sufficient weight that I promised to write you. I assure you that they are both on your side and wish only what is best for your proposed marriage and for your calling in the church. Please do not think otherwise.
So I ask with great trembling of soul and some question as to the wisdom of this whether you could find it in your heart to visit again. Could you spend some time with your promised one and show her the proper tenderness and affection she needs from the man who will be her husband? I know you were once a married man, and so you must fear your passions, but you should be able to do much with the limited freedom the Lord gives a dating couple.
I have spoken last Sunday with Bishop Mullet on this matter, and he also expressed his grave concerns about Miriam’s mental, physical, and spiritual health. I told him I planned to write you, although we did not discuss details. I’m sure Bishop Mullet will wish to have conversations with you if you should decide to visit. But in observing Miriam’s present state of mind and emotions, something must be done.
Again, may the Lord’s greatest blessings be upon you,
Deacon Phillips
Mose snorted and laid the pages down. “Now what kind of letter is that?” he asked the empty house. “Here I am all alone without a frau, suffering with my own cooking, the load of the church on my shoulders, and now they think I’m not taking care of Miriam.” His voice had risen higher until it echoed up the open stairwell. “Tenderness and affection!” Mose declared. “That comes after the vows are said and the woman lives in the house of her husband. Whoever heard of such newfangled ideas among the people of our faith?”
Mose paused to listen to the echo of his words. He ought to preach more at home, he thought with a smile. His voice sounded gut.
But Mose soon sobered. From the sound of it, it was entirely possible William and his frau, Fannie, had read his letters, along with Deacon Phillips. Mose grimaced and got up from his chair to pace the floor. The pages of the deacon’s letter fluttered down, but Mose ignored them.
The nerve—reading his letters! Exactly what did they think was wrong with his letters anyway? He had written nothing inappropriate. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have made a joke about Minister Kemp’s sister Bethany, but that was meant as a compliment to Miriam. What was this nonsense about tenderness and affection and another trip out there? And what of the whole community being concerned for Miriam’s welfare? The Oklahoma community must be more liberal than he had noticed when he visited. This explained why Bishop Mullet had watered down the necessary discipline on Miriam to one week instead of the two weeks he had asked for. That’s what happened when the hand of the church was too light. No wonder Miriam was struggling with her recovery. She had not been properly cleansed of wrongdoing.
He would remember that in the future and not give in next time. Now Miriam was being influenced by these liberal ideas. What if Miriam brought these ideas with her when she moved back to Possum Valley and to Wayne County after the wedding? He’d end up with a frau with these fancy ideas in her mind, and he’d never get them out. Nay, he certainly wouldn’t go out to Oklahoma for another visit. That was out of the question
. The arson fires in the Clarita community had given him cover the last time, but he’d be the laughingstock of Wayne County this time. Minister Kemp would call him Eager Beaver Bishop or some such thing.
No, there was but one way out of this. The deciding factor was the liberal church drift that had been exposed in this letter. He’d have to lose Miriam, and that was a shame. He truly didn’t want to give her up, but the situation was what it was. He shouldn’t think about this too long, or he’d give in to Miriam’s charms again. His relationship with Miriam was no longer a position he could justify, and his office in the church came first.
Mose grabbed up a pen and paper from his desk but paused. No, he would do this his way. No one need know he wrote the letter to Miriam. He couldn’t mail the envelope until the morning anyway.
Mose hurried to the washroom and took his hat and coat off the hook. If he hurried he could be back before his regular bedtime. Bethany lived in a little tenant house behind her brother’s larger home, and he’d sneak in the back way. Dusk would fall soon, and Minister Kemp wouldn’t have to know until Bethany told him in the morning.
Mose hitched his horse to the buggy as his thoughts raced. Surely Bethany wouldn’t turn him down, and so it was best this way. Miriam hadn’t been gut for him all along anyway. She had tried his patience to the limit, and a bishop shouldn’t have such a frau. With the problems he had with Miriam so far, what would she do to him if he lived with her and they had kinner together? That could be nothing but a road filled with more pitfalls than he wished to envision.
Mose urged his horse on and didn’t slow until he turned into the bouncy gravel lane near Minister Kemp’s home and parked behind the small barn. Mose tied his horse quickly and took rapid steps toward the tenant house.
Bethany’s surprised face appeared at the front door before he arrived, her ample frame filling most of the opening.
Miriam and the Stranger Page 26