Josiah for President

by Martha Bolton

  Another whack to the side of the screen.

  “Recalculating,” the voice said. “Continue going straight for one mile.”

  Mark looked straight ahead. In just one hundred feet, the road ended. He bit his lip. The Lady of the Dashboard obviously didn’t know what she was talking about. He drove the hundred feet and stopped in front of a sign with two arrows. One arrow pointed to the left, and the other arrow pointed to the right. Neither gave any hint as to what lay to the left or to the right; however, if Mark were to drive straight ahead, as the lady was instructing him to do, he would drive right into a herd of cattle.

  Mark banged on the device again and reprogrammed his destination. He was beyond frustrated. Unless he wanted to end up in a pond or being charged by a sizable and short-tempered bull, he had to come up with another plan. No one was behind him or crossing the road in front of him. It was just Mark and the Dashboard Lady out there on that lonely stretch of country road.

  Perfect, he thought.

  “Look, lady. You told me to turn right, and you were wrong. You told me to turn left, and you were wrong. Now you’re just messing with my head! Well, listen here — I’m not driving into a pond or a cornfield or through a herd of bovine. So you got another plan?”

  Mark waited, but there was no answer.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so!” he said.

  Mark sat for a moment, alternating his gaze from the left to the right. There was no clear choice — green, rolling hills one way; green, rolling hills the other way. He could just toss a coin to determine his direction.

  “Recalculating,” the lady’s voice interrupted the moment.

  Mark could feel his blood pressure bubbling to the boiling point, so he made a Plan B himself. He wanted to rip the GPS off the dashboard and toss it — along with the monotone, nagging lady inside it — out his window, where no one, except the bull that was staring intently at him from across the field, would see it. Mark was sure that the bull wouldn’t blame him for his actions. Being the only male in the herd, chances are he’d also had to deal with a nagging cow or two in his life.

  Mark was a reasonable man, though, so he gave the Dashboard Lady one last chance.

  “All right. This is it, lady! You brought me all the way out here to the middle of nowhere. Talk to me. What do I do now, genius?”

  “Continue going straight for two miles.”

  Straight? Once again she was leading Mark into the bull’s territory.

  “Obviously, I’m on my own,” Mark sighed, accepting his fate.

  “Recalculating,” the lady promised again.

  “I’m ignoring you,” Mark said.

  “When safe, turn around and proceed east.”

  “I don’t care what you say. I’m doing it my way now!” Mark said, turning left.

  “Recalculating.”

  “You had your chance!”

  “Recalculating. Proceed west.”

  Mark ignored the confused navigator, continuing his drive until all he could hear was static. The Dashboard Lady had completely lost connection with him now; he couldn’t listen to her even if he wanted to.

  “The silent treatment now? That’s what you’re giving me?” Mark said. It was the final straw. “Okay, that’s it! You’ve let me down for the last time!”

  He gave in to his primal instincts, leaned over, grabbed the GPS, ripped out its cord, and threw it out the window. The nagging, recalculating, obstinate, intrusive voice was silenced forever!

  Mark felt vindicated — as only a chronically nagged driver can — but only briefly.

  While he’d been exacting his overdue vengeance, he had taken his eyes off the road. When he looked forward again, he was careening off the shoulder of the road and straight into a ditch!

  Mark slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. He rode the ditch and steered the car up the slight incline on the other side, crashing into a fencepost that stood unyieldingly in front of him. The black government car rested, mangled and steaming, on the wrong side of the ditch.

  Mark’s week was not improving in the least.

  Other than a few cuts and bruises and feeling understandably shaken up, Mark was uninjured. His blood pressure, however, had soared to new heights, along with his temper.

  “Great,” he said, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. “Just great!”

  The engine was coughing and sputtering, but at least it was showing some signs of life. But Mark couldn’t get the wheels to budge in the least. They seemed to be frozen in place, making a loud grinding noise every time he attempted to turn the steering wheel. He wiped some blood off his bottom lip, and got out of the car to assess the damage. As he had suspected, the axle was badly bent. He tried turning the steering wheel to see what was happening underneath the car, but the damage prevented the wheel from moving at all. Steam was now starting to spew from the radiator as well, indicating a possible puncture. The car might be fixable, but it certainly wasn’t drivable in its present condition.

  Mark turned off the engine and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket so he could make a call. No network. He walked around a bit and looked again. No success. Annoyed, he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  “No reception,” he said out loud. “Seriously, God? Did I need this?”

  He meant no disrespect to the Almighty. He had grown used to talking to God that way — open, honest, as a friend or, more frequently, as a whining child to his long-suffering Father. Not that he wasn’t thankful too. There were plenty of things in his life to give thanks for, but there was a lot in Mark’s life that left him dissatisfied. His dissatisfaction, however, was almost always voiced in private prayer. Privately, he had no problem saying whatever came to mind or telling God exactly what had annoyed, confused, angered, or hurt him throughout the day. God wouldn’t audibly answer him, of course. But he would answer. Sooner or later, he would answer. And on this day, God seemed to be saying, “Yes, Mark Stedman, you do need this.”

  Mark was far from happy about his current predicament. His wrecked government car was in a ditch, he had no cell-phone reception, and there wasn’t a single house in sight. It did seem like some divine joke was being played on him, and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

  Just then, Mark looked down the road and thought he saw a glimmer of sunlight bouncing off something in the far distance. Could it be a car coming down the road toward him?

  Now that would be a miracle, he thought.

  Mark kept his eyes on the object as it moved closer — one inch at a time, it seemed. He watched and he waited. And he watched and he waited some more. When the object got closer still, Mark stood in the middle of the road waving his arms at it like a wild man.

  And yet he still couldn’t make out what it was. It was too far away.

  “Enough of that,” he grumbled and then sat back down by the side of his wreck. It was much too hot to be standing out in the sun, flailing his arms. He would wait until the object got close enough, and then he’d flag it down. Where else would it be going, anyway? With no houses in sight, the car — or whatever it was — would have to pass right by him. Eventually.

  When the object was closer, Mark stood and waved his arms again, whistling and hollering. He could see it clearly now. Only it wasn’t a car. It was a horse-drawn buggy moving at an incredibly leisurely pace. Whoever was in there certainly wasn’t in a hurry.

  Mark watched as the buggy approached. He had to admit he was a little jealous of whoever was living life so patiently, able to take so much time to enjoy his surroundings, seemingly without a care or a stress in the world. Oh, for the freedom and additional hours in the day to do such a thing.

  When the buggy got close enough, a bearded man inside pulled back on the reins.

  “Whoa!” the stranger said, bringing his horse to a stop. Glancing over at the mangled car in the ditch, he asked, “You hurt?”

  “No, but it looks like I’m going to need a tow. Know of any close by?”

  The man, who was c
learly Amish, looked at Mark for a brief moment and then smiled. “I don’t personally have much use for an automobile tow,” he said.

  “Sorry.” Mark apologized for his tactless error. “No, I don’t suppose you would. No disrespect intended.”

  “None taken,” the Amish man said. “Got a couple of draft horses that might be able to pull you out, though.”

  Mark laughed. “Calling a tow would probably be quicker, don’t you think?”

  “S’pose it would.”

  Get the car towed to town, get it fixed, and I’ll be on my way.

  “It’d be quicker, all right,” the man said, “if the shop was open today.”

  “It’s closed?”

  “Had a wedding in the family. Down in Kentucky. Sign on the shop said they’d be back in a couple of days.”

  “Anyone else around here work on cars?”

  “They’re the closest.”

  “You really think your horses could manage it?” Mark asked, grasping at any straw.

  “Between the two of them and the two of us, we might be able to do it. They’re strong horses.”

  Mark laughed to himself over the thought of a couple of draft horses pulling a car — a government car, no less — out of a ditch. But then he remembered a YouTube video that had made the rounds among his office staff. It had been of an Amish man and his team of horses pulling a semitruck out of a ditch. So it was possible, he supposed.

  “Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

  “Can’t speak for the horses, but I don’t think they’d mind. Get in — I’ll take you up to my house, and we’ll hitch ‘em up.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said, as he climbed into the buggy. “I sure do appreciate it.”

  The Amish man snapped the reins, and with a click of his tongue, the buggy started down the road. Mark thought the stranger was friendly enough, but since he had never talked at length with an Amish person before, he wasn’t quite sure how to start up a conversation.

  What should I talk about? he wondered.

  “Name’s Josiah,” the Amish man said, breaking the silence.

  “I’m Mark.” Mark was pleased that the man didn’t appear to recognize him. He wouldn’t have to answer a string of questions about why he had dropped out of the presidential race or what his future plans might be. There were precious few occasions to enjoy anonymity, so when one came along, Mark savored every minute of it.

  “My wife’s probably got dinner ready,” Josiah said. “You eaten yet?”

  “No, but I don’t want to impose on you and your family. Maybe if I could just call Triple-A from your house, I’ll be …” Mark stopped, realizing too late what he was saying. That was twice. “Sorry,” Mark apologized again. “It’s been a long week.”

  “There’s a Mennonite family with a phone ‘bout five miles down the road or so. They let us use it for emergencies. I’d be happy to run you over there so you can make a call … if you don’t trust my horses to pull you out.”

  “It’s not that. I just wouldn’t want to put you out any.”

  “No bother at all.”

  “Well, where would the tow be coming from?”

  “Town. We’re in Lancaster County, but it’s fairly spread out. Town’s ‘bout ten miles down the road from my house. But like I said, it’s no bother.”

  Mark didn’t want to offend the man by not taking him up on his generous offer of the “tow horses.” It was the politician in him. And there was something else in him that wanted to see the horses do it.

  “Ten miles, huh? Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “Wouldn’t offer it if I did. Might save you some money too. Nothing wrong with that, jah? We could have your car out of there in no time. Your choice, though. How bad do you figure the damage is?”

  “Axle is broken, and the radiator’s probably got a leak,” Mark said.

  “I could probably help with some of that.”

  “You got the tools?”

  “Got my farm tools. Might be able to hammer the axle back in place. You’ll need help with the radiator though. I’ve got a Mennonite cousin in Bird-in-Hand who fixes those. But first things first.”

  “Well, whatever it takes to get me back on the road.”

  “You late getting somewhere?”

  “Yeah, home. About twenty years too late.” Mark didn’t say much more as they continued down the road. He figured it was the only way to guarantee his foot staying out of his mouth — a trick he’d learned early in his political career. He didn’t know enough about the Amish to avoid any more verbal gaffes. Sometimes silence really could be golden.

  It was Josiah who finally broke the awkward silence.

  “I apologize if you’re someone I should know,” he said.

  Oh no. Here it comes.

  “Are you a new neighbor?”

  “No. Just passing through.”

  “Where’s home for you?”

  “Wisconsin.”

  “You are lost,” Josiah said, then clicked his tongue again to get his horse to pick up the pace a bit.

  JOSIAH’S BUGGY HORSE, DAYBREAK, HAD BEEN A LOYAL FRIEND and service horse to the Stoltzfus family ever since Josiah bought her at a Lancaster town auction. She was a former harness-racing mare, which accounted for her graceful gait and high step. It had taken a while for her to fully switch from her former life to that of an Amish buggy horse, and on more than one occasion, she’d taken Josiah for a good race through the streets of Lancaster, leaving him hanging on for dear life, his broad-brimmed hat flying off in the wind. Eventually, though, Josiah had managed to get DayBreak to settle down and leave the racing to the automobiles of the English.

  Josiah took good care of all his horses, but DayBreak was his favorite. They had a special bond. Not only had Josiah almost lost her the night she was delivering her foal, but he’d personally nursed her back to health after someone — most likely an unaware tourist — had given her some junk food to eat. Josiah didn’t harbor ill will toward the misguided visitor, even after having to stay up all night for three nights out in the barn with DayBreak. He merely figured whoever had done it simply hadn’t realized that buggy horses have their own diet, and it’s best to leave their feeding to their owners.

  “Well, all I can say is I sure hope she’s happy.”

  “Who?” Josiah asked, puzzled.

  “That nagging woman.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were alone. Did you drop off someone before I found you? I don’t mind going back to pick her up if you need me to.”

  Mark laughed. “No. I’m alone. I’m talking about my navigational device. Sorry, it’s a car thing,” he corrected himself quickly.

  “Oh, I see. Your GPS,” Josiah said.

  “You know about them? I didn’t think the Amish knew about such —”

  “We read approved books. And talk to tourists.”

  “But you don’t use them, do you?”

  “DayBreak here’s my GPS,” Josiah said, nodding toward his horse. “Knows these parts better than I do.”

  “Well, you’re better off. A lady’s voice speaks through my GPS and gives me directions … and gets me lost. She nags at me to follow her crazy directions, and then when I don’t, she’ll just keep telling me to ‘Recalculate’ until I want to throttle her. It’s her fault I’m in this mess.”

  “She told you to drive into the ditch, eh?”

  “No. But she sure caused the accident,” Mark replied. His tone of voice made it clear that he wasn’t about to take the blame.

  “But you were the one driving, jah?”

  Mark gave a half nod.

  Josiah continued. “You know, we Amish have a saying,” he said. “Don’t blame the horse when you’ve got the reins.”

  “Touché,” Mark said.

  “Too what?” Josiah wondered about this man who used funny words and was twenty years late getting home to his family. But Mark seemed friendly enough.

  “Touché. It means ‘you’re
right.’”

  “Well, getting lost can sometimes be a gut thing, jah?”

  “Don’t tell me that’s how you ended up here.”

  “No. But it’s how my wife did. Although my wife and I both grew up Old Order Amish. I met her when her family was passing through our community on their way to the big auction. They took a wrong turn and had to stop to ask directions. I saw Elizabeth sitting in the buggy and talked to her for a bit. She told me where she lived, and after that, we wrote letters and eventually married.”

  “It was meant to be, huh?”

  “I believe it was, jah. So that’s why I say when we lose our way, it can sometimes be a gut thing. Maybe there are reasons you’re here, Mark.”

  Mark laughed again. “Yeah, I took my eyes off the road and drove into a ditch.”

  Josiah turned the buggy up his driveway. It led to his quaint house, which was built on top of a slightly sloping hill. The house was freshly painted white, and Elizabeth’s garden was growing off to the side of it. Their goats and sheep grazed in the field next to the barn, along with their draft horses that watched the buggy’s approach from their vantage point.

  “I’m serious now. You’re welcome to break bread with us,” Josiah said as he continued up the drive toward the house.

  “Thanks, but I know what my own wife would say if I brought home unexpected company for lunch.”

  “We always have room at the table for more. And by the way, in these parts, we don’t call it lunch. It’s dinner,” Josiah said with a friendly laugh. “Supper’s our evening meal.”

  MARK LIKED PEOPLE WITH A HEALTHY SENSE OF HUMOR, PEOPLE who didn’t take themselves too seriously. He wished he could be more like that himself. If he had to end up in a ditch in the middle of nowhere and hitch a ride with a stranger though, he was glad it was with someone who was as easygoing as Josiah.

  “I stand corrected again,” Mark said. “Dinner it is. Thank you for the invitation.”

  Three children, all dressed in typical Amish clothing, were playing in front of the house.

  “Your kids?” Mark asked, as they moved up the driveway.