“Not with your batting average, Mark!” Sam snapped back.
“Look, your campaign just never caught traction,” Randall said, trying to soften the escalating tension in the room. “Nothing personal. Just politics.”
“So you shut me out?”
“You shut yourself out, Mark. You weren’t pulling in the numbers. It’s over, Mark. It’s been over for weeks. I’m simply ending the pain.”
“Wait and try again next time,” Randall assured him. “This run gave you national exposure. In four more years, you’ll do better right out of the gate.”
The words offered no comfort to Mark.
“Look, the bottom line at this point is that we’re going to have to go with our front-runners,” Sam said.
“Harley Phillips?”
“He’s got the best chance of winning this election.” Randall held up a copy of the latest polls. “It’s him or Anne right now. You may very well be the best candidate, Mark, but you can’t fight the polls.”
“So the country gets to suffer through four years of Harley or Kurtzfield before it gets the chance to turn things around?”
“All right. I’m not going to waste any more of our time on this,” Sam said. “We’re not telling you to drop out of the race. We’re just withdrawing our support. Continue if you want, but it’s all on your dime.”
“Withdrawing the party’s support will be the final nail in the coffin, you know that,” Mark said.
“Your campaign died a long time ago, Mark,” Randall said. “It hobbled up to Super Tuesday and has been on life support ever since. Trust me. I’m giving you good advice here. Let it go, give it a decent burial, and resurrect it again in four years.”
“And in the meantime, decide who you’ll be throwing your support to,” Sam pressed. “The sooner we announce that, the better bounce we’ll get in the polls.”
“Bounce for who? Harley Phillips?”
“If you’ve got any party loyalty, yes. He’s got the best chance. But it’s your decision.”
“I’m still in the race, Sam! Those are my voters!”
“Throw us a bone here, Mark,” Randall said. “We’ve got to start closing the gaps or the other side’s gonna whip our tail come November!”
“Think about it, Mark,” Sam pleaded. “To continue your campaign would be a mistake.”
“Like we’ve never elected a mistake before?”
“Withdraw, Mark,” Sam said. “For the good of the party.”
“I’m in it for the long haul, gentlemen,” Mark said flatly.
“I won’t quit!”
“Don’t quit now!” Josiah said, coaxing the horses and snapping Mark out of his stinging memory. “That’s it! Pull … pull!”
Mark joined in, “Come on, Delilah! Keep going, girl! You’re doing it!”
The horses were pulling with the full force of their muscular legs and backs, giving it every ounce of strength they could muster.
“Think they need a break?” Mark asked, huffing and wheezing, trying to return some air to his own lungs.
“No, but you might.”
Mark nodded, then changed his mind, “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. Let’s do it.”
“You sure?”
“If Samson and Delilah can keep going, so can I.”
Josiah snapped on the reins again, and the horses gave it another try. Samson dug his rear hoofs into the side of the hill and pulled and grunted and then pulled and grunted some more. Delilah stayed right beside him, a worthy companion, taking up whatever slack Samson might have left.
Then it happened. The car started to give way, only slightly at first, but it was movement.
“That’s it! It’s coming!” Mark said, excited to think his problems might soon be over.
“Keep pushing!” Josiah called to him. “Push!”
The horses could have handled the task more easily, but the position of the government vehicle was a peculiar one. The car couldn’t simply roll back onto the road. It had to roll back through the ditch and then onto the road. It could be done — at least Mark hoped it could — but it would require a bit of extra effort.
Mark pushed, the horses pulled, and before long, their determined teamwork and steadfast persistence paid off. The car rolled out of the ditch and onto the road. They’d done it.
“Well, I’ll be!” Mark said. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I never would’ve believed it!”
“I told you they were strong,” Josiah said, giving the horses a congratulatory pat and granting them a well-deserved rest. “Sometimes you’ve just got to work together and give it all you’ve got, jah?”
Mark wiped the sweat off his brow, then added, “And not quit.”
“Jah, never quit,” Josiah agreed. “Now you’re starting to sound like one of us.”
Mark laughed. “I could do this. Get back to my roots. Live off the land,” he said. “Need a politician around here?”
“We Amish don’t really get involved in national politics, and we don’t proselytize, but you’d be welcome as far as I’m concerned,” Josiah assured him. “The Plain life is a lot of hard work, though.”
“I’m used to hard work.”
“We rise at sunup.”
“I could manage it.”
Josiah laughed like a man who had heard all this before. No doubt from tourists passing through who got caught up in the beauty and peacefulness of the surroundings and couldn’t wait to get home, sell everything they owned, and buy a farm. But most likely, after the first year, all that would have happened is that they would have lost the farm, their retirement money, and a whole lot of sleep.
“You might want to ponder that for a spell,” Josiah cautioned. “Spend some time working on a farm first.”
“Well, since I’ve gotta be here while my car’s getting fixed up, maybe I’ll do some of that now. Get a better feel for this lifestyle.”
“You serious?”
“Nah. My kids would never give up their cell phones. Speaking of which, I’ve gotta find some way to check in with my wife. She’ll be worried. Where’d you say that emergency phone was?”
“At the home of a Mennonite family ‘bout five miles down the road. Want me to run you up there?”
“Sometime today, if that’s all right.”
“Sure. We’ll take good care of you, Mark.”
The two men walked next to the horses and started down the road. It was quite a sight — Josiah and Mark leading the two draft horses, who were towing the government vehicle behind them. Mark wondered what Sam and Randall would say if they could see him. Or Cindy, for that matter. In fact, where were that woman and her husband from the hotel? This was the shot she should have taken with her camera. If Mark had reception, he would’ve sent them a photo himself. Why, just thinking about the mileage Mark could get out of a photo of this made his head spin. But then he remembered how the Amish preferred their photos not be taken, and he dropped that daydream.
“You know, Josiah,” Mark said, admiring the Amish man’s fortitude and ingenuity, “my whole presidential campaign was based on getting back to basics, but you’re the one who’s actually doing it. I couldn’t even get myself out of a ditch on my own!”
“We all need help sooner or later,” Josiah said. “No shame in that.”
CHAPTER 7
THE REST OF THE WAY BACK TO JOSIAH’S HOME, THE MEN talked about life, family, and the differences between their two worlds.
“You ever wonder what it’d be like to live on the outside?” Mark asked.
“Oh, I get a taste of it every tourist season. Cars back up for miles. My buggy rides right past them.”
“Can’t be worse than D.C. You should see the gridlock we have some days, especially around the Capitol. Everything comes to a standstill.”
“So I hear. Both outside and inside, jah?”
Mark laughed. “So you follow what happens in Washington?” he said.
“Mostly just what affects our lives here. But we pray
for those of you in charge.”
“We appreciate it,” Mark said. “Well, I should say they do, since I’m not there anymore.”
“Think you’ll ever get back in it?”
“Right now I’m just glad to be going home.”
Josiah nodded thoughtfully. “Well, let’s see if we can’t straighten out that axle somehow and get you back on the road.”
“You’re really helping me out. It’s very kind of you.”
“That’s what neighbors are for, jah?”
“Neighbors. I’m from Wisconsin, remember?”
“That could either make you a stranger or a neighbor from Wisconsin.”
Mark thought about his grandfather again and how helpful he’d always been to strangers. Like Josiah, he, too, would have gladly helped someone stranded by the side of the road. Mark could remember his grandpa taking food out of his own refrigerator and giving it to a family in need. It was a memory he would never forget, because he’d been eyeing the bowl of banana pudding and then had wondered where it disappeared to.
But the world had changed since his grandfather’s day. Those kinds of people seemed to be few and far between now.
These days, Mark figured, the Good Samaritan would need a Release of Liability form to be signed by the injured man and notarized, three litigation attorneys on retainer, an LLC for his roadside assistance business to protect his personal assets from sue-happy opportunists, a waiver of liability from the inn where he took the man in the event further injury should befall the injured man while there, a check as up-front payment, and a clean bill of health proving he hadn’t inadvertently exposed the victim to any communicable diseases.
It’s not the same world anymore.
But maybe it still existed here at least. The Amish man hadn’t asked for any money at all. He didn’t require assurance of legal protection or a health clearance. So what was different about these people?
“So how do you do it?” Mark asked.
“Do what?” Josiah said, turning to check on the car being towed behind them.
“How do you manage to preserve an unguarded, do-the-right-thing-no-matter-what-the-cost attitude when it seems to be on the verge of extinction everywhere else?”
“It’s really no secret, Mark,” Josiah said. “If you put yourself in the other person’s shoes, you’ll be inclined to do the right thing.”
To Mark, doing the right thing was a matter of courage as much as it was an issue of integrity and character. It took both courage and faith to help a stranger. Riding by Mark earlier would have required neither of the Amish man. Mark had always been private about his own faith, opting for political correctness rather than running the risk of offending anyone. He wasn’t naive, though. He knew that having a faith, some kind of faith, was often a political plus. He simply didn’t want to pigeonhole himself by aligning with any one particular group, so he never stated a specific denomination in any interviews. He was all things to all people. Still, he was curious as to what exactly his benefactor did believe.
“I don’t mean to sound ignorant, but what do the Amish believe?” Mark asked.
“We try our best to keep God at the center of our lives,” Josiah replied.
“I admire that, but it must be easier for you. You don’t have all the distractions.”
“See those trees over there, Mark?” Josiah said, pointing to a cluster of maple trees at the edge of a creek off in the distance. “Some days I like to ride out there and just sit under those trees and talk to God. Or read my Bible. You got a favorite place to read?” Josiah asked.
“The Bible?”
“Jah.”
“Well,” Mark said, thinking for a moment. “I guess I do most of my reading on the road. Most of the hotels I stay in have a copy of the Bible.”
“Ah, but there’s nothing like reading your own copy, Mark — getting the binding all flexible and worn in. It’s a gut feeling, jah?”
Mark could tell that Josiah wasn’t judging him in the least, but Mark still felt guilty. He knew he hadn’t cracked open his Bible, or any Bible for that matter, in months. Maybe even years. He wondered if there was a special punishment for those who lied about such things, but he plodded on. “I read every time I get the chance — a chapter here, a chapter there,” he said. “Politics doesn’t give you a lot of time for Bible reading, with everybody vying for your attention the way they do.”
“I hear Lincoln spent a lot of time reading his Bible … both before and after he became president,” Josiah commented.
Why is he bringing up Lincoln? No one can live up to that standard.
“I’ve actually seen Lincoln’s family Bible at his childhood home in Kentucky,” Mark said, steering the conversation off the uncomfortable subject of his own reading habits. “He was one honest politician, I’ll tell you that. Told it like it was.”
“You’re honest, too, jah?” Josiah asked.
“Of course,” Mark said, almost as a defensive reflex. Mark might not have been as honest as Honest Abe, but he usually did try to tell the truth whenever he was backed into a corner. And he was a lot more honest than Harley Phillips. Or Anne Kurtzfield. Or Governor Karen Ledbetter. Or most of the other presidential candidates, for that matter. He might not have been the best candidate to ever try to fill Lincoln’s size-14 shoes, but Mark Stedman would put his record up against any current politician’s.
“I know you’re honest,” Josiah said. “If you weren’t honest, you would’ve told me someone ran you off the road back there instead of telling me the truth — that you got in a fight with your GPS.”
Mark laughed at Josiah’s good-natured ribbing. The laughter felt good.
CINDY STEDMAN HADN’T SPOKEN WITH HER HUSBAND SINCE THE previous night, and she was growing concerned. She’d seen his call on her Missed Calls list earlier in the day, which helped, but he hadn’t left a message. She’d tried to call him back several times. This time she called Carl.
“You haven’t heard from him either?” she asked.
“I’m sure he’s fine, Cindy.”
“Well, let me know as soon as you find out anything,” she said before hanging up.
Cindy told herself that Mark would return her calls as soon as he could. He was on his way home; that was all that mattered. It wouldn’t be long now before their lives would return to normal — whatever “normal” had come to mean in the Stedman household. She couldn’t wait to hold him in her arms again, and she relished the thought of finally not having to share her husband with his constituents, the political pundits of Washington, or the media.
Taking Carl’s encouragement, Cindy tried to go about her day, praying a sort of continual prayer that her husband would check in soon and put her mind at ease like they had promised each other they would. Beyond that, she relaxed and trusted.
For about twenty more minutes.
Then she surrendered to her anxiety and called his number again.
She finally reached Mark’s voice mail and left another message, reminding herself that there were stretches between Washington and Wisconsin where cell phone reception was iffy at best. Mark would get her messages eventually and call her back. He was dependable like that. She would have to trust that he was all right.
“I’VE GOT TO SAY, I ADMIRE YOUR PIONEER SPIRIT,” MARK SAID AS Josiah guided the horses up another road, where a house gradually came into view. “Doing without so many modern conveniences.”
“Well, we’re Plain people.”
“Plain?”
“That’s what we’re called. We prefer living simply.”
“And self-sufficiently. Living off the grid. Not an easy thing to do these days.”
“We depend on ourselves. And each other. And God.”
“People in my world used to do more to help each other. But everyone’s so caught up in their own lives these days, just trying to survive, you know. Don’t have the time to worry about anyone else.”
“Not a lot of barn raisings in your world?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of those. What’s that about?”
“Well, if a neighbor’s had a fire or some such event, we all step in and raise a new barn or house for them. Sometimes as quickly as one day.”
“Extreme Makeover Amish style, huh?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, it’s a social event too. We get to catch up on all the latest doings, and it feels gut, jah, to help out a friend?”
“But aren’t there some in your community who take advantage of your goodness?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you got any, you know, folks who sit back and let everyone else do the work?”
“We Amish grow up learning the value of hard labor. Every community has a few who will try to take advantage, but most of the time it evens out. One neighbor needs help today, and tomorrow he’ll be the one helping another neighbor out. Most decent folk want to give back to show their gratefulness.”
“So many folks have helped me out over the years with all my campaigns … I could never repay them all.”
“You’ve had a lot of barns burn down, have you, Mark?”
“Dreams, mostly. But I’ve had a lot of good things happen too. There were people who opened the right doors for me. They took a risk and gave me a job or position. You don’t get to the places I’ve gotten to without a lot of help along the way.”
“See, there are good people in both our worlds.” Josiah removed his hat, wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, then placed his hat back on his head. “Now tell me some about your world, Mark.”
“Well, what would you like to know?”
“Since I’ve never talked to a Washington politician before, tell me about that. Is it as hard as it seems?”
“You ever built a barn and have half the community sit back and criticize your work? ‘It leans too far to the left. Now it leans too far to the right. The rafters are crooked, and the ceiling looks like it’s about to cave in.’ “
“Well, I like to think I’m a better carpenter than that.” Josiah laughed.
“But people say those things even after you’ve done your best, no matter what the barn looks like. What do you do then?”
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