“I made extra.” Elizabeth smiled.
“Apple?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a gut wife, Elizabeth.”
“All I did was make some fried pies.”
“I know. But you planted the apple tree too.”
Together Elizabeth and Josiah loaded the children into their buggy to make their special delivery. Mrs. Burkholder, the Amish widow who lived about a mile down the road, had been ill, and Elizabeth, being Elizabeth, had promised her some of her locally famous fried pies.
They were the only buggy on the road that clear, cool evening. Not even an automobile passed by. As DayBreak clip-clopped by the ditch where Mark had driven off the road, Josiah glanced in that direction, remembering the politician who had been a part of their family for a few days and wondering what the purpose had been for that unplanned detour in both of their lives.
THE NEXT MORNING, CARL WILSON WAS FEELING DOWN AND had no desire to report to Stedman’s Wisconsin campaign headquarters, but he figured he might as well go ahead and finish packing up the campaign paraphernalia. He had to stand on a chair to reach an Elect Stedman poster that was just out of his reach, much as the election had been for the congressman — so close and yet so far away.
Carl had been a faithful campaign manager for Mark, but after Mark’s premature withdrawal from the election, there was nothing left to manage. It was time to pack up the past and look to the future. Maybe the congressman would run again someday. He was still young enough to attempt a presidential run plenty more times in his political life. That is, if he wanted to.
Carl freed three corners of the poster and was right in the middle of removing the final tack when his cell phone started ringing. He held the loosened poster with his left hand and took the phone out of his pocket with his right. Then he looked down at the caller ID. It was Mark.
“You back?” Carl said, nearly losing his balance.
“Yeah. It’s good to be home.”
“Sam’s been calling every couple of hours, you know.”
“I’ve already talked to him.”
“Well?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t like any of ‘em enough to endorse them, Carl. Least of all Harley.”
“I know. But Sam’s right — it’ll be worse if the other side ends up winning in November.”
“Would it?” Mark said.
CHAPTER 11
MARK CONTINUED THE CONVERSATION WITH CARL THE FOLLOWING day at a café around the corner from Mark’s Wisconsin office.
“Come on, Mark. Just give Sam what he wants, and he’ll help you win it the next go-round.”
“Like he helped me this time? Besides, I might not ever run again. Then what?”
“Then you’ll still know you took the higher ground.”
“And sold my country down the river? For what? So a candidate I don’t believe in can get elected?”
“Which candidate do you believe in, Mark?”
“I told you, none of them.”
“Exactly. So what point are you trying to prove here? Someone’s got to serve in the office.”
“I just wish there was a candidate I could get excited about. Someone with good old-fashioned common sense. Someone who’s not afraid to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty. Someone like … well, like that Amish man I met this week.”
“The one who pulled you out of the ditch?”
“Yeah.”
“You want us to elect an Amish man for president? I take it there was a head injury involved in that accident of yours?”
“I’m not saying to elect him. The Amish don’t run for national offices. I’m just saying someone with his sensibilities.”
“Well, it’s probably too late in the game for anyone new to step in and seal the primary nomination. So it’s either Harley or Kurtzfield.”
“What if it goes to a brokered convention? What if none of the candidates gets enough delegates?”
“Okay, then what? What are you saying?”
“Then the votes are released. An outsider could be nominated at that point, right?”
“Well, sure, but that’s not going to happen. Harley’s pulling ahead. That’s why he’s so desperate for your endorsement to seal the deal.”
“What if I endorsed someone outside the party?”
Mark could see the disbelief on Carl’s face.
“What are you saying, Mark? That you’re leaving the party?”
“Just weighing all the options. I wouldn’t be the first politician to switch horses midstream.”
“You’re not thinking about running as an Independent, are you?”
“The thought’s crossed my mind.”
“Mark, as your campaign manager, I’d strongly advise against it. For a number of reasons.”
“Burning my bridges?”
“That. And reality. Look, Mark, you know I’m loyal. In fact, I think you’d make a great president. But you were barely getting 10 percent with the party backing you. Strike out on your own, and you’ll just be a spoiler. Besides, talk about sabotaging yourself. Every ounce of clout you’ve earned over the span of your career would evaporate overnight. Are you willing to let all that go just to make sure Harley Phillips doesn’t win?”
“I just said the thought had crossed my mind. Didn’t say I was doing it. But I might be endorsing someone else.”
“Who?”
“They haven’t announced their candidacy yet.”
“Well, they’d better hurry. It’s getting late in the game, you know.”
“Deadline for a write-in-candidate in most states is just weeks out from the general election.”
“Okay, you did hit your head in that car wreck.”
“I assure you my head’s fine. In fact, my thinking is the clearest it’s ever been.”
“Mark, do you know how many write-in candidates have ever won the presidency? None! Not a single one. You’d be throwing away your vote, your endorsement, and your party. That’s your brilliant plan?”
“Like I said, I’m weighing my options.”
“Mark, think about what you’re doing here. Even if you don’t switch allegiance, just flirting with the idea is going to cost you something. You realize that?”
“I just want to get the best person in the White House. And that’s not Harley Phillips.”
Mark knew that Sam was chomping at the bit for his endorsement for Harley, and he also figured if Carl delivered it to Sam today, it could translate into a choice party position for Mark should he ever want to call in that card. Reciprocal back-scratching. In Washington, it never hurt to have people owe you favors.
“Think about what you’re doing, Mark,” Carl was saying. “You’ve already withdrawn from the race. Let it go. Give it to Harley this go-round, and when he makes a mess of things after four years, you can swoop in again and save the nation.”
“I’d rather save the nation now!” Mark couldn’t wait to call Sam himself and tell him that he wouldn’t be endorsing Harley Phillips or any of the other candidates. He would only endorse someone with old-fashioned values and common sense, qualities none of the current field of candidates possessed in any great amount.
I’m not compromising, Mark thought. The stakes are too high.
Mark had intended to let Carl break the news to Sam, but instead, when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying, “I’ll announce my decision tonight. Tell Sam to watch the ten o’clock news.”
“Just tell me it’s Harley, and you’ll make Sam’s day,” Carl said. “It’s how the game is played. You know that. We’ll do it next time.”
“Just watch the news, Carl.”
WORD SPREAD QUICKLY THAT CONGRESSMAN MARK STEDMAN was going to make an important announcement at a press conference that evening. No one knew what he was going to say, not even Mark himself, but reporters gathered at the Elect Stedman headquarters, hoping to score a scoop. Mark’s supporters were also on hand, hoping that their beloved native son would announce that he was being
courted as a vice-presidential candidate by one of the remaining contenders. Having their man on half the ticket was better than nothing. But Mark had no such announcement planned.
“My fellow citizens,” Mark began when he stepped up to the microphone in front of his campaign headquarters that evening. “Those of you who are gathered here today, and those who are watching this via satellite feed. I am prepared to announce the name of the candidate I will be endorsing for president of the United States …”
Mark was more or less winging it at this point. He had narrowed his choices down to a couple of names but hadn’t yet made up his mind between them. They were both good choices. One was the governor of Oregon, Wendy Horton, and the other was war hero Trent Davidson, who had won a purple heart in Afghanistan. Both were exceptional people. Neither was a clear choice for Mark, but he was reasonably certain he could sleep at night knowing he had put his stamp of approval on one of them, whether or not the write-in campaign caught any traction.
It was difficult, though, to fake an impassioned endorsement when he wasn’t really clear on whom or what he was supposed to be impassioned about. So he hesitated. He wanted to endorse one of those people, to tell everyone watching why either of them would make an exceptional president. But he couldn’t manage to get the words out. He may have been winging it, but his wing wasn’t helping him much, and now he sounded like one more politician just flying in circles.
“Congressman Stedman, who are you endorsing?” a reporter pressed.
“Well, I’m going to tell you,” Mark said, “right now. The person I believe will make the best president and whom I will be endorsing is …”
Mark took a deep breath. His mind was racing with names. Wendy Horton? Trent Davidson? Or should he be a party loyalist and give Harley or Kurtzfield the endorsement they both so desperately wanted?
And then it happened. To his surprise, a name tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. He hadn’t seriously considered putting forth this name, but there it was. “Josiah,” Mark announced clearly and confidently. There was the passion he had been waiting for. But it was also a ridiculous notion. Mark knew it immediately. It was an “Aha” and “Uh-oh” moment all rolled into one. But the name had fallen from his lips in front of the entire nation, and there was no taking it back now.
“Josiah?” repeated a reporter, looking unsure that he had heard the congressman correctly.
No matter how hard Mark tried to stop his tongue from continuing, it went on full speed ahead. “His name won’t be on the ballot, of course, but he can be elected by write-in votes.”
A puzzled look came over all the reporters’ faces, and frenzied whispers began spreading throughout the crowd.
“Josiah who?” several reporters asked at the same time.
“That’s all I’m prepared to say at this time,” Mark said.
“I take it he’s from outside the Washington establishment?”
“He’s as outside as you can get,” Mark said with a smile. Then ignoring the wisdom of the saying, “When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging,” he added, “He’s Amish.”
The gasp from the crowd almost sucked the air out of the entire state of Wisconsin.
“Congressman, you’re joking, right?” a reporter asked.
“I just want to verify that I’m quoting you correctly,” another one said. “You’re saying you are endorsing an Amish man for president? Is that correct, sir?”
“That is correct,” Mark said, mentally slapping himself on the back of the head for not shutting his mouth sooner. He realized the words he had just spoken would have to be eaten, and eaten quickly, if he were to ever salvage his lifetime reputation of being a stable and reasonable man. He also realized that the late-night talk shows would have a field day with such an outlandish endorsement. Still, the questions kept coming.
“Sir, realizing this is one of the most important elections in our nation’s history, do you honestly believe a write-in candidate would even have a chance?”
“Don’t most Amish refrain from participating in national elections?”
“A write-in Amish candidate? Is this for real?”
“You’re throwing your support to an Amish man named Josiah? Did we hear you correctly, sir?” the first reporter asked, trying to offer the congressman one last out.
Mark considered the out. Now was the time for him to retract his statement before it went any further. He could say he had put the idea out there simply to see if anyone was paying attention. He could laugh it off as his humorous opener and then present the name of one of the other two candidates he was considering endorsing. But Mark had never been very good at midspeech U-turns or post-blooper retractions, so he did what he was good at, especially as of late — he dug that hole even deeper. Besides, he was starting to like the idea the longer he thought about it.
“Yes,” Mark said. “That is exactly what I am doing.”
What am I doing? An Amish man for president? Have I lost my mind?
It was Harley’s fault, of course. And Sam’s. And the media’s. They had all been badgering Mark for an endorsement ever since he left the campaign, and he felt obligated to give them one even though he wasn’t ready to make an official announcement. But now that Josiah’s name had tumbled out of Mark’s mouth, he had no choice but to leave it dangling there for a day or two while he gathered his thoughts. Otherwise, he’d look like a man who couldn’t stand by his decisions. No politician wanted to be known as a flip-flopper. Mark would figure out some way to explain away the Josiah gaffe and buy himself more time to make up his mind between Horton and Davidson. It wasn’t his Plan A or even his Plan B. It was a lot farther down the alphabet than that. But at least it was a plan.
Immediately after the press conference, Mark’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was Sam.
“Right on time,” Mark said without the preliminary hello.
“You’re crazy, you know that? Bonafide. Certifiable!” The adjectives were coming fast and furious, even for Sam. “A write-in Amish presidential candidate? Why don’t you just tell the people to drop their ballots into a shredder?”
“Then how would my candidate get elected?” Mark said, fully aware that he was playing on Sam’s last nerve.
“Harley Phillips needs those votes, Mark! I don’t think you realize the seriousness of this situation!”
“Oh, I realize it, Sam. Why do you think I’m pledging to do everything in my power to make sure Josiah gets elected?”
“Stop the games, Mark. Do you hate Harley that much?”
“No, just everything he stands for.”
Mark ended the call with a sigh, wondering what Josiah was doing at that moment and what the Amish man might think of his ridiculous notion. But unless the press had somehow gotten to him, Josiah was still blissfully unaware that his name had been put forth as a presidential candidate. He was living contentedly in his peaceful Amish community, letting the outside world go about its business while he went about his own. He had crops to harvest, farm animals to feed, and a family to care for. Washington politics were the furthest thing from his mind. Other than the few conversations he’d had with his new friend, as well as any tidbits he’d read in the Amish newspaper or discussed with tourists who came through Lancaster, Josiah hardly thought about national politics at all.
That wasn’t the story everywhere else in America. Telephone lines at news stations were lighting up so quickly, it seemed as if some titillating scandal had just broken. Mark knew that in the middle of a lackluster political race, the “Amish candidate” was a gift from heaven for most reporters. Mark would let them enjoy the feeding frenzy for a few days and then retract his statement. He’d say that the reporters and the country had taken him out of context or that he was joking. But until then, this news item was pure gold.
“NO ONE’S TAKING YOU SERIOUSLY. YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU?” Carl said to Mark when they met for coffee the following morning.
“It just
came out of my mouth,” Mark said, surprised at his own verbal faux pas. “I’ll make another announcement in a few days and clear it up.”
“A write-in ballot for an Amish president?” Carl laughed. “Oh, the comedy writers are going to love this!”
And they obviously did. The topic was unbelievably rich with comic possibilities, and TV comedians took full advantage of the situation. Most of their comedy was done good-humoredly and with respect for the Amish, but there were some edgier bits on a few shows that offended Mark enough for him to write to the shows’ staffs. Overall, though, the concept of an Amish candidate was handled with a “Hey, why not?” attitude, and the laughter and excitement it generated seemed to lift the country’s mood. Mark welcomed the good-natured ribbing and was thankful to be feeling hopeful again.
Josiah, the mystery candidate, was the opening-monologue topic of every late-night show on the air. One host even had a graphic that superimposed an Amish man’s head on Mount Rush-more. It was a humorous bit, and the wide-brimmed hat on the new head surely would have provided ample shade for Lincoln’s head had it been real.
Another comedian did a Broadway-style production number on his show, featuring Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, Benjamin Harrison, and Rutherford B. Hayes. The presidential look-alikes sang an Emmy-worthy, choreographed number called “Bring Back the Beards!” It sent ratings through the roof.
The nation’s columnists and commentators were picking up on the unusual campaign too.
“Listen to this,” Mark said over lunch with Cindy, while reading from a well-known national newspaper. “‘Congressman Stedman tosses Amish hat into ring … Congressman Mark Stedman stunned the nation on Monday when he announced that he would be endorsing an Amish man named Josiah for president. The congressman provided no last name, however our researchers are looking into it and will have more on this story as it develops. Some have speculated that the congressman is suffering from campaign fatigue and a possible head injury that he may have sustained in a recent automobile accident.’ “
Mark had to laugh. Since he’d crashed a government vehicle, he’d had to report the accident to officials, and apparently some in the news media were using that to explain away his “irrational behavior.”
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