Josiah for President

by Martha Bolton

  “They?”

  “Everyone who doesn’t want to see you get elected.”

  “So what should I do?” Josiah asked.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Tell the voters the truth.”

  JOSIAH STEPPED UP TO THE MICROPHONE. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Josiah began.

  An immediate hush fell over the crowd. They didn’t want to miss a single word of what Josiah Stoltzfus had to say.

  “Some of you may have already heard about an incident that happened in my youth, over thirty-five years ago …”

  Josiah went on to explain the whole story, marveling out loud at how some people didn’t bother checking facts before condemning someone. He pointed out that most stories had mitigating circumstances that were edited out of the version that got passed around. That was what made gossip so damaging. And kept it interesting at the same time. It was sad, Josiah said, but sometimes the truth just wasn’t exciting enough for some folks.

  “Winston Churchill once said, ‘A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on,’ “ Josiah said. The famous quote got resounding applause.

  Josiah ended his explanation with a simple request: “I ask your forgiveness for putting myself in a position that would allow others to cast doubt on my character. I used poor judgment in my actions, my inactions, and my choice of friends. But I never lied to you.”

  A lady in the crowd answered for everyone. “We love you, Josiah!” she yelled out from the balcony. The people sprang to their feet, cheering and applauding the man they had come to love and trust. Josiah had faced the lies and all the half-truths head on, and the people respected him even more.

  Later, Josiah gave his after-dinner speech, speaking as he always did — from his heart. As foreign as the spotlight felt to him, Josiah was in his element. He was a natural-born speaker, and the crowd hung on his every word.

  BY THE TIME JOSIAH FINISHED HIS SPEECH, MARK WAS CONVINCED that a final-inning catastrophe had been avoided. All people wanted was the truth. They were tired of all the mudslinging, political games, and manipulative posturing typical of so many past election years. Good men and women from both sides of politics had been vilified, often for no reason other than someone’s sheer jealousy or desire for control. As far as this crowd was concerned, it was high time for that practice to come to an end.

  There was another incentive for Josiah’s opponents to stop trying to assassinate his reputation. Too much mudslinging from one side had been known to lead to a landslide on the other. And more than anyone else in the running, Josiah had been on the receiving end of the mud. Mark knew that if Harley Phillips didn’t want to suffer a severe ego-whipping come election night, he’d best lay off the attacks.

  The cheers following Josiah’s keynote speech that night were deafening.

  “I picked the right man, all right,” Mark said to Josiah as he stepped off the stage.

  “The truth still matters, jah?”

  “At least we hope it does,” Mark said.

  CHAPTER 17

  WHEN WORD OF THE BOTCHED “LEAK” REACHED HARLEY, HE made a call to Stacy Creighton.

  “Stacy,” he said, “I need you to take care of a little business for me.”

  “Of course,” Stacy said. “What is it, Harley?”

  “Something important I need you to tend to. Out of town.”

  “But what about everything I have to do here?” Stacy said.

  “It’ll keep. And don’t discuss this with anyone.”

  “Very well, sir,” Stacy said.

  “I need you to take a little trip over to Lancaster County,” Harley said.

  “Amish country, sir? But why?”

  “To buy us a little insurance.”

  The campaign had been long and arduous. But it was almost over. Only a couple of weeks remained before voters would go to the polls and voice their choice for president and vice president of the United States. Only a couple of weeks before Harley would know the direction his future path would take.

  Harley had grown weary of Bart’s continual failure to uncover anything significant enough to derail Josiah’s chances of getting elected. The hit-and-run controversy hadn’t caught any traction at all once it was explained, and Josiah’s honest handling of that past incident merely endeared Josiah to the public even more. Harley needed something more current — a bad decision, a quotable verbal blunder, a controversy — anything that would bring Josiah’s good judgment and character into question. But so far, there had been nothing.

  Harley trusted Stacy to do better. Money could make people talk — maybe even the Amish.

  This would be a covert operation, of course, known only to Harley and Stacy. Harley’s plan was for Stacy to drive to Josiah’s community to talk to his friends, neighbors, and perhaps even his bishop to see what he could find out.

  Maybe the town could use a new building for their monthly flea markets, a new wing for their library, or perhaps even some new streetlights. Stacy could dangle all sorts of temptations in front of whomever he needed, as far as Harley was concerned.

  If I still don’t discover anything new about Josiah, he vowed to himself, then I’ll drop the matter altogether and leave the election in the hands of the voters.

  No one would ever need to know about Stacy’s visit to Amish country.

  But if there was a sliver of a chance that something in Josiah’s character or past that the public should know about might turn up, then it would be Harley’s duty to “leak” it to the press before the election, would it not?

  Harley loved it when he could put a noble spin on some underhanded or manipulative action of his. It made it so much easier to live with himself.

  STACY FELT AS OUT OF PLACE IN THE AMISH COMMUNITY AS HE was sure Josiah felt in politics. And he looked about as out of place too. Even the suspenders he’d picked up at Yoder’s General Store didn’t help him blend in. Of course, he hadn’t put them on quite right, so they made his pants ride a little high in the saddle, but Stacy couldn’t be blamed for trying.

  Mrs. Burkholder was the first Amish person Stacy chose to talk to. It took a while for the elderly widow to answer her door, but she finally managed to get to it with the aid of her cane. Stacy introduced himself and then, after placing his cell phone out of sight and pressing Record, got right to the point — or several points, to be more accurate.

  “How well do you know Josiah Stoltzfus?”

  “Have you ever seen him involved in any suspicious activities?”

  “Do he and his wife seem to get along?”

  “Has he ever voiced any controversial opinions about anything?”

  “What do you know about his rumspringa days?”

  Stacy could tell that Mrs. Burkholder wasn’t sure who the man standing on her front porch was or why he was asking such probing questions about her good neighbors. But her answers to his questions seemed forthright and honest. When it became obvious to Stacy that his visit wasn’t yielding anything juicy enough about Josiah, he moved on to questions about Elizabeth.

  “What about Mrs. Stoltzfus?” he asked.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my, the woman is an angel,” Mrs. Burkholder said. “Why, Elizabeth would do anything for anyone. She’s always helping out with church or visiting the sick, and she’s a wonderful wife and mother too.”

  “Sounds like she’s almost too good to be true,” Stacy said, probing for something, anything. “No one’s that perfect, are they?”

  “No, but Elizabeth Stoltzfus is as near to perfect as you can get,” Mrs. Burkholder said. “Oh, she went through a rough spell a while ago, but she’s doing much better. Those days are behind her now.”

  “Rough spell?”

  “A dark period. Depression, I guess. Dr. Willoughby gave her some medication. It seemed to help some. If you ask me, she just needed time to heal, to accept reality.”

  “Reality?” Stacy’s interest was st
irred. “Did Mrs. Stoltzfus ever tell you what kind of medication she was taking?”

  “That was none of my business, sir,” Mrs. Burkholder said, eyeing the stranger with suspicion. “None of yours either, I reckon. I need to go now. I’ve got chores to tend to.”

  “Sure, sure,” Stacy said, taking a step back so she’d feel more comfortable. “I should be on my way too.”

  Stacy opened his wallet to take out his business card, which just happened to be sandwiched between a couple of hundred dollar bills.

  “You sure that’s all you know?” he asked again.

  Mrs. Burkholder’s expression hardened when she saw the money. It was obvious that she had picked up on the hint.

  “Sir, I must ask you to leave now,” she said coldly.

  Stacy thanked her, shoved his wallet back into his pocket, and made his way back to his car. The lady had given him nothing to go on except perhaps the depression angle. There might be something there. Still, Stacy needed more information before he could take it to the press, or rather, before some “unknown source” could “leak” it to the press. An important difference in Harley’s mind.

  Stacy drove over to Bishop Miller’s home.

  “Come in, please,” the bishop said, welcoming the stranger into his house. “Can I get you a glass of iced tea and some fresh blueberry muffins my wife just baked?”

  Stacy politely said he’d take one muffin, for starters anyway, and began chatting with the bishop. When the time felt right, he brought up the subject of Josiah Stoltzfus.

  “What is it you would like to know?”

  “Are Josiah and his wife still members of your community?”

  “They are, but …”

  “But?”

  “Nothing. What is your next question, sir?”

  “Are the Amish allowed to run in national elections and still remain in good standing with the church?”

  “That is a matter for our own community to deal with.”

  “Has he ever been disciplined by the church before?” Stacy asked.

  “Never,” the bishop said. “Josiah Stoltzfus is exemplary. Don’t know what’s gotten into him of late. This whole election situation is out of character for him.”

  “Irrational, would you say?”

  “Out of character,” the bishop repeated.

  It was something, but still not enough.

  “So who’s been helping Elizabeth with the farm during his absence?”

  “I’ve helped her some, and a few of the other men.”

  Stacy raised an eyebrow. The bishop clearly took offense at the implication. Stacy was offending people all over Lancaster County. His boss had trained him well.

  “We believe in helping our neighbors, sir,” the bishop said firmly. “And Elizabeth does most of the work of running that farm herself when Josiah’s gone. She is a capable, strong woman.”

  “Yes, of course,” Stacy said, then moved his line of questioning to Josiah’s rumspringa incident.

  The bishop verified Josiah’s version of the incident and then added, “Sir, there is no finer man than Josiah Stoltzfus. He would, in fact, make a gut president, if such a thing were allowed in our community. But it is not. Now if you have no further questions, I must ask you to …”

  “If he is such a ‘gut’ man, as you say, why is he disobeying the church’s orders?”

  The bishop was done with the interview. He showed Stacy to the door, and Stacy still hadn’t uncovered anything new about Harley’s formidable opponent. Elizabeth’s depression, and perhaps the fact that discussions were in progress among the Amish leadership to possibly shun Josiah for his continued disregard of church rules, were the only “secrets” he’d found. Both tidbits could be used to his boss’s advantage, perhaps, but considering what Harley was after, it was a total waste of a day.

  Well, almost a total waste. Before leaving the Lancaster County area, Stacy stopped at a local restaurant to sample some of the Amish cooking he’d been hearing so much about. And to his pleasure, he discovered these rumors were 100 percent true. And these were “rumors” Stacy wouldn’t mind leaking.

  THE EVE OF ELECTION DAY ARRIVED, AND CARL CALLED MARK with some disturbing, albeit not surprising, news.

  “Someone leaked information about Elizabeth to the press.”

  “Elizabeth? What information?” Mark asked.

  “Her depression.”

  “Her depression? That’s what Harley’s going after? That?”

  It was a Hail Mary play of the desperate. But Carl knew Harley had a well-earned reputation for using such plays. The story spread quickly across the wire services, and soon every news station in the country was reporting on it.

  “How can a president lead our nation during troubled times if he has to care for a depressed wife?” the reporters asked.

  Never mind the fact that former presidents and first ladies had battled a variety of similar mental-health issues (Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln both battled depression) and that in the current climate of a challenging economy and rising joblessness, a good number of Americans were depressed too. Harley must have been banking on the issue costing Josiah a good deal of votes. Prejudice against someone’s mental or emotional struggles was callous and narrow-minded, to be sure, but Carl knew Harley was a politician who believed the ends justified the means.

  AS THE NEWS MADE THE ROUNDS, THE STORY OF ELIZABETH’S health issues grew even bigger and took on a life of their own. Elizabeth now had, according to the tongue waggers, “a prescription-drug dependency” and was “suffering from delusions.” It wasn’t true, of course. Slanderous rumors started by the jealous and desperate seldom were. If the lies were allowed to continue escalating, Elizabeth might have ended up being described as the next Lizzie Borden, according to “anonymous sources.”

  “If the rumors are true,” Harley said during one interview, “Lizzie’s about to move into the White House. But we can stop her! Vote for me on Election Day!”

  His sound bite didn’t go far, but some damage had already been done. Mental-health conditions should be handled with dignity, like any other medical challenge, but that didn’t matter to Harley Phillips. He had an election to win.

  The voting precincts would open in less than fifteen hours, and Harley wondered if the unsubstantiated rumors about Elizabeth had managed to change the minds of enough of Josiah’s supporters to get Harley himself elected. A dirty game, yes, and it wasn’t over yet.

  Harley placed a call to Stacy.

  “Get it out there,” he said without so much as a hello.

  “Now?”

  “No. After the election,” Harley said sarcastically. “Of course now!”

  “The shunning?”

  “That’s all we’ve got left. If the people want to elect an Amish man, they’ll have to find another one. This one’s being kicked out of his community and church.”

  “But it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Details. Let the voters figure that out. Leak it!”

  “The same source?”

  “Anonymous is my middle name.”

  “YOU NEED TO ISSUE A STATEMENT,” CARL TOLD JOSIAH WHEN they heard the breaking news item come over the television at campaign headquarters late that evening. “Voters will be heading to the polls first thing in the morning, so there’s no time to waste.”

  Josiah knew Carl was right. He was tired of all the rumors and lies he’d already had to deal with and was in no mood to go chasing down new ones. But this time they’d attacked the character of his wife and his own standing within his Amish community. He cherished both. Harley likely figured that Josiah would have little fight left in him. He was wrong.

  “Get him on the phone,” Josiah said, praying for both wisdom and a forgiving heart for a man who apparently possessed neither. Though Harley had declared himself Josiah’s enemy, Josiah’s faith told him to seek a path of peace.

  Carl called Harley, who answered on the first ring, on speakerphone.

  “I know
what you’re going to say, Carl, and it wasn’t me. I didn’t leak it to the press.”

  “You don’t expect us to believe that, do you, Harley?” Carl said.

  “It’s the truth, Carl.”

  “Josiah would like to speak with you.”

  Carl nodded at Josiah.

  “Congressman Phillips …?” Josiah began, giving Harley the respect Harley had seldom shown to him.

  “Josiah, before you say another word, I want you to know I feel terrible about this. I assure you if I find out that it was anyone in my camp, they will pay dearly. I give you my word.”

  Harley’s word meant little in the Stoltzfus-Stedman camp. They had banked on it before, but that check had always bounced due to NSF — nonsufficient forthrightness.

  “Harley,” Josiah said, taking a long, deep breath. “It is the peaceful way of the Amish that keeps me from reacting as others might … with a well-placed fist to your mouth!”

  Those within earshot raised their eyebrows and looked at one another. They’d never heard the peaceful Amish man upset before. Few people had. Josiah was even surprised himself. But he wasn’t deterred. He took another long, measured breath and continued.

  “We are a gentle and forgiving people,” Josiah said. “And your accusations against my wife only prove your serious lack of knowledge about my life, my wife, and our Plain ways, sir. Elizabeth was medically treated for depression after the death of our daughter. Here in America, how one grieves such a loss is still up to that individual, is it not, sir?”

  ON THE OTHER END OF THE LINE, HARLEY FELT HIS STOMACH sink to his ankles. He was vaguely aware of Josiah and Elizabeth’s loss but hadn’t connected the two situations. His actions now made him appear like an uncaring, insensitive, tactless oaf. Indeed, he knew he was an uncaring, insensitive, tactless oaf most of the time, but he didn’t want the voting public to know that.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I truly am sorry.”

  “And as for the other matter,” Josiah continued, “I am not shunned as yet, although it is true they are considering taking that action against me, sir. However, I am, and always will be, Amish in my heart, no matter how the church handles this.”