Josiah for President

by Martha Bolton

  President Stoltzfus loved his barbecues. They had become a way for him to get to know the Washington establishment, otherwise known as the “movers and shakers.” He had been in office for about six months now, and it was his hope that he could get certain members of the establishment to move and shake a little less and actually get more done, but that was sometimes a challenge. Not that he wanted a bunch of yes-men and yes-women around him. He enjoyed a good debate as much as anyone. He’d told his cabinet from day one that he’d rather have them vote their conscience than what they thought he was expecting.

  Other than the food, a highlight of the barbecues was the baseball game Josiah arranged, which always pitted the White House staff and the First Family against members of Congress, their staff, and their families. It was just for fun, and no one really kept score, honoring the Amish tradition of guarding against such vanity. Josiah recognized his inconsistency, realizing that the election would have fallen under the same rule, but he chalked it up to his having authority over his barbecues and not having authority over the way elections were run. Still, the competitiveness of the election process had always troubled him. It seemed to bring out the worst in some folks. He was glad not to feel that same competiveness on the baseball field.

  Harley, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on competition. He may have lost to Josiah in the voting booth, but in the batter’s box, it was obvious that he wanted his due. He once even made an announcement over the PA system that a certain congressman had just hit a home run with the bases loaded. Harley was that congressman, of course, and his panting was so loud in the microphone, people could barely understand him. But it garnered him a smattering of applause, and that was what Harley had apparently been hoping for.

  From what Josiah had observed, Harley’s involvement in the events went only as far as one inning of baseball, three trips to the food line, and multiple complaints about the music. Banjos, dulcimers, and harmonicas obviously weren’t Harley’s style. But then what exactly was Harley’s musical style? A funeral dirge?

  “Batter up!” Senator Thurman called.

  Josiah stepped into the batter’s box and took position.

  Stacy Creighton was on the pitcher’s mound. He tilted his head to one side, and then to the other, stretching out his neck muscles. Then Stacy thrust the ball into his mitt a couple of times and suddenly hurled the sphere right over home plate.

  Josiah didn’t swing.

  “Steeeeeerike!” Senator Thurman said. There was no denying it. It had indeed been a strike.

  Josiah got into position again. This time when the ball reached him, he swung and connected with it. Unfortunately, the ball also connected with the trees on the far end of the lawn. Out of bounds.

  “Foul ball!” Thurman said.

  Yet again, Josiah took position. This time it was a perfect connect — ball against bat, and the bat won. The ball flew high into the air, over the heads of senators, congressmen, and children alike. Josiah took off running and didn’t stop until he crossed over home plate. The people cheered. His team whooped and hollered. But Josiah had no sooner touched home plate than he walked over to Senator Thurman, the umpire.

  Mark had been just about to step into the batter’s box, but he held back when he saw Josiah.

  “I don’t think I touched second base,” Josiah told the umpire.

  “We’re not even keeping score, Mr. President,” Senator Thurman said. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “It matters to me.”

  Senator Thurman announced to the crowd that the home run hadn’t actually been a home run, just in case anyone in the audience happened to be keeping his or her own personal scorecard. The crowd groaned in disappointment, but Josiah waved to them, indicating that he was fine with the call, then took his seat on the bench.

  There was no pecking order there on the White House lawn. No Democrat or Republican. No one was better or less than anyone else. Everyone was just a ballplayer, and they were all having a wonderful time.

  As soon as Josiah sat down on the bench, Benjamin, an Amish man, approached him.

  “Benjamin!” Josiah called out when he turned and saw his old friend. “Glad you came, brother!”

  “Thanks for inviting me, Mr. President,” Benjamin said. “I’ve never been to the White House before. Didn’t know they had a baseball field here.”

  “They didn’t.” Josiah smiled. “Say, you haven’t seen Bishop Miller around, have you?”

  It was obvious by Benjamin’s expression that he wished he could deliver different news.

  “He couldn’t come, Josiah.”

  Josiah was disappointed. “I understand.”

  “He said he hoped you would and to thank you for the invitation anyway.”

  “Any word … you know … on the …?”

  “Shunning?” Benjamin said, assuming that was what was on Josiah’s mind. “There are still discussions going on, but no decision yet. You’re in a delicate situation, my brother.”

  “Tell him I will accept whatever decision he makes. Will you do that, Benjamin?”

  “I will.”

  “Did you get yourself some of those ribs?” Josiah asked, changing the subject.

  “Sure did. You haven’t lost your touch.”

  Josiah laughed and thanked him again for coming. “Well, I guess I better get back to the game.”

  “Sure, sure. Go on.”

  “Good to see you, Benjamin.”

  “Good to see you, too, Mr. President.”

  FROM THE BATTER’S BENCH, SENATOR THORTON AND HARLEY watched the president as he stood in the right-field position and caught a beauty of a fly ball, making an out for his team. Onlookers cheered their president.

  “You can’t fight it, Harley,” Senator Thorton said. “His Plain ways have taken the nation by storm. Actually, if you ask me, they’re a breath of fresh air.”

  “Breath of fresh air?” Harley said. “Have you not walked by that barn and taken a whiff? Well, I, for one, am not going to stand by while our nation’s dignity is nibbled away one hoedown at a time!”

  Harley brushed at the back of his pants. It felt like they had gotten caught on something, and Harley figured it was an overreaching branch from one of the bushes. When the feeling didn’t go away, however, Harley turned around and saw it was that blasted goat nibbling on his pants. Harley tried to swat the critter away, but the determined goat wouldn’t let go of his pants.

  Senator Thorton, seeing the situation, started laughing.

  And eventually, to his own surprise, Harley did too.

  TOURISTS WATCHED WHAT THEY COULD OF THE FESTIVITIES FROM behind the safety barriers and fencing that protected the White House. Most of them were fascinated to see such an event being held on the White House lawn. The Secret Service stood in strategic locations throughout the grounds. They had adamantly advised President Stoltzfus against such public happenings, but Josiah was equally adamant.

  “It’s the people’s house, is it not?” he had said. “Why not let them watch their elected officials getting along? They’ve already seen enough of the bickering.”

  Josiah’s barbecues were similar in spirit and popularity to the annual Easter Egg Roll on the White House’s South Lawn, which drew thousands of people each spring. The barbecues had a way of making everyone feel closer to the president and their elected leaders, especially if they happened to catch a glimpse of one of the limos arriving or leaving.

  On this day, one of the tourists, a man dressed in camouflage, seemed especially interested in the festivities. It wasn’t unusual to see a military man in Washington. The men and women of the armed forces regularly visited the capital. The interesting thing about this man, though, was the fact that he had never served. He simply liked the military look, as well as the attention and respect the camouflaged clothing brought to him.

  “Thank you, soldier,” people would say as they passed by. Some would even offer their hands for a heartfelt handshake. “Thank you for all you
’ve sacrificed for our country.”

  The expressions were sincere. Most Americans respected those who had given so much of themselves for their country. The man in camouflage smiled and thanked them, even though the only thing he had sacrificed was $75.27 for the outfit and boots from the army surplus store.

  The man was that empty.

  The White House had a long history of attracting its share of emotionally unstable visitors. But more often than not, they turned out to be of no concern. All Camo Man wanted to do was get close enough to Josiah so he could tell his friends that he had been there, maybe even that he had met or talked to the president.

  That’s all he wanted.

  STORMCLOUD44/BLOG

  We are left alone in the Valley of Death. They bid us follow them, but to where? Where are our minds that were once free to choose another way? The president and his minions have taken them captive and have wired us to an eternal oblivion. They will not triumph. We will break free, and they will remember our name.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, MARK MET WITH JOSIAH IN THE OVAL Office.

  “So what’s on your mind, Mark?” Josiah asked.

  “Well, Mr. President,” Mark began, “I wanted to talk with you about your recent decision, sir.”

  “The Murphy-Stotter bill?”

  Mark nodded. “You’re seriously going to veto it?”

  “I am.”

  “If I may, sir … I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

  “Mark, I can’t sign that bill. It goes against every principle we ran on.”

  “With all due respect, sir, it’s how Washington works. You do this for that side of the aisle, and the next time you need them, they’ll —”

  “What?” Josiah cut in before Mark could finish. “Agree to do something I don’t want so the other side will someday agree to do something they don’t want, and the people will get what they don’t want? Is that the way Washington works?”

  “You’d rather have gridlock?”

  “I’d rather have a congress that voted its convictions. They don’t have to agree with me; just be honest and tell me where they stand.”

  “If you veto this bill, Mr. President, you’ll anger a third of the population.”

  “If I sign it, I’ll anger two-thirds! And I’ll be going against my own heart. I’ve never made it a secret where I stood on the issue.”

  “We ran on ideas, sir. They were good ideas, but we’re here now.”

  “Yes, and I will be voting the way I promised I would vote.”

  “The people won’t hold us to campaign promises, sir. And if they do, we’ve got three more years before the next election to mend those fences. Sign the bill, Mr. President, or it’s political suicide!”

  “Mark, my friend,” Josiah said, “have you lost your way so soon?”

  “I haven’t lost my way, Mr. President. I’m just talking about using our heads.”

  “If your head’s leading you in the wrong direction, I’d suggest letting your heart lead instead.”

  “Is it so wrong to pass a bill that, for the most part, will ultimately be for the people’s good?”

  “What about the parts that aren’t for their good? Isn’t that a bit like saying the fox only ate half the chicken?”

  “This is how the game is played, sir. We’re not breaking any hard-and-fast rules. Washington is about give-and-take.”

  “I’m just concerned that it’ll be the people who are doing the giving, and we’ll be the ones doing the taking.”

  “The people know we can’t perform miracles here. They just want us to keep everything running.”

  “I don’t recall being sent to Washington to just ‘keep everything running.’ What’s happened to your vision, Mark? Isn’t that why you brought me into this thing? To make a difference?”

  “Some differences have to be made slowly.”

  “Or not at all. Look at your compass, Mark. When in doubt, always check back in with your compass.”

  JOSIAH’S REFUSAL TO SIGN THAT BILL TOOK COURAGE, BUT AS IT turned out, vetoing it wasn’t political suicide. Josiah’s approval rating slipped some for several months following the veto, but he remained well liked and, more importantly, an overwhelming majority of Americans trusted him.

  Some tried to make his faith and his Amish ways an ongoing issue, but Josiah’s quick wit and humble heart deflected most of that. Even Harley was running out of things to complain about. Almost.

  With the holiday season approaching, there was growing speculation as to whether President Josiah would take part in the traditional lighting of the national Christmas tree.

  “He won’t use electricity himself, but he’ll turn on electric Christmas tree lights? Smacks of hypocrisy, if you ask me,” Harley said on one news program. And another. And another.

  Harley loved making the rounds with his criticisms.

  Harley attended the holiday ceremony, though, positioning himself close enough to the president that he would be in any photos, which were sure to get national and international exposure. When it came to publicity photographs, Harley was the polar opposite of Josiah. While President Josiah felt being photographed could lead to pride, Harley was more than happy to take that trip. He also wanted to be close enough to any and all reporters so that he could continue getting in a few under-the-breath jabs at his old rival.

  “Funny, isn’t it, how this president won’t use electricity, but he’ll participate in this grand display of electric power,” he’d said to anyone close enough to hear him.

  Harley knew Josiah would catch the remark on the news programs, but to Harley’s annoyance, Josiah didn’t take the bait. He seemed to have developed a knack for recognizing Harley’s verbal traps and could navigate his way through the minefield quite skillfully.

  That didn’t stop Harley, though. Losing a debate or an election never seemed to stop Harley. His mouth could accommodate both feet quite easily.

  When it came time to light the tree, Harley watched as White House staff lit the candles on the tree. Before everyone’s eyes, the tree became an old-fashioned, elegant display of glowing, holiday cheer. The DC Fire Department monitored the situation carefully, but all went well. The crowd gasped and then applauded in awe.

  Harley mumbled something under his breath and walked off in a bit of a huff. It wasn’t a Christmas tiding. Scrooge would have been proud.

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING, AS THEIR HUSBANDS DISCUSSED THE nation’s issues in the Oval Office with the president’s cabinet, Elizabeth and Cindy took a stroll through the Rose Garden.

  “Elizabeth, would you mind if I asked you something?” Cindy said.

  “Why, not at all, dear,” Elizabeth answered.

  “How did you keep from getting bitter over the things that have happened in your life?”

  “I assume you’re referring to our daughter?”

  Cindy nodded. “You have such strong faith. But how do you hang on to it when things go so horribly wrong?”

  “It hangs on to me.”

  “And if we had lost the election, you would have been okay with that too?”

  “If that was God’s will, then yes, I would have had to be okay with it.”

  “So how do you get to that place?”

  “Contentment? You hang on … and you let go. The fact that I’ve forgiven the driver doesn’t alter the truth. But my not forgiving him would alter my future. That driver took a big part of my heart from me that night. I don’t have to give him the rest of it.”

  “Then maybe that should be your cause.”

  “My cause?”

  “Every first lady has a cause. Maybe yours can be forgiveness. Most of us have to forgive somebody for something, and we need to be forgiven ourselves.”

  “I could do that, jah.”

  “And you don’t need any fund-raisers for forgiveness.”

  LATER THAT EVENING, AS ELIZABETH AND JOSIAH PREPARED TO turn in for the night, Elizabeth turned to her husband and asked, “So is it everything you tho
ught it would be?”

  “The presidency?”

  “ Jah.”

  “Harder. A lot harder,” he said. It had been everything they’d thought it would be, and nothing they’d thought it would be.

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “The lines have blurred,” Josiah said. “Hard to tell them apart anymore.”

  “Between the two parties?”

  “No. Right and wrong.”

  “Trust what’s inside you, Josiah,” Elizabeth said. “Do what you know is right.”

  Josiah nodded. “Do you think I’ve made any difference here?” he asked.

  “Time will answer that,” she said.

  The question of whether Josiah’s presidency had made a difference in Washington could only be addressed by each individual’s heart, but there was at least one tangible proof that it had made some difference in the world: the Nobel Peace Prize committee’s decision to award the prestigious honor to President Josiah Stoltzfus. This gentle man had led by example, and the world had noticed.

  Josiah didn’t quite understand the honor. Why give an award for simply promoting peace? he wondered. Isn’t that what we all should be doing?

  Because of that belief, Josiah didn’t attend the actual ceremony. Vice President Mark Stedman accepted the award for him. Josiah was grateful for the honor, of course, but he had work to do. Besides, it was meat-loaf night at the White House, and he had promised the kids a game of checkers after dinner.

  CHAPTER 21

  JOSIAH COULDN’T BELIEVE THAT IT HAD BEEN MORE THAN A year since he’d been elected president. Even though he’d held many press conferences throughout the year and kept the nation informed of what was going on in Washington, it was time now to deliver his State of the Union address. The president was gathering his thoughts on the eve of the big day when Elizabeth stepped into the Oval Office.

  “Let’s get away,” she said. “Go for a ride. It’s a beautiful night.”

  “That would do us both good, jah?” Josiah said, dropping his pen onto the desk, happy for the interruption. “I’ll have them bring the limo around.”

  “No, not the limo,” Elizabeth said, gently placing her hand over his. “Tonight, let’s make it just you and me.”