by Mary Ellis
During supper, Katie entertained the family with stories about the end-of-the-year picnic at school. Then Rebekah described in detail the odd goings-on of two couples at Mrs. Pratt’s B&B. Sarah interjected her observations until Mamm put a stop to their fascination with Englisch tourists. At least none of the Beachy females had heard about the strike in Ashland. Why would they? Just like his daed had said—it was of no concern to anyone Amish.
When Caleb finished supper, he left the house for a long walk through the woods. The substantially cooler temperatures under the trees refreshed his spirit. With the morning’s events running through his mind, he weighed the various possible outcomes. In the end he did what he should have done in the first place. He sat down on a mossy log and prayed—a habit neglected for a long time. Please, Lord, show me what to do. How can I honor my father while respecting my fellow man, even if he’s an Englischer? Give me patience, give me strength, and most of all give me peace. Let me rest knowing You will take care of this.
Caleb walked back to the house where his father sat reading in his chair and his mother darned socks in the front room. Briefly he considered joining them, perhaps to pick up the New Testament where he’d left off. But instead he went to bed and slept like a baby that night, deep and dreamless. The next morning, he threw back the covers full of energy. He knew exactly what to do and found his father at the kitchen table with his first cup of coffee.
“Where’s mamm? Should I get out a box of cereal for us?” he asked.
Eli peered up with red-rimmed eyes. “Let her sleep for another hour. I told Jack to pick everyone up an hour later. We’ll give the construction site time to sort things out.”
Caleb doubted an hour would make much difference, but he didn’t say so. Eager for something to do, he sliced ham off the bone to fry instead of their usual bacon. Taking his lead, Eli cracked eggs into a bowl, added milk, and scrambled them with a fork. After he poured the mixture into a skillet, his father said, “Looks like we can survive one morning without womenfolk taking care of us.”
“Who says men are helpless in the kitchen?”
However, by the time Elizabeth arrived downstairs, Caleb had overcooked the ham and burned the toast while Eli had created a mess in her favorite skillet. Both men were pleased with their efforts. When Rebekah and Sarah left for Country Pleasures and Elizabeth headed to the henhouse for more eggs, Caleb and Eli sat down to eat. It was blissfully quiet in the kitchen for a full two minutes.
“Have you given much thought about today, son?” asked Eli. “Will you cross the picket line with us?”
Caleb chewed and swallowed his rubbery ham, and then balanced his fork on the plate. “I couldn’t think of much else last night. After I turned the matter over to God, I slept well, surprisingly enough.”
“Not surprising to me.”
“Jah, but you’ve got more experience with praying than me.” Caleb wiped his mouth on a paper towel. “I agree with what you said in the van. If I’m Amish—and that’s what I want to be—then a labor strike has nothing to do with me. Part of me hates crossing their line, but I know it’s what I must do. You’re my boss besides my father. I cannot live in two worlds.”
Eli concentrated on his breakfast. “I’m glad prayer helped you make the right decision. Our lives aren’t easy. According to Scripture, they’re not meant to be. Paradise awaits those who live by Christ’s example. But each time you deny your willfulness, the next day becomes a little easier.”
Caleb pictured sheep mindlessly following each other into the slaughterhouse, but shook off the image. “I hear Jack’s van in the yard. I’ll get my tool belt.”
When Eli’s carpenters arrived in Ashland, they found matters hadn’t simmered down at the site. Local police and the sheriff’s department were engaged in verbal disputes with several angry strikers. As soon as law enforcement cleared the driveway for a cement hauler, strikers surged from the other side to fill the gap. Two trucks laden with building materials blocked the road with no place to go. Not until the sheriff dragged several men away in handcuffs did the protestors move their picket line onto the sidewalk.
Jack’s van crept through the opening in the fence behind a paneled van of nonunion plumbers. However, they did not cross the line unnoticed.
“Respect your fellow workers!” yelled a striker.
“How can you sleep at night?” hollered another.
“Go home, you scabs!”
A few hurled foul language while Caleb and the crew stared straight ahead. Josiah and Daniel turned pale as skim milk. Inside the fence, an armed security guard eyed them carefully as they entered the office carrying tool belts, lunch coolers, and coiled extension cords for Jack and Bob.
The situation outside didn’t make for an enjoyable workday, no matter how grade A the quality of wood. No one left to go out for lunch. Jack checked twice on his truck, parked only a hundred feet from the angry strikers. While the men sawed, hammered, and stained, they talked little and joked not at all. Everyone wanted this project finished as soon as possible. Even Bob, who’d been known to take fifteen-minute coffee breaks, never left his sawhorse. Instead he measured and cut, measured and cut, board after board, like a machine. By quitting time, the office for the senior law partners was starting to look magnificent. But no one stood around slapping each other’s back or snapping photos with cell phone cameras.
When Eli’s crew walked outside with other nonunion tradesmen, Caleb noticed the private security detail had increased by threefold. Local police and the sheriff’s department were still positioned at the gate to the complex. The number of strikers hadn’t dwindled during the day, despite arrests. In fact, some women had joined their ranks carrying placards. One sign read, “Honk to support the families of Ashland’s union plumbers.”
Several passing cars honked as Jack’s van crawled through the gap in the fence, heading to the county highway. The pickets stepped back to allow them through. No nasty profanity or name-calling rang out as the carpenters remained motionless as statues inside the van. Caleb thought the worst was behind them, that they had survived the ordeal with little personal affront. But as he turned his focus toward the window, a twenty-something man in jeans and a dark T-shirt spit on the glass, inches from Caleb’s face. Shame filled every inch of his body. For a brief moment, his throat swelled shut with emotion. Caleb closed his eyes and remained oblivious to his surroundings until out of Ashland. When Jack braked to a stop in his driveway, he staggered from the van like an old man.
“We should finish the contract within two weeks instead of three at the rate we’re going,” said his father, halfway up the walk. “Then everyone will have a month off to cut hay, plant soybeans or a late corn crop, or help their wives in the garden.”
“Time off for the men is a good idea. And I’ll stick with the project out of respect for you, but when it’s done I quit,” said Caleb. “I need to find another job—something far removed from the Englisch world, if me becoming fully Amish is ever going to work.”
10
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell
For four days, Caleb endured crossing the picket line to work on the new law offices of Ashland. He put up with the strikers’ heckling, the hateful glares, the sign waving, and the occasional foul language to prove something to his father...and to himself.
To Eli, he wanted to prove he knew how to take orders like every other working man in America. And to himself he wanted to show he could tamp down his need for individuality and personal expression. An Amish man submitted to his district, to his ministers, and to their Ordnung. Caleb might demonstrate these traits, but he hadn’t necessarily proved anything. But just like any other learned behavior, progress often begins with baby steps.
At least he had honored his father. And God thought that was important enough to make one of His commandments.
Inside the law offices, work proceeded at a rapid pace. Conference rooms, libraries, executive offic
es, and break rooms took shape with the best wood, brass, beveled glass, and imported area rugs that money could buy. The construction crew of Eli Beachy would have an accomplishment they could be proud of, if such things mattered to six Amishmen. Even Bob and Jack said little and labored industriously to distance themselves from the dispute as quickly as possible. Most nonunion tradesmen took no pleasure in crossing a picket line.
Today everyone held their breath when the van left the office building for the last time before the weekend. Another five days, maybe six, and they would be done. Relief washed over Caleb like a shower when the van turned onto a rural back road. The sight of farmers in their fields, either on tractors and driving teams of draft horses, salved his soul. This past week he wished he’d become a full-time farmer or a furniture craftsman like Adam Troyer—anything but a carpenter.
Caleb showered as soon as he arrived home. The scent of sage, onion, and celery meant his mamm was cooking chicken soup, one of his favorites. After supper, he planned to call on Josie. It had been five days since he’d last seen her pretty face, and he’d become a lonely man. When Caleb exited the bathroom in clean clothes and freshly washed hair, his daed was waiting at the table.
“Have a minute, son?” asked Eli.
Crossing his arms, Caleb leaned against the kitchen counter. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“We’ve made good progress this week, so you don’t have to return to Ashland on Monday.”
This was the last thing Caleb expected. “I told you I would finish the project. Are you firing me?” He didn’t hide his astonishment.
“No, nothing like that. Josiah has a nephew who needs a job. The young man is getting married this fall and wants something more dependable than occasional side work. Josiah says he’s good with hand tools.” Eli drummed his fingertips on the table. “This past week has been tough, besides a constant reminder of your former life as an Englischer. I thought we could end your misery a week early.” Eli met Caleb’s gaze. Considering the deep lines around his eyes, the week hadn’t been easy for his father either.
Caleb’s initial thought was the loss of one week’s wages. He’d been trying to rebuild his savings since buying the horse and buggy. But Plain men weren’t supposed to be overly concerned with money.
Secondly, without a job he would be stuck at home with little to do. Most of the spring planting was already finished.
But giving the position to Josiah’s nephew made sense for both of them. Caleb would never be comfortable working for his father, no matter how Amish he became. “Jah, it’s for the best, I suppose.”
Eli stroked his long dark beard. “I’m not good at phrasing things in a diplomatic way. You might have noticed that over the years.” He arched an eyebrow and smiled.
It took Caleb several seconds to realize that his father was joking. “Diplomacy isn’t a subject taught in school and few are born with a natural ability.” He uncrossed his arms, willing himself to relax.
“I wasn’t gifted with that particular talent, so I hope you’ll take what I’m about to say as advice instead of criticism.” Eli allowed a few moments to pass. “Since you came home, you’ve been concerned solely with yourself: how to readjust to our Ordnung, earn a living, buy a rig, and ridding yourself of Englisch clothes, tools, habits, and mind-sets. It’s time to think about somebody else for a change.”
Caleb felt the back of his neck start to sweat. “I’ve tried to help you and Mamm around the farm with chores. I worked for James Weaver without pay in his sugar shack. And I’ve mediated between Sarah and Rebekah on more than one occasion.” He forced a small but sincere smile.
Eli chuckled. “I have noticed, and we’re in your debt. But I want you to look beyond our family and neighbors.”
“I take it you have someone in mind?”
“I do. Your old friend Albert.”
“Albert Sidley?” he asked, despite knowing only one Albert.
Following an affirmative nod, Caleb tried to remember his old pal. Albert had refused to write back after Caleb moved to the city. He had made no effort to get in touch since Caleb returned. Now that their district had split into two, the Sidleys attended preaching services elsewhere. According to Sarah, Albert’s family lived in the most woebegone farm in the county after Mrs. Sidley died many years ago. No matter how many frolics the district scheduled to paint, repair, or restock the pantry, conditions returned to normal within a year or two. “What made you think of Albert?” he asked.
“Ach, that family is always in need of assistance. Recently I heard that the health of John Sidley has deteriorated, so I doubt things have improved for the boys.” Eli pushed up from the table and limped to the sink for a glass of water. Sitting for any length of time stiffened his knees and hips. “If we’re looking for people to help, the Sidleys were the first that came to mind. Once you focus on someone else’s problems, yours won’t seem so burdensome.” His voice dropped to a soft caress.
“I might be ready to take advice along those lines, but how do I begin? I haven’t talked to Albert in years. Sarah said that when she stopped there to get my Cleveland address, Albert was downright hostile. He’s angry that I moved away and never responded to the letters I wrote.”
Eli shuffled back to his chair with his water. “Those Sidleys were never easy to reason with or eager to accept the district’s help. But maybe Albert will listen to you, Caleb.”
“You think one stubborn man might listen to another stubborn man?”
“Something like that.” A smile spread across Eli’s face—an infrequent expression lately.
Caleb’s mind wandered back to his schoolyard and teenage years. He’d gotten along well with Albert. They shared similar interests such as riding, fishing, and exploring the forested hills. One year they’d built a treehouse in the woods about midway between their two farms. Neither of them knew who’d owned the land and to this day, Caleb still didn’t know. Carrying canteens, old quilts, and bags of snacks, they met at the treehouse to sleep under the stars on summer nights. While munching cookies, they would invent stories about early pioneers while they waited for deer to come browse the nearby berry bushes. Neither of them hunted deer after watching those gentle does and fawns. Even the bucks seemed trusting and timid—not exactly worthy opponents for high-powered rifles with night vision scopes.
Albert only went squirrel or rabbit hunting after that summer, and only when they needed meat for the stewpot. The Sidleys were always in financial straits. Either their small farm was too worn out to produce or his daed was too untalented or lazy to coax much from the soil. Caleb suspected John Sidley drank in secret, but Albert refused to talk about it. When Mrs. Sidley died giving birth to her fourth son, life on that hardscrabble homestead went from bad to worse.
Feeling a sorrowful pang of nostalgia, Caleb met his father’s eye. “I’ll go Monday after morning chores to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You’ll find plenty if you’re looking for holes to patch in the roof or fences to mend. That house should probably be torn down and a new one built. I’m hoping you’ll look beyond the surface. Maybe you can give Albert something that will change the rest of his life.”
Caleb scratched a mosquito bite. “You mean teach him carpentry?”
“If he’s willing to learn, but I wouldn’t suggest that right after ‘hello.’ Start with getting the Sidleys straightened around, but make sure Albert works with you. They have too much done for them and that could be part of the problem. Too many kind folks cleaning up the mess and sticking a bandage on their problems. Albert might slam the door on your good intentions, but it’s worth a try.”
“I agree. He might be willing to learn after all these years. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself gets boring after a while. I know it did for me up in Cleveland.” Caleb hadn’t meant to divulge that detail, but it slipped out unintentionally.
Eli let the comment slide. “I plan to pay your wages for next week while you’re at Albert�
�s.”
His chin snapped up. “That’s not necessary. If I’m no longer working for you, I shouldn’t get paid.”
“You had planned to work another week before quitting. Besides, whatever help you give them relieves the district of its burden for a while. Believe me, you might discover the task more challenging than the Ashland office building, even in the middle of a labor disagreement.”
“A week, no more. I won’t take charity if an Amish man is supposed to give without expecting anything in return.”
“One week,” agreed Eli. “Now I need to find out why my gourmet supper hasn’t been started yet.”
“Maybe because Mamm is no gourmet,” Caleb joked, experiencing a level of compassion that had been as long absent as his father’s smile.
On Sunday morning Josie repinned her hair for the third time, attempting to contain all stragglers neatly inside the bun.
“I don’t understand why you’re fussing so much,” said Laura. Her schwester had entered the bedroom they shared very quietly. “It’ll be hidden under your kapp anyway.”
“I want to look nice at my first membership class.”
Laura flounced down on her twin bed. “But why bother? Unless a special person will be at the class.” She dragged out her words for emphasis.
Josie put on her head covering and studied her reflection in their small hand mirror. Her face was already tanned. She’d better switch to her wide-brimmed bonnet whenever working in the garden. “You’re right about someone special. My best friend in the whole world will be there. If I get there early, I plan to save her a seat.” After a final perusal, Josie added a slicker of ChapStick, loving how it tasted like lemonade.
“Sarah isn’t the Beachy I had in mind. Didn’t you wear your favorite dress for Caleb?” She tugged the hem of Josie’s apron.