An Amish Year

by Beth Wiseman

  “What?”

  James sighed. “The boy is afraid that he is going to die and that you’ll bury him in a box too. If you keep letting him draw on the walls, he’ll probably draw more coffins. One for you, then his brother and sisters. The kid is afraid of dying and worried everyone else he loves will die too.” He grimaced. “Wow. You’ve got four kids. I’m surprised you didn’t figure that out.”

  Katherine forced herself to ignore his last comment. She wondered if maybe he was right. Was Gideon afraid of everyone around him dying, himself included? “That might be true. But he doesn’t understand that his father isn’t actually in the ground, that he is in heaven. So even if he is worried his family might die, he doesn’t understand what we believe.”

  “Then you’re not explaining it right. Like Elias said, you need to do something different.”

  She let her hands fall into her lap, then clenched them together. “I’ve explained it to him the same way I did with mei other kinner, and all of them had a gut understanding about heaven by the time they were Gideon’s age.”

  He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the table as his mouth twitched from side to side. Katherine finished her coffee while he pondered the situation for a minute. She jumped when he slammed his hand on the table.

  “Okay. I know what you should do.”

  Katherine waited, but James just stared at her. At this point, she was willing to try anything to help her youngest. “Is it a secret, or are you going to tell me?”

  He frowned. “Tell you what?”

  Katherine took a deep breath. How could anyone be so together one moment, but totally lost the next? “Are you going to tell me what I should do about Gideon?”

  “Oh, sure.” He nodded. “I’m going to assume that the boy has been taught the basics about Jesus, that He died for our sins, and so on.” He raised an eyebrow.

  Katherine nodded. She was skeptical that a man like James could tell her anything helpful. A nutty man who had spent very little time raising his own son.

  “Kids are visual little creatures. They have to see something to understand it. Gideon saw his father lowered into the ground, so he needs to see heaven too.”

  Katherine brought a hand to her chest. “I don’t want him to see heaven. He’s only five.”

  James grunted. “Good grief, woman. Hear me out. He needs to see it in his mind’s eye as clearly as he saw his father’s body go into the ground.”

  She looked at him and nodded slightly. “How do I help him to do that?”

  “We all see heaven differently. Gideon’s heaven won’t look like the pictures you find in books about this subject. He won’t envision it the way your other children do, or the way any other person on earth does. Gideon needs to see and feel all the beauty and love in heaven, and you need to walk him through it until that light shines brightly, until he can see his father enjoying life in our Father’s house.”

  Katherine tried to hold her tears at bay. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  James smiled. “Yes. You do. Now . . .” He reached over and patted her hand. “I have to go. I will see you here next Tuesday at the same time. And I will be praying that you bring me good news about Gideon.”

  Katherine had no idea how James got out of bed and dressed himself without getting lost in his home, or wherever he was living. How in the world did he keep track of his days? The man could barely hold on to his own thoughts. But his explanation about how to help Gideon had left her speechless.

  He picked up the suitcase she’d brought him, gave a quick wave, then walked out of the coffee shop. And this time, he wasn’t limping.

  Chapter Six

  MARY CAROL KNOCKED ON THE FARMHOUSE’S FRONT door as she and Abe shivered on the porch. James opened it dressed in a pair of black slacks being held up with suspenders, and he was wearing a long-sleeved blue shirt. Clothes just like her father and most Amish men in their community wore. And he’d gotten a haircut. He stepped aside so they could enter, and she handed him the chocolate cake. “Bonnie, you shouldn’t have,” James said, holding the cake. “But your chocolate cakes are the best, and you know how much I will enjoy this.”

  Mary Carol glanced at Abe before she turned back to James.

  “Um . . . I’m Mary Carol, not Bonnie.”

  James put the cake on the TV tray by the chair, then he popped himself in the side of the head, hard enough that Mary Carol cringed.

  “I’m so sorry! Of course you are. You’re Katherine’s daughter.” She looked at Abe in time to see him roll his eyes.

  “Do you feel like company right now? Or we can go. I just wanted you to have the cake.”

  James sat down in the worn recliner. “I would like for you to stay.” He looked at Abe, frowning. “So I guess you have to be here also. Sit. The both of you.”

  Mary Carol sat down, and after a few seconds, Abe did too. “Tell me, Mary Carol, how is your brother Stephen?” James crossed one leg over the other. “Stephen?” He smiled. “Yes.”

  “Um, he’s okay, I guess.” The truth was, Mary Carol worried about Stephen. He had detached himself from everyone, but people handled grief in different ways. “He’s having a hard time with our father’s passing. We all are, but Stephen stays to himself most of the time. He didn’t cry at the funeral either.”

  “Hmm . . .” James stroked his clean-shaven chin. “Sounds like Stephen is keeping his emotions bottled up. Someone needs to pop that cork.” He pointed a finger at her. “And that person is you. You need to get Stephen to open up to you.”

  She shook her head. “Ach, you don’t know my bruder. He was cranky even before our father died. He snaps at everyone, yells at our mudder, and refuses to go to worship service sometimes. I’m not the one to talk to him.”

  “Okay.” James looked at Abe. “Then you do it.” Abe stiffened on the couch next to her. “Huh?”

  “You heard me. You talk to Stephen. Get the boy to talk about how he is feeling. Maybe he’d be more comfortable talking to you.” James scowled again. “Although I don’t know why.” This time it was James who rolled his eyes, and Mary Carol tried to hide her grin.

  “I’m, uh, not really very close to Stephen. He’s a couple of years younger than me, and we’ve never hung out or anything.”

  “Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?” James clicked his tongue, shook his head, then locked eyes with Mary Carol. “What do you see in this guy?”

  She smiled as she elbowed Abe. “Ach, he’s a gut man. You just have to get to know him.”

  “Fine. I will talk to Stephen,” Abe said.

  “Wonderful.” James clapped his hands. “I bought some plates today.” He stood up. “And some forks. I prayed and prayed that someone would bring me a chocolate cake.” He looked up. “Thank You for that, Lord.” Then he picked up the cake. “I’m going to get us all a piece of this.”

  “He is crazy. We shouldn’t be here,” Abe whispered.

  “I told you before, I like him.” Mary Carol giggled. “But he doesn’t like you. That’s for sure.”

  “Are we going to have to come back here again?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to. I think he’s—”

  “I know,” Abe said. “You think he’s interesting. I just hope he isn’t dangerous or anything. He might go nuts, kill us, and bury us in the backyard.”

  Mary Carol slapped him gently on the arm. “Don’t say things like that. He’s just an old man whose memory is failing.”

  Abe raised one eyebrow. “That’s an understatement. He’s out of his mind.”

  “I’m going to try to find out
more about him.”

  James walked into the living room and handed them each a plate with a wedge of cake.

  “You’re not limping,” she said as he headed back toward the kitchen. He returned with his own slice. He set it on the TV tray and turned to them, looping his thumbs in his suspenders.

  “Ain’t that the craziest of things? I’ve limped for my entire life, since I was a boy. I’m missing a bone in my leg.” He stood even taller. “And I feel better than I’ve felt in years, since before I got shot.” He walked to the chair and sat down.

  “Shot?” Abe had just put a large piece of cake in his mouth.

  “Yes, shot. In the head.” James took a bite of his cake. “By a bad guy.”

  Mary Carol wondered if this could be true. Maybe that’s why he was a bit . . . off. “That’s terrible. When did that happen?”

  “When did what happen?” James frowned.

  “You just said you got shot,” Abe said loudly.

  “Kid, I’m forgetful, not deaf.” James shook his head as he stabbed at another piece of cake. Mary Carol decided to let the shooting incident go.

  “You’ve told us stories about your job with the FBI, but you haven’t told us about your family. Do you have children? Maybe grandchildren?”

  James put the empty plate on the tray. “I had a son.” He paused with a faraway look in his eyes. “I really loved him. But that’s all I have to say about that.”

  She wasn’t getting very far in her effort to know him better.

  “When you were telling us stories about your FBI adventures, you never said how long you were employed with them.”

  James hurried to the window. “Did anyone see you come here? Someone might be following you, trying to find me.” He turned to Abe. “Did you see anything? They are usually in a red car, which is mighty ridiculous since everyone knows you don’t use a red car to follow someone.”

  “I didn’t see any red car following us,” Abe said.

  “Keep an eye out for them. Two men. One of them, the older one, is always wearing a black suit. The younger guy is always wearing a white jacket.” He walked back to his chair and settled into it. “I don’t know who trained them. I see them everywhere. They blend in about as well as a tiger swimming in the ocean.”

  Mary Carol smiled when she pictured that, even though it was an odd comparison. “We will keep an eye out for them.”

  James nodded. “Good. They aren’t dangerous, just pesky.” He snapped a finger. “Hey, did I tell you about the time I got shot in the head?”

  Abe spoke up. “You started to, but you didn’t finish. What happened?”

  James sighed. “Well, it was a really long time ago. I was in a witness protection program. I had to leave my family behind for their own safety.”

  “I thought you were an FBI agent,” Abe said as he glanced at Mary Carol, grinning.

  “Kid, try to keep up.” James narrowed his eyebrows as he stared at Abe and shook his head. “First I was in protective custody, then moved to the witness protection program. Six years later—or maybe two or three—the feds begged me to become one of them.”

  “I’m sure they did,” Abe said.

  “I’m not sure you’re sure of much of anything.” James pointed to Abe. “But yes, that’s what happened. I didn’t want to join them at first. I was raised in a home that didn’t believe in violence of any kind, and I knew that I might be called to handle dangerous situations that could lead to me using a gun.”

  “Did you ever kill anyone?” Abe took off his straw hat, still a little misshapen from his sitting on it the other day, and placed it on the couch beside him.

  James stared long and hard at Abe, and Mary Carol was afraid to hear the answer. She wasn’t sure she could be friends with someone who had taken another person’s life.

  “Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to ask a person something like that? Just like you never ask a soldier if they killed anyone in battle.”

  Mary Carol swallowed hard. That sounded like a yes to her. James looked at Mary Carol. “Don’t look so scared,” he said softly. “I’ve been blessed. I never killed anyone. I was directed onto that path to save lives. Eighty-six to be exact.”

  She smiled. “Tell us more.”

  James broke into a story about how he saved a sixteen-year-old boy from committing suicide. Mary Carol listened, but her mind was somewhere else. Stephen.

  Katherine wasn’t one to spy on her children, but she was curious why Abe had come to see Stephen. As she passed by Stephen’s room with freshly folded towels in her arms, she slowed down and listened.

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” Stephen’s voice was so loud that Katherine almost opened the door to make sure everything was okay between the boys. But as she tucked the towels under one arm and reached for the doorknob, she stopped.

  “I know you don’t, but you gotta face your grief. Mary Carol is really worried about you.”

  “I knew she put you up to this.”

  Katherine held her breath.

  “Mary Carol didn’t put me up to this. A friend suggested that I talk to you.”

  “Who?”

  Katherine stayed still and listened.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Abe said. “The point is, it might help if you talk to someone. And if it’s not me, then maybe you should talk to someone else.”

  “I ain’t talking to no doctor, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  It got quiet, and Katherine heard Abe’s voice, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  “Get out of here, Abe! You have no idea how I feel!”

  Katherine latched onto the doorknob, but before she turned it, her grieving son went on.

  “I hurt! I hurt every day. It’s a kind of pain that I don’t even know how to explain. But I’m the man of the house. I can’t be crying all the time. And that’s all I want to do! I just want to run into my mother’s arms, bury my head on her shoulder, and cry. I want her to rub my back and tell me that everything is going to be okay! I’d be just like a big sissy baby! So get out of here, Abe.”

  Katherine dropped the towels on the floor, turned the knob, and rushed to where her son was sitting on the bed. Both boys froze at the sudden interruption. Stephen huffed and started to rub his forehead. She inched closer to him, motioning for Abe to let himself out. Stephen wouldn’t look at her, just kept rubbing his forehead and looking at the floor. She saw the muscles in his cheeks shift, obviously from him clenching his teeth. “Stephen.” That was all she said, and when the boy stood, she swiftly pulled him into her arms. When he tried to push her away, a fierce strength overtook Katherine, and she held him firmly until finally, he buried his head against her shoulder. At first he just held on to her tightly. Then she heard what sounded like a hiccup. His body heaved as he released the breath in his lungs and a torrent of sobs followed. She found it impossible to focus on her own pain while her son was in such agony. She continued to hold him, patting the back of his hair and telling him it was all okay.

  She was thankful for whoever it was who had encouraged Abe to talk to Stephen. She would pray for this person.

  And thank you, Abe, for having the courage to follow through on the task.

  Chapter Seven

  KATHERINE WAS TEN MINUTES LATE TO THE COFFEE SHOP, and she prepared for a verbal lashing from her father-in-law, but instead he broke into a big smile when she joined him at the table.

  “You have the light,” he said.

  “What?” She took off her black bonnet and put it on the booth beside her, then she tied the strings on her kapp. />
  “Let me rephrase that. You’ve always had the light, but today it is shining extra bright. I think you have good news.”

  Katherine smiled back at him. “Ya, I do. I think my family is starting to heal.”

  James pushed one of the coffee cups toward her. She took a sip and nearly spit out the hot liquid. “What is this?” she asked, wishing she had a glass of water. It wasn’t coffee. It was . . . sweet.

  “The waitress asked me if I’d like to try the vanilla latte, so I figured, why not?”

  “But you didn’t try it. I did.”

  “I never touch that whipped-up stuff.” He waved his hand dismissively.

  She wasn’t sure how to politely refuse the drink, so she moved it to the side.

  “So does part of that healing have to do with Gideon?”

  “Ya, I spent some time with him a few days ago and we talked about his vision of heaven. I told him I imagined heaven was full of all of our favorite things and people. It was fun to hear him describe what his heaven would look like. Lots of games, trees with candy instead of leaves, children playing tag and hide-and-seek. I told him to imagine his father was there, waiting for him.” A warm feeling washed over her. “He spent the next few days drawing his heaven on the wall. Then last night he told me I could repaint the wall if I wanted to. I think I’m going to wait a little while before I do that. Every time I see that wall, I smile.” Katherine realized that working with Gideon on this had made her truly happy, something she hadn’t felt in months. “He seems to be getting better. And I’m grateful to God for that.” She held up a finger. “And, we had another breakthrough. Apparently, someone encouraged Abe—that’s my daughter’s boyfriend—to talk to Stephen. Remember, he is my sixteen-year-old son?”

  James was still smiling. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, whoever suggested this might have saved my son’s life. Stephen finally opened up to me. Some of the things he said . . . well, they were hard to hear.” Katherine looked down, then back up at James, whose smile had faded. “Stephen admitted to me that he had been having thoughts of killing himself. His grief over his father’s death was worse than any of us realized. We all miss Elias, but Stephen’s grief was manifesting itself in a dangerous way. The good news is that he agreed to talk to a grief counselor.”