“Now that supper is finished, perhaps you would care to visit with Mommi and me in our haus, John?” Dawdi asked.
His grandfather’s voice was quiet and polite. It was also as formal as ever—and as forthright. John had never been brave enough to refuse a direct request from his grandfather. He doubted he ever would.
Though supper had felt like an eternity and he wanted nothing more than to go back to working on his designs, John nodded. “Of course, Dawdi.”
“You are such a gut boy, John.” Mommi smiled as she wrapped a hand around his elbow and tugged. An outsider might simply think his grandmother was both affectionate and enjoyed a bit of support while walking, but John knew better. There was a bit of iron in that grip. He was not going anywhere until she was done with him.
Walking slowly by her side, he looked over his shoulder and saw both Anton and Amanda watching him with wide smiles. James was sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace, actively looking like he was trying not to laugh. Even sweet Molly looked amused.
John didn’t blame any of them. Being pulled to the dawdi haus for a heart-to-heart was not exactly an uncommon experience for him or his siblings. At least once a week, his grandparents would commandeer one of them and escort him or her to their small house, which was attached to the back of the main one.
From the time he was a little boy, he’d been both excited and fearful of these visits. Sometimes his grandmother would have baked him something special. Once, his grandparents had invited him to their house to praise his good grades in school.
But just as often, one or the other would have decided that he needed a talking-to. That was a rather painful experience. Dawdi loved to talk and pound a point into the ground.
As soon as he escorted his grandmother into her kitchen, Dawdi pointed to the kitchen table. “Do sit down, John. Mommi and I thought maybe you’d like to have a cup of kaffi and a slice of apple pie?”
As the words registered, a burst of relief ran through him. Perhaps this was one of the “good” visits that he and his siblings were so fond of. “Danke, Dawdi. I would love some pie and coffee.”
Looking pleased, his grandfather sat down next to John with a hearty sigh. “Best make that a big slice, Esther. Supper wasn’t gut tonight.”
John bit his lip. He didn’t want to disrespect his mother, but his grandfather had been exactly right. Cauliflower Pizza Pie had been an especially bad idea.
“Did you see Ezra ask for seconds?” Mommi asked as she opened a cabinet door.
“I think he did. He cleaned his plate. Twice.” Dawdi ran a hand down his beard. “That boy is growing.”
Mommi shook her head as she scooped a large ball of vanilla ice cream on a slice of pie. “He ain’t growing that much. Ezra wants something. Mark my words.”
“Hmm. John, what do you think?” Dawdi asked.
“I couldn’t say.”
“You can’t or won’t?” Mommi asked as she delivered both his plate and his grandfather’s to the table.
Uh-oh. They were tag-teaming him. Maybe this visit wasn’t going to be all “good” after all. “I honestly don’t know why Ezra ate so much,” he replied slowly. “Could be he liked supper.”
Mommi shook her head as she joined them with a much smaller slice. “Nee, that couldn’t be it.”
Unable to help himself any longer, John chuckled. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“I love my daughter-in-law, I surely do. But it wasn’t good either.” After she put a napkin in her lap, she said, “Let us bow our heads and give thanks.”
John said a quick prayer, thanking the Lord for his grandmother’s apple pie—and asking for patience to get through the next hour.
After they lifted their heads again, John took a large bite and almost moaned. As bad as his mother’s casserole was, his grandmother’s pie was perfection. The apples were sweetly tart and still slightly firm. The crumb topping was tasty and filled with spices. The ice cream on top only added to his enjoyment. “Mommi, this is wonderful-gut.”
“Danke, John.” She smiled, looking pleased.
After they’d taken another couple of bites and John had poured coffee for all three of them, his grandfather crossed his legs and looked at him directly.
Uh-oh. Here we go.
“John, your grandmother and I wanted to talk to you about your baptism.”
A sinking feeling settled in his formerly very happy stomach. This was much worse than he’d anticipated. He’d been dodging a discussion with his parents about scheduling his baptism for the last two months. “What about it?”
A line formed in between Dawdi’s brows. “What do you think, boy? It has not happened.”
He couldn’t deny that. “Nee, it hasn’t.”
“John, why not?” Mommi asked. “James was baptized years ago. And your younger siblings Anton and Amanda made the decision just seven months ago.”
Seven months ago. They’d been counting. “I realize that. I’m also happy for them. You know that.”
His grandfather grunted. “Don’t see how your happiness for them matters a whole lot when your own future is in jeopardy.”
He might have been twenty-four, and on the late side for making a decision, but he doubted the Lord was all that concerned. “It ain’t hardly in jeopardy, Dawdi.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for?”
Now, that was the real question, wasn’t it?
Four months ago he would have said he wasn’t sure. Now he knew. But coming to the realization in his grandparents’ kitchen and actually saying the words felt like two far different things.
He studied them both. Rested upon his grandmother’s blue eyes, bright white hair, and lovely skin. Eyed his grandfather’s scarred face, the remnants from a bout with teenage acne. Examined the many wrinkles around his eyes, the result of having spent most of his life farming in the hot sun with only his hat protecting him.
Both of their expressions were so dear and familiar.
In many ways, he valued their opinions even more than his parents’. They’d always been thoughtful and caring and far less concerned than his parents about managing a big household. Just as importantly, he hated to disappoint them.
Feeling like he was ripping off a Band-Aid, he said, “I’ve been praying and stewing about my baptism for a while now. Something was holding me back. At first, I wasn’t sure if I needed more time, or that it simply felt like a permanent step.”
“Which was it?” Dawdi asked.
“What I’m trying to tell ya, is that it wasn’t either of those things.” Looking at them both, he said, “The truth is, I don’t want to be baptized in the Amish faith.”
The moment the words were out, he inwardly flinched. He’d never dreamed of making this decision, and certainly would have never wanted to tell his grandparents the news at their kitchen table. “I’m sorry,” he added. No simple apology was going to make his words easier to bear, though. He knew that.
His grandfather sighed. Dropped his hands to his sides. In contrast, Mommi hardly moved. Simply stared at him.
It took everything he had not to bow his head in shame. He wanted to always make them proud. Or, at the very least, never go out of his way to disappoint them on purpose. “I didn’t plan on making this decision tonight.”
“Child, you only just decided it?” Mommi asked. Her voice was blatantly skeptical.
“Kind of. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for some time. But, it wasn’t until just now that I said the words that I knew it was the right decision.”
“How do you feel?” Mommi asked.
“Sad and embarrassed because I’ve upset you.”
“Ah.” She picked up her cup. Took a long sip of her coffee.
What did that mean? John glanced at his grandfather. To his surprise, he had a small smile on his lips. “Dawdi?”
“I’m not upset, John-Boy.”
John-Boy. His grandparents were so formal in public, so well, so traditional, it sometimes took
him by surprise that they had ever done anything that varied from their strict codes of conduct.
But once they’d shared that they’d gone on a Pioneer Bus trip to Florida and stayed in a motel. When it rained for three days straight and Mommi contracted a sore throat and fever, they ended up sitting in bed and watching hours of television. And somehow, in the middle of all that, his grandfather became a huge fan of some show called The Waltons.
In it, there was a character called John-Boy who Dawdi was mighty fond of. And because of that, when John was born, Dawdi would often call him that, especially during times when Dawdi was especially pleased with him.
Never in a million years would he have imagined that this was one of those times.
“Dawdi, I’m going to be real honest with ya. I don’t know what you’re thinking right now.”
He sighed. “John, your Mommi and I have known for some time that you weren’t going to join the church.”
“How would you know that? I didn’t.”
Mommi chuckled. “The Eight, child.”
Sometimes people thought his English friends encouraged him to be like them. What was true was that it wasn’t like that at all. The reason they were so close was because they were all so different. Their differences had made them stronger.
Thinking of Andy, his heart clenched. Well, he’d always thought that, but now he wondered if that was a naive way to see the world.
“No one tried to convince me to be different, Mommi. My English friends wouldn’t do that.”
“Not even Marie?”
Though he tried to hide it, everything in his body tensed up. “Marie?”
Dawdi’s half smile turned wider. “Jah, John-Boy, and don’t play dumb. You know exactly who we are talking about. Golden-haired Marie. Your Marie. The girl who’s had your heart for all this time.”
John swallowed. “She and I aren’t a couple. I mean, she ain’t mine.”
“Of course she is, John,” Mommi said. “I remember when you all were eighteen or nineteen, she came over when she was on break from college. Every time she looked at you, she had stars in her eyes.”
John felt himself blush. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s why we have you in here, John,” Dawdi said. “You need to tell your parents, and stop dithering around.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It’s not that hard. Have you been praying?”
“Jah.”
“With an open mind and an honest heart?” Mommi prodded.
“Yes.”
After studying him a moment longer, his grandfather nodded. “If you have been doing those things, then the Lord has already helped you make your decision. You are not going to be my Amish grandson John.”
“Then what will I be?” An immediate feeling of loss sliced right through him. Maybe his grandfather was going to disown him after all?
His grandfather stood up, walked around the table, and kissed him on the brow. “You will simply be our John.”
“Is that enough?” Even though he had already made his decision, he still hated the thought of not being as close to them as he once was.
“It always was enough, child,” Mommi murmured. “Always.”
Standing up, he hugged his grandmother, loving how small and fragile she felt in his arms. Loved that she patted him on his back. Just like she used to do when he was small.
Just like she always had.
SIX
Katie paused. “Actually, I think all of us were finding our little journey boring as well—until Logan screamed.”
“Excuse me, miss,” a woman in a bright teal dress called out. “Could you help me? Oh! Sorry, I thought you worked here.”
Before Molly could correct the Englischer and say that she actually did work at the library and most certainly could help her, the woman had scurried off to Mrs. Laramie’s side.
Seriously irritated, Molly wheeled her chair down the aisle so she could watch the woman ask Mrs. Laramie, her boss at the Walnut Creek Library.
Mrs. Laramie leaned close, nodded twice, and then pointed her toward the next room.
If Molly had to guess, she’d say that the woman wanted to check out either movies or audiobooks. After the woman disappeared through the doorway, Mrs. Laramie glanced over at her and shook her head in mock dismay.
That was a game they had developed over the last two years, ever since Molly had started helping out there. At first, she’d only volunteered. Both she and Mrs. Laramie had wanted to take things slowly, wanting to see how the job and the responsibilities fit her. Being a librarian was harder than it looked. One had to be organized, well read, and quick-thinking. It was also helpful, she’d quickly discovered, to have the patience of a saint.
After six months, Molly had shown enough aptitude for the job that the librarian began asking her to fill in from time to time when they were shorthanded. Six months after that, Mrs. Laramie had offered Molly a full-time position.
Obtaining this job had been a source of pride for not only Molly but her whole extended family, too. It had proven to them all that Molly’s accident might have limited her choices but it hadn’t cost her everything. She could still have an independent job and earn her own money. Just two months ago, Mrs. Laramie had given her a raise, telling Molly that even though she was only sixteen, she was one of her library’s best employees.
Unfortunately, there were still some patrons who avoided her at all costs.
To be fair, Molly knew it wasn’t just her wheelchair that made people give her a wide berth—it was the fact that she was Amish, too. It seemed a white kapp on her head and a set of metal wheels under her feet made a lot of people think that Molly couldn’t find books or information all that well.
Remembering something her brother John often told her, about how it wasn’t possible to please everyone all the time, Molly placed a stack of books on her lap and headed toward the adult fiction section. She had an hour left of her day and she’d love nothing more than to be able to tell Mrs. Laramie that she’d taken care of all the books that had come in that afternoon.
Picking up the top book, a mystery by James Patterson, she wheeled down the aisle.
And almost ran over Danny Eberly.
Danny stepped to the side just before her front wheels knocked into his shin. “Watch out, speedy,” he teased.
“Danny! I’m so sorry!” Why couldn’t she have watched where she was going? And if she had to run into someone, why did it have to be him?
Danny, all five feet nine inches of good looks and perfection, looked down at her and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Mol. I’m all right.”
She felt herself blush. Which, unfortunately, made her feel even more flustered. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Are you truly okay?”
He held out his arms. “Good enough to still help out this weekend at Newman’s Farm.”
With effort, she tried not to notice just how big his biceps were or how broad his chest seemed under his dark blue shirt. Keeping her eyes firmly on his light blue ones so they wouldn’t drift, she swallowed. “I didn’t know you were working there now.”
“I’ve been working there for eight months, but this is the busy season, of course.”
He was looking at her like she should know why. She didn’t. “Really? What are you doing there?”
“This month I’m helping out with the annual Fall Festival. Are you going?”
“To the festival? Um, probably not.” From anyone else, she would assume he was teasing her, or maybe even being sarcastic. But Danny wasn’t like that. He wasn’t sneaky and didn’t play games. If he liked you, he was nice. And if he didn’t like a person? Well, they usually realized that real fast, too.
“You sure? You don’t even want to go on Samshdawk?”
“What’s going on Saturday?” She knew she shouldn’t even ask, but she was willing to talk about almost anything to delay him walking away.
“It’s when all the locals are going. B
elieve me, it’s a much better time than on Friday.”
She smiled at him. “It would be nice to avoid all the tourists.”
Looking put upon, he widened his light blue eyes. “You don’t even know what chaos they cause.”
Unable to help herself, she giggled. “I think maybe I’m glad about that.”
He leaned down. “Think about going Saturday night, Molly. We’re gonna have hayrides and a bonfire, and we’re opening up the corn maze.”
It all sounded like a lot of fun—and almost impossible to do while in a wheelchair. “I’ll be sure to tell my family about it. Maybe Anton and Amanda could take Ezra or something.”
“I’m sure your little broodah would have a gut time, but it’s for people of all ages, Molly. Everyone is going to have a great time.”
It was like he was forgetting that she couldn’t walk. Hoping that her voice didn’t sound too strained, she said, “It’s too bad you have to work.”
He laughed. “Jah, I’ve gotta work, but I’ll be over at the corn maze. And I’ve already been warned to be on the lookout for couples taking advantage of the rows of corn.”
He was talking about kids kissing, of course. Though she might have been only sixteen, Molly wasn’t shocked. She had four older siblings, after all. “James used to say if kids got caught it was their own fault.” Their own fault for not being sneakier, that was.
Danny grinned. “I’m already planning on not looking too hard at too many shadows among the rows. Last thing I want to do is embarrass one of our friends.”
She chuckled, just thinking about how awful it would be to run into a couple in the middle of a passionate embrace. Of course, it would even be worse to be the one getting caught. “Next Sunday at church, you’ll have to let me know what happens. I have a feeling you’re going to have more than a couple of stories.”
His smile faded. “You’re really not going to go?”
It seemed he was going to make her say it after all. “I’m stuck in a wheelchair, Danny. No offense, but I don’t think Mr. Newman’s corn field is exactly wheelchair accessible.”
The Patient One Page 4