by Lenora Worth
Leah sat down in the rocking chair and started unlacing her shoes. “Here,” Edith said, placing the dress on the bed. “You’ll see the back is done up with snaps. Some sects only use hooks and eyes, but our community’s Ordnung is less strict.”
Leah almost laughed. “It sounds like you’ve explained Amish dress to outsiders before.”
Edith shrugged. “Tourists ask sometimes.”
“Have you ever taken in anyone from witness protection?”
“Nee, not us. But others in our community, ja. We prefer not to get involved in criminal activities. But once in a while we are asked, especially since our bishop has non-Amish relatives in law enforcement. Each time, he has to decide whether the case is serious enough for us to involve ourselves. In your situation, he felt it would not disrupt our community and it would provide you with the protection you need.”
“And I won’t corrupt your children.” Leah attempted some humor. “I promise not to tell your daughters about the latest trends in fashion and makeup.”
“Danke.” Edith handed her the dress. “Try this on. I’ll wait in the hall to do up your snaps when you’re ready.” She smiled and slipped out the door.
Leah stepped into the cotton garment. The back and waist gapped as she scooped her clothes off the floor, somehow compelled to be tidy in this strange home. Then she walked to the door and cracked it open. “Ready.”
Edith stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “Gut, it looks like it fits.” She spun Leah around and did up the snaps.
“Will I always need help getting dressed?”
“Oh, you’ll get the hang of it in no time. But if you need help, my two oldest dochder are in the bedroom just across the hall.”
The dress was not formfitting but blousy. “Next, the apron.” Edith removed a gray garment from a hook and slipped it over Leah’s arms. “It pins this way. Now the kapp.”
The starched head covering looked to be made of organza. “Let’s do your hair first.” Edith studied Leah. “What a blessing it’s not short.”
Leah tucked a strand behind her ears. “What do I have to do?”
“Twist it into a ponytail, then I’ll help you pin it up.”
It took a few minutes to get the ponytail to Edith’s satisfaction. With quick gestures she twisted and wound Leah’s hair into a bun and tucked in bobby pins. “The kapp goes on like this.”
“Why do Amish women wear these?” Leah touched the lightweight covering.
“The Bible tells us to keep our heads covered. We always wear prayer kapps, so if we need to pray during the day, our heads are covered and sacred to Gott.”
Leah wondered if such trappings were necessary, but Edith obviously believed what she said, and Leah was in no position to naysay anything. As an agnostic staying with believers—and as a modern career woman staying with the Amish—Leah knew when to remain quiet.
“I feel like a hypocrite,” she murmured, after Edith stepped back and examined her.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not Amish. Somehow wearing this kapp feels...well, holy.”
Edith chuckled. “None of us are holy. We’re just ordinary. Plain. Sometimes I think it’s the Englisch who make more of Amish kapps than we do. Oh, one last thing. Take out your earrings. Plain women wear no jewelry.”
Leah had worn the simplest earrings she owned, a pair of small gold studs. Apparently even that was too much. With a sigh she removed the jewelry and laid them on the dresser.
Edith stepped back and looked her over, then nodded. “You’ll do.”
“But people will know I’m not Amish.” Leah clasped her hands. “I haven’t spoken a word of German since my college days, and I’m totally unfamiliar with your culture.”
“No one expects you to be Amish. We’ve told no one you’re in witness protection, merely that you’re someone recovering from a bad car accident. That will explain the scar. The fewer who know why you’re here, the better. Our kinner won’t say anything. All you need to do is to keep your mouth shut as much as possible and don’t talk to any Englisch.” The older woman paused. “How much Deitsch do you speak?”
“Gerade genug, um mich selbst in Verlegenheit zu bringen. Just enough to embarrass myself.” Leah gave a faint smile.
“Ah, High German. You’ll find we speak our own dialect of Deitsch. It’s quite different, though you might be able to follow some of the Sabbath meetings. Now let’s go downstairs and I’ll introduce you to the familye. It’s almost dinnertime anyway.”
Leah knew enough to recognize that the word “dinner” actually meant lunch, and “supper” meant dinner. Her stomach growled. “What about shoes?”
Edith glanced down at Leah’s bare feet. “Most unmarried women go barefoot in warmer weather.”
Leah winced. “I’ll warn you—I have very tender feet. I’m not used to going without shoes.”
“They’ll toughen up quick enough. Komm now.” Edith led the way out of the bedroom.
Leah padded behind, down the stairs, through the living room and into a spacious kitchen with an enormous wood cookstove. The two older daughters stirred pots on the stove. The younger girl set plain white plates on the table.
“Kinner, this is Leah Porte. Leah, these are my dochder.”
The girls nodded acknowledgment. Leah tried not to feel self-conscious about the obvious red scar on her face when she noticed lingering glances, but no one mentioned it.
“My mann and söhne should be here in a few minutes.” Edith picked up a spoon and stirred a boiling pot. “Leah, why don’t you slice some bread? That will give you something to do.”
The oldest daughter reached for some items and handed Leah a wooden cutting board and bread knife. “You can set up here.” She pointed to a bare spot at the kitchen counter. “This is the loaf to cut up.”
The baguette-shaped bread was still warm. “Thank you.” Leah ducked her head and sliced the bread. She stacked the half-inch slices to one side.
“Mamm, where will Leah sit?” The youngest daughter paused with plates in her hands.
“Over there, between the older girls.”
A clatter of footsteps on the porch heralded the boys, who headed to the sink to wash their hands without being told.
“Ah, is this our new visitor?” exclaimed a hearty voice.
Leah turned. A tall, burly man with the requisite Amish beard, black suspenders, and a twinkle in his eyes walked into the kitchen. She wiped her right hand on her apron and held it out. “How do you do? I’m Leah Porte.”
“Gut to meet you. I’m Ivan Byler. Welkom.” He gave her hand one hard pump. “Have you met our kinner?”
“Just the girls. Though Amos carried my suitcase upstairs.” Leah smiled at the boy.
Ivan rattled off the names of his sons, who one by one stepped forward to shake her hand.
“You have beautiful children,” concluded Leah. “Will you be having a boy or girl next?”
“We won’t know until it’s born. It’s entirely up to the Lord.” Edith rubbed her stomach and smiled. “Where’s Isaac?” she added to her husband.
“He’s coming soon. He’s just finishing up one last thing.”
“Isaac? Another son?” inquired Leah.
“Nee. Isaac is a friend. He’s working with me in the shop for a few weeks to earn a bit of extra money.”
“I understand you make furniture.” Leah directed her question at Ivan. “What kind?”
“Whatever is needed.” The man moved to the sink, pumped the handle and washed his hands. “I get special orders, but I also have some pieces in stores. Beds, dressers, tables, rocking chairs, bookshelves. I like working with wood.”
Leah detected a combination of humility and satisfaction in the man’s voice. Before coming to Ohio, she had learned pride was a grievous sin among the Amish. Obvious
ly she wasn’t going to get Ivan to brag about his accomplishments, which made her think he was a very skilled craftsman indeed.
The children seated themselves, and the older girls carried platters and bowls to the table.
“Here comes Isaac.” Edith nodded toward the driveway. “Why does he have his camera? I thought he was finished taking pictures of the shop.”
“He said he wanted just a couple more.” Ivan helped his youngest son into a chair.
“Pictures? With a camera?” Leah raised her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t use cameras.”
“Ja, well, Isaac is...is different.” Edith jerked her head toward the screen door, where the man could be seen, then added in a whisper, “I’ll explain later.”
Through the screen door, she saw a man whose bright blue shirt matched his eyes. Unlike Ivan, he wore no beard, though he had the same curly brown hair and straw hat.
“Welkom, Isaac!” called Edith.
* * *
Isaac Sommer heard the invitation through the screen door. He stepped inside. “Danke.”
“Isaac, we have a visitor. This is Leah Porte. She’s an Englischer friend of ours, staying with us a few months. Leah, this is Isaac Sommer.”
For a moment Isaac was struck dumb by the newcomer. With her dark hair tamed back under a kapp, and her chocolate eyes, he barely noticed the ugly red scar bisecting her right cheek in light of the newcomer’s stunning beauty.
He swallowed as Leah stepped forward and held out her hand. “How do you do?”
He wiped his hand on his trousers. “Fine, danke. Where do you come from?”
“California.”
“That’s far away.”
“Yes.” She glanced at the floor. “Not far enough,” she murmured.
“Please, sit. Both of you.” Edith gestured toward the table.
Isaac found himself opposite Leah and gazed at her as the family gathered around the table. When all heads bowed in silence, he found himself praying he could get to know the visitor better.
At once chatter broke out as the family reached for food. Isaac’s appetite fled. He tried not to stare.
“We hope you’ll have a pleasant stay with us.” Ivan scooped corn onto his plate and added a dollop of butter.
“I—I’m not familiar with your day-to-day activities.” The woman toyed with her fork. “I don’t want to be seen as a freeloader, but I don’t know if I can pull my weight.”
“Freeloader?” repeated Edith.
“Schmarotzer,” translated Ivan. “What is it you did before you came here?”
“I was a television journalist. I reported news stories from the street and in front of a camera,” she replied. Isaac saw her touch her wounded cheek and glance toward him. “But after my...my car accident, I couldn’t do my job anymore.”
Journalist! What kind of God-sent coincidence was that? He tamped down his excitement and smiled. “Maybe I should have you write some articles for my magazine.”
“Magazine?”
“Yes, I publish a magazine.” He pointed at the camera on the table.
“I was told the Amish didn’t use cameras.”
“Ja, well...” It was still a sensitive subject. He looked at his plate.
Into the short silence, Edith explained, “Isaac started a magazine for Plain People. He uses a computer to create it. The bishop gave him permission to use it.”
“An Amish man using a computer? But I was told...”
“Many Englischers have misconceptions of how much technology the Leit allows,” Ivan intervened. “You won’t find computers in our homes, or those cell phones so many Englischer people carry. But while we try to live not of the world, we still live in the world, and sometimes technology is needed to keep our businesses running. It does no good if we can’t compete among the Englisch and we lose our farms and our livelihood. So, some bishops have decided a little technology is allowed, as long as it doesn’t affect the...the...” Ivan groped for a word. “The zusammenhalt...the cohesion, that’s it...of our community.”
“And it hasn’t.” Isaac hoped he didn’t sound too defensive. He toyed with a glass of water.
“No, it hasn’t,” assured Edith.
“What’s the magazine about?” Leah buttered a biscuit.
“Whatever appeals to Plain People. Farming. Businesses. Animal husbandry. Land management.”
“And you want me to write for it?” she asked. He heard the twinge of sarcasm in her voice. “I don’t know anything about those topics.”
“But that’s what a journalist does, ain’t so? Learn about new topics,” he replied. Her subtle opposition just made him more determined to entice her. “Besides, you’re about to get a crash course in those topics while you stay here. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
“I already said I had no intention of being a freeloader.”
He nodded. “Gut. Then prove it. You can write me an article about what you learn.”
“Sure,” she snapped. “How hard could it be?”
He grinned. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Now, now.” Edith scooped some potatoes onto her youngest son’s plate. “We’ll keep you busy enough. Since it’s late June, most of the heavy spring work is done as far as planting, but there’s always gardening to do, and cooking, and laundry and other chores. Since you’re Englisch, you haven’t learned to do these things without electricity, so we’ll teach you. And depending on how long you’re here, when harvest comes we’ll be canning and preserving. And then there’s this little one...” She patted her stomach. “It’s due in mid-September, so an extra pair of hands in the haus will be welkom.”
“And it will keep me here at the house.” Leah ducked her head. “I’m not eager to be seen.”
“Why not?” blurted Ivan, caught off-guard. “Oh, that? No one cares how you look. We see Gott’s love in everyone, regardless.” He reached over and playfully chucked Rachel, his small adult daughter, under the chin. The young woman looked at her plate, but Isaac saw the pleased smile on her face.
“Where is the magazine sold?” Leah asked.
“All over our area,” he replied. “Among both Amish and Mennonites who run stores, you’ll find copies for sale.”
Edith added, “He also mails it to people who live farther away. He said the farthest away he’s mailed one is Australia.” She paused and seemed to marvel at the thought. “And he wants to photograph our workshop, to show what kind of furniture Ivan makes.”
“So this is all new to you, then?” Isaac asked Leah.
She met his eyes. “Yes.”
“Farm life in general, or Amish life?”
“Both.”
“Then your insights actually would be very interesting in the magazine. A lot of people talk about the so-called simple life, but when they try it, they find it’s not so simple.”
“I’m not really into the simple-life stuff.” She toyed with her fork. “I’m a modern woman, a career woman. I’m just here until I can get back on my feet and return to my profession.” She looked over at Edith. “Is that how people think about the Amish, that they’re all about simple living?”
“Yes,” groaned Edith. “You’d be surprised.”
“We don’t live a simple life—we live a life devoted to Gott.” Isaac took a bite of corn, swallowed and continued. “We think we can best do that by withdrawing from the world and doing things in a simpler way.”
“Except when it comes to using a computer to run a magazine.”
Isaac tried not to chuckle. He liked her feistiness. “Spitfire, eh?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Well, I look forward to seeing you put your money where your mouth is. You’re in for a steep learning curve.”
Leah sighed. “I know.” She rubbed her eyes as if rubbing away false pride. �
��It’s just that...well, I’m coming to realize my expensive college education and experience in the news industry hardly count anymore. All those years of schooling and work, wasted.”
“Nothing is ever wasted,” he assured her. “All you have to do is figure out how to apply what you have to your new life. Gott will provide.”
He thought he saw a flash of anger in her eyes, but perhaps he was mistaken. The woman turned to Ivan and asked, “What do you farm?” in an obvious change of subject.
“Corn, a little wheat, and we have an apple orchard.” Ivan replied. “The corn we sell. The apples we sell. The wheat we keep, along with the fruit from the rest of the orchard trees we grow. Most of our income is from my workshop.” He looked at Isaac. “I have just a few more tasks for you this afternoon. It won’t take long.”
“Ja, sure, I can get back home then.”
“May I see your workshop?” Leah asked Ivan.
“Ja, sure. After dinner, if you like.”
“We’re about finished anyway.” Edith lifted her littlest son, who was wiggling, off his booster seat. She looked frazzled. “Someone needs to show Leah around the farm, but I also want you girls—” she addressed her daughters “—to bring some food to the Yoders. They’re having a work party shortly to build a barn extension...”
“Why don’t I show Leah around the farm?” offered Isaac. “After I finish up in the shop.”
Edith lifted her eyebrows. “Ja, that would be helpful. Danke, Isaac.”
But fascinating or not, he had to remember the yawning chasm between Leah Porte and himself. It was a chasm that could not be bridged.
Copyright © 2020 by Patrice Lewis
millsandboon.com.au/survey2020
IMPRINT: M&B Love Inspired
ISBN: 9781867219644
TITLE: SEEKING REFUGE
First Australian Publication 2020
Copyright © 2020 Lenora H. Nazworth
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