The Amish Voice
Hannah Schrock
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Becka Raber stacked and restacked the potatoes for what felt like the millionth time. She hated working at their familye’s farm stall, just like she hated being Amish at the best of times. She tucked the stray strand of chestnut hair back beneath her kapp before taking a seat at the checkout counter. With her chin resting on her hand, she glanced out the window and dreamed of a different life.
Ever since she was old enough to comprehend her life and the differences between it and the Englischers that drove past the farm stall, Becka had believed she was born into the wrong familye.
Her entire familye was dedicated to their plain way of life, but Becka felt restricted by it all. She saw it as preventing her from experiencing new things, preventing her from being her true self.
But how could she tell her parents this?
How could she tell them that, despite their teachings and the example they had set for her since birth, she didn’t like her life. That she hated working in the farm stall; that she wanted more? Becka knew there wasn’t a way to tell them without hurting them, so she kept her discontent to herself. She was counting the days until her rumspringa would start on her sixteenth birthday. Then she could experience all things Englisch and go out and find herself.
Becka was certain that would happen. That she would dress in Englisch clothes and feel like the person she was meant to be. Maybe she could find a job that didn’t involve potatoes and jams and she could finally be happy.
A heavy sigh escaped her as she watched yet another Englisch car drive by. Perhaps she would even own a car. Just as it did whenever she dreamed of this different life, guilt washed over her. She shouldn’t feel this way, feeling this way was betraying her familye, her close-knit community, but Becka couldn’t help it in the least.
She had never had her schweschder’s delicate hands when it came to quilting. She lacked her mother’s aptitude for growing vegetables, and her father’s grace when it came to working with animals. The only thing Becka could do well was talk. And too much, according to her familye.
That’s why they made her shop steward in the family farm stall when she left school at the age of fourteen. Becka had a way with words that not only intrigued Englischers, but also made them buy more of the family’s produce and home-made products.
But Becka didn’t want to sit in a farm stall for the rest of her life just because she wasn’t good enough to do anything else. She wanted a vocation, something that would set her apart from her family. Conformity was such a big part of life in their plain community that wanting to be different was akin to dressing Englisch.
Gravel crunched beneath the wheels of a buggy outside. Becka sat up straight and looked out the window.
Her heart jumped into her throat; her cheeks flushed red as she quickly adjusted her dress to make sure she looked presentable after having just stacked potatoes. She glanced at the pyramid and shook her head. What had her life come to that she found joy in stacking potatoes into a pyramid?
It was him.
The first time Becka saw him her heart had skipped a beat. She wasn’t of courting age yet, but that didn’t mean she didn’t acknowledge the strong attraction she felt for the boy who was climbing out of his buggy. He usually came to buy vegetables, and sometimes also something sweet. Becka had seen him at church a few times but their congregation was so big it was impossible to know everyone by their first name. She had once considered asking her mother about him, but knew that would be frowned upon.
So she spent her days tending the farm stall and waiting for him to come by instead. He wore his wide brim hat low over his eyes, revealing the jet-black hair at his nape.
His eyes, she knew, were the color of fresh foliage, and when he smiled she knew she would catch her breath. He was the only highlight in her life at this point in time.
Becka sat up a little straighter as he walked into the farm stall. He picked up a woven basket and headed to the vegetables. Potatoes, carrots, leeks, tomatoes and celery made their way into the basket. He glanced at her briefly over his shoulder. Was that a smile? Becka swallowed, trying her best to seem unfazed.
He approached the checkout counter and Becka mentally calculated the amount due. She gave him the total and he pulled out a few notes which he handed over to her. “Denke.”
One word was all she got before he walked out of the farm stall and back to his buggy.
It was pathetic, Becka thought as the buggy pulled away. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life waiting for a moment to see him. She had to find purpose, to find herself.
Just a few more weeks until her rumspringa would begin. A smile curved her mouth as she thought of the freedom she would be allowed. She wouldn’t be going away like one of her schweschders had, to visit her Englisch aunt, or even on a short holiday with other kids who were also on rumspringa. In fact, no plans had been made.
But that didn’t bother Becka in the least, because once she was on rumspringa, she would have the freedom to make plans. Sure, she would still need to tend the farm stall and obey her parents, but at least the journey to finding herself would begin.
She thought of the handsome boy who had just left and sighed. Perhaps once she was on rumspringa, she would have the courage to talk to him.
Perhaps she would meet someone more interesting, someone who would talk to her first. Becka stood up and headed to the pyramid of potatoes, the top of which had just been carried out the door by the handsome subject of her thoughts, and which now needed to be restacked.
Once the pyramid was rebuilt, Becka checked to see that it was indeed time to close up shop. She cashed up the money they had made for the day before locking the farm stall.
With a heavy heart, she began her walk back to her familye home, a short distance from the farm stall. Worse even than spending your day in a farm stall was going home to your perfect Amish familye, knowing you weren’t perfect at all.
Chapter 2
Aaron Fischer took the reins, “Step up.”
The horse settled into an easy trot homeward. He glanced back at the farm stall one last time and wondered when he would gather the courage to talk to her.
He visited to the farm stall at least twice a week to buy vegetables. His mother insisted their vegetables were the best in town, and yet he never seemed able to form a coherent sentence once he was there, despite his best intentions.
Since his first visit to the farm stall, he had been unable to stop thinking about her. He didn’t even know her name, but he knew that the shade of blue of her eyes reminded him of a cloudless sky. The color of her hair reminded him of their chestnut gelding. Her skin reminded him of cream. Aaron groaned, shaking his head. This was ridiculous; he sounded like a fool, even to himself.
He turned onto the dirt road leading to their farm. One day all of this would belong to him. He was the eldest and only son of Burke Fischer, and the Fischers had owned this dairy farm for the past five generations.
It was in his blood just as much as being plain was. Aaron knew all there was to know about cows. He knew more a
bout their dairy operation than his father, which was not a mean feat by any measure. He enjoyed the hard work, the long hours, and most of all he enjoyed knowing that their farm supplied most of the county with their dairy requirements.
Many found the routine and the hard work boring, but Aaron enjoyed knowing what each day would bring. He enjoyed knowing that at the end of it he would find solace in contributing to his familye and the future of their farm.
One day he would find a wife and he would bring her here to build a life with him, but first he had his rumspringa ahead of him. It was a rite of passage, an expected experience for Amish youngsters to experience the outside world. Aaron had been set to go on rumspringa the year before, but his father had fallen ill with the flu and he had to forego his rumspringa to take care of the farm and his familye. But now it was time.
In a few weeks his rumspringa would start. He would be free to experience all things Englisch, to make sure that being Amish was what he wanted from his life, but Aaron already knew.
He wanted to be baptized into the church. One day perhaps to serve as an elder, like his father. And he wanted to continue growing their dairy farm. What he couldn’t understand was how it was that he had enough courage to lead a life preordained for him since his birth, but he couldn’t seem to gather enough courage to talk to the girl at the farm stall.
The Raber farm stall had been running for years and, as a young child, Aaron had always gone there with his mother. When he was old enough, he had taken over the run to the farm stall. Over the last few months, he was always sure to forget something whenever he went so that he could return to collect whatever he had missed from his mother’s list.
Today it had been the onions.
A smile curved his mouth as he brought the buggy to a stop behind the barn. He knew his mother would be upset, but he also knew that two onions still remained in the pantry. After tending to the horse, he grabbed the basket and headed for the kitchen.
The scent of carrot stew greeted him as he opened the door. “Gut, you’re back,” his mother said over her shoulder with a smile.
“Jah. Here’s everything you asked for. They didn’t have onions, said they’d be getting some tomorrow.” Aaron crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping Gott would forgive him for the white lie.
“Ach, I guess the two in the pantry will last until the day after. Would you mind going again?”
A smile curved Aaron’s mouth. “I’d be happy to, Mamm. You know I don’t mind doing the shopping for you.”
Aaron packed away the purchases before heading out to the dairy. It was almost milking time but he had a few minutes left to think about the girl at the farm stall. He wondered how old she was, if she had already been baptized, but more than anything he wondered if she was courting.
She was attractive and although they had barely had a conversation, there was a kindness in her eyes. Aaron had noticed gentleness there as well. As if she was just waiting for something to happen.
Was she waiting for him to talk to her or was she simply eager to get rid of him whenever he arrived at the farm stall?
“We’re ready,” one of the hands called out as Aaron walked into the diary. He walked over to the machines they had received the bishop’s permission to use. When their dairy operation had expanded five years ago, it became impossible to milk two hundred cows by hand twice a day. They had kept on all the workers who had previously been responsible for the hand milking, but now milked by machine. The hands checked the cows during the automated milking procedure and made sure everything ran smoothly.
Aaron checked the time; they had two hours before the milk truck would arrive. It was time to get to work. He pushed all thoughts of the pretty chestnut-haired girl aside and pushed up his sleeves. He would see her again in two days and perhaps then he would have the courage to talk to her. At least ask her name.
Chapter 3
It was finally here. The time she had been waiting for for so long, Becka thought as she walked towards a group of Amish kids gathered in a field. Her rumspringa had begun and tonight would be her first visit with other Amish kids without the strict rules of the ordnung hanging over their heads.
Some had been on rumspringa for a while yet, and wore Englisch clothes; others carried cell phones, and one even played modern Englisch music as they gathered in a circle around a bonfire. She had heard about these rumspringa gatherings, but she hadn’t realized how many people would be attending.
“I can’t believe how many people are here,” her friend, Eva Stoltzfus said beside her, equally in awe.
“I know,” Becka scanned the group of kids, all from different congregations, for a familiar face but she didn’t recognize anyone.
Becka did however recognize the barrels of home brewed beer. Her father drank it on occasion, but her mother refused to, claiming it tasted awful. Becka had never been even slightly tempted to try it.
She loved having Eva to experience it all alongside. Just yesterday that had gone into town before the farm stall opened to try on Englisch clothes. Becka couldn’t believe how tight most of the clothes were. The sales lady had assured them that it was perfectly normal but both girls had left without making a purchase.
“We should have bought those jeans,” Eva whispered to Becka as they noticed a group of girls wearing Englisch clothes.
“Maybe next time. They didn’t feel right,” Becka responded, taking a seat on the logs that were placed in a circle around a bonfire. “They were way too tight.”
“It’s supposed to be like that. Look, they fit like a second pair of skin,” Eva chuckled and took a seat beside Becka.
A few girls came over to introduce themselves to Becka and Eva a short while later. Becka was surprised to find them quite so friendly. They discussed their different congregations for a while before inviting Becka and Eva to join them on a road trip to the city.
“We’re going to be a group of about ten or fifteen. It’s all planned out. We’ll be leaving for the city on Thursday next week and we are to stay for a week.”
“How will you all get there?” Becka asked, intrigued at the idea of going to a city.
“We’re taking the bus and one of the guys has a friend who works in a youth hostel. We’ll be staying there.”
“My parents would never allow it,” Eva said, shaking her head before a frown creased her brow. “Becka, are you considering going?”
Becka shrugged, “I don’t know, but what’s the use of rumspringa if we don’t try something different. I think it will be fun.”
“It’s going to be so much fun. Just think; no ordnung, no parents…” the girl beamed and Becka felt the excitement start to flutter in her belly.
“Maybe you should just ask your mamm,” she encouraged Eva who was already shaking her head.
“Nee denke. I have no intention of going to the city.”
“Well, think about it, like I said, we’re going to be quite a group,” the girl offered a last incentive before walking away.
“Becka, you can’t go,” Eva said, shaking her head. “What if you get into trouble and mess up your chance to be baptized?”
Becka just sighed. She wasn’t about to tell Eva that she had no intention of being baptized. “I think it will be a novel experience. I’m going to ask my parents, I’m sure my mamm will say jah. My schweschder went to visit an Englisch cousin in the city on her rumspringa…” Becka stopped midsentence when Eva held up her hand and frowned. “What is it, Eva?”
Eva leaned closer, “There’s a boy over there. He’s watching you. He hasn’t looked away from you once. Do you know him?”
Becka shook her head before her heart unexpectedly skipped a beat and a nervous lump knotted her throat. “I – uhm. Nee.”
“Ach nee, he’s coming over here,” Eva announced nervously.
Becka held his gaze as he moved towards them. She had seen him so many times that she knew every curve of his face. He stopped in front of her with a foolish smile. “Fancy seeing
you here.”
Becka laughed, “Jah, it is. I’m surprised you recognized me without a pyramid of potatoes.”
He chuckled and held out his hand, “I’m Aaron Fischer.”
Becka swallowed in surprise and smiled, “I’m Becka Raber.”
“And I’m Eva Stoltzfus, if anyone cares,” Becka could hear the friendly mockery in Eva’s voice and smiled briefly at her friend before turning back to Aaron.
Everyone knew of the Fischer dairy farm. It was the biggest dairy farm in the county and Aaron Fischer, according to what she had heard, stood to inherit the entire enterprise. Never, not for a single moment, had she realized that the boy who so often visited the farm stall, was Aaron Fischer.
Just last week she had come to the conclusion that he was either dim-witted, very forgetful, or that he also liked her. Because he always came back a day or two after to buy whatever he claimed to have forgotten before. “Were the onions enough?”
Aaron laughed, shaking his head, “Jah, my mamm swears by your vegetables. You really have a gut hand at growing produce.”
Becka shook her head, pursing her lips, “Nee, I don’t. I really don’t. If I touch anything with roots it tends to wilt and die on the spot. My daed and one of my schweschders tend the vegetable garden.”
“The quilts are also quite unique,” Aaron tried again.
Becka smiled, realizing he was trying to a compliment her and that she wasn’t making it at all easy on him. “Denke.” Besides, she didn’t want him to know just how useless she was right from their first conversation.
“Oh look, there is Lisa, I’m going to say hello,” Eva said as much to herself as to any one before leaving.
The Amish Voice (Amish Romance) Page 1
